Trading Post

Chapter 9 - The Morning After "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" I woke up to a world of blinding pain. My head was throbbing, and my stomach twisted violently. I had never been hungover before, and hadn't expected it to be this tough. "Here, drink this," Ms. Collins said gently. I blinked against the light, realizing she was standing beside the crib, holding out the blue plastic sippy cup she’d bought the day before. "It’s just electrolytes, dear," she murmured. I opened my mouth to tell her off, but the words were instantly blocked by a soft, thick wedge of silicone. The yellow pacifier was still nestled firmly between my lips. The memories of the night before came rushing back: the burning punch, Anna’s rejection, the desperate scramble into the nursery, and- My heart stopped. I took a slow, trembling breath and peeked beneath the weighted blanket. There it was, staring back at me. A massive, thick, crinkly diaper with cartoonish *Bluey* prints stamped across the front. My face burned a deep, agonizing crimson. Instinctively, I curled my body into a tight ball, dragging the covers entirely over my head to hide from her gaze. I wanted to cry, but the rational part of my brain screamed that weeping would only make me look even more childish than I already did. "Josiah, I know you’re embarrassed," her voice drifted through the layers of blankets, calm and exasperated. "But you can't hide under there forever." Her comment only made the humiliation sting worse. Of course I knew hiding wouldn't solve anything, but I wasn't remotely ready to confront reality. "I’ll get started on breakfast," she stated calmly. "Then we’ll talk." I lay perfectly still beneath the covers, listening intently until the heavy oak door finally clicked shut. Peeking out from the safety of the blankets, I confirmed I was no longer being observed and scrambled out of the crib. I scanned the nursery, hoping to find my jeans and sneakers from the night before. They were gone. My room had been stripped of any adult clothing. “This twisted woman,” I thought, a wave of bitter anger rising past my hangover. She had clearly taken my clothes to her own suite to strip away my independence, forcing me to remain exposed. I reached down and cautiously pressed a hand against the thick padding between my legs. Fortunately, it was dry, but it wasn't going to stay that way for long. My bladder was full, and the pressure was reaching a critical limit. My options were non-existent. I could either swallow my pride and use the pull-ups on the changing table, or I could make a run for Ms. Collins' bathroom. I braced myself, refusing to give in. I was going to the bathroom. Feeling entirely naked and deeply vulnerable, I crept to the nursery door and cracked it open. It was a Saturday morning; the staff building should be completely empty. Taking a sharp breath, I bolted across the vast, silent hallway and grabbed the doorknob to Ms. Collins’ suite. It didn't budge. It was locked. Panic flared in my chest. I knocked desperately on the wood, casting a frantic glance down the long corridor. Just as I turned my head toward the main entrance of the building, I heard the heavy front doors click and begin to swing open. “Fuck.” Someone was coming in. I spun on my heel, my bare feet skidding slightly on the polished floorboards, and threw myself back toward the nursery. As I lunged for the doorknob, I glanced back at the entrance. For a terrifying fraction of a second, my eyes locked with the older woman entering the lobby. I slammed the nursery door shut, pressing my back against it, my chest heaving as a cold sweat broke out over my skin. "Did she see me?" I whispered into the empty room. My skin crawled with the absolute certainty that she had. A grown man, barefoot, wearing nothing but a cartoon diaper in a university building. "Sweetie, did you just knock on my door?" The distorted, static-laced voice erupted from the baby monitor on the changing table. I lunged across the room, snatching the plastic device and pressing it to my mouth like a walkie-talkie. "Yes! I really need to use the bathroom!" I hissed into the speaker, my voice cracking with a volatile mix of terror and rage. "Why the hell did you lock the door?" "LANGUAGE, Josiah." The volume of her voice blasted through the small speaker, making my eardrums ring. I pulled the monitor away from my face, putting it back on the changing table. "I locked the door for the exact same reason I did last night," her tone returned, carrying a smooth, unwavering authority. "Because you disrespected me." "I disrespected you?" I shouted back, completely flabbergasted. "You literally put me in a fucking-“ I caught myself, remembering the open front doors down the hall, and dropped my voice to a harsh, furious whisper. "You put me in a diaper." "Oh, please, Mr. Morris," she countered, using my formal name with a patronizing coolness that made my jaw clench. "As I recall, you were wearing a thoroughly soaked pull-up when I found you. Would you have preferred to sleep in your own mess?" I gritted my teeth, unable to find a counter-argument that didn't make me sound like an absolute idiot. "You know that’s not what I meant. Stop twisting my words!" Before I could stitch together a proper defense, she cut me off again. "We are both clearly upset," she said, her voice dropping into a measured, pacifying hum. "How about we blow off some steam? We can gather our thoughts and talk this through properly over dinner tonight." As maddening as it was to admit, she was right. I needed time. I needed to build a solid, logical argument to get out of this contract. But as the adrenaline began to fade, the agonizing pressure in my bladder returned with a vengeance. "Okay..." I muttered into the monitor, swallowing the lump of shame in my throat. "But I still really need to use the bathroom." "Fine. But I want you to apologize for your behavior yesterday." The anger flared right back up, hot and bitter. How could she demand an apology? I was the one who had been locked out, humiliated, and stripped of my clothes. I was the victim here. But my body was running out of time. If I didn't get to a toilet in the next sixty seconds, any hope of proving to her that I was an independent adult would vanish into the fabric of the diaper. "I'm... I'm sorry," I forced out through clenched teeth. "Thank you. I accept your apology, sweetie. I’m unlocking the door now." She sounded far too pleased with herself, but I wasn't in a position to fight. I hurried back out into the hall. The thick padding between my thighs forced my legs apart slightly, making my walk feel painfully awkward. I darted through her newly unlocked door and moved straight into the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ms. Collins standing near the kitchenette, a small, knowing smirk resting on her face. I ignored her, shutting the bathroom door behind me. Tearing the taped sides of the diaper open, the relief that followed was entirely blissful. I tossed the crinkly plastic into the diaper bin beside her oversized changing table, washed my hands, and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was entirely bare from the waist down. The realization that I was still completely dependent on her goodwill just to get dressed crashed over me. "Ms. Collins?" I called out through the heavy wood, forcing my voice to sound polite. "Could you... could you please bring me some clothes?" "Of course, Josiah. I’ll leave them right by the door." Her voice sounded genuine now, devoid of the demeaning edge from the monitor. I cracked the door, snatched the fresh bundle of clothes she’d left on the floor, and quickly showered to wash away the scent of baby powder. Once dressed in a normal pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, I finally felt human again. When I stepped out into her suite, Ms. Collins was standing by the door with her arms crossed, waiting for me like a parent guarding the exit. "I’m going to go for a walk," I said quickly, keeping my eyes fixed on the doorknob to avoid her gaze. "I'll be back in time for dinner." "But you haven't even eaten breakfast yet, Josiah," she chided softly, that heavy, suffocating maternal concern creeping back into her tone. She reached into her pocket and held out a twenty-dollar bill. "Here. At least promise me you'll buy yourself some lunch." "Thanks," I muttered, snatching the bill from her hand without looking up. I pushed past her and stepped out of the suite. The moment the heavy front doors of the staff building slammed shut behind me and the afternoon sun hit my face, my shoulders finally dropped into a resting position. It was barely noon. I had hours ahead of me, and I was going to use every single minute to figure out exactly how to defeat her experiment. Chapter 10 - A Line in the Sand The tension at the dinner table was so thick it felt physical. The only sound was the sharp, clinical scrape of silverware against porcelain. I sat rigid, my stomach twisting into a tight knot. It felt like I was waiting to take the most critical exam of my life, my mind frantically reviewing the defense speech I’d spent the last four hours pacing around the campus to memorize. Ms. Collins set her fork down, breaking the silence with a calm, even gaze. "I think it is probably best that you start, Josiah. I imagine you have a few things you need to get off your chest." "Fair enough," I said, swallowing the dryness in my throat. I forced my shoulders back, trying to project the confidence of a rational adult. "I want to start by apologizing. It wasn't right of me to go to that party without clearing it with you first." I paused, checking her expression. She looked entirely unmoved, waiting. "But," I continued, my voice firming up, "I also need to make it clear that I am not your child. I know our living situation is... unconventional. But you cannot simply lock me out of the apartment because you disagree with my personal choices." Ms. Collins didn't blink. She reached for the bowl of potatoes, pouring a serving onto her plate without a single tremor in her hand. "Josiah," she began, her tone carrying the cool detachment of a professor reviewing a syllabus. "The contract explicitly states that you are assigned the private room across the hall. Whatever I choose to do with my suite is my prerogative. I am well within my rights to lock my door whenever I please." The words hit me like a splash of ice water. My mental tracks jammed. In the warmth of the countless dinners we had shared over the last few days, I had completely forgotten a crucial, terrifying detail: this suite wasn't ours. It was hers. I had zero legal right to be sitting at this table. "That’s... that’s not the point," I stammered, scrambling to salvage my argument. "You still don't have the right to treat me like a child." Ms. Collins paused. She set her hands on the table and looked directly into my eyes, her expression devoid of anger, carrying only a heavy, formal weight. "Josiah. I know you loathe admitting that you see me as a mother figure," she said softly. "But if that is truly the case, I cannot help but wonder why you keep coming back to this room every single night." I gritted my teeth, a suffocating silence filling my chest. My entire practiced speech was dead before it had even begun. Once again, she had effortlessly flipped the script, leaving me on the defensive. Noticing my silence, her expression shifted. The clinical interrogator vanished, replaced by a look of genuine, patient encouragement. "Why don't we talk about the thing you’re actually upset about?" she offered gently. I took a slow breath, finding the section of my mental notes regarding the incident from the night before. This was my golden opportunity to regain the upper hand. "Fine. You barged into my room," I said, the anger returning to steady my voice. "I acknowledge that I was... that I was wearing a wet pull-up. But that does not give you any right whatsoever to violate my privacy." I glared at her, waiting for a defensive excuse. Instead, Ms. Collins just leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a calm, unbothered smile. "Allright. Fair enough. I can concede that I overstepped my bounds," she said smoothly. "But let me ask you a question then. Why were you wearing a wet pull-up in the first place?" I was ready for this one.  "In a moment of sheer desperation, I used the resources available in the nursery to relieve myself. But that was only because you had locked me out of the bathroom." "Did you like it?" The question came out of nowhere, sharp and direct. My thoughts ground to a violent halt. The memories of the previous night flooded my brain. The sudden, overwhelming warmth, the heavy sag of the padding, the absolute surrender of control. I sat there, frantically searching my memory for the disgust I was supposed to feel. I looked for the shame, the revulsion, the adult pride. But as I thought back to the moment the pull-up had absorbed the weight, the only true sensation I could recall... was relief. Pure, unadulterated relief. Ms. Collins sat perfectly still, watching the internal battle play out across my face. There was no smugness in her eyes, no look of superiority, only a profound, intense curiosity. "I... I don't see how that matters," I muttered, my voice dropping as I tried desperately to hide the truth. "You still shouldn't have done it. You had no right." A sudden wave of heat hit my eyes, and I realized with horror that I was on the verge of tears. The memory of the baby powder, the crinkling Bluey diaper, and the utter helplessness of being pinned to that table came crashing back . "You had no right!" I shouted, my voice cracking as a tear finally spilled over. "Do you have any idea how dehumanizing it is to be put in a diaper as a grown adult?" The professional distance in Ms. Collins’ face shattered instantly. Her eyes filled with a deep, radiating maternal worry. She rose from her chair, walked around the table, and wrapped her arms around me from behind, pulling my head back against her chest in a tight, warm embrace. "I’m Sorry," she whispered, trying to hide the emotion in her voice. "You're right. I overstepped, and you have every right to be furious with me. But last night... when I saw you standing there... something just came over me." She squeezed me tighter, her hands resting against my chest. "When you looked at me last night, right after you had soaked that pull-up, I was fully prepared to see a look of absolute revulsion or embarrassment on your face. But instead you looked... pleased." My face turned an agonizing crimson. I slid down in the chair, trying to shrink away from her touch. "I know you will never admit it to me, or to yourself," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper as she carefully measured her next words. "So I decided it was now or never." She went completely still, her breathing steady against my shoulder. "If you look me in the eye right now, Josiah, and tell me that you hated the feeling... if you tell me that the diaper didn't bring you any comfort at all, I will call the campus maintenance crew and have them remove the changing table and the crib tomorrow morning." For the first time since I had met her, her voice carried a tremor of genuine uncertainty. She didn't sound like a professor who had calculated every variable. She sounded like a woman holding her breath, terrified of the answer. The room felt entirely devoid of air. This was my exit ramp. The line in the sand. I could say the word, end the experiment, and reclaim my adulthood right now. But as I thought back to the nursery, stripping away the shame of her breaking in, the physical reality of the room was a sanctuary. The soft flannel sheets, the thick padding, the warm safety of the covers... If I was completely honest with myself, I didn't mind it.  The silence stretched too long. The tears were a waterfall now. I couldn't say the words to save myself. Ms. Collins slowly let go of the hug. She stepped back and pulled her phone from her pocket. I didn't turn around, but the sharp, deliberate click of her fingers tapping against the glass echoed in the quiet room. She was dialing the maintenance office. The line began to ring. "Yes, hello. This is Professor Collins," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I need to request a furniture removal for…" "Wait!" I burst out. My stomach did a violent flip, the raw weight of my admission crashing down on me. I had chosen. Ms. Collins kept her eyes on me, her expression unreadable. "Actually, my apologies, I dialed the wrong extension. Have a good evening." She ended the call and slipped the phone into her pocket. The apartment went dead silent. She stood by my chair, perfectly still, waiting for me to break the quiet. "I guess..." I choked out, pulling my knees up to my chest and burying my face in my hands so I wouldn't have to look at her. "I guess it wasn't all bad."

If you are going to put them in a washing machine, put them in a lingerie bag first.

Richard is at the Designation Office and is asked to step to the side where we learn a little more about the society and the people in it.  ---  I am only able to write as much as I do thanks to the generosity and support of my subscribers. Writing is my only source of income and it is because of these people that I am able to do that. It allows me to keep the lights on and puts food in my fridge. My subscribers get early access to all my stories, and access to around 30 EXCLUSIVE stories that are only available for my subscribers along with other benefits. If you are interested in supporting me and getting these benefits please consider checking out one of my subscriber pages. Thank you ❤️  https://reamstories.com/elfy https://subscribestar.adult/elfy ---  “Next!” The woman who had just helped the young man, now sitting at the far wall and talking to another stranger, looked up and smiled Richard’s way. “Hi.” Richard said with what he hoped was a friendly smile. “Name please.” The woman replied. Richard didn’t take offence, she was clearly very busy and needed to be as efficient as possible. “Richard Divey” Richard said. The young woman started tapping on the keyboard. Richard was hoping for that same smile that greeted the last person she had seen, but it wasn’t forthcoming. Instead of waving him off to the side, she kept typing, frowning a little, and then typing some more. The longer she remained silent the more anxious Richard was becoming. Richard was about to ask if everything was alright when a door at the side of the lobby slammed open. There were shouts and exclamations, the sounds of feet dragging on the floor and a struggle as two burly men appeared, pulling a smaller man into the lobby. The room fell into a hushed silence as it seemed everyone turned to look. “Get off me! No! There’s been a mistake!” The man was being practically wrestled into the lobby. Richard finally got a good look at him through the crowd and gasped. The young man was thickly diapered with nothing but an infantile red shirt covering his upper half. He was still swearing and lashing out as the doors opened again and a man and woman walked out. The woman was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue whilst the husband had an arm around her waist looking very stoic. “Mom! You know this isn’t right!” The young man yelled. “I… Baby…” The mother didn’t seem to know what to say and fell into more sobbing. The man and his parents were soon dragged out of the lobby and to the front door. Richard heard him pleading and begging for a second chance all the way until the door closed. He swallowed and turned to face forwards again. “Apologies for that.” The woman at the computer said, “As I’m sure you can understand, some people are less than pleased about their designation.” “Yeah…” Richard was shaken. He just wanted to get his Big designation and leave. He didn’t even want to stick around for the certificate, they could mail it to him. “One moment, please.” The woman said as she picked up a phone and pressed a few numbers. “Is there a problem?” Richard asked. The confidence he had walked in with had eked away the longer he remained in the building. “Yes, I’ve got a Divey here. Richard Divey… Yeah, just asking about the numbers on his file because… Uh huh… Yeah…” The woman was talking on the phone and clicking around the screen occasionally, “And they’ve been double checked?” Richard tried to ignore the anxiety that was twisting at his guts. She might’ve needed to clarify the numbers for any reason, he tried to convince himself, maybe they’re surprisingly good or something… “OK, thank you.” The woman put the phone down and turned to face the computer again. She typed a few things and Richard waited, “Alright, Richard, could you go and sit over there please.” Richard turned to see where the woman was pointing. It was the opposite direction to the young man who had been given the easy pass. The area the woman pointed to was where most of the young men and women were ending up, sitting and waiting to be called forwards through the doors beyond. “I… haven’t failed, have I?” Richard asked. A lump forming in his throat. “There is no passing or failing.” The woman’s professional smile was back, “Please, take a seat and you’ll be called in shortly.” “It’s ju-…” Richard started. “Next!” The woman called out. Richard backed away from the desk. He looked over to where the young man had been sat, he was already gone. Turning to face forwards, Richard took a deep breath and walked over to the bigger waiting area. There were a dozen people already sitting in the area that was screened from most of the lobby by cubicle dividers. Richard walked to an empty seat and sat down opposite a large television. He felt a little more at ease when he saw how many people there were, and how many of them weren’t too concerned. This was the usual process, not many people were designated Big or Little right away, most had to have at least a little testing and checking. At least he hoped that was the case. “Quite a scene, huh?” A woman said to Richard. She jerked her head back to where the Little had just been dragged out of the building. “Yeah…” Richard replied. He gave the woman his name. “Sandy.” The woman replied, “Well, at least it gives us a better chance, right?” “Does it?” Richard asked. “Yeah.” Sandy replied. She put her feet up on a table that had a pile of magazines on it, “Not many are made Little…” “Two percent, I think.” Richard muttered. “Exactly.” Sandy stretched out and yawned, “So they should see fifty of us before there’s another one.” Richard knew that odds didn’t work like that. However, it was a comforting thing to believe so he let himself fall into the comforting grasp of math that didn’t really make sense. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to his parents saying that he might be a little while. They had to tell Kate, Richard’s fifteen-year-old sister, what was going on. After the text was sent, Richard continued talking to Sandy for a little bit, he learnt that they shared the exact same birthday. “Sandy Freeman.” A bearded man had opened the door and called at the name. “That’s me.” Sandy said as she stood up. She looked down at Richard, “Good luck.” “You too.” Richard replied. Another person offering him luck… With nothing else to distract him, Richard turned to the television which seemed to be playing a dull informational video about what was going on. It had just looped to the start and a man in a suit, standing in front of a blue background was smiling at the camera. A graphic popped up showing his name to be Frederick Kline, apparently the Minister responsible for Designation. “Hello, I hope you are having a good day and an enjoyable experience in the Designation Office.” Frederick said. Richard scoffed, “This department has existed for over twenty years now and has resulted in the reduction of unemployment, a reduction in wastage and, most importantly, a reduction in crime.” Richard sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. These were the same justifications he had heard many times before, he knew there were opponents of the system that disagreed, but he didn’t care about politics. Any time someone started discussing anything vaguely political his eyes would glaze over. They started doing it right there in the waiting room, but he stared at the screen regardless, it wasn’t like he had much else to do. “When the government of the time published the Case Review, named after the Review’s organiser, Hattie Case, it sent shockwaves through society. It showed that certain behaviours could be predicted by looking at things such as grades and childhood behaviour. Furthermore, it suggested that some people benefitted from a reduction in responsibilities to make them happier, and their community safer.” If there was one thing Richard was aware of, it was that the Case Review wasn’t necessarily all it was cracked up to be. He knew the government relied on it and referenced it often, but he also knew that people had long held that the Review was flawed or biased. He didn’t know the reasons for the arguments though. “The government decided that radical action was required. After much debate, the Designation Department was opened up as a new office of state. It was charged with making society safer, a job it has taken very seriously ever since it’s formation. Thus, we have developed tests that can decide where best to categorise everyone when they reach the age of eighteen.” Frederick’s smile was strangely unnatural in the way that all politicians looked like they had to be taught how to do it as an adult, “If you are watching this, chances are you are currently in a Designation Office and soon to find your own place in our society, either as a Little or a Big.” Another man, with grey hair and bushy eyebrows, opened the door and called another person through to an office. Richard watched him go and wondered if the same thoughts that were occupying him was also going through the others’ heads. “It is important to remember that whether Big or Little, you are still considered an equal citizen. There is no…” Frederick paused, apparently looking for the right words, “Wrong way to be. Being designated a Little shouldn’t be viewed as a failure or bad thing, the same way that being designated a Big isn’t a success. It is simply who you were meant to be…” Richard’s mouth twisted in a small wry smile. He looked around and saw some of the others having similar reactions to the last piece of information. Richard shook his head and stopped paying attention to the TV. Everyone wanted to avoid being designated as a Little like the plague. It was for good reason. Frederick Kline may have said that everyone was still considered “equal”, but it seemed very much like some were more equal than others. Littles were forcibly stripped of their adult responsibilities. They weren’t allowed jobs, or to live on their own. From the moment of their designation, they were no longer considered an adult. Richard had seen documentaries and government produced propaganda showing Littles and it made his skin crawl to think about it. Kept in a permanent state of babyhood for the rest of his life, with no chance at appealing the decision or getting a reprieve. It would surely feel like getting a life sentence in prison. Many of Richard’s friends had spent a lot of time over the previous few years trying to sus out how the system worked to make sure they were safe. The simple fact was that nobody knew exactly what factors were taking into account, what numbers were plugged into the algorithm, or anything else. There were just rumours and suggestions. Their teachers would always stress how important grades would be to your designation, commercials for local sport would talk about how important those activities were to have on record. It felt like as long as Richard could remember he had been hearing people tell him how to get designated as a Big. “Strange…” Richard muttered to himself as he looked up at the ceiling, “How being Little is apparently fine and yet everyone is trying to tell you how to avoid it…” “Richard Divey.” The voice made Richard jump as he quickly stood up. Standing at the door with a clipboard was a young woman who seemed to be only a year or two older than Richard. As he approached, he saw that she had a nametag that said her name was Zoe. She gave him a professional smile and held the door open for him to step through. “Third door on the left, Richard.” Zoe said. ---  If you liked this update and want to see the next update RIGHT NOW you can do so here: https://reamstories.com/page/lpjgftb4y2/story/mozb40hx8a1381/chapter/mpjlffindc0b642 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/2506320

It's 5:15am Sunday morning and I wet my Little Kings diaper multiple times during the night followed by a mess in my diaper just now.

52. My Lapse in Judgement Since Tess’s arrival, my life had been marked by a number of little milestones. She was slowly adapting to being my little, coming closer to accepting how she was going to live. The next one had come that Wednesday night; the first time she had the courage to ask for me to say the trigger phrase while Ffrances was there. We’d both been there the first time, obviously, but that barely counted because Ffrances had told her she would have an accident that night, and so she’d been unable to remember it. This time, she had come down and asked us to tell her that she wouldn’t have an accident because she was thinking about an upcoming music exam. She said that she didn’t want to be restless, waking up in the night. Ffrances complimented her then, for having the courage to ask for what she really needed. But I was pretty sure Tess didn’t quite understand why the response was so positive. To Ffrances, I was sure, the little girl who really wanted to relieve some of her tension by wetting her bed like a toddler knew that it would be better if she was feeling her real age in the morning, and was taking precautions against her urge to ask for the other trigger later. In the morning, of course, she was lively and ready to start the day. And a lot less reluctant to talk about the problems she’d been having, as a result of the pride that a young girl always felt on waking up dry. Thursday, during the day at least, was a day devoid of anything noteworthy. I read a new chapter of The Baby Button on my phone, to preserve my privacy, and speculated that Little Sister had been updating her magnum opus a lot less frequently in the last few weeks. I spent several hours in video conferences, and on hold with various companies that we were working with, but the most I actually achieved was a whole string of appointments the following day to speak to the people who I really needed to do their jobs. That was why, by the time I arrived home, I was already feeling a little frustrated. Sitting with Ffrances in front of the television made me feel a whole lot better. There wasn’t anything new that we particularly wanted to watch, and it didn’t seem fair to break out one of the ancient video CDs based on MK’s comics when Tess was busy upstairs with her homework, so we settled for rewatching a bunch of old episodes of Live From Palmerston!. I think it was me who said that the show could have been a metaphor for our lives, which sounded like a very deep and philosophical insight. Right up to the moment where Ffrances asked what we had in common with a group of comedians on a road trip. I didn’t actually have an answer to that. “Well Lysette is clearly a fictionalised version of me,” I speculated, half an episode later. On the screen, Lysette was screaming abuse at the world in general, although most of her anger was devoted to a station wagon as old as she was, which was yet again refusing to start. “You blame your problems on everybody else?” “No!” I pouted theatrically. “Because I’ve got an awesome fiancé and a shitty car.” “Valid,” Ffrances nodded. “Although to have a fiancée, you technically need to be engaged. And that requires a ring, doesn’t it?” “I guess,” I mumbled. It was one thing we’d never particularly bothered about, and it didn’t bother me that much whether we were going to end up married or not. I knew we would be together forever no matter what. “You could get me a collar? I mean, that’s almost the same thing.” Tess joined us a few minutes later, the dreaded homework monster slain for another day. Much to my annoyance, she didn’t object when I said that I shared more than a few qualities with Lysette; instead speculating about which characters she and Ffrances might have some symbolic link to. We got so deeply into that conversation that I barely paid any attention when we got around to the new episode for this week, and couldn’t remember afterwards what new obstacles were thwarting the journey to Palmerston, Oregon this week. But then again, that might have been because I’d been drinking a little more than I otherwise should have done so early in the evening. I told myself that it wasn’t because I’d had a stressful day. I was enjoying spending time with my girlfriend and my little, and there was nothing at all wrong with being just slightly tipsy. It was a decision I was free to make, and I certainly didn’t have any urge to drink to get over my problems. We carried on chatting, even after Ffrances declared that she would have to take an early night because she had a long day ahead of her. I was expecting I would have a lot of work tomorrow as well, but I couldn’t sacrifice the opportunity to spend time with my little. After we switched the TV off, we talked a little more about the comic series that Ffrances had gotten us both addicted to. We were enjoying different parts of a huge franchise, and it turned out that both of us knew some details we could tease each other with, becoming interested in finding out more about the parts that the other was currently reading. After a while, I started to realise that Tess was marking time. Like there was something she wanted to say, but she was having trouble coming out with it. But eventually she got there. “Listen, I know I only asked yesterday. But could you… like…” I nodded slowly. She wanted not to wake up to a wet bed again. I knew that before she said it, but I wanted her to hesitate a little more. If she was asking too often, Ffrances would begin to suspect that she didn’t actually enjoy waking up wet, and that would make it so much harder to get the hypnotic suggestions reinforced. Tess had to remain just a little nervous about asking for help, and I thought that two days in a row might be a little too much for her. Still, she seemed to be genuinely concerned, and I would much rather have a happy little. So I thought about what I was going to say all the time while she mumbled her way through the request. “You won’t have an accident in your sleep tonight,” I told her. “But you’re going to have an accident after you wake up in the morning.” I took a deep breath and watched her face carefully; or as closely as I could in the circumstances. I still had no idea about the precise wording Ffrances had used to give the suggestion, so my mind was racing to make sure I had an excuse ready. Just in case she wanted to know why I had said that. “Thanks,” Tess nodded and smiled. “I’d best get to bed, I think. And you should read the Martyr’s Glove arc next, if you have the time. Don’t forget.” I said I would, and waved after her. I was sure I must be grinning too broadly, but she didn’t seem to have noticed. When I’d told her to have an accident, she had acted like I said nothing. Like I’d just said what she expected to hear. Just like the first time she’d been triggered to have a little accident in the night. If that was how her subconscious interpreted the suggestion, I thought there was a good chance she would be waking up wet. But I couldn’t congratulate myself too much just yet. I glanced at the clock, and realised that I really should have been in bed a couple of hours before. I climbed the stairs slowly, hoping there was still time to be fully rested before the morning. “What kept you?” Ffrances mumbled when I climbed into bed. “I thought you would be asleep already. Didn’t you have a busy day tomorrow?” “No, you do,” she answered, giving me a moment of confusion. “You’re drunk, babe. You needed to get to bed, you already told me how much you have to do tomorrow.” “But you said you wanted sleep.” “No, I said I wanted bed. I gave you enough hints, if you’d been able to pick up on them. I hoped that might get you up here sooner, without having to feel bad about leaving Tess to her own devices.” “Oh. I… missed all that, sorry. But she wanted a trigger, anyway. She… I think she’s getting embarrassed.” I found that as soon as I started talking, my imagination kicked in, and I knew exactly the right thing to say. “She wants to wake up wet, let her relax and feel childish after being a big girl for her violin exam. But she’s embarrassed again, because it’s not been too long since last time. She made me promise to tell you that she’d asked for another dry-night trigger if you asked.” “I won’t mention it to her,” she said. “If she knows to be cautious, I think she can regulate herself. Better than you can. But it’s probably easier if I sleep late tomorrow. I get a long weekend, I think, so I might stay in bed until after she’s gone to school. You’ll have to wear me out so I sleep deeply. I was going to question that, but then I felt her index finger resting in the centre of my forehead. The post-hypnotic trigger that would make me helplessly obey my Mistress’s commands. And I knew that we were both going to sleep very well tonight.