Downstairs in the living room, Macy settled cross-legged on the soft playmat, watching Jeffie fumble with a small stack of colorful blocks. His tiny hands struggled with the coordination, knocking over more than he managed to stack, but the look of determination on his infant face was almost endearing. Macy couldn’t help but smile gently at the sight, a strange mix of curiosity and amusement stirring inside her.
Yet, a growing discomfort nagged at her chest—an unexpected warmth that she hadn’t anticipated. She glanced down, and to her surprise, she realized her breasts were lactating, a surprising side effect of the device’s lingering influence. The pressure was becoming uncomfortable, and Macy, though embarrassed by the situation, knew she needed some relief.
Her eyes flicked back to Jeffie, who was still absorbed in his play but occasionally looking up with wide, trusting eyes. An idea crossed her mind: if he was truly in this baby state, maybe he could help ease the discomfort—just as babies naturally do. The thought made her cheeks flush, but she pushed aside the embarrassment in favor of practicality.
Carefully, she scooped Jeffie into her arms. He looked up, startled by the sudden movement, trying to squirm away, but his little limbs lacked the strength to resist much. Macy lowered her shirt modestly, exposing her breast in a way she wouldn’t have considered before.
Jeffie’s reaction was immediate and instinctive. His body, betraying the 18-year-old mind trapped inside, reacted with a reflex that made him latch on without conscious thought. For a moment, his mind was a chaotic mess of resistance, confusion, and an undeniable surge of instinctual response.
This isn’t right, his thoughts screamed internally. I’m not a baby. I don’t want this. Why is my body doing this to me? But despite the mental turmoil, his body clung on, unable to stop itself.
Macy, too, was caught between worlds. She knew this wasn’t about pleasure or desire—this was simply the strange biology and circumstance they found themselves tangled in. There was no fooling themselves about that. But a curious, almost maternal warmth filled her, mingled with a bit of embarrassment and wonder at how deeply the device had affected them.
“Jeffie,” she whispered softly, her voice gentle but tinged with nervousness, “it’s okay... I’m here.”
Jeffie’s mind screamed silently, trapped between the maturity of an 18-year-old and the helplessness of a baby’s body. The situation was uncomfortable, unsettling, and yet… the involuntary responses were impossible to fight.
Jeff’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicted emotions as Macy gently shifted him to her other breast. His tiny mouth instinctively followed, latching on again despite every ounce of his adult self fighting against the instinct. The taste was unmistakably sweet and warm, but to Jeff, it felt surreal — a strange mixture of comfort and revulsion. He knew intellectually he didn’t want to drink, yet his baby body craved it, and that contradiction tore at him.
I’m fighting this as hard as I can, Jeff thought desperately, but my body’s doing what it wants. I hate that I’m letting this happen.
Every instinct in his infant form urged him to relax, to give in to the nurturing comfort Macy’s body provided. But his 18-year-old mind recoiled in protest, wrestling with feelings of vulnerability and a profound embarrassment he couldn’t hide even beneath his small, helpless frame.
Meanwhile, Macy felt a distinct sense of relief as the pressure in her breasts eased with each suckle. The physical comfort was undeniable, and alongside it was an unexpected emotional warmth—an attachment forming as she instinctively took on the role of caretaker. She had never imagined herself in such a position, yet something inside her softened at the helplessness of Jeffie’s form, at the trust he was implicitly placing in her.
Her fingers lightly stroked his soft hair, a quiet smile on her lips as she whispered, “You’re doing so good, Jeffie. Just relax…”
She was clearly enjoying this strange, new dynamic. The way Jeffie clung to her evoked a nurturing instinct she hadn’t known she possessed, and despite the oddity of the situation, it felt… right in a way she hadn’t expected.
But Jeff? He remained locked in turmoil—his mind a prisoner within a body that obeyed forces beyond his control, each moment deepening the strange tension between his mental resistance and physical surrender.
After a while, Macy gently pulled Jeffie away from her breast and held him upright against her shoulder, softly patting his back. “Let’s get that burp out, little guy,” she murmured tenderly. Jeffie, still overwhelmed by the strange sensations and his conflicting thoughts, felt his tiny body relax a bit, though his mind remained alert, desperate not to give in.
Macy’s gentle pats and soft whispers created a calm rhythm, and with a small, muffled sound, Jeffie finally let out a burp. The relief in his body was immediate, and Macy smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
She then settled into a comfortable chair, cradling Jeffie carefully in her arms. Slowly, she began to rock back and forth, her movements gentle and steady. As she rocked, Macy’s voice grew soft and melodic, singing a lullaby—something sweet and simple, meant to soothe.
“Sleep now, little one, close your eyes,
The stars will watch you through the skies…”
Jeffie’s eyelids fluttered, heavy with tiredness that his adult mind desperately resisted. Every part of his baby body ached to surrender to the peace Macy’s lullaby promised, but his thoughts raced in panic.
No. I have to change back. I can’t stay like this. I’m not supposed to be a baby. I have to get out of here.
But the warmth of Macy’s arms, the softness of her voice, and the rhythmic rocking were powerful forces. Slowly, the sharp edges of his anxiety began to dull, replaced by an overwhelming heaviness. He struggled weakly, trying to focus, to stay awake, but his small body betrayed him again and again.
As Macy’s lullaby continued, Jeffie’s struggles softened, his breathing slowed, and finally, his eyes closed. The last conscious thought slipping through his mind was a frantic hope that when he woke, things would be back to normal.
Macy gazed down at the sleeping Jeffie, cradled in her arms, his tiny features peaceful and relaxed in slumber. A deep warmth bloomed in her chest as she continued to gently rock him, the soft rhythm soothing not just the baby in her arms, but something within herself as well.
She hadn’t expected this. Holding him like this, seeing his little hand curled around her finger, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths against her arm—it was too much. The cuteness was overwhelming, but even more than that, a powerful maternal instinct had taken root. It wasn’t logical, and it wasn’t planned. But at that moment, Macy wasn’t thinking about devices or transformations. She was just a girl with a baby in her arms who needed her.
Her fingers gently brushed through Jeffie's soft hair as she whispered quietly, "You really are kind of adorable like this... even if I know you’re not supposed to be."
Despite knowing the reality behind it all, Macy couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. There was a strange comfort in holding Jeffie, in rocking him like this. Whatever came next, however things would eventually be fixed probably, for now she simply held him close, letting the moment be what it was.