The Valentine’s Plan

This was going to do it… No, scratch that. This HAD to do it.

Nothing else had worked, after all. Caprice had wracked her brain, coming up with everything she could to throw at the problem, and, one by one, it had all been shot down. Honestly, even that was making it sound more dramatic than it was… It had all been swatted lazily aside, or ignored totally, with the same result either way.

It didn’t help that she didn’t know what had happened in the first place. One day, everything had been fine, and the next, she’d woken up in a diaper and a onesie, her fiance, Cooper, shoving a bottle of warm milk into her mouth before handing her off to their neighbor, Mrs. Foster, to take care of for the day, both of them treating her, and talking to her, like she was nothing more than a toddler.

It was certainly bad enough from Cooper, after all the time they’d been together, being reduced from his partner to, seemingly, a child in his eyes, someone he cooed over and fed and changed, but showed no sign of attraction to; Mrs. Foster had been a whole other story. Their relationship already had been strained, to put it lightly. The woman was a busybody, a snoop, constantly complaining that they were being too loud, or that they’d put decorations an inch or two onto her yard…

Was it any surprise that Caprice had decided she needed a few pranks now and then? Two could play at that game, and all she’d had to do was wait and watch until she saw the woman’s SUV pull out of the garage for some grocery shopping, and then go over to her yard with some eggs, or some toilet paper. Mrs. Foster blamed them, of course, but Caprice always asked her if she had any proof, which she didn’t, other than the fact that these things coincidentally always happened when she was away.

And now she was in complete control of Caprice for most of the day. Caprice still remembered that first day, being led by the hand from Cooper’s house to Mrs. Foster’s, toddling across the sidewalk, diaper crinkling, cheeks blazing. Caprice had tried to squirm away, to break free of the woman’s grip, but she’d always been pretty small, and weak, and Mrs. Foster was neither, her grip remaining firm.

“No, sweetie, you can’t run off on your own,” she’d lectured. “We’re much too close to the road.”

“Just let me go back home!” Caprice had begged. “Please! E-Everyone can see me!”

“Aww, poor thing,” Mrs. Foster had cooed, pausing, halting their progress temporarily, leaving Caprice whimpering and fidgeting as she stood there on the sidewalk anxiously. “Do you miss your Daddy? Is that why you’re crying so much? I know what will make you feel better.”

“To be taken back home!” Caprice had told her; instead, she’d had a pacifier shoved into her mouth, and their trek had continued as if the woman hadn’t heard a word of what the girl had said.

The whole day had gone like that, with Caprice pleading with Mrs. Foster to let her watch something on the TV other than the dumb cartoons she’d put on, to give her something other than mushy, gross baby food for lunch – and to let her feed herself – and, most importantly, to open the locked bathroom door before she had an accident in her diaper. Every time, Mrs. Foster had responded as if she were spouting baby babble.

Until the last one, that was, which had made Caprice desperate enough to make a break for the front door, ready to race back to her own house, her own toilet… That had ended with her over Mrs. Foster’s lap, the woman quite happy to spank her silly for trying to get away, then put her in the corner until she no longer needed the bathroom, until she’d had no choice but to appease the growing pressure in her tummy and squat down to fill her pants.