2011

Ha ha! Even the most discrete nappy is obvious when full of wee! 

@Rachael-Little, for what it's worth, it's not super wet, yet (in the picture).  I make a point of trying my early morning setting on my back to get the butt area soaked (as much as it can).  It's as much of a feeling desire as an economic desire.  But I do kind of like how the rear wet patch looks. @backdoorlarryThanks for the compliment. @GoergeIs that because you where the sweatpants tight, or are they somewhat able to be seen thru?  Just curious.  (Or do you have a picture to illustrate?)

I have three Fixx size 10 paci's that I don't use much as I have a friend staying with me.  The last couple of nights I've been sleeping with my mouth open, not sure why.  Last night after waking up to a very dry mouth, I drank some water and went back to be with my paci in place.  I got better sleep than I had in the last couple of night, plus I love feeling the fullness in my mouth, given by my paci.  I think, I'll start using it more at night and see if my sleep improves.

Well, here it is, the next chapter of Patient Zero! First, the reply: Yep, the plot certainly thickens~ I'll give out a warning for sexual innuendo and overtones, but there shouldn't be too much otherwise. Anyway, here it is:   -   Chapter Three: 9:45 AM to 8:13 PM, May 22nd, 2024.   -   Berry spent the rest of the time in the therapy session discussing various things with the girls: how they were tolerating being infantilized, how they were feeling about their male caregivers, things like that, all from a safe distance.   Thankfully, all three, while they weren’t exactly happy about being infantilized to an extent, seemed to accept that they had no choice. They truly loved their father figures, didn’t have any signs of abuse or neglect, and to no surprise, seemed to like being diapered. It was a very common symptom with those with SAARS: the sufferers seemed to be very happy about wearing diapers, even if they didn’t like using them. Just one more odd quirk about this fucking disease.   She recommended for Darquarius, Amos, and Oleksiy to come back tomorrow when their charges’ ages would stop, most likely, where they could try to find a solution for each of their situations, putting on her lab coat (and offering the three men their fair share of diapers for their girls; they were constantly being restocked. All three tried to decline, but she insisted on it.), getting her purse, and daintily finishing her breakfast (Greek yogurt and a separate kiwifruit smoothie in a glass jar with a lid she could sip from; she was strictly vegetarian) before heading to her car, ready to go to the secret research facility nearby.   The palm trees seemed to blend as she drove, silently musing about how lucky the girls were to have their current father figures; it would not have been the first time she had seen an abusive parental figure, but these three men weren’t. They were fucking saints.   Soon enough, Berry had arrived at the garage that the research facility was at, showing her ID for the guard, who nodded at her with respect before opening the doors. She looked at her spot, noting with anger that the asshole, Digby Fletcher - no, excuse her language, Dr. Digby Fletcher - had somehow managed to park his small black Fiat 500e in both her spot and his.   Is he TRYING to piss me off on purpose?!   She parked in her spot as much as she could, making sure to be careful not to hit his car, no matter how much the literal cocksucker deserved it, before eating her lunch (plain tofu and a salad without dressing; she was not allowed to bring her purse with her into the lab and the men weren’t allowed to bring in bags, for fear of the samples of SAARS they were experimenting on escaping or being stolen), and opening the door.   The lab was ahead, Digby Fletcher was already long inside, studying the samples (he always made sure to be the first one in), but she saw Warwick outside the decontamination room, leaning up against the wall with an easygoing grin, and her heart melted, her eyes probably had a starstruck look, and overall? If he asked her to marry him, she would’ve gone with him, damn what anyone else would think.   “Hey, Berry,” Warwick said, giving her a quick peck on the lips, and she felt disappointed that it didn’t last longer. “You doing okay?”   “Just busy with a couple of SAARS affected patients,” she said nonchalantly. “The men taking care of the girls actually seem like good father figures. It’s so rare to see that nowadays.”   “So much unnecessary hatred for those poor women,” Warwick said with a sad sigh as he changed into his lab clothes along with Berry. “I don’t know what kind of monster would want to hurt people that way…”   “I don’t know either, but I’d love for five minutes alone with them,” Berry growled. “The people who hurt those women deserve to be beaten within an inch of their lives.”   “Agreed. I’d love for you to have five minutes alone with them as well.” Warwick let out another sigh. “Well, let’s hope we can find a cure here and now, right?”   “Absolutely.”   They stepped into the decontamination room, wearing their personal protective equipment (PPE): full body suits, respirators, and goggles. SAARS may have only affected women under the age of thirty, but none of the researchers there were going to take any chances with their health or the health of others who might come into contact with them.   They were quickly showered with heat and steam, and then they were in the room, each with their own test tubes of SAARS-infected blood at their stations.   “I hope you didn’t damage my car, Dr. Glass” Fletcher said in a snarky tone directed towards the lone woman. “I brought it over from the U.K. myself, and I would hate to pay for repairs just because a pediatrician hit it.”   “You’re an asshole, Fletcher, and assholes are only good for one thing: spewing out shit,” Berry retorted contemptuously.   “How about you hide behind your ex-boyfriend like you always do, Dr. Glass?” Fletcher said in a bored tone.   “How about you go suck a dick and get fucked by a dick simultaneously, you big asshole?”   “Oh, I know I’ll be doing both tonight with my boyfriend, probably after I go out dancing with ribbons in my hair and wearing a pretty dress.” The man actually sounded gleeful, excited, and dreamy saying it, as her insult completely backfired. “When’s the last time you got dick, Dr. Glass? Uni?”   Berry’s face flushed furiously.   “Uni, then. How long ago was that? Age of the dinosaurs?”   “Shut the fuck up!” she snapped. “Or did you decide to be lazy today, not test your SAARS sample, and just decided to needle me because you could? Like you even care about those poor women who-”   “Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth. Doctor. Glass.” Fletcher’s voice suddenly became a furious hiss behind his respirator, the man showing rare anger. No, not just merely anger; it was sheer rage. He breathed in and out heavily, obviously trying to calm himself. “You have no clue. None. I care deeply about every woman who has been infected by this insidious disease. I care more than you will ever know. But having a woman in this place where she could easily be infected? Penny wise, pound foolish by your ex. You should not be here; in fact, were it up to me, I wouldn’t even have you in those group therapies you do.”   “You know SAARS-”   “Only affects women under thirty and below? And if someone came up with a strain that affected every woman? You’re quite brave, Dr. Glass, but quite foolish as well, taking unnecessary risks if this disease continues to grow.”   “Is that a threat, Fletcher?” Warwick finally stepped in to ask.   “It is not, Dr. Cooks. I’m making an astute observation. Diseases are well-known to mutate into stronger forms. SAARS is likely no different, and you’re putting your ex in danger by letting her work here.” “We know nothing about how this disease works. You, in particular, know nothing, Fletcher, and you never have,” Warwick growled. “You may have missed it with your astounding arrogance, but you’re no closer to solving this than any of us are. Unless…unless, of course, you know more than you’re revealing?”   “All I know is that this is a disease that needs to be eradicated forever. Now can we get back to working on our samples?”   “Finally, you’re speaking sense, Dr. Fletcher,” Berry muttered, as she peered into her personal microscope.   The other two male scientists working on the samples, Dr. Silverstein and Dr. Goldblatt (she hadn’t gotten their first names because they were quiet and reclusive, even for scientists), had come into the decontamination room, and all five began working on their samples, the atmosphere as silent as a graveyard.   Just another same old day, Berry thought to herself in despair. It didn’t matter what she did to her sample to alter it; it always remained what it was, never changing from the same epigenetic markers of a baby or a toddler: pristine, empty, lacking the developmental “bookmarks” of an adult.   It was the most frustrating thing in the world, trying everything she could remotely do to turn that fucking sample back to adulthood without any success. There had to be something that could be done!   It lasted for hours, constantly working on the samples, the frustration reaching a boiling point as Fletcher started snarking at Silverstein and Goldblatt who both retaliated verbally, but Berry was trying to ignore the prick at this point. She was focusing on her own sample, there had to be something that she could do to reverse this…   A while later, Warwick said, “Hey, guys! Shift’s over,” while pointing at the clock reading 4:30 PM.   “I’m not giving up on this,” Berry protested as Goldblatt and Silverstein immediately left without hesitation. “I’m not going home with nothing again.”   “Berry, just…go home. Whatever you’ve got, you can solve it tomorrow, okay?”   “I…understood…”   She bitterly walked into the decontamination chamber, taking off the PPE for it to be further decontaminated with every cleaning method known to man, showering all over with extra soap, getting her clothes back on - all to protect her and others. Silverstein and Goldblatt were long gone, and she was followed immediately by Fletcher, and finally Warwick.   “Hey, Warwick,” she said, crossing her legs nervously. “Do you…”   “Want to marry you?” he answered to her hope before he dashed it by saying, “Maybe when life gets a little less busy. Right now…right now, it’s a lot.”   “I understand,” she murmured. “I love you, you know.”   “And I love you, too.”   Fletcher merely shoved them both out of the way, grumbling inaudibly to himself, and Berry rolled her eyes.   “I’ll see you tomorrow, Warwick.”   “See you soon, Berry.”   She exited the lab, got in her car (Fletcher was just leaving in his tiny car.), and drove home, feeling exhaustion wash over her like ocean waves; it was all she could do to stay awake on the road. She was so tired that she didn’t make a small dinner for herself, didn’t write in her journal, didn’t even take off her pantsuit when she got home, only managing to flop on her bed after dropping her purse on the nightstand, peeking at the time (8:13 PM) before her eyes shut.   -   Hope y'all enjoyed~

Well, here is the next chapter of RotV, and it's a doozy! As a WARNING, massive child abuse, accidental matricide, sex-trafficking and Neo-Nazi organizations, prison time, implied sexual assault, smoking, and death. Viewer discretion is advised. And now, here's the third chapter:   -   Chapter Three: Say Goodbye, As I Fall into Pieces, The Light Inside of Me is Dead (Shore of Loneliness, Feed Her to the Sharks)   -   The mansion interior was not anything I expected it to be.   I was expecting angelic architecture, giant columns of marble pillars and statues or some similar shit. Failing that, based on the log-cabin design, more earthy things, like warm hearths for fireplaces, animal trophies, even if those animals were ones I had never seen before.   I was not expecting a fucking daycare.   There were so many babies and toddlers here that it was stunning, that there was no possible way all of them had died at the same age. All of them were in diapers, some of them toddling around and playing with actual fucking weapons that no self-respecting parent would ever let a toddler near, others wrestling with other toddlers, almost like they were actually fighting, and still others - mostly the babies - just napping in cribs that had to be more comfortable than the most comfortable Tempur-Pedic beds with the way they were sleeping. Yet…all of the toddlers and babies had wings. And all of the toddlers and babies were girls, by the look of things.   There were caretakers, obviously, and a few were winged women as well, changing diapers, helping them eat, playing with them, but there were surprisingly a lot of guys, none of them with wings, who were helping the babies and toddlers with various things.   “What the fu-”   “Language,” Sasithorn said warningly, her hand scorching mine. “I will not allow you to say your normal filth here.”   “Nor will I.” Zaira’s voice was surprisingly serious, and her hand froze my other hand, my fingers prickling with painful frostbite. “You will not swear around the little ones.”   “Ow, ow, ow!” I hissed, trying to wrench my hands away, but being unable to do it. My eyes pricked with tears. “Fff…fine.” My shoulders sagged in defeat, the pain fading away as if it never happened.   The various people stared at me, including the toddlers, one of whom came up to me. She was an adorable little kid, huge hazel eyes, and brown hair in pigtails, obviously no more than two at most. Her wings, white and swan-like, seemed huge on her, and she had a giant spear on her back that crackled with electricity.   “Mommy Sasi, is he new?” the toddler girl asked, and I saw Sasithorn’s eyes well up with an emotion I never expected from her: nurturing love.   “Velvet, we’ll have to see,” she said sweetly. “We have to do the same we did with you.”   “Oh, you mean the twial!” The toddler grinned with her baby teeth, and I smelled something awful, realizing that…   “I think a certain little stinker needs to be changed,” Zaira said with a knowing grin.   “Nu-uh!” Velvet said proudly…before she squeaked when Sasithorn checked her diaper with two fingers.   “Oh, yes, you absolutely do,” the valkyrie captain said in a mock stern tone before she nodded at one of the men. “Torleif, Valkyrie Corporal Velvet needs to be changed.”   Torleif, to my shock, seemed happy to do so. “Yes, Captain. Oh, by the way, Captain Zaira, your newborn’s feeling separation anxiety,” he said. “Been crying all day.”   “Not much I can do,” Zaira said with a sigh. “Valkyrie Cadet Keavy will have to wait. I’ll make it up to her after the trial.”   “Understood. So, he’s the one on trial?” He glared at me, to my annoyed huff.   “Yes, he is.”   “Then we’ll see.” Torleif picked up a whining Velvet, and I watched him gently deposit her on a changing table, staring in utter shock at what was going on.   “Captains,” a masculine voice said in annoyance.   I turned to see a huge man, much taller than even me and far more muscled, with trimmed blond hair and two different colored eyes, his right eye green, the left eye electric blue with an odd and very clear birthmark inside of it, looking somewhat like a snake eating its tail.   Sasithorn and Zaira both curtsied as low as they could go and tried to force me down with them. I merely ignored them, standing up as straight as I could, staring into the man’s hardened eyes, knowing that if I showed any sign of weakness, any sign of cowardice, he would only be more contemptuous of me.   He showed no emotion in those eyes. “Hmm…you’re a bold one. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not yet. And yet you’re steeped with sin. The trial will be an interesting one.”   He vanished into thin air almost instantaneously after he said those words, and I said sarcastically, “Well, that was interesting.”   “You idiot,” Sasithorn hissed under her breath. “That was Jarl Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye. Do you wish to infuriate everyone who could be on your side?!”   “Speak up, lady,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure people absolutely want to hear what you have to say.”   I felt the agonizing frostbite creep up my arm, and I turned to Zaira, who had a look of murderous anger on her face.   “Do. Not. Speak. To. Sasi. That. Way,” she said slowly but with a dangerous edge in her tone. “Sasi, you’re in charge of this petulant one. Keavy needs my attention, and I won’t waste my time on a lost cause.”   Zaira flew away, the frostbitten pain still in the tips of my fingers, and I felt a creeping sense of guilt force its way into my locked heart. Zaira was one of the nicest people I had met in a long time, and even she thought I was a lost cause - and inwardly, I knew that I was as well.   “Come on,” Sasithorn said calmly, furling her wings over me. “Your trial starts now.”   The room shifted from daycare to what seemed to me like a torchlit dungeon. I felt a collar form around my neck. Chains sprang from the hard stone floor, attaching themselves to the back of my neck and my wrists, forcing my arms backwards, my body in an uncomfortable kneeling, spread-armed position, like a sadistic heavenly prayer. I was unable to move a muscle, as I felt a charge go through my very spirit.   Then a bench appeared in front of my eyes, with nine men in each seat. Three wizened old men sat in the first row and six huge men surrounded them in a semi-circle.   I breathed in a panic, even though I technically didn’t even need to, being dead and all. What the hell kind of trial was this?!   Then a hand touched my shoulder. Sasithorn’s hand, not burning hot like she had been, but filled with kind warmth.   “I bring you the one on trial, Dallas Gareth Brogdon,” she spoke aloud to the bench. “He saved the lives of twenty young trafficked girls, innocents that were scheduled for rape, snuff films, and other unspeakable crimes, laying down his life to give them time to escape outside of their captors’ hands. He died with his pistol still in his hand, as accorded by the Vikingr Code.”   “Captain Sasithorn, you bring us this filth?!” one of the older men, the one to the right, growled. His pale blue eyes stared at me with hate. “He, who worked with the traffickers in the first place?”   “I hated-” I began to speak before I was quickly silenced with a rope gag.   “YOU WILL NOT SPEAK IN YOUR TRIAL!” a man in the back, his unruly hair and beard as red as blood, roared, green eyes glaring with utter hatred at me. “Your insolence shall count against you, coward! For that is what you are: a coward who was too afraid to say ‘no’ when pressured by your fellow man. Helheim is almost too good for you!”   “Shut up, Erik,” a skeletal and frail young man, his hair black as the night and flipped to one side and his eyes hungering for blood, said in boredom. “He died according to the Vikingr Code, with bravery that he gained from fear. Is that not what bravery truly is? Acting with courage when you’re afraid?”   “You speak of things you understand little about, Ivar Boneless One,” a younger man with red hair like the first man spoke. “You know nothing of courage or bravery, you bloodthirsty scullion. And you will not disrespect my father in our court.”   “My brother speaks truth, Leif Erikson,” a tall, striking blond man in full armor said. “Bravery gained in your final moments…that is true courage.”   “He trafficked young girls, reacted with violence towards every little slight even in childhood, and treated women with disrespect,” one of the other older men, the one on the left, snapped, his eyes a pale green. “Is that worth defiling The Hall of the Glorious Slain, Ubba Ragnarsson?”   “He died with bravery to protect the girls from traffickers he did not agree with!” another tall man with dirty blond hair and curious blue eyes protested. “Is that not worthy?”   “Quiet yourself, Bjorn Ironside,” Leif said coldly. “All the sons of Ragnar know is war. We are not at war yet.”   “War will come from the Trickster,” Sigurd said, his look impassive. “I’ve seen it. We all know it. And we lack numbers-”   “You will not discuss it in this court, Snake-in-the-Eye!” Erik snapped.   I tried to speak, tried to talk about my past, because if they knew my past…but the rope gag was tight across my mouth, and grew tighter still when I tried to speak, the collar biting into my neck.   “You will not speak,” the third older man, the eldest one in the middle, said, his voice somewhat soft, his blind eyes showing no emotion, but brooking no nonsense. “We will get to your past, do not worry. Everything is looked at-”   “And it should not be, Snorri!” Erik shouted. “He is almost unfit to be punished even in the lowest depths of Helheim, let alone violate Valhalla with his sinful footsteps! His spirit should be annihilated, scattered across Helheim until it vanishes from this earth. That is my vote! Helheim for him!”   “Helheim for him,” Leif and the two older men on either side echoed, and I felt a horrible chill on my back that permeated through the warm torches, worse than any frostbite, darkness dimming my mind.   “You’re all sycophants,” Ivar said, rolling his eyes. “We need new blood. Sigurd is right. War will come again. His eye has never lied; it sees the beginning and the end.”   “The sons of Ragnar only know war!” Erik shouted furiously.   “And you’re so innocent, Erik, having killed men before,” Ubba said sarcastically.   “Accidental! This filth before us hurt innocent people knowingly, and he would not deny it!”   I looked at the old man in the middle, Snorri WhateverHisNameWas as they argued over me, and he gazed into my eyes with those blind eyes, almost like he could see into my naked soul.   I saw my life flash before my eyes, each moment lasting both a millisecond and a lifetime.   My mother, long divorced from my father, teaching me how to ride and care for horses; her dying to protect me from a fire I accidentally set when I was a five-year-old, burning my hands to try to put out her burning body; running away from my father’s abusive home time and again, being brought back time and again, being beaten and starved again and again and again, almost a series of beatings and forced starvations, where I felt the pain in each one go through my body until I wanted to scream.   Running away from Wyoming all the way to Nebraska when I was eleven, finding my way to Omaha, homeless, constantly fighting and hurting people, in and out of juvie, the Neo-Nazis recruiting me, inking the prison tattoos all over my body that I hated, a constant reminder of my failures as a human being.   Leaving the country with Barron, an avowed Neo-Nazi who was a toxic influence, now that I realized it; realizing too late that his idea for earning money was targeting innocent girls, but I was a coward, too scared to help them, watching as he assaulted each of them as I stood back in horror and disgust.   Then both of us joining Big Anton Antipov’s Mafiya sect, realizing that one of the girls had my mother’s first name: Emma. I saw in her - in all twenty of those girls - a life that was unfairly stolen, and I realized…I realized how horrible I was, how awful I was as a human being, how I deserved all of the hells that existed.   All of the regrets going through my mind before I decided, releasing them in the night, slitting the throat of the man guarding them, freeing the girls from their prison and escorting them away from the premises, telling them to get the truck and go to the nearest border. I hoped that they got away. I prayed that they got away.   One last smoke from my last Laika cigarette, the nicotine hitting my brain. The SIG Sauer P320 semi-automatic pistol in my hand as I opened fire on the men charging to get to the vehicles, to get Emma and the others, and I would not allow it. Ten dead by my hand, then ten more as I took cover, making sure to waste their time. Then more traffickers came in the other side, opening fire on me, my body riddled with bullets, but not dropping my pistol, refusing to drop it, dead before I hit the floor.   Snorri gazed at me, as if the blind old man saw all of it.   “You made some horrible decisions, and you were an awful person,” Snorri said softly. Everyone paused their arguing to listen to him; apparently, the man was deeply respected. “I cannot make a judgment on your soul, Dallas Gareth Brogdon, because even you do not believe you should be saved. Four for your damnation, four for your salvation…but I’ll leave your life in the hands of the valkyrie who saw you for who you were.”   I froze, and I could feel her freeze as well. Sasithorn was going to either save my soul or damn it - and I didn’t even know what she wanted, and for that matter, what I wanted, at this point.   “I want to save you…but I cannot justify making you an einheri, one of the einherjar,” Sasithorn said softly. “Your soul as it is now is far too stained…but I don’t believe you deserve Helheim, and Zaira, despite how she left, doesn’t believe it either. I can make you anew…but I don’t know if you’ll agree to it.”   “You really think-” Erik sputtered, before Snorri glared at him to cow him into silence.   The rope loosened around my mouth, but my throat felt almost too dry to speak. “What do you mean, ‘make me anew’?” I said. “I don’t understand…”   “I cannot make you one of the einherjar…but there is another option. I just don’t know if your sexist mind will accept it. I can remake your soul into one like mine.”   My mind went blank at the implication. “What do you me-”   “Foolish mortal. I can make you into a valkyrie.”   -   Well, here's a bit of explanation about the Norse terms and whom is on the court:   Einheri/Einherjar = The Glorious Slain, dead warriors of Valhalla (meaning of the words are "army of one"). The court is the following: Snorri Þorgrimsson (pronounced "Thor - Grim - Son") or Snorri Goði, one of the three Gothi. Hrafnkell Freys-Goði, one of the three Gothi, the one on the left Þorgrim Freys-Goði, one of the three Gothi, the one on the right Erik Thorvaldsson "Erik the Red", famous Norwegian explorer/Vikingr, Jarl, famous for red beard and hair. Leif Erikson, famous Icelandic explorer, one of the first people - before Columbus - to discover America, Erik's son, Jarl. Ivar Ragnarsson "Ivar the Boneless", most bloodthirsty son of Ragnar Lodbrok, Vikingr, Jarl, crippled or impotent, it is unclear which. Ubba Ragnarsson, calmest son of Ragnar Lodbrok, Vikingr, Jarl, commander of The Great Heathen Army. Bjorn "Ironside" Ragnarsson, son of Ragnar Lodbrok most like him, Vikingr, Jarl, earned epithet "Ironside" in battle. Sigurd "Snake-in-the-Eye" Ragnarsson, boldest son of Ragnar, Vikingr, Jarl, earned epithet through the birthmark in his left eye.   With that, I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter~