Chapter 6 Cabin Fever and Baby Steps
What ultimately got us here—Jordan unconsciously rocking the baby in her arms as she told the story—was our annual summer escape to a sleek, ultra-private mountain Airbnb near Aspen.
It was a stunning modern glass-and-wood masterpiece perched beside a secluded alpine lake, rented from friends for two full weeks every year like a high-end timeshare.
We always packed everything we’d need for the entire stay so we could avoid all human contact. It was our ritual for unwinding completely and purging the chaos of daily Denver life. By the end we’d always return refreshed and ready to face the city again.
We took Jordan’s SUV (I still preferred my Mustang for city driving), so I wasn’t surprised when she added three large extra bags to the load for the drive into the Rockies. She just shrugged with that innocent smile I knew too well. Plans were definitely in motion—plans I’d have to endure.
To her credit, the Amulet of Morphos stayed hidden until our second day there.
Then she brought it out with gleeful energy.
She insisted we change as often as possible using everything she’d packed.
Every twelve hours brought a brand-new experience.
We cooked meals, ate, slept, fucked like animals, and even went swimming, knowing no one who knew us would ever recognize the couple they saw.
There were a few awkward moments—like when we became little people, everything comically oversized, or adjusting to different races and body types (gorgeous Asian, powerfully built Black, elegant Middle Eastern).
But I have to admit it was mostly fun, thrilling, and by far the most intensely erotic chapter of our entire relationship.
Only a few days before we were supposed to pack up and leave, Jordan asked softly after we’d just finished a long, sweaty session in our original bodies, “Honey, do you trust me?”
“That’s a dumb question. I love you and I trust you. Why are you even asking?”
“Because there are a couple of things I really want to do with the amulet, and I need you to trust me without knowing the details ahead of time.”
“Whoa, hold on. I’m all for experimenting, but…”
She looked genuinely disappointed, eyes big and pleading. “But you said you trust me.”
Oh crap. She’d set the trap and I’d walked right into it. “Okay, okay… let’s get it over with.” I had no idea what she had planned, but I already suspected I wasn’t going to like it.
Jordan touched me with the Amulet of Morphos and something I instantly recognized. “Damn it, Jordan—that’s a pink diaper!”
“Yes, dear. Remember how we decided it was time to start our family? It hasn’t happened yet, and I want to know what it feels like to take care of a baby. It’ll only be for the minimum twelve hours. I promise.”
“Bu… wha…” My voice cut off in a gurgle as the change slammed into me.
It started with a dizzying rush of youth.
I felt myself growing younger—muscles softening, face smoothing, height shrinking rapidly.
My adult voice cracked and faded into high-pitched baby noises.
Speaking became impossible. My legs wobbled as coordination vanished.
I tried to step back and promptly fell hard on my padded butt, the oversized clothing swallowing me as I continued shrinking smaller and smaller.
The world grew enormous around me. Jordan’s tits were swelling dramatically before my eyes, growing huge, heavy, and full.
Blue veins appeared under the taut skin as they filled with milk.
She quickly slipped on a large nursing bra, the cups barely containing the leaking, engorged globes.
Drops of white milk beaded at her thick nipples.
My mind was still adult, but my body was rapidly becoming that of a helpless newborn.
The last clear image I had was Jordan lifting me to her chest, guiding my tiny mouth to one fat, leaking nipple.
The warm, sweet milk flooded my mouth as I instinctively suckled, the powerful let-down sending waves of contentment through my tiny body even as my adult mind reeled in horror and fascination.
The next twelve hours blurred into fragmented sensory memories.
The rhythmic tug of nursing, the wonderful warm fullness in my stomach, the discomfort of a wet diaper that Jordan efficiently changed.
I could only communicate through giggles, coos, or cries—everything else ran on pure instinct.
No real cognitive control. My existence became a simple cycle: feeding, changing, playing with the colorful mobile above the crib, and sleeping.
The strongest impression was the overwhelming feeling of safety and bliss when Jordan held me tight against her massive, leaking breasts, her heartbeat steady under my ear while she hummed soft lullabies.
The vibrations and the sweet scent of her milk created a deep, primal bond I couldn’t fight.
When the twelve hours finally ended and I woke in an adult body again, I was a woman—curvy, fertile, and still buzzing from the experience. Jordan lay beside me, male and satisfied, already stroking my new breasts.
That single day of total regression and maternal care was about to lead us down a path neither of us could have predicted.