Incontinent-Desires

And they say I'm mean with cliffhangers!  I have to say I think Pete will do what's in her actual best interests though. He's genuinely been fighting for her for a while now. Can't wait to read the conclusion! 🙂

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

Chapter 48: Training Elysium – LittleFallenPrincess -------------------------------       April First week of April and it was already off to a good start. The third years were in a much better mood this week, as they start potty training very soon. Though apparently because the third year boys took so long in getting in line with the program, they’re not doing this whole potty training thing until next month. I don’t know why it’s some big deal though, as it’s clear they’ve done something to our brains or something to turn off our potty training, and isn’t it just a quick switch back with more hypnosis? Or did it remove it completely and now they genuinely have to start from scratch? I guess I’ll hear more from the third year girls when they start later this week. Except Ellie, apparently. They all pretty much know she’s into this at this point, it’s not exactly subtle. They still don’t know about the deal she has to be in here, but they do know she doesn’t intend to get her potty training back. Walking was needed in the outside world, so she played along with that, but potty training… Apparently she didn’t want it back at all, so she opted out of the plan. I mean… that’s a pretty drastic decision… but I think she’s been told if she ever wants to regain control, Elysium will be happy to give it back when she’s ready, even if it’s years after graduating. Sia, her ‘big sister’ may not hate being babied, but unlike her ‘little sister’, she can’t wait to get into pullups after being in nappies for so long. Because that’s what they’ll be wearing… pullups. They’ll get little plastic potties and everything, apparently. They know because that’s what happened with the third years before them. When they were in second year, they watched the third years go through months of potty training. Having to ask a Nanny to be taken to the potty, being punished if you have an accident in your pullups… I could see the appeal of not going through that, as even if they were silly punishments like being returned to nappies for a few days, I don’t like earning punishments. I… like to be a good girl if at all possible.   In other good news, Ceres got permission for me to watch some of Laura’s livestreams, just one per week at most, for an hour. And only when she’s playing a game and nothing real life is being talked about, as I’m still supposed to be in the dark regarding the world outside Elysium’s walls. The first night watching was amazing, I must admit. Ceres must have told Laura that I was going to be watching that evening, so Laura picked a rather childish, family-friendly game to play on stream. I sat there, in the chair, cuddled up with my Nanny in her arms, with her tablet showing the livestream in front of us, all snuggled up in my pyjamas, watching my ‘big sister’ show off her livestreaming skills. Honestly… I never would’ve guessed the slightly reserved woman I met just the other week had such charisma on camera. But what made it special, was when Laura made a little call out. “I’m going to name this villager Rosie, because she’s cute,” she said. Then apparently the chat was asking who Rosie was, if she was a girlfriend or a friend or something (I wasn’t allowed to view the chat, in case anything from the real world got mentioned). Rosie just replied with “she’s my little sister. I only met her for the first time the other week, and she’s the cutest little bean! Shout out to my baby sister, Rosie!” I squealed and squirmed in Ceres’ arms, flailing about with happiness. “Happy now, Princess?” Ceres asked, kissing my cheek. “Uh huh!” I replied. “I like Laura. I really hope we become closer when I graduate.” “Me too. She was such a good girl for me when she was in here. Kerry was a bit of a handful on occasion, you saw how excited and bubbly she gets. Now imagine an adult-sized three year old version of her…” “I can imagine. Thank you for this.” “Oh sweetie, you know I’d do anything for you.”   Much later on in April, it was now our turn for our special training… walking. Third years were already in pullups, well… the girls were… the boys had to wait a tinier bit longer. Now it was time for the second years to begin walking. And just like the third years… the boys (Rowan excluded) were being delayed a month for taking so long to get with the program, which caused a lot of groaning and complaints from Jack and Ollie and that lot, but thankfully that was all it was, just complaining. They were behaving a lot better now at least, though they still weren’t friendly with any of us on the other side of the playroom. I hafta admit… I missed Ollie. It had been nearly half a year since he showed his true colours and defected over to the boys. He still didn’t get along with Jack, Frankie and Harry… but he did get along with the third year boys. The third years, from what I observed, tolerated Jack and his gang hanging out with them, but they rarely got on with them like they did with Ollie. Which made me worry for Ollie, because once the third years graduate, he’ll either have to make friends with Jack… befriend the new second years… or do all this on his own. Unless he puts whatevers bothering him behind him and apologises so he can rejoin our group. But anyway… Yes, walking. This was… humiliating. Not as humiliating as sitting on a potty in front of everyone to do your business… at least nappies made it discreet when it came to using them. I felt kinda bad for the five third-year girls who were attempting to potty train, whenever they sat on a potty… their faces turned beet red as they quietly wished for it to end. That doesn’t mean our training wasn’t humiliating at all, but in comparison, we had it easy. I will admit though, falling back on my padded arse over and over again got old quickly, as did the snickers and giggles coming from the boys’ side of the playroom. But hey, that just means we can laugh at them next month when they go through the same! Whereas the potty training for the third years would take a few months, apparently, we got walking done by the end of April. We were still a bit wobbly, whatever programming they had pumped into our brains made it so we were still required to take it slowly, and the thick padding between our legs didn’t help to keep our balance, so we’d often fall. We’re all just glad the playroom floors are soft… “Ella, you were so good today!” I said to her, as I snuggled up with her in my crib, with Ceres sitting idly in the background playing on her tablet. “You think so?” “You didn’t fall over once! You’re definitely the Queen of walking in the second year.” “Oh shush. Rosie… you’ll get there eventually.” I hoped so. Sure, I had managed to get used to walking again… mostly. I can do it unaided…. Most of the time. Legs are still a bit wobbly though, and I often resort to crawling instead because of the amount of times I’ve fallen back onto my padded backside. “Why do I need to walk anyway? I have Ceres to carry me everywhere… and crawling is underrated!” This made Ella giggle, but it also caught Ceres’ attention. “You can’t rely on me to carry you to job interviews or to appointments… I can’t take you shopping hun… once you graduate, that’s it, you’re on your own. Well, on your own with Elysium support.” “What are you going to do once we graduate?” I asked my Nanny. “I don’t know.” “It’ll be six years here… think you could do another three?” “Not sure yet, hun. They have a very generous leaving package if you do decide to leave after you’ve done a set of three years. I could go travelling, do something I’ve always wanted… I get the same benefits as graduates, which means I could even start my own business, if I wanted.” “I sense a ‘but’ coming…” I replied. “But… I like it here. Elysium is home. I’m very protective of it now. Maybe I wasn’t at first, but by the end of my first three years… I knew what good this place could do, and what good I could do here. So maybe… maybe I will stay? Again, this is something I’ll figure out next year. I’ve still got a year and a half…ish… of changing your soggy nappies!” I blushed, which caused Ella to smile and kiss my cheek. “I think you do a lot of good here. You fix things and you support everyone. I know the board must be so glad to have you here.” “I have to agree. You’d be amazing as like a ‘Head Nanny’ or something!” Ella replied. “Is that even a thing here?” “No, it’s not. Just the board, and the Nannies,” Ceres answered. “Maybe I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll go and get some more free time, spend it with my favourite baby…” She quickly stuck her tongue out at me. “Hey! Once I graduate, I won’t be one!” I replied in defence. “Give it time. You’ll miss Elysium eventually. You’ll be one of the ones who end up getting a kink out of this place.” “I… no! Shush!” “Hey babe… if you did… I wouldn’t mind, you know that?” Ella said, taking me by surprise. “Really? If I ended up wanting to be treated like this outside of Elysium? Not that I do! Just hypothetically speaking. Right now… I don’t think I will. Just saying.” “Suuuuure…” Ella trailed off, making it clear she didn’t believe me. “But if you did… you make an absolutely adorable baby…” “You could be her Mummy…” Ceres blurted out, giggling to herself, causing both Ella and myself to blush, avoiding eye contact with each other. “But no, seriously, if you do or don’t continue this… Elysium, me… and it seems your girlfriend… will support you no matter what. If you want a nursery, Elysium is happy to supply you with one.” “Wow… really?” I asked. “Surely all this custom furniture must be expensive? I doubt you can just go to the shops and get an adult sized crib…” “If you gained a kink in here like others have… that’s down to us. Plus it means you’re letting out your stresses in a healthy way, not reverting to bad habits. Which means we don’t have to readmit you or keep a close eye on you. So yes, it’s a small price to pay, knowing that you’re doing well outside of Elysium.” “I guess that makes sense…” I genuinely don’t know if I would be into this once I graduate. Because on one hand… I really do like being cared for. Feeling small, feeling all my adult stresses disappear… it was better than any night out or spa vacation or anything. I really did feel like my best self here… which worried me. But one look at Jess and Sophia, and at Ellie,and they’re well-adjusted adults… when they’re not enjoying playing with blocks anyway. They manage a life, or at least I assume Jess and Sophia do. And I know Ellie was into it before coming here… though forcefully getting kidnapped by a shady institute to get to live out your kink probably isn’t the best, most sensible thing… Maybe… provided Ella is okay with it like she says she is… and provided I still want to wear these nappies after spending nearly three years in them by the time I graduate… maybe it’s something I’d like to explore. “For now, you just focus on being the best little babies for us, okay sweetpeas?” Ceres said to us, smiling over from her chair. “Don’t worry about graduation yet. That’s for when you’re in third year. Your job this year is to enjoy your new babyhood, to spend time with friends, to fill your pamps…” I buried my face into Ella’s shoulder, as she did mine, as I’m pretty sure by the squishiness I felt between my legs, the same squish that was pressing against hers… that we were both in need of a change right now.           ====================================================== Don't forget I'm on Subscribestar! Subscribers get 2 weeks early access to chapters, and exclusive short stories (Nessa's Tale is currently the only available one). The next four chapters of my new story posted on my Subscribestar! ======================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! 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I keep some moonshine on hand for just such a scenerio lol

An ad for this just popped on on FB. https://buy.senecasense.com/starterkit/optin   It's $50 for the sensor and fifty strips, but there doesn't seem to be any price listed for replacements.