Sketch Artist

Did she really just do that!? She looked down at the ill-gotten gains she had stuffed into her coat. Sure enough, it was still there. She looked back at the old store she had pilfered moments ago. There was no one chasing after her. Be it police officers or angry store clerks. It was looking like a clean getaway.

“Oh, Lisa, you are so bad!”

Lisa picked up the pace, her brisk walk turning into a brisk jog. It was risky, stealing from a place she lived so close to. Then again, this wasn’t something she had planned to happen. Lisa was no cat burglar. It was a spur of the moment job.

She finally made it back to her apartment room. Home base. She hurried into her bedroom, excited giggles escaping between bated breaths. She made her way back to the bedroom, locked the door behind her, and dropped her stolen goods on the desk.

It was such a lovely looking sketchbook, too. The deep pink cover, the way the pages felt. Something about them was refined, and yet so familiar. Quality, it must have been. The feeling of quality.

It wasn’t stealing, really. When she had more disposable income, Lisa would gladly pay it back. She already had the perfect apology planned: “Excuse me, sir. When I was here a few days ago, I had left your store without paying for something. I’m terribly sorry. Here is the money for the sketchbook. I hope you can forgive me.”

The only question now, was what to draw. That’s what sketchbooks are for, after all. There was one idea in her head that kept jumping the queue. Heaven knows why. Maybe she was feeling extra naughty today and had to ride out her hot streak. Her doors were locked. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Lisa bit her lip. Now was the time to indulge her fantasy.

She started drawing the background first—location was everything. What color should the wallpaper be? Baby blue? Cute, but too boyish. Bubblegum pink! Perfect. Even in her wildest fantasies, Lisa would never want to be stuck in a room like that. Now for the extra details. A few stripes along the walls there. And let’s draw a window here, with clear blue skies outside. Right here, this wall should have…

Lisa bit her lip.

“A potty chart.” Lisa thought, feeling oh-so mischievous. This was clearly not a room designed for an adult. No reason not to make that fact even more obvious. While we’re at it, why not fill it up? Lisa wanted to give this place a lived-in look, and a blank chart simply would not do. No, this chart would be filled out, and decked out with rain clouds. It was an easy way of adding personality to her unknown guest.

Can’t forget the flooring. Make the carpet soft, fluffy, and white. Make it look extra comfy, good enough to take a nap on. More options were good, however, and there should be another, more traditional spot for naptime.

A big wooden crib fit snugly in the corners of the room. Wooden spiral bars stood tall above ground level. Have to make sure our unnamed resident stays extra safe during bedtime.

A changing table was the next logical step. Wooden, sturdy, and with a smooth pink varnish. The table should also stand high above the ground, dizzyingly so. If regular changing tables were high up for babies, this one should be high for the standards of, say, an adult woman? Speaking purely hypothetically. The undercarriage should be well stocked with changing supplies. Of course, that meant diapers. Have you seen the woman’s potty chart? Not a dry day in sight. She had done a great job at earning them.

Lisa giggled to herself, “Looking good so far.” She truly was losing herself in the fun. Each pencil stroke drew a more gripping picture. She should have felt bad, staying locked in her room on such a beautiful day. But the art bug had bitten her, and Lisa needed to scratch that itch. “I still think I’m missing something.”

It was true. The basics were there, but the room still looked quite bare. A room was more than a place for an endless cycle of naps and diaper changes. “How about we add something fun?”

A toy chest should liven things up. While we’re at it, why not add some toys in the mix? Some more, age-appropriate fun. Let’s throw some dolls here and there. Not the plastic kind. The felt, raggedy kind, with round faces and button eyes. Anything else was clearly outside of her age-range. A few teddy bears too. Now there were more than enough plush peoples for tea parties and playtime. Some foam blocks would be good. Although, Lisa sincerely doubted that the person who lived here could spell words with more than four letters. With the toys done, next came the toy chest. Lisa liked the idea of the chest being very big. Big enough that she—or anyone else her size, really, might fall inside if they were not careful. The big, wooded chest sat there, with no one’s name assigned to it.

“Hmm,” Lisa began to wonder aloud, “Should I?”

Typically, toy chests had names on them to declare ownership. Given that this space was clearly lived in, the chest must belong to someone. As uncreative as it sounds, only one name came to her mind. In puffy, colorful, font she wrote down four familiar letters.


Lisa smiled. “A little self-insertion never hurt anyone.” She paused to admire her handiwork. The giant crib designed to keep big babies safe and secure. The tell-all potty chart with a miserable score. The changing table, which no-doubt had countless embarrassing stories to tell. Infantile toys strewed about the carpeted floor.

She had created the perfect nursery. Such a pretty picture, she almost wished she could jump inside for an afternoon of fun. Almost. Lisa was still an adult. She knew fantasy and reality were separate for a reason. She felt bad, however, leaving such a place empty.

Lisa then realized that it didn’t have to stay that way. If she couldn’t jump inside, this was the next best thing. “It’s been a while since I’ve done a self-portrait.” Lisa mused. She had already come this far. Put her own name on the toy chest, filled it with relics from her childhood, making it her own. She was only cementing the idea as fact.

Linework was done. Lisa had already known well what her figure looked like. She even knew what outfit she wanted to wear. Funny how picking clothes came easier when drawing them. Maybe there was less pressure. If she drew herself wearing something embarrassing, there was comfort in knowing that no one had to see her wearing it. Thoughts like that were what made art so tempting, so special. Lisa could put herself in as many suggestive situations as she wanted, and never had to worry about feeling any real anxiety. Humiliation without the drawbacks. It was the perfect escape.

Soon, another piece of the drawing was complete. Call it narcissism, but Lisa loved how she looked. Hair in pigtails, tied together by sparkly ribbons. A bright blue shirt with star patterns. She always struggled drawing stars, noting a few on her sleeves were misshaped. It didn’t matter too much, since most of them would be obscured by the pink overall dress she wore. Peeking out under her skirt, for all to see, was the most iconic piece of babyish attire.

Lisa could almost hear the diaper crinkling now. It looked almost cartoonishly thick, with the way her legs widely splayed out. She drew a few prancing ponies on the front, making sure no one would confuse it for a regular adult diaper. This was no incontinence brief. This was a real diaper, plain and simple, designed specifically for big babies. Big babies who gleefully played with toys in oversized nurseries, like Lisa’s likeness was doing now. “I make this fit look good…” Lisa said in a low voice, immediately stifling a laugh afterwards.

The nursery was full furnished. The resident was all dolled up. There was still one thing left to add. One final piece. The last step before her fantasy became fully realized, became its own reality.

Long, firm legs, like tree trunks planted behind her. A pair of bright blue high heels gave them an extra boost in height. The legs were mostly concealed by a powder blue blouse, decorated with polka dots. Even if Lisa couldn’t see the woman’s upper half, she already had a perfect mental image of all her features. Soft, warm features. Chubby cheeks and a bright smile. Was she a red head? Possibly. That possibility felt the most right. The important piece was that her drawn counterpart knew her quite well, even if they couldn’t understand one-another. Someone sweet and caring to hold her tight. Someone big and imposing to put Lisa right where she belonged. A caretaker—no, a nanny—no, a mommy.

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, only noticing now how fast her heart was pumping. This naughty streak had gripped her hard, now making the young woman all hot and bothered. The best thing to do now was to finish up and go about her day.

Her mood died instantly when she felt the smooth, crinkly plastic below.

Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at herself in horror. From the blue shirt to the adorable pink overalls, it was all there. Lisa had become the spitting image of her drawn persona. She tugged on one of her sleeves and counted all the different misshapen stars. She ran her hands through her hair, subconsciously unsurprised to find ribbons on each side. Lisa leapt from her desk chair and turned around.

Her feet sunk into the soft white carpet. It was all there. It was all real. The changing table that towered above the ground. The crib with bars far too tall to climb. The wooden chest with her name on it, in puffy lettering. This was Lisa’s room, exactly as she imagined it.

She screamed, a gut-wrenching fear shaking in her. Fear of this strange, impossible scenario. She fumbled over her bootie-covered feet and landed on her backside. The diaper crinkled loudly as it broke her fall, still not drowning out the panicked screams. The large, wood door of the nursery creaked open, and everything slid into place.

There she stood, the final piece of the puzzle.

She was a skyscraper of a woman. Lisa’s eyes traveled up and up, taking in each detail of the woman’s outfit. She had thought that the housewife style dress was overkill when drawing it. Now, Lisa didn’t know what to feel with it making the leap to reality. Fashion sense was in the farthest corner of her mind right now. Lisa struggled to make out the upper half of her. Something about it was disorienting, headache inducing. There had to be something up there, but Lisa couldn’t see it. Should there be? She hadn’t drawn that part, and yet…

“Baby? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” The giant had kneeled down to be at eye-level with Lisa. A redhead with plain curls. Chubby cheeks and a bright smile. The woman looked just as she had imagined her.

Lisa scooted backwards on her padded bum. The shock was all too much for her, and she soon felt a wet warmth rush into her diaper. She sat in stunned silence as the diaper filled with urine. The padding soaked up every drop, and Lisa whimpered as the waterworks began to dry up—dry, perhaps, not being the operative word. Lisa couldn’t remember the last time she had a genuine accident. Yet, the feeling of a soggy pamper taped to her waste was not a new sensation. It felt familiar, in fact, on the same level as eating breakfast or brushing her teeth. Lisa had never indulged in her… desires in that way before. She didn’t even know how to tape a diaper, on herself or anyone else. But this felt natural.

“Buh?” Lisa tried to explain her case. She immediately ran into a critical error. She could no longer speak. There was nothing wrong with her physically. Her tongue was not numbed. All her teeth were present and accounted for. The issue was her mind. Words connected as thoughts clearly in her brain, but they remained as thoughts. The art of talking was something unlearned by her. Unlearned. Something that was once known and did not stay that way.

Just as one sensation enter her mind, another feeling left it. She thought again about mundane tasks. Eating breakfast, brushing her teeth. Had those always been done alone? That didn’t sound right? Was someone of her stature fit for such tasks? More awkward babble escaped her mouth. She pointed and waved her arms frantically, trying her hardest to figure out the communication barrier in play.

“Aww, I see what’s wrong.” The woman smiled and looked at a clock in the corner of the room. “It’s already lunchtime. Come here.” She lifted the young artist with ease and walked over to a large chair in the corner of the room. Another detail Lisa hadn’t drawn. Did the magic of the sketchbook fill in the blanks for her? Was its goal to recreate a practical version of the nursery, not a mirror image? It was certainly a faithful adaptation, for better or worse. Lisa babbled senselessly as they approached the room’s corner. More failed sentences. Other thoughts lost in translation.

“Momma’s coming, sweetie.” The giant cooed, interpreting Lisa’s cries as impatience. She took her seat and began to unbutton her blouse. Lisa pupils shrank, as she laid on the biggest nursing bra she had ever seen. “Open wide!” The busty giant sang, prompting more incoherent babble from the girl. Lisa tried to pull her head away but was no match for the gentle force of the large woman’s palm.

Surely enough, she latched onto the nipple without another complaint. Once the first drop of milk hit her tongue, it was all over. The milk was too sweet, too rich for her to pull back. A primal, long forgotten urge had reawakened inside her. The simple need for Momma’s milk. She lapped up every single drop that the woman had to offer. When Lisa felt the well dry up, she patted the giant’s chest for more, mewling desperately. The giant didn’t say a word. She simply readjusted, allowed the baby to latch the other nipple. It was all routine to her.

Lisa was more than ready for seconds. Lisa was losing herself in infantile bliss and didn’t care one bit. She already had a flow worked out. She wasn’t going to let something as small as shame con her out of a free meal. She greedily lapped up more of the milk, like a starved kitten. Truthfully There was no need to rush. She had countless days to perfect her technique. Another teat drained; the giant tugged the little one off with a quiet ‘pop’.

Another quick reposition, this time over the woman’s shoulder. Lisa felt herself being hiked up before a few rhythmic pats hit her back. Lisa knew what this was! She was being—


She was paying her compliments to the chef.

“Excuse you!” Said the giant in a sing-song voice. “That was a big one. I bet your tummy feels much better now, huh? Better out than in, as they say.” Lisa blushed, the line reminding her of her diaper’s sodden state. The woman descended Lisa back to the carpet below. “Now, I’m going to go back to my cleaning. You stay here and be good, okay?” The giant smiled down at her, before leaving and closing the door behind her. Lisa stood alone again in the giant nursery. Her gut was full, her diaper was wet, and her adult mind was in grave danger.

She had to destroy the sketchbook. It was the logical next step. She shambled across the room, diaper crinkling and squelching with every awkwardly wide step. Lisa silently prayed to herself that it hadn’t remained on the other side, leaving her stranded. After a short search, Lisa spotted the book by its familiar pink cover.

It was a coloring book. The white pages were no longer blank. Now, they were filled with outlines of cutesy imagery. Puppies playing in a field of flowers. Kittens batting balls of yarn. Fish blowing bubbles underwater. A mother bird feeding her young. A familiar picture that made her stomach turn, it was fully colored in.

This had to be the sketchbook. She could tell by how the pages and cover felt. The feeling of quality.

Pages after pages were ripped to shreds. One of them had to be the right one. It didn’t matter how long it took to find it. As long as Lisa ripped the right page, she would be sent home. Her body grew tense as she heard the giant’s footsteps from behind her. Thundering, imposing. She was getting closer, coming back to check on her little one. Why, why wasn’t it working!? If Lisa didn’t act now, she could be stuck here forever. Lisa’s frenzy slowed to a frighten stop. Every single page had been pulled off the spine. She looked up, and Lisa was still sitting in her nursery. Her heart sank.

“Lisa! What has gotten into you!” The giant had return sooner than expected, now with a much colder expression on display. “I thought this naughty phase was behind you, but I guess I was wrong. You still need discipline.” Lisa was hoisted up and carried back to the familiar chair, this time feeling much worse. Guilt or despair; she couldn’t decide. Neither one was getting her home. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But you must learn that what you did is not okay. This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Lisa’s toes curled as the first spank came down on her ass. It was so much louder, so much harder than she had fantasized. Her reaction didn’t stop Mommy’s onslaught, and another spank soon followed. Only two spanks in, and tears were already welling up. Three spanks crashing down, and the tears were pouring. Four more spanks and the wailing started. Five extra spanks, and Lisa had truly caved. She deserved this. For taking what didn’t belong to her. For ripping up the coloring book, which wasn’t even hers. For being such a naughty little girl.

Mommy paused for a second. Lisa thought the worst was over, and that she would be blessed with a moment to rub her sore bum. That wasn’t the case. She was only making a readjustment, fixing her posture. Mommy raised her hand up high, and another sharp spanking soon came down.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And another…

Mommy had run fresh out of spanks. Lisa had run fresh out of tears.

“I know how much it hurts,” Mommy began, her tone softening, “But I need you to understand that what you did was not okay.”

Lisa did not say anything. She only nodded her head while trying to stifle back hiccups and sniffles. With her butt now a striking shade of red, the large woman had some sense into Lisa, as well knocking a few adult thoughts out of her mind as well.

“I’m sending you to bed early. Don’t think you’re off the hook yet. You’ll still have to clean up all those papers when you wake up.” Mommy descended the girl into the large wooden crib. Lisa did not put up her fight. The one comfort of this ordeal was that the crib’s mattress was as soft as it looked from the other side. The tall bars made sure she wasn’t going anywhere. Certainly not home. This was her home now, for better or worse. Lisa’s new mother figure clicked off the lights, leaving the artist with her thoughts.

A startling new idea entered Lisa’s mind. What if she wasn’t supposed to destroy the book? What if she was supposed to return it? Was an “I’m sorry” all it took to send her home? It stood out as a possibility. Now she would never know. Lisa was all too eager to escape and ended up shredding her return ticket in the process. Lisa felt an ominous rumble in her gut, informing her that the worst part of her punishment was yet to come.

There was a saying that came to mind. About how truth was stranger than fiction. Because of one misdeed, Lisa had made them become one and the same. This was her deepest fantasy, true to form. From the giant overbearing mother figure to the impossibly thick diaper on her waist. A yawn escaped her, and Lisa knew she would not be able to stay awake for long. How much of her past life would she remember when she woke up? How many new, babyish feelings would become common knowledge to her? She didn’t know. She had no way of knowing the answer to that question. One thing was crystal clear. Lisa couldn’t have ever picture herself in a place like this.


The familiar chime of the front door’s bell sounded off in the small art supplies store.

“Good morning, Mr. Martins!” greeted the bubbly redhead.

“Howdy, Martha.” Replied the gray-haired shopkeeper. “I didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon. Weren’t you here a few days ago?”

“Yes, yes. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you today,” Martha followed-up, her tone becoming more serious, “When I was here the other day, my baby grabbed one of your coloring books, and I left without paying for it.” Martha took out a few bills from her clasp and placed them on the counter. “Here’s the money for it. I hope you can forgive us.”

Mr. Martins rubbed the back of his head bashfully. “Aw shucks. Don’t worry about it. Those books were only for the kiddies anyway. Is there anything else I can get you today?”

Martha thought about giving her girl a new book to replace the old one. She felt like she had been too hard on her the other day. However, she still wanted to make her statement stand firm. Such dilemmas were one of the many trials of motherhood. Suddenly, a bright idea popped in her head.

“Do you have one of those big crayon packs? The ones that have about twenty or so colors?”

The shopkeeper nodded, crouching down behind the desk. He quickly reemerged, placing a twenty-four-set box of crayons on the counter. “Like mother, like daughter. The art bug must have bit her too.”

“Maybe. It’s good to know that I’m rubbing off on her, in some way.” Martha smiled, paid for the goods, and waved the shopkeeper good day. She leisurely strolled out, feeling much better as she left. Martha looked down at the crayons, a small part of her feeling jealous of her daughter.

Lisa didn’t know how lucky she truly was. She had all the time in the world to make as many drawings as she wanted. Even if they would never be as engaging, and inviting, as she hoped.