"You're late," snapped Mistress Nemesis, glaring down upon her lowly client as he waited nervously at the threshold. "Get in!" She grabbed him by his neck, thrusting him inside, momentarily leaning against her open door and swiftly checking the corridor before slamming it shut behind her. She was attired in a rather unusual manner for the activities that Stig had envisaged he would be subjected to, for instead of the Dominatrixes’ traditional latex and suspenders, Mistress Nemesis was wearing a pink rayon sweater and close-fitting Denims, her hair pulled tightly back into a neat little pony tail, and as she divested her punter of his Mothercare anorak, she resembled a dependable teenaged babysitter as opposed to a hardened sex-worker, reminding Stig of those teenagers he had followed to that video store.
    "I assume you're wearing one?" she said, pursing her lips in amusement as she regarded her client's child-size corduroys.
    Stig nodded meekly.
    "Good."
    He was standing in a narrow and dimly lit hallway, to the left and right were four doorways leading off into various 'chambers', two on each wall, and directly in front he could see his Mistress's kitchen, a glass of red wine waiting on the counter. Mistress Nemesis abruptly barged past him as she made her way to the kitchen, knocking the midget sideways.
  "What did you go for in the end?" she asked, swiftly retrieving the glass, "Cloth or Disposables?"
    Stig always found these preliminaries rather awkward, even when he had some idea of what awaited him, however this session was proving particularly difficult as he had still not cottoned on to the Dominatrix's intentions. Plus his nappy felt like it had practically doubled in size since he first taped it on.
    "I don't understand?" he replied ingenuously.
    "Nappies you idiot, what nappies did you go for?"
    "Er.. Pampers," he blurted dumbly.
    Mistress Nemesis restored her glass to the counter before returning to her silly client. "Well go on then", she said, folding her arms and frowning. "Show me."
    He was just about to unzip his corduroys when the woman had another idea. "On second thoughts," she began, "Why don't you give your Mistress a little striptease."
    Stig did as he was told, and while he undressed, Mistress Nemesis couldn't save herself from humming David Rose's 'The Stripper', for it seemed strangely befitting of such an occasion, watching with delight as her tiny client unlaced his shoes then tugged at his socks, a sight somewhat reminiscent of thirties burlesque. "Now your corduroys," she said; her face a wide mean grin as the midget glanced up imploringly. "Let's see the Pampers." He hauled off his corduroys, negotiating them with surprising ease over his thick white noisy nappy, letting them drop to the cheap linoleum flooring and then staring at them, his face burning. "At least you've got something right and plumped for plastic," commented his Mistress, adding that she couldn't abide those nasty cloth things.
    "What do you want me to do now?" murmured Stig, still staring at the lino.
    "Look at me," replied his Mistress.
    It had been easier with those punks on the bus, standing in that lonesome street and watching them whisked away, their leering faces receding into the night. Yet he slowly raised his head, aware of the unimaginable horrors that would befall him if he were to disobey his Dominatrix, acutely conscious of his package, soaked as it was in massive quantities of both cum and urine, pressed tightly against four fat inches of soft, warm absorbency; and as their gazes met he did his damdest to look assured, to strike an attitude of defiance.
   "Give us a twirl then," responded Mistress Nemesis, rejoicing in his every action.
    Stig revolved slowly, feeling exceptionally ludicrous, overwhelmingly conscious of the thick plastic bulk as it rigorously hugged his buttocks. When his bum was directly level with the woman's gaze, she ordered him to stop, to take stock as she ambled over, crouching on the floor behind him. "What are you going to do?" he asked uneasily, the relaxing sensation of her feminine hands permeating his every fibre as they soothingly caressed his podgy thighs before ascending to the Pampers.
    "I bet it was all horribly embarrasing for you," she leered, running a beautifully manicured fingernail over the smooth white plastic. "Er.. What was?" he asked.
    "Buying nappies," remarked his Mistress. "Marching into some shitty little grocery and purchasing a pack. Was it a girl on the checkout?"
    Stig mumbled a barely audible Yes.
    "Excellent. I bet she was barely sixteen as well," continued his Mistress, "Still in school most likely. Working there weekends to augment her measly pocket money." She pressed her palm firmly into Stig's soft Pampered behind and moistened her lower lip. "No doubt she reckoned you a panty-pisser or something, some sad inadequate prone to wetting himself around women. A proper little Toilet-boy!"
    "She might not ave," he had the audacity to counter.
    "You what?"
    "She might have thought I was a dad buying them for my kid or something."
    To this Mistress Nemesis responded with the rightful contempt it deserved, laughing like a maniac before succeeding to state that there wasn't a soul on the planet who would seriously believe her grubby little client a father. "Like you'll ever be a daddy," she hissed, cuffing the midget around the head for such insolence then grabbing his upper arms, wheeling him around so their faces were uncomfortably close. "The nearest you'll ever get to sex is ME, alright? Now don't you ever forget that!" She pushed him over, whooping with delight as his nappy-clad buttocks smacked hard against the lino, his legs splayed and upright.
    "Have you just gone and pissed yourself?" She suddenly enquired. Stig didn't try to deny it, preferring instead to remain on his back; he was surprised the woman didn't notice that his Pampers were somewhat full earlier on.
    "I only asked you to wear the nappy," she said, "not actually use it, you stupid pygmy."
    "I couldn't help it," he mumbled.
    "Damn right you couldn't, honestly, you've got all the control of a one year old," she said, sneering at her quip. "Then again I suppose your tiny bladder size is probably attributable to you being a midget."
    "I was desperate," whimpered Stig, slowly clambering to his feet then retreating down the hall as the woman approached.
    "Had I known you were incontinent I would have had you in nappies when we first met," his Mistress stated, standing with legs apart and hands on hips.
    "What are you going to do?" asked Stig nervously.
    "What any dutiful Dominatrix who exercises a fearsome line in 'adult babies' should do," Mistress Nemesis replied.
    Without thinking the midget made a dash for the exit, however his Dominatrix - due in part to her considerable height advantage - caught up with him easy, lunging forward and effortlessly flooring him. Yet even if he had have made it to the door, he still wouldn’t have been able to escape as Mistress Nemesis was in the habit of securing her clients in during their sessions, and just after hanging up his Mothercare anorak, she had surreptiously locked the door. "Right then," she said, contemptuously regarding his piss-filled Pamper, "Let's get you into a fresh nappy." She scooped him up and made towards the door nearest the kitchen, a frantic midget tucked under her arm; wriggling like an impossible toddler on his way to the baby changing facilities.