The Pink Rooms

The Pink Rooms

By Amy Sadler © 2026

Author’s Notes:

This story was very much inspired by The Back Rooms, and this story is a Sissy version of that.

Chapter 1

Walace Carter of 18 years old, stood on the manicured green. He is dressed in a monochromatic blue ensemble: blue polo, blue slacks, blue socks. He grips the club, eyes narrowed. He was at Menzies Golf Course in the far east end of Florida.

“Just one clean shot. That is all I need.”

Said Walace, as he swings. The club connects with a sharp crack. The ball rockets into the air, soaring over the fairway, crossing a vast stretch of grass dotted with white sand traps. The ball arcs and drops with a soft thud directly into the centre of a bunker.

“Oh man. Not a sand bunker. I hate those things.”

Said Walace with a sigh, as he heaves his bag of clubs over his shoulder. He trudges toward the trap, his blue shoes crunching on the grass. He reaches the edge of the sand and peers in.

“Wait! Where is the god damn golf ball? I swear that it landed exactly right here!”

Remarked Walace in total dismay.

He steps into the sand. He circles the perimeter, kicking at the white grains. He moves toward the dead centre of the bunker, scanning the horizon of the pit.

“It must be here. It cannot have just vanished.”

Suddenly, the sand beneath his feet gives way. There is no sound, no warning. The ground simply ceases to exist. -

“Ahhh!”

Walace screamed, as he fell.

Walace slams down onto a plush surface. He gasps, the air knocked out of him. He rolls over, staring up at a ceiling that glows with a soft, oppressive light. Everything is pink.

“Pink! Man, I hate pink. What is this place?”

Asked Walace, as he stood up, brushing his hands against a carpet the colour of a crushed carnation. He looks around. He is in a massive office-like space. Corridors branch off in every direction, like the veins of a leaf. The walls are covered in a wallpaper with a swirling, unsettling pattern.

“What is that? I cannot even describe those shapes. And those eyes.”

Said Walace, looking at the strange, patterned wallpaper. He steps closer to the wall. The pattern contains hundreds of stylized pink eye shapes. As he moves, he feels a prickle on the back of his neck.

“They are watching me. I just know it. They are watching me!”

Screamed out Walace in alarm.

He turns and sees a full-length mirror embedded in the wall. He walks toward his reflection, expecting to see his blue outfit. He stops dead and then he looks down at himself.

“Ahhh. No, no, no, no. This cannot be. I am wearing a pink diaper!”

Screamed out Walace in sheer shock and disbelief.

He was completely naked except for a massive, thick diaper. It was a vivid, neon pink with a shiny plastic outer lining that catches the light. He reaches down, his fingers fumbling for the adhesive tapes on his hips.

“What? No way! These damn diaper tapes will not bloody well come off. Fuck!”

Remarked Walace, as he tugs harder at the diaper tapes, but the tapes will not come off the plastic crinkled loudly in the silence of the room. He spun around, looking into another mirror across the hall. The reflection was the same. The diaper was immense, puffing out his silhouette and forcing his legs apart.

“This has got to be a joke! This must be some kind of hallucination.”

Remarked Walace in distress and despair, as he tries to take a step forward.

The bulk of the padding between his thighs prevents a normal stride. He shifts his weight, and his hips swing outward.

“Why am I walking like this? I am waddling. I am actually fucking waddling!”

Remarked Walace in shocked dismay.

“Oh my. This is precious. Walace in a pink diaper.”

Came a sudden voice from behind Walace, who whips around to see who was talking to him.

Standing a few feet away was a young girl. She has sandy hair tied into pigtails with green silk ribbons. She was wearing a green party dress with puffy sleeves and a white ribbon tied in a bow at the back. She was also wearing a pair of frilly white ankle socks and a pair of green Mary Jane’s that completed the look.

“Sarah! Sarah Jenkins?”

Remarked Walace in shocked surprise, as Sarah Jenkins was his old childhood friend, aged ten.

You look so ridiculous, Walace. Or should I call you Wendy?”

Said Sara in a fit of giggles.

“Stop laughing at me and get this damn diaper off me!”

Roared Walace in sheer complete anger.

Sarah begins to circle him, her eyes wide with amusement. She reaches out, poking the plastic surface of the diaper. It makes a sharp, crinkling sound.

“Hell, no way am I taking that off you. Besides, you look so darn cute in that pink diaper. Pink really suits you, you know!”

Said Sarah in-between fits of giggles.

“I hate pink! I hate pink! I absolutely hate it!”

Roared Walace in anger.

Sarah just simply laughed, it was a high-pitched, childish sound that echoed through the corridors. She turned on her heels and began walking away, heading toward one of the branching corridors.

“No wait! Sarah! Please come back! I will do anything for you, so long as you take this damn diaper off-of me. Anything, Sarah! And I mean anything!”

Screamed Walace in a pleading tone of voice.

Sarah does not look back. She disappears around the corner of a pink wall. Walace panics.

"Sarah. Sarah!"

Shouted Walace, but no reply came.

He tries to sprint after her, but the thick padding of the diaper catches. He stumbles, his balance off, and he nearly falls face-first into the carpet.

“Damn it! Move! Just move!”

Remarked Walace to himself, as he tries again, but each attempt to run results in a clumsy, wide-legged shuffle. He is forced to maintain the rhythmic, swaying waddle of a toddler.

“I am walking like a baby. I actually-hate every second of this.”

Retorted Walace in complete and utter frustration.

He reaches the corridor where Sarah vanished. He stops and looks up and down the hall. The walls are lined with mirrors, reflecting a dozen versions of a naked eighteen-year-old boy in a bulky pink diaper and Sarah is nowhere to be found.

(Walace. Concept Art)

“Sarah! Sarah!”

Shouted Walace, his voice echoing down the corridor, but there was no answer.

He looks at his reflection, the humiliation boiling over into rage. He raises his fist and smashes the glass of the nearest mirror.

“What? No fucking way!”

Remarked Walace in sheer shocked disbelief, as the glass does not stay broken. Before the shards can even hit the floor, the mirror reforms, seamless and smooth. Then, with a soft pop, two more mirrors appear on the wall he is facing, and two more appear on the opposite wall.

“This is not possible, man! This cannot be happening!”

He backs away, the enclosure of the narrow hall suddenly feeling like a trap. He turns to head back to the open space, but as he reaches the end of the corridor, the landscape shifts. The open area was gone. -

Walace was now in a room the size of a bedroom. Mirrors lined every single wall.

“No... where did the rest of the place go?”

Asked Walace in shocked disbelief.

He looks into the mirrors. The diaper was still there, but now, his feet are different. He looks down and he is wearing a pair of frilly pink ankle socks.

“Oh man. You have got to be fucking joking me.”

Remarked Walace in complete despair, as he bends down, grabbing the elastic of the socks and pulling at them. They do not budge. They feel as though they are part of his skin.

“Well, well, well. Look at what we have here! Walace Carter, the school bully, in a pink diaper and a pair of frilly pink ankle socks. Imagine that!”

Said a sudden voice from behind Walace. He knows the voice, but he cannot believe it, because it belongs to his old school’s Headmaster.

“H-h-headmaster Collins! What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? That is a fascinating question, Walace. A truly fascinating question indeed. Tell me, do you find the décor to your liking? I have always felt that a certain shade of blush could be quite calming for the more... volatile elements of the student body.”

Remarked Headmaster Collins quite coldly.

“I do not care about the walls! Where am I? How did you get here? Why am I wearing this stuff? Please, you must help me get these things off me!”

Pleaded Walace.

“Me-Help you? That is rich coming from you Walace. Let us examine the situation. I see a young man—though “man” is perhaps too strong a word for someone dressed as a nursery inhabitant—who spent his tenure at my institution making life a misery for everyone making them feel smaller and weaker than himself. You were a terror, Walace. A loud, arrogant, blue-clad terror.”

Roared Headmaster Collins in sheer anger.