Other Fetishes

It's a shame this never finished 😔 

Thank you, everyone, for the comments and feedback. I totally understand some of your hesitation about the sudden/jarring shift in genre for the story. I wanted to have fun with this section of the story, and try some different things. Maybe some of it works, and maybe some of it doesn't for you. Regardless, thank you for reading along! Forty-Eight: Little “I was traded,” Wobble says. “I only came to live here two years ago. Before that, I used to live in the city. I thought life was pretty good there, and I thought I had a decent relationship with my big. But then they just…traded me away. Like I was a toy they had gotten sick of.” “Peggy wanted a boy,” Tinkles somberly says to him. “She always said that before you arrived.” Stinker sighs, rolling her eyes again. “Peggy and Lenore are my first bigs. They caught me a few years ago.” Caught. This has implications. Perhaps littles can, if they’re lucky, have a life outside of serving the bigs? And just how does one get caught? I’m imagining a cartoonish snare trap, but since I can’t ask any questions myself, I can only rely on what they choose to share with me. “I was born here,” Tinkles says. “It’s all I’ve ever known.” “She likes it here,” Stinker says. “I-it’s not like that,” Tinkles says. “I just…” “This is her whole world,” Wobble says. “I get that.” “What about you, uh–Smooshy, was it?” Stinker asks. I nod my head, unable to respond otherwise. She asks: “You always been a ‘Smooshy?’” I shake my head. She asks: “So you weren’t always someone’s little?” I shake my head.  She asks: “Is…this your first time being someone’s little?” I mean… If being a ‘little’ means being made to wear a diaper, act like a baby, and get doted on by people acting like the adults, I don’t suppose that’s all the different from The Cradle. But that seemed like a more consensual agreement than whatever is happening here. Though…the milk, and whatever mind-altering properties it has has me questioning that now too. But, for the sake of her question, being made into some giant woman’s pet baby is certainly a first. I nod my head. “Shit,” Stinker says. “I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, it’s impressive that you lasted this long without getting captured. Did you live around here? Were you in one of the communities?” I shrug, vaguely pointing to my face and plugged-mouth with my mitts to remind her that I can’t really answer all those questions right now. “Right,” she sighs. “Maybe we can talk about that later.” “Are you scared?” Tinkles asks. I shrug, for lack of another way to respond. I’m not, like, terrified. But this place is strange and alien to me. The four of us look like what I’d consider to be an ‘average’ adult size back in the Earth that I know and love. But here, where everything else is bigger, it fucks with your head. The ceiling is too tall and the room seems too big in general.  “Peggy isn’t bad,” Stinker says. “I mean, I don’t like her. But she’s mostly harmless. Just kind of careless sometimes.” Wobble sighs. “Lenore, though…” “I don’t think Lenore actually likes littles,” Stinker says. “She tolerates them on behalf of Peggy.” “Th-that’s not true,” Tinkles says. “She likes littles. She’s just a little more, uhm…” “Uptight,” Wobbles says, finishing that thought for her. “Bitchy. Moody. Not especially kind.” “You must be tired and overwhelmed right now,” Wobble says, putting a mitted hand on my back. “Do you need to lie down? There’s some blankets over there.” “I’m a good cuddler,” Tinkles says. “Sometimes we have cuddle parties.” I have no idea what I need right now. I can barely think straight. Do I need a nap? Lunch? A bottle of milk? Do I need…a cuddle?  No, what I need is to cum. As ridiculous as that sounds, it might be my only chance at getting the hell out of this weird place.  But then what? Someplace even stranger? And this prompts the question: How does this get me any closer to my end goal of getting back to my own world–preferably while freeing Harriet as well? Because if I keep cumming–if future orgasms work to take me into new, uh, realms or dimensions or whatever, am I just going to get myself further and further away from where I want to be? Or, are the answers I seek here, in this weird world of bigs and littles? But how would I know? And how would I find them while trapped in some crazy couples’ basement? My head is spinning. Maybe I do need to lie down for a little bit. I nod and follow Wobble’s finger to where the blankets are stacked. I waddle towards them and grab one or two. It’d be nice to have a bed or something, but at this point, I’d be fine with just throwing the blankets on the ground and curling up on top of them for a bit. No sooner than I spread a blanket out on the padded floor, though, I feel a presence behind me. It’s Tinkles. “Would it be weird if I took a nap with you?” she asks.  I shrug, again unsure of how else to respond. “I…well, I just want you to know that you’re not alone here,” she says. “Sometimes it helps comfort me when I have a friend I can cuddle with. So if you think it’d help you too, then…” I nod. Sure, it’s a little odd, I guess, to cuddle with a stranger I’ve just met. But so is a world with giant women who make us wear diapers. So is traversing the multiverse with orgasm. So is magical milk that turns people into diaper-wetting babies. And you know what? I think having a warm body cuddling against me in these very surreal times sounds quite nice. So I nod my head and lower myself onto the blanket, as does she. I lower myself onto my side, expecting her to lie in front of me to be my ‘little spoon,’ except she lies down behind me instead. I’m the little spoon. But that’s fine. That’s…actually pretty nice.  She doesn’t say anything. Her hands aren’t groping me or anything like that. She’s just lying behind me, her body pressed against mine. It’s warm. It’s comfortable.  I try to think, juggling all the scattered thoughts I have about the weirdness I’ve encountered so far, and what sorts of weirdness will probably be yet to come. But I feel myself shutting down sooner than I expect. I’m reminded, briefly, that I didn’t feel things like exhaustion–or a need to pee, for that matter–when I was in the white space with Harriet. I’m feeling those things now. I’m exhausted. And, well, I have to pee. If I’ve learned anything from my time in diapers, it’s that there’s never a reason to just hold it. Sooner or later, you’re going to end up with a soggy bottom anyway.  I let it all out, feeling the diaper growing warmer and heavier between my legs as the wet spot expands to encompass more and more of the padding. That feels good. Everything about this moment feels good. I let those good vibes carry me off to sleep–a welcome reprieve from the madness of whatever reality I’m experiencing. === I’m airborne. I open my eyes and I see my feet dangling below me. The blanket I was laying on is getting further and further away from me. But there are hands under my arms. I’m being lifted up. Oh right, the giant women. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to being hoisted up by Peggy. “That’s a pretty wet diaper you got on there, Smooshy,” Peggy says to me. Her breath is as bad as I remember it being earlier. Less onion-y, though; more generically ‘bad’ now. There’s another odor in the air, though–one that, hopefully, isn’t related to Peggy’s breath. It’s the unmistakable stench of a messy diaper. Mine? I don’t think so, though I wouldn’t be completely surprised if it was. “I see how it is,” Lenore mutters to Peggy from behind. “You’re going to take the wet one, and I get to change the stinky one?” “Oops,” Peggy giggles, adding a nonchalant shrug. Lenore grumbles and picks Tinkles up from the ground. She holds the diapered girl out away from her like Tinkles is a bomb set to explode. “Let’s get this dreadful thing off of you.” The women carry Tinkles and I from whatever playroom we’d been kept in and we’re taken to another room. Despite being just woken from a nap, I feel a little more aware of my surroundings than the last time I was carried around the house. I see the large changing tables–one of which I was probably laying on when I got my first diaper here–and I see that this is a nursery of sorts. Two changing tables. Shelves holding lots of diapers, wipes, powders, and ointments. There’s a happy little woodland scene painted on the walls. If my sister and Anders were to ever have a kid–and what a terrifying thought that is–this is how I’d imagine Sam would want to decorate the room. Tinkles and I are each flopped down on our own changing tables and the women get right to work on us. I’m not surprised at their speed and efficiency, as I’m sure they’ve changed plenty of diapers.  I make the mistake, just once, of turning my head and glancing at Tinkles as her diaper is unfastened and pulled open, revealing the brown mess within. I see her glancing at me too, her cheeks bright pink. I turn away, not wanting to embarrass her anymore than I might have already. “Nobody has called about him,” Lenore says, pointing at me. “You expecting that?” Peggy asks. “If one of the neighbors had lost one of theirs, I could see them reaching out to everyone else in the area and checking to see if we’d found him, couldn’t you?” “I suppose,” Peggy shrugs. “Nobody’s called. Nobody’s come looking for him.” “Maybe nobody’s noticed he’s missing,” Peggy says. “I don’t think he belonged to anyone.” Peggy’s eyes get large. “You mean, like we got a wild one?” “Perhaps,” Lenore says, her nasally tone masking if she’s more amused or annoyed by this. “Though he seems awfully docile to be wild.” “He’s a good wittle Smooshy, ain’t he?” Peggy coos at me, her giant fingers attempting to tickle my belly. It does little besides making me squirm. “Is that pacifier necessary?” Lenore asks. “He was quite chatty before…” “Take it out, I say. If he gets to be annoying, we can always put it back in. But if you leave it in now, I’m concerned he’s just going to be resentful. And a resentful little is not a compliant little.” Peggy sighs. “Yeah, yeah, you’re prolly right about that. But doesn’t he just look so cute and pathetic with his mouth all stopped up like that?” “Peggy…” “I’ll take it out. Sheesh.” Still, she doesn’t take the pacifier out immediately. First, she tends to my bottom. The wet diaper is peeled away, and her big hands run a baby wipe–bigger than one I’ve ever seen before, I might add–over my diaper area. She’s not even especially gentle about it this time around; it’s just a low-effort set of moves, like she’s not all that interested in cleaning me up. I think I’ve seen an attitude like hers before–there’s plenty like her in the workforce. They’re the people who do just enough to get by. The bare minimum. I probably know it so well because that also describes me. A new diaper is unfolded and slid beneath me, again my legs being hoisted into the air to lift my bottom up. Bingo bango–I’m wearing a clean diaper again. Meanwhile, Lenore is still working on cleaning up Tinkles, and it looks to be a laborious affair. Lenore glances at Peggy, a frown on her face, and scoffs. She says: “Next time, you get the dirty one.” “We’ll see,” Peggy says cloyingly, before her hands reach around my head and unfasten the strap that holds the pacifier in my mouth.  I feel a surge of relief as she pulls the bulb from my mouth. My jaw, exhausted from being forced open for so long, flexes up and down a few times as I acclimate myself to having use of it again. I know better than to say anything, though–I have a feeling that she’d be happy to jam that thing back into my cakehole again, given the slightest excuse. “I’m bringing him back to play with the others,” Peggy says, picking me up. This, too, seems to irritate Lenore, as she pauses what she’s doing to narrow her eyes at Peggy. I can only guess why this would annoy Lenore. Maybe Lenore thinks that Peggy should be spending more time with her ‘toys’ rather than leaving them in a room by themselves while she goes and fucks off elsewhere. I mean, that’s certainly what I’m thinking. I’m carried back to the other room–the one with the padded floors where the other ‘littles’ are–and I’m eased down onto the ground in a sitting position. “There you go, Smooshy,” Peggy says. “Good as new. I’ll be back to check on you later.” And with that, she turns and leaves the room, leaving me alone with the others. “Smooshy,” says Wobble with a nod. “I see you’re allowed to talk now.” I open my mouth, unsure of what it is I want to say. How soon do I want to get into the story of my dimension-hopping orgasms? Do I want to talk about milk? Do I want to ask a thousand questions about this place? I settle for simply saying: “Hey.” “TInkles?” asks Stinker. “Still getting changed,” I say.  “So,” Wobble says, a big smile on his face. “Now that you can talk, I’ve got a very important question for you.” “Okay? Shoot.” He says: “Cake or pie?” === I don’t know how to respond to that, and I need to consider the question for a moment. Is he being serious? Is this somehow a hotly debated topic among the littles? Is there a wrong answer–one that gets me shunned from this tiny community in Lenore and Peggy’s basement. “There’s your answer,” Stinker says to Wobble. “Clearly he doesn’t know.” “W-wait,” I say. “I mean…I like cake a lot, but…” I look at both of their faces, seeing a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You’re not actually asking me about cake or pie, are you?” “If you don’t know, you don’t know,” Wobble says. “Don’t worry about it.” “Well, hold on,” Stinker says. “Don’t be so dismissive just yet.” “No,” he says. “We can’t trust him yet. We can talk about this some other time, okay?” Stinker seems annoyed by this response, but also doesn’t look like she’s going to press the matter. Myself, I’m debating whether or not I want to poke this bear. “I'm not from around here,” I say. “Where are you from, then?” Wobble says. I can’t help but laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know where I am now.” This raises Stinker’s eyebrows. “And yet you know that you’re not from around here?” “California?” I ask. “Does, uh, Harper’s Bell sound familiar?” “Well, yeah,” Stinker says. “That’s the closest town to here.” “The Cradle,” I say. “Have you ever heard of that?” Stinker shrugs before glancing at Wobble who also shrugs.  “Like…is that a place?” he asks. “Or do you mean an actual cradle?” “It’s a place,” I say. “A community? A, uh, cult? Mother? Milk? Mirabelle? Does any of that mean anything to you?” They look at each other and shake their heads. I’m not surprised by that response. The  Cradle might exist and they just don’t know about it. But I suspect there’s just nothing like it here. In a world where there’s already a natural imbalance between ‘bigs’ and ‘littles,’ there’s probably not a need for a community that embraces diapers and baby clothes.  “What about, uh…” But my voice trails off as I hear approaching footsteps. It’s Lenore, entering the room with a freshly changed Tinkles. She sets the girl down on the padded floor, scanning the rest of us with a skeptical eye. “On your best behavior?” Lenore asks. Wobble nods his head. Stinker says nothing at all. Lenore’s glare shifts to me. She stares down at me, her eyes narrowed. I nod too. “Yes, ma’am.” Lenore scoffs. “Peggy’s right–you do talk too much. Careful with that mouth of yours, child, or you’ll be wearing that pacifier again.” As quickly as she stormed into the room, Lenore pivots and exits–her footsteps getting quieter as they recede. “What’s the deal with these ladies?” I ask. “Can they just not hear us? Or are we, like, so beneath them that they can’t bother to acknowledge us?” Tinkles tilts her head. “Have you…never met a big before?” “No,” I say.  “I don’t believe you,” Tinkles says, giggling with amusement. “That’s impossible.” “Where are you from?” Wobble asks for a second time. I sigh, still unsure if I should be lying or telling a story that there’s no way they’d ever believe.  “Look, I don’t know what happened to me,” I say–not a complete lie, “but I’m having trouble remembering, uh, everything right now. Maybe I hit my head or something when I ended up here.” “Amnesia,” Tinkles gasps, holding her hands up to her mouth. “We can help you remember things,” Wobble says. “What do you remember?” “I’m from the east coast,” I say. “New Jersey.” This seems to get everyone’s attention. They’re all staring at me. They look–I don’t know–in awe of me? “So…” says Wobble. “When I asked if you liked cake or pie…?” “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I respond. Nikki and I have a little joke we make sometimes about cake and pie. I don’t even remember where it came from, but once in a while, one of us will ask the other if we like cake or pie. And the other will say… “Donuts?” Wobble laughs, laughing as he sighs with relief. “Yeah, exactly. See…I knew you knew!” “Knew?” I ask. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “New Jersey,” Stinker says. “The Littles’ Rebellion?” “It’s the code,” Tinkles says. “It’s how we know you support the rebellion.” “You do remember the rebellion, right?” Wobble says. I’m more confused than I’ve ever been. Rebellion? New Jersey? Donuts? “Nikki?” I say aloud. I mean to say it more to myself than anyone else–I’m just thinking out loud as I try to make sense of all this. “Yes, exactly,” Wobble says. “Nik’s Rebellion.” I laugh, “Nick?” “N-I-K,” he says, spelling it out. “The leader of the rebellion in New Jersey. Her and her littles have been fighting back against the bigs. The stories are spreading around the world–inspiring other littles to stand up for themselves.” The odds seem slim, but I’d love for this to mean that Nikki–the Nikki that I know, love, and have lived with for a long time–is the face of a rebellious group of littles working to overthrow the ‘bigs’ of this world. Because that is the sort of thing she’d do in a situation like this, isn’t it? If anyone ever tried to make Nikki put a diaper on, she would fucking revolt. And if that is ‘my’ Nikki, I wonder if that means there’s another version of me in this place. Am I in NJ too, as part of Nik’s Rebellion? Am I a big, poking fun at helpless littles in diapers? No, of course not. I’m definitely a little. Wearing a diaper is probably my fate across all universes. Perhaps this is my body in this world. Maybe I’m just temporarily using the body of this universe’s Alfie while I’m here? Strange that I’d be in California, I guess, but what the hell do I know?  And, now that I think about it, why do littles have to wear diapers and act like babies for the bigs? How did that culture come about? And do bigs rule the planet? Do littles have any representation at all? What does a community of littles look like, free of bigs? What identity do bigs have for themselves when they don’t have a little to torment? Was there ever an Elvis here? Was he famous? Was he a big or a little? Are there little celebrities? Are there bigs who champion for littles’ rights? But maybe any one of the littles in this room with me would have countless questions about the world that I live in, given the chance to travel there for themselves. Which is to say, that I’ll probably never know everything there is to know about this place.  “Are you part of the rebellion?” I ask. “We support the rebellion,” Wobble says. “Quietly.” “This is our home,” Stinker says. “This is all we have. We may not always like being the bigs’ playthings, but…” “I understand,” I say. And maybe I don’t fully comprehend the full situation, I think I get the jist of it.  === “Is he not the cutest little Smooshy who has ever smooshed before?” Peggy asks, her giant fingers squeezing my cheeks and shaking them. When she releases her grip, my cheek radiates a warm pain as I open my jaw a few times in an effort to stretch out my face’s skin again. “You like this one, do you?” Lenore asks. She seems to be only half-paying attention to Peggy and I, her face aimed at the TV–one that’d likely be too big for any house in the world that I come from.  I’m seated on Peggy’s lap as she sits in an armchair near Lenore’s in what I presume is their upstairs living room. I’m wearing only my diaper, and I’m straddling Peggy’s legs as I face her chest. Her legs occasionally bob up and down, jostling my body around. She seems to find this pretty entertaining. Of course, the jostling is also doing a number on my digestive system–shaking my bowels so much that I can feel them suddenly begging for release. What the hell is even in my bowels right now?  “He’s adorable,” Peggy coos, sticking her face in mine and planting a sloppy kiss on my head with her big lips. Strings of saliva drip down my cheeks. “So precious. Do you know how hard it is to get a little this cute?” “He belongs to someone, I’m sure,” Lenore says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Or rather, he belonged to someone. He’s ours now.” I feel another ominous rumble in my guts as Peggy’s thighs shake again. My face must signal the new panic I’m feeling, because I watch as Peggy’s eyes light up as she stares down at me. “Uh oh. What’s that look for, little fella? Are you thinking you gotta use your diaper?” Lenore sighs. “If he’s going to make a mess, could you at least take him somewhere else? I don’t want his stench to ruin my relaxing evening.” “Oh, come on,” whines Peggy. “It won’t be that bad.” “No thank you,” Lenore says. “You made me change Tinkles’s nasty little diaper earlier, and I’ve had just about enough of stinky bottoms for the day. This one is all yours. Get him out of here and then clean him up yourself.” Peggy sighs, lifting me up and cradling me in her arms. “Come on, Smooshy. Let’s go take a walk outside.” With her breasts smashed against my face, she carries me out of my room. I hear doors opening and closing, though I have no sense of where we’re going. It’s not until I feel a brisk wind rush past my skin that I realize we’re outside. “There we go, Smooshy,” Peggy says. “Feel free to do your dirty little business whenever you’re ready. I promise I’ll take good care of you after you do.” “Do I have to?” I ask.  She chuckles and shakes her head as her arms sway from side to side to rock me. “You silly little thing. Such a chatty fella.” I swear, it’s like they can’t actually understand the words littles say. A little can understand them, but they just can’t comprehend any of the words that come out of our mouth. I put the theory to the test, clearing my throat first and then saying, a little more loudly: “You’re ugly and your breath stinks.” I feel kind of guilty for even saying this–I don’t think I’ve ever called a woman ugly to her face before, and I don’t think I ever want to do it again. Still, surely this will get a rise out of her. But she just laughs and shakes her head. “Maybe I ought to get that pacifier for you again, hm? You blabbering little baby.” My test is inconclusive–I still can’t be certain if she’s just not paying attention to what I’m saying, or if the sound of my voice means nothing to her. But I do know that it’d probably be best to keep my mouth shut for a while, lest I want a paci-gag shoved into my mouth again. She continues to rock my body back and forth in her arms at a slow and steady pace. And it’s…kind of nice. It’s easy to kind of lose myself in this moment, just closing my eyes and making peace with the gentle swaying and the warmth of her body.  It’s the one thing that was missing from The Cradle, I realize. There, they can treat you like a baby all day–and the milk certainly helps to make you feel like you’re that baby–but you never get the feeling that you are as small as you wish you were. No matter what you feel, you’re still in an adult-sized body.  That seems to matter less here. No, I’m not the proportional size of an infant here either, but I’m certainly smaller than my caretakers. I can be picked up, manhandled, and tossed around with ease. She can cradle me in her arms like I’m a small child, and…I needed that. More than I ever would’ve thought, apparently. “That’s a good little Smooshy,” she coos at me. “Get nice and comfortable.” I see now what babies like about this. Fuck everything else. Who cares about The Cradle. Who cares about littles and bigs? Who cares about Harriet? Just give me this forever. Let me be this diapered sack of bones forever and ever–just lying here in these big arms and getting endlessly swung back and forth. There’s another little cramp in my abdomen, reminding me of the still-growing pressure in my bowels. There’s a small part of me that would still prefer to have this happen somewhere else, but there’s a much larger part of me that doesn’t care at all. You’re a baby now. Completely. Just let it all out and let someone else deal with it. The sooner you empty yourself into this diaper, the sooner you can get back to focusing on completely shutting your mind off while in her arms. I honestly can’t say whether or not I purposefully allow myself to mess my diaper, or if my body makes that decision for me. All I know is that I’m suddenly grunting and shifting a little in Peggy’s arms as she rocks me, and I feel the back of my diaper suddenly expanding as a new warm mass squeezes into my padding. Peggy seems to sense what’s going on almost immediately. “Are you…” She laughs. “You are! You’re doing a big ol’ poopsy woopsy for me, aren’t you?” I offer no response as I let out another pathetic whimper as I helplessly push another round into my diaper. Normally, doing this sort of thing in front of someone else would make me feel pretty humiliated, but I find myself not caring much about that at the moment. This just feels right–like it’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. “Aww,” she coos, balancing me on one arm as her big fingers of the other press into my belly and rub it. “You should see that scrunchy little face you make while you’re doing your poopies for me! Lenore was stupid for not wanting to see this. You’re just the cutest little thing in the whole world!” With a final little “Unh!” I force the last of my load out from myself. The swampy diaper feels so much better than it probably should–the way it sticks to my skin and mushes around as Peggy continues to rock me. “And, oof,” she says, “a stinky little thing, huh? That was quite the load. Maybe I deserved that after what I left Lenore with earlier…” My eyes are closed, and I’m already finding it easy to sink into this blissful state of nothingness. I am floating. I am a baby. I have no thoughts. No concerns. Nothing else matters. I feel one of her hands on my diaper, though I can barely be bothered to see what arrangement her arms are in to make this possible. All I know is that I like the feeling of her large fingers poking and prodding at the dense padding as she feels the size of the big mess I made. “Goodness,” she coos. “You’re gonna put me to work with that mess.” I let out a little moan as her hand continues to grope my diaper. I’m not even aware of the fact that I’m becoming erect until I feel some of her fingers rubbing at the new lump on the front of my diaper. “I knew I was going to like you the most,” I hear her say–though her voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far, far away from the blissful realm I’m currently inhabiting. “We’re going to have so much fun together.” There’s this very small part of me that knows that this isn’t right and that I don’t belong here. But there’s another, louder, part of myself that proclaims: I don’t care! This is how it’s going to be now. I’m baby. “The other littles don’t like it when I play with them like this,” she says softly. “But you don’t seem to mind at all, do you? You seem to love it.” I moan again, lost in this abyss of being rocked, getting rubbed, my thoughts dissipating, and the air around us starting to stink like my diaper. Those big fingers are doing some very good things to me right now, and I feel my head rolling back as streams of drool leak out from the corner of my mouth. My restrained hands helplessly reach up and bat at her chest “Go on,” Peggy coos. “Show me what a good little you are. Show me how much you like your filthy little messes.” There’s that old familiar feeling: a numbness that washes over me as I realize I’m on the verge of cumming into my diaper. And I realize, a few moments too late, that once I cum, I probably won’t be here anymore. I won’t have the chance to talk to the other littles again. I won’t have the chance to learn anything else about this crazy place. I know that I need to go, but I wasn’t ready for that yet. “W-wait…” I say. But I’m already cumming. Forty-Nine: Post-Apocalyptic Consent I realize a few things as I slowly come to and open my eyes. For one, I’m sitting on a chair. But I can’t move my arms or legs. I slowly tilt my head down to see why that is, and find the answer pretty quickly. My legs are bound with rope, and it seems another rope wrapped around my abdomen is what is keeping my arms bound behind the back of the chair. The walls on either side of me are dirty and a little ramshackle in their construction. Cinder blocks and cement, I guess–though I’ve never claimed to be any sort of expert on building materials. It’s the wall in front of me that concerns me more–metal bars that run from the ceiling to the floor. They’re painted black, but that paint has chipped in places and I spot rust and corrosion in the bars. There’s a door on the right side of the bars, which I imagine is locked from the other side. I’m tied up?  In…jail? Well, this is definitely worse than being rocked in a giant woman’s arms while I mess my diaper. How do I go back to that? And for that matter, how do I get back to Harriet?  How do I get back to The Cradle, and home? Is such a thing even possible now? I don’t see anyone else here in this place with me, though I can’t see behind myself.  “Hello?” I say. Miraculously, my mouth hasn’t been gagged or otherwise restricted. There’s no response.  I slowly look up at the flickering fluorescent lights, recessed in the cement ceiling and giving off a buzzing sound. Beyond the bars, I see a long hallway, and possibly some other cells on either side of it, but that’s about all I can make out. “Hello?” I say again. “Anyone?” Again, there’s no answer. No sound at all, really, save for the consistent buzzing sound of the lights. Well fuck. I’d like to call a mulligan, I think. If I had access to my hands, I’d jerk myself off right here, right now, and just let fate take me to the next universe–hopefully one where I’m not just automatically in jail for some reason. “Hellooooo. Anyone? Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I can assure you that I’m probably not someone you need to have in jail.” Or am I? If my mind is inhabiting the body of the version of me who lives in this world, perhaps there’s a good reason I’m bound and in a cell of some sort. Also, I’m suddenly realizing that I’m naked again. This makes the tight, bristly ropes against my bare skin feel very uncomfortable. Why is it that I can’t wake up in a world where I have some dignity? At the very least, I don’t see any diapers lying around. Of course, given my luck, I’m probably in, like, Baby Jail, and I’m awaiting trial to be sentenced to a lifetime of suckling from bottles, pissing myself, and crawling around on all fours. No, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, I suppose. But I could do without the pre-trial bondage. From somewhere else, I hear a new sound entering the fray–a gentle clip-clap. Footsteps, I think, echoing across the hard ground. They slowly get louder, and I realize that they’re heading towards me. I swallow hard, nervous to see who or what I’m going to have to deal with now. Clip-clap. Clip-clap. Clip-clap. A figure turns a corner at the end of the hallway I’m facing and they’re walking straight towards me now. And, well, of all the people I could’ve imagined walking towards me, I don’t think I would’ve ever imagined what I’m seeing now. She’s a cheerleader. An honest-to-god blue-and-white-skirt-and-top, hair-in-pigtails-with-big-bows, thigh-high-socks-with-pristine-white-shoes cheerleader. Her tan skin and buoyant, curly brown hair couldn’t look more at odds with the shabbyness of this prison. “Have a nice little nap?” she asks as she reaches the other side of the bars of the cell that I’m kept inside of.  “Uh…” How do I even respond to that question, let alone any of this? “Sorry if the ropes are a little tight,” she says. “Marci gets a little carried away when she’s on rope duty.” “Uh, do I have to be tied up? I mean…I’m already in a cell, aren’t I?” “Better safe than sorry,” the cheerleader responds. “We’ve made mistakes before, and we don’t intend to make them again.” “We?” I ask. She proudly points to the stylized word in large letters that adorns the front of her cheerleading uniform top: THE BRATS. “Don’t you know that you’re in Brats territory?” I’d shrug if I could. “I don’t know what that means.” She laughs loudly, kicking her head back as she does. “Bullshit. Everybody knows who we are and that we run this area. What’s your name? Who are you with?” “Alfie,” I say. “And, I…really don’t know how to answer that other question…” “See, Betsy didn’t think you needed to be tied up,” the cheerleader says. “She thought you’d be harmless and we didn’t need to take any precautions. I’m happy I stuck to my guns, though, because you’re trouble.” “I’m really not.” “You’re a liar,” she spits, a fierce finger poking through the bars towards me. “Tell me what faction you’re in.” “I’m not really from around here,” I say. “So, uh, seriously–I don’t know what you mean when you talk about factions.” “Where are you from then, huh? Because last I heard, there weren’t any territories left that weren’t under faction control.” “Uhm…New Jersey?” I say, hoping that that means something to her. She narrows her eyes at me. “Is that some sort of fucking joke?” “I’ve been accused of terrible timing with jokes in the past,” I say. “And I can sense this would be a bad time to be making one. So, uh, I’m not trying to joke around, no.” “You want to be a smartass, huh?” she asks, rearing back with her hands on her hips now. “Cool. Fine by me. We’ll see if you think you’re still funny when I bring Chloe down here to talk to you.” Is that supposed to sound threatening? There’s nothing especially terrifying about the name ‘Chloe.’ Still, there was some extra emphasis put on the name–even if I don’t think of Chloe as a threat, someone else certainly does. “I’m more than happy to explain myself to anyone you bring here,” I say. “I’m not a threat, I promise. I’m just a guy who’s in the wrong place at, apparently, the wrong time.” She scoffs and shakes her head. “Yeah, we’ll have to see what Chloe thinks about this. See you later, loser.” And with that, the cheerleader pivots and begins walking away from me, back down the hallway again. Clip-clap. Clip-clap. I notice two things as this happens, however. The first is that I see the name ‘Skylar’ is printed across the back of the cheerleader’s top–presumably her name. The second is that I see the back of her skirt is rising up a little–just enough to reveal what she’s wearing underneath it. And wouldn’t you fucking know it? It’s a goddamn puffy, white disposable diaper. === Chloe doesn’t look any more threatening than her name sounds. She’s short, thin, and looks like a stiff wind could carry her across a few counties. She is also dressed like a cheerleader, in a uniform similar to Skyar’s, which doesn’t exactly instill terror in me. But credit where credit is due, she’s got a mean look on her face, and her scowl concerns me.  Skylar opens the cell door from the other side and lets Chloe in. All I can think about is whether or not Chloe, too, is wearing a diaper. There might be a slight bulge in her skirt, but I could also be completely wrong about that. “I hear you’re being difficult,” Chloe says. Even her voice is soft and flowery. “I-I’m really not trying to be,” I say. “I’m trying to explain that…” Slap! Quicker than anything, her open hand flashes between us, smacking me alongside the face. It stings like hell. I can’t remember the last time someone slapped me like this. Julie Ross, maybe, back when we broke up? But even then, I don’t think Julie meant to hurt me so much as just shame me. Chloe wants to cause pain–and I can’t help but imagine a pink hand-shaped mark on the side of my face now. “What faction do you belong to?” Chloe asks, in the same tenor one might use to ask about what was for dinner. Seeing now what violence she was capable of, that tone seemed a little terrifying. “I’m not part of a faction,” I say. “I’m not from around here.” Slap! That really smarts. “He told me he was from New Jersey,” Skylar says. “Heh,” laughs Chloe to herself. She asks me: “And what’s that supposed to mean?” “You do know what New Jersey is, right?” I say. She scoffs. “I know what New Jersey used to be.” I tilt my head a little. “What do you mean? It’s still there…right?” Now Chloe narrows her eyes at me and just stares at me for a few moments. “Is this some sort of bit?” I think about the excuse that seemed to work pretty well while I was in Lenore and Peggy’s basement, and wonder if it might win me a little of Chloe’s patience here: “Uh…I think I’ve got some sort of…amnesia.” Chloe looks back at Skylar: “You said you found him like this? Naked?” Skylar nods. “Marci, myself, and Tiffany did, uh huh.” Chloe asks: “And he wasn’t even wearing a diaper?” I sigh a little, feeling like I already see what’s coming. It really is my destiny, across all universes, to end up in diapers. Skylar shakes her head. “No. He was unconscious. Face down in a field. We thought he might be a School Boy, so we tied him up down here.” “I don’t think he’s a School Boy,” Chloe says, turning back to me. She runs the back of her hand over my bare shoulder. “No gold stars.” School Boy? Gold stars? Brats? No New Jersey? “Well he’s definitely not a Stinky,” Skylar says. “Too clean for that. Mothered?” “Maybe,” Chloe says. “But this far south? They’d never travel so far away from their precious robots.” “R-robots?” I say. Chloe laughs again, squinting at me. “You really don’t know about that?” I shake my head. “Big Girls? The Mothered? The Paci Gang?” “I can assure you that I don’t know what any of that means,” I say. Skylar says: “What about The Blow Out?” “Is that a…faction?” I ask. Chloe sighs, looking sympathetic towards me now. “Go ahead and untie him, Sky. But we’ll keep him in the cell for now. Stay here with him, and I’ll send Brittany and Marci down here with some diapers and clothes for him.” I don’t really want to interject–the last thing I want to do is squander the little bit of goodwill I seem to have now–but I add: “M-maybe something to eat? And drink?” Chloe nods. “I’ll see what I can do.” === Skylar works on the knots that keep me bound to the chair until I finally feel the tension surrounding me release. I can move my limbs again.  “Is that better?” Skylar asks me. “Much,” I say, slowly standing up. Now that I can move around, I turn around to see what the rest of my space looks like. There’s a barred window mounted high on the wall. A barebones cot in the corner. A small wooden writing desk. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she says. “Like?” “Like trying to escape. I promise you that you can’t run faster than me. And you’re definitely not stronger than me.” “I don’t doubt that,” I say, shaking my head.  It’s only now that I remember that I’m completely naked; as I look down to see my soft manhood dangling between my legs. Instinctively, my hands rush down to cover myself up as I feel my cheeks redden. Skylar laughs. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some more of that. I don’t get to see too many of those.” “I think I’ll just, uh, keep that to myself right now,” I say, sitting back down in the chair. It seems a little easier to conceal myself in this position. “You really don’t remember anything?” she asks. “Uh, no. Whatever is going on here, it’s all new to me.” She laughs. “What’s the last thing you remember? Maybe I can catch you up.” I have no idea how to answer that. I get the feeling that there’s a point in which this universe wildly diverged from the one that I’m from, and I don’t know when in the timeline that might have happened. I just have to laugh. These are some wild concepts that I’m allowing myself to so readily embrace. Someone else, faced with the same circumstances, might go insane from trying to wrap their head around this. Perhaps it’s the milk that’s opened my mind. Or, maybe, it’s all those years of reading comic books–where things like this happen all the time. And Nikki wanted to make fun of my comic reading. “Something funny?” Skylar asks. I shrug. “I…I don’t even know where to begin.” “You know about The Blow Out, right?” “Was that, like, a movie or something?” I ask. She shakes her head, sighing a little. “You really don’t know, do you?” “Nope.” “Folks call it ‘The Blow Out,’” she says. “Nobody–at least nobody that I’ve ever talked to before–knows who or what caused it. But something happened a few years ago and it caused everybody on Earth to, uh…” Her voice trails off and her cheeks redden a little. “Hm?” “Sorry. I should be used to it by now, but I guess it’s still kind of embarrassing. So, uh, this thing happened, right? And it made everyone…incontinent. Like, every single person in the world.” “Incontinent?” I ask, leaning forward a little. “Like, you know, we can’t control it when we have to piss or…” “N-no, I know what it means,” I say. “But that happened to everyone?” She laughs, shaking her head again. “I can’t believe none of this rings a bell to you.” “Like I said, I don’t really remember anything.” “Right, well,” she continues. “Everything fell apart after that. Maybe it was because of the incontinence itself, or maybe that was just the last straw in a world that was already pushed to the breaking point. Uh, that’s what Emily says, at least. But people went crazy. Governments crumbled. A lot of the country’s population consolidated in the midwest to form new colonies. But the coastal regions are still mostly held by factions.” “Like…The Brats?” I ask, looking at her cheerleading uniform. She smiles and nods. “That’s right!” This is even more comic-booky than I initially thought.  “Does, uh, ‘The Cradle’ mean anything to you?” I ask. “Like, the place?” My eyes open wide and my heart rate quickens. “You know of it?” She shrugs. “I guess. It’s kind of an urban legend around here. You know about that but you don’t know about The Blow Out?” “I, uh, it’s just a faint memory,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “But what do you know about it?” “It’s where we are now,” Skylar says, shrugging. “Or, well, it used to be called that, I guess. A long time ago. Some creepy cult used to live here or something. Some of the girls used to tell this story about how the leader of the cult turned all of her followers into, like, babies and that she was the one responsible for The Blow Out. But people make up all kinds of shit, you know? Stupid stories like that were just made to scare everyone else.” It’s a lot to process at once. For one, I suppose it continues to confirm that when I cum my way from one universe to another–as insane as that sounds–I’m arriving in the corresponding location of where I was before. Perhaps that’s a good thing to keep in mind. But…this isn’t The Cradle that I know. This is a jail cell, and it’s not the only one in this building. At what point did The Cradle ever need a prison? When did they start locking up people? And why? I need to remind myself not to get too caught up in details like these, though. This isn’t my world. This isn’t my Cradle.  Still, maybe there’s some warnings to take heed of. While Skylar seems dismissive of the story about a cult leader who turns followers into babies, all stories have to start from somewhere. It’d be quite the coincidence if someone just fabricated a story about a cult leader babifying her followers here, in a place called The Cradle. It makes me wonder–is the inevitable path of Mother in any world she inhabits? That, given enough time, she’ll eventually render the entire world incontinent? Why? And to what ends? And… “You still with me?” Skylar asks, waving a hand in front of my face. I’m realizing that I spaced out for a moment. “Oh, uh…yeah,” I say. “You’re kinda weird,” Skylar says. “I’m sure I’m even weirder than you think I am.” === Two new cheerleaders walk down the hallway towards the cell where I’m still sitting, and where Skylar leans against the wall. “Hey,” says the first. She’s got short, dark hair, freckles, and big doe eyes. She’s got a small stack of folded, plump, disposable diapers and what might be a package of wipes in her hands. “I didn’t bring any clothes. All we have are, uh, uniforms, and I didn’t think he’d want that.” She’s probably right. “Yo,” Skylar replies to acknowledge her, stepping forward and pushing the cell’s door open from the inside. Apparently the door isn’t locked? Had I known this, I wonder if I would’ve made an attempt at escaping.  The other cheerleader–with a more olive complexion, big gaudy glasses, and big auburn hoops of hair–carries a tray of food past me and places it on the desk. I haven’t yet considered the age of these girls, but it’s something I’m thinking about now. Definitely not of high school age. College-age, maybe. Maybe a little older? They still have a youthful glow to them, but there’s a dash of maturity in those eyes as well. Of course, who the hell knows what toll doomsday takes on a body. They could be 18, or they could be 40, for all I know. Even if I was fully clothed and in a more ‘normal’ situation, by my standards, I still think I’d have a hard time handling myself around a group of attractive women like this–let alone women in cheerleading outfits. There’s something about the cheerleader–a symbol of a popularity class that I could only ever dream of being a part of in high school–that makes me feel self-conscious and more timid. It helps, a little, to know that they’re all wearing diapers–but that doesn’t mean much when I have a feeling that they’ll be putting me in a diaper too, soon enough. “No food until you’re wearing a diaper,” the girl who carried in the food says. The back of her uniform reads ‘Brittany.’ Which, I think, makes the other Marci? If this, in fact, the post-apocalyptic world after Mother has had her way with humanity, I have to say that I’m impressed with their uniforms–they’re clean, perfectly sized, and the customized details of the cheerleaders name and the ‘The Brats’ logo is pretty well executed. I can’t help but wonder who handles that sort of thing after the fall of civilization as we know it. Oh, the things I think about at the end of the world. “Yeah, sure,” I say. I’m not going to fight these women over a diaper. I’m coming to expect that this is just the way it is in all universes. “Over here,” Skylar says, waving me towards the bed with her hand. “I can take care of that.” I’m assuming they’re putting me in a diaper because they assume I need one, like apparently everyone else who lives on the planet. But I’m not completely sure why they have to be the ones to put it on me. Can’t I just do it myself? Is this typical protocol for a prisoner, or whatever it is that I’m considered to be? “Oh, uh…” I look around at the girls’ smirking faces as they watch me. “Maybe you could all just…look away for a second while I get up?” The girls all snickered and giggled amongst each other. Marci says: “I don’t see the point in being modest about it. We’re gonna see it all when Skylar puts the diaper on you anyway.” “I never seen a dick before,” Brittany says, blushing a little. “I mean, like, in person.” “You’re not missing much,” Skylar says. “Overrated.” “You would think that,” Marci says with a wry grin on her face. “We know what you and Betsy do in your cabin at night.” I don’t get much time to imagine what that might mean, though, as Brittany and Marci are on either side of me, each taking one of my arms and pulling. They manage to not only pull my hands away from my crotch, but they pull my body up from the chair and into a standing position. Once more, my manhood flops down, dangling in front of me pathetically. “There you go,” Marci says, pointing at my crotch. “That’s a dick.” “That’s it?” Brittany asks, her nose wrinkling a little in disappointment. “H-hey,” I say, my face feeling pretty warm all of a sudden. “I’m a, uh, grower–not a shower.” Marci giggles as she pulls me closer to the bed. “Sure, buddy. Whatever you say.” “We caught that guy from the Paci Gang trying to steal our supplies, remember that?” Skylar says. “He, uhm…” She doesn’t finish that thought, but holds her hands out in front of her, putting a good twelve inches between her hands. The other girls giggle and act astonished. Personally, I’m not buying that anyone’s shlong is that big–unless this universe just so happens to also have very well-endowed men in addition to being a post-apocalyptic diapered hellscape. Brittany gives me a little shove towards the bed, and I’m caught by Skylar, who then helps ease me onto my back. The cot doesn’t have any sheets or blankets on it, it’s just a thin mattress pad atop the wires and springs of the cot.  There are hands all over me. I can’t keep track of whose hands are where. Hands hold down my shoulders. Hands spread my legs open. Hands unfurl a diaper and spread it out between my thighs. I look up briefly, and the sight of their three pretty faces peering down on me is like some sort of hot dream my teenage-self would’ve had ten years ago. “I wanna touch it,” Brittany says. “You can’t just go touching whatever you want,” Skylar says. “You should ask first.” It’s nice to know, I guess, that consent is still important in the post-apocalypse. “Excuse me, stranger,” Brittany says to me. “What do you think? Can I touch your, uh, dongle?” My dongle? I clear my throat, unsure of what to say to that. “Uh, well… I mean, I guess…” Brittany wastes no time, her hand darting between my legs and grasping at my manhood. I don’t want this to be sexy or arousing–I’m embarrassed and out of my element enough as it is. Still, my body betrays what I want and I feel myself starting to grow elect as her soft, slender fingers shake my cock to life. “Ooh,” Marci coos. “Would you look at this? Somebody is happy to get some attention, hm?” “You know,” Skylar says. “Maybe he was right. It’s already a little bigger than I expected it to be.” My sense of self-worth thanks her, a little, for that. “It’s…not like I was expecting it to be,” Brittany says. Marci giggles. “Really? Like…what were you expecting it to be like?” “I don’t know,” Brittany replies with a shrug. “Maybe it’d feel…scaly?” The other girls laugh at this. Hell, I’d laugh too if I wasn’t paralyzed with humiliation from being held down and fondled by them. I wonder if this is actually a blessing in disguise. Maybe, if they play around with my cock a little longer, they’ll manage to get me off and–bam!–I’m whisked away to the next world where, for whatever reason, I’m made to wear a diaper. “So…this is what you do with it, huh?” Brittany asks, her fingers wrapping around my shaft and giving it a little tugging motion. Hoo boy. Skylar bats her hand away, wrapping her own hand around my cock now. “I mean, sure, that’d probably work. But this is how I used to do it.” Hand cupped around me, she strokes upwards, almost clearing the shaft completely before using her palm to rub at the head before letting her hand slide back down the shaft. “You have to be, like, real flexible with your wrist.” Marci scoffs. “See, I wasn’t giving boys handjobs. They can do that themselves. There’s other places I’d want to stick that thing.” “Slut-ty,” says Skylar with a giggle. “Are you gonna show us what you mean by that?” Brittany says. “What, you think I’m going to put this stranger’s dick in my mouth?” Marci scoffs.  “Alright, alright,” Skylar says. “Let’s not get our captive too excited. I gotta put this diaper on him and he still needs to eat.” “Will that diaper even fit right while he’s all hard like that?” Brittany asks. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Sklyar says, shrugging. I’m surprised with how disappointed I am that they’re not going to finish what they started. Not only am I not getting the chance to blow this joint and travel somewhere else, but now I’m just erect and worked up.  There’s a matter-of-factness about the application of the diaper. There’s nothing ‘fun’ or ‘naughty’ about it. Even at The Cradle, where diapers are changed hundreds of times a day, there’s still a feeling of it being this special thing. But here, it’s just business as usual. There’s nothing special about a diaper change when everyone, with apparently no exceptions, needs them. As Skylar finishes wrapping the diaper around me, the other girls have already loosened their grip on me and are talking amongst themselves. Up until now, I haven’t taken much note of the smell in whatever kind of cell this is supposed to be–I guess there’s a faint and inoffensive trace of dampness, but nothing beyond that. There’s a new smell filling my nostrils now, however. It’s the undeniable odor of a soiled diaper. And I’m not the only one to smell it. I watch as Skylar wrinkles her nose, giving me a skeptical look. “You couldn’t possibly have already…” “It wasn’t me,” I say softly. “Was that you, Britt?” Marci asks. Brittany sighs. “Yeah…” She doesn’t look embarrassed as much as she looks inconvenienced. Like her flip flop broke, or she spilled mustard on her pants. “Phew,” Skylar says, waving her nose in front of her face. “Marci, why don’t you go give her a hand with that. I’ll finish up Mr. Stiffy here and make sure he eats. Just make sure someone comes down later to take over guard duty, yeah?” “Yeah, sounds good,” Marci says, shrugging. “C’mon, stinky.” “Shut up,” Brittany responds, playfully pushing the other girl. “You’re one to talk. We all got a whiff of what you cooked up this morning during breakfast.” The two continue to poke fun at each other as they leave the cell and walk down the hallway, leaving me alone with Skylar again. “There you go,” she says, pulling the last tab into place on the front of the padding. “I’m surprised you didn’t piss all over the chair while you were tied up.” “Yeah, me too,” I say. “You hungry?” she asks. I nod.  “Well, have at it. There’s some food on the desk there for you. Water too.” “Thanks,” I say, sitting up in the cot before swinging my legs off the side of it.  I see that the cell door has been left slightly ajar. Nobody has been walking around with keys. Maybe that door just doesn’t lock, and that’s why I’ve either needed to be tied up or guarded.  A shame, because if I was left to my own devices, I’d have a hand crammed down the front of my bulging padding as I worked on traversing the, uh, diaperverse again. It doesn’t feel especially appropriate to do that while Skylar sits in here with me. It doesn’t help that I feel a little edged at the moment–my cock still at attention as I waddle towards the tray of food. What would Skylar do if she saw me groping my diaper? Stop me? Yell at me? Join in? I don’t think I’m bold enough to find out. The food on the tray is nothing to behold. A chunk of bread. Some sort of orange broth with unknown chunks floating in it. An apple. I haven’t seen very much of this world…but I don’t think I want to be in it any longer than I have to. There was a lesson to learn here–that if left unchecked, this is what Mother is capable of–and now that knowledge is stowed away. You know what? I find myself caring a little less about how bold I usually are or aren’t. I gotta get out of here. With my back still turned to her, I slide my hand down the front of my diaper and grasp my shaft. And I slide my hand down. Up. Down. Up. This is either the stupidest or smartest decision I’ve ever made. “Hey…” I hear Skylar say behind me, some curious skepticism in her tone. “Wh-what are you doing?” “Uh…nothing.” Up. Down. Up. Down. I don’t know if it’s because I’m still just that worked up from the cheerleaders putting their hands all over me, or if the thrill of needing to get myself off while Skylar remains in the room is working for me. “Y-you’re…touching yourself,” she says.  “Uhm…” “Stop that!” “Just, uh…one second…” Given how strange the last few months have been, I think calling something ‘crazy’ has lost all meaning. Still, this feels crazy. Among the craziest things I’ve ever done. It’s wrong. It’s kinda gross.  But if this works, then I’m out of here and it doesn’t even matter. And if it doesn’t work…I’m already in jail anyway, right? I hear Skylar behind me, shuffling towards me–her own diaper crinkling under her skirt.  I rub myself even harder and faster, praying that I can somehow summon an orgasm before it’s too late.

The small blushed shyly and looked at the tots “I’m .. Rei… how long have you two been here?” Sitting down and took the doll her pull up rustling slightly 

“Hi, come and play with us,” the girl called her, clutching a doll in her hand, “what is your name? I am Aiko,” she took another doll and held it in her stretched arm, waiting for Rei. “I am Konyo,” the boy added, “come and play,” he smiled widely and returned to his building kit.

I have really enjoyed this story so far.... mechanical nurseries is a huge love of mine.  I wish they were real.