The mock-up nursery had been appointed on the cheap by any Dominatrixes' standards. Some of its appurtenances were just the usual baby paraphernalia, purchased no doubt from catalogues and the like, such as the playpen, the stroller, and the wee plastic potty in the corner; all of them looking peculiarly out of place in the den of a glorified prostitute. Other items, including the high chair and cot, were rather disorientating on account of their vastness, and must have been either expressly constructed, or, more scarily, ordered from some kind of establishment specializing in such wares. The outsize changing table situated against the far wall was undoubtedly such an item, and Stig suspected that the men whose butts normally frequented it were most likely kept in grown-up nappies. He was dimly aware of such things: hulking rubber piss-pants belted around the hopelessly incontinent, industrial-strength disposables politely referred to as 'adult briefs' - an ill-advised attempt to wipe away the indelible stigma surrounding them. Such garments were only available from professional suppliers, most of whose stock was intended for the nation's nursing homes and hospitals, yet in a deliciously subversive offshoot, a small yet undeniable percentage of their produce was freshly delivered to the doors of Dominatrixes across the land.
    Mistress Nemesis dumped her little client on the changing table, quickly manoeuvring him into place on a wipe-clean rubber pad. "Hold still," she said, threatening to give him a beating if he refused to comply. However Stig kept on wriggling, violently fending off the woman as she attempted to untape his nappy. He was fearful of her seeing his genitals, the anxiety he had experienced when nearing the tower block having returned with a vengeance. It was rather ironic really, for while he had the nerve to indecorously pump his little boy school shorts with huge amounts of hot sticky cum every session prior to this one, not to mention have his tireless Mistress hand scrub them afterwards, he was still so self-centred he couldn't even bring himself to presenting a gal with a sight that would make her rotten job worthwhile, the harmless pleasure of his package. Honestly, psychiatrists could probably sustain an entire symposium concerning Stig's issues with his genitals. However Mistress Nemesis invariably had her way...
    "If you keep with the wriggling I'll lock you in the dungeon for the night," she intimidated, licking her lips as her stubborn little punter finally conceded, for he was utterly petrified of that room. Notwithstanding the desire to have his buttocks suffer the fate of an intractable school child, the horrors of the dungeon chilled him to his very core, and although he had never even set foot in the room, he had a vague idea of what it entailed, not quite believing that some of the Dominatrix's other punters were actually excited by such things.
    "My, my," said Mistress Nemesis, "You're much bigger than I expected." She had finally untaped the Pampers and was now standing a few steps back in order to admire his package. "I always assumed you had a small one - a right little tiddler no doubt - however I must admit to being pleasantly surprised," she said, clutching the dirty nappy to her chest. Stig was rigid, barely able to respond as the woman reached forward and cupped his genitals. "I wouldn't have believed such a little man like you could be so fantastically endowed in the meat department." He couldn't speak, for his mind was so contorted with embarrassment, he was temporarily incapable of that facility. "A girl could hold these for ages," she continued, weighing the contents of her hand as if they were so much fruit at a market stall, "Such a perfectly formed prick, such spanking balls! You should be proud."
    The midget lay utterly motionless as the Dominatrix knelt down and opened a drawer under the table. "You know you're wasting those keeping 'em to yourself," she said, opening up a tatty plastic carrier bag and sealing his used nappy within it. "I know many women who would kill to have something as long and fat as that inside 'em." She nodded at his prick before tossing the bag into a nearby wastepaper basket, clapping her hands together at a job well done before announcing she had an idea then racing out of the room.
    "Where are you going?" stuttered Stig, finally recovering his speech after realising that getting his cock out, at least in front of an attractive young woman, was actually rather agreeable.
    "Just getting my Polaroid," she shouted back. She returned with a rather natty camera and set it gently down on the high chair's tray.
    "What's that for," he enquired nervously.
    "You'll see," she jeered, ambling over to an enormous wardrobe by the far wall, throwing its stately doors open and rummaging around inside. "I'm sure it was in here somewhere", she said, casually knocking adult size baby stuff out onto the freshly hoovered carpet. "Ah yes, here we are." She tossed him a copy of the July 1980 issue of Naked Dwarf. Emblazoned on the cover was a boyish looking midget wearing nothing but a pair of studded bondage trunks, his pose decidedly arresting, what with his arms and legs violently splayed, giving the expression of him being flung towards the camera from a great distance.
    "I'm taking some piccies for them," she said, adding that she had recently discovered a latent talent for photography, and planned to enter that field on a freelance basis, something she expected would allow her to jack in the sex-trade for good.
    Stig nudged the magazine to one side then looked up at his Mistress in disbelief.
    "You don't have any choice about featuring in it," she said, "Unless you want me to beat you to within an inch of your pitiful little life!" She ordered him to lie back on the changing mat, and reluctantly he did as he was told, concluding that although it felt ok to be naked around young women, he wasn't overly keen on a bunch of midget fetishists ogling his package.
    "How many people read it anyway?" he asked.
    Mistress Nemesis smiled at this enquiry, "You'd be surprised," she answered.
    "How many?"
    "Let's just say they have a staggeringly wide circulation..."
    A look of immense dejection imbued his features, and his Dominatrix urged him to cheer up. "You might go all the way and make the cover midget," she laughed.
    She then forced him to assume a range of salacious poses, adopting one after another in rapid succession: reclining on the changing mat with arms draped lazily about his person the one minute; standing bolt upright the next, hands on balls, all the while his Mistress telling him how smashing, fabulous, beautiful he looked.
    "Oh that reminds me," she said, once her camera's film had run out. "I just thought I'd tell you, I'll be keeping copies of the piccy wiccies."
    "What for?" he asked.
    "To wank over, I've got a thing about midgets," she jested, returning the camera to the tray on the high chair. "Only joking, like I'm sick enough to jerk off over a dwarf, no, I plan to blackmail you."
    "Eh?"
    "On the microscopic chance that you ever amount to anything, and come into some money, I'll be on hand with the pics, they'll be winging their way to your wife or your boss or whoever if you refuse to pay up." He squealed as she violently tweaked his prick, standing back and beaming at him before kneeling down under the changing table and pulling out an unopened pack of Pampers.
    "Will I get paid for the photos?" he asked.
    "What do you think," she replied, ripping open the disposables with evident glee and grabbing a fresh nappy, whacking it down on the changing mat before foraging around for powder and wipes. Her attendance of him was decidedly short of motherly, for instead she appeared to be taking part in a nappy changing contest, as if she were standing in line with a dozen other Dominatrixes, pampering 'adult babies' at record-breaking speeds. She gripped his ankles firmly, pulling his legs up and spreading them sharply apart. Briskly she wiped his tight midget butt, her face a picture of frenzied determination, all the while the changing mat becoming rapidly caked in baby powder. She opened the fresh Pamper and slid the thing under him, slamming him into it, swiftly engulfing his genitals into the glorious folds of plastic absorbency, sealing the tapes then lifting him up. She held him at arms length and exhaled triumphantly, remaining in this position for what seemed like an age, finally setting the midget down firmly into the outsize cot and securing him to the bars by his wrists, turning the lights out and ordering him to sleep.