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Rainbow Diapers
A space where our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans members can discuss related issues.
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Haha now I’m just so excited for the next chapter this chapter really set stuff up a lot -
By Little_Mouse · Posted
No, Friday hasn't arrived yet. He is out helping Robinson Crusoe with finding some food on that deserted island right now. -
The River Flowed They called her crazy. A psychopath. Dangerous. It would do no good to confuse a female’s head like that. It would do no good to go against the Patriarchy. But Sophie was always outspoken, never one to back down from a challenge. When people turned the other way, she marched forward. When people spat, she spat back. When they bent her over in the street and smacked the hell out of her bottom, Sophie endured. The twenty-four-year-old woman was a force to be reckoned with, and while she had gotten away with a lot, everyone’s luck had to run out. That was exactly what happened to Sophia Tartalla. The Maturity Police had her committed without a second thought after the hospital used words like psychosis, schizophrenia, delusional, and combative. People stayed away from her like the plague, eyeing her with mistrust and flickering fear. Sometimes, Sophie even terrified herself. The Emerson Mental Institution for Naughty Females was a staple in the community. It sole purpose was to reforming females who had lost their way. After all, education was key to an obedient woman because untrained woman was a woman led astray. Similar to a dog without a leash. And Sophie knew that was what this place meant to do. Train her. Leash her. Cage her. Her nose flared at the familiar odor of antiseptic ingrained in the hospital walls. The second odor was more distinct, slightly out of place but not unusual - dirty diapers and baby powder. Whether it came from her or her fellow inmates, it didn’t matter; they’d all end up in the same position eventually. The scene was a sight to behold. Twenty women, one line, a singular chain. Tension sat in their shoulders, their arms neatly restrained behind their backs, folded over one another by the leather straps of straitjackets meant to, well, restrain. On their ankles, the cold metal of the steel manacles bit at their skin, connecting them in an unforgiving state of humiliation. While it didn’t hurt, it was just enough to make them uncomfortable—and painfully aware. If one moved, the other followed. The constant clinking of chains and crinkling of fabric was enough to truly drive them insane, but obedience the truth was written in the walls: obedience brought comfort; comfort was a treat; only good girls received rewards. They said it was for their own protection. A lesson: their bodies did not belong to themselves. It’s what Sophie had protested in the street. The single feminist in a sea of padded Stepford Wives that would rather bow before The Patriarchy than allow a single coherent thought to pass through their minds. Of course, it was the way they’d been conditioned, but Sophie knew better. There was a time before The Patriarchy. A place where women were free, not bound by the laws of man. It came in flashes of a faraway place that Sophie wondered was real or just her active imagination. She often recalled the soft croon of Jazz crackling from the radio of an old Mercedes-Benz on its last legs. The trees were changing, flashes of red and orange illuminating the sky in a mirage of color. The memories teetered at the edge of her mind as she drove the old country road that never began and would not end. It was a town she could not escape because of the never-ending loop. It was a town where men ruled and women submitted, enslaved in a diapered bondage that sought to break their mind, heart, and soul. And now, Sophie faced the consequences. A strap tightened around their heads, puffy-cheeked and stuffed. The heavy rubber nipple of a pacifier weighed down their tongues. A steady suckling filled the room of pigtailed women. Red-haired, blonde-haired, black-haired, and even blue. There were all types of females. The system did not discriminate. Sophie knelt on the floor with her cheek pressed to the ground. She met the eyes of the woman beside her, distant and cold; the only way to distract themselves from this cruel reality of the situation. On the other side of her, another woman was in the same position, and so was the woman beside her, and the woman beside her, and so on. Their backs arched, presenting their padded rumps for use. The thick bulk of their diapers bulged so wide that it kept their thighs in a permanent state of separation, which allowed for a perfectly crafted waddle. Some women were diapered once; others twice; but Sophie was diapered three times. In the beginning, the petite brown-haired girl hadn't submitted easily and therefore required extra special attention. She bore the scars to prove it and wore them proudly like a badge of honor. Now, no one could ever call her weak. Except maybe, right now. They were in the Poopy Room. It had an actual name that no one referred to it as, but it was long, bright, and empty. Devoid of furniture except for a simple mat to kneel on, each woman had a designated station that contained a metal pole, clear bag, and tube. One must wonder what purpose such a concoction served. It was quite simple: the pointy end of the tube inserted into the female’s anus, snaked through the leg hole of her diaper. Sophie’s buttocks clenched around the foreign object but it always took a moment to adjust. Before her eyes, a simple pair of black kitten heels stood, belonging to another woman. She did not look up; she knew better than that. The matrons that towered over them were strict with their rules, though diapered all the same in a skimpy nurse’s uniform. What hypocrites they were. In their hands was the plastic bag, prepared and ready for the signal — Ding! A bated silence settled over the room, the anxiety palpable in the form of twisting tummies and the rustling diapers that increased tenfold. As the seconds dwindled achingly slowly, that’s when the Voice emerged. “COMMENCING THE ENEMA.” Automated and manly, reeking of male superiority, it always came from above, powered by the almighty force of God. As the male commanded, the women obeyed, and the river flowed. OoOoo Here is a mini-story I thought of today but if you’d like a personalized story of your own, I am excited to announce that I am starting commissions! Click the link below if you are interested -
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