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Hello everyone! Long time lurker but never poster. I've mostly written D&D campaigns, but after reading so many of Elfy's stories I wanted to try my hand at one myself. English is not my first language so I hope it's not too bad. Title might be a work in progress. I have more chapters planned out but I'd like to see the reception and perhaps get some feedback if possible. Thank you! I'll also provide i link to a google docs if the formatting doesn't work. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1SJRsBUVRJ00wRmzUBwhbcWuyhfvAulQgp_spXFbMGto/edit?usp=sharing Disclaimer: This story explores darker themes (see tags) that may feel unsettling. Please read at your own discretion. A Dependent Model Alicia Eriksson wasn’t your average 19-year old. She stopped measuring up to her peers several years ago…in height, anyway. Standing only about 3 feet 1 inch tall and weighing roughly 30 pounds created many vertical challenges in her life. It didn’t help that her natural, curly brown hair that gently brushed her shoulders gave her a very youthful look. She had to assert herself against many concerned mothers who tried — with good intentions — to help her out. They often thought she was a lost child while shopping in the supermarket or taking a stroll in the park. Sitting in said park Alicia scrolled through the jobsection of the local newspaper app. Across her sat the local playground, some trees, bushes and a flickering billboard that never seemed to get fixed. Alicia had tried several times to find a job. Her mother felt uncomfortable sending her to college since she believed Alicia didn’t always ‘think things through’. When she got a job, Alicia tried very hard to keep it, but her short stature proved a worthy adversary everytime, and she was fired. She tried waitressing; but constantly had to watch out or to be bumped into, which happened; a lot. She abhorred selling tickets at the cinema as people either ridiculed her or thought she was someone’s kid playing pretend. Data entering…well that was just boring really, but still! “Come on,” she said to herself with slight frustration, “Somewhere there’s bound to be a job for me. Where I don’t need to struggle all the time.” Her eyes then landed on a particular section of the app. “Huh, ‘Stars Modeling Agency now searching for new talents. Please apply by this afternoon’,” she read out loud. She pondered for a bit. “I guess it’s something I haven’t tried yet, but would they have clothes my size?” Scrunching up her face, she decided, “Well I can at the very least try. What’s the worst that could happen? Hmm, I should get there quickly before applications close.” Happy with her decision Alicia signed up for an interview on their website, wrote down the details of the place, and put them on her phone’s map. “Oh, it’s a bit across town, but closer than expected. I should be able to walk from the house and get there in 15 minutes or so. Alright, let’s get this bread!” Alicia confidently started to walk towards the Modeling Agency. Making her way across town, passing the cinema, an ice cream parlor and several houses on the way. In a small alleyway she could read out the starry sign of the agency. Inside she spotted a waiting room which was painted pastel blue, a counter with a receptionist and two other - what Alicia thought- prospective models. “Huh, weird that they are both here with their kids,” she remarked as she saw two toddlers playing with some dolls in a corner, but she didn’t pay any other attention to them. Alicia went up to the receptionist, a middle-aged woman wearing a cream-coloured cardigan. “Excuse me,” Alica said. The receptionist looked around for a bit before settling her eyes down on the diminutive woman. “I’m here for an interview with,” Alicia looked at her phone, “Sofia Juarez?” She looked at Alicia quizzically. “Hi sweetie, are you here with your mo-” “I’m here by myself, ma’am,” Alicia interrupted already knowing where the lady was going with her questions. “Here’s my ID card, I’d like to speak with Mrs. Juarez if I may?” The receptionist took Alicia’s ID and looked it over. “Well, certainly, Ms. Eriksson. Please have a seat in the meanwhile.” The woman gave Alicia back her card with an amused look on her face, but Alicia didn’t care for the woman’s expressions. Alicia grabbed a seat and started looking through her phone in the meanwhile not noticing the odd looks the other two women in the waiting room were giving her. After waiting an hour for her turn she was called into the office where Sofia Juarez was sitting. She wore business casual attire and had long raven-like hair sitting tightly in a ponytail in the back. “Ms. Eriksson?” she said with a professional tone when Alicia entered. “That’s me Mrs. Juarez. Thank you for taking your time seeing me,” Alicia said. The latina woman looked at Alicia with interest on her face. “It’s just miss for me as well. Please have seat, Ms. Eriksson, pardon if it’s not adjustable.” “I can manage it. Thank you,” Alica assured her and climbed up on the chair. “So, Ms. Eriksson,” Ms. Juarez began, “ have you ever modeled before?” “Honestly, no I have not. To be perfectly frank I’m quite jobstarved at the moment and I’m looking for any kind of opportunity I can get,” Alicia said believing that honesty would be her best bet. “I see, thank you for your candidness, Ms. Eriksson,” Ms. Juarez said and wrote some things in a document, “well we all have to start somewhere.” Alicia smiled, maybe she had a chance? “I assure you, ma’am that I’m a quick learner and even though I’m short I’ll try working really hard.” “Oh your height is of no issue, dear,” Ms. Juarez replied. “So you do carry clothes in my size? That’s very forward thinking, Ms. Juarez.” Alicia couldn’t believe the good news. “Oh yes of course. Don’t worry we have a large sortment of clothes for a woman of your stature. Now a few more questions before we conclude this interview.” Ms. Juarez proceeded to ask Alicia general questions, whether she grew up in town, where she sees herself in a few years etc. Alica answered all of Ms. Juarez’s questions to the best of her ability and looked on nervously as she looked over her clipboard, hoping her lack of experience wouldn’t be an issue. “Well Ms. Eriksson,” Ms. Juarez began, “I think Stars Agency have found their new talent.” “Really?” Alicia beamed. “Oh thank you, ma’am. I promise I won’t let you down.” The latina handed over a contract that Alicia was more than eager to sign without looking too closely at its contents. “I’m sure you will be an excellent addition to our little family, Ms. Eriksson.” “You can just call me Alicia, ma’am,” Alicia said beaming with energy. “Oh, then I insist you call me Sofia. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old," she said. Alica took a brief look at Sofia who appeared to be in her late 20s. “Of course, thank you for this opportunity, Sofia.” “You’re welcome, sweetie,” Sofia said with a genuine smile. The ‘sweetie’ comment didn’t even register in Alicia’s mind as she was too busy writing down her details in the contract. “So when should I start?” Alicia said eagerly. “Can you come in tomorrow Friday already? Our photographer Michelle will be available in the afternoon around three o'clock and I could give you some pointers and assist with clothing if necessary? There won’t be any other models in at that time so we could take some time for you to learn the ropes.” Alicia thought it seemed a little odd that the hiring manager would help with clothing, but maybe Sofia was a ‘hands-on’ type of person. Yet that thought did nothing to damper her mood. “Tomorrow afternoon three o'clock, I will be there!” Alica said, hopping off the chair. “Excellent, well Alicia I will see you then. And again, welcome to the family.” Alicia felt like she traveled on air while going back home. Even an inexperienced model could earn a lot in comparison to other professions at the current job market and she couldn’t wait to earn some money to increase her independency. I mean it’s not like living with mom is a bad thing, but a girl gotta spread her wings, right? She thought to herself as she passed the trees in the park with the flimmering billboard acting up as usual. Alicia paused for a bit to take in the nice summer’s breeze. “From here on out my life is going to change,” she said before continuing back to her house.

Okay, I know I should be working on many other stories...but I love Helluva Boss, and after someone already did a Loona de-aging fanfic (that sadly had very few canon things there, but it was still a very good story despite that), I had to get on mine, since Loona's my favorite. For those paying attention to Helluva Boss, a fair warning: this story occurs a bit after Loona gets her Hellbies shot, so some of the other things that have happened aren't going to happen in this story. I've taken a few liberties with some of the Sins that haven't appeared and Loona's past as well (as we don't know exactly what happened), so take that into account as well. Anyway, as a warning, this is Hell, so there's going to be a lot of complicated content warnings for this story that I urge you to take heed of in the tags. I promise to warn you when they come, but I do want to warn you ahead of time. Anyway, on with the show! - Chapter One: Expectations. - Octavia was tired of hearing her parents fighting, especially when it involved her. Stolas and Stella - her father and mother - were screeching at each other like homicidal demonic barn owls (don’t ask her how she knew that; some things weren’t meant for living human minds), barely paying attention to her, and yet…custody. Fucking custody. Over her. Just…why? It wasn’t fair. Yes, Loona had said that families were complicated, but this right after she had run away the last time… The owl-like Goetia heiress froze. Loona. The hellhound was definitely a bit rough around the edges, definitely sarcastic and rude, but she could talk to her, maybe? The last time, when she was lost on Earth, looking for a meteor shower she had waited years to see, it had been Loona who found her…and unlocked a side of her she thought was missing. Octavia felt like - in Loona - she had a sister, an elder sister she could confide in, someone braver than she was, someone whom she could…look up to, maybe? Her fucking emotions were getting the best of her, maybe, but hell with it. Lucifer, what if I’m being…no, time to be brave, Via, show Father and Mother what a mistake they’re making. She was going to go to I.M.P., maybe read from the Grimoire, maybe find a way to placate her parents, somehow, maybe talk to Loona, see what she thought. She had no idea Loona was already having a bad day. - Loona was pissed at Moxxie. Fucking fatass (he wasn’t really fat, she admitted to herself, but she needed another reason to hate the smug little prick.) imp was beyond late to work along with Millie, his wife. Bad enough she had five fucking years worth of her yearly Hellbies shot (She hated shots. Shots in the pound usually meant…euthanization for the hellhounds who aged out…like she had nearly been before Blitzo - known to all as “Blitz”; the “o” was silent - had adopted her. Blitz had lied to her twice, by the way: it was not “one little prick”, and her ass was still sore from it, so he lied about not feeling it as well. Thank Lucifer the cone was off, at least.) a week ago, but now he was pacing the halls, trying to figure out where they were. “Goddammit, if you could be any later, Moxxie, I’d need a fucking stopwatch to fucking time you…” Blitz muttered. If his voice didn’t clearly show his annoyance, the tic of him scratching the white and black, curved horns on his bald head certainly did. Loona knew that if the imp paced any more, he was going to wear out the floorboards - and they had survived a fire from hellectric eels (don’t ask), so she personally knew how tough they were to destroy and/or wear out. She flicked her bluish-gray hair fur to one side, her red eyes firmly focused on her most prized possession: her H-Phone 666 LX, a gift to her from Blitz for her twenty-first birthday a year ago. Then Moxxie and Millie broke down the door - quite literally. “You know that’s coming out of your paycheck, fatass,” Loona said, not even looking up from her phone as it played VoxTube videos. No response. She raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Moxxie to not defend himself from her taunts. “Okay, why are you two fucking hours late?” Blitz demanded. “We were supposed to be using the Grimoire for our target, and-“ “Sorry, Sir, but…” Moxxie twirled a strand of his white hair nervously (not that Loona was paying any attention or cared what Moxxie thought; it was clearly phone time). “We’re expecting!” Millie finished excitedly in her Wrathian drawl, her yellow eyes gleaming as Moxxie brushed her glistening black hair. “What, like a prize for being late?” Loona snarked, not even looking up from her phone. “No, silly: a baby!” Millie giggled. Blitz’s eyes went as wide as full moons, as he looked at them, doing a double-take at them. “Wha-WHAT?!” he stammered. “So, you were-“ “Well, I took the test, showed red, then went to the doctor who confirmed it!” the female imp gushed with excitement, as Moxxie wrapped his small, gentle arms protectively around his wife’s stomach. “Oh, that’s, uh, congrats!” the head of Immediate Murder Professionals (hence the name “I.M.P.”) said, his eyes gaining a semblance of…warmth? An unfamiliar emotion was growing in the pit of Loona’s stomach. She didn’t know what to call it, but she didn’t like it one bit. “So, Sir, we all have a lot of back pay from our jobs, so…” Moxxie began. “First kid’s always worth a break,” Blitz said with a jovial laugh. “Loony-Toony might have to join us later on while Millie handles the Grimoire, but-“ Loona barely heard the excited imp talking because she recognized a different, yet all-too familiar emotion bubbling up to the surface: anger. The hellhound had a nice job as the secretary of I.M.P. Yeah, going out in the human world for occasional work was fun and all, but her job was simple: open a portal to the human world, listen for when the three imps needed to get back, reopen a portal back. She had a routine. She had time to go on her phone, go to the latest Sinstagram pics and VoxTube videos, get a cup of coffee, and wait by herself, with no one’s problems but her own bugging her. And now this…this was threatening the entirety of that safe routine. And she was realizing the unfamiliar emotion was very familiar, after all: envy. A fucking imp baby with Millie replacing her job, and judging by Blitz’s expression, replace his affection for her. That’s all she was, when it came down to it: replaceable. Even after she told Blitz that she’d be there with him, she was still replaceable. The next words tumbled out of her mouth before she could take them back. “How do you know that they’re telling the truth? I mean, are you sure Moxxie can even have kids?” Loona immediately realized she had said something wrong with the immensely hurt look in Millie’s eyes, a pulsing vein throbbing dangerously in Moxxie’s temple as he drew his pistol, pointed it at her and shouted furiously, “YOU TAKE THAT BACK, YOU BITCH!” But the worst was Blitz looking…disappointed, as he said, “Now, Loony, you need to apologize to Moxxie and Millie.” “How about he apologizes for calling me the b-slur?” Loona snarled at Blitz without even thinking, her rising anger taking over. “LOONA, you will apologize to Moxxie and Millie.” Blitz’s voice was surprisingly stern, even a bit angry - a tone that, to her knowledge, he had almost never taken with her. “Oh, so you can replace me with the little brat, huh, Blitz, be a real dad as you stalk them in their private lives like you usually do? Well, guess what, Blitz: you aren’t a fucking real dad! You aren’t their kid’s dad, and you aren’t my fucking dad either!” She felt a vile concoction of satisfaction and guilt course through her as Blitz looked as if she had hit him. It almost would’ve felt better to her if he had hit her back, if he said anything at all. Even Moxxie was stunned into lowering his gun. “I-is this a bad time?” a new voice asked. Octavia Goetia had made her appearance, all four of them looking at her in simultaneous shock, the same look the demoness had on her face. Loona took the Grimoire from the safe, and Blitz didn’t even protest, the hurt look in his eyes saying all that needed to be said. “C’mon, Via, we’re crashing at my place,” Loona said darkly, as she held the Goetia heiress’s clawed hand to the demoness’s shock, leaving the job, the silent absence of a protest echoing in her heart. - Hope y'all enjoyed~ I don't know if I'll have a regular schedule for uploading; I never do, but I'll do my best every week, I think.

All right, this is my very first story, so please be kind. The ideas surrounding this have been kicking around in my head for a while and I finally thought I could share to this site that has so many wonderful, understanding people. I've already got several chapters lined up, but we'll see how far things actually get. (edit: I went back and reposted with better formatting and one or two minor grammatical changes) ---------- Chapter 1, Found "Bye hon, I'm off to class," Sarah called out as she gathered her keys and headed towards the door. Oh my gosh, I had almost forgotten it was Thursday. I looked up and called out to my wife as she reached the door, "Have a good class, see you when you get home.” And with the realization she had class tonight, things started to wake up in my loins. Class nights were when I had some private time. Sarah would be gone for at least four hours, from 4:00 until 8:00. With luck she would text around 7:30 saying she would be going out with 'the girls' and be even later. You see, I do love my wife of three years dearly, but I've always kept one deep secret from her. To put it simply, I'm an adult baby. If you don't know what that is, to put it simply, I like to dress up in diapers and pretend I'm a baby. It may sound strange, but we AB's, as we often refer to ourselves, get emotional and sexual satisfaction from it. And with Sarah off to class, I can indulge this part of myself for a while. So, when I heard the car door shut and her driving off, I got up and headed to our bedroom. As I have done many times, I quickly shed my 'big boy clothes' and dug into the back of the closet where I kept my diapers hidden. A new package, it took a moment to tug the first one out and then went over to the bed. As I lay on top of the opened diaper and lowered my bum onto the soft padding, my cock was already wide awake knowing it would soon be embraced in the absorbent garment. Pulling it up between my legs, the brush of the elastic leg bands against my thighs sent another thrill through me. As I tugged the tapes in place my bladder gave a small twinge and any normal person would have gotten up to use the bathroom. But then, I'm not exactly normal and thought, "Perfect, after playtime, baby is going to have an 'accident'." That thought brought a smile to my face and a small giggle. Time to log onto my favorite web site to see if there were any new pictures or captions. So off to the home office, I sat down with a crinkle and clicked until I found the "What's New" tab. It wasn't long before I found a new one that was enough to make me move my hand from the computer mouse to my diaper. A woman's chest, wearing a nursing bra with one cup opened. The caption read, "Good little babies can have mommy's special treat.... Good little babies wet their didees." I must confess, this hit all my 'buttons' and soon my other hand rose to my face and I was sucking my thumb on one hand while my other hand slipped into my diaper. It wasn't long and my eyes were drifting shut in incredible bliss as the only noise in the room was the crinkling of my diaper as I masturbated to another incredible climax. My thumb slipped from my lips as I gasped, catching my breath as the afterglow came over me when suddenly I heard... "Looks like you're having fun." My heart leapt into my throat as my head jerked around to see Sarah leaning against the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. Thoughts raced through my mind, "How long was she there... oh DAMN,she saw what I just... shit shit SHIT!!!" "Sarah! I... I... what are you... I thought you went to class," I stammered and stalled, trying to deflect the conversation. "You...you shouldn't be skipping..." All the while, she was walking slowly towards me as I sat there frozen, hand still in my diaper, computer still displaying the captioned picture. "It’s fine, I told the professor I wouldn't be able to make it this week. But is that REALLY what you want to talk about??" She smirked a little as she reached down, kindly but firmly gripping my wrist and pulling my hand out. Then, matter-of-factly, she declared, "First, we need to clean those fingers, I don't want your cum everywhere. Come along." With that she tugged my wrist and I rose up to follow her, down the short hallway and into the kitchen, over to the sink. Having just orgasmed and my heart still pounding, the last thing my bladder needed was the sound of running water as Sarah turned on the tap. "One thing I won't abide is you getting your cum everywhere," Sarah declared as she thrust my hand under the cool water and squirted some soap on it. The cold water made my bladder twinge and I felt a little pee leak out, with her back towards me, my other hand swiftly gripped the front of my diaper and I managed to stop the flow as she quickly washed my fingers. As she shut off the tap and turned, I blushed and jerked my free hand away from my diaper. Sarah grabbed a tea towel and started drying my fingers, saying quite clearly, "We need to talk." Oh dear, I've heard that before from when I dated other women. 'The Talk' always ended up with them leaving, me crying alone, and another round of depression. Resigned to my fate, I dropped my gaze to the floor and said softly, "Fine, I'll go change and we can..." Sarah interrupted, "No, in the living room. Now." She put a hand on my shoulder, turned me in that direction and gave me a small push. As we entered, I realized the drapes where still open and I'm waddling in front of them wearing nothing but my t-shirt and diaper. I hesitated for a moment, but Sarah urged me onward. Sarah pointed to a spot on the sofa and simply said, "Sit." Then she sat down beside me, turning towards me. She was quiet, apparently waiting for me to start. When the silence started to grow deafening, I suddenly remembered something she had said. She had told her professor last week she wasn't going to be in class tonight. I looked up and into her waiting gaze, "You planned this. You knew!! How long have you known??" Sarah put her elbow on the back of the sofa and leaned her head against her hand, "Since before Christmas." No further explanation, no criticism, just a simple statement and she once again was quiet. I did the quick math, it was now mid-April. "But that was more than four months ago, and you didn't say anything? You didn't..." Sarah looked directly at me, "I am well aware of how to use a calendar, Michael." She went on, "And how to research things on the internet, how to review your browser history, and how to search through the trash every Friday morning." I sat there, thinking how dumb I've been to have left such obvious evidence, but she continued. "I even made a couple of appointments with Cyrstal. You remember I've told you about her? My old college friend? She's a clinical psychologist now, she helped me understand quite a few things." I felt the blood drain from my face, "You...you told her? How could you do that?" Sarah sat up straight again, reached over and gently put her hand to my cheek, "Michael, she's bound by patient confidentiality. She said she's heard a lot worse. And I love you, I want to know how to help." "You mean you want to 'cure' me... good luck with that. Do you think I haven’t tried stopping? Try to be more 'normal'?" Despite her not shouting like some other women have in the past, I hung my head down and felt the tears about to start. I just know she's about to leave me just as ever women I've ever known. None have ever compared to Sarah, but I was certain our short blissful marriage was about to end. After a moment of silence, I felt her hand on my shoulder, she pulled me toward her. Pulling my head into her arms, against her chest, she hugged me tight. "Shhh... shhhh... no, I'm NOT going to do that. Crystal explained it, you can't help it anymore than you can stop breathing. It's a part of you, I understand that." She continued, while gently rubbing my back. "I am a little upset that you never told me, but my research online taught me a lot," she softly explained. "It's like there is a wall separating your two lives, your two halves, and for them to meet in real life, well I know it must be upsetting. It's like breaking a glass, sometimes it's just a chip, sometimes it shatters. But I'm here to help either way." All I could do was nod into her chest as I felt the tears trailing down my cheek. "So you're, you're not freaked out and going to leave me?" "Nope. Not at all. In fact, we're going to open up that wall together, starting right now. I want you to wet yourself. Right now." I started to sit up but her arms held me firmly. "You can't mean that, I mean I can't do that. Please don't." I whimpered. "Now Michael, every Friday for months now, I've found a diaper in the trash. And a large number of them were wet. I know you do it, there's no point in denying it. I just want you to admit it to me and show me that you trust me." And with that simple declaration, she hugged me tighter to her chest and slowly started to rock me in her arms. The tears slowed as I felt her warmth, holding me. She didn't say anything more and the room fell silent. My mind was conflicted. Part of me wanted this, wanted so much to be held in loving arms that cared for me. But years of shame and rejection are hard to overcome. I reached and hugged her arm as I closed my eyes and tried to relax. This is different, I told myself, this is Sarah and she loves me. She knew all this time and she didn't get mad, she tried to learn more she says she wants to help. After what seemed like ages, the post orgasmic need, the cool air on my legs, the stress, I finally calmed down enough, nuzzled her breast and let it happen. At first just a trickle and as so often happens, when the first trickle hits my skin I clenched reflexively and stopped it. But then I relaxed again and let go fully. All those stories about hearing it I'm sure were exaggerations, the silence in the room was so strong you could have heard a pin drop. But I felt the warmth spreading like so many times before, the padding swelling up as it did it's job. But Sarah knew, perhaps by the soft sigh as I relaxed, the tension in my muscles finally easing. Whatever it was, she knew. I felt her shift a little, then she patted the front of my diaper, "Good baby.... Good little babies wet their didees.' Hearing her say that, where had I heard that? At any rate, I blushed hard and buried my face deep into her chest as she once again hugged me tight. I was an emotional mess, from orgasmic ecstasy, to shock, fear of rejection, slowly calming and then this final step, quiet contentment and bliss. I didn't want to move from this spot ever again. But of course Sarah, ever the practical one finally stirred. Patting my diaper she said, "Okay, time to get up sweetie. It's almost six now and I made dinner reservations for seven. I want you to shower, get dressed up nice, we're going for Italian at Canale's." I'm normally not that fond of Italian, but I wasn't about to argue. Here I am, my life suddenly turned upside down and my love wants Italian. So tonight, Sarah is getting Italian. As I got up and headed for the master bath, this woman that loves me called out, "And don't forget to put your diaper in the trash sweetheart." A quick shower, dressed and when I reappeared Sarah had fixed her makeup, stood up and gave me a hug. "You look great darling, let's go." But what I wasn't expecting was as we left the bedroom she grabbed my butt and said casually, "No diaper? That's okay.... baby steps love... we'll work things out in baby steps..." ...to be continued

Hi, Just in Case is a slow-burn ABDL story. Thomas, a young student, travels to France for a 3-week-long exchange program. He expects language challenges, but not bedtime accidents or a host family with their own way of handling things “just in case”. Guided by a warm but firm caregiver, and surrounded by teasing, tender dynamics, Thomas finds himself caught between growing up… and letting go. It is my very first story. I developed the plot and used ChatGPT assist in making it a readable story, written in decent English (I hope) with French dialogues. I not a native English or French speaker, but I understand both languages quite well. Don't hesitate to give comments and feedback. I have ideas for more stories, and I welcome all feedback that could help me get better at it. I'll try to post updates frequently. The story is finished already, and it has 25 chapters that I would like to post before the end of the month. That would be about 1 chapter every day. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Prologue Six months before the trip, no one could talk about anything else. The language hallway buzzed with excitement. Posters went up. A huge whiteboard appeared outside the French classroom, covered in countdowns, doodles of baguettes and the Eiffel Tower, and the names of every student in Mr. Donovan’s second-year French class — including Thomas. It had started with a surprise announcement: the school had partnered with a French lycée for an international exchange program. One class would be chosen to spend three weeks in France — and not just as tourists. A full cultural immersion. One week of regular French classes, one week of excursions (including two whole days in Paris), and a final week doing volunteer work in a community setting: businesses, schools, clinics. Students would stay with local families, speak only French, and live like locals. The entire room had gasped when they heard. Even Thomas, who had mostly taken French as a way to avoid Spanish grammar, found himself caught in the rush of possibility. But there was a catch. Only one class could go. And it would be whichever French class earned the highest average on a written language test, scheduled two months from the announcement. Suddenly, flashcards and practice quizzes replaced gossip and idle scrolling. Even the usual slackers got serious. Lena — Lena with the dimples and the effortless accent — became an unofficial team captain, helping others study and organizing review sessions during lunch. Thomas didn’t say much during those, mostly watching her from the edges of the group, wondering if she even knew he existed. He studied too. He tried. He really did. But when the test finally came, he bombed it. Despite weeks of effort, the questions twisted themselves into gibberish the moment he sat down. He mixed up verb tenses, blanked on vocabulary, and felt panic set in so strongly that he barely remembered writing his name at the top. When he left the classroom, he kept his head down. Everyone else was buzzing about how well they did. Lena smiled when someone asked her how it went, and Thomas’s stomach sank. He spent the next few weeks praying the scores wouldn’t be made public. If he had ruined this for everyone… But then, a miracle. Three months before departure, the French teacher stood at the front of the classroom with a folder in her hands. She waited for silence, then announced: “Congratulations. Our class had the highest average. We’re going to France.” The room exploded into cheers. People leapt from their seats, hugged, high-fived. Thomas blinked in disbelief. He half-expected her to pull him aside and announce there had been a mistake. Instead, she called out the names of the top scorers: Lena, of course. A few others. Their perfect results had balanced out the weaker ones. The excitement washed over Thomas like warm water. For the first time, he let himself believe he might actually see the Eiffel Tower with his own eyes. That night, he told his mom over dinner. She hugged him tightly and promised they’d get him a suitcase of his own. But the next day, Mr. Donovan asked to speak with him privately. His tone was kind, but direct. “Your test score was... concerning, Thomas. You’re a smart student, but your French needs a lot of work if this trip is going to be a positive experience.” Thomas nodded, ashamed. “You’ll be surrounded by French speakers — in class, at home, during service. You should really try to improve before you go. Watch French films. Read children’s books, maybe. Just… try.” Thomas nodded again. But his chest felt heavy. Two months before the trip, a thick envelope from the school arrived at home. Thomas’s mom opened it during dinner, flipping through forms about packing lists, emergency contacts, and travel insurance. She filled them in while Thomas washed dishes, occasionally calling out questions. At the very end, there was a confidential section labeled medical history. Distracted by a beeping timer and a grocery reminder on her phone, she skimmed the line. “Any important medical issues the host family should be aware of?” She tapped the pen against her lip, then quickly scribbled: “Occasional bedwetting. Not recent.” She didn’t tell Thomas. She didn’t think she needed to. He hadn’t had an accident in years. One month before departure, in a quiet school in southern France, Madame Renard was finalizing the list of host families. Most pairings were easy. But one student — anonymous for privacy — had a flagged form: occasional bedwetting. It could be nothing. But it could also be a disaster for the wrong host family. Madame Renard approached Claire Lefevre, a kind woman known for being calm, capable, and understanding. Her daughter, Chloé, was in the receiving class. “Claire… this is delicate. There’s a student with a possible issue. Not confirmed, and I can’t tell you who it is. But you’ve taken care of your mother these last years, haven’t you?” Claire understood immediately. She smiled gently. “It’s not a problem. I still have the plastic sheets. And I don’t mind laundry.” She accepted the student. No questions asked. That evening, she aired out the guest room, made up the bed with fresh sheets, and added a waterproof layer beneath them — just in case. She tucked a folded onesie into the drawer. A soft sleeper on the pillow. A teddy bear beside it. It made her smile. The night before the flight, Thomas’s mom helped him zip up his suitcase. “Got your socks? Phone charger? Passport?” He nodded. She paused, then slipped something into the top pocket. “Just in case, if you get homesick,” she said. It was his old stuffed animal. A little worn, a little out of place. He opened his mouth to object — but didn’t. Across the ocean, Claire stood in the doorway of the tidy guest room. She surveyed the bed. The nightlight. The folded pajamas. The teddy bear. Then she closed the door softly behind her. “Just in case,” she murmured. And smiled. He didn’t know it yet, but France wouldn’t just change his French — it would change everything. Day 1: Friday - Arrival A Rough Landing The seatbelt sign chimed on with a soft ding, and Thomas let out a quiet groan of frustration. He’d been waiting in line for the bathroom for at least ten minutes, slowly shuffling forward with each passenger who squeezed in a final trip before landing. He was just one person away from the toilet door when the flight attendant gave him a gentle but firm look. “Please return to your seat, sir,” she said with a polite smile. “We’ll be landing shortly.” Thomas sighed and turned back. “Yeah… okay.” He eased himself into his seat, legs tense. The pressure in his bladder had been steadily growing since halfway through the flight, and the sudden jolt of the plane lowering its altitude didn’t help. It’s fine, he told himself. I’ll go as soon as we land. The plane bounced once, then again, and then taxied for what felt like forever. The moment the seatbelt light flicked off, he was halfway up — but now blocked again by the slow-moving crowd disembarking. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to show how urgently he needed to go. Down at baggage claim, he hovered near the belt, bouncing slightly on his heels. Other students from his group were collecting their luggage, one after the other, until only a few stragglers remained. Thomas’s bag, naturally, was one of the last to appear. He snatched it up the moment it thudded onto the conveyor, then checked his phone. A WhatsApp message had come in: Mr. Bellamy [Trip Leader]: Bus is here. Final boarding now. Hurry! He glanced toward the restrooms. His bladder throbbed, but there was no time. I’ll go when I get to the house. He wheeled his suitcase in the direction of the signs — but either took a wrong turn or misunderstood something, because within minutes, he found himself at a nearly empty exit lane with no sign of the school group, no teachers, and no buses. Panic tightened his chest. Another message popped up. Mr. Bellamy: Bus has been waiting 30 minutes. Where are you? Thomas: I think I’m at the wrong exit? Mr. Bellamy: Stay put. Someone is coming for you. Sure enough, a few minutes later, an airport staff member approached him. “Thomas Wright?” she asked. He nodded. “Come. Your group waits. They call security to find you.” Red-faced, Thomas followed her through a service corridor and out another set of doors, where the familiar school bus sat idling. Most of the other students were already on board, heads visible through the windows. He climbed on quickly, dragging his suitcase behind him, and found a seat near the back. The air on the bus was warm, and the movement of the vehicle over uneven streets made the pressure in his bladder spike again. He shifted in his seat and clenched. The fabric of his briefs stretched tightly across his hips, but no wetness — yet. Just pressure. Constant, terrible pressure. Welcome Home The bus stopped twice before his turn, letting off other students in front of different homes. Finally, as the bus turned down a quiet, leafy street, the teacher called out from the front: “Thomas Wright! And Lena Walker, too. Same street.” Thomas blinked, glancing to his left where Lena was gathering her bag. She gave him a quick smile. “See you around,” she said, hoisting her duffel over her shoulder as she stepped into the aisle. “Yeah. You too,” he replied, flustered. Two host families waited on opposite sides of the street. On the right stood his: a dark-haired woman in her forties with a bold red scarf, a man with a salt-and-pepper beard, and a teenage girl — around his age, holding her phone in both hands, thumbs flying. “Bonjour, Thomas ?” (Hello, Thomas?) the woman called warmly. “Oui, bonjour. Je suis Thomas.” (Yes, hello. I’m Thomas.) But even as he spoke, he scanned the house behind them, trying not to squirm. “Please—uh… bathroom?” Chloé blinked, then pointed quickly toward the house. “Toilettes ? Par ici. Vite.” (Bathroom? This way. Hurry.) He rushed toward the side door she indicated. Once inside, he barely had time to shut the bathroom door before fumbling open his pants and sitting down heavily. Relief flooded him. And then… confusion. As he reached for the toilet paper and began to pull up his briefs, he felt something cold and clammy press against his skin. His breath caught. There it was — a faint, damp patch at the front. Not soaked, not visible on his pants, but unmistakably there. He hadn’t even noticed. His face turned crimson as he pulled everything back into place, hoping desperately that it didn’t smell. Back outside, his host family greeted him again warmly. “Ça va mieux ?” (Feeling better?) the woman asked with a smile. “Oui, merci.” (Yes, thank you.) “Bon.” (Good.) She patted his arm. “Viens. Maman va te montrer ta chambre.” (Come. Maman will show you your room.) “Maman ?” he echoed. She beamed. “Oui, bien sûr. Pendant ton séjour ici, nous sommes ta famille. Je suis Maman, et voici Papa.” (Yes, of course. While you're staying here, we are your family. I’m Maman, and this is Papa.) The man nodded warmly. Thomas hesitated, then said softly, “D’accord. Merci, Maman.” (Okay. Thank you, Maman.) Chloé, standing nearby, smirked behind her phone. Her fingers never stopped moving. Upstairs, Thomas’s suitcase thudded softly onto the floor of a pastel-colored bedroom. The walls were soft yellow with pink butterflies. A unicorn lamp sat on the desk. The bed was neatly made with lavender ruffled sheets. “C’était la chambre de Chloé,” Maman explained cheerfully. “Elle a changé l’an dernier, mais celle-ci est très mignonne, non ?” (This used to be Chloé’s room. She moved last year, but this one is very cute, no?) Chloé leaned against the doorway, watching with crossed arms. Thomas sat on the bed — and froze. Crinkle. He shifted slightly. There it was again. Maman noticed his hesitation and smiled gently. “J’ai mis une protection. Une alèse… en plastique ? Le matelas est un peu taché.” (I put a protector. A plastic sheet? The mattress has some stains.) Chloé’s eyes widened. She took a step into the room. Maman added, speaking more quickly in French now: “C’est encore taché depuis deux ans. Tu faisais pipi au lit tous les quelques mois, tu te souviens ?” (It’s still stained from two years ago. You used to wet the bed every few months, remember?) Chloé’s expression snapped to horror. “Maman !” (Mom!) Maman laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “Tu es grande maintenant, ne t’inquiète pas.” (You’re a big girl now, don’t worry.) Thomas didn’t understand every word, but pipi au lit was clear enough. Bedwetting. And Chloé’s mortified face said the rest. He gave her an awkward smile. She gave him none in return. Only a quiet, slow stare that narrowed ever so slightly. Later that night Thomas stirred under the covers, not quite asleep, not quite awake. The plush bear was tucked close to his chest, the unicorn sheets smooth and cool against his skin. The room still smelled faintly like someone else's perfume — floral, sweet — and there was a soft creak from the hallway floorboards beyond the half-closed door. Then came the voice. “Mon petit, tu dors déjà ?” Maman’s gentle tone floated in from the hallway. Thomas blinked his eyes open. “Uh… what?” The door opened wider. Madame Lefevre stood there in a soft robe, a small nightlight glowing behind her. “Je voulais juste vérifier que tout allait bien. Tu es bien installé ?” I just wanted to check that everything is okay. Are you settled in? Thomas hesitated. He caught vérifier, bien, and maybe installé? He nodded slowly. “Oui. C’est bon.” She smiled and stepped a little further in. Her eyes flicked to the plush bear in his arms, and her expression softened even more. “Oh, tu as ton doudou. C’est mignon, ça.” Oh, you have your cuddly toy. That’s very sweet. Thomas felt his cheeks flush. “Uh… yeah. My mum packed it. I didn’t know.” Maman didn’t reply in English, just walked quietly to the window and pulled the curtain closed a little tighter. “Il va faire plus froid cette nuit. Et si tu as besoin de quoi que ce soit, tu n’as qu’à appeler ‘Maman’, d’accord ?” It will be colder tonight. And if you need anything, just call out ‘Maman,’ okay? He caught the word froid. Cold. He nodded again, unsure of what else she’d said. She gave him a smile, then gestured to the lamp. “Je peux éteindre ?” Can I turn it off? “Oui.” With a quiet click, the light disappeared. The room fell into soft shadow, with only a strip of hallway light glowing beneath the door. Thomas rolled over, hugging the bear closer. His thoughts drifted in slow circles — the airport confusion, the embarrassing bathroom dash, Chloé’s smug little smirk when he came down the stairs after dinner. He was tired. The kind of tired that reaches into your bones. A Little Check-In Thomas lay on his side in the quiet dark, the soft unicorn-patterned blanket pulled up to his chest. The stuffed bear rested under his arm, fur threadbare but familiar. His phone screen glowed gently against the pillow as he opened WhatsApp. 📱 WhatsApp – Thomas & Mum Mum: All settled in? How’s the host family? Thomas: Yeah, it’s nice. They’re really welcoming. Tired though. Long day. Mum: Did you remember to say thank you? 😛 Thomas: Every five seconds. I think “merci” is my most-used word now lol. Also… they want me to call them “Maman” and “Papa” 😅 Mum: Aww, that’s cute. Just be polite and go with the flow ❤️ Love you, baby. Sleep well. xx Thomas hesitated, thumb hovering. Then he typed: Thomas: Night, Mum ❤️ He locked the screen and let the phone slide onto the nightstand. Message to a Mother That same evening, far away in another time zone, a new email landed in Mrs. Wright’s inbox. 📧 Email — From: Claire Lefevre / To: Helen Wright Subject: Thomas is here safe and sound 😊 Bonsoir, Madame Wright, Just writing to say that your son Thomas has arrived safely. He had a little delay at the airport but everything is fine now. He was a bit flustered — long flight, small confusion — but very sweet and polite. He is already settling in well. We had a nice dinner together and he is now resting in the bedroom we prepared for him. (Chloé’s old room — cozy and quiet.) I added a mattress protector, just in case. Some students are nervous travelers, and I thought it better to prepare discreetly. Please don’t worry. We will take good care of him. He is in good hands here. Kind regards, Claire (Maman) Across the hall, Chloé lay in her own bed, arms folded behind her head, staring at the ceiling. Her mom had meant well. She understood that. But now some American exchange boy thought she wet the bed. She rolled onto her side, grabbed her phone, and smiled faintly. Let’s see how you like feeling embarrassed, Thomas.

Back when I was young, and fully enjoying my diapers, one of the shows I remember watching fondly was 'The Magic Garden'. Did you watch this show too? I'm wondering what markets did it air in? New York, Chicago, L.A.? I'm pretty sure 'Wonderama' was only NYC. I'm probably wrong. Romper Room, The New Zoo Review, Sesame Street was pretty new at the time. Captain Kangaroo. I definitely remember waking up from my nights sleep, in a soggy Pampers Toddler diaper, and mom would give me a bowl of the Peanut Butter Crunch while I sat down to watch the Captain. I'd eat, poop a few minutes later, and get changed into a new Pampers for the day. Probably would't get changed again for another several hours. As I can recall, maybe three or four changes a day? I just know I pretty much always felt wet. Good times. I'd do it all over if I could. Although I would have skinned and eaten that squirrel if I had the opportunity. 😏 Not to be confused with 'My Secret Garden', which was some if the classiest smut I had ever read in my teens.

1. General settings The Dragon Cave is a large cave in Atilet Slopes. According to rumors, a big treasure is guarded by a dragon there; that’s why the cave name. Several attempts to get the treasure have failed already. An adventure party is gathered in Claycliff, a small town south of the Slopes. They would like to get the treasure. 2. Character list Harold Age – early 30’s Gender & Sex – Male Class – paladin. He is a brave hero and a native party leader; strong and experienced in fighting skills. Harold was a member of King’s personal guard, but he left his job and decided to be a mercenary. The main reason was obvious - gold and money, but he also likes the leader role that he didn’t have in the King’s guard. Personality – Strict but fair. However, he isn’t used to females in party and often shows his distrust. Of course, there were no women in the army let alone King’s personal guard. Clothing & equipment: ATK: 5 DEF: 5 MATK: 0 MDEF:0 SNK: 2 ESC: 2 Priscilla Age - Early 20’s Gender - Female Sex - Female Class - Mage. Can cast a variety of spells from offensive elemental magic to smaller utility spells like creating orbs of light to brighten up dark areas such as caves. Extensive spell casting upsets her bowels so she needs to wear diapers as a precautionary measure. Most mages do not suffer from this issue so it is quite the mystery. Mana - Like other magic users, she has a finite amount of mana to cast spalls with though as a person trained in the art of magic she has much more mana than the average person. When it gets low she will need to scarf down a lot of food followed by some rest in order to replenish it. Some spells use more than others, the stronger the spell, the more mana it uses. When she has used up too much mana her body will collapse from exhaustion, rendering her unable to move her limbs until her mana is replenished again. This system also applies to healing magic but tends to be less of an issue since outside of large scale healing spells, support spells tend to require less mana to use than offensive magic. Though notably a lot of Priscilla’s utility magic costs very little mana so she will have no trouble using those unless a: she is already out of mana at that time or b: she doesn’t want to upset her tummy any further and risk an messy accident. Personality - Quiet, embarrassed and ashamed about her condition, easily flustered but is a sucker for praise. Tends to hide her face in her large hat when embarrassed. Clothing - Typical mage attire. Large hat, long cloak both a shade of purple it’s pretty by the numbers but why fix what isn’t broken, hm? And besides, the cloak can be flipped up for impromptu diaper checks! She’ll definitely throw a fit if you do that though! Equipment - She always has her trusty staff with her! It’s made of a special magic conductive wood which she carved herself! It was part of what she had to do while learning magic. It curves on the top into a C shape. ATK - 0 DEF - 0 MATK - 5 MDEF- 3 SNK - 2 ESC - 1 BLS = 50, feeling urge at 40 BLI = 2 BWS = 90, feeling urge at 70 BWI = 3, casting a spell adds 2-4 to the actual roll Kennan Age - early 40’s Class – rogue. He is not physically strong but very dexterous and perceptive. He easily can detect enemies, unlock doors and even solve puzzles. His past is partially criminal – his fingers were trained by pickpocketing. He also was careful enough not to be caught. After several years, he decided to use his skills on the other side of the law and offered his services to adventurers’ parties. These skills can be very useful in every mission. Personality – Kennan is a mature man, and he is sensitive to everybody. His personality is a direct contrast to Harold. Clothing: Equipment – besides of the dagger, Kennan is equipped with a complete set of pick-locking tools. ATK: 3 DEF: 4 MATK: 0 MDEF:0 SNK: 4 ESC: 4 Michelle Age – late 20’s Gender & sex – female Class – cleric. Michelle is a powerful healer; she can use herbs, elixirs or magic to cure all kinds of diseases and wounds. She learned all skills from her mother – a powerful witch. However, she had to pay a prize for it – she never got potty-trained; her mother had to change her diapers until Michelle left their home. Michelle still doesn’t like the diaper changes on her own and would welcome if somebody else took care of her. Personality – quite cheerful and content with her diaper condition. She even likes her diapers even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Clothing: Equipment – a bag with herbs and elixirs, a big bag with spare diapers and cleaning utensils. ATK: 2 DEF: 2 MATK: 3 MDEF:4 SNK: 3 ESC: 4 BLS = 40 BLI = 3 BWS = 120 BWI = 2 3. Scene 4.Plots and relations Kennan is a sensitive man. During his criminal past he lived in a lair together with women and even children. This experience made him sensitive, and his relationship with the female party members is almost parental; after all, they are much younger than him. He easily accepts the diapers and is willing to be a caretaker. Harold, on the other hand, doesn’t like that relationship, but he has to accept magic and healing abilities. He accepts the women even if with a bit grumbling. Occasionally, he argues with Kennan about his alleged effeminacy. Michelle is glad she has found somebody willing to take care of her and doesn’t show any sign of embarrassment when she asks Kennan to change her diapers. She even does it publicly, in front of Harold to tease him. She also likes to tease Pricsilla by checking her diapers. Prissy could probably be teased a lot by anyone of the party! Though of course not in a malicious way. And if she ever finds herself out of mana, she’s gonna need everyone to pitch in and take care of her until she can move on her own again. She is also rather frail, like physically so she is of course going to need protecting in battle. More so than the average mage. That’s part of why her body reacts so negatively if she fires off too many spells.

Little Bee: Chapter 1 Note: this story takes place in the world of “Classified: A New Life” as written by Brutal_Ink. I hope that I can do justice to their wonderfully creative work and compelling world setting. Credit as well to @destinedfordiaperstories on Tumblr for expanding the world with their phenomenal story “Sammy’s Little Problem” Classification Day. If there were two words that struck more dread into the heart of an 18 year old, nobody had spoken them yet. Classification Day, also known as the last day of Senior Year, was the day that every high school senior would find out what their future would look like. The graduating class received their test results today, and would be classified as Caregivers, Littles, or Neutrals based on a wide variety of testing of genetic markers, enzymes in the blood, and various other measurements, profiling, and characteristics, both biological and mental. The CGL Gene that was discovered after the evolutionary shift in humanity that had become known as the Great Mutation usually began to manifest after the age of 18, so the school year was scheduled to end shortly before graduating students would begin to see the changes their genetics would make to their bodies and minds, which is why test results were given out towards the end of the last day of school. Caregivers developed powerful instincts to care for those in need, as well as higher physical strength to aid them in this task. Caregivers often, but not always, adopted Littles and made sure they were happy and safe. Those that did not adopt always pursued careers that cared for and protected others. Littles were the opposite, they found themselves regressing to an earlier stage of childhood and losing varying degrees of muscle mass, motor skills, emotional regulatory abilities, and toileting skills as most found themselves effectively incontinent and irrevocably requiring diapers at all times. Level 1 Littles regressed the most, and were essentially infants. Level 2 Littles retained the vast majority of their motor skills and other faculties, their largest sectors of regression being a complete loss of potty training and significant reduction of their ability to keep their emotions under control. Tantrums were common among Level 2 Littles, and they all needed diapers as well. Level 3 Littles regressed the least, retaining much of their emotional control as well as their potty training in many cases. While some still needed diapers, many level 3 Littles needed only Pull Ups for the occasional accident, as well as nighttime, with some even being able to wear normal underwear. Neutrals saw no changes, and were essentially the same as Humans before the Great Mutation, accounting for slightly more than half of the total population. Jamie Holbrook stood in the school’s Common area, feeling a bit of trepidation. She was quite attractive, many would say cute. Petite, slender, and a Ginger, Jamie stood only 5 feet, 2 inches (157 cm) tall and weighed around 108 pounds (49 kg) if she were soaking wet and had a brick in her pocket. Jamie’s alabaster skin was dotted with freckles, and she wore her red hair in twin braids. Behind her oval-rimmed glasses, her green eyes were focused on the pristine white envelope she held. She was about to see what the future held when a piercing shriek resonated through the Commons. Apparently, Chelsea Taylor, known as the Queen of Mean, had received her results. Chelsea was one of those kids that had everything handed to them, and didn’t know what honest work even was. Chelsea’s family was wealthy, and she herself was stunningly beautiful. Tall and blonde, she knew how gorgeous she was, which was probably the root of her long list of character defects. She was an entitled, spoiled brat that thought she was better than everyone else and frequently asked if they knew who she was or who her father was and had tormented Jamie’s small circle of friends from as early as First Grade. Like Jamie, Chelsea came from a long line of Neutrals, so the results of her being a Neutral as well were all but guaranteed. Furious, she stomped up to the lab technicians that had been charged with distributing the test results. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? There is NO WAY this is right! Do you not even know how to run a blood test?” she demanded to a woman wearing a lab coat, her black hair in a tight bun. “I’m sorry, Miss…” “Taylor! CHELSEA TAYLOR! Do you know who I am?” This kind of scene was all too common on Classification Day. When someone couldn’t accept what their test results were, the responses were usually grief or extreme anger. One could teach a college level course on the Five Stages of Grief simply by observing students on Classification Day. Clearly, Chelsea was still in the first stage: Denial. The lab tech had seen this exact scene play out time and time again, a scene Jamie was watching. “No, Miss Taylor, I don’t know who you are. What seems to be the problem?” the tech asked, knowing perfectly well what the problem was. Right on cue, Chelsea moves into the second stage: Anger. “It’s these bullshit results! Level 1 Little? With all the Neutrals in my family? How could you get something so simple this wrong?” she shouted. Blinded by her anger, the Queen of Mean had no idea she had just spilled the most delicious tea that this class of Seniors had ever heard as she continued her tirade. Chelsea was one of those unpopular popular girls that was firmly entrenched in the top 5% of the social hierarchy, with the other 95% hating her due to her entitled attitude and Godzilla-sized superiority complex. Jamie noted that Chelsea had moved into the third stage: Bargaining. She was making good progress. If she had applied herself this much to her studies, the academic world would be losing quite the scholar with her soon transitioning into a Level 1 Little. “There…there has to be some mistake, right? This isn’t supposed to happen, maybe….maybe you could run the tests again?” The lab technician sighed heavily. This part was never easy. “Miss Taylor, I understand that these results are upsetting, it’s only natural. However, I can assure you that, as difficult as this is to hear, they are accurate. Our testing is exhaustive, the results triple-checked for accuracy. However….” the tech writes down a number on a sticky note and gives it to the fallen princess. “If you call this number you can request further review. For now, I suggest you report to the Nurse’s office, as you will need to be properly diapered before you leave here, you will begin to see changes very soon, so you had best be prepared. Good day.” Jamie couldn't believe what she had just witnessed. Where was this lab tech all her life to smack Chelsea down when she was….well, being Chelsea? The now-deposed Queen of Mean lowered her head for probably the first time in her life and shuffled by Jamie and a few other onlookers, having moved on to the fourth stage: Depression. All of them wore expressions of sympathy and pity. Chelsea was a bitch, sure, but nobody deserved this. Her life was essentially over, she would spend the rest of her days as a gurgling infant. The only upside being that she would more than likely no longer remember what she had lost as she endlessly emptied jars of baby food and filled her diapers. She glared at Jamie and hissed “I suppose you think that’s funny?” Before Jamie could respond with something even remotely decent, that any normal human with a shred of compassion or empathy would say, her best friend in the world, Leon, showed that he had woken up today and chosen violence. Leon Black was as nice a guy as you’d ever meet. A loyal and protective friend with long blonde hair and blue eyes, he was always trying to get Jamie to laugh. However, he had a tongue that could cut like a surgeon’s scalpel, and he wielded it with similar precision. He wasn’t one of the popular kids, which is why he and Jamie were friends. That said, nobody messed with him for fear of getting flayed to the bone by his lightning wit. By Sophomore year, he had turned so many of his classmates who had tested him into laughingstocks, the kids that liked to pick on others had decided it was best to just leave him alone. Leon was a wordsmith, and he did not hesitate to serve a plate of gourmet roast to people that clearly had it coming. The boy had simply never met a bear he didn’t want to poke with a sharp stick. Luckily, Leon could also fight, so his fists could cash the checks his mouth wrote. “Come on now, Chelsea, it’s not that bad! I mean, you’ve had people waiting on you hand and foot your whole life, what’s even gonna change,” Leon paused to take a sip of his soda, “besides your diapers, that is?” he said, the brazen teenager clearly getting payback for all these years of Chelsea making their lives tough. Chelsea couldn’t believe it, that this smartass…..NOBODY….would dare speak to HER like that. She opened her mouth to respond, but thought twice and instead launched a slap at Leon’s face. Unfortunately for Chelsea, Leon’s reflexes were almost as quick as his wit, and he swayed back out of range, the Queen of Mean’s attack completely missing him. “Hey! We don’t hit!” Leon shouted in the same tone a parent would use to admonish an unruly child. “Don’t worry Chelsea, no doubt Gucci makes some really cute onesies and frilly diaper covers. You’ll be just as fashionable as ever, I’m sure!” Rather than continue her fruitless battle against an unconquerable foe, Chelsea concedes defeat, but not before making one last attempt to save some of her soon-to-be nonexistent dignity, once her days became focused on bottles, burping, baths, and blowouts. “If someone like ME is Level 1,” she spat, “Then there is no way that a smart-mouthed, evolutionary dead end like you could possibly be anything else but Level 1 as well.” She then turned on her heel and stormed off towards the Nurse’s Office, where further humiliation in the form of a thick, fluffy diaper awaited her. “Aight, cool, see you at daycare!” Leon called after the departing Chelsea, who paused for a second, then continued on, having clearly entered into the final stage of grief: Acceptance. Jamie, who had been holding her laughter, immediately started in on Leon. She began playfully swatting at her razor-tongued best friend as she laughingly scolded him as she so often found herself doing. “You asshole….you unbelievable asshole,” she said, her voice a loud whisper mixed with laughter. “Chelsea’s as awful as they come, but not even she deserved that! What if YOU end up Level 1?” After parrying the last of Jamie’s assault, Leon grins and laughs before speaking. “Bitch please, I could be classed a Level -100, and revert to a sperm cell they have to inject back into my old man’s nutsack, and that would have still been worth it. If I’m a Level 1, I would meet my fate proudly, for I have at long last slain the Queen of Mean, and now I am awaited in Valhalla. I shall ride eternal, shiny and chrome.” Leon says while posing dramatically with his easy, warm laugh, referencing the film Mad Max: Fury Road. “WITNESS ME!” This is why Jamie loved Leon’s rogueish charm. He treated her as the little sister he never had, even though they were the same age. He always knew how to make her laugh. “You…are SUCH a prick.” Jamie retorted, letting some of her own laughter free of the pit she was forced to banish it to. “Don’t you know Little Abuse is illegal? Forget prison, you’re going to HELL, and I’m going with you for saying this, but that was awesome, Leon.” She couldn’t explain why, but she felt nervous today. At the start of the day, she wasn’t worried about her results. She came from a line of Neutrals even longer than Chelsea, but with what happened to her, a small seed of fear had crept into her heart. “You got your results?” she asked her friend. “Right here,” Leon said, holding up his white envelope. Leon’s family had a pretty good variety of Littles, Neutrals, and Caregivers, so there was a very real chance that he would end up in daycare with Chelsea. For all his cavalier attitude and jovial nature, Jamie knew her friend better than anyone. He was terrified, his joking and boasting a cover. Leon was no fool, he knew what was at stake here. He took a deep breath, and tore the envelope open. With shaking hands, he unfolded the sheet of paper. Leon read the document, his eyebrows raised, then furrowed. Jamie respected Leon’s privacy enough to refrain from trying to peek at the sheet he was reading, but the confusion he felt was unmistakable. “Dude….what the….what the hell?” he asked rhetorically. “Leon, what does it say, man? I know it doesn’t take that long to read one word and maybe a number,” Jamie said. In response, Leon flipped the paper around so Jamie could read it. Written plainly on the sheet was Leon’s Classification: BLACK, LEON JAMES: CAREGIVER. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jamie said, surprised but not that much. “I don’t get it,” Leon said, more confused than anything else. “I’m a soulless monster, not a Caregiver.” Jamie rolled her eyes and sighed, her frustration with her clueless friend peaking. “Dude, have you just not been paying for like, your ENTIRE life? Looking back, you’ve had Caregiver signs the whole time I’ve known you.” Jamie said. Leon’s confusion has not yet been pierced. “That’s crazy, what do you mean?” “Well, think about it, you’ve been looking out for me for as long as I’ve known you. When we were kids, and your mom would take us to the pool, who kept on me to keep applying sunscreen so my little Ginger ass wouldn’t get cooked? It was you, Leon. That time in 3rd grade when I forgot my lunch, you shared yours with me. When I stayed over at your house, and that big storm knocked out the power, and I was freaking out because I’m scared of the dark, who was there for me? You, stupid. When I broke my arm Freshman year, you carried my books. Who picks me up every morning for school because I don’t have a driver’s license? You.” “That’s because you’re my best friend, Jamie. You know I love you and I got your back, right?” Leon retorted. “It’s more than that man, you take care of EVERYONE. Yes, you’re an asshole with a smart mouth that I am REALLY surprised hasn’t gotten you killed at this point, but that’s just a front. I KNOW you, we can’t hide from each other. When it REALLY counts, when it REALLY matters, you come through 10 times out of 10. You’re a freakin’ rock, dude,” Jamie explains. Leon nods as he recalls all the moments Jamie reminded him of and realizes that she is right. “Yeah…you’re right, you’re SO right. I’ve always just wanted to help, I guess now I know why.” “Duh.” is all Jamie says. She hands her envelope to Leon. “Here, open that and tell me I’m a Neutral.” Leon takes the envelope and chuckles, “Yeah, right,” he says while opening Jamie’s envelope. After opening the sheet of paper containing the biggest non-spoiler in the history of Classification Day, Leon’s eyes widen for just a moment, then he gets a devilish grin on his face. “You want your results? Come get ‘em!” he says as he takes off down the hallway, away from the Commons. What Jamie doesn’t see are the tears in Leon’s eyes as she takes off after him, shouting “HEY! NO FAIR!” Leon leads Jamie to an empty part of the school hallways, not far from where their former lockers now stand empty, and comes to a stop. Jamie catches up, grinning, and punches him on the arm. “Dick,” she says with a laugh. She takes a moment to catch her breath, and notices that Leon isn’t laughing, he ALWAYS laughs his fool head off when teasing her like this. The seed of fear in Jamie’s heart has now taken root. “Hey man, what’s your problem, what’s….Leon…what’s going on?” she asks, worried. Jamie has known Leon long enough to where she knows when he is and is not messing with her, and the rogueish trickster’s demeanor is completely serious. He takes Jamie’s hand into his and looks into her green eyes. “Jamie, I brought you here because I didn’t want you to find out in the Commons and act up like Chelsea. You’re a Little,” he says, his heart breaking for the cute redheaded girl that has been his best friend from the time they met. They had never even considered dating, because they were too much like brother and sister and didn’t want to make it weird. “I’m sorry.” “What? That’s stupid, I’m gonna get you for screwing with me like this, and I’m ESPECIALLY gonna fuck you up for making me run, and…” Leon cuts Jamie off by simply shoving the piece of paper with her Classification into her hands so she can see for herself. There it was, in plain black and white, unmistakable and final: HOLBROOK, JAMIE LYNN: LEVEL 2/ LEVEL 3 HYBRID LITTLE What little color Jamie naturally possesses in her face vanishes, her features as pale as moonlight. She wasn’t going to shout and curse like Chelsea, but it still didn’t seem real. Her family had been “Oops, All Neutrals” for so long she had begun to question if she even HAD a CGL Gene. With all the subtlety of a haymaker to the face, Jamie now knows that she does, and she knows her CGL Gene’s plans for her future. As the inevitable tears begin to fall, Leon wraps his arms around the petite redhead. Standing at an even 6 feet tall, 8 inches taller than Jamie, he engulfs her in his arms and holds her head close to his chest. At this moment, Leon realizes that he truly is a Caregiver. His heart is torn to shreds for his friend, as he tries to remember lessons and protocol that he only half paid attention to in class. “It’s ok, Jamie, it’s ok, I’m here.” Leon didn’t know much about this whole Hybrid business, but what he DID know was that every Little was sent home in either a diaper or a Pull Up. Accidents were quite common, especially with the anxiety and heightened emotions the Classification of Little tended to cause. Leon knew that the Nurse’s Office was their next destination, before Jamie had an accident herself. Jamie had begun to panic, her breathing becoming shallow and ragged as tears continued to stream down her face. Her voice is meek and timid as she looks up to her friend that could continue to take his first steps into adulthood, while she would never get the chance. Instead, Jamie would be returning to the days of having her diaper changed and early bedtimes. “Leon…what am I gonna do? My dad…he….he HATES L-Littles. He’s a meanie, always…saying such awful things, and…and, there are no Caregivers in my f-f-family to…to take care of m-me. I don’t wanna wear a diaper….” Jamie says between her sobs, her last statement close to whining. Leon can’t explain it, but he KNOWS what to do. His instincts guide him, and he tightens his embrace on Jamie and softly reassures her while stroking the back of her head. “Shhhhhh…..it’s okay, I’ve got you, sweetie. Just listen to my heartbeat, ok? Maybe this Hybrid stuff means you won’t need diapers or something. There’s some Level 3 in your Classification too, you know? We can ask the School Nurse when we see her. Let’s catch our breath, and go there now, think you can do that for me?” he asks, his voice a gentle caress. It becomes clear to Leon from Jamie’s recent use of “no fair” and “meanie” that she is already showing signs of the early stages of her transition, and what she asks him next galvanizes his assessment. “Why?” she asks him timidly. “You know why, Jamie,” he responds. “She’s gonna want to DIAPER me, I don’t need it, I’m not a baby,” she says indignantly. “I know, but they won’t let you leave without protection. I know you don’t need it, but we have to see the nurse. Let’s see if we can get by with a Pull Up, ok?” Leon says to try and placate his friend. “No. I don’t want to. I don’t…” she begins before Leon cuts her off. “Jamie,” he says firmly, “this isn’t something you can refuse. Look, if you fight and try to delay, you’ll only be proving that you DO need to be in a diaper. However, if you play along and don’t fuss, I’ll bet you the Nurse will think a Pull Up is all you’ll need. Come on, honey, work with me here and let’s split the difference, ok?” Jamie hated this so much. She hated how scared and alone she felt, she hated that she had to impose on Leon like this, and most of all, she hated that he was right. She sniffled one last time as she somehow managed to bring her tears under control, and nodded in agreement. “You….you won’t tell anyone what I’m wearing, will you?” Jamie asks sadly. Taking Jamie by the hand and gently leading the stunned, unsteady girl towards the Nurse’s Office, Leon shakes his head. “Come on now, you have to know that I’d never do that to you. We’ve kept each other’s secrets for years, why would I stop now?” “It’s not gonna be a secret for long…” Jamie says, feeling a pout coming on. Leon nods. “Well, when you're right, you're right I suppose. We can deal with that later. For now, it IS still a secret from everyone except you, me, and pretty soon the nurse, so let’s take advantage of the distraction Chelsea so generously provided to make a clean getaway.” Jamie nods as the two friends approach the Nurse’s Office. Mercifully, it is nearly deserted, as all the other Littles have reported in and gone home. Jamie realizes that Leon’s little prank of running off with her Classification results wasn’t just to lure her away so she could hear the news privately. He did it to give the crowd of new Littles needing diapered time to thin out at the Nurse’s Office, so that Jamie could face this trial free of prying eyes and have just a few precious extra moments to prepare herself. Such a shame, she thought, that he wouldn’t be eligible to adopt a Little for several years. He was taking to the role wonderfully, even at this early stage. Still holding Jamie by the hand, who by now has assumed the timid demeanor of a child in trouble, Leon opens the door and gently guides her in. The school nurse, seated at her desk and tapping away at her computer, no doubt updating the student medical files with their new Classifications, looks up at the newcomers. “Well, I thought all the new Littles had already all been seen,” she says in a friendly manner as she gets up and approaches Leon and Jamie. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this over with as soon as possible. Can I please see your Classifications so I know what to get you?” Leon goes first, showing his Classification papers. “Uh, I’m just here to help. You know, support my best friend through a tough time?” he says. The nurse smiles warmly at the kindhearted (but acid-tongued) young man just beginning his journey. “I can already see that you’re going to be a wonderful Caregiver, Mr. Black. If you choose to adopt a Little when you’re able, it’s the most wonderful thing. It isn’t always easy, but it is very rewarding,” she says while Leon nods and subtly steps back while nudging Jamie forward. Figuring out that she’ll need to diaper Jamie, based on the crestfallen teenager’s silence and very noticeable desire to hide, she feels a great swell of pity for the cute redheaded girl. The nurse loved caring for Littles, but seeing them on Classification Day, when they had just had their entire lives upended and their futures rewritten, stolen, some would say, was the absolute worst part of the job. It killed Caregivers like herself to see these kids at this moment, when they needed a hug the most but were still too proud or angry to accept it. “Thank you, Mr. Black, I’ll take it from here. If you could wait outside and close the door, I’ll have your friend ready to go in no time at all. Isn’t that right, Ms…..” Jamie stood silently before realizing that was her cue to speak. “Oh...um…H-Holbrook. J-Jamie Holbrook” she says as she raises her arm to hand over her Classification paperwork. Jamie breaks down in tears and confesses “I’m a Little….” The Nurse’s Caregiver skills and instincts are so finely tuned she has Jamie wrapped in a hug before she can finish her statement, hoping to head off a major breakdown. Jamie does not resist, instead returning the Nurse’s gesture. “Hey, hey, it’s ok, sweetheart, it’s ok. I know everything seems so hard right now, and you may not believe me, but it does get better. It really does, I promise you.” The Nurse takes a look at the shaking, sobbing teenager’s paperwork while still holding on to her. She raises an eyebrow at the unusual Classification results. “A Hybrid? I’m sure that’s very confusing, but it’s not unheard of. Now, let’s get you all set, I imagine you’d like to get home and get some rest, hmm? It’s been a pretty big day after all, but it’s almost over. All the buses will have left by the time we’re done here, so do you have a way to get home safely?” the Nurse asks as she disengages the embrace and takes a step back to size up Jamie. She measures the new Little visually to see what size and style of diaper is right for her. Managing to bring her sobbing under control, Jamie answers the Nurse’s question. “Uh…yeah. M-my friend, Leon, he’s who I came in with. He…he picks me up for school and takes me home. He’s…he’s really good to me. I uh, I don’t have a driver’s license.” The Nurse steps over to a cabinet and opens it. Predictably, it is filled with various kinds of diapers in various sizes. She continues the conversation as she starts extracting various supplies. “Well, that’s for the best. All Littles have their driver’s licenses rescinded when they register as Littles, so that’s one less thing for you to worry about. Okay sweetheart, I need you to get your shoes and pants off, then hop up here so we can get this done” she says, patting the examination table and holding a plain white diaper that Jamie did not doubt would fit her perfectly. “FUCK! This is it!” Jamie thinks to herself as her fight or flight response chooses flight. She backs away from the table, stammering. “W-w-w-wait…just….just a minute…..” she squeaks out. They always did this, every one, every time. As soon as that diaper comes into play, the desperation kicks in. The Nurse sighs, her heart aching for this scared young girl. Still, she didn’t have time for this. “Jamie, honey, I know that this is really upsetting, but I also know that you know that this is going to happen, one way or another. Think of your friend, Leon. Do you really want to have an accident in his car while he’s taking you home, after he’s been so good to you and helped you get through today?” Jamie, threatened with the diaper, jumps at the Pull Up. “I know…it’s just….I’m not ready. I know everyone says that, but….can…can I have a Pull Up instead?” Jamie asks. “Jamie, your Classification is as a Level 2 and 3 Hybrid. We don’t know which aspects are going to be at what levels. It’s too early to say what kind of protection you’ll need, if any. I just want to play it safe, and start at the top. If it’s more than you need, you can step down to something lighter, and there won’t be any messes to clean up. Work with me here, sweetie. These are actually really soft and comfortable once you get used to them. I have to get SOMETHING on your bottom before you can go” the Nurse reasons, trying to lower Jamie’s anxiety before she suffers an embarrassing accident. “I know….I know, you’re right.” It’s…just…can’t we go in the opposite direction? Start at the bottom with what goes on my bottom, and I can go up if I need it? I’ll clean up any messes, honest,” she pleads. The Nurse finds what Jamie says next absolutely soul crushing. “Please…please let me pretend I’m still a big girl for a little while longer…” The Nurse’s Caregiver instincts take over, seeing a way for Jamie to salvage at least some dignity from the situation while still getting the adequate protection the redheaded Little requires. “Ok Jamie, we’ll do things your way,” she says, seeing Jamie’s expression brighten just a little bit by the Nurse letting her have her way. “Here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to give you a Pull Up, and I want you to put it on. While you’re doing that, I’m going to put a little starter kit together for you. I’ll give you a few diapers, some Pull Ups, wipes, and powder. This will give you a better idea of what you’ll need when you go to the Little supply store. You can wear what you want, but promise me that if those Pull Ups aren’t enough, you’ll change into a diaper. Tonight, when you go to bed, I want you to strongly consider a diaper. Most Littles need more protection during the night, so please just work with me here, ok honey?” Jamie nods eagerly, ready to comply if it will keep her out of diapers for even a few more hours. She hops up on the examination table, and begins to untie her shoes. As she kicks off her sneakers, the Nurse wordlessly glides by and places an unfolded Pull Up on the table, remaining close in the event her aid is required. Jamie stands, and unbuttons her pants before sliding them down her legs, leaving her in just her t-shirt, socks, and panties. Jamie picks up the clean white Pull Up and examines it, but can’t quite figure out which side goes in the back. She looks to the Nurse, her expression asking for help. “It’s like this, this mark here on the waistband goes in the back, and the longer parts of the stretchy sides are also meant to go in the back, see?” She says before continuing her lesson on basic Pull Up features. “The seams on the side are tear-away, so it’s easy to take off once it gets wet.” She runs her hands up through the leg holes, and stretches the absorbent underpants out while kneeling down. “Now, take off your panties, and step in, please” Still preferring this to an outright diapering, Jamie slips her underwear down her legs and steps into the Pull Up. The Nurse slides it up her legs, and pulls it up tight against Jamie’s petite frame. She then shows the Ginger Little how to run her fingers along the leak guards to make sure those are sitting properly. Jamie is mortified, but complies nonetheless, knowing what the alternative is. “There we are, all snug and protected, as all Littles should be,” the Nurse says with a smile as Jamie bashfully examines her new underwear and moves to get accustomed to the feel. “Feels like…like a really big pad,” Jamie says, wincing. “Still, it’s not so bad. You were right, it does feel really soft.” “See? I told you it would be ok.” the Nurse says as Jamie pulls her jeans back on over the Pull Up and buttons her pants. She then picks her shoes up and finds a chair, and quickly slips them back on before tying the laces. As she is busy with her shoes, the Nurse comes over with a box. “4 Pull Ups and 4 diapers in your size, powder, and wipes. You will need to get to a Little supply store and get some diapers either tomorrow or the next day. I know this seems like a lot, but it can run out really fast if your potty control slips too far, and the Pull Ups aren’t enough. So once you have a general idea of what you need, get to the store, ok honey?” the Nurse tells a furiously blushing Jamie as she hands the box over. As Jamie turns to finally leave, the Nurse has one last thing for the new Little: a red lollipop. “Here, take this as a reward for not fussing too much, I promise it will make you feel better. You can even have it right now,” guessing from Jamie’s shy behavior that she will be the kind of Little that likes to be given permission. Jamie takes the lollipop and thanks the Nurse for her help. She’s still embarrassed to have been essentially diapered by the gentle Caregiver, but knows that in the back of her mind, in the places she rarely has the bravery to go, she’s right. She unwraps her reward and begins to suck on the sweet red candy, and in spite of herself, must admit that it is both very tasty and is already beginning to calm her frayed nerves as she moves to exit the office and rejoin Leon. What she does not know is that the candy is actually laced with a mild anti-anxiety medication meant to calm new Littles on this, the first day of their new lives, and make them better able to handle the difficult conversations and harsh truths that are to come.

Hey there fellow diaper dwellers! Im an open Adult Baby that recently moved to the Peninsula area (near San Francisco). Considering that Im relatively new to this side of the bay, I wanted to establish some new friendships with other ABs, DLs, Furries, and Bronies who share my interest in Infantalism and Age Play Regression. A little about me. Im 32 years young, slender, straight, 5'9, caucasian and Ive been involved in the AB/DL community for over a decade. Just to note, Im not seeking anything sexual. This is a friendly get together for those who wanna engage in harmless escapism. My apartment was recently converted into a nursery, which really captures that nostalgic feel of being young. I have a room full toys, games, cartoons, plushies and baby necessities to accommodate your needs. If you wanna bring your own stuff, its actually encouraged since everyone has that special something to make them feel comfortable. One thing I ask before you contact me, is that you must be over 18. Otherwise, people of all genders and sexual preferences all welcome. In respect to everyones agenda, I feel that it would be convenient to hold these meet ups on the weekends including friday nights. Perhaps we can have sleep overs in the future if things really pan out. Cost: FREE!!! Its about making friends, not money. When: Every Sunday from 12pm - 6pm Feel free to post your questions below! Address will be revealed privately to serious attendees.

Chapter 1: “Abby, is this really necessary?” A whine sounded from her throat. Dani crossed her arms over her chest, pouting at the ceiling as her legs were held up by the ankles. A warm wipe made its way over her nether regions, cleansing every inch of her dirty bottom and between her legs. “Yes, Dani, this is necessary. It’s necessary when you willfully disregard all instructions not to eat gluten. Really, Dani, what were you thinking?” her voice was firm, not angry, but the disappointment was clear. She’d only had a tiny bite of cake left on the counter and it was only too tempting dipping her finger into the frosting and biting into the yummy sweetness. The doctor said she had Celiac disease but Dani hadn’t believed a word they said. These Amazon’s were on a power trip and the only thing the doctor believed she should be having was milk straight from an Amazon’s tit. But now her tummy ached and the messy explosion down below was the result. Abby stared down at her with the same condescending look given to all Littles trying to prove they were bigger than they actually were. “Just because you are a Little does not mean we are all out to get you. Believe it or not, Doctor Heany actually wanted to help you. This is all your own fault, Daniella. You have no reason to be upset.” Okay, she did have a point, the Little reluctantly agreed. But, that didn’t mean she had to diaper her! Dani squirmed, wiggling around on the table as the Amazon woman reached down below, pulling out the thick padding. “NO!” She cried out, anxious to get away from the monstrous article of clothing, if it could even be called that. Dani knew she had been extremely lucky the past several years. The apartment building she used to live in decided they’d no longer accommodate unadopted Little’s after her neighbor had left the sink faucet running and fell asleep which resulted in the flooding of the entire apartment. The damage wasn’t extreme but the Landlord was not pleased. The Little was adopted not even a day later and the Landlord refused to rent to Little’s any longer. It wasn’t that Dani didn’t understand the Landlord’s frustrations but everything in this world was Amazon size, meant for those eight feet and taller. They had step stools and ladders and accommodations were made for the regressed but the average unadopted Little hardly stood a chance, especially when they couldn’t even reach a sink faucet - a task that would be simple if she wasn’t so short. And she’d gotten lucky, finding an Amazon that would even rent to her in the first place because most places wouldn’t even entertain the thought. A Little pretending to be an adult, no more mature than a toddler, yeah that’ll go well… Knowing she was about to be booted out on the street, tears welled up in her eyes. She was the prime candidate for any Amazon. They just couldn’t ignore their parental instincts, seeing a Little in distress (or any Little in general). The urge to smother them with “love” back into diapers and turn their brains to mush was too strong. But Abby wasn’t like the other Amazon’s - not really, well, kind of - she was different. Abby had saved her. But it’s not how she saw it at the time. Dani had been arguing with the Landlord, a grumpy ten foot tall man who never had time for Little’s and their whims (as he liked to put it) about just needing another day or two to move out her stuff. Her best friend said she could stay with her for a while until she was sorted. But she had too much stuff to move in twenty-four hours coupled with the fact there were about fifty other Little’s moving out the same day, it was an impossible task they were meant to fail at. Look at all the Littles, too immature to follow directions correctly. Too tiny to even lift and carry out all their items. That is why instead of them doing the carrying, they need to be carried by a big and strong Amazon. He’d all but laughed in her face as she continued to argue her case, not only for herself but other fellow Littles. However, it wasn’t until after, she’d realized she’d gone a bit too far. “I’m half tempted to call the adoption center!” The man exclaimed. “Not even able to follow proper instructions, disrespectful and talking back? This is a serious case of Maturosis.” Oh god. Her heart had dropped to the bottom of her stomach, unable to do anything as she watched him pull out her phone. “Please!” She pleaded. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry-” “What’s going on here?” They’d both turned around at the sound of the voice. An Amazon, one of the tallest she’d ever seen, came strutting over across the lobby. The woman must have been about thirteen feet and that was tall for Amazon standards. Unconsciously, she backed up, eager to be rid of both Giants because while one was worrisome, two was a nightmare. “Miss Brady!” The man’s voice turned jovial at the site of his fellow Amazon. “Nothing to worry about here. Just the standard case of Maturosis, I’m dialing the adoption center as we speak.” Tears poured down her cheeks and the Amazon stared down at her, blue eyes shining with an expression she couldn’t make out. The Amazon was beautiful and blonde with curves she could only dream of having. “Oh don’t do that,” the woman smiled, waving her hand. “I’ve been searching for a Little for myself actually! I think Little Miss -“ “Daniella Avery.” Said the man with a Cheshire cat grin as he hung up his phone. “Miss Avery would be absolutely perfect! You don’t have to worry about her apartment. I’ll take it over as well.” The Little didn’t have time to run as she was quickly scooped up and swung over her shoulder. The girl let out what could only be described as a tantrum. Kicking and screaming and pounding on the Amazon’s back, that should have been the end. At twenty-one years old, this should have been the point where her life drastically changed forever and any happiness she contained disappeared. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was quite the opposite. OoOoo Abby won in the end, like always, and could only smile at the pouting Little who couldn’t have been any more adorable in her puffy pink diaper secured tightly around her waist. Honestly, she’d be content making her go out dressed in only that but Abby really didn’t have the energy to deal with the tantrum that would surely ensue. “Why can’t I at least wear a pull-up?” “Do I really need to explain this Dani?” She did not. The Little stayed silent. “You know what we agreed on. Say it.” Her hand landed down on her pale thigh tainted pink, having been slapped one to many times in response to her poor behavior. Dani frowned, rubbing at her wet eyes. “Mommy knows best and Little girls need to learn that their naughty behavior has consequences,” diapers being it. All Abby really required was obedience and a companion to watch over but not regress. The Amazon, unlike most others, did not desire a baby to look after or to be called Mommy or diaper full-time. She wanted a Little she could snuggle up with at the end of the night, a Little that would still maintain their adult mind and could have normal conversations yet acknowledge their place in an Amazon's world. Dani could handle that because her Mommy, for all-intents and purposes, always said, it could be a lot worse. She had freedoms, too many to count and it just came over the small price of being fussed over and treated at the most like a five to six year old. However, the times she was diapered, dressed up in humiliating garb and made to nurse were her own fault. It was her own stupid actions having landed her in this position. Like now. But Dani knew, if she even voiced a desire to be regressed, Abby wouldn’t hesitate. Instincts always won over in the end. “Very good,” Abby smiled, patting her head. “Arms up.” The Little complied, allowing the sparkly blue dress to be slipped over her head ending just past her knees. Abby would’ve had her permanently dressed in pink just like her nursery and about every babyish outfit she owned but seeing a diapered Little in pink and alone in public was a recipe for disaster. Hands under her armpits, she was lifted to the ground. Her legs wobbled attempting to catch her balance having been on her backside for way too long. Her head didn’t even reach halfway up to the changing table just like every other item in Amazonia and while Dani was proud to be Little, she wished she were just a few feet taller. Only at 4’8, she was short even for Little standards which made her even more delectable to the Amazons and absolutely impossible to be taken seriously, more so than her fellow Littles. Now, Abby hummed a tune, something familiar from her childhood as they stood at the mirror, brushing her red curls back into a low ponytail. “All my friends are going to see that I’m wearing a diaper,” Dani sulked looking down at the ground because she couldn’t bear to stare at her own reflection. “You don’t have to play with your friends. We can always stay here and have a Baby day. We can watch your favorite movie and cuddle and have bathtime. I know how much you love bubbles.” Her cheeks turn pink at every word, worse than the last. Dani was mortified to admit how much she actually enjoyed herself during those times. It was maybe only a year after she’d been adopted that she truly let herself relax and indulge in the lack of responsibilities, realizing she wouldn’t be taken advantage of. Being taken care of for once instead of having to worry about her every little move, was a nice change. Still, Dani couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing this was exactly what so many Little’s were fighting against, what she had fought against, and here she was enjoying it. Even now, Dani wouldn’t mind a cozy day in her favorite fuzzy pajamas. But the Little knew it was more of a punishment and there was no fun in being reminded of how stupid she’d been. “What if they say something? What if they laugh at me?” “Then they are not your friends.” Finished tying the black ribbon at the top of her hair, she was lifted into her arms. “My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore though. I don’t need a diaper, really. I’ll be fine.” “But we can’t be sure, can we?” The woman gave her a look. “Besides, you don’t have to go to your friend's house at all but I know how much you were looking forward to the, what was it… bachelorette party?” No! She couldn’t miss it! Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth as she carefully considered her next words. Abby would keep her home if she really wanted too. She didn’t even have to let her keep seeing her friends and that’s what Dani appreciated the most. But like everyone, the Amazon had her limits and Dani was inching dangerously close to crossing the line. “You’re right.” The Little finally muttered in defeat. There was no arguing her way out of this one. “Of course I am!” She bounced her in her arms. “Mommy is always right!” OoOoo It was a sunny August day as they made their way outside from the third floor and out onto the busy street. Surprisingly, Dani had no fight as she was strapped into the pink stroller (which was always a problem). Abby watched as she laid her head back, soaking up the sun and her eyes closed. A hint of a smile appeared on her lips at the very visible sight of the puffiness beneath her dress, pulled up by the strap between her thighs. She’d fussed at the frilly white socks and Mary Jane’s but really, it was the least of her concerns. Even just the tiniest argument allowed her to maintain her sanity, showing that she still had a voice to fight back against her imprisonment. She closed her eyes as to not see all the cooing Amazon’s, pretending she was somewhere on a warm island sipping a Mimosa and not stuck in this horrible contraption they called a stroller. It was a quick walk, about twenty minutes away yet it couldn’t have felt shorter as they came to a stop in front of the five story building. Tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, the area was predominantly occupied by Littles and Inbetweeners, not quite as big as Amazons but still tall enough that they were ignored by the Amazons. “Here we are!” Abby chirped. Leaning down to undo all the belts, Dani didn’t hesitate to hop out, seeing that they were alone on the street. “Here is your phone and gift for your friend,” she reached down into the bottom pocket of the stroller. “Are you fine to go in on your own?” “Yes!” Dani said eagerly, grabbing the wrapped present and tiny flip phone. The last thing she needed was her friends seeing her Mommy walking her inside like a baby. “Very well. Do you remember our rules?” Abby bent down, taking her chin in her hand so she couldn’t look away. “Yes,” she sighed. “No drinking, no dirty behavior and no boys.” Dani struggled not to roll her eyes. It was the tiny restrictions like this that got her the most fed up. She was twenty-one years old for crying out loud and the girl had needs! “I will be back at six pm but text me if you need me beforehand or want to come home early. I will be here in a jiffy.” “Six?” Dani sputtered, doing her best not to stomp her foot. “That’s only five hours! The party is going on all night -!” “Daniella!” She said sharply. “I’ve been very patient all morning with your little fits. Do you want me to make it shorter? Do you want to go at all? We can turn around right now and go back home. We could also go upstairs and spank your little bottom in front of all of your friends.” A dark look had settled over her eyes, warning she was on her last straw. “B-but,” tears just about welled up in her eyes. “I hardly see Carly and it’s her most special day! Can I stay until ten at least? Pleaseeee?” “Absolutely not. Six o’clock.” “What about nine?” Abby paused, seemingly considering her words. After a pregnant pause she said, “eight o’clock.” “Eight-forty five-“ “Daniella…” her hand warningly grasped her bottom. “Fine.” She relented. “Eight o’clock.” The Amazon sighed. “That’s your bedtime so I don't want any whiny girl later on and don’t even try to argue for overnight since there is no adult present.” “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I’ll be good!” Dani couldn’t help but squeal, knowing this was the best she was gonna get. Attacking Abby with a hug to the neck and a thousand kisses to the cheek, really she was grateful. How sad was that… happy for just another two hours… oh how much she’d fallen. Her reaction was adorable, melting the Amazon’s heart because all she wanted was for her Little girl to be happy. She didn’t want to leave her alone with a bunch of other Little’s, especially with the very grown up behaviors they still presented, but it was a necessary sacrifice if she didn’t want Dani to despise her forever. Unlike other Amazon’s, she actually cared how her Little felt which was not a popular sentiment. “Now run along,” she sighed, disentangling her arms and patting her bottom. “You don’t want to be late.” OoOoo The receptionist knew her by now, a kind Inbetweener who really didn’t care if she was Little or not just as long as no trouble was caused. She said hello, practically skipping towards the elevator that for once was placed at the right height so she could press the button. The only reason Dani hadn’t moved in here was because the complex had reached their quota for Little’s allowed. Only thirty-five percent could be occupied by Little’s in order to accommodate the Inbetweeners so they wouldn’t feel upstaged. Not that it really mattered in the end, but still, it made her pissy just thinking about the stupid rule. It was a quick ride up to the fourth floor and the party was already in full swing. “Dani!” Squeals broke out throughout the room as she walked through the unlocked door. She was embraced with hugs from her already tipsy friends, not only drunk on happiness. “Congratulations!” She exclaimed finally seeing the blonde bombshell of her best friend. She embraced the bride to be in a short white dress meant to show off her boobs and ass in the best way possible. Abby would have a stroke if she saw what she was wearing right now. Dani couldn’t help but think. “Wha-what are you wearing?” Carly stepped back, finally taking in her appearance. Her face heated up, realizing all eyes were on her and the room had gone quiet. It wasn’t a secret that she was adopted but it was embarrassing knowing she was different from everyone else. Sometimes, the energy was just off. There was them and then there was her. It was almost as if they were weary of her, as if her Littleness would rub off on them somehow. They were still her friends, nothing would change that, but these days she felt even more insecure. “Abby.” Is all she said. Hums of realization went around the living room. “I’ve got clothes and makeup in my room,” said Carly. “Go change and for fucks sake, take off the diaper. No Amazon is ruining our night.” Oh, she didn’t have to say that twice! A smile lit up her face as the energy resumed and she rushed off. A few minutes later, there are large exaggerated bangs on the bedroom door. “Knock knock knock! Open up bitch!” Olivia. She smirked. “I’m naked!” “Even better!” The door opened to reveal the girl who had been with her through thick and thin. The girl who’d contemplated begging Abby to adopt her just so they could remain together before Dani had told her what a stupid ridiculous idea that was. But that’s who Olivia was. Crass, confident and unequivocally lovable. Her caramel skin positively glowed, hair pulled up in a crown of long braids in a short midnight black dress and don’t even get her started on her long tanned legs. She’d always been the hot girl in college. The one all the boys chased after and every other girl wanted to be. “You look hot. Is that a new brand of diapers? Gucci? I heard they’re making them extra absorbent nowadays.” “Oh shut up!” They collapse into a fit of laughter, jumping on their friend’s queen size bed. Olivia was the one person she didn’t need to hide around, the one person who could turn any awkward situation into a joke and who didn’t really seem to care about her new status in life. “Help me choose an outfit before they start wondering where we are. Jesus, she’s got so many clothes.” She walks to the closet, pulling out a blood red corset dress with a dangerous slit up the side. “Too slutty?” Oliva’s brows wiggled in a suggestive manner. “Not enough!” “Perhaps, we should consult with Mommy dearest. I wonder, does she have any matching red diapers?” “Don’t give her ideas,” Dani shuttered at the thought. “Now help me into that thing and do my makeup. I want to look our age for once.” OoOoo Bachelorette parties were supposed to be sweet and wholesome, celebrating the start of a new chapter in the woman’s life. For Carly, there would be none of that cutesy crap. As Littles they already dealt with it enough. Early marriage wasn’t uncommon for Littles in Amazonia because one day you could be free and the next day stuck in a crib. You never knew how much time you had. Dani hadn’t even gotten to the point of finding a boyfriend before being adopted and the thought of marriage was a faraway dream. That’s why she couldn’t have been any more happy for her friend, getting to live out all of her fantasies. “Are you staying the night?” Olivia asked as she carefully applied her eyeliner. “Until eight.” Dani sighed. “Let me guess, Abby?” “You bet.” She muttered. ”Good thing you’ll be here for the stripper then.” “Stripper!” Dani gasped, eyes flying wide-open. “Shhh!” Olivia put her fingers to her lips. “It’s a surprise. We planned it for Carly. Don’t say anything to her!” “H-how’d you even find one?” “The Underground, duh. How else would we?” It was no surprise that any raunchy, sexual activity including drinking were off limits to Little’s. Anything that threatened the innocence of a Little was outlawed. That’s why there was the Underground. Anything a Little needed could be found there. Alcohol, Lingerie, certain activities… you just needed to know where to look. “We figured you couldn’t stay the night so they’re coming at half six.” Dani was grateful for the thought, yet her face still turned as red as her hair. They shouldn’t have to make decisions like this in the first place or change the plans just to accommodate her. Often she wondered if her presence was more of a hindrance. “Don’t be like that,” Olivia nudged her playfully. “I love you. Carly loves you. We all love you. Let loose, have some fun before you go back to baby jail. Perhaps you’ll just meet the love of your life.” Dani barked a laugh. Imagine. A stripper and a diapered Little. That would make one hell of a story. OoOoo A/N: Hey all! I know it’s been such a long time since I’ve posted but I’ve been so busy with school. I’m coming up on my last year of college, I’m in the middle of an internship and getting ready for Masters programs so literally I’ve had no time for anything else! I just wanted to post a little something because I need a break from everything. I know that I have so many stories going on but when something pops in my head, I’ve got write it down! I’ve got about one hundred drafts of different stories written but I’m still working on Baby Dolls and whatever else is posted right now. I’m not really sure how long this story will be but please stick with me! This is my first time writing a diaper dimension story so please share your thoughts and as always, I love reviews! Also, I had no clue what to title this so any better suggestions are welcome!!!

Chapter 1 - She Found Out As a work from home programmer, I had it made. My wife, Susan, was beautiful, big breasted, with red hair and a fiery personality to match. I got to work a few hours a day, and spend the rest of the time doing whatever. We had no kids, something she was biologically unable to produce because of a rare condition, so we spent our money on ourselves. Her bad habit was travel. She was always on the road for work. Sometimes in Europe, sometimes in Asia, and there were multiple yearly trips to Vegas for some stupid conventions. That left me with a lot of time by myself, and I indulge in my vice -- diapers. I had experienced a bedwetting issue during puberty, that reared its ugly head now and then, usually when I drank too much. That exposed me to the solution my parents eventually landed on -- diapers. Now as an adult, I bought and used adult diapers all the time when I was alone. It was my forbidden escape, my stress reliever. One day, when I was home by myself, and Susan was on one of her business trips to who knows where, I was sitting in a very wet diaper in the living room, on a towel on the couch. On the big screen TV I had attached my laptop. On the TV was a vial bi-sexual diaper porn. A naked woman playing "mommy" was "breastfeeding" two adult baby boys as they had their hands in their diaper stroking their cocks. I too had my hand in my diaper watching the sexy scene unfold on screen lost in the moment as I approached orgasm. That's why I didn't hear the garage door open, or Susan quietly walk into the room. "What in the holy fuck is going on here Max? Is THIS what you do when I'm not home?" Susan screamed. My eyes shot open, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Susan stood in the doorway, her luggage dropped to the floor. She was supposed to be in Japan for another three days. Her eyes were wide with shock and anger as they scanned the room—the diaper I was wearing, the towel beneath me, and the explicit scene playing out on the TV. I quickly hit the pause button, my heart racing like a jackrabbit in a cage. "S-Susan," I stuttered, desperately trying to find the right words to explain my humiliating predicament. But before I could form a coherent sentence, she stormed over and slapped me across the face. Hard. Her palm stung like fire on my cheek, and the shock of it sent a jolt through my body, freezing me in place. The TV flickered with the paused image of the "mommy" figure smiling down at her "babies," adding to my mortification. Susan's eyes were blazing with a fury I had never seen before. "How could you?" she spat, her voice trembling with disgust and hurt. "Is this what I've been missing while I'm slaving away for us?" I couldn't meet her gaze. The wetness of the diaper felt like a cold, clingy truth, a stark reminder of my secret life laid bare. "I—I don't know," I murmured, feeling the weight of her accusation crushing my chest. Susan's breathing was heavy, her chest rising and falling with rage. She grabbed the TV remote and turned the volume up, the woman's sultry voice echoing through the room. "Look at yourself, Max," she hissed, pointing at the screen. "This is what you get off to?" Just then, the two adult diaper clad men on the screen began to play with each other, grinding their diaper covered cocks against one another, while the "mommy" encouraged them on. She was fingering her pussy. Susan's jaw was on the floor, stunned with what she was watching. "I-I can explain," I managed to squeak out, my voice shaking with fear and embarrassment. "It's just something I do to relax." As I spoke those words, one of the diapered men in the video untaped the diaper of the other and took his cock in his mouth. I instinctively groaned in delight, forgetting for a split second that Susan was in the room. Her eyes snapped to me, the rage in them now mixed with a hint of curiosity. "Is this what you need?" she said, her voice eerily calm. "Is this why you've been so distant lately?" The question hung in the air, heavy with accusation and pain. I tried to pull my hand out of the diaper, but my cock was still watching the porn, refusing to let go. "Susan, it's not what you think," I whispered, my voice cracking. But she wasn't listening anymore. She was staring at the TV, the scene now depicting the two adult babies in a passionate sixty-nine, their diapers peeled back to reveal their erections. Susan licked her lips. Then one of the men mounted the other, shoving his cock inside him and calling him his "Diaper Slut." That's all I needed to hear. My cock, which had a mind of its own, was triggered, sending me into a very obvious orgasm as I shot load after load of cum into my wet diaper. "Oh my god!" I shouted. Susan spun around and stared at me appalled at the site before her, rage boiling in her eyes. "You're disgusting," she murmured, the words cutting through the silence like a knife. I sat there, my diaper now soaked with cum, feeling more exposed and ashamed than I had ever felt in my life. The scene on the TV continued, but it was as if someone had hit the mute button. All I could hear was the hammering of my heart and the harsh sound of my own ragged breaths. Susan stepped closer, her eyes never leaving mine. "Do you know how much this hurts me?" she whispered, the anger in her voice now replaced by something else—something that scared me even more. "I-I'm sorry," I choked out, the reality of the situation crashing down around me. "It's just... a thing. It doesn't mean anything. It's just for fun." "Well I'm going to show you just how much you're hurt me today with this... with this... whatever it is." In a swift motion she unbuckled her black leather belt and pulled me up off the couch. She sat down in a close by chair and pulled me over her lap. In what seemed like no time she had pulled down the back of my diaper and began spanking me as hard as she could with her belt. The sting was intense, each smack echoing through the room. The sound of the leather slapping against my bare ass was like a drum beat of humiliation. I couldn't believe this was happening. The pain grew with each hit, and my body jolted with every strike, but my cock remained stubbornly erect. "You want to be a baby?" she sneered, her hand rising and falling in a rhythm that was punctuated by my grunts and yelps. "Then I'll treat you like one." I didn't know how to process that statement, all I knew was that the beating continued without end. My ass was on fire, moving from pale white, to pink, to deep red, to spots of purple. "I can't believe this is what you do behind my back," she said with each smack. "What else are you hiding from me?" With that she threw me from her lap onto the floor. I was sobbing now, rubbing my abused ass. I looked up at her, tears streaming down my face. "I'm sorry," I whispered again, not knowing what else to say. Susan's expression softened for a moment, but then it was as if she remembered her anger. She stood up and walked over to me, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my face to look up at her. "You're going to tell me everything," she said, her eyes cold. "Everything you do when I'm not here. Every little detail of your pathetic little life." "Yes... mommy." The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, a reflex from the porn I had been watching. But as soon as they were out, I realized they weren't just a slip of the tongue. Some part of me craved the role Susan was playing, the power and control she had over me in this moment. The rage in her eyes flickered with something new, something darker, and she tightened her grip on my hair. "That's right," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "You're going to tell me everything, and then maybe, just maybe, I'll decide if I even want to stay married to a man who's been hiding in diapers like some kind of... some kind of sicko." I nodded, tears still streaming down my face. The pain from the spanking was intense, but the fear of losing Susan was even worse. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "It started after my accident when I was younger. I just... I can't help it." "Look, I know you've wet the bed a few times in our marriage, mostly when you went through that depression and drank too much, but this?" "Actually, it happens more than you know. You're just gone so much, and we're never intimate in the mornings, so you've never noticed that I've been wearing a diaper off and on for a few years now." That wasn't the right thing to say, I could see it in her eyes. "Every morning?" she asked, her grip on my hair loosening slightly. "You've been wearing diapers for years and you didn't think to tell me?" Susan's other hand slapped me across the face. "How could you keep this from me?" she yelled, her voice shaking. "How could you be so...so...twisted?" The force of her slap sent my head spinning and my eyes watered. "It's not like that," I managed to croak out, the sting of the truth burning my tongue. "It's just something that...I don't know." Susan's expression was a tumult of emotions—fury, betrayal, and a hint of something else. "Get up," she ordered, her voice laced with a firmness I rarely heard from her. I struggled to my feet, my legs wobbly and my ass throbbing with pain. She pointed to the corner of the room. "You're going to stand there," she said, "and think about what you've done. But first, tell me where you hide all this stuff, because I want to look at it all." I mumbled, "In the back of my closet. On the floor." Susan let go of my hair and walked over to our bedroom, leaving me to stand in the corner, my diaper still hanging open and my cock still hard. The coldness of the room made my skin pebble, and the pain from the spanking was a constant throb in the back of my mind. I could hear her rummaging through the closet, tossing things around, and then she emerged, her arms filled with diapers, baby bottles, pacifiers, and a few other...toys, including my spanking paddle, and a long, black dildo. "What in the fuck, Max?" Her voice was a mix of rage and disbelief as Susan dumped the contents of my secret stash onto the bed. She held up the spanking paddle, her eyes narrowed. "You've been playing with this?" I only nodded. "Well then let's get some use out of it." With that she sat on the end of the bed and pulled me back over her lap for the second spanking in the last 10 minutes. It was a leather paddle made for spanking that I bought at a local porn shop. It even said "SLUT" in red letters. As she raised it high, I felt a mix of terror and something else...excitement? The first smack was like a bolt of lightning on my already tender flesh. "You're going to get ten," she announced, her voice firm, "and you're going to count them out loud." The spanking was a symphony of pain and pleasure, each blow making me flinch and whimper, the sound of the leather on my skin punctuating the silence. "One," I managed to choke out, my voice shaky. "Two." The pain grew with each number, but so did my arousal. It was a confusing mix of emotions, but I couldn't deny that the sting of the paddle was turning me on. As Susan brought it down again, she said, "And you're going to tell me everything about this little... hobby of yours." The third smack hit me harder than the others, making me gasp. "I've been wearing them because it... it makes me feel safe," I confessed, the truth coming out in a rush. "When I'm stressed or anxious, it's like... I don't know, it just makes everything okay." "I'm supposed to do that for you, Max!" The fourth hit was the hardest. "Four," I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's not just the diapers. It's... the whole experience. The way it feels, the smell, the warmth." I could feel the wetness spreading in the diaper with every smack. "And the humiliation," I admitted, my voice barely above a murmur. "It turns me on." Susan paused, as if she was thinking. Then the spanking resumed with extra ferocity. "Five," I called out, biting my bottom lip to keep from screaming. "Six. Seven." Each number grew softer as the pain became too much to handle. I began openly sobbing. Susan paused, looking at me with a mix of anger and something that looked almost like pity. "Why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why would you need this?" "It just... it feels right," I managed to say between gasps. "It's like... it's like I'm being punished for something I don't even know I did." Susan's arm paused mid-air, the paddle hovering over my crimson ass. "Punished?" she echoed, her tone skeptical. "Yeah," I choked out, "It's like... it's like I'm being disciplined. It's a release." Susan's grip on the paddle tightened, her knuckles white. She brought it down again with a sharp crack, making me yelp. "You want discipline?" she spat. "You're going to get it." The final few blows were in quick succession and harder than ever. They made me squirm and cry harder than ever before. "Ten," I whimpered, my voice a pathetic wisp. She tossed the paddle aside and stood up, her expression unreadable. "Take it off," she said, pointing to the diaper. "Take it all off." I complied, my trembling fingers working to untape the soggy mess. The cool air hit my skin, making me shiver. I felt more exposed than ever before. The diaper fell to the floor with a wet slap, leaving me naked with my obvious hard on. "Now, tell me why you do this," Susan demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. My body was a canvas of pain, but the fear of losing her was the most overwhelming feeling. "It's just something that started when I was a teenager," I began, my voice shaking. "After the accident, it was like... a comfort thing." Susan's eyes searched my face, looking for something—understanding, maybe. "But you didn't tell me," she said, her voice tight. "You kept it all hidden from me." "I was afraid," I admitted, my voice small and pathetic. "I didn't think you'd understand." Susan's face softened a fraction, but the anger didn't leave her eyes. "Understand? Max, I'm your wife. I'm supposed to understand you, support you." "But it's so weird and embarrassing," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you'd be able to handle it." Susan sighed, her eyes scanning the pile of diapers and toys on the bed. "I don't know if I can," she said, her voice filled with a sadness that cut through me like a knife. "But I'll try." "What... what does that mean? Does that mean you won't throw all this away? Does that mean you're not divorcing me?" Susan looked at me, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. "It means," she began, her voice measured, "that I want to understand. I want to know why you need this. Maybe there's something I can do to help you. Or maybe..." she trailed off, her gaze lingering on the diapers and toys, "maybe there's something here for me too." My cock heard that answer before my brain did and rose to attention. Susan noticed, her eyes flickering down to my crotch before snapping back up to my face. "What the hell?" she said, her voice filled with confusion and a hint of revulsion. "He... uh... has a mind of his own." Susan stared at my erection with a look of horror, but I couldn't bring myself to be embarrassed anymore. I was too relieved she wasn't immediately kicking me out or calling a lawyer. Then she did something I never would have expected. As she began undressing she started talking in a measured and serious tone, "Honey, you know that I can never give you a baby. It's impossible. That's why we've never worried about condoms. There's no need." I nodded my head. I was lucky there. "But maybe you can give me a baby?" By this point she was down to her underwear. She had a hot red thong on, and a matching bra that was trying but failing to contain her enormous tits. "What... what do you mean?" Her eyes met mine, a fiery intensity burning within them. "I mean," she said, her voice low and deliberate, "that maybe there's something in this...this lifestyle that we can explore together." My heart pounded in my chest as Susan reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting her breasts spill out. They were magnificent, full and firm, the nipples erect with arousal. She slid her thong down her legs, revealing her bare pussy, already glistening with wetness. My cock throbbed in response, the pain from the spanking forgotten in the face of her sudden openness. "Maybe you can be my baby, Max? I'll diaper you, feed you, spank you when you're bad. You could even suck on my boobs and see if they eventually produce milk." My cock jumped at that suggestion. "But first... fuck me one last time as my husband." Without thinking about what that meant I pushed her onto the bed. Her eyes widened with a mix of surprise and desire as she fell back onto the soft mattress. I climbed over her, my body trembling with anticipation and fear. The smell of her arousal mixed with the faint scent of the diaper, creating an intoxicating aroma that fueled my need. My cock, still hard despite the pain, found its way to her wet opening, and I slammed into her with an urgency that surprised us both. She gasped, arching her back, her breasts bouncing as she wrapped her legs around my waist. The pain from the spanking was a distant memory now, replaced by the fierce pleasure of Susan's warmth enveloping me. Her nails dug into my back as I pounded into her, her moans growing louder with each thrust. The bed creaked beneath us, a rhythmic soundtrack to our desperate coupling. I could see the shock slowly morph into something else in her eyes—desire, mixed with a hint of the love that had always been there. My hips moved faster, driven by a primal need to claim her, to show her that even in my most vulnerable state, I could still be a man she could want. Susan's legs tightened around me, her heels digging into my ass, urging me on. I'm not a well endowed man, but I can fuck... I think... and I was doing it with gusto. "Ugh... ugh... ugh... your pussy feels incredible!" As I continued to fuck her, Susan's eyes rolled back into her head. It had been months since we were intimate together. It had become a rare occurrence where she mostly laid there and waited for me to quickly finish. But tonight, I had cum already, so I had a little stamina in me. Her pussy was tight around my cock, gripping it like a vice as she matched my rhythm with her own desperate movements. "Cum for me, Max," she moaned, her voice thick with passion. "Fuck me, baby. Yes, just like that. Cum inside me!" Her words sent me over the edge, and with a roar, I did just that, filling her up with everything I had. It was a release like nothing I had ever felt before, a culmination of guilt, fear, and an overwhelming desire to be accepted by the woman I loved. Susan moaned, a little lust and a little disappointment that I didn't last longer all mixed together. Then she did something she had never done before. "Now clean it up. With your tongue." My heart raced as Susan's command pierced the quiet post-coital moment. She didn't have to repeat herself. I leaned down, my mouth watering with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The taste of her was sweet and tangy, a mix of her juices and my sperm. As I licked her clean, I realized that she was just as into this as I was. After a few moments, she grabbed my head with her hands and screamed as she finally orgasmed from my feast. When I was done, Susan sat up, her eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement. "Now, let's talk about this," she said, her voice still shaky with arousal. "I don't want to just ignore it, Max. If this is what you need, I want to be a part of it. But we need to set some boundaries." I nodded eagerly, willing to agree to anything she said. "Of course," I murmured, my heart racing. "You will wear diapers 24-7 and use them for their intended purposes. No more toilet for you. Understand?" I nodded, the gravity of her words sinking in. This was really happening. Susan was giving me the chance to embrace my kink with her, but it came with a price—complete submission to her rules. "I am in charge. ALWAYS. What I say, goes, and if you disobey me, you will be spanked. Is that clear?" Her voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation. I nodded vigorously, my heart racing with both excitement and fear. "Yes, Susan," I murmured, my voice thick with anticipation. "I will feed you. We will buy a highchair that will fit you, and that's where you will have your meals. When you behave, I will let you suckle on my breasts. I will also investigate what it may take for me to actually produce milk out of them. Got it?" I nodded again, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events. This was not how I had ever imagined my life playing out, but in that moment, I was more turned on than I had ever been. "When we go out, you must wear a diaper under your adult clothes. We may have some outings where you are in more babyish clothing, which I guess I'll need to buy, but most of the time you will be dressed normally. Ok?" I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. "Okay, Susan." "Now for a few you may not like as much. First. you will now sleep in the guest room. I'll put a rubber sheet on it so you don't ruin the mattress, but we are going to make that room your nursery. I will outfit it accordingly as we do this. That also means you are never sleeping in this room again. It is now MY room. This... is MY bed. You are the baby, and sleep in the baby's room. No argument." My heart sank a bit at that, but I knew she was in charge now. "Yes, Susan." "Second, while we are home, you will address me as "mommy." Failure to do so will get you in trouble. Clear?" "Yes, mommy," I replied meekly, the word feeling strange and yet oddly comforting on my tongue. "And finally, that was the last time we will have vaginal sex ever again. You are my baby now. You are no longer my husband. If you need to "make cummies" because you're horny, we will find other ways to find you release." I was shocked... stunned. This is not what I wanted. "But Susan?" She swiftly slapped me across the face. "No arguments." I nodded, sheepishly. "When mommy needs a release, I too will find other means of that, and you will not interfere. Understood?" The words hung in the air, heavy with their newfound implications. I nodded, feeling both scared and exhilarated by the sudden shift in our dynamic. The sting of her hand still lingered on my cheek. "Otherwise, the consequences will be severe..." she paused for effect "...and expensive. Tell me you understand." I nodded, my throat tight with a mix of fear and excitement. "Yes, mommy," I murmured, the words feeling foreign yet surprisingly right. Susan stood up, her naked body a testament to the power she now held over me. She picked up the wet diaper from the floor and tossed it into the trash can. "Now go lay down on the guest room... I mean nursery bed. I will get a diaper and wipes and meet you there." I felt a mix of excitement and fear as I walked to the guest room, my legs still wobbly from the spanking and the intense orgasm. The room looked so much smaller and more juvenile than I remembered. The reality of my new life was setting in, and it was both terrifying and thrilling. When Susan joined me a few minutes later, she had a fresh diaper and a pack of wipes in her hands. She approached the bed with a stern look, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of our newfound role-play. She looked so powerful, so in control, and I found myself craving her dominance. "Lay down, baby," she said, her voice a mix of authority and tenderness. I obeyed, feeling a strange comfort in her command. She began to wipe my still hard cock clean, her touch gentle yet firm. I watched as she handled me like a mother would her toddler, her eyes never leaving mine. As she secured the fresh diaper around my waist, Susan spoke again, "Now, let's talk about this new arrangement. You're going to follow all my rules, and you're going to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?" I nodded, my voice quivering slightly. "Yes, mommy." Susan's eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of resistance or mockery. Finding none, she gave a curt nod. "Good boy," she said, and the words sent a shockwave of pleasure through me. "Now, let's get you dressed for bed." She pulled out a t-shirt I owned but hadn't worn in a while. It was quite childish with carton characters on it, not unlike the cartoon dinosaur on the diaper I was wearing. "Where did you find these diapers anyway, Maxy baby?" "Online mommy, you'd be surprised what's available on Amazon." "I guess I would," she chuckled and shook her head as she pulled the shirt over me. "Now stand up," she said firmly, and I did. SWAT! She spanked my diapered butt with her hand. I winced. "You will have regular bedtime spankings to remind you who is in charge, but I think your ass has had enough punishment for one night. Now get under the covers." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of warmth in it that I hadn't heard in a long time. I complied, sliding under the sheets and feeling the coolness of the fresh diaper against my skin. Susan bent down and kissed me gently on the forehead. "Goodnight, baby," she said, her voice a gentle purr. "Remember, this is your new life now. If you're a good boy, I'll take care of you."

Hey guys/ littles and daddies, I am in a hard spot and needing help with diapers as I can’t afford and need them, I wear a size medium and am willing to arrange things for diapers if need be. I live in KY where it’s very homophobic, and I suffer from Autism, PTSD, ADHD, severe depression, severe mood disorder. It’s so embarrassing to have to ask for help and write this as I have been off work for 2 years and am waiting for disability. Please DM me or email me with any concerns or responses…. Much love and stay padded my friends

Before we start, I would like to point out that this is an experiment. It relies on audience participation. If there is none, it will probably be ended before the story is complete. To make a long story short (pun intended), this will be sort of a collective choose-your-own-adventure story. At the end of each part of the story, there will be two alternatives to determine where the story goes next. You, being the audience, will have the opportunity to vote on these two alternatives. Please note: Only votes cast at The Scriptorium will be counted. (That is, after all, where I primarily post my work.) I will count the votes seven days after the story has been posted, and then proceed to write the next part based on which alternative gets the most votes. (If you have a suggestion you think is better than mine, feel free to add that to your vote. I might incorporate it somehow.) This introduction is fairly long but the following parts will be shorter, giving you all ample opportunity to influence the plot. Updates to the story will be posted at the same time both here and at The Scriptorium. Now, with that out of the way, on to the story. ----- THE ORDER Maria stared at the holographic screen floating in front of her, its dim glow casting long shadows on the walls of her tiny apartment. At 27, she felt like she was living someone else’s life, a life she hadn’t chosen and couldn’t escape. Her job as a data entry clerk for a mid-tier interstellar shipping company was as soul-crushing as it was mundane. The endless stream of numbers and codes blurred together, a monotonous symphony of mediocrity for a paycheck that barely covered her rent. Her personal life wasn't much better. Relationships, whether with men or women, always ended in disaster. There was Jake, who ghosted her after three months. Then came Sara, who accused her of being too clingy. And let’s not forget Alex, who turned out to be married. Each failure left her more jaded, more convinced that she was unlovable, destined to be alone. Most nights were spent scrolling through the vast expanse of the galactic net, searching for something, anything, to distract her from the gnawing emptiness inside. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, half-heartedly chasing rabbit holes of trivia and gossip. That’s when she saw it: a fleeting mention of something called *The Maternal Covenant*. The name caught her eye, not because it was flashy or bold, but because it felt... familiar, like a whisper from a dream she couldn’t quite remember. Curious, she dug deeper. But the more she searched, the more elusive the Covenant became. She spent weeks obsessing over it, her already lacklustre work performance suffering. There were no official websites, no clear descriptions, only vague hints and second-hand accounts on fringe forums. Some called it a religious order, others a cult. One forum post described it as "a place where the lost find home," while another warned it was "a one-way ticket to oblivion." One poster claimed their sister had joined and never contacted them again. And yet another said they’d received an invitation but had been too afraid to accept. There was even a cryptic reference to a "mother" who led the order. Maria devoured every scrap of information she could find, but the Covenant remained shrouded in mystery. The only consistent detail was that members of the Covenant gave up their former lives entirely, severing all ties to the outside world. It was as if the Covenant deliberately stayed out of reach, a ghost in the machine. Then, one evening, weeks after her initial discovery, an email appeared in her inbox. It was unmarked, untraceable, and addressed directly to her. The subject line read simply: Invitation. Her heart raced as she opened it. The message was brief but direct: Ms Rosso, you have been invited to join The Maternal Covenant. We sense your longing for connection, your desire for purpose. We offer you a place among us. To find us, travel to the planet New Mojave, coordinates attached. You have ten days to decide. This is a one-time invitation. Accept or decline, but know that once the door closes, it will not open again. Attached were detailed instructions on how to reach New Mojave, a remote planet on the outskirts of colonised space, barely inhabited and rarely visited. The message ended with a single line: The choice is yours, child. Maria read the email over and over. Her mind whirled with questions. How did they know about her? How did they find her? And more importantly, should she go? The following days were a blur of agonizing deliberation. She thought about her job, her tiny apartment, her handful of acquaintances who barely qualified as friends. What would she be leaving behind, really? But then there were the warnings, the whispers of cults and brainwashing, the fear of losing herself entirely. What if this was a mistake? What if she was walking into a trap? Was it even real at all, or just some elaborate hoax? She considered talking about it with her co-worker Jenna, but how could she explain the pull she felt toward something so unknown? Jenna would think she was crazy, or worse, desperate. So Maria kept it to herself, her secret weighing heavier each day. Yet, the pull persisted. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore; it was something deeper, a longing she couldn’t name. She found herself staring at the stars through her apartment window, imagining New Mojave out there, waiting for her. Waiting to give her something she’d never had. On the ninth day, she made her decision. She booked a ticket to New Mojave, her hands trembling as she confirmed the purchase. She packed a single bag, realising how sad it seemed that most of her meagre belongings fit in it. As she stood in her empty apartment, she felt a strange sense of peace. For the first time in years, she wasn’t running from something, she was moving toward it. The journey to New Mojave was long and solitary. Maria booked a seat on a cargo freighter, the cheapest option available, and she spent most of the trip in her cramped quarters, staring at the walls and second-guessing herself. The freighter’s crew barely acknowledged her existence, which suited her just fine. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, not when her entire life was hanging in the balance. As Maria stepped off the freighter, New Mojave greeted her with a stark, otherworldly beauty. Tall, jagged mountains rose on all sides of the spaceport, and the sky above them was a deep shade of blue, almost violet. The air smelled faintly of something sweet she couldn't identify. The closest city was New Newcastle, a name that annoyed Maria with its lack of imagination, and she was waiting for the transport there when she heard her name over the spaceport speakers, asking her to come to the Teranic Trans-galactic Transport desk. It took Maria a while to find it, since Teranic Trans-galactic Transport, despite its ambitious name, turned out to be a small ore-hauling company. Their desk hidden away in a corner of the goods terminal of the spaceport and manned by a single, middle-aged man wearing a dusty jumpsuit. "Yeah?" the man said, looking up from his screen when Maria cleared her throat. "Maria Rosso." Maria pointed up at the speakers. "Oh. Yeah. We have a charter for you. I just need to see some ID." Maria fumbled around in her bag, pulling out her ID card and handing it over. The man scanned the card and handed it back to her. "Shuttle 3," he said and pointed to the door to the loading docks The shuttle turned out to be a cargo hauler. As she approached, the cockpit door opened and a head popped out. "You my passenger?" the pilot asked around an enormous wad of gum. "Yeah, if you're shuttle 3." "Yep. Hop in." Maria climbed into the cramped cockpit and barely had time to strap into the spare seat and put on the offered ear muffs before the engines rumbled to life. The next several hours was spent in silence, with the exception of a couple of stops to unload or pick up cargo. She learned that her coordinates were on the outskirts of one of the many deserts in the equatorial regions. Eventually, the pilot pointed out the window and mimicked landing his hand on the console between the seats. They landed with a heavy thump that made Maria feel like her stomach took a little trip down to her pelvis before bouncing back up to its usual position. The pilot shut down the engine so the dust they had kicked up would settle. "You sure this is your stop?" he asked. "This is literally the middle of nowhere." Maria looked out the window at the ochre cloud outside. "These are the coordinates, right?" "We're about as accurate as this baby can get. So it's about two hundred metres or so in..." The pilot checked his instruments, then pointed forward and slightly to the right. "...that direction. I figured you'd want some distance for when I take off." Maria only nodded. "Look. I'm coming back this way the day after tomorrow. If you're still here, I'll give you a lift back." "I'm sure that won't be necessary," Maria reassured him. "But thank you for the offer." She picked up her bag and climbed out of the cockpit. Walked ahead in the direction the pilot had pointed, stopping when she had reached what she figured was a safe distance. Then she turned and gave a thumbs-up signal. As she turned and continued to walk, she heard the engines starting up and felt them kicking up sand and grit, stinging the back of her neck. Then the transport was gone and Maria was left in a silence unlike anything she had heard for years. There was no hum of machinery. No people talking. Nothing. She looked around. There was nothing to see either. No buildings, no people, practically no vegetation save for a few scraggly bushes here and there. In short, it was just her, the sand, and an absolutely spectacular sunset. "I guess I wait," she said to herself. Mostly to fill the silence. She sat down on the warm sand. The horizon still held a hint of red when she heard it: a distant whine of engines. It gradually grew louder as a small silver ship descended and landed. Maria picked up her bag and walked over to it. As she approached a door opened silently. She looked inside the empty cabin. The ship had to be either remote controlled or automated since there didn't seem to be any cockpit nor a pilot. There was a small piece of cardboard with her name on one of the seats. Maria climbed in and sat down. The trip was a lot quieter and smoother than the previous one and eventually, Maria nodded off. She awoke as the ship landed and an alarm began chiming softly. Through the open door, she could see lush grass and tall trees lit by the twin moons. Then she saw it. It was as if someone had tried to carve a gothic cathedral out of a dark mountain, but stopped when they were half-finished and then let it melt. There were curves that looked almost organic, but also symbols carved into the smooth walls, giving it the appearance of being both natural and artificial; both grown and constructed. A dimly lit path led from the landing path to the building. Following the path, Maria arrived at a large wooden door. She paused. This was it. The moment of no return. Her mind raced with doubts. What if they’re not what they seem? What if I lose myself? What if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life? But beneath the fear, there was something else, a flicker of hope, a whisper of possibility. What if this was the answer? What if, for once, she would belong? Maria took a deep breath, steeling herself. Then, with a resolve she didn’t know she possessed, she knocked. ----- Who answers the door? Edit (15.April): Please note that if you want your vote to be counted, you HAVE TO cast your vote at The Scriptorium. Alternative 1: A large robot with a spotlessly polished chrome plating Alternative 2: A woman wearing a long, flowing robe with a hood that hides most of her face her face.

The idea for this story wouldn't leave me alone until I started writing it just to get it out of my head. This is my take on the diapered prisoner trope along with a dash of dystopian horror. It's set in the future, a few centuries from now. No flying cars, but we've got moon and mars space colonies! And mentions of gangs and cartels doing gang and cartel things. My favorite are two adorable squishy cuddly diaper boys who come in a little later (no, they're not prisoners. They're victims and survivors) and they're the sweet and sugar to balance out any bitter. If you've read any of my other stories, you know I suffer from chronic Happy-Ending-Itis. This story is a bit different for me. I'm experimenting with a few things . I haven't written the ending yet, and I have no idea how that will turn out. 😂 SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL by Cute_Kitten aka C.K. Kat In this day and age, humanity likes to delude itself with beliefs of progression, of evolving civilization with basic dignity and human rights for everyone. Even for us convicts. I’m here to tell you right now that is a bunch of bullshit propaganda. Politicians lie and people give themselves pats on the back for progress that only exists in theory and on paper, not in reality. Who I was on the streets does not matter. What I did in the past does not matter. At least, it shouldn’t matter enough to strip away my basic human rights and violate my dignity. That is what they do in here. They strip you of everything. Literally and figuratively. I made mistakes. I can admit that. I was a poor, fatherless boy and young teenager growing up in lawless, dangerous streets. I had no choice except to do the things I’ve done. Anyone would have done the same. Survival demanded it. What would you have done in my shoes? You would make the same choices me and thousands of other lost, misfortune souls made. Let the vicious, unforgiving streets eat you alive or run the streets? Society gives you no choice. Then, when you get caught- and you will sooner or later because it happens to us all- society demands you pay the price for the choices it forced upon you. Each of us in this life think we’re smarter, we’re more clever, we’re better than the fools that get caught. We all think “I’ll never get caught.I’m not like those losers.” Until they slap the handcuffs on you and shove you into a cell. Then you realize you’re not that smart or you fucked up somewhere. I’m only twenty one and I’m going to spend the rest of my life behind bars. It’s a gross misappropriation of justice. My sentence is purely political, just so the police and politicians can look good, like they’re fulfilling their campaign promises to “get tough on crime and finally clean up the streets after decades of violence and bloodshed. Let’s make this country safe again!” This crackdown on crime resulted in harsh, lengthy sentences that turned criminals into victims of an extreme, vindictive regime. I’ve been speaking in a lot of generalities and abstracts. Let me get specific so I can help you understand. First off, the judicial and penal systems are very different in many countries. Some places execute drug smugglers (and my international gang never dared to set up shop in that country because the police are rabid and trigger happy) while other places hang homosexuals and stone to death women who were raped. My country does not have the death penalty. I wish it did. Death would be a blessed end, a heavenly release from the decades of confinement and torture I have yet to endure. I’m getting ahead of myself. I often do that. Sorry not sorry cuz I’ll probably do it again. So, my country is a tiny, insignificant dot on a map. We’re not a global superpower or political heavyweight in the international or intergalactic spheres. Hell, most people could not find our little country on a map. We’re a proud people who love our country and our culture very, very much. We were the death capital of the Milky Way for over fifty years. For five decades, two gangs ran the country in constant warfare for territory and to eliminate each other. The government barely clung to a tiny corner of land and power. They only maintained existence by striking deals with the gangs. Yeah, that’s right. Even the high and mighty bureaucracy feared us and paid us for the right to exist so we didn’t roll into the capital and curb stomp them into oblivion. The army and police were also terrified of us. We ran the prisons. Our two gangs were huge. International, with branches or tribes in nearly every country. We were working on setting up shop in the moon and Mars space colonies when there was an election. No one in my gang paid any attention. Who cared what boot-licking figurehead won? In a day or two the new president would come crawling on hands and knees, offering up a monetary tribute if we promised not to kill him. Toothless paper tigers, the lot of them. The gangs were the true power and the whole universe knew it. The citizens all feared and respected us. We literally held their lives in our hands, able to kill on a whim without repercussion. Do you see now why I had no choice but to join the gang who ruled my village when I was twelve? Survival of the fittest. Law of the wild, law of the jungle. The law changed with the new president who shook the very foundations of our country. He was a third party candidate. For over five decades, two parties dominated politics and ran on empty promises to wage war on gangs. Civilians, so sick of the death and violence and useless parties, decided to throw all their desperate hopes on a virtual unknown. We laughed. How could a no-name upstart from an insignificant third party change the very fabric of our country, our society, our communities and our very way of life? We knew he would fail just as all those before him failed. If a war broke out between the various gang factions and the government, we knew we would win just as we’d always won in the past. And that’s without the rival gangs calling a ceasefire and teaming up. Hell nah, dog. We don’t play like that, fool. The other gang is our mortal enemy. We would fight and kill each other and the government goons all at once. Even if we did get arrested, we had judges and lawyers in our pockets. We knew how to exploit the law. Even if we did go to prison, so what? We could still issue orders and run things from the inside. This new president said war, and he meant it. We thought it was just the usual political bluster. Months passed. Life carried on as usual while the president worked behind the scenes to destroy our safety nets. Judges were impeached and removed once an investigative panel found them corrupt. Prisons were restructured. A state of national emergency was declared. A new prison, a megamax specifically designed for the most violent gang members, was built in only a few months. Once the preparations were complete, the new president was ready to launch his offensive. A state of emergency was declared. Laws and due process were suspended so that swift, sweeping arrests could be made and streets cleaned up. This new president studied where and how his predecessors failed. He increased the power of the police and established special gang task forces with the sole duty of rounding up gang members. How would they identify gang members? Tattoos. These chumps had five decades to study the gangs and knew well how we operated, what each gang’s tattoos and symbols are and what they meant. Tattoos are very special and important to gang life. You have to earn them. They show off your rank within the gang, the things you’ve done for the gang, your accomplishments, and what tribe or branch of a huge, international gang you belong to. Tattoos give you instant respect and street cred. They identified you, told your story. Any non-gang member who replicated the tattoos because they thought it was cool or wanted to emulate us and appear all tough like a Billy Badass got their throat slit. If a gang member got a tattoo they had not earned, we cut it out of their skin, flaying them alive. The only way to get a tattoo, to get respect and rank, is to earn it. The government goons knew it all, every ink-stained secret compiled into a book for their jackboots. That, too, was new. We waited for the president to come grovel before us, begging on his knees for a peace deal as was tradition after each election. He never came. We should’ve realized what this meant. In our arrogance, we assumed it was because he was terrified and trying to find his balls. The special task forces were new. The Emergency Martial Laws were new. The net was wide; preparations thorough. We didn’t realize the noose was closing until too late. City blocks, suburban towns, small jungle villages; all were hit in random blitz-krieg attacks of armed men in armored, bullet proof cars rolling in and rounding everyone up for inspection. Kinda like the Nazis did to the Jews. Civilians were let go. Anyone with gang tattoos was immediately arrested. Having a gang tattoo was now a crime. No warrants, no due process. Your tattoos rendered you automatically guilty. Non-gang tattoos were immediately released with the other civilians. Skip court and go directly to jail. No bail cuz you got gang ink in your skin. You can talk with a lawyer and judge later. This is a war against violent sub-human scum, as my arresting officer told me. He also claimed they were taking the country back so kids could have childhoods and play outside and go to school without fear of trafficking, being sold or shot. The soldiers went from building to building. House to house, shop to shop, looking everywhere. Civilians- those who were once so terrified of the deadly, brutal consequences of ratting out gang members to the police- now happily cooperated because the soldiers made them feel safe. They even helped the soldiers check by pointing out all of our hiding places. We used to use civilian non-gang affiliated houses and shops when it was convenient for us. Anyone who refused suffered. Maybe a body part was cut off as a punishment and warning to others. Usually a child’s. Parents become swiftly docile when you threaten to cut off their kid’s ear or pluck out an eye. If they lived in gang territory, their lives and their property belonged to the gang. We always made sure to collect our dues. These raids were not a one and done deal. They happened repeatedly at random, snaring more gang members each time. The high ranking members, we who ran things, went straight to the brand new supermax prison built just for us. Now that you have a general idea of what has been going on in my country, let’s get to the heart of the matter. This new super prison, the diapers, the forced incontinence, and the numerous human rights violations. Yes, that’s right. Diapers. We have to wear diapers.

This story follows a 13 year old boy from England, who’s life is about to head in a totally unexpected direction. Tommy’s Trials Chapter One - Calm before the Storm Tommy was like any other 13 year old boy in England. He went to school, played video games, loved football, and had few cares in life. The boy lived a very normal life, but all that was about to change. “Wake up Tommy, it’s time for school!” shouted Mum Groggily, the lad rubbed his eyes and threw off his covers. He pulled off his grey Pokémon pajamas, allowing them to pool on the floor, with Pikachu’s yellow figure smiling back at him. Tommy loved Pokémon, even if the other kids thought it was too babyish now. He grabbed his grey school shorts, white shirt, clip on tie, black blazer, and prepared to put on his regular ensemble. It was the first day back at Riverside High School, and the summer break was over. The boy had so much fun, and now was the return the monotony of secondary school. “I made you boys some toast” said mum, as Tommy walked into the kitchen. “Thanks mummy!” squealed Tommy’s little brother Riley. The 7 year old boy was always full of energy, despite the fact it was 8am. The boys ate breakfast and prepared to leave, their emotions greatly contrasting each other. “Let’s go Riley, we’re gonna be late” exclaimed Tommy, grabbing his little brother’s hand. So they set off, with their first stop being Riverside Primary for Riley. Tommy was a good big brother & walked his annoying sibling to school every day. They arrived at Riley’s school, just a five minute walk away from Tommy’s. The boys hugged and said goodbye, but not before the supervising teacher stumbled upon them. She was new, the boys had never seen her before. “Okay boys, come on, school starts soon, get yourselves inside” said Miss Lisa, ushering them inside the great gates. Tommy instantly realised what was happening. The uniforms were similar and his secondary school blazer was in his bag, the teacher had mistaken him for a primary school kid. Tommy was small for his age, often mistaken for much younger than he was. The two brothers were similar in size, and many adults believed them to be twins at first glance. “I don’t go to this school” Tommy glumly replied, “I’m in high school”. “Oh I’m so sorry, I thought you were another one of our boys” apologised Miss Lisa. “Apology not accepted” thought Tommy, he was sick of being mistaken for a little kid, wondering when he would finally have a growth spurt. So Riley marched in excitedly, and Tommy left for Riverside High. His eyes set on the familiar ancient blue gates, a lighthouse guiding the way for ships of tired sailors in the dark morning. He mentally prepared himself for the first day of school, unknowing of the crashing waves which were about to sink his life into a totally different direction.

Alessandra or alex for short is a recently graduated from college and after all the stress from her time at school she decides he needs some down time and goes online and finds a place where she can have someone else take care of her so she decides to sign up. What she doesn't realize is that the place has all the guest wear diapers and soon regress into toddlers and babies.

The one thing Madelyn desires most in the world is to wear diapers again, and she is prepared to do anything to make that wish come true. As inexplicable as that desire is for a twelve-year-old girl, it is one she has obsessed over for the past three years. Ever since Madelyn tried on a pull-up that a distant cousin had used for bedwetting, the thought of what it would be like to forego her underwear for that padded, crinkling sensation between her legs has been a desire she has been unable to shake. Every other plan to get her hands on diapers or pull-ups has failed up to now. But this time it is going to be different. This time it is going to work. This time she isn’t going to back out at the last minute. The plan is simple. All Madelyn has to do is intentionally begin to wet the bed at night. Then, her parents will have no choice but to get her the diapers she so badly desires. What could possibly go wrong? Chapter 1: Daydreams in Class I will not chicken out this time. That was what I had told myself two days ago. That was also what I had told myself yesterday. Third time was the charm, right? It was easy to put a bold face to my latest harebrained scheme to acquire diapers from the safety of my daydreams. It was much harder when the time came to actually carry out the plan that had been brewing in the back of my mind for the past year – one I had finally decided to put into motion this week. Why would a 12-year-old girl want to wear diapers in the first place? I don’t know. All I know is that for the past three years, nothing I have done has been successful at getting this obsession out of my head. I certainly didn’t have any interest in being a baby. My younger brother, Jackson, is only six years old. I discovered where Mom kept all his old baby stuff long ago. I’ve tried his old pacifiers, bottles, and sippy cups. None of those items held any appeal for me. I can’t stand kids’ TV shows. I can’t color to save my life. And don’t get me started on dollhouses, barbies, and whatever other toys babies like to play with. In every aspect of my life other than this strange desire for diapers, I wanted to act my age. My latest plan all started a year ago with a magazine and a desire to procrastinate on my homework. There had to be some level of irony to the fact that this latest idea came about when I was seated on the porcelain throne. Mom had almost a dozen different magazines she subscribed to. Most of them found their way to the bathroom, which was also probably the only circumstance where I would have even considered reading them in the first place. I was already finished doing my business, but leaving the bathroom meant needing to continue a homework assignment I’d been slowly picking away at for the past hour. The only reason I even bothered to pick up a copy of the Reader’s Digest on that day about a year ago was for the few sections where it had funny jokes and stories. That, and I had left my smartphone in the bedroom. I really didn’t know how my parents managed when they were my age. I skimmed through the first section of jokes. Whoever had put together this edition of the magazine had totally mailed it in. There was a completely unoriginal one about redheads and souls that had me tempted to toss the magazine in the garbage. I mean, with how many magazines Mom had, would she even miss it? Redhead jokes get old really quick when you’ve had people telling you them your whole life. It has been forever since I’d been told one I hadn’t heard before. And even longer since I’ve been told one that was actually funny. Maybe I would have better luck with the second humor section toward the back of the magazine. I flipped through the pages casually when one of the advertisements caught my eye. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. There it was. Right on the page. An exact replicate of the pull-up I had briefly stolen from a cousin two years ago. But there was more. That pull-up from two years ago had been the boys’ designs. This ad showed that there were ones for girls as well. And even though I’d had a pretty good growth spurt in the past two years, the product info indicated that I wasn’t even close to being too big to wear them. I didn’t tuck the magazine in the trash, but I did take it with me from the bathroom, burying it deep inside my box of miscellaneous things in my bedroom. I’ve looked at that page at least once a day for the past year. “Earth to Maddy. Earth to Maddy. We’re calling in.” My head jerked upright from the hard wooden desk in my math classroom to the sound of laughter. “Here!” I called back to our math teacher. “Well, thank you for joining us again, Maddy. Now,” he said, pointing to a cluster of numbers, letters, and symbols on the whiteboard, “that we’ve isolated ‘x’ on this side of the equation. Can you tell us what it is?” I had enough trouble paying attention in classes that I liked. For ones I hated? The temptation to daydream was hard to resist. And I hated math class. It was hard enough when we were dealing with regular numbers. I would be lucky to scrape by with a “B-” on my report card. But now, with the end of the school year in sight, my math teacher had ever-so-helpfully decided to give us a sneak peek of some of the things we got to look forward to learning next year in eighth grade. I sucked at long division. But it at least made sense conceptually. The numbers were real, even if doing the work to get the answer was tedious. But now there was this thing the teacher called Algebra, where we were supposed to be adding up letters as well as numbers, which was beyond my ability to comprehend. Every “x” and “y” on the whiteboard seemed designed to taunt me. May as well put a “D” or a “C” on the board, as that was about what I could expect on my report card next year if this was what was in store for me. I stared blankly at the whiteboard with the sinking feeling that even if I had been paying attention for the past five minutes, I wouldn’t be any closer to understanding what was going on. “Um,” I said, picking at my nails while I continued to stare ahead. I had to at least give some kind of guess. But my brain and my mouth sometimes aren’t exactly in sync with one another. “The spot.” “I’m sorry. What was that?” Mr. Thompson asked. “You know, the spot. Like, ‘x’ marks the spot.” The classroom was full of laughter again. This time with me rather than at me. I made eye contact with one of my friends, Angie, who turned to look back at me from the front row. We shared a smirk at the joke. Mr. Thompson sighed. “Everyone settled down, please.” He gave me a look that suggested he might be once again telling my parents about how I had apparently been disruptive in class. “Now, Maddy, if you had been paying attention as we worked through this problem, you would know that the answer was actually…” I didn’t even manage to pay attention long enough to get to the answer to what ‘x’ happened to be or what sorcery had been used to arrive at that conclusion. I fixed my eyes on a spot on the whiteboard, a method I had mastered to trick teachers into thinking I was actually paying attention to their nonsense when I’d rather be daydreaming. My thoughts slipped back toward my plans for this evening. The third time had to be the charm, right? It wasn’t really my fault the first two attempts at wetting the bed had failed. The first night, I had simply been too tired. We’d had an exhausting soccer game that evening that had gone on to overtime, and we’d been shorthanded, so I hadn’t spent almost any time on the bench. I had fully intended to stay up past midnight but had used the excuse of being tired to back out of it. Instead, I let myself drift off to sleep without wetting the bed. During the second night, I’d managed to stay up until 1 a.m., but I had found it impossible to make myself pee. I simply hadn’t had enough to drink. I had considered simply pouring water on my bed, but I was worried that might not be convincing enough should my parents make a closer examination of my bedding. I could have snuck off for a glass of water in the kitchen and stayed up another hour, but again, I chickened out and pushed the plan off to another night. But tonight was going to be different. I was going to be drinking as much water as I could tonight, and I would skip going to the toilet before going to bed. Plus, tonight was Friday, which meant it was pizza night, so as long as I picked out a caffeinated soda, I should be able to keep myself up late enough for this plan to work. I realized that I was likely going to have to keep this up for multiple nights. One random night of bedwetting — after having never wet the bed since I had been potty trained at the age of two — wouldn’t be enough to convince my parents to take action. But if I could have the courage to keep it up long enough, they would have no choice but to purchase the pull-ups shown on the magazine page for me. I would make sure to leave that old magazine out in a way that would get Mom to see the advertisement. It was a desperate move, but I couldn’t wait any longer for the pull-ups. I knew from other advertisements I’d seen that these pull-ups were sold in stores. Had there been a store close by that I could bike to, I might have considered going out and purchasing some for myself on a day when I had been left at home on my own. But that wasn’t an option for me. I still had over three years to go before I would be old enough to get my own driver’s license. I had already waited three years for this. I couldn’t possibly wait three more. “Maddy. Earth to Maddy. Hey!” There was the sound of hands clapping together a single time. More laughter. I blinked rapidly, adjusting my gaze over to Mr. Thompson, where he was standing at the front of the classroom with his palms still pressed together from making the noise he had used to so rudely interrupt my daydreams. “Maddy, please just take one of the homework sheets and pass the rest behind you.” I looked straight ahead, where Chloe was holding a stack of papers with her arm stretched out toward me. She rolled her eyes at me as I grabbed them from her. In a rare moment of self-control, I did not stick my tongue out at her. I took one of the homework sheets and passed the remaining one behind me to where one of my two best friends was sitting. The three of us had initially been seated next to each other. But Mr. Thompson decided a few weeks into the school year that doing so was too much of a distraction. Emma, who had been seated to my right, was switched to the seat behind me. Angie, who had been on my left, had worse luck. Not only was she moved to the front of the class, but she had to sit next to Ryan, who had the disgusting habit of picking his nose in public. But that was OK. We’d have the whole weekend together. Tonight was the beginning of the playoffs for our U13 soccer team. We’d had a moderately successful season, meaning we’d managed to somehow win more games than we lost over the past several months. It was disappointing that the spring soccer season was so close to coming to an end, but we had the opportunity to keep it going this weekend if we could manage to string a few victories together. The bell rang as the final class of the week came to an end. Mr. Thompson belted out more instructions about the homework as I slid the piece of paper, with all its archaic symbols and equations, into my backpack. I’d just ask Angie and Emma later to see if there was something I’d missed in his instructions. I joined my two friends in the hallway. We all lived in the same neighborhood, so we rushed off to catch the bus together. They chatted excitedly about the game tonight, but I walked alongside them in silence. My thoughts were somewhere entirely else. My mind settled on the image of the pull-up I had held in my hand three years ago. The few minutes where I had examined it thoroughly, my fingers tracing over its whole surface. How it had felt to wear it for a couple of minutes before I was forced to set it aside, not knowing the opportunity was one I wouldn’t get again for years. Should everything go as planned, I would be wearing a pull-up again in less than a week. But to accomplish that, I needed to wet the bed tonight – on purpose. <><><> Three years ago If there was a single moment that perhaps best defined the last three years of my life, it was that day three years ago when it all began. The day I first laid eyes on a simple object that would become an obsession I would never be able to shake off. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I knew, intellectually, that this was what people were supposed to do. But even the sight of my aged great-grandfather lying in the open casket hadn’t moved me to tears. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t sad, but it was a more abstract kind of sadness. That kind that has someone thinking heavy thoughts about what happens after death, not that kind that leaves someone bawling on their knees. I had no memories of the man lying in the casket. My parents said I had met my great-grandfather three times. But I had been too young to have any memories of those visits. My older sister, Grace, on the other hand, was devastated. It was her first funeral as well. She had memories of her great-grandfather. The man in the casket was not an abstract concept to her, but the ghost of someone who had played with her and held her in his arms. Jackson cried as well, but that was just because he was a baby. You could never exactly tell what it was that they were upset about most of the time. The three-year-old boy likely just needed a nap. But the funeral home wasn’t where that pivotal event in my life transpired; it was merely marked the event that gave cause for all my distant relations – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins – to join together from where they were all scattered across the country. The reception after the funeral was where the fateful moment occurred. The adults ate, drank, and smoked while kids split into playing games with others of their age. There was a cohort of preschoolers huddled around a TV, watching stupid kids’ shows. On the other end of the spectrum was a collection of angsty teenagers Grace had abandoned me to hang out with. They weren’t particularly welcoming of youngsters, and my normally friendly sister had shooed me off after I attempted to tag along with her. Not that I cared that much. Other than my sister, teenagers made me a bit apprehensive. Besides, there were a half-dozen other kids my age to hang out with. My mom introduced me to two boys shortly after we arrived at the house for the reception. One of them, Alex, was eight. Though he made clear he would be nine in a few weeks, which would make him as old as me. His younger brother, Timothy, was seven. The boys were distant cousins from half-way across the country. There was some technical term Mom used for exactly what type of cousin they were to me — second cousins, twice removed. That didn’t mean anything to me. All that mattered was that they were my age and more than open to finding some way to play in order to pass the time while the adults did whatever adults did. We hit it off immediately. We did what kids that age normally do. We fell into the habit of playing simple games with each other as if we had been friends all of our lives. The two brothers were staying at the house where the reception was being hosted, so it was only fair that they gave me a tour of the massive building. We explored the expansive backyard, winding our way through the adults in the garden until we were shooed away. We played in the basement for a while, which had foosball and ping-pong tables before the teens decided that was where they wanted to be hanging out instead. But there was still plenty of house to explore. Alex and Timothy led me up a winding staircase to some rooms upstairs, where they had been sleeping while their family stayed with the relatives who were hosting the reception. That’s when I stumbled across a stunning revelation. One that would shape my life for the next three years. Haunt my dreams. Hound my thoughts. Practically drive me crazy as I was often left incapable of thinking of anything else. There was something out-of-place sitting in the corner of the room on top of a pile of discarded laundry. I tended to usually say the first thing that came to mind without regard to whether it was socially appropriate to do so. I wasn’t any better at that at the age of nine. I pointed at a blue undergarment in the corner that didn’t exactly look like a normal piece of underwear. It was not as though I didn’t have a good suspicion of what it was. But I wanted confirmation. “What is that?” Timothy walked casually over to the corner and picked it up. “Oh, that’s my pull-up.” I looked at the item in his hand. He was seven. That couldn’t possibly be his. I felt sure I was the subject of some kind of joke. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re too old to wear pull-ups.” “Older kids sometimes need to wear pull-ups,” he said, still holding the item in his hand. His defiance left me no less confused. I rolled my eyes. “I doubt that even fits you.” I hadn’t intended in any way to dare them to put the pull-up on. But that must be how that statement had come across. Alex snatched the pull-up out of his brother’s hand and tugged it on over his dress pants. “See,” he said. “It fits. We wear them ’cause we still wet the bed.” They were bedwetters. And they weren’t the least bit ashamed of it. That was at least a topic that I understood. I had no intention of teasing or bullying them. While neither my brother nor I were bedwetters, my older sister had wet the bed up until a year or so ago. Why hadn’t I put together a connection between pull-ups and bedwetting? Come to think of it. I wasn’t even sure if Grace had worn pull-ups during her bedwetting phase. She had her own room, which I was very much forbidden from going into, so if she had, there wasn’t any way I would have known about it. When I had first learned of my older sister’s predicament, my parents had sat down with me and calmly explained what bedwetting was and how I was to never shame or tease her about it. And given how privately they had handled her condition, and the fact that it hadn’t ever impacted my life at all, I truthfully hadn’t ever given her bedwetting much of a thought. Alex mistook my pensiveness while considering my sister’s bedwetting to mean that I was still confused about the topic. He launched into a long explanation with words like enuresis, explaining how bedwetting was just a medical condition that he and his brother would grow out of. “Do you wet the bed?” Timothy asked me. “No,” I replied. I came close to continuing my reply and accidentally outing my sister, but I would never do something that mean to her. Alex still had the pull-up around his waist, completely unconcerned with how silly it looked. The pull-up had a picture of Spiderman, my favorite superhero, on the front. I pointed that out, which led to another conversation about which Marvel superheroes we liked best. Timothy was big on Iron Man. But Alex insisted that Batman was better than any of them. My eyes kept glancing down at Alex’s waist. I found myself unable to look away from the pull-up for long. The sight of the pull-up around Alex’s waist raised another thought. That pull-up would fit me just as well. My distant cousin and I were both about the same size, after all. I didn’t question the desire to wear the pull-up. Once the impulse had taken hold of me, there was little else I could think of as I distractedly continued the conversation with my cousins. Our parents called us down for dinner. Alex ripped the pull-up off and tossed it back in the corner of the room before we retreated down the stairs. I was unable to concentrate during dinner. Alex and Timothy were across the table from me, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut about what I had just witnessed. I was filled to the brim with questions, most of which I would have to keep inside unless I were presented with another chance to have a private discussion with those two bedwetting cousins. But there was one question more important than any of them. One perhaps best answered on my own rather than by asking them. What did it feel like to wear a pull-up? While the adults were content to sit and chat around at the table long after their plates were clean, that wasn’t the case for us kids, and soon we were back to running around; Timothy, Alex, and I were joined by another four cousins. Big houses and hide and seek go hand in hand together. We agreed that hiding upstairs in the house was against the rules for the game of hide and seek. That meant that the upstairs room where the pull-ups were waiting for me was technically off-limits. But I didn’t care one bit about the game. Anyway, making the upstairs rooms off-limits had been my idea. An absolutely brilliant stroke of genius for a then nine-year-old girl. In one move, I’d ensured that no one would be up there when I went looking for the pull-up and that I would be safe from anyone following after me. I took quick glances in both directions as I stood at the base of the stairway. Perfect. There were no other kids in sight. I leaped up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time with each upward lunge until I was safely around the corner and out of sight. I encountered my first problem when I made it to the bedroom where Timothy and Alex had been sleeping. I had somehow assumed that the pull-up Alex had ripped off could be fixed. I seemed to recall that the pull-ups my brother had worn a year ago had Velcro sides. But that wasn’t the case with these bedwetting pull-ups for some reason. But there had to be additional pull-ups elsewhere. There couldn’t be any way that the boy’s parents would risk them peeing all over the bed while they were spending the night as guests. I didn’t have any luck in the first suitcase that I looked through, nor the second, but the third one was where I struck gold. There were more than a dozen pull-ups tucked into the side of the suitcase. Surely, they wouldn’t notice if one of them happened to go missing. I grabbed a pull-up and bundled the pull-up into a ball, tucking it into the waistband of my skirt. I was sure that was not nearly as discreet as I thought it was at the time. But, to my good fortune, I was able to make it to a nearby bathroom without being caught. The adults were busy downstairs, and my cousins, who were playing hide and seek, were doing a better job than I was at abiding by the rules. I locked the bathroom door behind me. I double and triple-checked to make sure the door was actually locked. I removed the pull-up from under my skirt and held it in my hands. I didn’t stop then to think through how bizarre the whole situation was at the time. I think I must have stood there looking at it for several minutes. Feeling how it crinkled beneath my touch, testing out the sides to see how far they could stretch, rubbing my fingers down the padded interior. I was completely and utterly fascinated by it. The desire was no more explainable than a moth being drawn to a flame, a kitten to catnip, or a raven to a shiny object. I cautiously slid my arms through the leg holes, stretching the pull-up out in front of me. Not only was it more than stretchy enough for me, but it could probably fit a kid twice as wide as I was. Now came the moment of truth. I removed my skirt and underwear. The pull-up had a side that was helpfully labeled as the back, so I knew which way to put it on. As I brought the pull-up into place around my waist, it was like sliding the final piece of a puzzle into place. I turned around so that I could look at my reflection in the mirror. I lifted up the front of my skirt so that the whole pull-up was in view. It practically came up all the way to my belly button. There was something about the way it hugged my sides, the way the soft padding pressed against my skin as I sat down on the toilet lid and the way it crinkled quietly as I paced across the bathroom that left me completely enamored. There was just one thing left to do. And I didn’t have much time before everyone noticed that I was missing. I lifted up the lid of the toilet seat and sat down while still wearing the pull-up. One of my deepest regrets was that I had went to go potty right before the game of hide and seek began, meaning there wasn’t anything waiting to come out of my bladder at the moment. I tried. I really did. I wanted to know. I had to know. What would it feel like to pee into a pull-up? It couldn’t be bad. Alex and Timothy hadn’t seemed to be put off at all by waking up in a wet pull-up every morning. But nothing happened. The timing was off. My bladder wouldn’t cooperate. And time was up. I needed to be out of the bathroom in a couple of minutes. I considered it a radical idea. What if I put my underwear and skirt over the top of the pull-up? I could continue to wear it until I actually needed to pee. I nearly did it. I really, truly, honestly nearly did it. But then I chickened out. The same way I would, time and time again for years afterward. It was too risky. A small trickle of shame was diluting my euphoria. I knew that despite how ecstatic I was at my discovery, the reality of anyone else discovering this secret — and the relentless shame and teasing that would follow — would be devastating. I wasn’t like Alex or Timothy. I didn’t have the veneer of bedwetting to hide behind as an excuse for wearing a pull-up. I slid the pull-up off of my legs. I intended to put it back in the suitcase. Then it would be like nothing had ever happened. That’s when I encountered a second problem. Apparently, I had gone potty in the pull-up after all. Not a lot, just the teensiest of tinkles. But it was enough to leave a tiny yellow patch the size of a quarter smack dab in the middle of the pull-up. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had even noticed it in the first place. That would have made for an awkward situation for Alex and Timothy had I put the pull-up back in the suitcase. I peered into the trash can. I was in luck. I could make out two pull-ups at the bottom of the small trash can. One had been turned inside out, the color of its interior leaving no doubt as to the truthfulness of Alex’s description of his and his brother’s bedwetting. I bunched up the pull-up and tossed it in the trash can. I didn’t think it was likely that anyone would be paying too much attention to notice the addition of one more pull-up in it. My curiosity sated, I returned to the game of hide and seek, pretending that I had been expertly moving in between hiding places to avoid being spotted. I didn’t think anymore about the pull-up until later that evening when we were lying in bed at the hotel. Jackson was little enough that he could sleep on a padded mat and sleeping bag on the floor while Grace and I shared a bed – an experience that hadn’t gone well the past couple of nights, as it had been interrupted by midnight accusation of blanket theft. If it had just been Grace and me in the room, if Mom, Dad, and Jackson hadn’t been around to overhear it, I might have worked up the courage to ask my older sister about her bedwetting. I wasn’t even sure if she knew that I knew about it. But I had to know. Had she worn the same pull-ups as Alex and Timothy? Was there perhaps a style that came in colors and designs for girls? But we weren’t alone, and those questions went unasked. The drive home wasn’t any easier. I didn’t touch my tablet, which had been my constant companion on the trip here. Instead, I stared out the window. But I wasn’t paying any attention to the passing cities and landscapes. Instead, my mind was replaying the events of the previous day, in particular, the few precious minutes when I had my hands on the pull-up. I was filled with a deep sense of longing and regret. Why had I thrown the pull-up in the trash? Why hadn’t I put it back on beneath my skirt? I would have had it with me now. I could have been wearing it now. Of course, I did know better. I would have had no issue wearing the pull-up out of the house, but once we had gotten to the hotel, there wouldn’t have been any realistic way for me to have kept it concealed. But the acknowledgment of that reality did nothing to lessen my longing for the pull-up. I had nothing but time as I began to scheme up all the different ways I could get my hands on another one, or better yet, an actual diaper. What would I have done if I had known the wait was to be measured in years rather than days, weeks, or months? --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

So this is my first time, trying to write any kind of story revolving around ABDL and also one of the first time I've ever tried sticking my nose into creative writing at all. This is basically a preview. I would like some feedback on my writing style and also if this is an "story idea and concept" that people would like to see me put some time and effort into. To zero and back Chapter 0: ” You GOT to be joking!” My mother stared back at me with a dumbfound look on her face. “You can’t be serious, about such an idea!?” Her eyes didn’t flinch, as she just stared right at me, with a blank expression. “Mom, seriously, it’s a great idea and it’s NEVER been done before. And the people at the magazine already signed off on it. They think its brilliant! This could be my big break!” I could easily tell, that my attempts at convincing her, had little to no effect. “So let me get this straight.” Taking a zip of her coffee, she learned forward in the couch, staring even harder at me, from the other side of the living room table. “The biggest child and parent’s magazine in the country, “Mommy Mag” has agreed for you to write a parenting guide on potty-training, by first unpotty-training yourself and then training yourself again, alongside your baby cousin!? And how long did they give you to write this article?” “Two years.” I mumbled, trying to break free of her locked stare. “So what, one year to unlearn everything and then when your cousin turns three, you got one year to learn everything again alongside him and write this damn thing!?”. “Pretty much.” Her eyes did not flinch, she had barely blinked since the conversation started. “And what does the deal include.” She took another sip of her coffee. This was my shot, my one opening to sell her on the idea. “They have agreed to take care of all expenses, WHATEVER that may include, also I would be under full time contract the full 2 years, but will not have to meet into the office to work on the article. And Mom, the salary is great and when the 2 years are up, if the article gets printed, I’m guaranteed to have my contract renewed and is free to work on whatever I feel like afterward. It’s a great deal and I really think this could be my big shot, at making it in the business.” That last part wasn’t a lie, I truly did believe that this could be my chance of making it big in the journalism business. Ever since getting my degree almost a year ago, nothing had really gone my way and 12 months after finishing school, I was still living at home with my mom and had, little to no luck at getting my foot in the door anywhere. That was one of the reasons of this project of my, but there was another, one that nobody and especially my mom needed to know about. I’m an ABDL which stands for adultbaby diaper lover, it’s a kind of fetish that has its roots in ageplay and regression often revolving around wearing and using diapers. So basically being able to wear and use diapers and combine it with my work, which may lead to something bigger, while getting PAID to do so, was the ultimate dream come true. But first, I had to convince my mother, since I was living under her roof and this would come to affect her day and life. “And what does your aunt Karen and uncle Rob think of this?” “They are pretty cool with it, I’ve already ran the idea by them and it’s not like it’s really going to affect them. Especially not until cousin Jack turns two and then it’s still limited how big a part of it, he and they are going to play. I’m the test subject, Jack is only playing the role of control test, so I’ll have some routines to follow, while training myself back up.” She took another zip of her coffee cup, still looking skeptical, but her stare had lightened. “I still can’t believe, that my sister agreed to this.” She exhaled deeply. “And how exactly are you planning on….UNtraining yourself?”. “Well...” I hesitated for a second. “I’ve been reading a lot about it on the internet, there are actually a lot of information on the subject, believe it or not. In reality, it’s like un-training any other muscle and there’s also hypnosis and stuff, that should help with the process.” She continued to stare into her cup, not giving me a second look as she spoke. “Well Patrick, you’ve seem to have already made up your mind. And you’re an adult, it’s not like I can stop you and you seem to have done your research. If this is want you think you NEED to do, to get your career going and if you promise to take good care of yourself.” My eyes lit up, as she looked back up at me. “Then go for it,” JACKPOT! Chapter 1: After a rather quiet, but especially awkward dinner, I found myself sitting in front of my laptop, armed with my company credit card and ready to begin my project. Seeking out diapers was my first priority, it didn’t take me long to find a local site that sold incontinent product and offered express shipping. I ordered a case of plain white adult diapers, in medium thickness and capacity and continued on to the second target on my “to do list”. I had been looking at hypnotic ABDL files for a while. Most of them seemed too good to be true, offering complete incontinent and mental regression. But at one point I stumbled upon a webpage that didn’t promise too much and actually sported some great review of their files. One file offered help to induce urinary incontinent, making the listener more open to the thought of becoming less bladder control aware and accepting this fact. Another offered the same but included bowel incontinence. But the one I had my eyes on, offered both of these, plus included ties to mental regression and acceptance. Linking the thought of becoming incontinent, with the thought of being a toddler or infant. Mentioning allowing the user to not be embarrassed by the idea of wearing and using diapers, because that is what babies would do and making “giving up control” easier, as this train of thought and connection between the two grew stronger. That was all I needed to read and within seconds the file was ordered and arrived in my email inbox. That would be all, I would need for now and I put my trusted company card away and decided to call it a night. But not before transferring the hypnotic file to my phone, so I could listen to it while I slept. Laying in my bed, I plugged my headset in and played the file, which sadly turned out to be a disappointment. The field proved to be some sort of subliminal message, just a random mix of radio scatter and sounds bites. The only noticeable feature, was a faint sound of a nursery lullaby appearing from time to time. But still I found the simple thought of the promised effect and what awaited me in the near future arousing and jacked myself to a major orgasm, before falling asleep, the file still playing in my ears. I woke up the next morning refreshed and excited. Luckily Mom had left for work, when I got up so awkward encounter ruined the morning as I had breakfast and started my day. I did not achieve a lot that day, as I constantly found myself checking the driveway waiting for the delivery of my diaper order. But I did manager to kill some time in front of my laptop and after much thought came up with a name for my article. “To zero and back” I said to myself as a wrote the headline on the word document. That name seemed fitting, as I would be going back to zero potty training and then back again afterwards. The mere thought of that, got me excited. Finally, the doorbell sounded and I sprang across the house. Opening the door, I was greeted by a UPS driver, holding a large cardboard box in his arms. Quickly signing for the order and sending him on his way, I ran back across the house and into my room, throwing the box onto my bed before ripping it open. Inside I found exactly what I ordered. A shipment of plain white diapers, enough to surely last me a while. At least in the beginning. Now came the part I had been waiting for. Time to put on, what hopefully was my first of many diapers for a long time. I ripped one of the diapers out of the box and sniffed it. No apparent smell hit, to my disappointment, so I quickly continued to open the diaper and spread it out on my before, taking a second to admire it, before slowly unbuttoning my jeans and letting them drop down around my ankles, before stepping out of them. Next I removed my underwear, realizing this may be the last time in a while, that I wore such a pair of boxerbriefs. I turned around and placed my bum on the diaper, it felt thinner than expected, but still the feeling of the soft padding, sent chills down my spine, as I laid back and put the front up between my legs. Next came the tapes, which proved to be quite a challenge, as each side sported 2 pieces of sticky material. It took a lot of fiddling and several on and off attempts but finally I had all four pieces of tape attached and the diaper secured around my waist. After standing up and walking over to my bedroom mirror to inspect myself, it became clear that “secured” may have been an overstatement. The diapers were hanging rather loose and slightly crocket around my hips. It took 5 more minutes of fiddling and opening and reapplying the tapes, before I ended up with a semi acceptable result. There I stood, dressed in nothing but my t-shirt and a crinkly white diaper. This was a dream come true, but the dream quickly ended as I heard the front door open and my Mom enter the house. I panicked and quickly ran to pick up my pants, we may have had the talk and this may be a dream come true, but I was nowhere near ready to let my Mom see me, in just a diaper. The pants proved to be a challenge to put on, the diaper was thicker than expected and it took quiet a lot of effort to force my pants up and over the diaper, but I managed to close them around my waist and went to greet my Mom. As I entered the kitchen to meet her, I became aware of the crinkle that followed my every step, as a result of the diaper moving around my hips. I slowed my movement, careful not to walk to fast, as a mean to dampen the noise of my new underwear. “Oh there you are, so how has your day been?” My Mom was busy unpacking the groceries as I entered. “Fine I guess, I’ve got a bit of writing done and I even came up with a title for my article.” I picked up a grocery bag from the table and start unloading it into the cabinet. My Mom stood quiet for a moment, staring down at me, as I was kneeling in front of the cabinet. “So, how does it feel?”. I looked up at her with a confused look. “What do you mean?” I folded up the bag and stood back up. “How does it feel being back in diapers?” My mouth dropped for a second. “How did you know?” My response triggered a chuckle from her. “It pretty hard not to notice, that crinkle is pretty hard to ignore, also its peaking up from the back of your pants when you squat down and when you entered, you were waddling almost like a toddler trying to hide it.” She continued to chuckle, as she put the bags away. “Guess it’s something we both have to get used to. It’s not like you can sneak around for the next 2 years, trying to hide it.” At this point my face was burning bright red, this was one of the things I hadn’t thought about, but she was right. I spent the next few hours “hiding” in my room, trying to avoid awkward diaper contact with my Mom, until the time came for my bladder to declare itself “full”. “This is it.” I mumbled to myself, as I stood up from my desk. Standing in the center of my room, I closed my eyes and relaxed my body. Nothing. I took a deep breath, exhaled and relaxed. Again, nothing. This was proving to be quite a challenge, and this whole untraining concept, may be harder than expected. Once again I took a deep breath, held it, exhaled and FINALLY. I felt a warm flow spread around my crotch, as the diaper flooded and consumed the urine flowing from my body. The warmth continued to spread across the front of the diaper, slowly making its way towards the back and… DOWN MY LEG!? I opened my eyes, just in time to catch the first drops of liquid, roll my thigh and onto the floor. “SHIT!” I mumbled loudly. The flow of urine stopped, but it was clear that my diaper had leaked and I had managed to make a mess on the floor. “Guess I didn’t do such a good job after all.” I thought, as I stood there contemplating my situation. I quickly made my way to the bathroom. First to rip off the “failed” diaper and wash myself off with a cloth, before grapping a roll of paper and run back to my room for a quick clean up. With the mess taken care off, I dropped the used diaper in the bathroom waste bin and soon found myself back in my room, fresh diaper in hand and ready to give it another try. Once again I placed the diaper on my bed and started placing it around my hips. AND once again I found myself having to fiddle with the tapes for several minutes, applying and reapplying them, before I ended up with an acceptable result. At this time, Mom was yelling that dinner was ready, so I threw my pants back on and slowly snuck my way to join her. Nothing particular happened for the rest of the night, as we both tried avoiding starting any awkward conversation during dinner, before I quickly snuck my way back to the safety of my room, where I spent the rest of the night, until it was time for bed. Laying in my bed that night, the hypnotic file playing through my headset. I quickly discovered that falling asleep wearing my new underwear would prove to be a challenge. The extra padding between my legs, made laying on my side rather difficult, not to mention the loud crinkle that followed my every movement and the extreme heat that was generated around my groin. But finally after much tossing and turning, I drifted off to sleep. 1 day down, 729 to go.

Hi everyone! Here I am again, starting a new series. I have 18 chapters written and plan to post once to twice a week. I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I did writing this. If you're a fan of my past stories, you can expect twists, turns and tension between the MMC and FMC. Teaser trailer: Emma Marie Rose is a cutt-throat and well-trained data thief, the top of her agency that is contracted to expose and blackmail their clients victims. She is given one assignment that she knew going in was risky, possibly the hardest assignment yet but the largest payout she'd ever see in her career. She was assigned not one, but four targets to blackmail and expose their deepest, darkest secrets. Like always, she'd plan to destroy a company from the inside out and then disappear. Little does Emma know, things would get much more complicated as she discovers her own deepest darkest secrets in the process and meets the CEO of a company who flips her world upside down. What starts as a mission of destruction quickly spirals into a high-stakes game of deceit and revelation, where Emma's own secrets threaten to unravel her carefully fabricated life as she knew it. Trigger Warnings: Mental health, ED, smut The Data Thief Chapter 1: The Assignment Emma fixed her makeup in the brightly lit marble lined bathroom, popping on her pink lip gloss and fixing her long soft wavy brunette, almost blonde hair, tied up in a ponytail with her bangs drifting messily to her left above her brow. “Gabriella Simmons, you can call me Gabby. Nice to meet you.” She said in the mirror softly, moss green eyes saying with conviction and a bright smile that was playful, maybe a hint flirtatious. Her face fell flat, her mask disappearing as she was happy with her look to go into the interview with. It was cute, girly and flirty, all to charm her hopefully soon-to-be victims. She was walking into an office full of white corporate assholes, her favorite specimen of male to cyber bully and embarrass, one by one. Some would quit. Some would deny everything she revealed of their personal chats and messages. Some would have a midlife crisis and buy an expensive car when their wives broke up with them. Emma flashed a wicked smile to herself in the mirror before swinging her purse over her shoulder, knowing she was going to quietly slow-torment an office into the fiery flames of corporate self-annihilation, just like she had many times before. She got paid a nice commission by her agency to do so and it was a rewarding job. She was the top of her agency, after all, no one was as fast nor as skilled in hacking as she was. Her targets didn’t even question or bat an eye as she tore their businesses apart, employee by employee. Emma took in a breath before leaving the bathroom, knowing this assignment was different than the rest. Usually, Emma didn't break a sweat, she barely even felt nervous. Exhilaration and excitement was all she felt yet, since the moment she was given this assignment, something felt off. Maybe it was because it was the highest commission she'd ever get on an assignment or maybe it was because her agency was losing it's star players left and right before she accepted it. She really couldn't pinpoint it and chalked it up to the higher payout which typically meant higher stakes. All she could remember vividly was when her coworker and best friend, Graham, announced this assignment and she confronted her manager about it. To say the least, that's how she ended up in this predicament as she was convinced by her boss to accept it, against her better judgement. “Emmaleeeeeesi! Here ya go, smoke show.” Graham smiled large with a mocking tone when he said ‘smoke show’ referring to what a past target called her on her prior job. He held up a file folder as Emma walked into the office with her iced coffee, passing him as she plucked the file from his hands. His soft brown eyes bouncing at the assignment. “Emmaleesi, queen of corporate fire, chaos and dragons is here, late as usual.” Bailey, her manager, muttered as she looked at her gold watch, waiting in Emma’s office as Graham followed behind. “Thank you, I will take all the compliments and bonuses that come with the title.” Emma smiled, setting down her iced coffee on her desk and dropping her bag in her desk drawer. “Your client wants to meet tomorrow at Starbucks around the corner at 9AM. Just make sure you’re on time.” Bailey said, going back to her own office, “I’m putting it in your calendar.” Graham closed the door and raised his eyebrows to Bailey, “Think the boss is mad about your tardiness.” Emma shrugged, “First off, I’m a contractor technically, not her employee. Not to mention, I was gone for 5 months on that last assignment and almost got sexually assaulted by the last target. Bailey can lay off me for a second, I didn’t ask for a higher commission. She’s lucky, considering I’m bringing in almost half of our clientele and getting her more referrals.” Graham smiled, “Bailey is dealing with losing Kiara over the weekend. I don't think it’s you.” “What happened to Kiara?” Emma asked, confused. “She got caught by her target. He found her in his files. She had to resign from our team, in case she is turned into the police for breaching private data. Worse, if her target finds out about our agency, we can get sued and exposed. Bailey is paranoid.” Emma rolled her eyes, “Well, I told Bailey that the assignment she gave Kiara was a suicide mission, hence why I didn’t even humor it. The target had fingerprint access to most of his encrypted data." Graham nodded, pausing a moment as he looked at the file on Emma’s desk, “Speaking of suicide missions…” Emma deadpanned Graham a look, “You’re not messing with me, are you?” She opened the file folder he handed her earlier and logged into her computer, looking at her email and the files Graham emailed for her new assignment. He stayed silent as she clicked through the notes, “Penn & Williams Consulting Agency, 4 targets in one office.” She scrunched her face in a cute way that if Graham was straight, he’d probably find her attractive, “What in the fuck is Bailey doing? You know what-” Emma got up, storming out of her office and across the building, passing coworkers who whispered to each other as Emma’s face was blatantly irritated. Bailey was on her phone, pushing back a stray hair in her light blonde hair into her tight pony tail. Her blue eyes widened seeing Emma storm in and close the door. “I’ll have to let you go for a moment here, Brittney.” She said goodbye and crossed her arms and looked to Emma, “Yes?” “Excuse my language, Bailey, but, what in the fuck type of assignment is this?” She held the file folder up, “I said I’m not doing suicide missions or attempting them. Thought I told you that loud and clear last time.” “It’s not a suicide mission, first off. Second off, you used to love assignments like this, why isn’t this enticing you? Thought you’d like a challenge since you’ve been taking the easiest assignments lately.” Bailey said, going to her desktop and typing an email, slightly ignoring Emma. “That was until I almost got caught a year ago, Bailey.” Emma said, her jaw tight. A silent anger bubbled in her chest, going to her neck, "And I'll have you know that last 5 month assignment was not easy in the slightest. I almost got sexually assaulted." Bailey crossed her arms with a sigh, “Well, we don’t have anyone else who could be up for this job. The target likes hiring petite and stunning mid-twenties women. No offense to our office mates, but we have too many guys on staff and mid-thirties women. It was either you or Kiara and, well, Kiara isn’t an option anymore.” Bailey said, sighing, “You have to pull your weight again, there’s not much we can do here. After this assignment you can take a month off. I’ll even throw in 10% extra.” She said, eyes sliding to Emma, knowing she was easier to persuade with time off and money. “Four targets and only ten percent? 30% extra and 6 weeks.” Emma sneered. Bailey turned to Emma, setting her hands together on the light brown desk with a sigh. After a pause of thought, she said, “20% extra and 5 weeks. Take it or leave it.” Emma stared hard at the desk wood, it wasn’t an impossible assignment… but, it was high risk. This was possibly the hardest assignment she’d ever get but could mean the biggest payout she'd ever see. “What’s the payment and contract length?” Emma asked, eyes meeting Bailey’s even stare. “400K and 6 months minimum.” Emma almost choked on air, “Who even has that type of money?” Her eyes widened. Emma got a 10% split on her assignments payouts as commission. 30% meant a whopping commission of 120K. She'd never seen a six figure payout, Bailey was desperate it seemed. Emma wouldn’t need to work for a year after that if Bailey would let her. “The client had a multi-millionaire family member pass away who owned a large company and got a considerable life insurance benefit check. She’s desperate to take down the whole company for what they did to her and heard of our work.” Bailey said, going back to her desktop, “Is that enough for you to move forward?” Emma’s mouth was dry from being open as she stood, “Sure, but-“ She shook her head, “what did the targets do to her?” What was bad enough to pay for $400,000 in revenge? That thought would keep Emma up at night, although it really wasn't her business. Bailey’s mouth fell in a line, “You’ll talk to her tomorrow.” The next day, Emma walked into Starbucks a bit hesitantly. She ordered her iced oatmilk latte and sat down in a unoccupied corner, awaiting her new client. The client walked in and Emma waved, with a friendly smile. A girl with warm brown eyes and blonde long hair walked over after getting her coffee. “Brittney, nice to meet you, uhm-“ “Gabby Simmons, nice to meet you.” Emma nodded, already in code name. This was a risky assignment and she wasn’t faltering, not even with the client. “Gabby, pleasure to meet you and no offense, but-“ She blurted, “you are just nothing like I expected.” Her brown eyes apologetic immediately following her words. Emma smiled, “You are fine, I get that all the time.” She didn’t know what it was, but a lot of clients thought she would be ugly or invisible, yet Emma was starkly visible and memorable. She had a charm to her that made her such a good asset to her assignments. She was quick-witted and undetectable, none of her clients knew what her true intentions were until she left them vulnerable and exposed. “Can I just ask a question?” Brittney asked, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. “Sure.” Emma nodded. “How did you get into this- uh, profession?” Brittney asked, curious. The girl was Emma’s age and, if not for being a client, Emma would have been friends easily with this girl. Emma licked her lips as her smile faded, “High school bullies. Sounds stupid but, ah, fuck them. They can all fuck off.” She said, with a confidence in her voice as a tinge of pain flashed in her eyes that Brittney caught. Brittney smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Only a shared sadness and sympathy reflected in Brittney’s eyes, “Then it sounds like I have the right person for this job.”

I am back with a new story. I have been inspired by reading a few dark fantasy/demon romances this year and got an idea for an intense & cute ABDL story that has perspective switches. It's a bit new and different. The chapters are very *intentionally* incorrectly numbered - if anyone is wondering where a chapter is, that is why. Besides that, I'm excited to hear your thoughts on this new story and enjoy!☺️ Also to note, I have written this story in full and will post weekly. Follow to get notifications! This story should be fully uploaded by October, a perfect read for Halloween! Eternally Bound by Flames & Diapers Teaser Trailer: Some secrets are summoned. Others awaken. After the sudden death of her husband, Lileth Hart retreats into solitude, carrying with her a strange leather bound book she found near his grave. Grieving, haunted, and seeking answers, Lily escapes to a remote woodland cabin on Halloween weekend. Armed with wine, whispered memories, and a secret side of herself she’s never dared reveal. But grief can open more than wounds. It can open portals. What begins as a playful, if desperate, séance turns into something far more dangerous when Lily unintentionally summons a being not of this world. Ancient. Beautiful. Predatory. He calls himself Zeke. Bound to her through blood and forgotten magic, Zeke claims he cannot leave. But as the nights grow colder and reality bends, Lily begins to question who summoned who and why he seems so drawn to the darkest parts of her shame. As a forbidden bond forms between mortal and demon, Lily will uncover secrets buried not just in the earth... but in her soul. Some flames never die. Some are bound to be reignited. Warnings: dark nature, sexual/smut, BDSM elements All characters depicted are 18+. AI Disclosure: I used AI to help brainstorm, get over my deep writer’s block, and enhance a few scenes, but the story is still very much my own. Most of it was written and edited by me, even before using AI. Writer’s block has stalled my past projects and I hope to continue those with some AI help in the future. _____________________________________ Chapter 1: Death Do Us Part I stared at our picture in the graveyard, my flowers I laid down from the week prior withering away. My tear-stained cheeks were raw from hours of crying. I felt my satchel vibrate on what I assumed was missed calls and texts from my sister, my mom, and probably Marissa. She always reached out around times she'd think I'd need her. It was the darkest day of my life’s anniversary, after all. Correction: our darkest day’s anniversary. I felt guilty thinking I was alone, yet, I was alone. Anniversary. Huh, why did that sound so funny? I let out a laugh as a fresh tear rolled down my cheek, remembering our first wedding anniversary two years ago. His brown hair. His blue eyes twinkling at dinner, so alive. So fucking alive. A year would pass, and he’d be dead. Gone. A tragic accident on the expressway, hit by a drunk semi-truck driver. I remember it clear as day: the call came at 2:08 AM. “Lileth Hart?” My brain was half-awake. “Uh, yeah?” “Your husband is Aaron Hart, correct?” a voice said over the phone, with muffled sirens in the background. Panic bled into my chest. “Yes, uh, who is this? This isn’t a prank, right?” I sat up suddenly, dread creeping in. Aaron had gone out to the bar that night with Kenney. He usually texted me by midnight. “No, ma’am. This is Officer Renley. I’m sorry to inform you that we found Aaron in an accident. He... didn’t survive.” My heart squeezed painfully as I felt my lungs give out. He kept talking as my cheeks felt wet. “We are trying to retrieve his body now. We’ll update you with the next steps. I’m very sorry, Miss Hart.” I turned on my lamp, gasping for breath as a panic attack overtook me. The world spun. Nothing felt real. He was supposed to come home. He was supposed to be... No. Stop. Days later, I’d be at my husband’s funeral. A widow at twenty eight. He was my senior year of college hookup that turned into a full-fledged relationship. We met at a party, went on a few dates and then crossed third base. Before I knew it, I had my master’s in psychology and we were engaged. It happened so quickly I didn’t have time to process that maybe I shouldn’t have gotten married, considering he never knew who I truly was. It seemed the natural thing to do though. Once you date for a few years, you move in and get married, right? That’s what I thought and I did, hiding my true self like I was good at. 5 years went of a vanilla, boring relationship. God, how awful was I to say boring about my late husband? Fuck, I was a villain in some book, that was certain. My greatest regret of our relationship was never indulging in my inner dark mechanisms and telling Aaron who and what I was. I knew I had weird things I liked since a young age, yet I’d always been terrified to tell anyone. Not my best friend, not my past boyfriends and surely not my husband. Admittedly, I had dark and weird desires. Diapers. Specifically, diapers. Yes, fucking diapers. Being babied. Treated like a little girl. From the age of seven, I daydreamed about being regressed, punished, put back in diapers. I never told a soul. Not friends, not boyfriends, not even Aaron. Sometimes, I’d book solo weekends, wear diapers, read erotica, and indulge in the weird darkness I couldn’t explain. I told myself it was wrong. Gross. Unloveable. Guilt seeped into me over the years of dating, being engaged and then getting married. The lies, the stories I made up of girl’s trips and the bingeing and purging cycles ate at me. When I finally was gaining the courage, it was like the universe punished me and Aaron died. I’d be lying to say how many times I’d imagined him diapering me and being a strict Daddy, yet I couldn’t tell him. No matter how many times I reasoned with the ideas of ‘if he truly loved me, he’d do it’. Part of me was so afraid of him leaving me. Now the jokes on me, I guess, because he left anyways in another way. A final way. I wanted to tell him. I did. But I waited. And then, he died. Now he was gone, and part of me... felt relief. I hated that thought. But it was true. I could wear diapers whenever I wanted. I could finally be myself. Still, grief clung to me. The security I craved died with him. I mourned the future we’d never have. The person I never let him know. I sat on my knees at the grave, sniffing in my own self-pity as I stared at our wedding picture. A part of me grieved him and a part of me got relief from the trap I put myself in. That thought fucked me in the head. I had a recurring thought that we’d have gotten divorced anyways. Maybe, just maybe, it was a good thing he got a stable, good relationship out of the 5 years and passed away quickly. He deserved a good life, even if a short-lived time, right? God, those thoughts fucked with my head. What if I had told him, he left me, and then he died? Wouldn’t that have been better? My phone buzzed again. I checked it. Marissa texted: Thinking of you today. Want me to come by later? I smiled faintly. Still my rock, I texted back: I’ll let you know. Just need a few hours. I sat on my knees at the grave, sniffling, staring at our wedding photo. Part of me missed him. Part of me was freed by his absence. That thought? That thought fucked with my head. I turned to leave and spotted something near the tree line. A tattered, dark brown leather book. I crouched, fingers brushing the edge. A strange symbol that was witch-like or maybe satanic, was etched into the cover. I picked it up and instantly gasped. “Fuck!” A sharp edge cut my finger. Blood trickled down, falling onto the symbol. The symbol shimmered, absorbing the drop. A puff of steam curled from the book. I stared. I tilted my head, “Huh?” I said to myself, blinking and staring at the blood that vanished into the cover. It almost looked like steam rose from the cover, yet I couldn’t tell at my angle and through my blurry eyes from crying most of today. I shook my head, grabbing the strange book and the moment it was in my hands, I felt like the book got warmer. I looked around a final time to see if it’s owner may be around and I took another moment, staring at the book and deciding that I’d keep it for now, still feeling delusional from what I just witnessed and feeling like the damn book was alive, yet I couldn’t leave it. It felt like I should open it and I couldn’t help but keep it for now, rather than let it get ruined by weather or impending rain of the night. After I got in my car, I put the book in my satchel. I sat for a few moments and then looked into my rearview mirror, blotting my face with my sleeve to take away the mascara stains of my tears. “Waterproof mascara my ass.” I muttered to myself as I pulled out of the parking lot. “I don’t know why I even bothered with makeup today.” I said, knowing full-well that ever since Aaron passed, I had gotten into a habit of talking to myself like a crazy person. It seemed loneliness tended to do that to you, really. A few days passed and I forgot about the strange book that was in my satchel. It wasn’t until that weekend after work I laid on my bed in the guest bedroom in my pajamas, watching the movie The Craft that reminded me of the strangely old book in my satchel. I paused the movie, feeling crazy and like a child who believed in witchcraft and magic. I grabbed the book and took it to the guest bedroom, taking a picture on my phone of the cover and checking Google Lens on what the symbol was. “It’s a pentagram, you dumbass.” I mumbled to myself, opening the cover to yellow and tattered papers that smelled stale. I blinked at the first few pages, a blood stain smudging the first few sheets. My eyes stared at the pages as I kept skimming, seeing multiple pages of illegible words in a old language and symbols. It looked like some type of thesaurus with some hand draw symbols every few pages and illustrations. I took a few images and Google Lens to see it was all written in a Latin. The more I searched the phrases, I found it written not in the ‘correct’ or ‘modern’ latin but in an older Latin. After an hour of trying to translate a few words, it became clear that this handwriting was hard to translate since the letters were rough. I gave up after a few hours, finding that the only words I could gather was ‘blood’, ‘séance’ and ‘fire’, with a symbol on that one page. I stared for longer and Google Lens the symbol, finding only a few Wikipedia pages denoting the ‘symbol of summoning the underworld’. My eyes flashed, shaking my head at my internal thoughts of believing that magic could bring my dead husband back. It was stupid… but Halloween was in a week and it didn’t seem too far off, right? I was atheist after all and didn’t believe in anything… What could a little séance hurt? _____________________________ As always, I'd love to know your thoughts and feelings about the characters and where the plot may go! I love reading your comments & thoughts as they motivate me to keep writing and sharing/posting regularly what I love as a hobbyist writer here! ☺️

As much as she tried, Ava couldn't stop darting her eyes from one point to another across the beach. The joyful screams of children, the indistinct chatter of adults beneath nearby umbrellas, and the hypnotic sound of the water gently lapping against the shore were making her uncomfortable. She clenched the end of the yellow, lightweight dress her mom had told her to wear before leaving the house, and bit her lower lip. Had anyone seen her? As she walked beside her, she could feel the curious gazes of passersby. Damn, she shouldn’t have agreed to put it on before leaving! Mom was helping Tommy apply sunscreen. Her little brother turned his back to let her spread it on, laughing with delight as he squirmed from the ticklish sensation. Ava felt a slight pang of envy watching them. After all, Tommy was seven and needed different attention than she did. I wonder if Mom would have put it on me if I had asked her, she thought. She glanced toward the other lounge chair. Michelle was also having sunscreen applied with Dad's help: she was doing her arms while he worked on her legs. Like her, her little sister wore a pink swimsuit with floral patterns around the shoulders, neck, and legs. It was cute and colorful, like a rainbow in a clear sky. "Are you not putting on sunscreen, sweetheart?" Mom asked, peering at her from behind Tommy. She joked, "If you thought you could sneak into the water without it, you’re sorely mistaken!" Ava smiled and shook her head sincerely. Unintentionally, her eyes fell on the skirt of her dress. She let out a frustrated sigh. The dress wasn’t doing as great a job as she’d hoped. It was way too obvious! “I-I don’t feel like going in the water right now,” she stammered, tugging at the dress but with no success. “I-I just... prefer staying here in the shade.” “But we’re at the beach!” Tommy exclaimed, his excitement contagious. “We’re here to have fun, not to sit still!” Ava nodded again. He was right. Under normal circumstances, she would have slathered on sunscreen and jumped straight into the water, not caring who was looking. But right now, with this thing on... Her mother met her gaze, sending her a loving smile. “At least I’ve got someone keeping me company.” Great! Once they were done, Dad would take Tommy and Michelle swimming, and she’d have to stay there with Mom. Sweat was beginning its path through her hair, trickling down her face in the dim light. She would probably be asked to show it to her like she had when she was little, learning to use the potty. How embarrassing! Suddenly, a sharp clap made her jump. Dad looked at her and her siblings, then at Mom. “Who wants to go swimming?” Tommy and Michelle chirped eagerly, like little chicks waiting for their mother to feed them. “Alright,” he said, heading toward the sound of the waves, “last one in is a sea cucumber!” He dashed off with Tommy and Michelle squawking behind him. Ava watched the scene helplessly, crumpling the dress in her fists with all her energy, blushing. She wanted to cool off and have fun with her dad, Tommy, and Michelle. She let out a puff of air; this was so unfair. Her mom sat beside her. “I know that look,” she started, gently massaging her back in slow, rhythmic movements. “I owe you an explanation and an apology.” That serious voice, with a sweet tone. Ava could have listened to it forever, if she had the chance. She bit her lip and let her words erase her pout. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you that question before we came here,” she said, looking at her, her gaze moving over her freckled face. “Your dad and I want you to feel good about yourself, at all times. Taking the first steps isn’t easy, especially with that under your clothes.” Ava lifted her head to look at her and sighed. “I-I’m afraid that I could...” “You could have an accident?” Her cheeks turned bright red, eyes lowered. “Mom...” “Sweetheart,” she continued firmly, “that’s what diapers are for. Even if you don’t have problems with incontinence, like Tommy does with wetting the bed.” “But I... I’m 13,” Ava admitted, as if confessing something shameful. “I shouldn’t be wearing it, and I shouldn’t have said yes when we were at home. What if someone sees it? They’ll be laughing, saying, ‘Hey, that girl still wets herself!’” There was a brief moment of silence. Tears were pushing to fall, and her heart refused to stop racing. She could already imagine the mocking, cruel laughter of everyone on the beach. Even the fish would join in if they could. “Do you know why you wanted me to put it on you?” her mom asked, still holding that gentle tone. “You wanted me to take care of you, and to clean up your bottom too!” Ava burst out laughing with her. The noise and chatter of the passersby seemed to fade away entirely. She felt her mood lift, so she gave her a sincere smile. Her mom went on, never taking her eyes off her: “This is the face I want to see: happy and sunny. Remember, we love you just as you are, even if you’re wearing a diaper. With or without, you’ll always be my sweet Ava.” She opened her arms wide, looking like an eagle with its wings spread. Ava studied her mother’s loving, expectant face for an answer. Tears tumbled down her hot cheeks. She opened her mouth uncertainly, leaning forward and resting her head on her belly. She wrapped her arms around her with all the love she had inside her. “And what if I don’t like it anymore?” she whispered. “What if I want to go back to being a big girl?” “As long as you tell us, we’ll take it off you,” her mom said gently, lifting her chin to meet her gaze. “You don’t always have to wear it. Think of it as... a special occasion outfit.” Ava raised an eyebrow. “Is this a special occasion?” “In a way, it is,” her mom chuckled. “If we ever go out and you want to wear it under your clothes, you’ll have to be ready for what comes with it. Do you remember the little backpack I asked you to pack? It’s your diaper bag, although there are some for Tommy and Michelle too.” Ava’s dark eyes flicked to the purple backpack at the foot of the umbrella. She gasped, shocked at the mention of their names. She clearly remembered putting in three diapers her size, but were there really others for Tommy and Michelle? Why had Mom thought to put them in without telling anyone? She whispered, “You mean they...” “They probably want to follow in your footsteps,” her mom replied, confident in her reasoning. “You’re their big sister, after all. That’s why, before we go home, the three of you will stop by the bathroom, where we’ll talk about this. I want all of you to feel good about yourselves, starting with you.” Ava lowered her eyes to her yellow dress. She still wasn’t used to the tightness around her waist and the occasional plastic rustles as she walked. Up until now, she had felt calm and was happy to have it on. “Did you pee?” her mom asked softly, her tone filled with affection. Ava looked up, embarrassed, her face red as a tomato. Now there were those questions that could come up in the most awkward situations! Before she could respond, her mom grabbed the backpack and nodded her head toward the exit. “We should move to a more private place, don’t you think?” Ava could only nod. After all, her mom was right. The prying, curious stares of the passersby were starting to get on her nerves, so she took her hand and let her lead her to a more suitable place to talk.

Chapter 1: The Show That Changed Everything Terry had always humored Genevieve’s curiosity. So when she found a flyer for an adults-only hypnosis show and asked if they could go, he agreed with a shrug. “Sure, babe. Could be fun.” He didn’t expect what followed to flip their entire world. The theatre was dim, cozy, filled with couples and clusters of friends sipping wine. There was a buzz in the air—like everyone knew they were about to see something forbidden. The stage was set simply: one couch, one chair, and a single overhead spotlight. When the hypnotist walked out, a tall, silver-haired man with eyes like polished stone, the crowd hushed. “Tonight,” he said, his voice rich and slow, “we play with the mind. But more than that—we play with who you think you are.” Volunteers were called. At first, it was silly—people clucking, dancing, barking. But then it shifted. Terry and Genevieve watched as the hypnotist selected a tall, shy man near the back. He looked out of place—gangly, nervous, like he hadn’t meant to volunteer but got pressured by friends. The hypnotist guided him gently on stage and spoke in low tones. The man’s eyes fluttered. “Drop for me,” the hypnotist said. “That’s it. Let go.” Within moments, the tall man was kneeling. “You feel small now,” the hypnotist whispered into the mic, “so small you can’t think unless Daddy tells you what to think. You want to feel useful to Daddy. Don’t you?” The crowd murmured, caught between shock and arousal. The man nodded. “Good boy. Now crawl to your waiting Daddy. Show the room how eager you are.” From the edge of the stage, another man stepped out of the shadows—broad-shouldered, in a tailored vest, waiting patiently with a smirk. He radiated confidence, his eyes fixed on the hypnotized boy with hunger and control. As the submissive crawled to him, Daddy’s expression deepened into something almost reverent—he was watching someone surrender utterly for him, and he relished every second. “Present your mouth,” the hypnotist commanded. The boy moved between Daddy’s legs, hands settling gently on his thighs, eyes wide and adoring. He leaned forward, lips parting, and began to suck with slow, reverent eagerness. It wasn’t clumsy—it was worshipful. Daddy’s arousal was obvious—not just physical, but psychological. He exhaled slowly, his chest rising as he leaned back slightly, letting his hand rest possessively in the boy’s hair. His smile was content, yet hungry. Each motion of the boy’s lips and tongue coaxed out more than just sensation—it fed his dominance. He watched the boy with half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight: the flushed cheeks, the glistening lips, the soft gagging sounds that only made it sweeter. The pleasure wasn’t just from the act—it was from the power. The absolute control. The boy’s eagerness was intoxicating. “You see him?” the hypnotist purred to the audience. “That’s devotion. That’s a good little cocksucker giving Daddy everything he has.” The submissive moaned around him, trembling, hips subtly grinding against the floor. He was in deep—obedience and humiliation turning into raw pleasure. He never once broke contact. Daddy stroked his cheek with pride. “Look how much he needs this,” the hypnotist continued. “And look how much Daddy enjoys being worshipped.” Daddy’s other hand gripped the armrest, knuckles white, pleasure mounting as the boy increased his pace—sloppier now, more desperate. His legs tensed, hips lifting subtly into the boy’s face. His breathing deepened, each moan a confirmation of just how close he was. Then came the moment: a slow intake of breath, a growl of satisfaction, and the boy burying deep, holding himself still as if offering himself completely. Daddy’s eyes fluttered shut. He held the boy close for a moment, savoring the aftermath, fingers gently stroking through his hair. It wasn’t just release—it was fulfillment. Power and pleasure, perfectly intertwined. The boy’s body shook with his own climax, silent and overwhelmed, his cheeks still wet. He didn’t stop until Daddy exhaled and leaned back with a whisper of approval. When the hypnotist clapped his hands, the trance lifted. The boy blinked up, dazed, resting against Daddy’s leg like he’d just woken from the most vivid dream. The room erupted in applause. Terry blinked. “Holy shit,” he whispered. Genevieve didn’t answer. Her hand had drifted to Terry’s thigh, fingers squeezing slightly. That night, as they walked home, she was quiet. But her eyes sparkled. “Did that turn you on?” she finally asked. Terry hesitated. “I mean... it was intense. Hot, yeah. But more weird than anything.” Genevieve grinned. “I think I’d like to try learning it.” He laughed. “To get me to bark like a dog?” “No,” she said softly, voice husky. “To make you beg like him.” Terry didn’t sleep much that night. Neither did Genevieve. But for very different reasons. That was the night everything began. Let me know if you want more!?!?!?

Hello everyone, it’s been a while, and I’d like to try my hand at writing again. I know this particular concept isn’t exactly original, but I wanted to do something that doesn’t take place in the Diaper Dimension. This story ignores the Covid-19 pandemic, since I started writing it a long time ago before all that happened. I hope you enjoy what I have so far anyway! ############ Prologue: Day 7,118 Name: Emory Mason DOB: 21/07/2002 CIN: D14R5721 Citizen Lifestyle Assignment Sorting and Sectioning (CLASS) Result: Little Emory stares at the letter in disbelief. She feels numb. Hollowed out. She’s always been good at hiding it, making the profilers say whatever she wants them to say. It’s not hard, the questions are pretty straightforward, the answers easy to manipulate. Or at least, they had been until now. Her eyes burn, tears welling up, making the letter impossible to read--not that it matters now anyway. She’d been a fool to think she could manipulate the results of the most comprehensive, and thorough personality test ever conceived. Although, she thinks, there was more to this test than the basic questionnaire she’d filled out every year at school. Those had been simple things, designed to help the teacher understand their class. The actual CLASS exam had been a different beast altogether. There’d been bloodwork, physical ability tests, cognitive assessments...much more than she’d been expecting. She’s always done well in school, and although she’s no athlete; she’s too small and underweight to really be able to participate in sports, she likes to think she’s in good shape. But in the end, it’s the bloodwork that has given her away, her body has betrayed her in ways she hadn’t anticipated--enzymes and hormone levels can’t be fabricated, not without drugs, and a positive drug test before Classification is an immediate prison sentence. “No…” Emory whispers quietly. Her life is ending. All her careful answers to the questionnaires, all the effort she’d put into studying and getting good grades to get into a good university...all wasted. Her parents will disown her--they’ve made no secret of their hatred for Littles, they see them as inferior, a drain on the resources of society. All her friends are either Neutrals or Caregivers, but all the Caregivers are spoken for, and none of the Neutrals are at a point in their life where they can foster her until she finds a permanent placement. The only other Caregiver she knows is her roommate, Melody, but Melody’s never said anything about having a little, so that might not be an option either--she might not even want one... Emory might be able to continue her university education, but not without a Caregiver to sponsor her, and she certainly won’t be able to live unsupervised, like the adult she’s so desperately worked to become. “No!” She howls, and crumbles the letter into a tiny ball. Not that it matters, not really, every Federal, State, and Local agency already has her classification on file--the letter is really just a formality. She’s had her phone on silent, delaying the inevitable as long as possible until now, but she can’t hide from the results anymore. That realization is like a sucker punch, knocking the breath from her lungs and tying her stomach into an anxious, aching knot. She flops bonelessly onto the sofa, hugs a pillow to her chest, and sobs. The weight of her despair is crushing, the ache of her dreams being shattered winds around her chest like a band, squeezing the life out of her. Emory fumbles for her phone, crying and shaking so badly that she can barely dial the number she needs. “Hey, Emmy, I just got done at work, is everything okay?” Emory sucks in a shaky breath, forcing herself to control her breathing so she can speak. “Mellie, you gotta come home…” she chokes out, hiccupping. “Em, you sound really upset, what happened?” Melody’s voice is unbelievably tender and gentle, and the bands around Emory’s chest loosen a little. “I got my results today…” “Oh? Were they not what you expected?” “I’m...I’m a Little…” Emory manages to explain, before bursting into tears again. She’s said it out loud now, so it’s real, and definitive and inescapable. “Okay. It’s gonna be okay, Emmy, I promise. I need you to listen to me very carefully though, alright?” Emory nods, then realizes that Melody can’t actually see her. “Mhmm.” “I put an Emergency Littles Kit in the medicine cabinet. It comes in a bright blue box with a white ribbon on the front, like a Christmas present. I need you to get it for me and open it okay? I’ll be right here with you the whole time.” “O-okay…” Emory forces herself to get up and go to the bathroom; her legs feel like they’re made of lead. She opens the medicine cabinet and takes out the box. Inside the box are four round candies that look kind of like lifesavers, one each of green, yellow, purple, and a clear one. There’s a chart on the inside of the lid, with the color of the candies and a corresponding string of letters and numbers, but it’s indecipherable to Emory. “I’ve got it Melody…” Emory sniffles, sitting down on the closed toilet lid. “Good. You’re doing such a wonderful job Emmy. I need you to taste the candies and tell me which one you like best. If you don’t like one, you can just spit it out into the garbage, okay?” “Okay. Here goes…” Emory says, swallowing nervously. The green and yellow candies taste horrible, and she spits them out immediately. The purple candy tastes incredible, and she feels a little less awful after eating it, though she does wish there were more of them. The clear candy is completely bland--not as bad as the first two, but she spits it out anyway. “I’m all done. I really like the purple one, but the green and yellow ones were nasty. The clear one didn’t really taste like anything.” “Alright. I’m going to be home in five minutes. I want you to go into the living room and turn on Super Squad; you like that show, right?” “Yeah…” Emory frowns. She’d never really thought anything of her interest in the childish TV show until now, and it irritates her that she’d been so oblivious. “Good. Just try to relax and wait for me to get back, alright? I have to go so I can drive.” “Okay...I’ll see you when you get back, I guess. Drive safe.” “I will. See you soon.” Melody replies, and then she hangs up. A fresh wave of tears rolls down Emory’s cheeks at the silence, and she shuffles out to the living room to follow Melody’s instructions. She curls up on the couch dejectedly with her pillow, trying to focus on the cheerful music and whimsical nature of the cartoon, but it doesn’t really help all that much--she’s too busy catastrophizing, imagining all the ways her life is about to be upended. She feels so incredibly alone and vulnerable, and the only thing she can do is watch TV and cry about it. After what feels like a lot longer than five minutes, Melody is kneeling down in front of Emory. “Oh, sweetheart...you’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?” Melody says, in the same gentle, lilting voice she’d used on the phone. Her face is kind and understanding, her brown eyes warm and inviting. She’s put her hair up today, in a messy bun. Her hair is a slightly darker shade of brown than Emory’s. She opens her arms for a hug, and Emory lunges into her arms, bursting into tears all over again. “Mellie...What am I gonna do?” Emory presses her face into Melody’s chest. She’s probably getting Melody’s shirt all snotty, but Melody only holds onto her tighter. She smells like baby powder and vanilla, and her embrace is warm and safe. At least for now, Emory doesn’t feel quite so terrible. “Shhh, honey.” Melody reaches underneath Emory’s shirt to rub her back. The skin-to-skin contact is soothing, and it helps to ground Emory amidst the swirl of emotion she’s feeling. “One thing at a time. I know this must be pretty scary for you, but I promise, it’s gonna be okay. First, we’re gonna cuddle here for a little bit until you’re calmer. Then, we’re gonna get you in a nice warm bath, and then we’re going to go to the store for some things, okay. We’re not gonna worry about anything else for right now.” Emory wants to protest, to say that of course she’s worried about literally everything else, but she doesn’t. Melody seems so sure that things will work out, so in control of a situation that’s completely unfamiliar to her, it seems foolish to argue. “Okay…” Melody rocks them for a bit, continuing to rub Emory’s back. The fact that Melody is so much bigger than her had always bothered Emory, because she’d wanted to be seen as an equal, which was hard to accomplish with Melody being so much taller than her. But now, it’s not so bad, since Melody can easily hold her. As much as she wants to deny it, Melody’s affections really are helping to calm her down. Melody stands and carries Emory into the kitchen, before sitting her down on the counter and filling up a glass with water. “Here,” Melody says gently. “You must be thirsty.” Emory nods and drains the glass; she hadn’t realized that she was thirsty until Melody’d mentioned it, and she drinks a second glass, then half of a third for good measure. “Thanks. I guess I was really thirsty.” “You’re welcome. You said you liked the purple candy?” Melody asks as she puts the used glass into the sink next to Emory. Emory nods, smiling a little at the memory of the taste. “It was really good! There was a chart on the inside of the lid, but I don’t know what the codes mean.” She reaches out to hold onto Melody’s shirt, keeping her close. Even the little bit of distance between them now seems like too much, like the world might just swallow her up in her newfound helplessness. Melody smiles gently and presses a kiss to Emory’s forehead. “That’s because those codes aren’t for you to worry about honey. Those are for me, so I know what to put into the kiosk at the Little’s Supply store--it will generate a shopping list for us to make sure we don’t miss anything. The candy should help you to feel a little more relaxed for the rest of the day.” “Oh.” Emory frowns as an awful thought occurs to her. “Will you take me to an assignment center? I know I won’t be allowed to live on my own, and I’m not sure if you even wanted a Little or not, so…” Melody raises an eyebrow, and Emory suddenly feels chastised and small. “Didn’t I just say that we’re not gonna worry about all that right now?” Emory looks at her lap, eyes welling up with tears all over again. “Yeah. Sorry.” Melody smiles and lifts Emory onto her hip. “It’s okay, sweetheart. And no, I’m not going to take you to an assignment center, those places are horrible. I don’t have a Little, because I haven’t really bonded with anyone in that way yet. Taking on a Little is kind of a big deal, you know, it’s a big commitment and a lot of responsibility. Caregivers are required to do lots of stuff to make sure Littles are taken care of, and if things don’t go well, we can end up in a lot of trouble.” “Really? I didn’t know that…” “Yeah. Mostly it’s just to make sure that Littles aren’t taken advantage of or abused. If someone takes on a Little, then they’re required to provide for them, just like you would for a child. There are things to help with all that of course--the government gives out a pretty hefty stipend to make sure people have enough money to get what they need, but it doesn’t always get used for the things it should be. Some Caregivers are only after status, and they’ll use the money on themselves and neglect their Little in the process.” “Oh.” Emory nibbles her thumb absently. “That seems pretty scary.” “Not really. It’s just something you’ve gotta take seriously. Sometimes Littles and Caregivers will have to part ways like if the Caregiver gets sick and can’t be responsible for the Little anymore. But outside of really serious stuff like that, it’s very difficult to separate from someone once you’ve made that commitment, at least legally speaking.” “Is that why you don’t have a Little yet?” Emory wonders. “Partly. I don’t want to let anyone down, you know? I mean, I know I can handle it, it’s just a lot to think about before making a decision. And, not all Caregivers are the kind who want Littles. Some people just like to help others in need--a lot of firefighters and police and stuff are Caregiver types. And, not all Littles need to have a Caregiver around all the time--it really depends on the person.” “Wow. That is a lot to think about.” Emory plays with Melody’s hair thoughtfully. “But don’t worry. Right now, I’m going to take care of you.” Melody heads back into the living room and then sits down on the couch with Emory in her lap. Do you mind if I read your letter? I’m gonna need some info from it for when we go to LS later on.” “Sure.” Emory uncrumples it as best she can and hands it over. “Does it say anything bad? I don’t really understand the technical stuff.” Melody is quiet for a moment while she reads, pausing occasionally to take notes on her phone, and then she smiles at Emory. “No, it doesn’t. It basically just says that you’ll be required to have supervision at all times. It also says that you’ll need diapers if I’m reading the section on bloodwork correctly--the rest of that stuff at the end is just info for the machine at the store.” Emory frowns and folds her arms. “How is having to wear diapers not a bad thing? What if I don’t want to be supervised all the time?” “The supervision is for your safety, and as far as the diapers go, you might not need them right away, but it’s indicated in your letter. You don’t want to be having accidents all the time do you?” Emory frowns. “No...but I’ve never really had a big problem with that.” “That’s part of why getting Classified is so important. You wouldn’t want that to be a surprise, would you?” “I guess not. But I haven’t had any accidents for a long time. I don’t see why it would just suddenly become a problem now.” “It’s different from person to person. Some Littles have accidents all their lives, and some only start having them after classification. The genetic markers in your bloodwork that identify you as a Little all activate at different speeds for different people. You might not be having problems now, but they’re coming, and it’s better to be prepared, right?” “Yeah...I don’t want to be a Little though.” “I’m sorry sweetheart. But there’s nothing that can be done about it. Just like you can’t help how tall you are or what color eyes you have. It’s not a terrible thing though, I promise.” “It’s not fair.” Emory points out. “I know. But that’s the way it is. Thank you for letting me read your letter. I know it’s a big adjustment, but I really think you’ll be happier once everything isn’t so new and different to what you’re used to. And I’m gonna be here to help you too.” “Thanks…Won’t you be in trouble at your job though? If you’re here with me?” Emory wonders. “No. There are all kinds of legal protections for Caregivers who live with someone who gets classified as a Little. They don’t last forever, but there’s nothing to worry about yet. I don’t actually need to go into the office anyway, it’s just nice to get out of the house sometimes.” Emory lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and rests against Melody’s chest. Her future is still very uncertain, but knowing that Melody will be with her makes it a little less terrifying. “You’re very welcome, munchkin. Now, what do you say we get you into a nice, warm bath, and then we’ll get ready to go to the store. Sound good?” Emory nods, nibbling on the thumb of her free hand. “Yeah.” And then, before she can stop herself she says: “Will you stay? I don’t wanna be alone right now…” Melody scoops her up and settles her on her hip. “I’ll be right here with you the whole time. I know this must be really overwhelming for you. Just relax and let me handle everything okay? We’ll talk more about what to do next in the morning; right now we’re just going to try and relax. You just do what feels natural to you, okay, I’m not going to judge you or tease you.” Emory slips her thumb into her mouth experimentally, cheeks heating up in embarrassment, but Melody doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. She feels a few soothing pats against her bottom, and she just relaxes into Melody, feeling safer than she has in a long time. She’s conflicted--she knows she should be mortified, appalled at herself even. But, all the same, she...isn’t. Emory’s life has been turned upside down in an instant, and if Melody is volunteering to navigate this crazy situation for her, maybe it’s best to just let her. And besides, maybe knowing her...tendencies as a Little will be helpful in the future. “Do you want bubbles in your bath tonight, Emmy?” Melody asks, setting Emory down on the floor so she can begin filling the tub. “Yes please.” Emory says around her thumb, taking hold of Melody’s shirt again. She squirms, the tiles are cold against her feet, and her bladder has begun signaling that it’s probably time to start heading for the toilet. It throbs painfully, and Emory can feel her eyes welling up with tears all over again. “Mellie, I gotta-” And that’s as far as she gets before her bladder throbs again, and then she’s wetting herself, liquid splashing down the inside of her thighs and dripping onto the floor beneath her. She just stands there, wet and pathetic and horrified by what she’s just done. Sure, she’s had her share of close calls, but she hasn’t actually had an accident like this since she was a little kid. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Accidents happen, it’s not a big deal.” Melody pulls Emory into a hug despite her wet clothes, and Emory is eternally grateful for the comfort. Melody’s statement doesn’t feel very true to Emory, but it’s easier not to be so upset about it since Melody isn’t bothered by it. “Okay, Emmy, I need you to put your hands on my shoulders so you don’t fall, alright? I’m gonna help you get out of these wet clothes.” Melody’s voice is soothing and gentle as she helps Emory to get undressed. Emory’s beginning to feel like she’ll never stop crying at this rate. “I can-I can do it myself…” She hiccups and tries in vain to stop the flow of tears. “Shhh, babe, it’s okay.” Melody soothes. “I know you can. But, I’ve got it this time, okay? Emmy, please, just let me help you.” Emory doesn’t really feel embarrassed at being naked in front of Melody; it’s not the first time it’s happened, and anyway, she mostly just hopes she doesn’t pee on the floor again. The air in the bathroom is cool against her skin, and she shivers, hugging herself for warmth. “Come here,” Melody says softly, gathering Emory to her. She presses a kiss to Emory’s temple. “How are you feeling right now?” “Lost. Scared. Angry. Confused...Sad...It’s a lot. I had my whole life planned out, a good career, a nice apartment on the ritzy side of town...But it doesn’t matter now.” “Just because you’re a Little, doesn’t mean you can’t be successful. Sure, you might not be able to live on your own or do certain jobs, but there’s plenty of stuff out there for you if you want it.” “But-” Emory begins to protest some more, but Melody interrupts by taking her by the shoulders and giving her a serious look. “Shh. No more ‘buts’. I know you probably have tons of questions, and I will answer all of them, tomorrow, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep. This is how things are now, and you can either spend your energy worrying over how things are going to be, or you can try to be open about the experience and take things as they come. I promise you, I won’t let anything bad happen to you okay? So try to relax. I’ve got you.” Melody presses a kiss to Emory’s forehead, probably to emphasize her point. Emory nods. “Okay.” “Is this a good temperature for the water?” Melody asks, as she adds the bubble bath solution to the tub. Emory tests the water, and is pleasantly surprised to find that it’s just the right temperature. It usually takes her a bit of fiddling to get the water how she likes it, and Melody has nailed it on the first try. It’s a small thing, but it makes it a little easier to put her trust in Melody to look after her. “It’s just right,” Emory says with a smile. “Good,” Melody answers, smiling back at her before lifting her into the tub. “Do you want to wash on your own this time?” It’s a simple question with monumental implications. Emory sucks on her thumb absently, thinking. The warm water has eased her stress levels a bit more, and she’s beginning to realize how worn-out she feels. She thinks back to what Melody’d said earlier, about experiencing this new reality and taking things as they come, and she makes her decision. “Could you do it please?” Emory says around her thumb. “Sure thing! You just sit back and relax. Thank you for trusting me little one, it means a lot to me.” Melody says, and reaches for the soap and washcloth. Part of Emory is irritated at the new nickname. But, if she’s being honest with herself, it makes her feel warm inside, and it’s not really all that embarrassing either. The cognitive dissonance is exhausting and it’s giving her a headache. She doesn’t have the energy to keep protesting and behaving like pre-Classification Emory would. So, she decides to just let Melody take charge for the night. Melody is very gentle when she scrubs Emory down, but not so gentle that it’s inefficient, and she even takes extra special care to avoid getting soap in Emory’s eyes. When she’s finished, she pulls the plug on the drain and wraps Emory in a big, fluffy towel before picking her up again. “Thank you Mellie. That was...really nice.” Emory says honestly. “You’re welcome sweetie. Now, let’s get you dressed, and we’ll head over to the Littles Supply. Do you want to get ice cream when we’re finished there?” Emory nods. Ice cream sounds like the perfect comfort food after a day like today. Melody brings her to her room instead of going to Emory’s and lays her down on the bed. “Stay still, okay munchkin? I’ll just be a sec.” Melody rummages around in her closet for a moment before getting a moderately-sized blue bag with the same ribbon on it as the ELK from the top shelf. She takes out a plain white diaper, powder, and some lotion, as well as a pastel purple onesie with a snap crotch. Emory fidgets, uncertain. She’s a little embarrassed, but she’s also very curious about how it’s going to feel to be in a diaper for the first time since she was a baby. “This will only take a minute, sweetheart. Try not to wiggle around too much, okay?” Emory nods and slips her thumb into her mouth again. “‘Kay.” She says softly. Melody puts lotion on her entire body, not just her diaper area, which she hadn’t been expecting. It’s hard not to squirm, since Melody seems to have a knack for finding all of her ticklish spots, but she does her best. The lotion has a very pleasant smell though, so she doesn’t mind. Melody doesn’t even ask Emory to do anything during the diapering portion of the process, she just lifts Emory by the ankles before sliding the diaper under her. She dusts Emory with powder before pulling the diaper up between her legs and securing it snugly with the tapes. The smell of baby powder and lotion in combination is incredibly relaxing, and it takes Emory a moment to realize that Melody is talking to her. “Are you okay?” Emory nods, giving an experimental wiggle. The diaper isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s definitely going to take some getting used to. Still, it’s not nearly as bad as she’d been afraid it would be. “Mhmm.” She answers. “It actually feels kinda nice…” “Oh? Well, I’m glad to hear that!” Melody says, before helping Emory to sit up. “Arms up, please.” Emory complies so Melody can dress her in the onesie, which feels strange, but like the diaper, it isn’t uncomfortable either. She smiles at the realization, maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Melody reaches into the bag and takes out a black pair of overalls and an oversized purple hair bow and helps Emory dress before tying her hair back in a ponytail. She takes a few items out of the bag and sets them aside--apparently there were different sizes of everything in, and they’d only needed what Emory was wearing. Emory looks at the pile and is kind of embarrassed to realize that the only size missing from the pile is ‘extra small’ and she hadn’t thought that she was that tiny… Melody helps Emory stand and guides her in front of the mirror. “All done, what do you think?” Melody wonders. Emory blinks at her reflection, her own blue eyes staring back at her. Her lighter brown hair is tied back with the oversized bow that Melody had taken from the bag, and she realizes that she looks like a toddler, only a bit bigger. She’s a little embarrassed to notice that the overalls also have snaps in the crotch, but other than that, it’s a pretty normal-looking outfit. She’d even go so far as to say it’s cute...And, as an added bonus, the diaper isn’t obvious at all, it’s the snaps in the crotch that give that away. “I like it. It’s comfier than I thought It would be, but walking around in a diaper feels a little weird.” Emory confesses, turning to look up at Melody. “I’m glad you like it. The bag didn’t leave me with many options, but you’ll have a chance to pick some things out at the LS. They make some pretty cute stuff, but it’s okay if you prefer the plainer side of the spectrum.” Emory shrugs. “I’m not sure what I’d like best...I’ll have to see what they’ve got.” She feels a little nervous at the prospect of going out in public as a Little for the first time, and without really thinking about it, she lifts her arms toward Melody, hoping to be picked up. It’s only after she’s lifted into Melody’s arms that it dawns on her what she’d just done. “Alright, little one, let’s get a move on. I’d like to get you to bed at a reasonable time tonight, and we have lots to do.” Part of Emory bristles at the thought of being given a bedtime, but she ignores it and says: “Okay.” Melody smiles and kisses Emory’s temple--Emory doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of being shown affection like that, and she snuggles a little closer to Melody without really meaning too. Melody pats Emory’s bottom; it’s something she’s done many times before, but it’s somehow more comforting now, and it makes it easy to put aside her fears of going out. “Don’t worry,” Melody says as she heads for the door. “I’ve got you.” *~*~*~*~* The Littles Supply store isn’t very busy when they arrive. Or, at least it doesn’t seem that way, as Emory spends most of her time looking at the ground. She still hasn’t gotten used to walking in a diaper, and she’s almost sure she looks a little awkward. She just holds Melody’s hand and tries to keep pace with her much longer stride. “Well hello there!” Someone says. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” Emory can feel her face heating up a little and she makes herself look up to see who’s speaking to her. There’s a lady sitting in a chair by the entrance with red hair, blue eyes, and a bright smile who’s waving at her. She’s got on a name tag that says ‘Beth’, with the Littles Supply logo on it. Emory moves a bit so she’s mostly behind Melody. The employee’s greeting doesn’t scare her, not exactly, it’s just that she feels kind of exposed, and she isn’t quite sure that she’s ready to be seen like this by people other than Melody. “Hi…” Emory answers, very quietly, giving the employee a small wave. “Aww, someone’s a little shy today. That’s okay. Would you like a lollipop or a sticker?” Emory shuffles forward a bit to see her choices, before looking back at Melody to make sure this is okay with her. Melody smiles at her and gestures at her to continue. “Go on sweetheart, it’s alright. Pick anything you like.” “You can have one of each if you’d like.” Beth whispers, like she’s letting Emory in on some big secret. Emory gasps a little in surprise without really meaning to. “Wow…” After a moment of deliberation she chooses a purple lollipop and a sticker that says ‘Superstar’ with a golden star wearing sunglasses. “Thank you.” Emory says in a small voice, and then goes back to Melody, taking her hand immediately. She hands the sticker to Melody once they’re inside the store. “Oh, is this for me?” Melody wonders. Emory nods. “Mhmm. I just wanted to say thanks for taking care of me. I’m really glad you’re my friend.” She feels like she’s said too much, but it’s too late to take it back now. “Aww, thank you sweetie.” Melody says, and puts the sticker on her shirt. She stops in front of the carts, some of which are much bigger than the usual-sized ones and looks at Emory. “Do you want to ride in the cart? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” “Yes please.” Emory says, she’s already feeling kind of drained from the day, and the less walking she has to do, the better. Melody lifts her gently into the cart. “If you want to get out to look at stuff, just let me know, okay?” Emory nods. Their next stop is the kiosk that Melody had talked about earlier. It’s kind of unassuming, just a big screen with a keyboard under it and a little printer beside it that has a sign above it that says: ‘First Time? Start Here’. Melody pauses to consult her notes, types a few things into the machine, and after a moment, the printer whirs to life and spits out a ribbon of paper. “Okay, we’ve got our list. Are you ready to get started?” Melody asks. Emory nods. “Alright then, Off we go!” Melody says cheerfully. The store is a lot like the other big-box retailers in town, but it sells exclusively stuff for Littles, everything from clothing to those giant inflatable bouncy castles. Their first stop is the section Emory has been dreading the most, the diaper aisle. There are tons of options to pick from, and although she’d rather not even be in this section, she knows that it won’t do any good to complain about it. She looks around at the packages and finds herself drawn to the ones with animal designs and some of the ones with spaceships and stars. “I like those.” Emory says, pointing to them. Melody takes a box of each of them and puts them into the cart. “Those are pretty cute.” Melody says. “We can have more delivered to the house in bulk, so we’re not gonna get a bunch right now. Do you see any other kinds you like?” Emory points out a few more that also get put into the cart. They head to the next aisle, one that has pacifiers, bottles and formula on one side, and various comfort items like blankets on the other. “You don’t need to have formula, don’t worry.” Melody says before Emory can ask. “But you are going to need a cup with some kind of no-spill lid. Do you want to pick some, or do you want me to just go by the designs on your diapers?” Emory shrugs, blushing a little at ‘your diapers’. It’s true, but it’s still kind of embarrassing to hear it out loud. “You can pick. I think I’d probably take forever, and I’m kind of tired.” “Okay. If you see anything you like just shout.” Melody says, and begins sifting through items and putting them in the cart. Emory lets her eyes wander before they land on a bottle with zoo animals that comes with a matching set of pacifiers and a very soft blanket. “Can I have that? Please?” It’s embarrassing to ask for it, but she really wants it, so she swallows her pride. Melody adds it to their rapidly filling cart. “Of course you can. Thank you for using such good manners, sweetheart.” She tosses in a few other pacifiers and clips for good measure. Emory smiles at the praise. They turn the corner into the next aisle, one that has carseats, some of which are just upscaled versions of seats for toddlers. “Wow...They’re huge!” Emory points out. “Yep. They’re meant to replace the actual seat in the car. We’ll just get a ticket and take it up front, and they’ll install it overnight. There’s a shuttle that will take us home, and we can come back in the morning for the car. If you were a little bigger, we could probably just get away with replacing the seatbelt with a harness, and you could still sit up front. but I think the full-size carseat is the would be the safest option for you. Do you wanna try some of them out and see which ones you like?” Emory feels a bit sad at the realization that her days of sitting up front are over, but nods. All of the seats are comfortable, but she settles on a black one with light blue cushioning. It’s got a cupholder, a built-in charging port for her phone and it even reclines. It’s a little on the pricier side though, and that makes her think of something else. “Um, Mellie? How am I gonna pay for all this stuff?” “When you got classified as a Little, there was an account set up in your name that’s tied to the ID on your letter. You’ll get a card for it later, but until you get a Caregiver, the government stipend for Little care will go into that account. All we have to do is put in that ID number at the register, and everything will be taken care of. Didn’t you read any of the info things they gave you at Classification?” Emory shakes her head. “Only the ones for Neutrals and Caregivers. I was so sure I wasn’t gonna end up as a Little that I didn’t bother with those.” She realizes as she says it that that lack of foresight is exactly the kind of thing one would expect from a Little. It seems so obvious now… “That’s okay. We can talk more about all that later. We’re almost done, we just need to get you a crib, a changing table, and some clothes. Unless you want to look at some toys first? I know you’ve got your computer at home and the Playstation, but I thought you might want to do some other things sometimes too.” “I have to sleep in a crib too?” Emory frowns. It doesn’t sound all that bad, but she feels like she should protest on principle. “Yes, babe. Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to get out in case of emergency, and I’ll put a monitor in your room in case you need something.” Mallory explains. “I can’t really have you up and roaming around the house if I’m not awake to watch you, at least until we Little-proof things.” Emory huffs. “I’m not gonna go around sticking forks in light sockets or eating the dishwasher soap thingies, Mellie.” “I know, but you aren’t really in Littlespace right now either. Once you get more comfortable with things, I think you might be surprised. Besides, you can keep your TV and stuff so if you wake up before me, you won’t have to sit in there and be bored.” Emory just pouts. “Do you want to look at toys after we’re done picking out your crib and changing table?” Emory smiles. Even before she’d gotten Classified, she’d enjoyed walking through the toy section just to look around, even if she’d only ever gotten her stuffed bear, Rufus, from there. “Okay!” It doesn’t take them long to order their furniture, but Emory lets Melody handle that part. She does hope that the people coming to install it don’t take a long time to do so though; she’s uncomfortable enough with all this without a bunch of strange people in her house... Emory stays close to Melody at first when they get to the toy section, since none of the toys for the really little Littles are very interesting. The shape-sorting toy seems like it would get boring pretty fast. She does like the blocks though, and gets a pretty big assortment of those. The aisle with all the Legos is the most exciting though, since she’d always loved playing with them as a child, and it’s really cool to see how complex some of the things she could build are now. She spends more time than she probably should browsing, and when she looks up to ask Melody if she can get a few things, she realizes that Melody is...gone. Inwardly, Emory knows that Melody wouldn’t abandon her, but she can’t stop herself from panicking. She manages to stave it off momentarily by remembering that she can just call Melody and ask where she is. But, when she pats herself down, looking for her phone, she remembers that it’s still on the floor at home. The gravity of being alone hits her like a freight train; now that she’s a Little, she doesn’t have many options for getting back home by herself. Without her phone, she can’t use a ride-sharing service to get home, if she’s even allowed to do that now, and she knows for a fact that buses won’t take unattended Littles either. She might even get taken to an Assignment Center. Her breathing picks up, and her vision blurs as she bursts into tears, her heart jackhammering away inside her chest. Before she can really start crying, someone’s pulling her into a tight hug--she knows it’s Melody by the smell of her perfume. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why all these tears, hmm?” Emory just cries, unable to pull herself together quickly enough to respond right away. She just holds on tighter to Melody. “Can you tell Mellie what’s wrong, little one? I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.” “I c-couldn’t see you. An’ I got scared…” Emory chokes out. “I’m sorry little love, I thought you heard me when I said I was going to the next aisle over for a minute. You know I’d never leave you here all by yourself, right? Never ever.” That makes Emory feel a little better, and she feels kind of silly for getting so worked up over such a little thing. “I know…’M sorry I freaked out like that…” “You don’t ever have to be sorry for having feelings, Emmy. It’s perfectly okay to cry if you’re scared. Did you find anything you’d like?” Emory nods and gives Melody a watery smile before moving to show her what she’d been looking at. After picking out a few things, they move on to the clothing section. Their trip through the clothing section is by far the longest part of their visit to the store. Emory gets out to help Melody pick out some things--she gravitates toward the plainer, pastel colors, but Melody is definitely a fan of the more overtly cute stuff with designs and little sayings on it. Thankfully, she doesn’t pick out anything too outlandish. And that’s when it happens. Emory’s trailing behind Melody a bit, pausing to look at things, but always making sure that she can see Melody, when her bladder throbs. She suddenly regrets her decision to drink so much water earlier and she knows immediately that she doesn’t have long to get to a toilet. And, with the extra steps to undress because of the overalls, onesie, and diaper, she isn’t even really sure that she can. She squirms a bit and opens her mouth to let Melody know what’s going on, when her bladder fails entirely with a painful spasm, and she wets her diaper. She stands there awkwardly, brow furrowing at the unfamiliar sensation. She’d had to go even more than she’d realized, and she ends up rooted to the spot, hoping she can finish before Melody notices what’s happening, as unlikely as that is. The feeling of wetting her diaper isn’t bad, but it’s foreign to her, not to mention embarrassing. She’s glad to be wearing it though, since no one knows what’s happened except her, and maybe--probably--Melody. At least she hasn’t left a puddle on the floor… Emory looks up to see Melody in front of her, arms open for a hug, like she knows exactly what just happened. Emory doesn’t waste any time taking advantage of the offer. “‘M sorry…” Emory says quietly, fighting back tears for the umpteenth time that day. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Emmy” Melody soothes quietly, rubbing Emory’s back. “That’s what your diaper is for. It’s better than leaving a mess, right?” Emory nods. Melody reaches down to pat Emory’s bottom. “Your diaper can hold a lot more than that, but I understand if you want to get changed now. We’ve got a little time before the shuttle gets here to take us home, and they already set up delivery for your diapers, so we don’t need to do that. We can hurry and go to get ice cream after we pay, or I can change your diaper, but we might not have time for ice cream after that.” “But you said we could…” Emory feels her eyes welling up with tears at the thought of missing out on ice cream. She rubs them gently with her fists, trying to stop herself from crying again, and sort of surprises herself when she yawns. “Oh, little one, you’re so tired...I know I did. Can you wait to get changed until we get home?” Emory nods. A wet diaper doesn’t feel great, but it’s not terribly uncomfortable either. And besides, it’s worth enduring if it means she gets ice cream. “I can wait…” “Okay.” Melody says and fishes a tissue out of her purse. She holds it up to Emory’s nose. “Blow, sweetheart.” she says, and Emory does. Emory’s thumb drifts toward her mouth, but Melody stops her. “Oh no, Emmy, don’t do that, it’s icky. We’ve been touching lots of stuff that other people have handled, and I don’t want you to get sick. Do you want to try a pacifier instead?” Emory thinks about it for a moment, and then nods. No one has teased her or mocked her since she arrived at the store, so maybe she’s worried over nothing. Melody hunts through her bag for a moment before finding one, it’s the same shade of purple as Emory’s shirt.. She takes out a clip for the pacifier and clips it to Emory’s shirt for her. “There you go, sweetheart.” Emory gives it an experimental suck, and realizes two things: First, that it’s faintly vanilla flavored, and secondly that it’s way better than sucking her thumb. She suckles on it happily and smiles at Melody. “Thank you!” Melody chuckles. “You’re too cute. You’re very welcome Emmy. Do you want to walk, or ride in the cart to go back up front?” “I can walk,” Emory says, afraid she’ll fall asleep if she sits in the cart, and she doesn’t want to miss out on her opportunity for ice cream. “That’s fine. Hold my hand though, I don’t want you to get lost.” Melody says. “I’m not gonna get lost…” Emory protests. “Emmy, you almost got lost earlier because you weren’t paying attention. We’re not gonna do that again, okay? I know this is all very new to you, but I need you to listen to me.” “I can do it myself!” Emory responds, too loudly, and stomps her foot without really meaning to. She’s exhausted and out-of-sorts, and it’s so hard to keep a lid on her emotions when everything is so new and overwhelming. “Excuse me? That’s not a very nice way to talk to someone, Emmy.” Melody says, raising an eyebrow, and taking Emory by the shoulders. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. I know you can do it yourself, but I don’t think that’s a very good choice right now, do you?” Emory harrumphs and turns around to face away from Melody, too upset with everything to speak. She’s mad at herself for not being able to control her emotions better, mad at Melody for not letting her prove that she’s capable of doing things on her own, and mad at the Classification test for doing this to her. “I’m mad!” she says, like it isn’t already obvious. “That’s okay.” Melody says, and her calm, gentle voice is somehow even more irritating--a reminder of how grown-up and in-control she is, everything that Emory isn’t. “You’re allowed to be mad. Do you need a minute to calm down so we can talk?” Emory folds her arms and flops down onto her butt without answering. She’s grateful for her diaper, since sitting down so hard would definitely have hurt otherwise. She feels Melody’s lips against the top of her head. “Okay.” Melody says. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready to use your words.” Emory’s crying again before she can stop herself. She knows she’s made a mistake, but everything is so different and wrong and it’s hard to know what to do. She gets up and turns around to face Melody, sobbing and reaching for her. “Oh, honey…” Melody’s voice is almost a coo as she lifts Emory into her arms. “We’ve had a stressful day, haven’t we, little one?” She wonders, but she doesn’t seem to expect an answer from Emory. Emory presses her face into Melody’s chest. “‘M sorry!” she bawls. “It’s okay sweetheart, everything is forgiven. But do you understand why I want you to hold my hand?” Emory nods. “So I don’t get lost and scared again.” “That’s right. I don’t like seeing you so upset. Do you know what makes me feel better when I’m sad?” Melody asks. “Cuddles?” Emory ventures. “Yes, do you know what else cheers me up?” Emory shrugs. “Ice cream. Would you like to have some after we pay?” Emory nods. “Yes please.” “I think that can be arranged,” Melody says, and smiles at her before setting her down in the cart. “Let’s go pay for our things.” With their cart piled high with loot, they head for the registers at the front. Emory falls asleep before they get there, dreaming of ice cream.

Sunday morning, wet and ready to start day. Need to change.

18-year-old Benjamin has just been evicted from the college dorms after he has failed out of college for the semester. He sits in the student lounge with his bags while he figures out his next moves. His former professor Megan is talking to her faculty friend and sees him sitting alone. She is confused because he is supposed to be in her class for the semester. "Hi Ben. I missed you in my class this semester. Are you okay?"

Hello All! It's been a while since I've posted a new story, but I'm back with a project I'm very excited about! "You Know What They Do to Girls Like Us in Brighter Days?" is the story of Rei Akiyama, a young girl trying to navigate through life in a near future dystopia where the age of majority has been raised to 28 for girls and regressive behavioral therapy has become popular to help girls adjust to these new laws. The world this story is set in is very strongly inspired by/based on the world building of Alteredstates, so a lot of credit goes to him! For those unfamiliar with Alteredstates, he does world building through ad copy and other cultural artifacts. While you don't need to be familiar with his work to understand and appreciate this story, I strongly recommend you check it out! Not only because it will help you immerse yourself in this world, but also because it's genuinely really good! You can find him on Tumblr, Twitter, and Patreon! Without further ado, I give you the prologue and first two chapters of "You Know What They Do to Girls Like Us in Brighter Days?" Prologue The night of Wednesday, October 4th, 2028, was unseasonably cold in the city of Greenham; snow was in the forecast for the next day in a city that rarely saw a snowflake until at least January. By 7:28PM, there were already flurries dancing through the cold wind that whipped through the dumpsters behind City Hall, where John Bennet, the head of City Hall security, stood with his foot propping open the emergency exit of the east stairwell. He blew out a lungful of smoke as he dropped his cigarette on the pavement below and crushed it beneath his shoe. John was nothing if not a creature of habit; so much so that, if one cared to be so observant, they could predict exactly what time John would take the last smoke break of his shift before he did his final sweep of the building. He would then go home to his shabby apartment. That night, however, was different. That night, John wouldn’t be going home; he would be meeting a 28-year-old girl he had met on the internet. That night, John’s phone rang just as he was about to go back inside. He fished his phone out of his pocket, smiling when he saw his date’s name on the caller ID, and swiped his finger across the screen as he raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, baby girl,” he said, trying to sound smooth, “I can’t wait to see you.” On the other end of the phone, a young-sounding voice poured honeyed words into his ear as he turned and walked back into the building. Another night, under less distracting circumstances, John would have almost certainly noticed that the door never clicked closed behind him, but the telling silence was lost amongst the words that sent his blood pumping. In a bar a few miles away, Edward Cook was ordering a drink for a girl who looked too young to be there. The girl blushed as she slid her ID and emancipation card across the counter at the bartender’s request, brushing her blue hair behind her ear to look coyly at Edward out of the corner of her eye as she did. Edward never even noticed the girl on the other side of him, or her hand as she slipped a hard plastic card at the end of a black lanyard out of his suit jacket pocket. The card, printed with Edward’s picture and the seal of the Office of Juvenile Affairs, disappeared into the girl’s clutch purse as she quietly slipped away from the bar. She checked the time on her phone as she stepped out into the frosty night: 7:34PM. Elsewhere, the number 9 county bus was pulling over for an unscheduled stop due to a disturbance on the bus involving three young girls. The driver, Richard Lawson, broke up the altercation with the help of another passenger and removed the girls from the bus. That taken care of, an exasperated Richard reported the incident to dispatch, who noted the number 9 bus was running ten minutes behind but was resuming his route at 7:47PM. Back at the courthouse, John, having finished his final sweep of the building and found nothing out of the ordinary, put the finishing touches on his security logs for the night and leaned back in his chair, eyes sweeping over the bank of CCTV monitors that showed snapshots of the interior of the courthouse. It was, however, the clock that John was truly focused on, his eyes constantly flicking between it and the monitors. The moment those numbers turned from 7:59 to 8:00PM, John pushed himself out of his chair and jabbed his finger at the button that caused all of the monitors to wink out simultaneously. Had he waited just a minute longer, he might have seen the black garbed figures slip in from the emergency exit in the east stairwell. He could have watched as they crept up that staircase and slipped into second floor hallway. Another camera would have shown the figures slink down the hallway, past the Permits Office and the Office of Parks and Recreation. On a third camera, the figures stopped in front of a frosted glass door with Office of Juvenile Affairs printed across it in thick, black block letters. One of the figures swiped a card by the panel next to the door, the light turned from red to green, and the figures quickly disappeared through the door. Later, security logs would be pulled showing Edward Cook had accessed the office at 8:04PM; the subsequent investigation would find Cook was not guilty of any direct involvement but would still lose his position on the grounds of gross negligence. By 8:15PM, Greenham City Hall was silent and empty. At 8:17PM, the number 9 county bus blew past the empty bus stop at the far end of the City Hall parking lot. On an ordinary night, Richard would typically idle at this station for a few minutes, but he was working hard to make up for lost time. The next few stops were just as empty, which wasn’t unusual for this time of night on a weekday. It was 8:34PM when the bus pulled up to the stop at Greenham Community College, where three girls and four boys boarded the bus, all of them in their late teens and early twenties. Richard Lawson wouldn’t even think to mention this to investigators later, though they likely would have made nothing of it if he had. By 8:50PM, the city of Greenham, a suburb of the nation’s capital city, was settling into its slumber. A few bars and restaurants were still pouring drinks for late night clientele, but curfew was quickly approaching and all those affected were either already home or else rushing to get there. At 8:54PM, the electric engine of the number 9 county bus was humming along through the streets of one such sleepy neighborhood, empty but for Ricard Lawson and a small handful of passengers: a young girl with black hair and tawny skin carrying a bookbag tight to her chest, two boys with their feet on the seats laughing raucously in the back of the bus, and a mother and a daughter riding together. Richard glanced up at the passengers in his rearview mirror and caught the eye of the daughter. She had bright blue eyes, a practical waterfall of golden curls, and looked to be in her early twenties. Richard smiled at the girl in the mirror; he had to admit, she was adorable in her pink shirt and plaid skirtall. She smiled back at him from behind the shield of her pacifier. The mother turned away from the book in her hand and leaned over the girl, slipping one hand up the girl’s skirtall. Richard quickly averted his gaze, suddenly feeling like he was invading their privacy. “Oh, Rebecca,” the older woman sighed quietly, but still loud enough to be heard easily on the otherwise silent bus, “your pull-up is soaked; did you even know you had to go?” The girl’s smile disappeared into her blush as she mumbled some words from behind her pacifier. The mother chuckled. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she ruffled her daughter’s hair, “we’re almost home! Then we can get you changed into your nighttime diapers and feed you a nice bottle before bed, would you like that?” She booped her daughter’s nose and sent the girl into a fit of laughter. The black-haired girl shifted in her seat across from the mother and daughter, obviously trying to avoid looking at them. She glanced at her phone, 9:52PM. Richard Lawson shifted in his seat and tried to ignore the cooing and giggling going on behind him. Little single-family homes passed by as he made his way down Ridgemont Street, and only more in sight as he turned right down Wrighton Square. The bell dinged and Richard slowly pressed the brake, bringing the bus to a stop at the corner or Wrighton and Central Lake Drive. Richard wished his passengers a good night, stay safe, as they all got off. Glancing back in his rearview mirror to confirm the bus was empty, Richard slowly accelerated into the night. Peter Grant watched the bus pull away from the front seat of his Greenham Police Department Cruiser. He scanned the passengers leaving the bus stop. Two young men cross the street and kept walking up Wrighton Square while three women started walking up Central Lake Drive and toward his cruiser. He checked his clock: 9:56, damn near too late for young women to be out alone. “Let’s check it out,” he said to his partner, Dave Clusky, as he stepped out of the cruiser and started crossing the street towards the trio. As Peter approached, the women were backlit by a streetlamp, but he could make out the vaguely feminine shapes of three women. Two of them walked side by side as the third, at least a few inches shorter than the other two, walked a couple of feet behind. Peter raised his flashlight, “Excuse me, ladies,” he called out officiously as the beam of light cut through the night, bringing the slowly drifting flakes of snow into heavy contrast. The three ladies stopped in their tracks. The shorter of the two in front whimpered behind her pacifier and clung to the older woman next to her as they both blinked against the light. The girl behind them gasped inaudibly and stared ahead like a deer in headlights for a moment before raising a hand to protect her eyes from the worst of the light. “Evening, ma’am,” Peter nodded to the older woman, “these your children?” The woman glanced behind her, then back to Peter, “just this one,” she replied, squeezing Rebecca close to her. Peter nodded, “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. Best get your little one inside, it looks to be about her bedtime.” The mother laughed politely, “yes, we’ve had a very long day, thank you, officer.” She tugged on Rebecca’s hand and quietly urged the girl on. Peter swept his flashlight over a few degrees to focus his beam on the girl in the white button up shirt and plaid suspender skirt. “Could you lower your hand, miss? How old are you?” “Uhm, nineteen,” she replied nervously, “I know it’s—” “It’s almost curfew,” Peter interrupted her, “you allowed to be out past curfew?” “Um, no, sir, I—” “Yeah, didn’t think so. What’s your name? What are you doing out so late?” “Um, Rei, sir, and I’m coming home from college, sir, I was—” “College?” Dave chimed in, “you got parental permission for that?” “Yes, sir, and I—” “What were you doing at college this late?” Peter asked. “You go to Greenham CC?” “Yes, sir, I was studying—” “Studying,” Dave scoffed, “yeah, right.” “I was, sir, I have—” “You got a pass from your professor?” Peter asked. “Yes, sir, it’s—” “Well?” Dave said impatiently. “Let’s see it,” Peter demanded. “Yes, sir,” the girl reached into her backpack and produced a folded sheet of paper that was immediately snatched out of her hand. “Professor Lewis? English?” Peter read key words off the piece of paper before handing it off to Dave. Dave looked the sheet over, made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, then handed it back to Peter. “Looks legit” “You know it’s almost curfew, kid?” Peter turned back towards the girl, thrusting the paper back at her. “Yes, sorry, I was—” “Yeah, you were at college, you said. You live close by?” “Yes, sir, I—” “Where at?” “Just up the street,” she raised her hand and pointed behind Peter. “Uh huh,” Peter sounded skeptical. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time: 9:59PM. “Think you can get home before curfew hits, little girl?” He smiled maliciously. The girl’s knees went weak; she clutched her bag to her chest as if it could protect from him the malice in his smile. Her vision tunneled in on the face of Peter Grant and the world around her sounded like it was moving through water. Tick. 10:00PM. As curfew went into effect all over Greenham and it’s surrounding townships, the eastern wing of the Greenham City Hall exploded outward, raining fire and rubble into it’s expansive parking lot. The sound of the explosion tore through the still night air, audible as a low rumbling miles away on Central Lake Drive. A portion of the horizon of the night sky lit up. “The fuck…?” Peter cursed. “Fuck me!” Dave swore. The girl let out a quiet yelp and resisted the urge to make a break for it. Silence filled the air in the aftermath of the explosion, and then the radios on Dave and Peter’s shoulders started squawking. They completely forgot about the girl as they scrambled back to their cruiser. Chapter One Snowflakes were melting in Rei Akiyama’s hair as she slumped against the front door of her house. She was still shaking and trying to steady her breath. “You’re late,” a voice said from the living room. “I know, I’m sorry, Mom,” Rei said, still panting slightly as she took her shoes off before entering the room. “The bus was running late; I ran all the way here from the bus stop.” Ms. Akiyama made a sound in her throat as she looked her daughter up and down. “You were studying? Let me see your pass.” “Yes, Mom,” Rei said as she pulled out the now slightly crumpled piece of paper out of her bag and handed it over. “You’re working too hard in school,” Ms. Akiyama said matter-of-factly. “Well, whatever, I’m glad you’re home,” she discarded the paper on the end table, “I was starting to get worried when I heard that rumbling. Did you hear that?” “Yes, Mom,” Rei nodded and chewed on her lip, unsure what else to say on the topic. “Rei, stop chewing your lip, it’s a bad nervous habit.” “Yes, Mom, sorry.” Rei forced herself to stop and instead just looked down at her shoes. “Well?” Ms. Akiyama asked expectantly a moment later. “It’s almost bedtime; shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? The news said we were supposed to get a few inches of snow, so school will probably be cancelled tomorrow, but I want you in bed on time just in case, okay?” “Yes, Mom,” Rei replied. She tried her best not to turn and run up the stairs, but instead walked casually up them as if it had just been a normal night of studying. Her mother watched her go, sensing something was off about her daughter, but she was unable to put her finger on what, exactly, she was sensing. Rei stopped briefly at the top of the stairs, turned back, and gave a small smile and wave when she saw her mother was still watching, then disappeared around the corner. Ms. Akiyama sighed quietly: what was she going to do with that girl? She was worried what kind of ideas her school was filling her head with, and Rei being out all-night studying didn’t do anything to allay that worry. Picking up the pass Rei had given her, Ms. Akiyama turned and settled back down on the couch. According to the pass, Rei had been working on her midterm essay for English with Professor Lewis. Sighing once more, she set the note aside, making a mental note to ask Rei what she was writing her essay about (maybe that would give her a clue on exactly what kind of idea’s the school was filling Rei’s head with), and turned her attention back to the TV where a mature looking woman was smiling back at her while holding a colorful package. “That why I decided to try new Pampers Overnight Diapers! They are expertly designed for girls who wet the bed,” as the woman delivered the line, she reached her free hand out the side and pulled a young girl of about eight or ten into the frame and into a side hug, “and those who don’t,” the camera pulled out and panned over to reveal an older girl about Rei’s age staring distractedly at her phone seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, “yet,” the mother added after a beat and punctuated it with a wink. Upstairs, Rei leaned against the wall, just out of sight, focusing on getting her breathing back to normal. The night hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but, so far, nothing had gone terribly wrong. She could only hope it stayed that way. Rei pushed herself away from the wall and made her way down the hallway towards her bedroom, closing her door behind her just as downstairs the TV alerted her mother to breaking news. As Ms. Akiyama was stunned to hear of the bombing just a few miles from her, Rei was tossing her backpack on the floor next to her desk and throwing herself face down on her bed. She was slightly dazed and more than exhausted. Part of her couldn’t believe the events of the night. Yes, they had been making plans for weeks now, she had known this night was coming, but now that it was done…it felt surreal. She was terrified of what would come next. Still, there was one more thing she had to do before this night was over. Rei crept back to her bedroom door, listened carefully, then cracked the door ever so slightly. The distant sounds of the TV still drifted up the stairs and the hallway was empty. Closing the door silently, she rushed across the carpet in socked feet to her desk, which, looking back over her shoulder towards the door, she inched away from the wall. Kneeling down, Rei reached behind the desk and pried off a piece of the baseboard to reveal a small crevice between the wall and the floor from which Rei produced a cell phone at least a decade old. It was black with a silver lined screen and a numeric keyboard. Rei brought up the messaging app only to be greeted with over a dozen texts; each was from a different number, but they all said the same thing: “home safe.” She sighed with relief, painstakingly typed out her own missive (“home safe”) on the numeric keyboard and pressed send before immediately replacing the phone in its hiding place and putting everything back in order. Now, Rei thought, it was time to get ready for bed. Chapter Two “It was confirmed early this morning that there were no casualties or injuries in last night’s explosion at the Greenham City Hall, which occurred at exactly 10PM and destroyed most of the building’s eastern half. While authorities have yet to make any statements regarding the cause of the explosion, many are already speculating that this was an act of domestic terrorism committed by the radical leftist feminist group Rebel in response to recent social policy legislation restricting the rights of women under twenty-eight. Supporters of this theory have been quick to point out that the offices of the newly established Office of Juvenile Affairs, which was formed to enforce these new policies, was located in the eastern wing of the Greenham City Hall. We’ll be sure to bring you all the breaking details on this story as it develops. Back to you in the studio, Steve.” As the news switched back to less interesting stories, Ms. Akiyama turned her attention away from the tablet propped up on the kitchen counter and back to the cast iron skillet in front of her where the pancakes were beginning to form bubbles along the edge of the batter. She flipped them with the kind of perfection that only came with years of practice and shook her head, it was just terrible what had happened. She knew some people thought the new laws were going too far, but surely bombing buildings was going just as far, if not further. No, it wasn’t the proper way to go about voicing dissent at all. And if this was the kind of stuff feminism was preaching these days, maybe there was some sense to these new laws. Certainly they didn’t teach girls to behave that way when she was younger. Ms. Akiyama just prayed Rei’s head wasn’t being filled with this kind of stuff at that college she had begged so hard to go to. Maybe it wasn’t too late to put her in a vocational school; with a little discipline, Rei could make an excellent secretary. Or maybe she could get Rei a job working at a daycare; Rei always liked children, and maybe tapping into Rei’s maternal instincts was just what was needed to make sure she stayed on the right path. Or, there was always… No, no, Ms. Akiyama shoved that thought away. Rei was a good kid; a bit headstrong, but a good kid, surely that option was too drastic. Ms. Akiyama sighed as she stacked the pancakes on the steadily growing pile; she just wanted Rei to be safe and have a nice, happy life. She didn’t want her daughter falling in with the wrong crowd and getting herself in trouble. It wasn’t easy raising a daughter in such complicated times. Ms. Akiyama was still musing on such matters when Rei shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, almost instinctively following the smell of pancakes. “Pancakes?” Rei asked hopefully. “Does that mean school is canceled?” Mom typically never made pancakes on weekdays. “It sure does,” Ms. Akiyama replied cheerfully, trying to hide the somber mood the news had put her in. “Have you looked outside? We got quite a lot of snow!” Rei grinned and rushed out of the kitchen and into the living room and its bay window overlooking their front yard and the street beyond. Everything was white and brilliantly bright in the morning sun, covered in what must have been at least five or six inches of snow. Even the road was covered; it seemed like the snowplows hadn’t made it to their neighborhood yet. Rei couldn’t help but stare out the window in wonderment; she had always loved the snow. There was just something magical about it. Behind her, Ms. Akiyama leaned against the door frame and grinned. When it came to snow, kids were always kids. “Come on,” Ms. Akiyama said after giving Rei a few moments to take in the wintery spread, “the pancakes are getting cold.” She turned and headed back in to the kitchen without checking to make sure Rei was following her. The news was once again talking about last night’s incident, so Ms. Akiyama quickly turned it off as she grabbed the plate of pancakes; she didn’t want to upset Rei with such terrible news first thing in the morning. “So,” Ms. Akiyama said as she set the plate of pancakes on the table and Rei settled into her seat, “you were working on an essay with your professor last night?” She grabbed the syrup from the fridge before settling into her own seat. “Um, yeah,” Rei responded simply as she loaded her plate with pancakes, “my midterm essay,” she added after a moment. “Oh, that’s nice,” Ms. Akiyama passed the syrup across the table and took a couple pancakes off the stack for herself. “What’s it about?” “Um,” Rei was drenching her pancakes in syrup, “well, it’s…well, our professor gave us some articles to choose from and we just have to like respond to one of them.” “Interesting, what kind of articles?” “Just, you know, current events stuff.” “Uh-huh, and what article did you choose?” Sure, Ms. Akiyama was testing the waters, trying to see what kind of stuff Rei was learning at school, but, to her credit, she was genuinely interested in her daughter’s life. Rei, on the other hand, was getting nervous. Her mother didn’t usually ask her this many questions about her schoolwork. Rei liked that her mother didn’t ask her about her schoolwork. Rei thought the less her mother asked about her schoolwork, the better. Why was her mother suddenly interested? She thought about lying, but if her mother asked to see the essay, she’d be caught immediately. “Well, just about…about the passing of The Hayes Act…” “Oh, I see.” Rei shoveled a too large bite of pancakes into her mouth to avoid having to respond. Oh, I see? What did that mean? Rei tried to smile around the bite of pancakes, but her eyes were searching her mother’s face for anything that might hint to her true reaction. Ms. Akiyama worked to keep her face as passive as possible, raising her cup and taking a long, slow sip of coffee to help her efforts. She had barely discussed the act with her daughter since its passage six months ago. She hadn’t needed to much, and it had always felt like such a…touchy subject. “Why did you choose that article?” Ms. Akiyama asked, trying hard to sound casual but interested and definitely non-confrontational. Just a mom interested in her daughter’s schoolwork. Rei speared a hunk of pancake with her fork and cut it away from the rest with her knife, “Um, I just thought the article was interesting,” she spoke with her head down, giving her voice a muffled quality. “What was the article about?” Ms. Akiyama knew Rei had strong feelings about The Hayes Act, and she couldn’t blame her. Rei had turned nineteen a month before the law had passed; she had been an adult for thirteen months when she once again became a child in the eyes of the law for another nine years. Of course, Ms. Akiyama understood why her daughter felt so strongly about it; she respected Rei’s passion, but she wished Rei could accept that there was nothing that could be done. She wished Rei could just accept that the world wasn’t what her mother had promised it would be she told Rei she could grow up to be whatever she wanted. “Just,” Rei shrugged, “I guess the author was talking about how it shouldn’t have passed and stuff…” The two were in a minefield; they both knew it. Neither wanted this to end in an explosion, but one couldn’t leave, and the other couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Oh,” Ms. Akiyama said, “do you talk about that kind of stuff a lot in school?” The last time they had discussed The Hayes Act had been when it had come time for Rei to enroll in her second year at Greenham Community College. With Rei then legally a child, she needed Ms. Akiyama’s permission to continue attending college. Ms. Akiyama could have stopped her; she had certainly been tempted to do it. Rei shrugged, “What do you mean ‘that kind of stuff’?” “Stuff like The Hayes Act? Politics?” “I guess, sometimes.” “What kind of stuff do they teach you about it?” Rei shrugged, “I mean, they just like…explain how it came to be. Historically, you know?” “I see.” Ms. Akiyama could sense her daughter getting…defensive? Evasive? She was certainly becoming something. Maybe it was time to pump the brakes. “I just worry,” Ms. Akiyama said, genuinely thinking it would help defuse the situation. “Worried?!” Rei said a little too loudly, “there’s nothing to worry about, Mom!” “It’s just…I hear a lot these days about what kinds of things colleges are teaching and—” “Mo-om!” “—and I don’t want them filling your head with the wrong kinds of ideas, that’s all!” “Mom, they are not…brainwashing me, okay?” “I didn’t say brainwashing, okay? I just hear what kinds of things colleges teach these days, that’s all,” Ms. Akiyama repeated. Rei slumped in her chair. Her mom had managed to ruin pancakes. “I just want you to be happy,” Ms. Akiyama said after a long, awkward pause. She reached across the table to take her daughter’s hand. “College just makes things harder for most girls these days, and, besides, you study so much, it’s not good for you.” “But I like school, Mom. It makes me happy.” “Well, why don’t we sign you up for one of those extended high school for girls programs?” Ms. Akiyama smiled, genuinely thinking it would be a good suggestion. “Ugh, Mom,” Rei withdrew her hand and shot her mother a withering look, “those are just housewife classes.” “There’s nothing wrong with that, Rei!” “I’m not saying there is,” Rei protested, “it’s just not what I want to do.” “I know, you want to be a teacher, but I just don’t…well…you can’t be a teacher for another nine years, what if by then they don’t let women be teachers anymore?” A silence fell over the room as both mother and daughter felt the weight of that thought. It was a legitimate concern. “I don’t know, Mom,” Rei said at last, sounding crestfallen. “But what am I supposed to do?” Ms. Akiyama frowned. Like most mothers, deep down she just wanted her child to be happy. Part of her really wished her child could have her dream, but most of her knew it simply wasn’t meant to be and there was nothing that could change that. Most of her just wanted to help Rei find another way to be happy. Without a word, Ms. Akiyama rose from the table and cleared their plates. Breakfast was clearly over. On her way out of the kitchen, she lightly ruffled Rei’s hair, “Go on,” she said, “enjoy your snow day, okay? But just…think about the extended high school program?” Rei nodded.