The Walk of Shame

Lauren’s fingers twitched at her sides as the hypnosis’s grip tightened around her mind. The cheap, scratchy fabric of her new "business suit" clung to her skin, but the worst part was the crinkling.

Every. Single. Step.

The thick diaper between her thighs rustled loudly as she followed Tiffany out of the backstage area, her face burning hotter with each mortifying sound. The skirt barely covered it, riding up just enough to betray the outline of the padding beneath.

"This can’t be happening," Lauren screamed internally. But her body moved on its own, obediently trailing behind her smirking secretary.

Tiffany paused near the exit, turning with a saccharine smile. "Oh, Lauren, sweetie? Coddle, keep walking, but first let's fix your posture."

Lauren’s spine straightened instantly, her shoulders pulling back, chest pushing forward, not by her own will but by the unseen **** of Tiffany’s command. The movement made the diaper shift, another loud crinkle escaping as she stood rigidly at attention.

Without her heavily padded bra, Lauren's blouse gaped slightly, hanging loosely over her flat chest. The absence of her padded bra left her feeling exposed in a way she had never experienced before. The stiff, itchy fabric of the blouse rubbed against her bare skin, making her squirm only for the movement to trigger another humiliating crinkle from her diaper.

Tiffany’s grin widened. "Oh, don’t look so tense, Lauren. You’re still the boss, remember?"

She reached out and adjusted Lauren’s blouse, unbuttoning the blouse to where a cleavage should've been. She flared out Lauren's collar, smoothing it down before letting her fingers accidentally brush against the thick padding beneath the skirt. "We wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re anything less than professional, would we? So chin up, sweetie."

Lauren’s jaw clenched, but no words came out, her mind clawing at the fog of obedience. But the more she fought, the tighter the hypnosis coiled around her thoughts, whispering that Tiffany’s words were law. The command still held her "no speaking unless Tiffany patted her head twice." And Tiffany was in no hurry to grant her that mercy.

"Now, coddle, follow me."

The moment they stepped out into the bustling lobby, Lauren's stomach twisted. The lobby was packed. Employees and guests milled about, chatting and laughing, completely unaware of the silent humiliation unfolding in their midst. Lauren’s breath hitched as she followed Tiffany, her diaper rustling with every **** step.

Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.

A few heads turned. Lauren’s face burned.

"Smile, Lauren," Tiffany murmured under her breath, her voice sickly sweet. "Coddle, smile for everyone."

Lauren’s lips stretched into a wide, unnatural grin, her teeth bared like a marionette’s. Her eyes, however, remained wide with panic.

Tiffany led her toward the elevators, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Lauren’s own steps were stiff, her thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to muffle the sound of her diaper. But the more she tried to control it, the louder it seemed to get.

Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.

A group of interns from the marketing department passed by, their laughter cutting off as they caught sight of Lauren. One of them, a young man with floppy brown hair, blinked with his gaze flickering down for just a second before snapping back up.

"Uh, good afternoon, Ms. Lauren," he stammered.

Lauren’s **** smile twitched. She wanted to scream. To run. To do anything but stand there in her ridiculous, ill-fitting suit, her diaper on full display beneath her too-short skirt.

But she couldn’t.

Tiffany gave the interns a dismissive wave. "Carry on, everyone! Ms. Lauren has a very important meeting to attend."

The elevator doors slid open. Tiffany stepped inside, tugging Lauren along with her. As soon as the doors closed, Lauren’s body slumped slightly, the tension in her limbs easing just a fraction until Tiffany spoke again.

"Coddle, hands on your hips. Stand up straight."

Lauren’s arms snapped into place, her posture rigid. The movement made the waistband of her diaper peek out from beneath her blouse, the pastel pink plastic glaringly obvious against the drab fabric of her suit.

Tiffany smirked. "You know, Lauren, I always wondered why you were so obsessed with power. But now I get it." She leaned in, her voice a whisper. "You’re nothing without it."

Lauren’s fingers dug into her hips, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to retort. To fire back. But the command held her tongue hostage.

The elevator dinged.

Floor 27.

Executive offices.

Tiffany straightened her own blazer, her expression shifting into one of professional deference. "After you, boss."

Lauren stepped out first, her **** smile still plastered on her face.

And the walk of shame continued.

Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.