Leaderboard

I hope you enjoy. It is a slow read. Chapter 59 -Consequences Avery's shoulders remained slumped, a heavy weight of anger, shame, and defiance settling over him. The cinnamon scent, once benign, now felt suffocating. He focused intensely on a small knot in the wood grain of the pantry door, counting the rings until his eyes blurred. He didn't know how long he'd been there, but the initial burst of anger had dissolved into a dull, self-directed misery. He began internally berating himself. He hated that he'd hurt Tilly, hated the way the playpen seemed to trap him, and hated even more that he couldn't just be the boy Darlene and everyone else wanted him to be. Underneath his child's blue onesie with rockets and planets, the plastic lining of his duckling-print diaper felt cold and thick against his skin, a constant, crinkling reminder of his failure to act like an adult. Wearing a diaper at the hospital versus here was different. It felt more medical than infantile in the hospital. Just knowing the diapers had infantile images made it worse, and he could have sworn this diaper was thicker than the white diaper in the hospital. The muffled drone of conversation from the living room finally ceased, replaced by the sounds of movement—the scraping of chairs, the quiet exchange of goodbyes. He heard the click of the front door twice more, marking the departure of Ashley and Laurisa. A minute later, a shadow fell over him. Darlene re-entered the kitchen, her steps slow and deliberate. She pulled a chair from the kitchen table over to the pantry door, scraping the wood slightly on the tile floor, and sat down beside him, not facing him, but facing the wall, a signal that this was not an adversarial confrontation, but a shared moment. Avery didn't dare move or look up. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable lecture, the quiet condemnation that he knew he deserved, while he held his desire to talk back already. Darlene was silent for a long time, sipping the last of her now-cold coffee. The silence was thick, more potent than any shout. When she finally spoke, she took a long deep breath, her voice was low, devoid of the sharp anger from earlier, replaced instead with a profound weariness. "You’ve had time to think, haven’t you, sweetie?" she began, using the endearment gently. There was that word again, sweetie, confirming their relationship had already changed. Avery offered a minimal, almost imperceptible nod facing the pantry door. "I’m tired, Avery," Darlene continued, rubbing her forehead. "I’m tired because I didn’t sleep much last night while you slept. I was worried about you and wanted today to be special, and I care about you. We all do. What happened today… it was hurtful. Not just to Tilly, but to all of us who have spent the few days in the hospital with you and working around the clock trying to build a safe place for you." She turned her head slightly to look at his profile. "That girl—Tilly she is special. She spent all night helping everyone. She picked out every single stuffed animal and wanted to paint the ceiling for you. That was her idea. She was so excited for you to see it. When you called her work ‘stupid,’ you weren’t just insulting a Play-Doh snake. You were attacking the love she put into it and the way she was willing to open up and be exposed to you. And that’s not who you are, Avery. I know it’s not." The mention of Tilly's specific efforts—the clouds and birds on the ceiling—pierced through his resentment. He remembered the genuine, bright happiness in Tilly's eyes as she showed him the playpen and then his room, the nursery. He felt a sting of remorse, a hot prickling behind his own eyes. The words felt lodged in his throat, heavy and impossible to articulate. If he spoke, he was terrified he’d lash out again, or worse, break down. Too many different emotions were going through him. He kept his gaze fixed on the wood is felt safer that way, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. Darlene reached out and gently placed her hand over his balled-up fist, resting on his knee. Her touch was firm but comforting. "I know this is hard. And I know you feel like all of this is being done to you, not for you. But we’re trying to give you a soft place to land. A place where you don't have to be afraid, where you can heal from what John did to you, your horrible childhood, and those awful foster homes. And that means sometimes you have to let go of that anger and let us love you." She squeezed his hand lightly. "You can’t push away the people who are trying to help you. I know you are used to pushing people away and keeping a safe distance from them and your emotions. It's time to apologize to Tilly. I don’t want to hear ‘I’m sorry, but…’ or an excuse. I just want to hear a real apology for hurting her feelings. You need to apologize for your behavior. Can you do that for me?" Avery swallowed hard. His whole body felt rigid with the internal conflict. He wanted to apologize, but the word felt like a surrender. He wanted to be a good boy for Darlene, but he felt like a ridiculous child in this outfit. The diaper rustled slightly as he shifted his weight, and the sound was like a private scream. He shook his head once, barely, still unable to look at her. "I… I can’t right now," he managed to whisper, the words raspy. "I’m sorry." It wasn't the apology Darlene wanted, but it was the only one he could offer without collapsing into a mess. Darlene sighed again, the sound soft and defeated. She knew pushing him further would only solidify his resistance. She rubbed his back gently, a purely maternal gesture. "Okay, sweetie. You don’t have to do it right now," she conceded, her voice softening further. "But you are going to think about it. And when you come out of this kitchen, you’re going to try to be kinder. We’re going to work on this, Avery. Together. But first, let’s get you out of this chair and get you a little snack. You haven't eaten a thing since you got here." She stood up, pulling her chair back into place. Avery remained motionless for another moment, the weight of his shame and relief warring within him. He was still in trouble, but she hadn’t abandoned him. She was still here, and her hand was still warm. The small, fragile part of him that craved this love began to uncurl. She moved to the refrigerator, pulled out deli meat and cheese, then turned to the counter to get sandwich bread. Avery watched her silently as she assembled a simple turkey and cheddar sandwich. The task was routine, domestic, but the next few actions were calculated to re-emphasize the new reality. Darlene placed the finished sandwich on a small, brightly colored plastic plate—one of Tilly's sees had donated till they could get their own. Then, with deliberate motions, she retrieved a sharp knife and began to cut the sandwich into eight neat, small squares. Avery’s eyes widened slightly, tracking the knife. The sight of his food being pre-cut, as if he lacked the motor skills to manage it himself, sent a fresh wave of humiliation through him. But he kept quite afraid of another outburst. Next, Darlene opened a high cabinet he hadn't noticed before. Inside, nestled on a shelf, was a collection of oversized feeding paraphernalia. She reached up and took down a massive, adult-sized baby bottle. It was made of thick, opaque plastic and decorated with a repeating pattern of smiling, anthropomorphic suns and moons. The rubber teat was much larger than a standard infant nipple, clearly designed for an adult mouth. She held the bottle under the faucet, filling it with water, then opened the refrigerator again, pouring in a generous splash of apple juice, making a light pinkish mixture. The cap rotated and clicked into place, and she gave the bottle a quick, theatrical shake. "Time for your sippy-cup alternative, sweetie," she said, her tone perfectly cheerful, as if offering him a glass of sparkling water. The final insult arrived when she crossed the kitchen to the dining area. From a corner, she dragged a large, sturdy wooden high chair, which he failed to notice before. It wasn't a standard baby chair, but a specialized, adult-sized version with a wide seat, a heavy footrest, and a deep, polished tray. The wood was painted a cheerful primary red. The seat itself was made of hard, glossy white plastic, molded into an unforgiving, curved bucket. The scraping sound of its heavy legs on the tile floor was loud, echoing the finality of her actions. She positioned the high chair next to the kitchen island, then turned to Avery, her expression gentle but uncompromising. He felt the rigid, plastic-backed diaper crinkle as he slowly rose from his small chair. "Darlene, you can't be serious," he whispered, the protest feeble, swallowed by the noise of his crinkling undergarment. She didn't flinch. She simply crossed the short distance between them and placed a firm, guiding hand on the small of his back. "I'm very serious, Avery. This is what we need to do. Now, let's get you buckled in. We'll start with small, easy steps, and this is step one." Avery let her steer him, the humiliation so complete it felt paralyzing. She hoisted him into the high chair with surprising strength, the seat rising higher than he'd expected. His feet are unable to touch the ground. As he sat, the red tray clicked into place across his middle, trapping him securely. The sound—a loud, final click—was sharp and definitive. "Darlene, no! The tray, I don’t need this!" Avery protested, his voice laced with indignation and a desperate plea for normalcy. He pushed weakly against the heavy plastic, which didn’t budge. She leaned down, securing a wide, cloth harness around his waist and clipping it with a firm click. "It's all necessary, Avery," she said, her voice gentle but uncompromising. "This is a safe chair, and we can't have you slipping or wandering off. I need to know you are safe right where you are." He felt ridiculous. He wasn’t going to wander off or fall over. His limbs were awkwardly contained. The tray pressed uncomfortably against the new, thickly padded diaper at his waist. He stared down at the bright red tray, his expression a mix of shock and betrayal, his posture radiating discomfort and humiliation. The adult high chair, the segmented sandwich, the ridiculously oversized bottle—it was all designed to be inescapable, public proof of his regression. It was a visual mandate: You are a child here. She placed the plate with the perfectly cut sandwich squares and the massive sun-and-moon bottle directly onto the tray. "Now, eat up," she said, a soft, final authority in her voice. "And after we're done, we're going to talk about that apology to Tilly." He looked down at the bright red tray, at the plate with the eight neat, white-bread squares, and the colossal bottle with its smiling suns and moons. The pre-cut sandwich was an affront, a silent declaration that he was incapable of using a knife and fork, a symbol of the manual dexterity he was now assumed to lack. He reached out his left hand because the metal brace on his hand prevented him from being able to grab anything. He hesitated, not wanting to look at Darlene, before picking up one of the small squares. He brought it to his mouth and chewed slowly, the soft turkey and cheese tasting bland. He tried to ignore the humiliating setup, focusing only on the food. He reached for the next square. Darlene watched him with a small, simple smile that didn't quite reach her eyes—it was the look of a parent observing a difficult child performing a necessary task. She noticed, however, that Avery constantly avoided the bottle. His hand would sweep past it to get to the sandwich, but he never so much as brushed the plastic. He quickly finished the eight squares, his hunger overriding his humiliation. As he picked up the last piece, Darlene reached out with a soft, warm washcloth she had placed nearby and gently wiped the crumbs from the corners of his mouth. He flinched at the unexpected touch, but she continued with the same gentle firmness she had used with the diapering. "All done with your sammie, little one," she said, her voice warm and low as if she was talking to a toddler. She tapped the side of the massive bottle. "But you haven’t touched your juice. You need to drink, Avery. Eating without drinking isn’t good for you." "I’m not thirsty," he mumbled, not liking how she was talking to him, trying to keep his voice flat and adult. "And I don’t want to drink out of that. I can get a glass." Darlene leaned in, her expression softening into a look of unwavering maternal authority. "I know you don’t want to, honey. But we do things that are good for us, not just what we want. You need the fluids, and you’re going to drink them from this." She held up the bottle. "It’s specially made to be safe, easy, and unbreakable. No fighting, just drinking." Avery pleaded with his eyes, but Darlene's expression remained immutable. With a decisive click, she unbuckled the harness, removed the high chair tray, and pulled him out of the restrictive seat. She led him, still stiff and resistant, into the living room. The couch was long and soft. Darlene sat down, then, with a surprising pull, she maneuvered Avery onto her lap, positioning him so his head rested in the crook of her shoulder, his front chest against her chest. His large body felt heavy and unwieldy, his feet dangling at the end of the sofa. He felt the firm curve of her breast against his cheek, the soft cotton of her shirt and maternal bra underneath providing a barrier but not completely concealing the warmth and maternal shape beneath. The sensation was immediately overwhelming: a profound, unexpected comfort warring with an even stronger, hotter flash of mortification. He was too big for this. He was an adult being held like an infant. She tucked one arm securely around his back, holding him firmly in place. With the other, she brought the huge, sun-and-moon bottle up to his face. The large rubber nipple was soft and strange, alien against his lips. "Open up, sweetie," she commanded softly, tilting the bottle slightly. He clamped his lips shut, turning his head away. "No. Darlene, please," he whispered, the humiliation nearly choking him. "Avery. Drink," she repeated, her tone gentle but completely non-negotiable. She nudged the tip of the nipple gently against his lower lip a few times until he eventually gave a sigh of defeated capitulation and parted his mouth. She slipped the oversized teat past his lips. The rubber was thick, but the sweet, slightly cool tang of the diluted apple juice immediately flooded his mouth. He tried to just swallow the liquid, but Darlene tilted the bottle, forcing him to engage the nipple to control the flow. His lips and tongue felt clumsy; he had not sucked on anything like this since he was a baby with expectation to Darlene’s breast, and it took several seconds of fumbling before he realized he had to close his mouth around the thick rubber nipple, which was much larger than Darlene’s nipple and start the rhythmic action. At first, the feeling was bizarre and deeply wrong, a mechanical act of regression that made his face burn with shame. But as the warmth of Darlene’s body enveloped him—her heart thrumming steadily against his ear, her soft breast against his cheek, the soft scent of her perfume and clean laundry filling his nose—the physical discomfort of the act began to recede, replaced by an odd, unexpected warmth. He kept his eyes closed, focusing entirely on the sensation, not wanting to look at Darlene like this. The steady, gentle pressure of her arm holding him close felt protective, absolute, and undeniably loving. It was the physical intimacy he had been starved of since childhood, a feeling of being completely and safely contained. The initial shame morphed into a deep, confusing relief. Slowly, hesitantly, he began to draw on the nipple, the rhythmic sucking becoming less a battle and more a necessity. With each warm swallow of juice, the tension in his rigid shoulders began to ease, and he found himself leaning more fully into the soft, unyielding cradle of Darlene's body, accepting the liquid, accepting the hold, accepting, for the moment, the role of the little boy she wanted him to be. Darlene felt a profound, almost overwhelming sense of being a mother as she held Avery. The weight of his body on her lap, the subtle, rhythmic pull of the bottle at his lips, the faint crinkle-hush of the new plastic diaper against her thigh—all of it felt instantly and deeply maternal. This was the physical connection she had yearned for, the comforting, absolute closeness that had been lost when her own child was lost during birth. She looked down at his face, his eyes closed, the long curve of his eyelashes resting against his cheek. His rigid tension had begun to melt away; the set, angry line of his mouth had softened, replaced by a slack, peaceful vulnerability. With her free hand, the one not steadying the heavy bottle, she gently rubbed his lower back, patting the duckling-print diaper with slow, rhythmic strokes. The bulk of the padding felt reassuring beneath her palm, a solid boundary of care and protection. For this moment, he was hers, completely dependent, completely safe. She felt a wave of protective love so fierce it brought a sting to her own eyes. When the bottle was finally empty, the sucking stopped, but Avery remained nestled against her, his body utterly still. He didn’t want the closeness to end, but also still knew he just drunk a full bottle from the nipple like an infant as he tried to distance that thought. Darlene set the bottle aside on the cushion and simply held him, rocking slowly, gently patting his back. He didn't open his eyes or stir, but the way he sagged into her embrace—the heavy, trusting placement of his weight—told her he was finally, truly relaxing for the first time since he arrived. She allowed the moment to stretch out for a good half hour, savoring the stillness and the quiet relief in his breathing. Finally, with a soft sigh, Darlene knew the moment had to end. She shifted her weight slightly, then lifted Avery, her grip firm around his chest. He stirred, his eyes still tightly closed, a low sound of protest humming in his throat. "Time for a little activity, sweetie," she murmured, her voice warm but firm. She led him towards the playpen. He stiffened instantly, his feet planted, clearly resistant to going back in. "No, Darlene, I don't want to," he muttered, crossing his arms and looking toward the gate of the oversized playpen. Darlene placed her hands on his shoulders, gently turning him to face the colorful interior of the playpen. "This is where you belong for a little while, Avery. Mama needs to clean up the kitchen and the living room, and you need to stay safe and focused. You are going to go inside, and you are going to write Tilly a beautiful apology note. You have your coloring book and your crayons right there." The word “mama” came out for the first time as it felt weird to Darlene saying this, but she knew she had to break the word out sooner or later. He huffed a sharp breath of air, the sound loud in the quiet room. He also heard the word Mama again, feeling infantile in the way she talked to him. He huffed and felt a sudden, familiar pressure—the need to pee—but he held it, unwilling to give in to that weakness yet. The humiliation was sharp, but the authority in Darlene's voice was absolute. She unlatched the gate and let Avery step into the playpen, hearing the familiar click of the latch securing behind him. He sat cross-legged on the mat, his eyes staring blankly at the menagerie of toys: the chunky crayons, the large Lego blocks, a large dump truck, and his own blue stuffed dragon, which Tilly had given him at the hospital, was placed right in the center. He felt a wave of degradation. He was too big, too old, too aware to be contained in this brightly colored cage. He sat motionless for several minutes, stiff with defiance. But the silence was long, and the playpen was unexpectedly comfortable. He glanced at the coloring book, then at the box of fat, waxy crayons. He remembered Tilly’s earnest, crumpled face and his own cruel words. The shame was a heavier weight than the diaper. With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached for the coloring book and a royal blue crayon. He picked a picture—a smiling, round-faced sun with thick, simple rays hovering over a small house—a picture he instinctively knew Tilly would approve of. He colored slowly, carefully filling the lines, forcing his anger into the tedious, repetitive motion, doing his best that he could with his left hand. Once the sun was completely blue and yellow, and the house was colored brown and green, he flipped the page. Using a purple crayon, he pressed hard, printing a block-lettered message underneath the next bear picture. "DEAR TILLY. I’M SORRY I SAID THAT. IT WAS MEAN AND STUPID. YOUR SNAKE WAS GOOD. I WONT DO IT AGAIN. I ALSO APPRECIATE WHAT YOU DID TO MY ROOM, AVERY." Avery couldn’t get himself to call it a nursery. He paused, then wrote. “PLEASE COME SEE ME AGAIN.” The handwriting was sloppy because of the difficulty of using his left hand. In the kitchen, Darlene began her work. She methodically cleared the remnants of the coffee party: washing the mismatched mugs, wiping the crumbs from the counter, and putting away the remaining deli meat. She scraped the small, plastic plate Avery had eaten from, the memory of his pre-cut sandwich a new, necessary routine. She tidied the adult high chair, wiping down the red tray and pushing the heavy piece of furniture back into the corner, its presence a stark reminder of the rules now established. In the living room, she fluffed the sofa pillows, straightened the sagging "Welcome Home Avery!" banner, and picked up the abandoned Play-Doh snake, gently discarding the mixed, pathetic lump. As she worked, the faint, steady sound of Avery’s crayon scratching against the paper reached her ear, a soft, encouraging counterpoint to the quiet work of restoration. CDarlene paused her cleaning, her hand resting on the smooth wood of the high chair, and allowed herself a deep, settling breath. The sight of the massive, adult-sized seat—now empty but still a symbol of her authority—called up a complex mix of emotions. A profound sense of maternal rightness settled over her, a feeling she hadn’t fully allowed herself to feel since the hospital. She thought of Avery, just a minute ago, reluctantly sipping juice from the sun-and-moon bottle while nestled on her lap. Her hands, when they had guided the large nipple to his mouth, had acted with an instinct she hadn’t known she possessed. The warmth of his body against hers, the small, desperate pull on the bottle—it had been a physical echo of the closeness she’d been denied. Cutting his sandwich into neat, toddler-sized squares was not an act of condescension, but of deep, protective care, a necessary simplification of his world. A soft ache bloomed in her chest, a familiar, phantom pressure that radiated from her breasts. A hunger, she realized, for something closer, more primal, more bonding than simply holding a bottle. She yearned for the total, complete dependence of an infant, the unquestioning love she had prepared her heart for. But Avery wasn't an infant; he was a scarred, terrified young man thrust into a second childhood, and his needs were not hers. His healing, his adjustment, and his need for a safe and consistent boundary had to come first. She pressed her hand to her aching chest. Isn't that what being a mother is? she asked herself, the thought arriving with a nervous but sweet rush. It was the willingness to push aside her own desire for unconditional, easy love and instead provide the firm, sometimes painful structure necessary for growth. The weight of the responsibility was immense. It wasn't enough to simply dress him in a snap-crotch outfit and a thick, crinkly diaper. She had to rewire him, to teach a young man who had known only survival and defiance how to accept nurturing and to display the basic obedience of a child. She needed him to not only look like a toddler but to truly learn to act like one—to accept the rules, to manage his emotions in an age-appropriate way, and, most difficult of all, to accept the love and vulnerability that came with regression. She knew the path ahead would be fraught with more angry outbursts and defiant refusals, but she would not waver. The gentle scratch of his crayon from the living room—the silent sign of his reluctant, necessary compliance—was all the motivation she needed to keep going. She finished wiping the last counter, her movements now imbued with a quiet, resolute purpose. She felt tired, yes, but also utterly fulfilled. She was a mother now, and her only job was to make sure her little boy was safe, loved, and disciplined. She pushed the high chair firmly into the corner, its presence a reminder that the new normal was non-negotiable. She took one last, lingering sip of her coffee, now cold and bitter, then set the mug down and walked back into the living room, her attention focused solely on the playpen. Darlene walked out of the living room and paused, her eyes softening as she watched Avery. He was still seated cross-legged in the playpen, and his hand was moving steadily. He was slowly, meticulously coloring inside the thick black lines of the smiling sun, his focus absolute. Look at the control, she thought, a small, sad smile touching her lips. Tilly would have colored that picture in five chaotic, joyous minutes, scribbling over the lines with confident abandon. Avery’s careful, painstaking adherence to the boundaries was a sharp contrast to the genuine, innocent regression Tilly embraced—the same regression Tilly had so desperately tried to share with him. She remembered Tilly’s cute dress and the cheerful sight of her own diaper peeking out—Tilly was so comfortable in her little-girl self, while Avery fought his new reality with every fiber of his being. He had pushed away the very thing Tilly was offering—permission to simply be small and cared for. It was going to take time, she knew, for her "little boy" to truly become a little boy, to shed the armor of his trauma and accept this vulnerable state. Still, the apology note was a step, a small, necessary concession to the new order. Darlene cleared her throat gently. "Avery, let me know when you finish that picture. I want to see it." She walked over to the sofa and pulled out her laptop, checking her work email while keeping a steady, observant eye on the playpen. She settled into the corner cushion, the soft hum of the computer a comfortable distraction. Avery could feel her gaze on him, a constant, heavy pressure that made his neck prickle. He felt ridiculous, a man-sized caricature of a toddler in his snap-crotch outfit and thick diaper, trapped in a brightly colored cage while his new mother worked. The shame made it harder to move the crayon, yet he forced himself to continue, using the meticulous coloring as a way to burn off the suffocating tension. He finished the sun and the small, block-lettered apology underneath the bear, pressing the purple crayon down hard for the final period. "I’m done," he mumbled, his voice tight. Darlene rose and walked back to the playpen. She unlatched the gate, reaching in to take the coloring book. She inspected the picture and the note, her expression serious. "Well done, sweetie. You colored very carefully. And this apology is exactly what I wanted. I’m going to hang this on the fridge until Tilly comes back, or I can give it to her mother. I’ll talk to Margaret later today or tomorrow to make sure Tilly gets it." She took the coloring book into the kitchen, carefully ripped out the page, and returned a moment later to hang it prominently on the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a smiling apple. As she walked back to the sofa, Avery looked up, his face a silent plea. "Can’t I get out now?" he asked, the hope in his voice tentative and fragile. Darlene smiled, a soft but unyielding maternal expression. "No, honey. You can stay in there and play while I finish up some work. You are safe in there, and that is where you need to be." "But I’m finished with the note," he protested, the word play sticking in his throat. "I don’t need to stay here. I’ll just sit on the couch." "No, Avery," Darlene said, her tone firmer this time. "You are going to stay in the playpen. It’s your safe space. Now, find something fun to do." "I don’t want to play!" he insisted, his voice rising, the anger returning. "I’m not a baby, I’m too big for this, and it’s boring!" Darlene stopped at the sofa, turning to face him fully, her patience wearing thin. "No. I said no. That is enough arguing, Avery. You are in time-out for your behavior, and now you are staying in your safe space because I told you to. If you keep arguing, you will earn yourself more time in there and a possible spanking." Her voice was low and dangerous, the sound of an authority he knew he couldn’t challenge. He backed off, sinking back onto the colorful mat, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The humiliation was crushing. He sat stiffly, refusing to touch the blocks or the stuffed dragon, his entire being a statue of adolescent defiance. He stared blankly at the wall, trying to make himself invisible, trying to ignore the constant, soft crinkle of his diaper. He couldn't force himself to play, couldn't surrender that last shred of his identity. Darlene, meanwhile, sat on the sofa, her focus outwardly on her laptop, but her peripheral vision was fixed on him, observing his stubborn, stoic nature. She knew he needed to get used to these boundaries, but she felt a familiar tug of uncertainty—how was she supposed to force a grown young man to embrace a state of mind he actively despised? The minutes crawled by, stretched taut by his rigid stillness. The internal pressure he had been holding for an hour—the desperate need to void his bladder—became a burning, agonizing necessity. He had fought it, knowing that making it to the bathroom was the last, small way to prove he wasn't completely helpless. But the fear of arguing with Darlene again, the knowledge that she was watching, and the sheer physical agony of holding it finally shattered his resolve. The dam broke with a sudden, hot rush. He felt a profound, heavy gush of liquid soak into the thick padding of the duckling-print diaper. The wetness was hot at first, quickly turning warm, then cool, the inner material swelling massively and noticeably under him. The plastic backing offered no absorption of noise, only the thick, squelching displacement of the internal core. He froze, his face flushing crimson, every muscle in his body clenching. He was utterly mortified, caught in the ultimate act of powerlessness. He had failed the one test he had given himself. He had wet his diaper in the playpen, in front of Darlene, who was only a few feet away. The shame was a physical blow, worse than any verbal reprimand. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the ground would swallow him whole, utterly humiliated by the heavy, soggy weight that now pressed against his groin. Darlene, still sitting on the sofa, maintained her posture of gentle, parental authority, her gaze seemingly fixed on her laptop screen. She wasn't truly oblivious to the silence from the playpen—she knew Avery was being stubborn—but she was also deliberately giving him space to process his humiliation. She knew if she reacted immediately to the wetting, it would only solidify his defiance. Her focus was split: a third of her attention was on the stubborn statue of a boy in the playpen, two-thirds was on the emails she was finally catching up on. The soft, quiet tap-tap-tap of her fingers on the keys was the only sound in the living room, masking the thick, squelching wetness that now enveloped Avery. Avery, stiff and immobile, his face still burning, was acutely aware of the huge, soggy weight between his legs. The urine was already cooling, the massive, plastic-backed diaper a heavy, cold reminder of his loss of control. He kept his eyes fixed on the distant wall, refusing to meet Darlene's gaze or even acknowledge her presence. Darlene finally settled on a new task—responding to the latest security threat warnings for the small tech firm she managed. She began typing, the sound of her work filling the silence. The security team received an URGENT email from an unspecified sender regarding a severe security threat. The Q3 report showed a startling 40% rise in spear-phishing attempts, and the team was ordered to implement the new multi-factor authentication protocol across all cloud services by the end of the next day. Compliance was mandatory, with a strict "no-click" policy for external links for all staff; failure to comply would result in a mandatory four-hour re-training session. Separately, the HR Department was contacted to ensure that all new hire documentation was submitted and that payroll for the incoming data analysts was correctly set up for the next cycle. The sender stressed that no further delays could be afforded and mandated the use of a secure file transfer protocol. Finally, an email from "Darlene" was sent to Brian T., Avery’s manager, to provide an update on Avery’s work status. Darlene confirmed their previous discussion: Avery would be staying with her to focus on his recovery and would need a few weeks completely off. Darlene was notifying HR to adjust his status but requested that his work laptop be delivered to him securely in a couple of weeks. She explained that if Avery felt up to it, she wanted him to try working a couple of hours a few days a week to keep his mind active. She asked Brian to keep her informed of any project updates Avery would need to know about. Darlene picked up her phone, the low, businesslike murmur of her voice a counterpoint to Avery's internal torment. He couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but certain phrases and words carried clearly across the quiet room, serving as painful reminders of the adult world he felt exiled from. The first call was to her lead security architect, a sharp, technical discussion that lasted several minutes. "No," Darlene's voice was crisp and authoritative, "the new firewall settings are non-negotiable. If it causes a five-second latency, we’ll take the hit. Data integrity over speed, always." She paused, listening to the response. "What’s the status on the penetration test from last month? Good. Flag anything that scores above a seven. And I want a full breakdown of the attempted system intrusion from Monday." Avery listened to the words data integrity and system intrusion, a sudden, jarring shift from the cartoon sun he had just colored. His life just days ago of complexity and self-sufficiency, felt impossibly distant. The second call was with her Chief Operating Officer, discussing a difficult client. "I understand their budget constraints," Darlene said, her tone professional and mediating, "but our scope of work is clear. We need to hold firm on the contract terms. We will not be cutting services. If they push back again, you have my authority to walk. Protect the bottom line." She confirmed the instruction. "Yes, confirm that with legal immediately. I need that signed agreement on my desk by four." The concept of protecting the bottom line and enforcing contract terms felt like a cruel joke to Avery, trapped in his soft, infantile clothing. Finally, Darlene set her phone down and quickly typed a text message, her focus turning briefly from work to family. She texted out to Laurisa: Any status update on Christy? Has she shown any change? Even a flicker? Been meaning to ask all morning. Let me know if you hear anything new from the hospital. I would love to give Avery some good news. All while Avery sat, heavy and miserably wet, in the playpen a few feet away. The shame was absolute, but the diaper held. He remained utterly still, listening to the soft sounds of Darlene's successful, adult life proceeding without him. He was a wet, silent passenger in his own regression. Darlene finally closed her laptop with a soft snap, the sound signaling the end of her professional duties, turned her full attention to the playpen. The transition from focused IT executive to attentive mother was immediate and absolute. Her posture softened, and the sharp professional glint in her eyes was replaced by a warm, maternal gaze. "All done with work now, sweetie," she announced, her voice adopting the higher, gentle lilt she used when addressing a small child. "And now that Mama’s finished, it’s time for you to have a nice, long nap." Avery, who had been watching her every movement from his miserable perch on the colorful mat, felt a jolt of shock. "Nap?" he stammered, his voice tight. "No! I’m not tired. I’ve just been sitting here." He didn't move, but the heavy, cold weight of the soaked diaper shifted beneath him, making a thick, squelching sound that amplified his humiliation. Darlene stood, her smile gentle but unwavering. "Of course, you are, little one. It’s been a very big day, and your body needs to rest so it can heal." She crossed the short distance to the playpen. He scrambled backward, bumping into the wooden slats. "I haven’t done anything but sit in this stupid playpen!" he cried out, the frustration in his voice boiling over. "I’m not a baby! I don’t need a nap!" He felt the sheer ridiculousness of his protest: a large, wet, and diapered young man shouting like a toddler. The thick, cold wad of wet padding pressed uncomfortably against him, making his legs feel clumsy and heavy. Darlene reached the playpen and, without hesitation, unlatched the gate. She didn’t acknowledge his protest; her focus was solely on the routine she was establishing. "Mmm-hmm. That’s what little boys say when they’re tired," she cooed, stepping over the threshold and placing a firm, gentle hand on his arm. "Now, up we go. Let’s get you ready." As she steered him out, the movement caused the saturated duckling-print brief to rub between his legs with a conspicuous, loud squelch. He winced, fighting the urge to pull away. The sight of his heavy, sagging diaper was inescapable. Darlene’s eyes immediately dropped, tracking the thick, tell-tale bulk. She patted the wet plastic lightly, her touch affectionate and completely without judgment. "Well, well, well," she murmured, her voice radiating maternal certainty. "Looks like someone is in need of a fresh change before nap time, doesn’t he?" Avery pulled back with a sharp, desperate jerk of his arm. "No! I can go to the bathroom myself! I don’t need to be changed!" The denial was reflexive, automatic, even though the sheer relief of having wet himself was a potent, shameful memory only minutes old. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, and the knowledge only fueled his defiance. He hated the feeling of the sagging diaper, but he hated the public, intimate process of being changed even more. "Nonsense, honey. No arguing," Darlene said, her tone suddenly hardening from a coo to a firm, non-negotiable command. Her soft, maternal expression tightened with a determined authority. "We’ve had enough fighting for one day. We need to go upstairs right now. You need a clean diaper and a nap. Mama knows best." She took his hand firmly, her grip strong and absolute. He dug his heels into the carpet, resisting with all his might, the sound of his wet diaper squelching with the movement. His face was hot with shame and fury, his eyes pleading with hers, searching for any sign of compromise, but Darlene’s gaze was unyielding. "Come on, little man," she insisted, turning his resistance into a game of momentum, pulling him toward the stairs. "No more fussing. Tired boys take naps. It is time to go." Avery felt his body being maneuvered, his attempts to resist seeming feeble and petulant against her resolved strength. The thick, cold, heavy diaper was a constant, humiliating anchor, confirming her right to treat him this way. He was a man trapped in a toddler’s consequence, and the intense physical shame of the wet padding was overwhelming. She's winning, he thought miserably, she's making me a baby whether I want to be one or not. Darlene, meanwhile, felt a surge of energy despite her weariness. The defiance was expected, a necessary hurdle to clear in establishing the new rules. Her heart ached for his struggle, but her resolve was absolute. She wasn’t being cruel; she was being a mother. She was giving him the structure and care that his trauma demanded. His anger was a mask, and her job was to love him until the mask came off. She pulled him steadily, guiding him up the winding, robin's-egg blue staircase, her gaze fixed on the goal: a clean diaper and the peace of his newly painted nursery. The resistance intensified with every step up the stairs. Avery dug his heels in—heavy with the sodden, cold weight of the diaper—into the soft carpet, his large body a dead weight Darlene had to leverage upward. His shame was now compounded by physical exhaustion and a renewed, sharp fury at his own compliance. When they reached the landing, Darlene pulled him down the hallway and into the open doorway of the nursery. The room was bright, silent, and entirely too ready for him. The blue walls, the cloud-painted ceiling, the oversized crib—it was all a monstrous confirmation of his defeat. His eyes immediately locked onto the changing table, the powder-blue terry cloth cover a beacon of the humiliation awaiting him. "No, Darlene, stop," Avery pleaded, twisting his arm out of her grasp. His voice cracked with genuine distress. "I don’t need a nap! I don’t need a change! I’m too big for this!" He backed away, maneuvering around the giant white crib until his back hit the wall. He stood there, panting, the sight of the changing table making his stomach churn. He wasn’t a baby, was he? The question screamed in his mind. He had agreed to Darlene’s care, he had sought her out, but this—this enforced infancy—was a cruel misinterpretation of his need. He just wanted her gentle voice, her comforting presence, and her love, not the physical, ritualistic treatment of being a helpless child. Darlene stood in the center of the room, her expression a careful balance of sympathy and firm resolve. She walked slowly toward him, her hand extended. "I know you feel that way, honey," she said, her voice dropping to a low, soothing cadence. "But you are tired. And you need a clean, dry diaper to be comfortable. We agreed you would let me take care of you, and this is what taking care of you looks like right now." He shook his head violently, refusing to move away from the wall. "No, I’m not playing this game anymore. I’m not a child." "You are my little boy, Avery," Darlene insisted, stepping closer, her tone brooking no argument. "And little boys need clean diapers and long naps. You need to drop your armor, little one, and let Mama help you heal. Now, come here. We’re not fighting anymore, or do you need a spanking?” She didn't ask; she commanded. She took his hand and, with a swift, non-negotiable pull, steered him directly to the changing table. He resisted one final, desperate time, planting his feet, but the soggy weight of his diaper shifted, the heavy plastic squelching loudly against his inner thigh, and the sound was the final, humiliating surrender. He was too exposed, too wet, and too tired to fight the inevitable. He let her hoist his body onto the changing table, the light green terry cloth cool beneath his skin, and he shut his eyes against the final indignity. Darlene was all business now, moving with the practiced efficiency of a mother attending to a distressed child. She unfastened the thick, soaked diaper, the loud rip of the tabs echoing in the silent nursery, and the heavy, saturated mass was carefully slid out from under him. The cool air hitting his suddenly bare skin was a fresh wave of shame. She cleaned him swiftly, gently applying baby powder and cream to his reddened skin, all while murmuring soft, comforting nonsense that he was too mortified to register. When she opened the fresh diaper—a thick, pristine white one, this time decorated with tiny blue trains and red cabooses—its bulk seemed enormous. She positioned it, secured the wide tabs with four authoritative riiiiip sounds, pulling the new diaper high and snug on his waist. Darlene then helped him into a fresh, footed pajama suit—a soft, bright yellow cotton with a repeating pattern of smiling elephants. The fabric was so soft it felt like a hug, but the outfit, with its snug feet and long, zip-up front, was inescapable and utterly childish. She helped him up and carried him the few steps to the massive white crib. She laid him down gently on the soft, fitted sheet. The crib felt huge, its high rails towering around him, turning the room into a giant cage. "There you go, sleepyhead," Darlene murmured, her voice a soft, soothing melody as she pulled a lightweight, fleece blanket decorated with silver and blue stars up to his chin. The fabric was familiar, worn smooth from countless washes, and carried the faint scent of lavender from the laundry. "You are clean, safe, and loved. Now, close your eyes and sleep. Mama will be right here." She settled the blanket just so, tucking the edges gently around his shoulders in the cozy confines of the crib. Avery, however, remained rigid and resistant, his eyes squeezed shut not in sleep, but in a determined protest against the nap and his current situation. With a resigned sigh, Darlene reached into the small, wall-mounted drawer beside the changing table. Her hand returned holding a light green, large adult pacifier, the silicone nipple thick and comforting. She offered it gently toward his face. He instantly turned his head away with a firm, silent refusal. Darlene, recognizing the stubborn set of his jaw, decided not to press her luck. Pushing him now would only lead to a full-blown tantrum and ruin any chance of a peaceful nap. Instead, she simply placed the pacifier on the waterproof mattress cover near the crib rail—a silent, visible reminder of his position as her little one, an object she knew he often accepted when half-asleep. Next, she grabbed his old, cherished stuffed red dog, 'Red Dog,' from the small pile of toys on the floor. It was a faded, floppy-eared terrier with one button eye missing and a body restitched countless times, a companion from his earliest days. She offered it to him for him to hold and snuggle. Again, he refused, batting it away with a small, frustrated hand. Barnaby tumbled to the sheet just out of his reach. Avery didn't want comfort; he didn't want a pacifier; and above all, he absolutely didn’t want to go to bed in a crib for a nap. He wanted freedom, he wanted to be out of the bars of his enclosure, and he wanted to play, not sleep. Darlene sat down on the upholstered rocking chair right next to the crib, letting her presence be his anchor. The room was dim, the curtains drawn to let in only a sliver of soft, diffused afternoon light. The only sounds were the quiet thump-thump of her heart and Avery's shallow, agitated breathing. She reached a hand through the bars of the crib and rested it softly on his back, a silent promise that she wouldn't leave. He needed this rest, even if he fought it with every fiber of his being. The battle, she knew, was half over. Now came the waiting game. Darlene settled herself into the plush, upholstered rocking chair positioned beside the simple wooden crib. The chair, a comforting fixture in the nursery, creaked softly under her weight, a gentle, rhythmic sound. Her hand reached out to the small, mahogany side table, retrieving a worn, slender volume that she guessed belonged to Tilly—a treasury of classic, gentle fairy tales, bound in faded linen. Clearing her throat softly, she began to read in a low, soothing voice, the words a melodic stream flowing through the quiet room. Inside the crib, Avery lay rigidly, his body a knot of defiance. His heart hammered a frantic, terrified rhythm against his ribs, a drumbeat of pure adrenaline. He wrestled internally against the unwelcome comfort of the freshly tucked blanket and the soft, almost hypnotic cadence of Darlene’s reading. He would not surrender. He did not need a book, not from her, not now. He pushed the rubber pacifier—that hated, infantilizing object—further away with his face. He fought the powerful, aching urge to reach for his beloved red dog, the one thread of familiar comfort. That stuffed animal was his only true companion in the solitary darkness of his room every single night, the one item he truly slept with. But the sheer accumulation of his exhaustion, the blessed, immediate relief of the clean, dry diaper she had so recently changed, and the unexpected, soft, maternal presence reading so close by, proved to be an irresistible, potent combination. Slowly, insidiously, the fierce, brittle shell of his anger began to melt away, dissolving into a dull, heavy weariness that settled deep in his bones. His eyelids fluttered, then finally descended. He fully intended to merely fake sleep, to trick her into leaving. Yet, the ambient sounds of the room, woven together, formed an irresistible net. The gentle, almost imperceptible creak of the rocking chair, the soft, distinctive crinkle of the new disposable diaper with every minute shift of his weight, and the mesmerizing, hypnotic rhythm of Darlene’s voice, turning the simple act of reading into an ancient, powerful lullaby—all conspired against his will. The fight drained out of him entirely. His mind, utterly spent, surrendered the moment, allowing the wave of profound peace to wash over him, pulling him down into a deep, heavy, and utterly necessary slumber. He yawned a couple of times as his eyes closed, and subconsciously, he reached for his stuffed red dog, pulling it close to him in his final moments before passing out in the crib for the first time. Darlene’s attention drifted back to the small figure in the crib. The quiet of the nursery felt thick and peaceful, a stark contrast to the lively, if exhausting, resistance the little boy had put up earlier. A genuine smile touched her lips as she realized the impossible had happened: he was truly, finally, asleep. "I can't believe it worked," she whispered to the still air, a feeling of mild triumph and deep relief washing over her. The "stubborn boy," as she affectionately called him in her mind, was utterly subdued by the lullaby and the gentle rhythmic patting. He lay on his back, his chest rising and falling in the deep, even cadence of true sleep. He was a picture of innocence, his usually bright, demanding eyes hidden beneath soft lids. He was nestled deep within the plush comfort of the crib, completely unaware of the gentle vigil Darlene was keeping. His dearest companions clutched close: his well-loved, slightly ragged stuffed dog pressed firmly against his cheek, and the soft, familiar cotton blanket gathered around him. He had snuggled into them as if they were his anchors in the sea of sleep. Darlene stood next to the crib for a long moment, allowing the rare, quiet moment to sink in. She drank in the sight of his peaceful face, tracing the curve of his cheek with her eyes. A rush of tenderness compelled her to perform one last, quiet act of motherly care. With the utmost caution, she reached a hand in, her fingers barely disturbing the air around him. She gently adjusted the blanket, pulling it higher around his shoulders and tucking it securely around the mattress edge, ensuring no cold draft could reach him. Satisfied he was utterly safe and comfortable for the long night ahead, Darlene took a slow, deep breath. She pressed a hand to her heart, a silent farewell, and then began her retreat. Moving like a shadow, she backed away from the crib, taking care not to let a single floorboard creak under her weight. The door to the nursery opened and closed with a slow, almost imperceptible click, sealing the quiet peace within and leaving Darlene in the dim hallway, finally able to exhale fully. Her mission was complete.

Chapter 53: All Tied Up Unfamiliar voices filled my ears as I lay on the bedroom floor. I opened my eyes to the unfamiliar faces that those unfamiliar voices were coming from, looking up from where my head lay against the carpet. Blue uniforms. Bright bold letters that I should have been able to read, but now blurred together into a lime-green haze. My heart thumped at a rapid pace at the realization that something was incredibly wrong. My limbs were unresponsive. They felt like they were on fire, except for the wetness of the not-so-solid mess inside my pull-up. One of the strangers knelt down next to me. Her mouth opened. What did she want? I caught a single word – “Name” – but not all of them. I mumbled something. Wasn’t even sure what. The woman frowned, then turned and said something to the man standing behind her. I was able to make out the first letter on his uniform – “E” – but not anything else. More footsteps. More voices. Some of them loud. My eyelids closed halfway again. It was too much work to keep them fully open. “Can you please get back in the hallway? We need some space to get her on the stretcher.” Gloved hands reached down, taking a firm grip. Then I’m no longer on the carpet. Something hard slid under me from both sides, then snapped together with a sharp click. The floor vanished, and then I landed on cold vinyl, which only felt colder as straps across my legs, hips, and chest tightened and pressed me more firmly against it. It was only when a cool sheet was layered over me that I realized I had only been wearing a soiled pull-up. I instinctively tried to move my hands to cover it, only to rediscover that my range of motion was extremely limited by the stretcher. The ceiling was suddenly a lot closer. I floated through the air through the hallway and down the stairs. I kept my eyes closed. The lights were too much. The realization that I was going to the hospital finally hit as another series of shivers coursed through me. I felt a lump in my throat. Was I dying? More voices. A hand briefly pressed against mine. I found myself unable to return the short squeeze it gave me before letting go. Now there was way too much light. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I tried to move my hand to shield my eyes. I’d already forgotten again that it was hopelessly strapped down next to my side. All I could do was tilt my head slightly. More voices. A bit distant. Familiar this time, but I couldn’t place them. The sunlight faded as the stretcher suddenly settled into place with a loud thunk that jolted me slightly. Mom’s voice next to me. Assuring me that everything was going to be alright. My eyes opened for a few seconds, taking in the interior of the ambulance – walls lined with medical equipment. Mom settling into a seat in the corner. Both strangers standing over me, talking through what they were doing. “Thirteen-year-old female. Found on bedroom floor. Briefly unresponsive. Woke up confused.” “Fever for several days. Mom thought it was her first period.” Busy hands above me. They felt along my chest and side. I winced and yelped at certain points when they touched the areas that hurt the most. “Has severe belly and right-side pain.” Something wrapped around my arm. Another device was held close to my forehead. “Vitals: one-oh-two point four temp. Heart rate one-thirty. Blood pressure ninety-two over fifty-eight.” “She’s pale, sweaty, shaky, and looks dehydrated.” “We’re worried about a bad UTI with kidney involvement.” A sharp poke in my arm, the skin around it suddenly feeling cool. “IV’s in. Fluids running.” “Eight minutes out.” Another painful spurt of warmth into the pull-up. It wasn’t contained. A warm wetness spread on the back side of my legs. The sheet was lifted up, first uncovering my feet and then being rolled up past my waist. I could hear the pull-up sides as they were forcefully ripped open. I gagged at the smell of the uncontained mess that followed. My feet were unstrapped and raised slightly as cold wipes ran across my bottom in rapid succession. The pull-up wasn’t replaced, but something made of a similar material was slid under my bottom. Why was my arm so cold? I turned my head to the other side, gasping at the contraption coming straight out of my arm. Then I fainted. <><><> Bump. Bump. Bump. Metallic wheels clicked beneath me. More sunlight. My arm felt strangely cold still. My bottom was warm and wet. <><><> Cold lights slid past me overhead, one after another, breaking up the uniform pattern of the tile ceiling. My stomach swayed slightly with one turn, then another. It was like all the bad parts of a roller coaster with none of the good ones. The faces rolling me down the hallway were the same ones that had greeted me in the bedroom. I turned my head left, then right. Mom. Dad. Where were they? I tried to call out for them, but the words stuck in my throat. More words and phrases, though I again only caught bits and pieces — “Sepsis, kidney, UTI, fluids.” <><><> “One. Two. Three.” Hands – more than I could count – lifted me up off the firm stretcher board onto a much softer hospital bed. “Check her BP again.” A thick cuff squeezed my arm. It felt like it was going to pop. I tried to jerk my hand away. That was actually successful now that I wasn’t strapped in. “Maddy.” I turned my head. That was Mom’s voice. She was standing in the room next to me. “You need to hold still. The nurses are trying to help you.” I rested my head back on the pillow. It was really soft. I closed my eyes. <><><> I attempted to jerk my arm away at yet another sharp stab. A hand gripped it firmly to prevent me from moving any further. “We’re almost done. We just need one more sample.” <><><> “She’s stabilizing.” “So she’s better now?” That was a voice I thought I knew. My sister. “No, I said she is stabilizing. That just means things aren’t getting worse anymore. Which, given her condition, is good.” My suspicion was confirmed when I briefly opened my eyes. Grace was near the door with Mom and Dad, talking with a nurse. I attempted to sit up, but a wave of pain through my head forced me to lie back down. My bladder spasmed, producing the now all too familiar jolt of pain I had become accustomed to over the last several days. But it didn’t produce the expected wetness, nor was there any padding that I could feel that would have absorbed it. Whatever, that must have been a false alarm. There were more voices as I closed my eyes again. <><><> The lights were dim when my eyes re-opened, the darkness punctuated by rhythmic flickers of light — red, green, and blue — from a multitude of electronics. I started to move my left hand up to my face to rub my eyes as I attempted to fully take in my new surroundings, only to experience a sudden, painful ache along my arm. There was a thin tube coming out of my skin, it trailed off the bed and up to a metal stand containing a bag of clear fluid that was only a third of the way full. I sucked on my lips. My mouth was very dry, but I didn’t feel thirsty. My eyes skimmed back and forth across my body. Even in the semi-darkness, I could see that the IV was far from the only thing attached to my body. There was this weird clip thing on the index finger of my right hand. It glowed red, and there was a thin wire trailing off of it. Further up on my right side, there was a snug fabric cuff firmly wrapped around my upper arm. That wasn’t the end of the wires. There were several circular adhesive patches stuck to my side, with even more wires attached to them. Dad was in a chair next to the wall. His eyes were closed, and his head was back against the wall. He let out a small snore. No one else was in the room with us. My gaze returned to the hospital bed. There was one more tube I hadn’t noticed immediately. My eyes followed the tube coming out of the bottom of my hospital gown, tracing it to a clear plastic bag attached to the bed frame that was full of dark yellow liquid. My hand slid beneath the papery gown, tracing the tube, which was slightly warm, to where it was taped against the inside of my thigh. I winced as I tugged it on by accident, getting painful confirmation of exactly where it had been inserted into my body. That explained why the hospital bed was dry even though I wasn’t wearing a pull-up. I licked dry lips again. I could really use something to drink. I had fallen to the floor in the bedroom shortly after lunch. It couldn’t possibly be in the middle of the night, but the window off to my right had no lights coming in through the mostly closed blinds. I found that I didn’t have the energy to move. Though considering all of the tubes, wires, and medical contraptions attached to me, I was more or less confined to the hospital bed for now. The door to the room swung open, letting in bright light from the hallway. I didn’t immediately recognize the face looking down at me due to all the light coming in from behind them. A few steps forward, and I could see her face. It was Mom. She hurried over to my side. “Oh my goodness, you are awake. We’ve been so worried.” I made another unsuccessful attempt to sit up. My muscles felt like jelly, and my body felt like lead. “No, no, no,” Mom said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You need to take it easy.” “What time is it?” I yawned. Mom checked her phone. “It’s already after three.” “But it’s dark out.” “Three in the morning.” “Already?” “You were in and out of it all day after you fainted in your bedroom…” That brought back an unpleasant picture to the forefront of my mind as Mom’s voice faded to the background – lying face down on the floor with a soiled pull-up on full display. “… and here we were thinking that you were being a bit dramatic after getting your first period.” That last statement by Mom made no sense. “But I did get my period. There was blood.” Mom frowned slightly. “What color was it?” I thought back to how the pads and pull-ups had appeared this week. “Kind of like pinkish or orangish-red?” “And did you ever see blood any time when you hadn’t peed?” I again tried to retrace how the last few days had gone. Mom was right. Blood had always been accompanied by pee, whether that was in the pads, pull-up, or toilet. “No.” “The blood being off-color and only happening when you pee is a sign of something else going wrong with your body, like a UTI.” “A UTI?” “Urinary tract infection.” “Is that worse than getting your period?” Mom stifled a laugh. “Yes, it is a lot worse, especially when it isn’t caught early on, and the infection can spread to your bladder and kidneys.” All of the pieces finally fell into place. It wasn’t the pills or the period or too much water or even the times I had been intentionally wetting myself that had caused all of the bladder problems the past week; it has just been a fluke infection. I wasn’t a baby. I had just been sick. And I was in the hospital now, so everything would be better. <><><> There was now plenty of light in the hospital room. I didn’t even remember falling back asleep after my conversation with Mom in the middle of the night. I remained stuck in the web of tubes and wires. My mouth was parched, and even tilting my head to look at the stand that held the bag of IV fluids was a chore. The clear bag was almost empty. It had been nearly full when I had talked with Mom in the middle of the night. There was no way to get comfortable in the hospital bed. Besides the discomfort already present in my limbs, pulling on the wrong wire or tube in the wrong way was also painful. I managed to move my head around just enough to confirm that I was by myself in the hospital room. My stomach rumbled – when was the last time I had eaten anything? My bladder spasmed again a few minutes later. I averted my eyes from the catheter tube. It was beginning to gross me out. I drifted in and out of sleep as I struggled to stay awake until a bunch of voices finally roused me some time later. “You need to use your inside voice, Jackson, your sister isn’t feeling well.” My little brother’s response to Mom was only a little bit quieter. Everyone’s faces were a bit fuzzy in the bright light. I rubbed my eyes and opened them again with my vision a lot clearer this time. Mom, Dad, Grace, and Jackson were all in the room, which all of a sudden felt a lot smaller. After everyone had fussed over me for the next five minutes, I was ready to try to go back to sleep. “What’s that?” Jackson asked, pointing at the rather full catheter bag with his finger only a few inches away from it. Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. “That’s just hospital stuff,” Dad said. “You need to leave all of that alone.” My stomach chose that moment to let out a loud rumble. “Do you think you could try and eat something?” Mom asked me. My stomach answered for me. “I’ll see if I can get a hold of the nurse to bring you something,” Dad said. <><><> My breakfast options were plain oatmeal, plain yogurt, or plain applesauce. I stared blankly down at the tray the nurse had just set onto my lap. There was a banana as well. But I didn’t like bananas, and being sick didn’t increase their appeal. I didn’t really feel like eating, but there was also a discomfort in my stomach that was probably due to how empty it was. I hated oatmeal. I couldn’t recall the last time I had eaten applesauce. That was baby food. Yogurt could be OK if it were a normal flavor, like strawberry. “Maddy, you need to at least try a bit of something,” Mom said. Plain, boring yogurt it was. <><><> I kept trying to avoid looking at the catheter bag, but it was impossible to ignore, especially when I could see a little more urine move through the tubing and collect in the bag after each bladder spasm. The liquid was less dark than before, but there was still a slightly pinkish tint to it from the infection. The hospital room was crowded again, and a nurse and doctor had joined us, while Grace had left to take Jackson to his day camp. The doctor turned toward my parents and spoke, occasionally looking down at her clipboard. “She has a severe urinary tract infection that spread up to the kidney, and it likely made her very dehydrated and very sick. The infection and inflammation have irritated her bladder, so we’re going to need to do some further tests while we keep her medicated for both the infection and the pain.” I listened intently to her explanation. As scary as it was to be in the hospital, it was also a relief to have a clear answer to what had been going wrong the past week. It was just my luck that this had happened right as I was trying to give up on my diaper desires. But I wasn’t worried. They were giving me a bunch of medicine, both pills and stuff that came in through the IV tubes, so I was confident I would be better soon, and this was an even better way to excuse the events at the sleepover to make it clear that what had happened had been a one-off incident that wasn’t in any way my fault. “It’s not your fault that you didn’t realize,” the doctor said to me. “Especially since you hadn’t had your period before for comparison. But it is something really important to remember in the future. If you see blood when you pee, or bleeding that doesn’t match your period, that’s something you need to tell us about right away before it gets worse. You got to the hospital just in time. Even another day, and things would have been much worse for you.” <><><> “I need you to hold as still as you can,” the nurse said as she reached for the tube situated between my legs. I dug the fingernail on my thumb into my index finger in anticipation of what was going to come next. I had made the mistake earlier of accidentally tugging on the catheter tube, and it had been an unpleasant experience. There had already been too many tests today. And I still didn’t know if I had passed or failed them, or what passing or failing would even actually look like. That had made up most of the morning after I had managed to eat about half of the yogurt. Then there were a bunch more questions about all of my symptoms over the past week. I still didn’t bring up anything about the times I had peed myself during the day. It was too embarrassing to admit that with Mom in the room with me. I braced myself for what was to come next. I hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as when the IV had been removed a couple of hours ago. A loud gasp escaped before I could stop it as a sharp burn and pressure flashed through me, followed by the strange sliding sensation as the catheter came out. Then it was over. I let out a sigh of relief. “See, it wasn’t that bad,” the nurse said. “Now, we’re going to wait for a little bit and then get you over to the toilet. In the meantime, you can finish the cup of water on the table, but if you feel the need to pee at all before then, just let us know.” I took another small sip from the cup – drinking a lot all at once was still difficult, and I could only do it easily through a straw – then set it down again. “Do you think you could try going to the toilet now?” Mom asked. I shook my head. I didn’t feel like I needed to pee. The toilet, which was in a small closet-like room to my left, suddenly felt really far away. I hadn’t been on my feet since the fall yesterday. <><><> I managed to finish off the glass of water by the time the nurse returned to the room. Not that my bladder seemed to have noticed at all. It took both Mom and the nurse to help me to my feet, which were barely able to support my weight. But with their help, I was able to hobble over to the toilet. The cold plastic was a relief for my bottom. My bladder remained completely still. I knew I had drunk a lot, and before that, I had been plenty hydrated from the IV. “Can you feel anything from your bladder?” the nurse asked. “No.” She gave me some more instructions on what I could do to attempt to pee, and then stepped out of the bathroom, closing the thin door to give me some privacy. A few minutes passed. Still nothing. “I don’t need to go,” I called out through the door. “That’s OK,” the nurse said. “I’ll go grab a doctor once we get you back in bed, and we’ll do a scan of your bladder. We may need to put the catheter back in to help you empty.” Mom and the nurse helped me to my feet, assisting me with a few wobbly steps out of the tiny bathroom and toward the hospital bed. A flood of warm liquid ran down my legs without warning. I was only wearing a hospital gown, so there was no underwear or pants to slow the torrent down at all as the pee streamed onto the floor and splashed onto my bare feet. I swayed to the side as Mom let go of me, taking a step out of the way, but the nurse kept a firm grip on me. The warmth turned to heat, and the heat turned to a pain that would have sent me to the floor if the nurse hadn’t been holding me up. The peeing stopped the same as it had begun – suddenly and without any warning. The pain remained. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I mumbled as tears joined the puddle on the floor. The nurse was not upset in the slightest as she helped steer me away from the puddle and toward the bed. “Don’t you worry,” the nurse said, wiping me clean and helping me back down onto the bed. “I’ll page someone to get that cleaned up. It’s a lot better that pee is coming out than being stuck.” A small dribble came out a few seconds after lying down on the bed, it was caught by the absorbent pad that had been laid down underneath me when prepping to have the catheter removed. I was mentally preparing myself to have the catheter reinserted when I looked up and gasped at the white, plastic undergarment the nurse was holding. “I’m not wearing a diaper,” I blurted out. “These aren’t diapers. They are briefs. It’s just to provide some protection while you are recovering.” My lip curled. “It’s still a diaper. Can’t I just use the catheter?” As much as I had been dreading having the catheter put back in, that beat diapers by a mile. “A catheter isn’t the best option right now,” the nurse said. “You’re emptying your bladder fine. The problem is control and sensation. We want to keep trying scheduled toilet trips, and a brief is easier and safer than repeatedly putting catheters in.” I continued to stare at the white, plastic garment in her hands that the nurse kept insisting was not a diaper. It was bad enough that my illness had forced me back into pull-ups the past week. But I wanted to be able to go to the toilet, and I had to concede that she was right that constantly removing and refitting the catheter would make that extremely difficult. I let out a long sigh. “Fine.” The nurse put the diaper on me without any delay. The process was far different than how Hannah had put a diaper on me in the middle of the night, but it wasn’t any less humiliating to again be treated as if I were a helpless baby. The nurse rolled me onto my side, placing the diaper next to me before easing me back down onto it. Some cold cream was rubbed onto my bare skin before the front of the diaper was lifted up to my waist, and the four tabs were taped shut. The padding wasn’t nearly as substantial as the diapers that Hannah used. I wondered if it could even hold as much as my nighttime pull-ups. I resolved not to find out. This time, I would be paying far closer attention to my bladder. <><><> I giggled as a nurse slathered cold gel right below my belly while I lay on my back on the hospital bed. That was followed by the scanner being pressed gently against the area as the nurse and doctor looked at a fuzzy image on the screen. “Yep, basically empty. “Is that good?” I asked. “Yes, it is a good sign,” the doctor said. “It means you are passing urine and fully emptying your bladder. It would be worse if there was something preventing it from emptying on its own.” More questions followed that, asking about what I had felt before, during, and after the accident. I explained again that I hadn’t felt anything from my bladder, just pain in my urethra during and after peeing. Both the doctor and nurse nodded along to my answers. “This can happen after a severe infection,” the doctor said. “It’s nothing to worry about. You still need time to rest and recover.” “How much longer is she going to need to stay in the hospital?” Mom asked. “At least another day or two,” the doctor said. “We’ll want to keep her for monitoring and give her more time to get her strength back before we’d be comfortable sending her home. Her fever needs to come down, she needs to be passing fluids normally, and we need to be sure her body is continuing to respond well to the antibiotics.” <><><> The spoon landed with a clank on the lunch platter. My options weren’t much improved from breakfast. Soup, some brown pudding, and yet another half-peeled banana that I wasn’t going to touch even if my life depended on it. It was just past noon, and I was so tired. I was just glad that the bladder scan thing about thirty minutes ago had been the last of the multitude of tests I’d undergone in the last twenty-four hours. I was still hungry, but I could hardly bring myself to grip the spoon, let alone raise it to my mouth. “Do you need some help?” Grace asked, sitting down on the bed next to me. I pushed the tray a few inches away, nearly causing the soup to splash out of the bowl. “No.” “You’ve hardly touched your lunch. If you keep at it like this, you’ll be in the hospital for the next month,” Grace joked. She grabbed the spoon off the tray and dipped it into the pudding. “Here,” she said. “I can help you take a few more bites.” I immediately pressed my lips together, “I could make airplane noises if you want me to. Or would you prefer whatever sound broomsticks make?” That was so stupid that I laughed painfully. Then she stuck the spoon in my mouth. <><><> The diaper was wet by the first time the nurse came by to help me to the toilet. I hadn’t noticed when I had peed, but the aftermath had become impossible to ignore as these diapers didn’t do nearly as good a job as pulling the wetness away from my skin. Maybe if I had been able to stay awake the whole time, I could have remained dry, but I kept dozing off for brief naps that kept being interrupted by the constant discomfort from my body – sore muscles, burning pain in my bladder, and an aching head. The medications I was on had made things better, but that was relative to how I had been feeling the day before. The diaper was removed the same way it had been put on, with the nurse rolling me gently onto my side to remove it and speedily wipe me clean. The second trip to the toilet was no more successful than the first. Though at least this time, I didn’t create a puddle on the floor on my way back to the hospital bed. The same pattern repeated for the rest of the day as I I drifted in and out of a hazy sleep: hours of waiting for any signal from my bladder, only to feel the diaper slowly grow warm, shivering as my bottom was wiped clean after its removal, a painstaking assisted walk to the toilet, several awkward minutes of nothing coming out, a return journey to the bed followed by a dry diaper taped around my waist. <><><> I sighed with relief at the sight of solid food on the dinner plate the nurse brought me. This time, Dad was staying with me for the meal while everyone else was at the hospital cafeteria eating food that probably wasn’t that much better in quality than what the patients were getting served. I had to grip it with both hands, but I managed to eat over half of the peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, along with some cucumber slices that I dipped in a small plastic cup of ranch dressing. I shifted beneath the tray, attempting to get comfortable again as my bladder spasmed and the diaper grew warmer still. The doctor had mentioned I might need to stay in the hospital for several days, but shouldn’t I be seeing signs of progress by now. My thoughts flickered to Hannah. Her full suitcase of diapers. My chest started pounding at the sudden fear of that being my future. I nearly asked the nurse when she came by to take the dinner tray away, but I hesitated. What if the answer wasn’t what I wanted to hear? <><><> I tapped the call button on the side of the bed multiple times, but there was no response. Mom and Dad had said their goodbyes for the night. There wasn’t anywhere they could easily sleep in the hospital room, and since the doctors said I was doing better, they were planning to catch up on sleep at home and be back first thing in the morning. I needed to use the bathroom really badly. It wasn’t my bladder that was sending me that message – I still hadn’t felt anything from it. I twisted and turned in the bed. The fact that the diaper would contain the mess wasn’t any comfort to me at all. The button had lit up when I pressed it, a clear sign that the system had registered my request, but still no nurse had shown up to help me out of bed. I had already tried and failed to push myself upright. I tried and failed again. A minute passed slowly. Another minute passed even more slowly. There was no keeping it in. My back arched as my bowels emptied. I gagged at the smell as it reached my nostrils seconds later, pressing my hospital gown against my face in a futile attempt to block out the odor. “Are you needing…” The nurse's voice trailed off by the time she was at the bedside. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I got held up by another patient. I’ll get you cleaned up real quick.” The only good thing that could be said about the cleanup was that the nurse moved fast, and within a couple of minutes it was over; that, and the fact that since I was lying on my side, I didn’t have to look the nurse in the face while she wiped my bottom free of poop. “Why don’t we give the toilet one more try before getting you tucked in for the night?” she said after the final cold wipe of my bottom. I turned to look at the open door to the bathroom. I had no expectation that sitting down on it would lead to anything other than disappointment. “Do I have to?” “Just for a few minutes.” Reality proved no different than my expectations. No sooner had I been tucked under a blanket with a dry diaper on then my bladder let out the tiniest, burning trickle. --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com

Chapter 52: Unexpected Visitors Bound – LittleFallenPrincess ------------------------------- Samantha It’s been a week of us dating now and things couldn’t be better. We were stronger than ever. No more secrets, no more keeping things quiet. We were being open and honest about everything and it was working brilliantly. It was mid week, I was busy washing a few dishes whilst we had a lull in customers, and everything was just… nice. It wasn’t fantastic, the weather was still miserable outside every other day, as is normal in England. But the days were calm, love was all around, and everyone was feeling good about themselves. Especially Chloe, who has just walked into the shop with the biggest smile on her face. “Hey babe!” I called out, not caring that we had customers who could hear me. She waved over, but continued to lurk around the books section. No doubt she was looking to pick something new up, so I let her browse a bit and got back to washing the dishes. It was nice. She was perusing through the fictional section, I was washing dishes, customers were reading or drinking tea or working away on their laptops in silence. We had a relaxing coffee shop jazz playlist playing in the background. We had peace and quiet. It was relaxing. Everyone was feeling good, I could tell. But it seems that was just the calm before the storm. And moments later… in barged the storm, wearing her big stompy boots like usual, and I dreaded what chaos I was about to endure. “Coffee. Now.” “In this shop we use this little thing called manners…” I replied, not dealing with this bullshit, not even deigning to turn around. She was disturbing my customers and the peace I had managed to create in my shop. She just rolled her eyes at me, or at least that’s what I assume she was doing. I still refused to turn around, but I know her too well. She’s rolling her eyes more than ever right now, and giving me that bratty look she always gives me. “Can I pleeeeeeease have a coffee?” she whined. “What kind? We don’t really have much on offer. We have a wide variety of tea though, if you want to try something…” “What kind of coffee do you have?” “Coffee. Instant. Nothing fancy. You can have milk or sugar to customise it. That’s it.” “Then I’ll just go to the other place. They do fancy coffees.” “We both know you won’t. Plus last I heard they’re going out of business. Something about opening too many chains too quickly.” “Yeah… well…” I finally decided to turn around to face her. And at that same moment, a very confused Chloe came up to the counter, gripping a book to her chest. “Hey sweetie, you picked one you like?” I said, moving all of my attention towards my girlfriend instead of my unexpected visitor. “Ummm… uh huh…” Chloe replied, nervously. She could tell she had walked into something she probably didn’t want to be involved in. “Who are you?” the annoying, raven-haired brat in front of me asked her, rudely. “I’ve never met you before…” “I’m Chloe. Umm… who are you?” I sighed and quickly interjected her next statement, because I know what she’s like. She’ll mess with her, and I’m not having their first meeting be bad. Especially not given Chloe’s anxiety. “Chloe, this is Trixie.” “Only you call me that, Sam. I go by Bea these days.” Rolling my eyes again, something I catch myself doing a lot around Trixie… I turned to my girlfriend. “Trixie… this is Chloe, my girlfriend.” Chloe looked awkwardly at her. Then to me. Then back at her. Then the lightbulb above her head lit up. Because Trixie is just a smaller, younger version of me with smaller boobs. “You’re her… sister?” Chloe blurted out. “What happened to Cassie? I heard you two got back together. At least that’s what Dad said,” Beatrice asked, not caring about Chloe’s presence. “You haven’t spoken to Dad in a while, have you?” I asked. “Nope. But I will soon!” “I ended things with Cassie,” I replied, rolling my eyes at my sister. Again. “Thank god!” Trix groaned with the biggest smile on her face. “She was a BITCH!” “Keep it down… I don’t want you disturbing my customers…” “‘Customers’… wow… It's still weird to see this place doing well. I swear you were going to run it into the ground. I… actually kinda like it now. So… Chloe… you’re my sister’s latest fling?” Clearly Chloe didn’t know how to respond to that rather blunt question, so I took the initiative again. “Trix, Chloe and I used to be a thing, nearly a year ago. We split, but remained friends, but there was still a connection between us.” “And you two got back together. How cute,” my sister replied, finishing my sentence. Chloe just stood there, blushing in silence, still clutching that book to her chest, her arms crossed over it. “Exactly.” “Well I’m happy for you. She looks a lot less like a bitch than Cass.” “My sister… the eloquent wordsmith…” I replied, sighing, trying to get her to watch her language. I’m used to how my sister behaves, poor Chloe isn’t. “Hey! I’m good with my words. That’s how I got into uni!” “How’s it going anyway? Failing yet?” I teased, knowing full well this sister of mine is a smart little cookie, if a little bratty. We have this weird but interesting dynamic where she’s a complete brat to me, and I’m a snarky bitch to her, but in reality we love each other to bits and would drop everything to help the other. Trixie just stuck her tongue out at me in response. “Glad you’re doing okay at uni, sis. Seriously,” I replied. “And I love what you’ve done with the shop! I assume this is Beck’s idea?” “And why do you assume that?” I asked, raising my eyebrow at her, my pride wounded. “Because she has the good ideas. She’s the one who comes up with ideas and gets shit done.” “What am I then?” “You’re the one who supports everyone. You always have been. When Mum got ill, you supported her, despite her lashing out at you about you being gay. When she died you were there for me and Dad, barely thinking about yourself during that time. You were there for Cass, despite her not deserving it. Even with Becks, you’ve got her back, giving her encouragement and helping keep her grounded. You’re the sensible one, the Mum.” Chloe snickered. “I bet you’re keeping this one grounded too!” my sister said. “So… Chloe… how long have you been dating my sister? This time around, of course.” “About a week…” Chloe mumbled. “A whole week?” Trix teased her. “Trix. Don’t be mean,” I scolded her. “Hey, she’s adorable. And quiet. Just like you like ‘em!” This made Chloe blush more. “So what has graced us with your presence, today of all days? Especially as I’ve not seen you in forever.” “Yeah, since before you started keeping the shop going bankrupt a secret from me! Like a year ago or something!” “It didn’t go bankrupt.” “Nearly did… Sam, why didn’t you ask for help? You know I would’ve helped however I can!” my sister whined. “You’re focusing on your studies, that’s what you’re doing. You’ve nearly graduated, right?” “Yeah.” “Is that what you’re here to talk about? You know I’m gonna be there at the ceremony.” “That… is actually the lesser of two big bits of news…” Suddenly Trixie seemed… almost nervous. Which is unlike her. “Oh?” I asked, wondering what is so important that my baby sis came to visit just to tell me. “...I’m getting married…” “Haha…” Wait. That’s her serious face. WAIT. Alarms were blaring in my head, and I instantly jumped into ‘over-protective big sister mode’. “WHEN? WHO? HOW?” “His name is Oliver. He studies at the same uni as me…” “Why have I never heard about this ‘Oliver’?” “Because I knew you’d get all defensive like this…” this time it was time for my sister to roll her eyes at me. “How long have you two been dating?” “We’ve been living together for two years. Dating for three.” Chloe must have been able to sense my anxiety and anger, so she calmly placed her hand on my arm on the counter, squeezing lightly. “What’s he studying?” I asked. “Accounting.” Fuck. Can’t even slag off his course. Of course I don’t expect him to be the breadwinner, my sister is intelligent and hard working, she’s going to kill it when she gets a job. But I don’t want her picking up the slack if he picked something that isn’t going to pay the bills. No. Sam. Bad Sam. That’s Gran talking. That’s what she tried drilling into you before she died. You don’t actually believe that. As long as he makes her happy, that’s all that matters. He could be unemployed for all you care… he just needs to make your sister happy. They do say the first thing that pops into your head is what you’ve been conditioned to think, the second is what you actually think. I’m just glad that I had this back and forth in my head, I don’t want to start slagging off her boyfriend already to her face. “You’re doing the whole Gran thing, aren’t you?” my sister stood there, arms folded, grinning at me. “Shut up,” I replied to my sister, sticking my tongue out at her. “She was a horrible, spiteful woman who hated men. Always told us to find a man who can take care of himself. So I did, though that wouldn’t have mattered. I love Oli.” “Yeah she was. Always ‘find a man who can take care of himself so he’s not leeching off you, but do well so you’re never a leech on him’. It’s probably why her and Grandad didn’t last, he was a romantic, she was so… transactional.” Okay. Ease off the defensive big sister mode now, Sam. She clearly loves this guy. You haven’t even met him yet. He may be lovely. Try to be more accepting and supportive! Your baby sis just told you she’s getting married and you’re playing bad cop. Stop and celebrate! So I changed my line of questioning to make it feel less like an interrogation. “How did he propose?” “It was super sweet. He took me for dinner, and I thought he was going to propose… so when he didn’t and we left the restaurant I felt a bit disappointed…” “That doesn’t sound good…” “Oh no, Sam, it gets better! We went for a walk after our romantic meal, where he took us to the bridge where we first met. We had first bumped into each other on the bridge leading to campus whilst I was carrying a bunch of textbooks, and he was nice enough to stop and help me pick them up. So that place was kinda special to us.” Okay… good play Oliver. That’s actually sweet. I looked at Chloe, who looked like she was engrossed in this little story, her little face had lit up like it does when she’s watching a romantic moment in a movie. It’s adorable. “Go on…” she said, finally speaking up. “So he took me to the middle of the bridge, stopped in the middle, overlooking the water, and began talking about how his life has been so perfect since he met me, how happy he is with me in it. Goes on this long, romantic speech about how much he loves me and wants me to be happy.” “And let me guess… despite thinking he’d propose at the restaurant, you didn’t see this coming…” “You know me too well, sis. Yes, I nearly fell flat on my arse when he dropped to one knee and pulled out the ring.” That’s when Trix placed her hand on the counter, showing off the world’s tiniest diamond set in a silver band. “I know it’s not much, but-” “But anything bigger and you’d have scolded him for wasting his money on a big shiny rock,” I interrupted, smirking. “Exactly. I love it. You know I don’t need fancy rings or jewellery. So this is perfect.” Chloe was nearly in tears at this point. “She’s as sappy as you then, Sam?” Trix said, nodding at my girlfriend. “Oh definitely. And I love her for it.” Trix’s eyebrow raised for some reason, but I brushed it off as I reached out my hand to indicate to Chloe to give me the book she was still clutching, which she did, nervously. I scanned it in, knocked off the ‘family and friends discount’, and added it to her tab. The tab that she never has to pay, as it’s my treat. Not that she knows that yet. And yes, I can afford this. I’m not going to cause the business to go bankrupt just because I treated my girl to some books she wanted. “So… now you know. Dad will know later, as I’m about to go visit him and tell him.” “He’s going to be fine, provided Oliver can beat him at chess,” I replied, thinking back to all those stupid chess games Dad has played against all our previous partners. “Good thing Dad is rubbish at it then!” Trixie joked, causing us both to laugh. “Is that… something I’ll have to do?” Chloe mumbled, nervously. “Yeah, it’s a little running joke between our family that anytime we date someone, they have to earn his permission to date us by beating him at Chess. He knows full well how bad he is at it.” Cass never beat him, by the way, she refused to play. But I’m not going to sour the mood by bringing her up. Chloe looked nervous all of a sudden. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you before that even becomes a problem,” I said, trying to comfort her. “Not that you even need to win, you just need to try. That’s all that matters to him.” Thankfully that seemed to ease her mind a bit. “When is the wedding then?” I asked my sister, as a couple of people stood behind her and Chloe, queuing up to get served. “Next year. So you better be ready to be my Maid of Honour!” “Really?” “Well duh! Who else am I going to ask? You’re my big sister! And you better still be with this cutie, she’ll look adorable in all the wedding pictures!” Chloe’s face was priceless. I just wanted to kiss those little blushing cheeks so badly right now, but the growing queue behind them was starting to become an issue, so I sadly had to end this little catch up. “Love talking to you sis, but I have customers to tend to. Why don’t you stay for a coffee at least?” “You mean your boring-ass instant coffee? Fine. Means I can talk to my sister’s girlfriend a bit, get to know her…” All the colour drained from Chloe’s cheeks as her eyes widened in fear. “Don’t worry, Chloe, she doesn’t bite. She mostly just pinched me as a kid,” I joked. And I could see Chloe trying to send her thoughts through the ether, as she was screaming ‘please Mummy, no!’ in her head. But honestly? I want my sister to like her. They’re both important to me, and I want them to get on. So maybe this will be good for Chloe. ===================================================== 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 stories are posted on my Subscribestar! ======================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! If you want to read the next 4 chapters, thanks to two weeks early access to my main story and also soon-to-be exclusive access to short stories, why don't you check out my SubscribeStar! Thank you to all my subscribers for their support over the past few years! Seriously, your support means the world to me. New chapters of my latest story every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post. And it goes without saying, my story is not to be used in any way to create AI work. Thanks!

Annoyed?! Oh my gosh, NEVER! I love it!! 💕 Oh thank you so much!! 🥰 🥹 You're so nice 💜 Chapter Thirty-Nine: For the Record Adam pursed his lips as he lay on the mat in the communal house floor, staring at the ceiling in irritation. His mother had moved from agreeing to talk about Japok immediately to the usual lunchtime diaper change, and he felt more than irritated by it (despite knowing he needed it). He turned his head to one side, staring at the wall of talchoom masks, then huffed as he looked at the other side, his bottom half lifted, his lips pursed as he stared at Boja’s profile, who was staring out the open doors. “Boja,” Joomi called out as she reached into the diaper bag. “Could you please set up the gramophone?” “Yes, Emonim,” he replied quickly, standing to all fours and prowling silently to the far side of the room. Adam squinted in confusion, watching the tiger for a moment before looking at her, perplexed. “Gramophone? Like… an old record player?” he puzzled. “Yes,” she smiled warmly, sliding the fresh diaper beneath him and laying him gently atop it. “I thought…?” he trailed off, feeling like his brain hit a critical processing error. Joomi tittered at his expression as she taped the diaper on and leaned forward from her kneeling position, kissing the exposed skin just above the waistband. “I will explain,” she whispered to him, gently pulling down the onesie and snapping it shut. He flushed and nodded, looking over at Boja, who was pushing out a table-top record player with a large brass cylinder. Joomi took Adam’s hands and lifted him to his feet so he could step into the pants, which she lifted for him (to which he closed his eyes to hide his eye roll). “Now, agaya,” she began carefully as she folded up the changing mat. “You must promise me what you learn today stays between us.” “Of course,” he said immediately, but his shoulders stiffened at the stern look she gave him. “No idle promises,” she warned sharply, setting the mat on top of the bag and leaning back, sitting on her feet once more. She straightened her back, sitting at her full height, which was still impressive, and despite the softness in her tone, she exuded an authority reminiscent of Kang. “You must not speak a word of this outside the three of us. And even then – not without great precaution. I am trusting you to hold to your word, so: you must look into your heart and embrace that commitment before you can make this promise to me.” Feeling his palms become sweaty, he rubbed them against his pants as he swallowed and broke eye contact. His face tensed up in concentration as he wondered why this made him nervous — he knew he was capable of keeping a secret. In fact, he was rather proud of himself for thus far navigating the family with the translations — Oh! Adam blinked as he looked at her, flashing her a smile. That had to be why she felt comfortable trusting him now. He had managed to understand Shik, Seo-ya, and his grandparents, all while not once responding or hinting that he could understand. Confident he could proceed, he put a hand over his heart, and he nodded. “I super promise, Eomma,” he said solemnly, despite the choice of words. She made a noise in her throat as she swallowed a laugh, then put her hands on either side of his head and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead. He looked up at her curiously when she stood, surprised not to be swept up into her arms. She turned towards the gramophone, a waft of air kicked up from her dress, brushing across him as he was left to walk on his own. Taking in the room from his low angle, he grinned slightly, realizing the last time he had been able to freely walk around in this part of the building, he had been diaper-less. “Thank you,” she purred to Boja, patting his head in appreciation, then lifting the record from the player to assess it. Adam slowly followed her as he looked around the room, feeling a bit uncertain of what he should do with himself. He paused about halfway through the room as the sounds of her cranking the machine echoed throughout. Boja’s eyes flashed, causing the main doors to slowly slide shut, darkening the large room and increasing the volume of the echoes. “When I was young, Father would use this place to speak with his brothers in private,” she explained loudly over the cranking, which then stopped as the machine whirred to life, and she smiled fondly at it as she placed the needle on the record. Static immediately pumped through the horn, and Adam marveled at the acoustics of the old building, for while the sound was coming from the horn, it bounced in a way as to feel like the room itself produced it. After a few seconds, a distinct Asian string instrument began to play, followed by a chorus of drums. Joomi lifted her head to the ceiling as she closed her eyes, looking rather serene. “He always played this record… Sometimes I would sit outside and listen, imagining they were dancing to it,” she continued with a smile on her face, her hands crossed over each other on her chest. Adam grinned, blowing a laugh out of his nose at the idea of those lumbering men dancing. He briefly glanced at Boja, whose head bobbed, apparently having the same thought. “But as I grew older, I came to realize the truth,” she sighed as her tone turned distinctly sad, her arms dropping to her sides as she looked over the ceiling, then down to Adam. “It was to obfuscate the details of their business discussions.” He swallowed and nodded, his focus snapping to attention. “I had thought…” she began as she took a few steps forward, her eyes softening. “Hoped, really, that if you did not know the details, even its name, you would be protected from it. But now I see that I can barely protect you from the family… let alone its business.” “Eomma,” Adam whispered as he stepped towards her, seeing her eyes glistening. His mouth hung open slightly; he wanted to reassure her, but he couldn’t find the words. “My grandfather took out a debt to save this place,” she stated as she gestured her arms out, and Adam intuitively understood she meant the entire complex. “It had been in the family for generations, but it takes a lot of effort and income to upkeep. He was desperate not to shame the family by losing its ancestral home, so he borrowed from a friend he had met during the war… who was the son of the head of Japok at the time.” She let out a sigh as she descended into a kneeling position before Adam, reaching a hand out to brush away some of his hair from his eyes. “I don’t know the details of what happened, but as you know…” she spoke softly, glancing to Boja as he approached and lay beside her. She placed a hand on his back, staring at his fur as she continued, “He was murdered due to this debt, which was then passed on to his wife and sons.” Adam finally took a seat as he nodded, stretching his legs out in front of him so the bottom of his foot touched Boja’s paw. “My father went to the debt holder to learn of the situation. This was before I was born, so I only know what I’ve been told… but he left that meeting having sworn himself to Japok, in exchange for isolating the debt to himself, rather than involving his mother and brothers, and that he would work it off himself.” Joomi paused as she took in a breath, looking up to the ceiling. “He was sixteen,” she said sadly, shaking her head slightly. “He dropped out of school and began working… and he ended up paying off his father’s debt in 8 years.” “How?” Adam gaped, understanding that to be impressive despite having no reference for how bad the debt was. But based on his mother’s tone, he didn’t need to know the specifics to understand it had been a hefty sum. “He was relentlessly hard working,” she smiled, idly running a hand along Boja’s spine. “He took every job, no matter how menial, every risk… he never said no, and didn’t worry if it meant promotion, or led to more jobs. He wasn’t tactical about what he did, just that he did it, and it served to chisel away at the debt. By the time I was born, he was cleared of all debts, high in rank, and making more than enough money to support his mother, brothers, and me, as well as this place.” Adam half-smiled, feeling a sense of awe and pride in his grandfather, though it rapidly deflated when he remembered what his mother’s birth was accompanied by. At a time when Kang should have felt most accomplished, he had lost his wife. “Having known no other job and sworn himself, Father remained with Japok,” she continued as she took in a deep breath. “I have many memories of him and Uncle Mung walking in here, leaving here…” “Just them?” Adam asked curiously. “Uncle Mung joined young,” Joomi nodded, running her hands over her skirt to flatten the wrinkles in the fabric. “He has been in Japok, like Father, all his adult life. Uncles Bom and Shik went to university and had other jobs for a time, so they did not join until later.” Adam squinted at that information, but she moved on before he could think of any follow-up questions. “One night, when I was… staying up late, I heard arguing,” she closed her eyes as she spoke. “Uncle Mung had been arrested… and Bak was so upset. It was late, so I suspect everyone thought I was in bed and Father didn’t think he needed to use this –” she said as she motioned to the gramophone with a hint of a mischievous smile. “He admitted things were getting more difficult for them. The government was getting better at tracking them…” She paused as she looked in pain, and she bit her lip. “Agaya, I… am ashamed to admit this to you,” she whispered as she opened her eyes, which had become glassy and wavered in the light. She swallowed as she dropped her head, bringing a fist to her mouth as she pressed her curled index finger against her upper lip. “But I… knew what technology was being used to track them… and I was confident I could counter it… so I offered.” “You were a child, Eomma,” he offered softly as he frowned. “And you wanted to help and protect your family.” “I know,” she murmured, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. “But it was the catalyst to everything. If I hadn’t offered, Japok would have eventually fizzled out… instead, while other members were getting caught, arrested, sentenced… with my help, Father and Uncle Mung became practically untouchable. And… eventually… the power and influence they had accumulated allowed them to get revenge for their father.” She dropped her head in shame, closing her eyes; it looked as if the weight of the world was suddenly on her shoulders. “Once your grandfather was in control, he began negotiations with the government,” she explained, her fingers still fidgeting with her skirt. “He did not want a war with them, so he traded, and still does, technology and services with the government in exchange for amnesty, or whatever else they may need or wish.” “It’s… it’s you,” Adam gaped at her, feeling once more baffled at his blindness to what had been staring him so obviously in the face all this time. “It’s not Grandfather that holds the power, it’s you. It’s always been you.” “No,” she quickly declined, reaching an arm out and taking his small hand into hers. “I have never wanted a part in it. I have only ever wanted to keep my family safe.” “Eomma,” he breathed, his hand gripping at hers, shaking his head in disbelief. “Without you, he wouldn’t have any of the power he does.” “I know,” she whispered as she looked pained by his words. “Then… then why do you allow them to talk to you like that?” he gasped as he threw his free hand out in indignation. He couldn’t wrap his head around the sheer audacity of anyone in this family belittling her. Sure, Kang deserved recognition for saving this place and his family in a time of crisis; he saved the family from destitution or worse, but she was the reason it was thriving. “Why do you let anyone talk down to you, ever? You let Uncle Shik order you around, act as if you owe him anything – but they owe you everything!” “Adam, he is my uncle,” she explained, yet so softly, as if she didn’t want to say it. “So?!” he exclaimed incredulously, feeling his heart racing as he felt angry on her behalf, and it grew the more she refused to join. “He’s cruel to you!” “Agaya,” she injected weakly, the shame still lingering on her face and in her voice. “It is our way. It is our culture to respect our elders… to obey their wisdom.” “But,” he groaned as he threw his head back, briefly closing his eyes as he felt pained by her defense. “Respect goes both ways, Eomma.” “Well… Father has always been respectful about my inclusion and work,” Joomi admitted as she swallowed, summoning the courage to criticize her family. “He has never asked me to work on anything I didn’t want to, and never pushes me to work faster, nor set any deadlines… ever. But… others are not so understanding. Others… see me as… a resource. An employee.” Adam swallowed hard as he watched her struggle to say even the slightest criticism, and even then, she appeared unwilling to name who (despite knowing at least one). As he stared at her in silence, he could practically see the weight of the burden and pain she was carrying. From the guilt of her own part in the criminal enterprise, to the pain of how her own family viewed and treated her, and her inability to do anything about it… he felt a wave bubble from his chest, up through his throat and cheeks, and ending at his eyes, as he felt the tears begin to form. He took in a breath as he summoned the will to force it back down, blinking a few times to clear his vision and dissipate the excess water. “It is more than that,” Boja injected, causing both of them to quickly look at him. “They are dependent on you.” Adam nodded in both agreement and gratitude, glad to have his attention refocused as his eyes moved around the tiger in thought at his statement. “And that’s uncomfortable,” the blonde added to the observation. “Especially for a group that… thrives on power. That attracts people who want it.” Boja nodded as he looked up at Joomi, who gave a subtle nod as she swallowed. Adam blew air out of his nose, shaking his head slightly as he marveled at how little she wanted that power, but how much damage she could do if she did. Sucking on his canine tooth, he wrestled with the flood of questions in his mind as he tried to grapple with this new information, applying context to previous events, and current mysterious ones… all while feeling that compelling urge to lift the weight from her shoulders. And, as often it went with Adam, the emotional needs of the moment won out over the intellectual. “Eomma,” he started quietly, scooting closer to her to put his small hand on her knee, flashing a smile at just how ridiculous their size difference was. “None of this is your fault.” She took in a quick breath and held it, her eyebrows pinching together as she lifted her hand to her mouth, her fingers against her lips. His smile widened as he felt a sense of deja vu. “You were a child who realized she could keep her father and uncle safe. Any kid in your position would do the same,” he stated, brushing over all the exceptions to such a statement that came to mind. “And you’ve been trapped by that moment of kindness ever since.” As if in slow motion, Joomi closed her eyes, and she looked pained for a moment… but as she exhaled, there was a relief that washed over her, and her expression shifted to one trying to hold back a tide of emotion. She gave a nod as she opened her glassy eyes, placing both of her hands over her heart. “Thank you, Adam,” she whispered. “I am relieved you are not… ashamed of me.” “Ashamed?” he scoffed immediately, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he slowly grinned. “You seriously were afraid of that?” Joomi’s gaze dropped shyly as she gave a slight incline of her head. “You had such a high opinion of me when you came,” she admitted with a slight blush, lifting a hand to wipe away a tear that had begun to fall. “It could only go down, I thought.” Adam blinked a few times in utter shock, his brain unable to grok how she could think any of this information would impact his opinion of her. He let out a laugh as he ran his hand over his forehead and through his hair, and then another laugh. Rapidly, it built into bursts of continuous laughter, unable to really parse what precisely was funny, but the moment had struck a funny bone. He could think of multiple reasons why that idea was funny, both tragically and ironically, but just beginning to laugh at all felt good, and the pressure released was much needed. He leaned forward as he dropped his head, laughing downwards, then rocked his head back as his face turned red from exertion. Joomi looked worried for a moment, caught off guard by this, but it soon became contagious, and she chuckled behind a hand, her shoulder quivering as she held back her volume, controlling the release of the built-up pressure. “Oh, good. You both have gone crazy,” Boja stated dryly as their laughter quieted down, which caused Adam to wheeze and belt out another round. Joomi leaned forward, almost in a bow, as she placed a hand on the tiger, still controlling her laughter, though with more difficulty. “Oooh, man,” Adam wheezed again, lifting his hands to rub the tears out of his eyes, and he shook his head. “I love you, Eomma. You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to make me think less of you.” Joomi lifted her head, her eyes wide as she went to put her hand over her mouth, but changed her mind and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his small frame in an overwhelming hug. “I love you too, Adam,” she whispered into his hair just before planting a kiss on his head and expelling another relieved sigh. He smiled as he leaned against her, closing his eyes as he basked in the incredible warmth her natural body heat exuded, though it felt a little warmer than usual. “Sooo,” he started after a long beat. “Can I, uh… still ask questions?” “Of course,” she smiled as she released him, glancing over her shoulder towards the gramophone and looking back down to him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “The record is still playing.” “Is that how that works?” he asked with a laugh. “I get until the record is done?” “That’s how it works,” she chuckled, and he stiffened up, realizing he was wasting time. “Oh! Okay! So - uh… okay, you said you have no deadlines, right?” he blurted out quickly, his eyes darting to the record as he wondered how much time it had left. “Correct,” she nodded, trying hard to hold back her amusement. “So,” Adam squinted as his mind was racing with questions, and he was trying to parse the important ones with as little delay as possible. “Then why have you been told you’re behind?” “Well,” she cleared her throat as she became slightly uncomfortable, shifting in her position as she lifted and settled back down on her feet. “I am usually more productive than I have been recently.” “Since I arrived, you mean,” he offered with a smirk, and she inclined her head with a mirrored smirk. “So it’s not that you have a schedule, but… they’re just used to a certain… output?” “That is correct,” she nodded. “Okay… okay… uuhhh… what’s with the border stuff?” he blurted out as he thumbed behind him, indicating the labs. “Mmm, as could be expected when working with a government, new technology is prioritized for the military,” she remarked with a tilt of her head. “As Japok has traded in many advancements to the government, they have made sure to teach their own resources how to replicate and manage them. So… seeing this as a potential future issue, Uncle Shik has been pivoting to services with them rather than outright technology exchange.” “The services being… you?” “And Boja,” she smiled at the tiger, who lifted his head proudly. “You’re… okay with that?” Adam squinted, trying to find where exactly she distinguished herself from working for Japok and not. “Well, I think it is in Goryeo’s best interest that the government be free to act as it must and as quickly as possible,” she intoned her opinion cautiously, attempting to answer him truthfully without casting aspersions. “Yet I do feel I am giving back to my country when I do help.” She then paused and frowned, her eyes very briefly glancing back, as if to look towards the house. “But how we work with the government has been in Uncle Shik’s purview for many years now.” “Grandpa didn’t have a problem with it?” Adam asked with a squint. “He did,” she started carefully, looking up in thought. “I may have… assured him I was fine with it. To… keep the peace.” Adam raised an eyebrow at her as he smirked, despite his indignance, and she smiled as she bit her lower lip. “Is that why things are complicated?” Adam asked as he gestured in the direction of the house. “Because Uncle Shik is important with the government work?” “I think so,” she nodded, pressing her lips together when she paused. “Uncle Shik is likely being held responsible for his wife’s actions… and since the initial conflict was your presence in the labs, which Father approved before Aunt Seo-ya’s arrival, this is both a family and business issue. He and Aunt Seo-ya overstepped, insulted, and challenged Father… in both.” Adam felt a grimace come to his face before he realized he was doing it. He wasn’t sure why that made him unhappy… and as the music from the gramophone swelled, he panicked, suspecting that it might mean the record was almost done. “Uh.. oh! The tattoos!” he blurted out, running a hand along his forearm. “Do they all have them?” “Yes, it’s a mark of dedication and loyalty,” she explained with a grin, enjoying his attempts to squeeze in as many questions as possible. “They are tattooed by the mark of Japok, and the mark of their branch, alongside achievements and rank. Yoon-nim is the current tattooist… is that the word?” “What’s the mark of Japok? How many branches are there? What are their marks?” He blurted out as his eyes glanced at the record, noting that the needle was near the middle and the music neared its end. Joomi chuckled as she put up three fingers. “I don’t know how many branches, but members span the country, and there are several branches in Hanseong,” she quickly replied and put down one finger. “Marks of Japok and its branches are by animals, often predators. Hyun’s, for example, are marked by the moon bear.” She put her second finger down as only her index finger remained, and she glanced over her shoulder as the song ended, and the static noise filled the air. She teased Adam with a shrug, but giggled at his expression, and before he could complain, she put her last finger down. “And the mark of Japok is the dragon,” she whispered to him as she winked and stood to her feet, walking to the gramophone. Adam’s eyebrows pinched as he looked down, thinking of the large dragon in his dream that encircled the tree and cast a shadow upon him and the creatures below. Adam pursed his lips as he glanced at Boja. “I have no association with the tiger branch,” he replied curtly, and Adam burst into a laugh. Joomi pushed the gramophone back into the cabinet and shut the door, spinning around as she placed her hands upon it and gave Adam a stern look. “Remember your promise,” she warned, though the authority she had previously held when he made the promise was gone, replaced now with her usual, warm, and semi-weak tone. “I will,” he smiled, placing a hand on his heart. “Since we’re banned from the house until dinner, are we returning to the labs?” “Yes, I think we shall,” she smiled as she approached him, sweeping her hands down to him, and he met her halfway, walking into her grip. He brought a hand to his ear as he had a thought, glancing back at Little Boja, who sat diligently next to the diaper bag. “Eomma… the earpieces,” he started, looking from the stuffed field general to her. “All of this work… you’re keeping it secret, aren’t you?” “Yes,” she nodded, glancing down at Boja as he stood to join her. “So, it really looks like you’re not working, doesn’t it?” he winced, both at that idea and hoping he wasn’t already breaking his promise; he had thought this was a vague enough observation, and was relieved that she did not reprimand or show any sign of disapproval. In fact, she smiled at him. “Well, I have been multi-tasking, but yes… my current productivity, excluding our work, does appear to be dramatically low,” she affirmed with a slight squeeze as she glided across the room, sweeping her arm down to pick up and hand him Little Boja. “And I will not make apologies for it. Because you, my little spark, have reminded me of why I started all of this to begin with.” She lifted the bag to her shoulder, pushing it behind her, then placed a hand on Boja’s head, and she placed a long kiss on Adam’s forehead. As she moved back, he stared into her eyes, able to see his own reflection in her large pupils. “To protect my family.”

Chapter 18: The Towel She stopped. She was wrapped in a large white bath towel that covered her from chest to mid-thigh. Her hair was wet and combed back, and her shoulders glistened with moisture. The steam drifted around her like a halo. She looked at Liam. He was standing in the middle of the loft wearing nothing but a pair of tight black boxer-briefs. His narrow chest rose and fell rapidly. His collarbones stood out sharply, and the tendons in his neck were taut. Sophie's eyes widened slightly. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. She didn't look shocked—not in the bad way. Quite the opposite. "Oh," she said, biting her lip gently. "I thought you'd be... more dressed." Liam felt the heat climb into his face, but it was a different kind of heat now. The shame of his mother was gone—or at least shoved under the bed along with his thermals—replaced by a sudden, intense awareness of his own half-naked body and the girl standing in front of him. "I was... just changing," he said hoarsely. He ran a hand through his hair. "It was boiling in the ski stuff." "I can see that," she said. Her gaze slid briefly down over his torso, down to his waist, and back up again. It was an appraising look. An approving look. "But you don't seem to be suffering too badly now." She walked into the room and closed the door behind her. They were alone. The light from the small window fell softly across her bare shoulders. "Was your mum up here?" she asked casually, heading towards her bag. "Yeah," Liam said quickly. "She was just... picking up some laundry." "Okay." Sophie seemed unbothered. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a pair of knickers. Small, black, lace. Liam's mouth went dry. "I need to get dressed," she said, turning to him with a teasing glint in her eye. "Unless you're planning to stand there and stare?" Liam cleared his throat. "I'm not staring." "Aren't you?" She grinned. "It rather feels like it." She stepped out of her flip-flops. "Turn around," she said. Her voice was soft, flirtatious. It wasn't a command to protect her modesty; it was a game. Liam turned slowly so that he had his back to her. He stared at the wall, but every nerve in his body was strung taut. He could hear every sound behind him. The towel dropping to the floor with a soft thump. Fabric against skin. "Are you peeking?" she asked. Her voice came from floor level. She was putting her knickers on. "No," he lied. He could see her shadow on the wall in front of him. A slender, curved silhouette, bending forward. "Good," she said. A moment of silence. Only the sound of her getting dressed. "You can look now," she said. Liam turned around. She was standing with her back to him. She was wearing only the knickers. Her back was bare, smooth, and narrow. She was pulling a t-shirt over her head, but she was doing it slowly. She was letting him see. When her head came through the neck hole, she turned and shook her hair into place. She smiled at him. A secret, conspiratorial smile. "There," she said. "Now we're both decent. Nearly." She looked him up and down again, taking her time. Her gaze lingered on his legs. "You've got nice legs, Liam. Skiing really suits you." Then she tilted her head, grinning. "But we might need to get you doing some press-ups or something. You look like a flamingo—all legs and nothing up top." She poked him lightly in the ribs. He flinched—partly because it tickled, partly because she was right. He was slight. Narrow shoulders, long thin arms, a chest that looked like it belonged to someone two years younger. His legs were the only part of him that had any definition, and even those were more wire than muscle. "I'm working on it," he said. "Mmm," she said, unconvinced. She sat down on her bed and started pulling on socks. Then she looked up at him. "Actually—did you eat properly today? Because you look a bit... sharp around the edges. Like, cheekbones-sharp, not cool-sharp." "I ate," said Liam. "We had crisps." "Crisps. Crisps and a Coke. That's not lunch, Liam, that's a vending machine accident." She shook her head. "My mum's making soup. You're having two bowls. I'm not having you pass out on me." "Yes, Mum," he said, and immediately regretted the word. Sophie just laughed. "Someone's got to feed you. You clearly can't be trusted." The phrase passed through him like electricity, but she'd already moved on, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. "What's the plan for tonight?" she asked without looking up. "Shall we do something? Or are you hanging out with your parents?" The question hit him like a cold flannel. Parents. Mum. Dad. They were downstairs right now. They were talking about him. They were talking about what to "do with him." The sentence was coming. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I think... I think we're eating soon." "Okay," said Sophie. She stood up, fully dressed now in joggers and a t-shirt. She walked over to him. She stopped very close. She placed a hand on his bare chest. Her palm was warm against his skin, and he could feel her fingers over his sternum, over the place where his heart was doing something irregular. "But afterwards," she whispered. "Maybe we could do something. Yeah?" Liam nodded mutely. "Yeah." She smiled and walked past him towards the stairs. "I'm just popping down to dry my hair. Coming?" "In a minute," said Liam. She disappeared down the stairs. Liam stood alone. He looked at his bed. Under it, shoved into the dark corner where the mattress met the wall, lay the bundle of stained thermals and damp boxer shorts. He could see the edge of the grey fabric poking out from beneath the duvet he'd pulled down to hide it. Downstairs, he could hear the low murmur of adult voices—too quiet to make out words, but the tone was unmistakable. It was the sound of people making decisions about someone who wasn't in the room. He sat on the edge of his bed. He put his head in his hands. Sophie thought he needed feeding up. Sophie thought his legs were nice. Sophie wanted to do something tonight. His mother was downstairs telling his father that he'd wet himself twice in two days and lied about it both times. He sat there for five minutes, breathing, trying to assemble the pieces of himself into something that could walk into a room and face what was coming. Then he pulled on some clothes, took a deep breath, and went downstairs. Chapter 19: The Collective Liam came down the stairs. He was fully dressed, but he still felt exposed. He could hear voices from the living room and kitchen. They were muted but intense. Not the usual holiday laughter. It was the sound of adults holding a meeting. He stepped into the living room. The scene that met him made him stop. In the open-plan kitchen, his father James and Sophie's father Rob were chopping vegetables for the evening's chili con carne. Sophie sat on a bar stool at the kitchen island with her back to the living room, chatting with them. She was laughing at something Rob said. She knew nothing. But in the seating area, bathed in the glow from the wood burner, sat Grace and Claire. They were sitting close together, facing each other. Grace was leaning forward, speaking in a low, serious voice. Claire was listening intently, nodding slowly, her expression one of deep sympathy. Grace looked up when Liam came in. She stopped mid-sentence. "Come here, Liam," she said. She patted the empty seat on the sofa beside her. Liam shot a nervous glance towards the kitchen. Sophie hadn't seen him yet. The fathers were acting normal, but James sent him a quick, tight nod over his shoulder. A nod that said: We know. Do as your mother says. Liam walked to the sofa. His legs felt like lead. He sat on the edge of the cushion, as far from Claire as possible. "What's going on?" he whispered. "Why are you... sitting like this?" Claire smiled at him. It wasn't her usual brisk smile. It was a soft, pedagogical smile. She leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee. "It's alright, Liam," she said warmly. "Grace has told me everything. About the accidents. And the bag in the garden." Liam felt as though the floor had vanished beneath him. He stared at his mother with disbelieving eyes. "You've told her?" he whispered. "Her?" "I had to, Liam," said Grace calmly. "We can't have secrets that affect other people. The neighbour's dog... Claire saw it, and it's their neighbour. And Rob apparently saw you this morning, he says. We can't keep lying and sneaking around. It only creates more stress for you." "But it's my private life!" Liam's voice cracked. He looked frantically towards the kitchen. "Keep your voice down," said Grace firmly. "Dad and Rob know too. We've discussed it all." "So you've told Rob as well?" Liam sagged. Sophie's father. The man he'd drunk red wine with yesterday. The man who was supposed to respect him. "We're all adults here, Liam," said Claire soothingly. "And we just want to help. Honestly, I was actually relieved when Grace told me." "Relieved?" Liam stared at her. "Yes," said Claire with a shrug. "The way you've been behaving... running from the table, throwing bags out of windows, being strange... I was worried it was drugs. Or that you'd stolen something. Hearing that it's just... bladder issues. Well, that's manageable. Accidents happen to anyone." She said it as if he were five years old and had knocked over a vase. Bladder issues. The words hung in the air, sticky and diminishing. "Some boys are just a bit slower to... get the system under control," she continued kindly. "My nephew had the same problem until he was fourteen. He had to wear night pants too. There's no shame in it. It just takes a bit of training." Liam clenched his fists in his lap. He was seventeen. He wasn't fourteen. And he certainly wasn't five. "So what now?" he asked coldly, without looking at them. Grace cleared her throat. She straightened her back. Now came the official part. "Dad and I have talked with Claire and Rob. And we've agreed that we need to tighten the rules. For your own sake. And for the holiday's sake." She paused. He could see her choosing her words carefully, and something in her delivery told him this wasn't entirely her script. There was a constraint in it—a sense of compromise, as if the version she was delivering had been negotiated down from something harder. "I told you this morning what would happen if you couldn't be honest with me," she said quietly. "And you made your choice. So these are the consequences." She counted on her fingers. "First: you clearly can't manage without protection during the day either. From now on, for the rest of the week, you wear DryNites round the clock. Twenty-four seven. No exceptions. No second chances." Liam opened his mouth to protest, but she raised her hand. "Second: I don't trust you to put them on yourself. You've shown that you cheat. So every morning and every evening, I help you. Physically. I check that you're clean, I apply cream if necessary, and I put it on you properly. And I take the used one away, so you don't have to worry about storing it in the bedroom." Liam felt the heat in his cheeks. Claire sat nodding in agreement, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that his mother should change him. "And third," Grace continued, "we need to get on top of the bladder emptying. You don't feel it in time. So from tomorrow, we're introducing fixed toilet times. Every three hours. Wherever we are. Whatever we're doing." "Oh, come on," Liam groaned. "I'm not a dog that needs walking." "No, you're not a dog, but you're clearly not grown-up enough to manage it yourself, and I'm the one in charge," said Grace sharply. "You wet yourself twice today, Liam. Because you didn't go in time." She leaned forward. "Now—originally, I wanted to keep you with me for the rest of the week. Skiing with the adults. No more going off on your own." Something shifted in the room. James, who had been listening from the kitchen doorway, stepped forward. "But we talked about that, Grace," he said. His voice was calm but firm. "He's seventeen. He's not a little boy. We can't chain him to us." "I know that," said Grace, and Liam caught the tightness in her jaw—the look of someone conceding ground she hadn't wanted to give. "Which is why we've agreed on a compromise." She turned back to Liam. "If you're off on your own—skiing with Sophie, for example—you send me a photo." "A photo?" "A photo of the toilet," she said. "When you're in there. So I know you've gone. Every three hours. And if you don't send it, or if you're late... we come and get you. And you spend the rest of the day with the adults." She held his gaze. "I need confirmation that you're keeping to the schedule. That's the deal. It's this, or you ski with me. Your choice." Liam stared at her. It was a digital prison. He'd be alone with Sophie, and in the middle of everything he'd have to run to the toilet and send photographic evidence to his mother to prove he was potty training. But the alternative—skiing behind Grace all day, checked at lunchtime, managed like a nursery child while Sophie skied ahead with someone else—was worse. He understood, with a sickening clarity, that this was the lesser evil. And that someone at that kitchen table had argued for it on his behalf. "It's completely out of proportion," he whispered. "Why do the others have to be involved? Why does Rob have to know?" "Because we're a group, and because we're guests in their house," said Claire gently. "And now you don't have to hide it from us. If you need to go, just say so. Even to Rob. He knows. He doesn't judge you. He just wants to help you remember." "It's humiliating," said Liam. The tears were pressing now. "No," said Grace. "What's humiliating is walking around in wet trousers smelling of urine. This is care. This is responsibility." She looked at her watch. "And we start now. Dinner's ready in twenty minutes. We need to get you sorted before then." She stood up. She reached her hand down to him. "Come on, Liam. Let's go up and get it on. So you can sit at the table without being nervous." She said it loudly enough for Claire to hear. Claire smiled encouragingly at him. "Go on with your mum, Liam. It'll be over in a flash." Liam looked towards the kitchen. Sophie was still sitting with her back to them. Every adult in the room except her knew. The four of them had formed a ring around him. He stood up slowly. He felt small. Smaller than ever. He walked towards the stairs without looking at Claire. Grace walked just behind him, her hand resting lightly on his back, as though she were guiding a prisoner. As they reached the stairs, Rob looked up from the chili. He caught Liam's eye. He winked. A kind, sympathetic wink. The sort a man gives a boy he feels sorry for—well-meant, but impossible to receive as anything other than what it was: pity from a grown man who knew your mother was about to put a nappy on you. Liam went up the stairs to his bedroom, to the changing station, to the new reality.

Before the sun even rises over the Bahamas, Sally is already choosing discipline over comfort, chasing half-stars and quiet strength along the harbor road. But this chapter isn’t just about early runs and tightened schedules. As new responsibilities stack up, from academic pressure to foundation leadership and even selecting her mother’s next car, Sally begins to understand that growing up isn’t performance. It’s alignment. It’s restraint. It’s showing up. Between structured calls about her future office and the weight of a name that demands more of her, she still finds room for something softer: espresso confessions, hard-earned progress, and a fiercely generous gesture that turns a boutique fitting room into a moment of sisterhood. And when she finally steps out for the evening, poised to host in ocean teal and quiet confidence, it’s clear. The girl who once reacted is becoming the young woman who leads. Chapter 157 – Half a Star Waking up at five felt illegal. For a full thirty seconds Sally lay still in the dim, pre-dawn quiet of the villa, staring at the ceiling fan rotating lazily above her. The house was asleep. The ocean beyond the glass doors was only a darker shade of night. Then she remembered. Jana. Sally smirked into her pillow. Beating Jana at her own game was reason enough to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Reality greeted her immediately. She looked down, frowned slightly at the damp diaper beneath her. Despite the bathroom routine. Despite sitting patiently the night before, counting ceiling tiles and waiting like a disciplined recruit. Not as wet as it could have been. But not dry. She exhaled through her nose, calm, not defeated. “Half star,” she muttered to herself. “We’ll take half.” No drama. No shame. Just data. She tugged her diaper off and showered quickly, changed, and pulled on black jogging shorts and a pale gray T-shirt. Running shoes. Hair in a tight ponytail. No makeup. No audience. By 5:22 she was stepping quietly through the villa’s side door. The air outside surprised her. Not hot. Not cold. Soft. Humid. Caribbean morning, still deciding what it wanted to be. Her first steps were awkward. Her lungs remembered the flu. Her legs remembered the crash. For a moment she wondered if this had been overly ambitious. Then her body began to find its rhythm. Step. Step. Breathe. The sky shifted from charcoal to indigo. Birds began arguing somewhere in the palms. She followed the curve of Edgewater Drive, elegant walls rising on either side like discreet secrets. No sidewalks. Just smooth asphalt and manicured hedges. The quiet wealth of Lyford Cay. She ran slowly. Not chasing pace. Just chasing motion. By the time she reached the stretch facing Lyford Cay Harbor, the water was turning silver. On the far side, masts of docked yachts cut clean silhouettes against the light. She stopped. Hands on hips. Breathing deep. The first edge of sun split the horizon, and for a moment everything glowed—roofs, water, her skin damp with sweat. She felt… steady. Alive. Not porcelain. Not fragile. Carbon fiber. She smiled faintly at the memory of Dr. Salcedo’s voice. A nondescript Stop sign ahead offered temptation: the road continued. More asphalt. More distance. She hesitated. Then turned around. Moderation. The run back felt easier. Her body warmed, sweat gathering at her temples. The damp air clung to her skin, but it felt earned. Halfway back she heard an engine behind her. A white van. It slowed. Matched her pace. Sally stopped, one eyebrow lifting automatically. The sliding door rolled open with theatrical flair. Jana leaned out first, grinning. “Girl,” she called, “you can’t sit still for one moment, can you?” Theresa appeared behind her shoulder, sunglasses already on despite the early hour. “Well,” Theresa said dryly, “at least she’s saved you from having to wake her up.” Sally wiped sweat from her brow and crossed her arms. “I prefer proactive suffering,” she said. “Builds character.” Jana laughed. “It’s barely six in the morning.” “Exactly,” Sally shot back. “You were planning six. I win.” Theresa leaned forward slightly. “How far?” “Harbor and back.” Theresa’s gaze flicked down, assessing—not critically, but carefully. Breathing controlled. Posture steady. “Limp mode seems to be over,” she observed. Sally shrugged, but couldn’t hide the quiet pride in her voice. “One week was enough.” Jana tilted her head. “Want a lift?” Sally glanced toward the villa gates in the distance, then back at them. “Nope.” She stepped backward and resumed jogging. “See you at the house,” she called over her shoulder. Jana slid the van door shut. As the van rolled ahead and disappeared around the bend, Sally kept running, steady now. Her legs burned slightly. Her lungs stretched wider with every breath. And somewhere beneath the sweat and salt air, something else was shifting too. Responsibility wasn’t just dinners and meetings and heir titles. It was five a.m. decisions. It was half stars and trying again. It was turning around when the road invited you to overdo it. By the time she reached the villa gates, the sun was fully up. And she felt stronger than she had in months. -- Seven o’clock came quietly. The Bahamas did not wake with noise the way cities did. It unfolded. Light first — pale gold slipping over the water beyond the glass walls — then the faint hum of distant boats somewhere beyond the harbor, then the soft clink of porcelain from the kitchen. Sally was already at the dining table when the clock on the oven turned to 7:00. Her hair was still slightly damp from a quick rinse after her run. A cream t-shirt. Black leggings. Coffee in a white mug she had taken without asking. There was something steady about her posture. Jana stepped into the room with a tablet tucked under her arm and a thin leather notebook in her hand. No smile. No teasing. Work mode. “You’re on time,” Jana said. “I said I would be,” Sally replied. Jana set the tablet down across from her and sat. She opened the notebook, flipping to a page already marked. “Before we begin,” she said evenly, “next week you have assessments in German and French. Both tutors have requested additional time.” Sally nodded once. She had expected this. “How additional?” she asked. “German: two extra sessions. One grammar-heavy. One oral. Herr Köhler wants you fluent, not charming.” Sally inhaled slowly. “And French?” “Madame Lefèvre wants pronunciation drills and a written composition under timed conditions. She was clear about that.” Sally took a sip of coffee and set the mug down carefully. “That’s fair,” she said. Jana studied her for a second. “You’re not overwhelmed?” Sally shook her head. “No.” “You ran this morning.” “Yes.” “And?” “And I needed to,” Sally said simply. The answer was enough. Jana tapped the tablet screen and turned it slightly so Sally could see the schedule grid. “We’ll adjust. German sessions Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. French extended session Friday morning. That means less idle time between foundation briefings.” “I don’t need idle time,” Sally said. Jana’s eyes lifted. “That wasn’t a challenge,” Sally added. “It’s just… true.” From the side study, Adrian’s voice carried faintly — controlled, precise. The low cadence of a man on a conference call. “…liquidity exposure remains within acceptable parameters. Theresa, can you pull the projection from Q3?” Theresa’s voice followed, crisp and composed. “Already on screen.” Sally did not look toward the study. But she heard it. Across the living room, Bridget sat on the sofa with her porcelain teacup, laptop balanced on a cushion. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were focused. A document from the foundation board filled her screen. She was annotating something. The house was quiet — but it was not resting. At midday, Jana closed the notebook. “For today,” she said, “that’s sufficient. You have foundation briefing review at two. Rest between now and then. Eat.” Sally exhaled slowly. “I will,” she said. Jana gathered her things but did not stand immediately. “One more thing,” she added. Sally waited. “You are stepping into more responsibility this week. Business. Public image. Internal structure. That does not reduce academic expectations. It increases them.” “I understand.” “This is not about pressure,” Jana continued. “It’s about alignment. Your education must match the weight of your name.” Sally absorbed that quietly. Across the room, Adrian’s office door opened. He stepped out mid-sentence, still holding his headset, eyes briefly scanning the room. He caught sight of Sally at the table. Their eyes met for a second. He gave a small nod. Not approval. Recognition. Sally held his gaze — steady. Then he turned back into the study. Jana stood. “Lunch,” she said simply. Sally rose from the chair, stretching slightly. The sun had fully reached its zenith now, turning the sea beyond the glass into molten blue. A girl who had run before dawn. A father negotiating global decisions. A mother guiding a foundation. A schedule tightening. Sally reached for her coffee again, now lukewarm. She drank it anyway. There was work to do. -- The call was set up on the long dining table facing the ocean. Sally sat cross-legged on one of the chairs, laptop open. Bridget sat opposite her, reading glasses low on her nose, reviewing something Foundation-related while half-listening. Jana stood at the kitchen counter island behind them, laptop open, headset on one ear, pretending not to eavesdrop. On the screen, Olivia appeared crisp as always. Structured blazer. Perfect posture. A woman who lived inside calendars and long-term strategy. “I’m pleased to know school is going well,” Olivia said. “You’re keeping busy, even while globetrotting.” Sally shrugged lightly. “I try not to disappoint.” “Even Otto speaks proudly of you,” Olivia added, arching an eyebrow in faint amusement. Sally smiled, tilting her head. “Otto would never speak badly of me.” Olivia laughed. “True. But he is not easily impressed. And he is.” That landed. Sally straightened slightly, pretending it didn’t matter. It did. Olivia’s expression shifted—still warm, but now purposeful. “All right. Serious things. Foundation matters.” Bridget lowered her papers. “Your office is ready,” Olivia continued. “You can commute into the city next week and sample your future. Sit at the desk. Use the space. Meet the team properly. Including your new assistant.” Sally’s eyes slid sideways toward her mother, who was watching her closely. “OK,” Sally said slowly. “Second assistant. How do I deal with two assistants?” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I mean, I’m barely fifteen. This is ridiculous.” Bridget suppressed a smile. From the screen, Olivia did not indulge the theatrics. “It’s not ridiculous,” she said calmly. “It’s structured.” Sally groaned softly but listened. “I’ve already briefed Jana,” Olivia continued. “She understands the distinction. And what she doesn’t, we’ll clarify as it arises. But this is important: Jana is your personal assistant. She organizes you. She looks after your schedule, your movement, your immediate needs. She protects your time.” Jana, without looking up from her laptop, lifted one finger in acknowledgment. Sally glanced back at her, then at Olivia. “And my new assistant?” she asked, curiosity winning over sarcasm. “Elena Marquez,” Olivia said. “Twenty-eight. Finance background. Law minor. MBA. Spent a year in Brazil working with microfinance initiatives before returning to the U.S. She was leading operations at a church ministry when we approached her.” Sally blinked. “Church ministry?” “Yes,” Olivia said evenly. “Overqualified for it, frankly. But resistant to a purely corporate environment. She believes in stewardship.” Bridget’s lips curved slightly. “I like her already,” Sally murmured. “You should,” Olivia replied. “Your mother worked tirelessly to recruit her.” Sally turned to look at Bridget. “You did?” Bridget shrugged lightly. “I made a phone call. Or three.” Olivia continued. “Elena will not manage your personal life. She will manage your Foundation briefings, financial summaries, trust documentation, compliance tracking. She will coordinate with Franz on legal issues and with Adam on security implications. She will prepare you before meetings.” Sally’s expression sobered. “She reports to me?” Sally asked carefully. “Yes,” Olivia said without hesitation. “She reports to you.” The air shifted just slightly. “And if I disagree with her?” Sally pressed. “Then you discuss it,” Olivia answered. “She is not there to control you. She is there to sharpen you.” Jana finally looked up from the kitchen counter. Her voice carried easily. “And she’s not replacing me,” she added. Sally twisted around in her chair. “Were you worried?” Jana arched a brow. “I don’t worry. I plan.” Olivia smiled faintly. “There is no competition here. Jana handles your person. Elena handles your position.” Sally let that settle. “Jana organizes me,” she said slowly. “Elena organizes what I represent.” “Precisely,” Olivia replied. Sally leaned back in her chair, exhaling. “OK,” she said. “So I just… wait until Monday.” “You prepare,” Olivia corrected gently. “You think about what kind of leader you want to be.” Sally frowned. “I don’t even know what that means yet.” “That’s why we’re starting now,” Olivia said. There was a pause. The sound of distant waves reached faintly through the open terrace doors. “And Sally?” Olivia added. “Yes?” “Do not perform for her. Be honest. If you don’t understand something, say so. If you disagree, articulate why. Authority does not require pretending.” Sally nodded, absorbing it. “And enjoy your time in the Bahamas,” Olivia concluded. “You are allowed to be fifteen while learning to be twenty-five.” Sally smirked faintly. “If Jana lets me.” From the kitchen counter, without missing a beat: “I heard that.” Sally turned in her chair and pointed at her. “See? Surveillance.” “Structure,” Jana corrected. Olivia laughed softly from the screen. “Good. You’re surrounded by structure. That’s a privilege.” Sally glanced once more at her mother. Bridget gave her the smallest nod—steady, proud, unafraid. Monday suddenly felt closer. And bigger. -- The light had shifted. Mid-afternoon in Nassau carried a lazy golden softness, but inside Gallagher House there was nothing lazy about the energy. Laptops had closed, conference calls had ended, and yet no one had truly stopped moving. Sally was barefoot again, stretched out lengthwise on one of the white sofas, a notebook open on her stomach. She hadn’t taken her siesta. She’d meant to. But responsibility had a way of pushing sleep aside. Bridget stepped in from the terrace, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did I hear something yesterday about my car?” she asked casually. “Joseline was whispering about lease renewals.” Sally didn’t look up immediately. “Your lease expires next month,” she said. “I’m supposed to choose your new car.” Bridget stopped mid-step. “Oh, I am aware of that, am I?” she asked lightly, though her eyes were smiling. “You delegated,” Sally replied, finally sitting up. “You gave me parameters. Very vague ones, but parameters.” “Did I?” Bridget folded herself into the armchair opposite her daughter. “Another red SUV?” Sally’s nose wrinkled immediately. “Nope. Absolutely not.” “Oh? And why is that?” “Because,” Sally said, ticking points off on her fingers, “you’re about to have a baby. You need comfort. You need practicality. You need something that doesn’t scream ‘look at me’ while you’re carrying diaper bags and stroller frames.” Bridget laughed softly. “That narrows it down.” “I’ve narrowed it down,” Sally corrected. “Make. Model. Color. Options.” Bridget straightened in her chair, suddenly more attentive. “Oh? I’m listening.” Sally pressed her lips together, trying to keep her composure serious. “You don’t like red.” “I don’t mind red,” Bridget countered gently. “But I wouldn’t mind toning it down.” “You’ve also complained about lifting things,” Sally continued. “You’ll have baby seats. Strollers. Maybe groceries. You said the GLE felt high sometimes.” Bridget nodded slowly. “True.” “And,” Sally went on carefully, “you said you like my Zurich station wagon.” Bridget’s expression softened. “It’s practical.” “It’s low,” Sally added. “Easy loading. Stable. Comfortable. Long. Elegant without being loud.” She hesitated. Sally continued. “I know wagons are sort of… out. Everyone wants SUVs. But wagons are smarter. And they don’t look bad either. Especially the right one.” Bridget leaned back, studying her daughter. “My parents always had station wagons,” Bridget said quietly. “Their last one was one of the last woodie Buicks.” The room shifted. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a subtle hush. Bridget’s gaze drifted downward, one hand resting unconsciously over the gentle curve of her stomach. Sally froze. Her mouth opened slightly. “Mom… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” She reached across the space between them and covered her mother’s hand with her own. Bridget squeezed her fingers and looked up, eyes faintly moist but smiling. “No,” she said softly. “It’s a good memory.” Sally searched her face. “They loaded me into that car for everything,” Bridget continued. “School. Groceries. Road trips. Visiting friends.” She smiled faintly. “Life.” Silence settled gently between them. “So,” Sally said after a moment, voice steadier now. “What do you think about a station wagon? Really.” Bridget took a slow breath. “With the right spec?” she asked. Sally nodded. “Comfort seats. Soft leather. Not black. Something warmer. Good sound system. Nothing flashy. Just… solid.” Bridget’s eyebrows lifted. “You’ve thought about this.” “I did some research,” Sally admitted. That earned her a laugh. “And the color?” Bridget asked. Sally tilted her head. “Silver. Or light green. Understated. Elegant. Timeless.” Bridget smiled fully now. “A station wagon would be great,” she said. Sally blinked. “Really?” “Yes.” Bridget’s voice was steady. “It fits this season. Baby. Travel. Foundation work. Life expanding instead of performing.” Sally leaned back into the sofa, relief mixing with pride. “OK,” she said. “Then I’ll finalize.” Outside, the sea shimmered quietly beyond the terrace. Inside, a daughter had just chosen her mother’s next car. And somehow, it felt like more than a lease renewal. -- Sally stepped out of her bedroom and paused at the end of the hallway. The late afternoon light caught the soft movement of her skirt as she walked forward. Deep ocean teal, high-waisted, falling cleanly to mid-calf. The fabric moved when she did—nothing dramatic, just enough to suggest confidence. A cream silk top rested lightly against her shoulders, simple and structured. Minimal gold hoops. Slim bracelet. Neutral sandals with a modest heel. She didn’t look dressed up. She looked ready. Jana looked up first from the kitchen island. Her eyes scanned once. Shoes. Hemline. Hair. Posture. Approved. “You didn’t overdo it,” Jana said calmly. “Good.” Theresa turned from the sliding glass doors, where she’d been taking a call. She lowered her phone slowly. “Oh,” she said, taking her in. “That’s dangerous.” Sally raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous?” “For everyone else,” Theresa replied dryly. “You look like you know exactly what you’re doing.” Sally smoothed an imaginary crease from her skirt. “I do.” Jana nodded once. “Bag?” Sally lifted the small, structured cream crossbody from the console table and slipped it over her shoulder. Theresa smiled faintly. “All right, Miss Weiss. Let’s go host dinner.” Sally glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror one last time—not to check herself, but to steady herself. Then she turned toward the door. -- The Mercedes moved smoothly along the coastal road, Inside, the air was cool, controlled. Jana sat upright in the front passenger seat, already in her evening composure, scrolling through her phone one last time before tucking it away. Theresa sat beside Sally in the back, unusually quiet, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the tinted glass. Sally studied her for a moment. “What’s up?” she asked, nudging her gently with her elbow. Theresa exhaled through her nose and made a small face. “I didn’t bring anything really fit for Dune,” she admitted under her breath. Sally blinked at her, surprised. “What do you mean? You look great in those.” It was true. Theresa’s loose tailored slacks and crisp white blouse looked effortless, understated, expensive without trying. Her hair was pinned back cleanly, her watch minimal and sharp. Theresa glanced down at herself. “I look like I’m about to negotiate a merger,” she said. “Not dine oceanside under candlelight.” Jana’s voice floated back from the front seat. “You always look like you’re about to negotiate a merger.” Theresa shot her a look through the rearview mirror. “That’s not helpful.” Sally smiled. “You look elegant.” “I look work mode,” Theresa corrected. “And all I packed are different versions of this. Or something too informal.” Sally tilted her head, thinking. Then her expression shifted—bright, decisive. “Well,” she said lightly, “since you don’t need to get ready, you can cruise the shops with me.” Theresa looked at her, skepticism softening into amusement. “You’re recruiting me?” “I prefer the word accompanying,” Sally replied. “Besides, I don’t trust myself around high-end boutiques unsupervised.” Jana snorted quietly in the front. Theresa’s mouth curved. “Might as well, kiddo. If you don’t mind me tagging along.” “Not at all,” Sally said, leaning back into the leather seat. “I missed our shopping outings.” Theresa studied her for a second—long enough to recognize the sincerity. “Got your dad’s credit card in there?” she asked casually, nodding toward Sally’s small bag. Sally lifted her phone and waved it lightly. “Right here.” Theresa’s eyebrow rose. “Efficient.” “Modern,” Sally corrected. “Dangerous,” Jana added from the front. Theresa winked at Sally. “Good girl.” -- The espresso stand was strategically placed—right between the resort entrance and the corridor that led to the boutiques. Impossible to ignore. The smell of fresh coffee drifted through the polished marble walkway, warm and comforting against the salty breeze that slipped in from the ocean. Sally didn’t even pretend to resist. They claimed a small round metal table tucked beside a potted palm. Theresa crossed her legs neatly, composed as ever. Sally leaned forward over her cup, elbows almost touching the table, eyes bright. “How are you keeping up, Theresa? Really,” she pressed, lowering her voice slightly. “How’s the back doing?” Theresa didn’t deflect. She never did with Sally. “Better,” she said simply. “Less episodes. I feel less constrained. More mobile. Flexible, even.” She rotated one shoulder thoughtfully. “I don’t feel like I’m walking around like a Marine on steroids anymore. Warm weather helps.” Sally smiled at that. She had seen the stiffness before. The controlled, almost mechanical posture. “And your equine nerve?” she asked carefully. Theresa’s eyes flickered with appreciation at the tact. “Progressing,” she replied. “Still temperamental at night. I depend on protection to avoid unnecessary drama. But during the day? No physical effects.” Theresa took a slow sip of her espresso, then tilted her head. “My turn,” she said. “How’s your nightly routine?” Sally made a face immediately. “Progressing,” she echoed. “Two half-stars so far.” Theresa blinked. “Half-stars?” Sally grinned despite herself. “One half-star for a dry siesta. That one barely counts. And one half-star for a damp morning. Not as wet as usual.” Theresa raised her cup in solemn mock salute. “Congratulations. You are progressing.” Sally huffed softly. “I didn’t think it would be this noticeable. I thought it would take weeks to see a difference.” Theresa’s mouth curved. “You also took your sweet time actually trying.” Sally frowned, but she couldn’t argue. “I guess I did grow too attached.” “Comfort and security,” Theresa supplied gently. Sally nodded, staring down into the dark surface of her coffee. “Yeah. It felt daunting. Like giving something up.” She looked up again, a quiet spark in her eyes. “But now… I don’t know. I see a light at the end of the tunnel. Like, something’s got to give.” Theresa studied her for a moment—not teasing now. Proud. “Katrina will be disappointed,” she said lightly. “She doesn’t say much, but she clearly enjoys sending you those adorable diapers.” Sally’s cheeks went pink instantly. “Let her send them,” she muttered. “I’ll find use for them. Lazy Saturdays. Studio days. When I’m painting and don’t want to break momentum.” “That’s my pampered princess,” Theresa laughed softly. Sally rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Now,” Theresa said, draining the last of her espresso and setting the tiny cup down with purpose, “shall we rescue my wardrobe from corporate despair?” Sally straightened in her chair, energized. “Yeah.” She stood, smoothing her skirt, adjusting the strap of her delicate bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go find you something that doesn’t look like you’re about to restructure a multinational conglomerate.” Theresa rose beside her, composed again—but lighter. “Lead the way,” she said. And together they stepped into the polished corridor of glass-fronted boutiques, coffee-warmed and quietly victorious. -- The boutique looked like it charged admission just to inhale. Theresa slowed at the entrance, one eyebrow lifting. “No,” she said calmly. “Absolutely not.” Sally didn’t even break stride. “Absolutely yes.” The glass doors opened soundlessly, releasing a wash of cool, perfumed air. Cream walls. Sand-colored silk. A mannequin wearing something that looked like it had its own passport. Theresa stopped just inside. “Sally. I could buy a small hatchback for what one of these dresses costs.” “Good thing you’re not buying,” Sally replied lightly. “I am.” Theresa crossed her arms. “Kiddo—” Sally turned, expression steady now. Not playful. Not teasing. “It’s on me,” she said quietly. “Tonight is my dinner. You’re part of my team. And you don’t get to sit there looking like you’re about to audit someone.” A sales consultant approached—elegant, composed, the kind of woman who never blinked at a price tag. “Good afternoon,” she said warmly. “Looking for something special?” “Yes,” Sally answered before Theresa could object. “Evening. Oceanfront. Social but refined. She’s strong lines, structured, but not stiff. Nothing fussy. And no beige.” Theresa exhaled slowly. “You’ve thought about this.” “Obviously.” The consultant smiled knowingly and disappeared between racks. Theresa lowered her voice. “You don’t have to do this.” Sally met her eyes. “I want to.” A pause. “We were in the same wreck,” Sally added quietly. “Same jet. Same twisted metal. Same hospital.” Theresa’s posture softened. “You learned to walk again,” Sally continued. “I learned to breathe without panicking. You stood next to me when I couldn’t sleep. Let me buy you a dress.” Theresa’s jaw tightened just slightly. “You don’t owe me,” she said. “I know,” Sally replied. “That’s the point.” The consultant returned with three options. A deep navy silk wrap dress. A structured ivory jumpsuit. And then— A midnight-blue tailored skirt set. Clean lines. Soft sheen. The top asymmetric, one shoulder subtly defined. Elegant without trying. Theresa touched the fabric. “Try it,” Sally said. “I hate you,” Theresa muttered, but she disappeared into the fitting room. When she stepped out, the air shifted. The blue caught the light. The cut sharpened her posture without hardening it. It didn’t look corporate. It looked powerful. Sally’s eyes widened. “There she is,” she breathed. Theresa glanced at her reflection. Turned slightly. Studied herself. “I look…” she began. “Like you,” Sally finished. Not the Marine. Not the patient. Not the woman who learned to sit without pain. Just Theresa. Theresa looked at Sally through the mirror. “You grew up fast,” she said softly. “So did you,” Sally replied. The consultant hovered politely. “Shall I prepare it?” “Yes,” Sally said immediately. Theresa sighed—but she was smiling now. “You are impossible.” “Correct.” At the register, Sally tapped her phone without hesitation. As they stepped back into the bright corridor, garment bag in hand, Theresa nudged her lightly with her elbow. “Sister,” she murmured. Sally glanced sideways. “Yeah.” They didn’t say more. They didn’t need to.

Chapter 47 The next morning, as I was cleaning her up from a particularly stinky diaper, I leaned in and said softly, “We need to talk.” Besty looked up at me, thumb already halfway to her mouth, eyes wide and curious. There was no resistance—just quiet attention, like she sensed something meaningful was about to unfold. I finished the change, wrapped up the diaper, and sat down beside her. The air between us felt still, expectant. “I’ve noticed you’ve been leaning into this baby mood more and more,” I said gently. “And I want to understand what it means for you. For us.” She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she nestled against me, thumb firmly in place, her silence speaking volumes. It wasn’t avoidance—it was comfort. A kind of wordless trust. She was letting me in, even if she wasn’t quite ready to explain. I wrapped an arm around her and let the quiet linger. Whatever this was, it was unfolding in its own time. And I was here for it—ready to listen, ready to understand, ready to meet her where she was After a long, thoughtful pause, with her still wrapped in silence, I lifted Besty into my arms and carried her outside. The morning was soft and still, the kind of calm that settles over everything like a warm blanket. We eased into a chair on the porch, and she curled up effortlessly in my lap—so small, so naturally at home there. Her head rested against my chest, and without thinking, I began to gently pat her diaper in a slow, steady rhythm. It was soothing—for both of us. The silence between us wasn’t heavy. It felt natural, like it belonged to the morning itself. Birds chirped in the distance, and a light breeze rustled the trees. I leaned down and whispered, “Take your time. There’s no rush.” She didn’t respond with words, but the way she nestled deeper into me, thumb in her mouth, said more than any sentence could. Trust. Safety. Contentment. We sat like that for a while, letting the world move gently around us. Then, after about ten minutes, she slowly pulled her thumb from her mouth and looked up at me. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Please don’t stop doing that.” I looked down, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Stop doing what?” I asked softly. She hesitated, her eyes drifting toward the horizon, as if searching for the right words. Then, after a quiet moment, she murmured, “Patting my diaper. I like that.” I blinked, surprised—not because of what she said, but because I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. It had become instinctive, a quiet rhythm of reassurance that had woven itself into our time together. A gesture of care that needed no explanation. And just like that, her thumb slipped back into her mouth, and she nestled in again. We sat there for another twenty minutes, wrapped in silence. I kept gently patting her diaper, a quiet rhythm that seemed to comfort us both. She stayed curled on my lap, thumb in her mouth, completely at ease. The lake stretched out before us, still and glassy, catching the morning light like a mirror. It was just me, her, and the sound of quiet. Then I heard a soft sound—barely more than a breath—and glanced down. She was slowly pulling her thumb from her mouth, pausing as if gathering her thoughts. Her eyes stayed fixed on the lake, but something in her posture shifted. The silence wasn’t just stillness anymore—it was waiting. She sat like that for a moment longer, then finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you think I’m a freak… liking this stuff.” The words hung in the air, fragile and brave. It wasn’t just a confession—it was a test of trust, a moment of raw honesty. And it deserved a response rooted in care, not judgment. After about ten minutes of quiet, I gently asked, “Why do you think you’re a freak?” She didn’t respond right away. Her thumb lingered in her mouth, a quiet rhythm of comfort, as her gaze drifted across the lake—eyes tracing the ripples like they held answers she hadn’t yet found. The silence stretched between us, not awkward, but intentional. Like she was sifting through thoughts too delicate to rush. Eventually, she pulled her thumb out and turned to me, her voice soft but unwavering. “Because most people don’t do what I do,” she said. “They don’t wear diapers. They don’t act like a baby. They don’t… need it.” Her eyes met mine, steady and searching—not for permission, but for something deeper. Understanding. Recognition. “I know it’s not normal,” she continued, her voice barely above the breeze. “But it makes me feel safe. Like I don’t have to pretend. Like I can just… be. No masks. No expectations. Just me.” I let her words settle, absorbing the quiet courage it took to speak them aloud. Then I nodded, my voice gentle. “Feeling safe isn’t something to be ashamed of,” I said. “And needing comfort doesn’t make you strange. It makes you human.” She leaned into me again, her thumb slipping back into its familiar place with practiced ease. In the hush that followed, something shifted—subtle but unmistakable. Not just in her posture, but in the space between us. A quiet deepening. Trust, no longer tentative, but rooted. Her eyes met mine, steady and searching, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll tell you why,” she said, with a seriousness that made the moment feel sacred. “Because I’m sitting here on your lap in a soggy diaper. I haven’t worn a top all morning. You’ve changed me more times than I can count these past few days… even when it’s messy.” She paused, letting the truth settle between us like dust in sunlight. “I like running around outside sometimes in just a diaper. Sometimes nothing at all. I’ve been sucking my thumb a lot lately. And I’ve realized… I love wearing diapers. I love using them. It’s not just comfort—it’s who I am when I feel safe.” I like it when you are changing my diapers. I really like it when you rub the diaper rash ointment on my bottom and when you are rubbing in the baby powder on my front. Lately when you have been cleaning me up, I have been getting these funny feelings inside of me. So, I take it that I must be a freak then. She just said I am not a freak. Well, I must be because I like having you sitting on my lap in a soggy diaper, and I like it that your boobs are out in the open. I like every diaper change that I have given you a wet one or a poopie one. I just like changing you. I also like it when you are running around in just a diaper and even when you are naked. Because I got to see your boob. She laughs at that and asks me if I have given her boobs a close look. Because she says her boobs weren’t that big. I told her they are big enough. I then went on to tell her that I like seeing her suck her thumb, she looks very cutie sucking on it. You talk about getting funny feelings when I am changing you. I can not see those feelings, but you sure can tell when I get those funny feelings every time when I change you. She looks at me and says she sure can. At times I think your erection couldn’t get any bigger but somehow it does. So, you have been looking at my penis. Well at night it’s kindly hard not to look, as you are naked when you’re getting me ready for bed, and you do sleep naked, and I love seeing your morning wood. “So, I ask you again,” I said, my voice low but steady, “am I a freak?” She didn’t flinch. She just looked at me—really looked at me—with eyes that held no judgment, only quiet understanding. “No,” she said simply. “Okay then,” I replied, tilting my head slightly. “Are you a freak?” She hesitated for a moment, but I didn’t wait for her to answer. “I’ll answer that for you, Betsy. You’re not a freak. Not even close.” I leaned in gently, careful not to disturb the fragile trust that had settled between us like morning dew—delicate, glistening, easily shattered. “Can I ask you something?” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just to understand better. When it comes to the diapers… is it something you still need at night, or is it more about comfort? About wanting to wear them?” Betsy didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, steady and unguarded. There was a quiet strength in her gaze, but beneath it, a flicker of vulnerability—like a candle burning behind frosted glass. “Anytime I fall asleep,” she said, her voice low and even, “I better have one on. Because I’ll wet. And I won’t even know it until I wake up.” She paused, letting the truth settle between us. Then, with a breath that felt like the release of something long held, she added, “I haven’t woken up in a dry diaper… ever.” There was no trace of shame in her words. No hesitation. Just a calm, matter-of-fact acceptance of her reality. It wasn’t a confession—it was a truth she had made peace with. And in that moment, I saw the courage it took to say it aloud. I nodded slowly, letting the weight of her honesty sink in. “Thank you for telling me that,” I said gently. “It really helps me understand.” There was a moment of silence, not awkward, but reflective. Then I asked, just as softly, “Do you know why you’ve been sucking your thumb so much lately? And why you seem okay just wearing a diaper and no top during the day?” She looked down for a second, then back up at me. There was something thoughtful in her eyes, like she’d been wondering the same thing herself. She gazed off for a moment, her expression distant, as if sifting through memories long tucked away. Then she spoke, her voice low and sincere, each word carefully chosen. “It takes me back… to when we were little. You remember, don’t you? I always had something in my mouth—my thumb, a pacifier—until I was nearly six. It was like a comfort anchor, something that made the world feel less overwhelming.” A faint smile tugged at her lips, tinged with nostalgia. “And those hot summer days… when I was still in diapers full time. Mom didn’t fuss. If it was warm enough, she’d just let me run around outside in one. No clothes, no expectations. Just the sun, the grass, and the freedom to be small. Life felt simpler then. Safer.” She paused, her eyes glistening with something tender and vulnerable. Her voice softened, barely above a whisper. “I’ve realized… I like being in diapers full time. Being treated like a toddler—it’s not just about comfort. It’s about feeling protected. Like the world can’t touch me when I’m in that space. It’s where I feel most safe.” I reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, meeting her gaze with quiet understanding. “So if I treated you like a toddler,” I asked, my voice steady but kind, “with everything that comes with it—would that be okay with you?” She gave a small, deliberate nod, her eyes steady and clear. There was no hesitation in her gaze—just quiet acceptance, like she’d made peace with being seen. I wrapped my arms around her a little tighter, letting the gesture speak for me. “Then I’ll be here for you,” I murmured. “However you need to feel safe.” She leaned into me, her thumb slipping back into her mouth, and whispered around it, “Thank you.” We stayed like that for a while—close, quiet, wrapped in a stillness that felt sacred. The breeze off the lake stirred the trees, but between us, everything was calm. Until I felt it: a slow warmth spreading through my shorts. Her diaper had leaked. I glanced down, saw the dampness, and sighed softly. But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t pull away. She’d already gotten me wet, and honestly, it didn’t matter. What mattered was her comfort. Her trust. Without a word, I shifted my hold and picked her up gently. She nestled against me, her head resting on my shoulder, thumb still in her mouth. Her body relaxed completely in my arms, trusting me without question. I carried her inside, each step quiet and deliberate, toward the changing table. Toward care. Toward the safety she’d found in me.

Instead of my usual bathroom access anxiety dreams (Can't find a clean working potty) last night I dreamt I kept wetting myself over and over no matter what I was doing. It was weird, not as annoying as the access dreams.

Wow. Sally is at another level. Still a teen, but stepping into the role of a mature heiress. Her special friendship with Theresa gives the story a warm vibe. It’s not just about herself. Looking forward to the dinner.

I would probably have said, up to a short time ago, that I have no regrets at turning myself back into a bedwetter. I'd been an accomplished member of the Nocturnal Enuresis Club as a kid, outgrowing it in my 10th year, and then I put myself back in diapers about 7 years ago, and went down a road wherein I basically transitioned from wetting deliberately, at night, when I had to, to doing it automatically, without waking up. Since I hope to wear diapers in perpetuity, I didn't really worry much about that. However, I had an incident a few weeks ago, where I slept over at a buddy's place, after having some drinks, and my diaper leaked prolifically. It was outrageously inconvenient, and also embarrassing, to have to admit to what happened, and then offer to do the laundry, basically. That's when I fully realized that I had to treat my self-imposed "condition" seriously, and that it was possible that I couldn't go back, even if I wanted to. Whereas, daytime control has not been an issue - my cruising range has declined, but I can hold it for a bit when I need to. I bought some absurdly bulky terry-lined plastic pants, and while I don't use them at home, if I'm sleeping on a bed I don't own, I have to wear them. That made a trip I took recently, where I was slated to share a room with a friend, in a rented condo, more challenging, from a discretion perspective, because I basically had to look like I had a pillow wrapped around my midsection, on my way to and from bed, until I could get changed. Plus, those plastic pants, and the overnight diapers themselves, consume a lot of space in my luggage. So, I do somewhat regret that I've been this "successful" in replicating the diaper dependency of my childhood - I used to worry about sleepovers then, as well. But would I go back, and try to "re-train"? No.

Just make sure the onesie's aren't cute baby print ones. That might defeat the purpose....

When Maddy gets out of the hospital, I wonder what's going to be a bigger problem for her to deal with: the ongoing economic situation plaguing Canada's underground beetle-fighting industry, or Dr. Seuss's ghost's ongoing feud with Mr. Rogers' zombie. Y'know. Since we're all just making shit up. Great chapter, as usual. I wish I had the time to work on my story and have fans that pull invented nonsense out of thin air.

Chapter 1 (of 10) Note: This story is about consenting adult characters and was written with a mature, 18+ audience in mind. Vodka tasted better when you drank it out of Communion cups. Or at least, I figured it would. This was a first. I tipped the cheap-ass vodka into the tiny plastic cups, watching the clear liquid settle. They were practically shot glasses for evangelicals. Dan and Amanda watched me. They sat on a stack of dusty old hymnals in the storage room. “Isn’t this, you know…blasphemous?” Dan asked. I rolled my eyes, steadying my hand as I topped off the third cup. This shit was damn near impossible to get when you were nineteen and lived in a religious bubble; I wasn’t going to waste a single drop. “You’re supposed to put alcohol in them,” I said. “That’s the whole point.” “Wine,” Amanda said quietly. “The body of Christ. Not…what is this again?” “Vodka,” I said. “Where’d you even get this stuff?” Dan asked. I grinned and pressed the tiny cups into their hands. “I have my ways.” I raised my cup. “Here’s to the most fun any of us will ever have at church.” Dan frowned. Amanda giggled. They tinked their plastic cups against mine. I threw mine back, the liquor scorching my throat, leaving a warmth deep in my chest. Dan coughed and sputtered. “Wow, that’s strong.” I smirked, warmth spreading through my limbs. “Uh-huh.” Amanda tossed hers back. A flicker of pink crept up her neck, but she bit back the cough that tried to escape. Our eyes met, and she smiled. Not the polite, church-picnic smile. This one lingered. A little crooked. Like we’d just committed a crime together and gotten away with it. I smiled back at her. “Alright, round two.” “Round two?” Dan gasped. “I’m sure there’s wafers in one of these boxes if you need something to settle your stomach first.” “That’s definitely blasphemous,” he said. “Okay, keep your panties on,” I told Dan. Amanda, you can go right ahead and take yours off. She giggled. Her flushed cheeks glowed in the dim light. She tugged her shirt lower, thinking I wasn’t looking. Conservative, high-cut—the kind of blouse a hot girl could get away with at a place like Antioch Independent Baptist. Still, that extra bit of skin was enough to spark heat behind my eyes. I opened my backpack and pulled out a raspberry seltzer and three styrofoam cups. “Seriously? You had something to mix that crap with?” Dan said. “Why didn’t you do that in the first place?” “Come on,” Amanda said. “We can drink it how he wants.” I raised the bottle of vodka. “Exactly.” I set the bottle aside and began filling one of the cups on top of a stack of extra Bibles. “Round two coming up.” “You see that Bespoke is coming to The Pavilion in a few weeks?” Amanda said. “No way!” I spun around too fast, knocking the seltzer over. It crashed onto the Bibles, then tumbled onto my lap, a cold flood soaking straight through my khakis. “Fuck!” Dan frowned. “Dude, not in church.” Amanda jumped up. “I’ll find something to soak it up. There’s probably napkins or paper towels or something in here.” I waved her off, shifting in my now-clammy pants. The smell of artificial raspberry clung to the air. “It’s fine. I’m just going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t drink all of it without me.” She giggled. I closed the storage room door behind me and walked down the dark church hallway. Let her drink the whole bottle. I didn’t care. I’d never seen her this loose. This unguarded. When I got back, maybe we could ditch Dan. She might do more than tug down her shirt if he wasn’t around. The way she looked at me…that wasn’t just the vodka talking. “Thomas?” I froze. A blonde head peeked out of the nursery. “Hi!” Shit. “Hey, Hope,” I said. She beamed and stepped fully into the hallway. That prairie-floral dress she always wore made Amanda’s blouse look like clubwear. Still, it didn’t hide the curve of her hips. Not completely. “I thought I was the only one here,” she said. “I’m on nursery duty this month. Not that it’s a duty--I volunteered. What’s more important than taking care of our little ones while mom and dad are learning about the Lord, right?” “Right.” “I thought it could use an extra deep clean and some reorganization. Figured it’ll take me a few Wednesdays, so I might as well get started now.” She looked at me expectantly. “Cool. I’m, uh, doing something similar. Mark has been asking me to help out with the audio stuff, so I was learning the new mixing board.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Ohhhh. That is so sweet. I’m sure he will appreciate it. The whole flock will. Are you--” She stopped, her eyes taking in the huge wet stain on the front of my pants. “Uh, yeah…I had a bit of an accident.” Godammit. Fantastic choice of words, dumbass. Her brows drew together. “Oh, Thomas. Come on. I’ll help you out with that.” “I just meant I spilled something. I can--” “Oh, don’t be silly.” She gestured me into the nursery with that same no-questions tone she used when I was ten and covered in marker. “I have some paper towels in here.” Great. Just get it over with. The less she followed me around sniffing for answers, the better. And my breath had to reek of vodka. The nursery glowed with dim amber light--a lamb-shaped nightlight and a lamp next to the rocking chair. It smelled like baby lotion, apple juice, and graham cracker crumbs blended with the faint mustiness of Little Golden storybooks. Hope handed me a roll of paper towels. “Here you go.” “Thanks.” She frowned. A flicker of something---suspicion?--crossed her face. “What was it you said you were doing? Were you cleaning, too, or…?” Shiiiiit. She smells it. My mouth went dry. “I was just. Yeah. I--” “Are you okay?” Hope asked. “Your face is flushed. Did you spill cleaner? Come on, let’s go look together. Those fumes are no joke.” “No!” She startled. “I mean,” I took a deep breath, “I had an accident.” Her expression melted into concern. “Thomas. Oh. These things happen, I suppose. Did you--” She shook her head. “Never mind. None of my business. Let’s get you sorted out.” I waved the paper towels around. “This is great, thanks.” She rummaged through a drawer. “You remember when I used to babysit you and your sister? Seems so long ago now, doesn’t it?” “It was so long ago. Thanks for the paper towels, I think I’m gonna go.” She turned around with a diaper in her hand. It had a smiling Burt and Ernie on it. “You remember the first time I ever watched you? Your mom was going to some meeting. You waddled out in your bedwetting diaper, not realizing I was there, and--” “You must be thinking of Annabelle. She was the bedwetter.” Hope smiled. “Hhhhmm. In any case, I was thinking you could slip this down in your underwear. Just in case, you know?” She fluffed the diaper with practiced fingers, like she was straightening a corsage. Soft. Intimate. Familiar. I snatched the diaper from her. “Sure. Okay.” “I’ll turn around.” She spun around and faced the wall. “Look, I appreciate your help. But, I’ve got it handled.” “It’s okay to be shy. Modesty is so important and so devalued in the world today. I promise I won’t look. Exodus 28:42--You shall make for them linen undergarments to cover their naked flesh. They shall reach from the hips to the thighs." She giggled. God. She was only a few years older, but she still acted like my babysitter. Even during piano lessons years later, she’d muss my hair and call me nicknames like I was still in diapers. Apparently, full circle now. I unbuttoned my jeans and shoved the diaper down inside, fumbling to get into some sort of position that wouldn’t look like I was wearing, well, a diaper. I glanced up. She still faced the wall. A small part of me wished she’d turn around. A bigger part knew I’d drop dead if she did. I zipped up. The thing wasn’t even taped, and it still made the front of my jeans bulge like I was smuggling a muffin. She turned around. Her eyes flickered downward for a second. “You’d hardly even notice.” My stomach dropped. Hardly notice? Then she pulled me into a hug. Her arms were warm. Familiar. She smelled like lavender and something sweet that I couldn’t quite place. The press of her chest against mine was all soft curves and holy restraint. My hands hovered awkwardly before settling lightly on her back. She pulled and ruffled my hair. “I’m so proud of you. You’re growing into such a responsible young man, dealing with a challenge like this. Just remember: many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all." *** “Dude, where have you been?” Dan asked. “Amanda left. She had SAT test prep or something.” He was still perched on his stack of hymnals, glued to his phone. “When did she leave? Maybe I can catch her before--” “Uh, what is in your pants?” Dan asked. “Is that…actually, what is that?” “I did what I had to. Paper towels and all. Not a lot of options.” I turned away from him and pulled my backpack from behind a milk crate full of those horrific Chick tracts. Amanda being gone sucked. Big time. No reason not to have enough shot, though. Actually, it was a great reason to have another shot. Or two. “It was your idea to meet here, man. I said we could go park, or, like…anywhere. Somewhere no one would see us.” I sighed. “Not a lot of spare pants at Berring Park or behind the Walmart Tire and Lube either, are there? And if we just disappeared for a few hours and came back smelling like booze, your mom would’ve sniffed it out instantly. But tell her up front you were going to church to help me with AV, a fact that the deacons could back up if checked, and…” He was silent for a minute. I loved the guy, but he’d never figured out how to skirt around the rules. Sometimes, I wondered if he even tried. “Good point,” he finally said. “But you still haven’t told me why you have a beach ball in your pants.” Heat flushed my face. I pulled the bottle of vodka back out of my pack and sat on the stack of hymnals across from him. The padding, mostly bunched up in the front, but also pressing weirdly under my balls and ass--made sitting feel weirdly floaty. Like sitting on a pillow. Or like that time a dish towel got wadded up in my jeans in the laundry. “Gonna have to take it straight,” I said. “All the seltzer is on my pants. No coughing or bitching this time, either. Gotta keep it quiet. Hope is here.” “Your old piano teacher?” I swished the bottle of vodka in his face. “Earth to Dan. You wanna drink or not?” He leaned back, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “You smell like…I dunno. A girl?” “Do…you…want…a shot?” “Not as much as I wanna know why you were gone so long and came back with a wad of something stuffed in your pants. “ I slammed the vodka bottle down on the thin, musty carpet, stood up, and yanked open my pants, exposing the wadded-up diaper. “Is that…a diaper?” he asked. “Happy?” I snapped. “Can we drink now?” He nodded. “So, uh…” “Hope’s idea.” I buttoned my pants up, sat down, and grabbed the bottle of vodka. “So she’s still here? What if she--” I waved him off. “She won’t. She’s busy with this nursery project or whatever.” And she’d seemed weirdly satisfied with the outcome of our interaction. “Huh.” “Figured if I pushed back, maybe she'd guess something else was up,” I said. “Come looking for us. Didn’t want you getting in trouble.” I set two of the Communion cups down and started to pour. “Sounds like Hope. She never quite grew out of that babysitter thing.” “She never quite grew out of that Charity Churchmouse, holier-than-thou shit,” I said. “She’s what, twenty-five?” Dan shrugged. “I mean, she probably believes in it or whatever. It’s not something everyone wants to ‘grow out of.’” “Sure. Whatever.” I handed him the cup. “Aren’t you going to…?” he raised his eyebrows. “Dude, I told you: no more seltzer.” He pointed at my crotch and chuckled, awkward and too loud. “No. I mean…why haven’t you taken it off?” “I’m…it’s not on,” I snapped. “Like, taped or whatever. I just jammed it in there so she’d back off.” “Okay. Seems like it’d be pretty easy to--” “You could’ve tried ‘thank you for taking one for the team.’” I reached into my pants, yanked out the diaper, and chucked it at him. He batted it away like it was radioactive. “Gross!” He stood up, brushing invisible germs off his pants. “You know what, I’m good for now. I’ve gotta get back home to take care of the chickens.” “Fine.” I tossed his drink back. “See you later.” “Yeah. Cool.” Once he was gone, I slipped the bottle into my backpack and dumped the communion cups in the trash along with the balled-up diaper. Burt and Ernie stared up at me, grinning like smug little assholes. I hesitated, then snatched it back and stuffed it into my pack. No way was I leaving that here. Too many questions I didn’t want to answer. Chapter 2 One week later. I stared down at the rust-stained toilet bowl in the church basement, willing myself to relax. I felt warm. Too warm. Almost sweaty, despite the wheezing AC. This shouldn’t be so difficult. My bladder was full--the Monster I’d chugged on the 15-minute drive from my job at Larette Lumber to the church saw to that. All I had to do was what I’d done a million times. “Piss, goddammit.” Nothing about this place made me want to stick around. The neon light hummed and crackled in the otherwise quiet church. A vaguely sulfur stink--a smell that had hurried me along for years--hung in the air. The bathroom had been a refuge, of sorts, but always a shitty one. I’d tried a cigarette in here once and accidentally set off the fire alarm. Another time, I’d complained of a stomach bug to dodge Bible study and then been ratted out for playing Breath of the Wild in a stall. I’d still never figured out who snitched. This little scheme of mine was a mistake. Apparently, my body knew that, too, and wasn’t going to cooperate. But once the idea had popped into my head a week ago, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’d been lying in bed, jerking off to the usual highlights reel, when I imagined Hope. Not naked. Not in a bikini--something almost harder to imagine than her naked--but in her flowery dress. We were in the nursery. She’d pressed against me, her breasts soft under all that fabric. Then she’d squeezed my dick through my pants. But not just through my pants: through the diaper. I’d exploded. Since then, I’d replayed it a dozen times, each time iterating and adding details but never deviating from the core elements: Hope and a diaper. A stupid, fucking diaper. It shouldn’t work. Like, at all. But the half-empty box of tissues next to my bed spoke volumes. I needed it out of my head. A real-life experience to show my dumbass brain that Hope plus diapers was about as sexy as athlete’s foot. Finally, gloriously, a steady stream splashed the toilet water. I sighed with relief. I let it flow for a good twenty seconds, and then I clamped off the stream. If this were a video game, my yellow piss bar would be flashing a warning that I was nearly empty. Now for step two. I pulled my boxers and jeans back into place and closed my eyes. I imagined my dick flopped out with a clear shot to the toilet. I relaxed. Warmth bloomed in my pants almost instantly. Just a couple of seconds. The floodgates opened. A hot stream snaked down my leg, soaking my sock. My eyes shot open. The dark spot I’d imagined—a demure little ‘oopsie’—was a fucking flood. A lake breaking its banks. Neighborhoods underwater. Bodies floating. FEMA too late. Fuck fuck fuck! This wasn’t bad—it was catastrophic. All the images of Hope down on her knees, big green eyes looking up at me as she dabbed at my damp patch with a diaper in her other hand, blinked out. Replaced by the mental image of me sneaking out of church, building a napkin nest on my car seat, and then somehow sneaking into my mother’s house for once. I couldn’t delay. This wasn’t going to fix itself, and every moment I stood here in my pissed pants just hammered home what a complete idiot I was. Cold dampness clung to my thighs as I crept down the dimly lit hallway of the church basement. Every step made the wet fabric of my jeans stick to my skin. The squish-squish-squish of my soaked shoes sounded obscene. I hoped--no, I begged--Hope wouldn’t hear the squelch of my shoes against the linoleum. I inched toward the nursery door. A golden rectangle of light in the dark hallway. Hope hummed softly. ‘There’s Room at the Cross for You.’ Just keep humming. Keep cleaning. Ten more seconds. I moved like Indiana Jones creeping through a temple, every step a test. Except no poison darts, no boulder—just the risk of utter, world-ending humiliation. Honestly, I’d take the boulder. I passed through the light, eyes on the exit door ahead, and then back into the darkness. “Thomas?” My guts lurched into my throat. She stepped into the hallway. Same kind of dress as last week. Same prairie modesty. Same barely-hidden curves. “Hey. Didn’t know you were going to be here. I gotta run. Told Mom I’d help with dinner tonight.” She peered into the shadows. “And you weren’t even gonna say hello? You know better than that.” “Sorry. Kinda in a hurry.” She stepped closer. Paused. “Thomas, did you…” “No!” My voice sounded faint and raspy, like I was calling up from the bottom of a deep, dry well. “I was afraid this might happen. Come here. I have something to help.” “I’ll take care of it.” She caught my wrist and pulled me into the light. “Clearly not.” I could’ve pulled away from her. I should’ve pulled away from her. But then what? Then our weird little secret wouldn’t be such a secret. She’d tell someone. My mother, god forbid. Or maybe even worse, one of her friends. I was stuck in this steepled prison until I could move out, and I couldn’t move out until I got a raise. My ‘accident’ looked so much worse in the light. Or maybe it was just seeing it through her eyes. She folded her arms and tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Again?” Her eyes flicked down to the dark stain on my jeans before meeting my gaze again, soft with understanding—but undeniably patronizing. “That must’ve been so embarrassing for you.” Of course it was embarrassing. Was it worse because I’d done it on purpose? She crossed to a wooden dresser, trailing her fingers over the chipped paint, where faded red and blue animals marched across the drawers. “Luckily, I found something that will help when I was cleaning. You remember that young man with a disability who used to attend? Jonathan? His parents kept a package of adult-sized diapers in the nursery. I think they’d fit you.” I laughed. A dry, nervous bark. She turned, holding up a half-empty package of diapers. The plastic crinkled in her grip. “You’re serious?” I asked. “Seems like you’re not serious enough. What does the Bible say about putting away childish things?” “I’m not…This isn’t…” I rubbed my forehead. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I’m handling it.” She let her gaze drop to my pants—slow, deliberate. The wet fabric clung to my skin, a humiliating badge of childish failure. Then, just as slowly, she lifted her eyes to mine. I ground my teeth. “I will handle it.” “Accidents are nothing to be ashamed of. I’m sure you can’t help wetting your pants any more than Jonathan could.” A pause. A calculated breath. “Or any more than you could help wetting the bed when you were six, right?” My stomach twisted. “I told you that was my sister.” “Or is there something you’re not telling me?” Those green eyes, so seductive and welcoming in my fantasies, were cold now. Unblinking. Unrelenting. She knows she knows she knows. “Thomas?” she pressed. “We’ve always been friends. And friends are truthful with one another. Accidents are nothing to be ashamed of are they?” “No,” I croaked. She seemed to consider, then nodded. “Alright, then. If accidents aren’t shameful, the only shame is not taking responsibility for them.” The plastic rustled as she reached into the pack. She pulled out a massive white diaper—bigger than last week’s. More substantial. More inescapable. She held it out. I swallowed hard and took it. It was heavier than I expected. The plastic whispered against my fingers. “Have you not been wearing any protection?” she asked. “I thought last week made it clear how important that was.” A pause. A shift in her tone. “Unless the problem is more… sporadic?” This was my out. But explaining that it was all a misunderstanding wouldn’t work. Not anymore. I’d burned that bridge and pissed all over it. But how did she know? She didn’t. Couldn’t possibly. Not for sure. But she might strongly suspect. She’d caught me in too many lies over the years: when she was babysitting, and I snuck downstairs to eat the whole box of ice cream sandwiches—held my ground until I vomited all over the carpet. Then, when I was her piano student, swearing I’d practiced when I hadn’t touched The Essential Hymn Anthology in a week. She always saw through my bullshit. “It’s becoming more regular,” I said. “The problem, I mean.” What are you doing? She pursed her lips. “Mom doesn’t know about it yet.” Her eyes flickered. “Really?” “She’s been busy with work. I figured I’d handle it. Didn’t want her to worry. And, you know, money’s been tight…” “I see.” Shut your mouth, you blathering idiot. “Right. So if we could just keep this between us for now that’d be best for her.” She stared for a long moment. “If I can be certain you’re addressing your problem in a manner that befits a child of God, I suppose I can refrain for now. I…” She paused. “Do you need any help?” Her voice remained steady, but her cheeks darkened. “With the diaper, I mean?” Blood roared in my ears. “I do work in the nursery, after all,” she continued. “And changing diapers is very much a nursery task.” A breath. A hesitation. “We would leave the door open, of course. So anyone walking by would see nothing—” “No!” I cut in. Too sharp, too fast. “Thanks, but no. I’ll handle it.” She straightened. Smoothed the front of her dress. “I’ll give you the room, then. Just open the door when you’re done.” She paused in the doorway. “I’ll need to see it when you’re done. To make certain you’ve done a good job.” I nodded. The door clicked closed. I exhaled. A slow, shaking breath. My dick had dug a hole. My mouth had pulled the dirt in on top of me. So why didn’t you let her help? At least then you’d get something out of it. Those soft fingers drawing down your underwear? Wiping down your shaft? She’d be bent over, her breasts hanging low in that dress. Maybe—just maybe—it’d slip low enough you could catch sight of her nipples. Or— I shook my head. Focus. I was half-hard in piss-soaked underwear, standing in the church nursery with a diaper in my hand. If ever there was a sign I wasn’t thinking straight, this was it. I needed to put this thing on and get out of here before I somehow made this even worse. Six-step instructions were on the back of the package. I dropped the package on the carpet—a brightly-colored view of city streets I vaguely remembered driving Hot Wheels on—and peeled off my jeans. The underwear—plastered to my skin—absolutely reeked of urine. As did the jeans. Putting those back on was going to suck. One problem at a time. I spread the diaper out on the floor and lowered myself onto it. I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down. If I did, I’d talk myself out of it, and then what? A tearful confession and pleas not to report me to the church elders and my mother for lying and scheming and sexual perversion? I drew the front of the damn thing up to my bellybutton and taped it on, then stood up. The plastic crinkled when I did, bunching up awkwardly between my legs. If I put on ten pairs of boxer briefs, they might be half as thick as this thing. How did anyone wear one without being constantly distracted? I took a deep breath and cracked the door. “Hope?” She seemed taller. Like she was looking down at me, even though she wasn’t. She circled me, slow, assessing. “How’d I do?” I asked. “Well…” My stomach clenched. Why the hell did I care if she thought I’d put on a diaper properly?! “We’ll work on it,” she said. “Wait. We’ll—” “May I?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her fingers brushed the front of the diaper. She peeled a tape loose. Smoothed it. Refastened it. Then the bottom tape. Her knuckles grazed me. Muted through the thick layers. Soft, but all the more electric for it. She stepped back and smiled. “Much better. Make sure you take the pack with you when you leave.” The diaper did feel better. Tighter, but more symmetrical. “Oh, and I have one more thing for you,” she said. “Something else I found last week, after you left.” She opened a battered cardboard box sitting on a shelf. I recognized that box from the storage room. “These are the costumes from old plays. Christmas, Easter, and some of those silly ones Pastor Jenkins did.” She held out a pair of billowy brown pants that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Captain Blackbeard, but were probably meant to be for a wise man or Joseph or something. They beat the clammy, piss-soaked jeans, at least. “Thanks,” I said, pulling them on. “You know, Thomas, it’s been so nice catching up with you. I really think we should start your piano lessons again. You’re so talented, and it would be a lot of fun. Plus, I could help support you in this new phase of life. I’ll see you Tuesdays and Thursdays after work.” I nodded numbly. As if I could say anything but ‘yes.’ As if it were even a question. *** I didn’t make it home. Not even close. Every bump in the road—every sharp turn and stop sign—rubbed the diaper against my parts. Which should have annoyed me. Embarrassed me. And it did embarrass me. Those crinkles and the feeling of the soft padding cradling my balls and forcing my thighs apart were humiliating. But also exciting. I was replaying our nursery interaction for the third time when I yanked the wheel and pulled off into a long-shuttered Citgo. The car behind me stood on its horn. I didn’t care. I barely noticed. I needed to replay that nursery scene again, except this time I’d accept her offer for help. I swung around the back of the building, out of sight of the road. Sort of. There was a side-road at a right angle to the building, but it didn’t seem too busy. I jammed my hands in my pants, feeling the soft plastic under my fingertips and my rock-hard dick beneath that. I closed my eyes and pressed that hard spot. Hope offered to help me change. I said yes this time. She slipped her fingers into the waistband of my underwear and slid them down my legs. When she reached my ankles, she was on her knees, looking up at me with those big eyes. I wanted her to take me in her mouth, but that wasn’t right. That’s not what this fantasy was about. I lay down on the nursery floor as she kneeled over me with a diaper. She wiped me down, her grip firm but soft as she ran the wipes down my length. Under my balls. Even around my butt. She smiled as she did, humming her hymn. She dusted me with powder, the sweet, cloying scent filling the air and clinging to my skin. Then came the diaper. Soft and fluffy. I squirmed, a flush creeping up my neck. I told I didn’t need it. Not really. But she ignored me. Just kept humming. The crinkling filled my ears as she slid it beneath me, her touch patient and practiced. She brought it up to my tummy. I reached up and squeezed her breast as she did and she smiled, but gently took my wrist and set my hand on the floor. She taped the diaper tight—so tight—encasing me in her soft prison. In her control. She bent over me. Her breath warm against my ear. “Good boy.” I came. Hard. Chapter 3 Hope answered on the first knock. She wore a modest denim skirt and a white top that hugged her collarbone but dipped just enough to suggest softness beneath. “Come on in. Shoes off by the door, please.” I stepped inside and set my battered sneakers next to a row of hers: leather flats, sandals, black church shoes with a slight shine. Something sweet hung in the air—a candle or something baking in the oven. Sunlight slanted through lace curtains, casting delicate patterns over a piano and a coffee table stacked with devotionals. A wooden cross hung over the piano, with what looked like a Bible verse in a plaque beneath it. The place was immaculately kept—books lined up with precision, not a speck of dust on the polished surfaces, pillows fluffed and symmetrically placed on the couch. A throw blanket, neatly folded, rested on the armrest. Even the scent of her home was controlled—clean linen, a faint trace of something flowery. Nothing overwhelming. Just gentle order. A soft rustling broke the silence, and I turned to see a sleek gray cat watching me from a perch by the window. It blinked at me, then stretched, utterly indifferent to my presence. “That’s Spurgeon,” Hope said. “He takes a bit to warm up, but once he does he won’t leave you alone.” “Okay.” I dropped my backpack by the door. The frayed straps and faded patches stuck out in this place, like a stain on a starched white collar. Like something Hope might sweep up into a dustpan and dump into the trash with a grimace. “Would you like a chocolate chip cookie? I made some to go along with tea.” “That sounds great. Thanks. Um, but first, I was wondering how much I’m gonna owe you.” She set a tray of cookies on the countertop. “I can chat with your mother about that.” “Actually, I was hoping we could just keep it between us for now. Like I was saying, money is tight. Don’t want her to feel like she has to.” And I want to keep this whole thing a secret until I figure out what the hell to do about it. Hope smiled. “I see. Well, in that case, let’s see how today goes, and then we can talk money.” I took a deep breath. Nodded. She put a kettle on the stove and turned to me. Her eyes flicked downward, then back up. “You’re wearing protection?” Heat crawled up my neck. “Uh, I used up my last one yesterday.” I said it with a straight face because it was the truth. I hadn’t wet them. Not with pee, anyway. But she didn’t need to know that. “I’m proud of you! Did you buy something new when you ran out?” I shook my head. “Thomas.” She frowned. “I wasn’t sure where to go or what to get. And I was…embarrassed.” “We talked about this. It’s good to feel ashamed of the right things. Of sin. If you’re feeling embarrassed about being responsible, that’s Satan whispering in your ear.” She put her hand on my back. “Come with me.” She guided me down a short hallway. Her bedroom was just as neat and orderly as the rest of the apartment. The bed was neatly made, with a white quilt as smooth and pristine as fresh snowfall. An antique wooden nightstand held a single book, its ribbon bookmark resting just outside the pages. Against the far wall, a modest vanity stood, its surface free of clutter except for a neatly arranged tray of perfume bottles and a small jewelry box. A framed scripture verse hung above it in calligraphy: "Be still and know that I am God." I stood in the doorway, feeling like I had stepped inside something sacred and intimate. Something that smelled like her, felt like her. And suddenly, I wanted to be in that bed with her, clothes off. No cookies. No diapers. No lessons. She wanted that, too. Had to, right? Beneath all that righteous nonsense, she was a young woman. But I didn’t touch anything. Didn’t say anything. I only stood there. This was Hope’s bedroom. Hope, who taught Sunday school and women’s Bible study and volunteered to clean the nursery. The same Hope that had gotten me into trouble countless times when she was a babysitter, and nearly as many more when she was my piano tutor: swearing, gossiping, disrespecting elders, failing to practice, failing to finish the verse of scripture she’d started to recite. It was always something. She opened her closet and there, neatly stacked, were four packs of adult diapers. “I’m going to keep a pack here, one in the nursery, and send two home with you.” Two packs. Mine to take home. Mine to use. The house would be silent. Everyone asleep. And my imagination would go wild. My skin flushed with heat. Not from the sight of the package—but from how much I wanted it. A fresh stack of nursing home briefs, and I was…what? Excited? No. Elated. Disgust curled in my stomach. What the hell was wrong with me? They’d find out. Someone always did. Mom, standing in my doorway, holding one of them between two fingers like it was a dead rat. Dan, laughing until he couldn’t breathe. Amanda, saying nothing—just looking. And that would be worse. “Hey,” Hope said softly. “It’s okay if you’re worried about money. You don’t have to pay me back. Seeing your smiling face, and knowing I’m doing everything I can to help my sweet friend when he’s in need? That’s all the payment I could possibly want.” She set one of the packs on the bed and pulled it open. The diapers—stuffed so tightly in that pack—expanded when she ripped the package, fanning out in thick, crinkling layers. “I’m going to check on the tea while you—” “I don’t know how.” The words spilled from my mouth before I could shove them back in. Hope raised her eyebrows. I suddenly felt warm all over. Like I was under a thousand spotlights. “These are different than the other ones. And I had enough trouble with those…” She looked at the diapers. Then back to me. Assessing. Calculating. “Okay. I see.” “But, um. I suppose I could figure it out if—” She smiled and squeezed my arm. “No, that’s alright, sweetie. I’m proud of you asking for help when you need it. What was I just saying about taking responsibility?” “That…it’s good?” She chuckled. “Yes. I suppose that sums it up. Asking for help is taking responsibility. When you can’t do something yourself, like put on a diaper, reach out to someone bigger than you.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, not ‘bigger.’ I’m so used to talking to the little ones in the nursery. But, the point remains.” I nodded. “Why don’t you take off your clothes and lie on the bed. I’ll get your diaper ready for you.” ‘Your diaper.’ That felt wrong. And…amazing? I slipped out of my jeans and folded them on the bed. I never made my own bed and rarely folded my clothes, but it felt important here. The right thing to do. And a distraction from my pounding heart. I’m in a girl’s bedroom. But it’s Hope’s bedroom. The church mouse. The prude. Who is about to see you naked. To put you in a diaper. “Thomas? The underwear too, silly.” She said it softly. Almost a whisper. “Right.” I shimmied my underwear down my legs. After my knees, they dropped to my ankles and stepped out of them. Hope smiled. “What?” She dropped her gaze to my groin. “I’m so proud of you for being modest, but you’re going to have to uncover yourself. This is about taking care of you so you can take care of yourself, remember? So I think it’s best if we treat this like any other diaper change I’d do.” “So I should have a pacifier or a stuffed animal or something?” The words—crazy, stupid words—just tumbled out, followed by an unhinged laugh. Hope wrinkled her nose. “That’s my Thomas. Always such a kidder.” “Hahaha, yep.” I dropped my hands, exposing myself fully. She didn’t react. She didn’t even look. Why are you disappointed? Did you want her gawking at your junk while it’s limp and you’re standing here like a dope in your socks and t-shirt? I stretched out on the towel she’d spread on the bed, barely resisting the urge to cover myself again. She worked the diaper in her hands, the plastic crinkling loudly. “Lift your bum, please.” I complied, bridging up. My penis flopped awkwardly up onto my tummy. She placed the diaper beneath me and then gently patted my hip. “Okay, down we go.” I lowered myself onto the padding and immediately noticed a difference: this diaper was thicker than the ones she’d given me before. Easily twice as thick, and those were like wearing a half a load of laundry around my waist. Maybe she’d gotten the wrong size? She held a white bottle in her hand. “What’s that?” “Baby powder. It’ll help keep your skin dry and keep you smelling a bit fresher. When you’re in diapers full-time, you’re not always going to be able to change right away. That’ll mean some—” “Full-time? This is just temporary.” “Of course, sweetie.” I sat up. “Seriously. I’m going to get this figured out. The whole accidents thing.” She smiled. “I’m sure you will. But until then, it’s a full-time problem that requires a full-time solution. But don’t you worry. I’ll help you be the responsible boy I know you want to be.” She placed her hand—warm and gentle, but unyielding—on my chest and pushed me back down onto the bed. I couldn’t wear these full-time. That’d mean I’d have to keep them hidden from everyone. And use them. Actually use them. She dusted me with the sweet-smelling powder, then traced her fingertips across my thighs. Hips. Tummy. She paused. “Now rub it into your privates, please.” I brushed the powder over my junk as I watched her towering above me. “Okay, and it’s important boys are pointed downward or else…” She frowned. “Thomas? Are you having lustful thoughts?” Yes! “No!” She ran her hand through hair. Shook her head. “This was a mistake. I thought you could be—” “I can be good! I really appreciate your help.” “You do?” I nodded. She stared at me, lips pursed. “If I give you a few minutes alone, do you think you can calm down and get those sinful urges…under control?” “Yes.” “Good. I’m going to check on the tea. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Please stay where you are on the bed. I don’t want you getting baby powder all over my room. It might start smelling like a nursery in here.” She walked out of the room and closed the door behind me. I didn’t wait. It wasn’t going to take a few minutes. Not even close. I just wanted to feed the desperate craving. I gripped myself. I was rock hard. I closed my eyes. Hope wouldn’t check on the tea. She’d strip down and come back naked. She’d straddle me, taking me deep into her, and ride me hard, the diaper crinkling beneath us until— I spurted on my stomach. Again. A third time. Head spinning. Heart racing. I stared at the ceiling and caught my breath. She didn’t have tissues right by the bed like I did. No paper towels, napkins, underwear or socks, either. Which left one option. I brought the front of the diaper up to my belly button and wiped downward, transferring most of the spunk into the diaper. She’d see it. Almost as bad, I’d be wearing it. Sitting in it. She knocked on the door and immediately entered, like the doctor did. Or a mother checking on her little one. She eyed my crotch, and then the diaper. The white mess I’d left there blended in, but not entirely. And the smell was unmistakable. I held my breath. She smiled. “I’m happy to see you were able to get those sinful urges under control.” She gripped the front of the diaper and brought it up into place, smearing the goopy mess on me once again. She applied the tapes and then patted the front of the diaper, which I was already beginning to tent out with my excitement again. “Let’s go have a cookie and some tea before we start our lesson. Oh, and why don’t you leave your pants in here. I think it’ll help you get comfortable in your new diapers.”

Lately, when I wake up in the AM after a night of bedwetting accidents in my Goodnites, I'll spend the first hazy 30 minutes each morning nude on top of all my bed covers with two absorbent bed pads underneath me, letting myself have those half-awake half-accidents that way. I love how warm it feels. One morning after sleeping at my parents' house, my mom walked in right as the pee started to flow and stood in the doorjamb watching. She thought it was pretty cool to have a complete view of me wetting the bed. Anyone else do this?

Adult pull-on incontinence pants. Training pant Style https://biggerdiapers.com/search?controller=search&s=training #diaper #diapers #abdl #adultbaby #incontinence #bedwetting

I haven't really had any pee dreams since I started wetting the bed again, but the one time I wet the bed as a kid, it was after a dream where I had peed so much it filled the toilet, so I quickly switched to peeing in the bathtub, but that filled up as well! Ended up waking up while wetting the sheets.

I create Sally, Katrina, Charlie, Clara and Erika

@Little_Mouse hehe @Crinklz Kat has a closet full of diapers that still need to be used. They are collecting those diapers for a rainy day hehe.

I agree! If you don't post about pooping your diaper every day, I'm ready to call the police to do a welfare check on you!

I take whatever diapers I have available. But I think vacation/holidays are 2x more fun while wearing diapers.

Another great chapter. And another mention of the dream! I am really looking forward to the chapter with shaman ... though we will probably not get any answers and only more cryptic messages ... For a while I thought that the different branches could be the animals from the dream, but there are no moon bears in zodiac ... so that is probably not it ... I loved, how the attitude of Joomi changed throughout the chapter ... especially after being firmly reassured by Adam. From not even being able to say that another member of the family could even possibly be wrong about anything, even though they obviously are ... to almost yeah let them try to make me work more - you (Adam and Boja) and this secret project are more important than anything else. I think she will never openly oppose Kang, unless he severely threatens Adam or Boja, but she is keeping more and more things from him and I think she has reached a point, where she would be able to oppose others (like his brothers or their wives), especially if it would concern Adam ... though i hope she will soon reach a point, where she will stand even for herself ... I think i like Kang more every time he is mentioned. I guess he really isn't a strictly bad guy ... (at least in the context of the story - i do not know his jobs he did and the extent of Japok operations and thus do not count them to this opinion). His biggest problem seems to be, that he really needs to maintain his strict, unshakable public image at almost all times ... (i suspect some previous problems with Bom and Shik caused this). He really dotes on Joomi and it would be interesting to see, how he would react if she opposed him ... and even to find out the differences if this opposition would be private and public ... Though i hope we would not have to find out ... It is a real shame, that Adam forgot about this part, while the music was still playing (though i cannot blame him). I do think this is an important part of the story, that hasn't been said yet ... though it could be just a projection, as i do not like either of them or their wives (Bom's from the phone call).

I can't report a massive messy diaper this morning, but can say I have an average poopy diaper getting squishier by the minute sitting here.

It's morning, so of course I am sitting here in a wet and poopy Fluffy Fly diaper. Was there any doubt that I messed my diaper after I got up this morning? It's rare that I don't go potty in my morning diaper.

When I was young my older brother and me had separate beds in the room we shared so if the sheets were peed during the night we knew who wet them. We used to visit our grandmothers place in the summer though and she had us sleep together in a double bed. Just one set of sheets to wash in the morning. She put a large plastic sheet over the mattress but there was no absorbing pad so if one or both of us peed it was like waking up in a small lake of pee. My wetting slowed down at an earlier age than his so eventually I knew who wet if I woke up soaked. When I woke up with a full bladder I just used to go. Who would know right?

A charity church mouse reference.... haven't heard of that in a loooonnnng time

I can agree wearing a onesie in the caribbean is not a thoughtful thing to wear. But it will conceal your diaper for sure. When I was able to wear diapers back last summer. It was extremely hot here in North east USA and it sucked. But at least when I was working and wearing I was able to conceal what I was wearing.

I'm in a Little for Big Nursery Blue medium. I'm a 34 waist and 140 lbs. I've been having an urge to poop in some tighty whiteys lately. My childhood haunting me, I guess. It took a couple of weeks to find the right undies. I guess FTL doesn't make them the same way they used to. But the ones Haynes make are perfect. So, I saved up for a big load and put on a pair of the undies. Then I put a diaper over them. It feels so good! Warm and squishy. And big so it's made it's way to the front. It's going to be a great afternoon!

Chapter 4 The diaper crinkled beneath me as I shifted on the piano bench, the thick padding forcing my legs slightly apart. The vinyl seat was cold against my bare thighs, a contrast to the trapped heat below my waist. Were these things supposed to be this warm? I hadn’t even used it yet. ‘Yet’? God, Thomas. “Is something the matter?” Hope called from the kitchen. “No.” I started playing again. Every keystroke sent a ripple of tension through me—not because of the music, but because Hope was watching from the kitchenette, idly stirring her tea. The soft clink of her spoon tink-tink-tinking away, reminding me she was watching. Probably with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. I hated that she was the reason I was wearing this. Hated how easily she’d made the decision for me, how sweetly condescending her voice had been. The bulk between my legs was a constant reminder that I’d just rolled over and taken it. The post-orgasm bliss had worn off, along with the happy brain fog it induced. The only reminder of that bit of fun had dried into a tacky smear inside my diaper. And yet, I was here. Playing “Be Thou My Vision” for her. "You’re tense," she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. "Relax your shoulders. Let it flow." I winced at the word ‘flow.’ I’d been on my second cup of black tea when I noticed the tightness in my bladder. A dull ache that would only grow worse. I exhaled sharply and forced my fingers to move. The warmth of the apartment pressed in. Hope kept it too warm. “I need a break. It’s kinda hot in here.” “Piano is hard work, hmm?” Hope said. “I’ll refresh your tea.” “Nah, I’m good.” “Ice water, then, since you’ve been working so hard.” She turned on the sink. The sound of rushing water made my stomach turn over. She handed me a glass and watched expectantly. This was on purpose. Had to be, right? She wanted me to use the diaper. Was this a power thing? Hope needing to be needed? There was no way she knew I’d never actually had any accidents, right? She just thought she was being helpful--the sweet, maternal figure the church expected all women to be. “Thanks.” I sipped the water and set it down. Smack! “Ouch!” I barked. She’d swatted my hand. “Thomas. You know better. No drinks on the piano. You can put it on the coffee table. Use a coaster.” I ground my teeth and did as she asked. “Scoot over,” she said. I slid down the piano bench to make room, and she sat down next to me, close enough her leg brushed against mine. The edge of her skirt flopped over, resting on my bare skin and tagging the edge of the diaper. My heart thump-thump-thumped in my chest. Goosebumps--actual, frigging goosebumps--ran up my arm, despite the heat. She glanced down at my diaper. “Do you need a diaper change? Is that why you’re so distracted?” “Not yet,” I croaked out, immediately regretting the concession that it was only a matter of time. Well, isn’t it? “Hope, I really appreciate all the help, but I need to get home.” “You’re twisting your wrists out to the side,” she said. “That’s slowing you down and will also lead to wrist strain as you start playing more often.” She wrapped her fingers around my wrist and straightened my hand. “Now play, and focus on maintaining that posture.” I started the piece over from the beginning. “That’s much better. Good job,” she cooed. I found myself smiling. “Alright, I think you’re ready for something a bit trickier. Let’s move on to Come Thou Fount.” I looked up at the clock. “I should--” “Here, I’ll start.” She began playing the piece, her delicate fingers dancing across the keys. I took in a deep breath and prepared for the end of the song. I needed to leave. Now. Actually, I needed to leave thirty minutes ago. Or two cups of tea ago. Knock knock Hope stopped playing. “That must be the ladies.” “The ladies?!” “I host the Women’s Bible Study, remember?” “Why didn’t you…” I shook my head. “I gotta go.” “You might want to put some pants on first.” She chuckled. Hope--pure as the driven snow Hope--was okay with people knowing I was here, in her apartment? “Should I sneak out a window or something?” Hope raised her eyes. “Why would you do that?” Knock knock! “So, you know…I wouldn’t want anyone thinking…” Hope laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve already told the ladies I’ve been teaching you piano again. But that’s very thoughtful of you. ‘Abstain from all appearance of evil,’ as it says in 1 Thessalonians 5:22.” That hurt, but there was no time to dwell on it. I slid off the bench and raced into the bedroom, yanking on my pants. Or trying to. They could barely make it up over the fat, fluffy diaper. I finally buttoned them in place. The front bulged out, like I was trying to shoplift a melon. Or like you’re wearing a diaper. The soft murmur of voices filled the apartment as Hope’s friends settled in. I tugged my pants higher on my hips, my fingers lingering at the waistband as if I could somehow make the bulk beneath them less obvious. The diaper crinkled as I shifted, every tiny sound amplified in my head. Rip off the bandaid. Say hello and goodbye, and get out of here. I counted to ten and walked into the living room. A gaggle of church ladies--all of whom I’d known for years--turned in my direction. Amanda was among them. She was dressed more conservatively than the day we’d done shots in the storage room. “Hi, Thomas.” I forced myself to lean casually against the wall. Couldn’t seem like I was in too much of a rush. “Hi, Amanda.” I sketched an awkward wave. “Hi, everybody.” Polite ‘hellos’ greeted me in return. I needed to pee, and the awareness of it only made it worse. If I waited too long, it wouldn’t be a choice anymore. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Hope caught my eye from across the room, her expression unreadable. She knew. Of course, she knew. And yet, she didn’t say anything, just returned to pouring tea. She was always pouring that goddammed tea. “I was just telling the ladies about how much progress you’ve made today.” “Uhhhh…” I felt my mouth swing open. Hope subtly cocked an eyebrow. “With your piano practice?” Relief hit me. “Oh. Yeah. You’re a great teacher. I really need to--” “It’d be lovely if you could play something for us before you go,” Hope said. I stopped halfway to the door. “Sure.” “How about 'Come to the Water '?” Do you remember that one?” Is she screwing with me? “I think so.” I crossed the room, not making eye contact with anyone, and sat down. My bulging diaper-crotch, obvious before, was now a mound. A mountain of fluff that looked ready to burst through the zipper like in that Alien movie at any moment. Worse, though, was the pressure in my bladder. That feeling that my bladder could just give up the fight and let loose. Would they know? Just make it through the song, then you’re free. They don’t want you to stick around for the Bible Study anyway. I started playing, focusing as much as I could on the music and ignoring the women’s gazes and the warm bulk encasing me, and the increasingly loud voice telling me to let go and use the diaper for its intended purpose. The last notes were supposed to be delicate, but my fingers rushed them, hammering the keys too hard. I needed this to be over. The women sat in their neat little semi-circle, hands folded over their Bibles, polite smiles barely disguising their boredom. Hope, cross-legged in the armchair, watched me with that infuriating blend of patience and certainty—like she knew I’d come around to her way of thinking eventually. Amanda sat on the couch, her knee a foot from mine when I’d first sat down, though she’d tucked her legs up now, bare ankles crossed. I’d avoided looking at her since I started playing, but now, as the last note hung in the air, I glanced up. Mistake. She was watching me, her lips parted just slightly, her brown eyes unreadable. Beneath the weight of her attention, beneath the warmth crawling up my neck, I realized I wasn’t going to make it. The pressure in my bladder, the dull ache, reached a tipping point. My body clenched around it, every muscle tensing as if I could force it back inside by sheer will. For a second, I thought I had. Then warmth spread, slow and damning, soaking the padding between my legs. I couldn’t move. If I shifted, someone would hear it—the awful, telltale crinkle, the shameful squish of wet padding. My hands curled into fists on my knees, and I focused on my breathing, the way my heartbeat pounded against my ribs. Hope cleared her throat. “That was beautiful, Thomas. Thank you for sharing.” There was a murmur of agreement from the others, though Amanda said nothing. I didn’t dare look at her again. Didn’t dare do anything but sit there, my skin crawling, my ears ringing with the imagined sound of their realization. Amanda tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You okay?” I forced a nod. “Yeah. Just—tired.” She didn’t buy it. I could see it in the way her brows twitched together, the way her eyes softened at the edges. But she didn’t press, thank God. I sat there, trapped, heat burning up my throat as the wetness cooled slightly against my skin. I needed to leave, needed to get up. I rose to wobbly legs, the weight of the soaked diaper hanging down between my thighs. I left without saying goodbye. *** I tossed the diapers in the back seat. Hope had flagged me down as I left. Given me the diapers, wrapped in a trash bag. Less obvious than just handing me them unwrapped, but not by much. I slammed the car door harder than I meant to. The sound cracked through the evening air. It didn’t make me feel better. Nothing would. Not with the squelch of wet padding pressed against me. Not with the sour stickiness smeared across my thighs. A woman jogged past. Some kid coasted by on a skateboard. A guy in a polo shirt wrestled bags out of his trunk, his eyes flicking in my direction. I kept my head down, hands tight on the wheel. My face burned. Every single one of them knew. They could see it. They had to. The diaper had squished when I sat. My chest tightened. I fired the ignition. The car rumbled awake beneath me. Just get home. Get out of this disgusting thing. Burn it, maybe. Toss the rest and be done with it. This had gone far enough. A knock rattled the window beside me. I jumped so hard I nearly peeled out into traffic. My stomach dropped. Amanda stood there, leaning toward the glass, eyes wide and worried. “Hey,” she mouthed. I cracked the window. “Hey.” “Can we talk for a second?” I wanted to say no. Not because I didn’t want her there—God, I did—but because the thought of her seeing me like this made me want to crawl out of my skin. I could still feel the warmth. The damp cling. The diaper squished under me, pushing up against my pants and wrapping my parts in its warm, clingy moisture. “I was just about to head out,” I said, keeping my voice light. At least trying to. “Two minutes?” She smiled, a little sheepish. “I won’t keep you.” I hesitated. That smile cut straight through my resolve. I nodded. She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. She turned to face me. “Are you okay?” I swallowed hard. “Fine.” She gave me a look. “You seemed weird in there.” “Weird how?” “Just... you rushed out. Didn’t say bye. And it’s kind of weird, you hanging out with Hope again. Taking piano lessons?” She laughed. “Since when?” I forced a laugh. “What, me playing piano is the weird part?” “No. I mean, yeah, a little. But mostly... it’s Hope. I thought you hated her. Thought you hated all that stuff. The church. The sermons. The ‘surrender your will to God’ thing.” “I don’t hate her.” That came out way too fast. Her eyebrow went up. “You said she was a brainwashed cult leader last year. And just, like, a month ago you said--” “I was being dramatic,” I cut her off, shifting in my seat. The diaper shifted with me. “Mom’s been on my case. Wanted me to do something ‘constructive’ with my free time.” Amanda shrugged. “Okay. If you say so.” She let it go, just like that. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful or disappointed. Maybe with a bit more of a push, she’d force me out of this hole I’d dug myself. “Anyway,” she said, “I got a ticket. For Bespoke. Still down to go?” My chest lit up. “Hell yes. I was gonna grab mine tonight.” Her lips curled at the edges. “Cool. It’s gonna be fun.” She paused. Winced. Her nose wrinkling adorably. “Hey, um... do you think you could get vodka again?” I turned toward her, surprised. “I mean,” she added quickly, “only if it’s not a big deal. The other day was... fun. It made me feel relaxed. And you were really...” She looked down, then back at me. “You were fun.” My heart thump-thump-thumped. “I’ve still got the bottle. Or I could get something even better.” She grinned. “Awesome.” Then, without warning, she leaned in and hugged me. Her arms slid around my shoulders, pulling me in. Her chest pressed against mine, soft and warm through the fabric of her blouse. Her cheek grazed mine—a whisper of skin, a hint of perfume. Vanilla, maybe. Her fingers didn’t just rest at my back. They lingered. Pressed. Held. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The diaper squished beneath me again, but even that humiliation got swallowed up in the feel of her against me. Then she pulled back. “See you soon.” The door clicked softly behind her as she stepped out. The quiet that followed felt too loud. I didn’t start the car. Just sat there, staring through the windshield. What the hell was I doing? The squish. The smell. The diaper. Still warm. Still wet. Amanda had hugged me. Not a grandma-at-Thanksgiving hug, either. She’d squeezed tight. Let it linger. Hugged me while I was wearing this... thing. If she’d leaned down a little further, she might’ve noticed. What would it be like to wear this to the concert? People pressed close. Lights flashing. Bodies bumping. Someone’s hand brushing against the front of my pants. Amanda’s. She’d laugh. “Oh my God,” she’d whisper. “Are you wearing a diaper?” I shuddered and snapped out of it. “I don’t have to wear this shit,” I muttered. “I’m not even actually incontinent.” Hope thought I was, though. Or did she? She’d been composed. Helpful. Maybe too composed and helpful. Like she was waiting for me to slip up. And what was with all the tea? She kept pushing it. Maybe she knew I was lying. Maybe this whole thing was her twisted way of making a point. Or worse—maybe she just liked having this kind of power over me. A power you’ve given her, dumbass. My brain jumped to the nursery. Her fingers smoothing the tapes. Her breath on my ear. The rustle of her dress. My body reacting before I even wanted it to. I hated how fast I got hard just thinking about it. My phone dinged. A text. From Hope, of course. I had so much fun today. You were so brave. I’m proud of you for wearing your protection. I’ll help with any changes on Sunday—and anytime you need it. Heat flared in my chest. Anger. Embarrassment. I started typing. It was a lie. I don’t need diapers. Mind your own business. I stared at the words. My thumb hovered over send. Then I deleted it. I didn’t need them. I didn’t. But it had felt... good. Weird good. That was the part I didn’t want to admit. Maybe that’s the lie. I typed instead: Thanks for the lesson. And for your help with everything. A second later, she sent back a heart emoji. I stared at it. My thumb brushed the screen. I didn’t type anything else.

When I plan to mess, I liberally slater on Vaseline all over my diaper area. It helps keep poo from sticking quite as much and absorbing into my skin instead of no Vaseline. I have a hand held shower head that helps power off things, but as Moochie said, Dawn dish soap helps greatly with the smell. I read about it a few years ago in the posts here from many members who use it, and I was somewhat dubious, but tried it. Yep! It really works. Never ever want to "shave" down there, and with Dawn there is no need. Just wash as you normally would with soap, hot water and a wash cloth. Then for your last wash, use Dawn. Rince off well and you are all set. By the way, I have long held to a theory that the pores of your skin work both ways. When hot, they expel sweat. Likewise, they can absorb moisture as well. That may be one reason you smell the odor of urine and poo well after you have showered or cleaned up. Your skin has absorbed through your pores and even later it can sweat that odor back out of your pores, even if you don't feel sweaty. Think of it. A person who has showered well with soap may get hot and sweaty with work or activity. If they don't use deodorant, they smell like B.O. Makes sense that the smell could smell like urine or poo if you have sat in it for a while, even if you have washed well with soap. If it has absorbed into your skin and pores, it might come back out eventually as well.

There are the British towns of Essex, Wessex, and Sussex. There was a fourth one, but it died out. It was called Nossex.

Hey. ! I'm in Burnaby. Would love to meet other DL's !

I was a bed wetter until at least 12. I come from a big family and there was still diaper changing station in the bedroom I shared with my brother. My mom was old school and made sure there was a vinyl\plastic sheet over the mattress. I wore training pants as well. when i woke up with a wet bed my brother would yell down the hall that I wet the bed again. It was no big deal to wear diaper\training pants with plastic covers. I guess because it was so normal\part of growing up.

Do people speed all the time? I am always amazed at how fast people are going during rush hour--are they really going to be late? And yet, they will tail gate you to go faster. Me...set cruise control for 63 and laugh when I get to the stop light at the same time.

In all honesty for me, Training Pants are more accurately called "Wet/Potty Pants."

I have some of these, because they are so comfy, they fail at training me.

I had a leaky adult pull-up, the other weekend, lucky I was home, and wearing shorts,( summer time) late in the afternoon, so I just said I needed a shower, and put on fresh pull-up and dry shorts.

I came out as bisexual to my parents a few days ago. I had no idea how to do it n knew I couldn't do it direct. So I went old school. Wrote n posted a letter. It came about due to making a friend n that friend being a guy everyone starts making pushes n pokes about being "more than friends" it pissed me off. Ive been loyal with my mistress mommy for 4 years and I cracked. Kinda felt like a dummy as parents were nether suprised or upset. My brother came up and they were just happy I had someone and that I shouldn't have been so worried. I didn't mention gender fluid but ya only have to glance at my clothes hanging up to dry to figure out im queer. But yeh, I did it. Thank you everyone fir your feed back, it has been very helpfull

Im AFAB but more masc gender fluid n im bisexual. I think its because places like theses are safer to exprement within. A strait guy can play with the idea of being with another guy and no one batters an eye. Yes due to there being a kink element more guys are around purly and from expetance, mention the word female and the creeps cone knocking. It puts fem types off from interacting but ive rarely seen that issue on this site. Im sure plenty of women out there who do enjoy dipers

Oh I think the stigma is still there but I dont worry about it.

WARNING: This chapter is a bit darker, some may not enjoy it. But don't worry, it's the only chapter that explores this. Chapter 27 God I love Denver It was barely getting light when I felt something between my legs. It was Mommy’s hand. I rolled onto my back as her hand rubbed a couple of times. My pacifier was still in my mouth as I whispered, “wha… mummsy..” In answer, her hand slipped up to the waist of my diaper and then pushed down the front of my diaper as her lips nibbled my ear and whispered, “Shh, Mommy just needs her little boy to lay still.” I purred a little as her fingers pulled my rapidly hardening cock free. Mommy said she’d help with mister peepee… I felt her leg swing over my hips and soon she was sitting on my thighs. In the dim morning light, I watched as she crossed her arms in front of her and lifted off her nightgown. I suddenly felt my pacifier bumping against my lips. The sight of her naked breasts had me sucking instinctively. Then she rose slightly on her knees, and I felt her fingers grip my cock as she whispered, “Let’s just make sure this doesn’t get cold…” As she said that, she lowered herself, her fingers guiding my cock inside her. I know some women hate the word, but she was moist. As she sat lower, my cock slid inside her easily. As I watched her face, she closed her eyes and wiggled her hips slightly, making sure I was fully inside her. Both of her hands rose to her chest and cupped her breasts as I stared. My cock wanted more and my hips lifted a little. She smiled down at me and said quietly, “Does my little boy like what you see? You like looking at Mommy’s tits don’t you.” Her hips rocked a little, which only made my own hips more desperate. I nodded and sucked harder on my pacifier. I watched as her fingers played with her own nipples, gently pulling them as they became erect. She spoke in that caring, yet a little bit teasing voice, “Of course you do… BABY loves to suckle… BABY sucks his paci when he can’t have these…” My hips were bucking upward as my hands reached up to grip those perfect globes. But her hands let go of her breasts and met mine, gripping my wrists as she fell forward towards me. She pinned my wrists near my ears as she hung over me. I felt her hips moving more freely, she paused and slowly, agonizingly, she lifted until my cock was out. She said mockingly, “Aw… it came out…. Tsk tsk.” As she held my wrists she leaned forward, one of her nipples coming closer and bumping against my pacifier as she asked, “Does that mean baby wants to suckle? Baby would rather suck… than fuck???” My hips lifted, trying to thrust back inside of her even though I knew her hips weren’t even close. I opened my mouth to let my pacifier fall away as I begged in a whisper, “Please Mommy… Please? Put it back inside… “ She gave me an evil grin and cooed, “Aww… no titties then? I thought you liked sucking my boobs. You want your pacifier instead?” I felt her hips lower against me, gently mashing against my cock as it twitched helplessly. I whimpered, “I… I want inside you… Please?” She bumped her hips again and then lifted them as she told me what I had to do, “Then ask for your paci baby… Tell me how little babies want a pacifier to suck.” I could see a little better as it grew lighter, those eyes glistening as I whined, “I … I want my paci Mommy… Baby wants to suck my pacifier so I can fuck you.” Her one hand let go of my wrist as she picked it up and pushed it in my mouth. Then her hand reached down between us as she said, “Good Boy…. Now keep that in your mouth and Mommy will help you fuck her.” And with that, her fingers gripped my desperate cock and guided it as she lowered herself onto me again. But this time she laid her whole body down onto me. Her breasts pressed against me as I felt her hips starting to ride up and down. Her hands slid under my shoulders and I felt her pussy sliding up and down my shaft. My own hips moved in rhythm with hers as she took control of the situation. With my hands free, I reached around to hold her. In order to get as deep as possible, my hands gripped her ass and I started thrusting upward. The only sounds were my sucking and the quiet slapping as our hips bounced against each other. In my ear I heard, “Good boy… harder… that’s what Mommy likes…yes… YES….” I felt her pussy start to grip and spasm. I popped out once as we picked up the pace; but her hand instantly had me back inside. I felt myself getting close and clenched to hold on as long as I could. When I finally exploded, I felt her hips slam down onto me as she shivered and gasped into my ear. I had to spit out my pacifier as I gasped for breath. Her body suddenly felt heavy on top of me. But she didn’t move for a moment, until I moved my hand and gently pushed her shoulder a little. She lifted up on her elbow and squirmed her hip a little, as if trying to keep my softening cock inside for a moment longer. She grinned at me in the morning light. Then a quick peck on my cheek as she rolled to one side. Her hand reached and tugged my diaper up again, covering my wet cock. She patted it softly and said, “You just relax sweetie, I need to pee.” I closed my eyes as the bed jiggled from her climbing off. My hand just reached down and felt the front of my diaper, my cock happy and shrinking. After a few moments, I heard the toilet, followed by the shower turning on. She’s going to shower, I’ll just relax and wait here… … Of course, I fell back to sleep and never heard her come out of the shower and get dressed. It was full daylight when she gently woke me, “Good morning sweetheart. Would you like some coffee and a Danish?” I rubbed my eyes and squirmed to sit up. I felt something and my hand confirmed it; the crotch of my diaper was swollen and soggy. After sex, she had gone off to pee and shower, and I fell back to sleep and wet my diaper. She was still smiling at me as she spoke again, “It’s almost ten. We can talk a bit while you have some coffee.” And with that she tugged the covers from me and reached for my hand to help me up. As I walked towards the door of the bedroom, her hand gently patted my diapered bottom as she remarked, “Guess you won’t be needing the potty just now.” We sat at the table, a small Danish pastry on a plate in front of me along with a mug of coffee. After a bite, I started by asking, “You’re serious about the 24/7 thing? Diapers all the time?” She shrugged a little and answered, “Think of it as a goal to sort of strive for. We don’t have to, but just something I’ve kind of wanted. I like the idea of having you needing me to take care of that.” Then she sipped her own coffee and added, “Of course if you get a rash or something, we can work through it. Unless of course you start having more accidents.” I blushed a little and got defensive, “What do you mean MORE accidents. I’m not actually a child you know.” She giggled. Then she said, “Not around me, no. But from what I understand, you have a bit of trouble around Beth. Isn’t that true?” I blushed and lowered my head a little. I reached for the Danish to have another bite, stalling. I swallowed and spoke shyly, “I don’t understand it really. But… yeah, she seems to scare the piss right out of me sometimes.” “Weewee dear. You know I prefer you to use childish names for things. Not vulgar adult words,” she said gently. Then she just moved on, adding, “Well I’ve told you she was strict. Maybe you’re just afraid she’s going to paddle you? Or is it maybe because she looks down on little boys and girls, trying to shame you?” I just shrugged my shoulders and said quietly, “Maybe.” She casually reminded me, “Well you can always use a safe word darling. Remember? You say ‘Colorado’ and she’ll slow things down. ‘Denver’ and everything stops cold. Same with me.” I nodded a little and she added, “And if you happen to be on top because I switched, same goes for me. I ever say those words; you better obey them. Or there’ll be hell to pay.” I blinked and realized for once, that yes, it goes both ways. I looked up into her eyes and said, “Yes Mommy. I understand.” She twisted a little in her chair and set down her coffee mug. She changed the subject, “Now, I think you said your lease would be up in a couple months? So, we have a little time to work it out. But I think we can fit your furniture in the garage if we both park in the driveway.” She stared at her coffee mug as she added, “Kind of a shame, we just spent all that money on a second computer platform, and we may not be needing it for very long, once you live here full time. Maybe we can use it for something else?” I hadn’t thought about it, but she’s right. A complete second workstation, just for a few more weeks maybe? While I’m still hopping between my apartment and this place. Then an idea came to me, “Maybe Miss Beth? She has some ideas about growing her… her line of work? It might work for that. We could unload it on her, at a fair discount?” She looked at me and gave me a smile, “That might work. And good for you for remembering it’s ‘Miss Beth’ to you.” She giggled when I felt my face flush a little. Then it occurred to me, I had no idea what Miss Beth’s ‘other plans’ might be. So, I asked, “So… do you have any idea what she’s planning?” Her finger traced around the rim of her mug, “Maybe… But it’s not something I’m really interested in.” I just looked at her, waiting. I figured if she was going to tell me, she will in her own way. I was right, she stopped her finger and kept her eyes focused on her coffee as she spoke, “Tom, she has another interest. It’s a bit… how should I say it? Darker? More… out there?” I waited a moment, letting that sink in. Then I asked, “You mean… kinkier? Like more… domineering?” She looked up at me as she explained, “Remember that night I told you I was a dominant and you thought that was whips and handcuffs and stuff? More like that. And… maybe even beyond that. I think that’s some of her plans.” Beyond that? What could that mean? It kind of makes sense now. Maybe THAT’S why she literally ‘scares the piss out of me’. I reached and took a sip of my own coffee, then all I could think of to say was, in a very quiet voice, “Oh.” Then I blushed as I realized I was wetting my diaper again. Mommy looked at me for a moment, then spoke up, “But I told you before, I’m NOT into that stuff. I’m the mommy type. I expect to be in charge, but not… Not anything that... well… you can imagine.” Actually, I couldn’t really. I mean, we’ve all seen a little of that stuff like on tv or a movie. Some big wooden cross with their victim tied to it. A woman dressed in a black bustier corset with a riding crop. But I don’t think Miss Beth would stop at that. She looked at me and I gulped as I reached for my diaper. No, my cock wasn’t even slightly interested, but my diaper was now soaked. Mommy reached a hand across the table and gently gripped my other hand as she spoke, “Don’t worry, she’s professional about it. You don’t have to be scared. She knows your safe words and will ALWAYS… And I mean that… ALWAYS respect safe words.” I looked at her and squeezed her hand. She gave me a smile and asked, “Do you want me to talk to her? Tell her to forget about our deal? You can just fix her security things and not do her web site stuff?” I relaxed a little bit and thought. Then I said, “No… no it’s okay. I… I just need to stay professional about it. I mean, if some folks are into that stuff… It’s just that I don’t think it’s anything I would…” Then it struck me and I added, “Of course, I didn’t think I would like to wear wet diapers and being a little mama’s boy… and yet, here I am. Mommy? I need my didee changed.” She grinned and stood up, “Of course sweetie. Come along and Mommy will make it all better.” … And she did just that. Then she picked out one of my Polo shirts and some jeans and we relaxed for a while, watching some Sunday morning news show. A little before noon she suggested lunch, and by 12:30 we were in her car driving over to Miss Beth’s. When Miss Beth answered the bell, I looked up and tried to imagine for a moment this smartly dressed lady, looking straight out of a tv family show from who knows when; dressed in a black corset, fishnet stockings and wielding a riding crop. A soft pat on my bottom broke me out of my daydreams. “Tommy? Tommy dear, give me a kiss and I’ll see you at four.” I blinked and gave Mommy a kiss goodbye. Then cautiously stepped past Miss Beth as I went inside. All she said to me was, “Cloak room Tommy.” I sheepishly did as this woman said. And like all the times before, I was soon divested of shoes, cell phone, keys, cash, even pants. I felt a spurt of pee when I heard the key lock the door. Her hand reached for mine and up the stairs we went, all without her saying a word. She stood at the door to the computer room and opened it. She gestured and said, “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be in my suite, the double doors at the end of the hall.” I glanced down the hall to see the doors she mentioned and then looked into the computer room. I gulped a little and said meekly, “Yes Miss Beth.” As I stepped inside, I heard the door close behind me. Come on Tom… be professional. You’re here to do a job, now do it. Don’t think about… I sat down and the first thing was to open the notes I had made before. Yes, we need to fix these security issues. I kept notes in a file as I did things. I wrote a short explanation about how to open that ‘nanny’s notes’ file with the encryption tool for Miss Beth to use. Then that remote access account. Easiest thing would be to change that password. Then I tackled the other things. … It wasn’t a lot of work, but I consider leaking any client personal information a critical issue. And especially when it’s such… sensitive… information. I looked at the time, 2:20. Barely an hour and twenty minutes. I got up and reached for the door. The double doors were closed, so I gently knocked. I heard Miss Beth’s voice say, “Come in.” I nervously took a step into her ‘inner sanctum’. The room looked feminine, but not overtly. A large king bed, a vanity covered with things, a chest of drawers. A voice from under a large bay window, “Yes?” She was reclining on a daybed of some sort, a laptop in her lap. I stammered a little, “I… I’ve finished the security issues. I wrote it all up in a log entry. How to access the stuff I encrypted for security and disabled that account I had found.” She looked at me for a moment, then at her watch. Then she spoke, “Only an hour and twenty-four minutes? Well, we can just round it up to an hour and a half. I’m sure Carole won’t mind.” Then she frowned a little as I stood by the door. She closed her laptop and stood up. As she walked towards me, she said, “But that leaves me with a problem. She won’t be back for an hour and a half, and I’m too busy to babysit you. And I certainly can’t give you free rein to just run around my house.” I blushed a little and hung my head down, looking at her shoes, high heels of course. Then I said, “I… I can wait in the sitting room. I pr..pr…promise I won’t get into trouble.” She spoke in a quiet tone as she got closer, “I’ve learned NEVER to take a man at his word Tom. Especially one named Tom. Did you know my ex-husband was named Tom?” Then she snapped her fingers and pointed at the floor, saying in a commanding tone, “Down on your hands and knees Tom. Let’s see just what sort of man you are.” I blushed as I lowered myself. Her shoes were right in front of me as I posed on all fours. One of her feet lifted and came down on my shoulder as she said, “Lean back a bit… poke that diapered ass of yours up in the air… face touching the carpet.” I did as she said, blushing brightly as my cheek felt the texture of the carpet. She took her foot away as she walked a step to the side. She spoke in a casual tone, “Of course, he was an actual MAN Tom. He didn’t go around in frilly panties and diapers like you.” I felt her hand on my diapered bottom, “And he CERTAINLY didn’t piss himself Tom. Tsk, seems every time I see you, you piss yourself.” She squeezed the crotch of my diaper, proving her point as she continued, “He was more of an alpha male than you’ll ever be.” Her hand let go as she walked around me the rest of the way, back to where her shoes were right in front of my face. She continued, “Still… I did have to teach him some humility. Tom? Do you know what a ‘humbler’ is?” “No ma’am… I don’t,” I replied. She stepped around me, so that she was behind me again. I felt her fingers in the waistband of the back of my diaper, pulling it down to my thighs as she started to explain, “A humbler Tom… Is a wonderful device that keeps a man in his place. Get it? It makes a man…. Humble.” I was getting scared. Was she about to fuck me in the ass or something? What could be more humiliating than that? But no, I felt a finger draw a line across the back of my thighs, right where they meet my butt as she continued, “It’s a bar… that goes right across here… With a strap that wraps…” Her hand suddenly gripped my balls, and not very gently as she said loudly, “Around your BALLS!!” She yanked and I yelped! “OW!!!” But her grip didn’t lessen, if anything it started to lift as she said as casually as if she was explaining how to bake a cake, “And I adjust it to PULL on your balls…” As she pulled upward, I found myself trying to lift my ass up to the sky to ease the tension on my nuts. She punctuated her explanation with another yank. My eyes clenched as I felt searing pain as she went on, “When you try to straighten your legs, or even crawl, it PULLS on them. I like to make it nice and TIGHT….” I yelped again but she went on, paying no notice, “To make sure you STAY where I put you, with your face to the FLOOR.” I was gasping. She emphasized her words, yanking higher each time she raised her voice. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. She kept a tight grip on my nut sack as she went on casually, mentioning, “Once, when my ex-husband displeased me, I kept him in one for a full day. Can you believe it? That was the only time the poor bastard pissed himself.” She tugged again, “But he wasn’t wearing a DIAPER. So afterwards he had to shampoo this very SAME carpet. How about it, Tom? Are you PISSING yourself yet?” Each time she raised her voice, she raised my balls. It felt like any second now I was going to become a eunuch. “AHHH!!! YES!!! I’M PEEING!!! Please Miss Beth… It HURTS!!!” “Oh come now Tom, are you a man or a crybaby? It would only be until Carole comes back…” She didn’t yank again, but her grip didn’t loosen. Then she taunted me, much like that first day, “How can you be sure you don’t like it unless you try it??” “DENVER!!!” “DENVER! MISS BETH!!! PLEASE!!!! DENVER!!!” I heard myself blurting out. Whatever she had in mind, I didn’t want to end up castrated. Her grip lessened, then released my balls completely. I was gasping as I blinked my eyes open in time to see her high heels walking away. I managed to lift up on shaking arms to see her sitting back on the daybed. She simply said, “Very well. You said the red-light word, so we’re done you big CRYBABY!!” Up on all fours again, I reached with one hand between my legs to gently cup my tortured balls. I gasped for a few more breaths before I could say, “I’m sorry… but that… that’s just not for me.” She looked at me for a moment and said, “I understand. I should have known a crybaby like you couldn’t take a little pain. Not like a man would anyway.” Then she waved a hand dismissively, “Go to the playroom, get in the crib and lift up the side to latch yourself in. I’ll bring your mommy to you when she gets here… Crybaby.” I staggered to my feet, still not able to stand up completely straight. My diaper started to slip a little, so I reached and tugged it back into place. As I looked at her, she was typing something on her laptop. It’s clear I was dismissed. She had explained it before. ‘Colorado’ would be a yellow to slow things, but ‘Denver’ was the red light. Everything stops cold. Crybaby. That’s what she called me and that stung. Like some schoolyard insult, being called that. Like I wasn’t a big boy, just a…Crybaby. I turned and gently pulled the door closed behind me. My hand reached and cupped my soggy diaper against my sore balls as I made my way downstairs and across the hall. I did as she said, went to the playroom and climbed into the crib. Latching the railing, I felt, somehow, a little safer. I felt a little like crying, and I wanted a pacifier or something to suckle. But I didn’t dare get back out of the crib to find one. I was pretty sure she couldn’t see, the camera wasn’t connected to her laptop. But still, I just curled up into the fetal position and sucked my thumb for comfort. Appropriate for a baby… God, I had no idea some guys would put up with that sort of pain. She almost tore my nuts off!! And I thought Mommy’s wooden spoon hurt?!?!?! But Mommy was right about one thing, she respected the safe word. And so here I am. Waiting for Mommy, completely alone in a crib. No baby games, my diaper is soaked, and nothing to do but wait. And hell no… I didn’t feel like jerking… I mean… playing with my peepee. Left alone with my thoughts, I soon got bored. It would still be an hour and a half before Mommy would get here. My thumb started to get wrinkled, so I finally took it from my mouth. There was a teddy bear in the crib with me, so I hugged it as I looked around. Even the children’s toys were over there, out of reach. I wonder how much longer… This is like solitary confinement. I miss Mommy. Miss Beth said she has an her ex-husband? I bet I know why they divorced. … Finally, I heard the doorbell. I sat up, eager to be in Mommy’s arms. I hadn’t closed the playroom door, so I heard Miss Beth’s high heels cross the entry-way tile and the door open. My heart leaped for joy when I heard Mommy’s voice. But then I heard Miss Beth, “Hi! Listen, I think we should talk. How about some tea?” Mommy sounded a little confused, but she answered, “Oh! Okay, sure. Tea would be fine.” Mommy wasn’t coming in to get me just yet? But… but… I want Mommy… I called out, “MOMMY!! Mommy come here!!!” But instead, I heard Miss Beth, “I’ll explain in a minute. Have a seat Carole, let me get the tea.” And just that quickly, I saw Miss Beth come into the playroom, closing the door to the sitting room behind her. She ignored me, didn’t even look in my direction. She walked across the room to the other door, that led to the kitchen and disappeared through it. I felt a tear welling up as I sulked. Mommy was right next door, and I was being completely ignored. In just a couple of minutes, the kitchen door opened and Miss Beth had a serving tray balanced on her other hand. I called out to her, “I want MY MOMMY!!!” But she walked to the sitting room door. She barely glanced at me as she said in an icy tone, “Quite crybaby. Or I’ll give you something to cry about!” Then she was through the door, pulling it closed behind her. I flopped back down in the crib, sniffling. I didn’t want a spanking on top of everything else, so I stayed quiet. I couldn’t hear anything except once, when I’m pretty sure Mommy screamed, “WHAT THE HELL BETH!??!?!?” It must have been just ten or fifteen minutes when the door opened again and this time it was Mommy. I instantly sat upright, gripped the bars of the crib and called out, “MOMMY!!!!” She came directly to me and reached for the railing latch. As soon as the railing was down, she hugged me and I returned her hug with the grip of a Sumo wrestler. I squeezed my eyes tight as I felt tears of joy at seeing her. Finally, she loosened her hug and gently pushed us apart. “Did she tell you? Did she tell you what she did?” I asked anxiously. Mommy nodded and said quietly, “Yes dear, and I told her NEVER to do anything like that again.” Words came tumbling out, “It hurt Mommy… It hurt so much… Why would she do that??? Why would anyone… I was a good boy and she…” Mommy’s finger touched my lips to silence me. Mommy’s voice was calm and quiet, “I told you Tommy. She has a darker side, and some people are like that. Sex and kinks come in all sorts of flavors and types. Just like a certain person I know that likes having Mommy take care of them…” She winked. Then she shrugged a little as she finished, “Some… some need what they need. Men… and women… all have different things they like.” “But she didn’t… and I never asked her to…” I was still confused and nervous. Her finger gently touched my lips again. “Shhh…shhhh… I know. And you used your safe word, just like I taught you. For that, I’m very proud of you. You did just as Mommy taught you,” she said. She was right on that part. I didn’t even really think about it, I just blurted it out. Denver… where Mommy came from. I’ve never been there, but just now, I LOVED DENVER!!! I sniffled a little and looked into Mommy’s eyes to ask, “Can we go home now Mommy? I want to go home.” She hugged me again, briefly, as she answered, “Of course sweetie. Mommy’s here now and everything is going to be just fine.” Then she let go of me and her hand reached to check my diaper. She said sweetly as she stepped away a little and reached for the stack of diapers, “But I think first, we better change my darling little boy’s diaper.” To Be Continued

Chapter 15 Cooking Class Bradley burst through the door of the cooking classroom and slammed it shut behind him. He leaned against the door, chest heaving as though he'd just outrun a tiger. The hallway had been unbearable—endless snickers, muffled laughter, and eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere. At least in here there were only a handful of classmates to deal with instead of the entire school. He looked up to find Ms. Nelson at the front, rushing to put out the ingredients for today's cook. Her glance flicked toward him—brief, sharp, unmistakable. It said Behave today. The warning look sent a chill down his spine. Bradley was nowhere near Ms. Nelson’s favorite student. She was long past cleaning up after his messes and putting up with his carelessness and disobedience. He still remembered the near-fire from the cookies he left in the oven, the chili that boiled over and painted half the room red, and the flour bag he carelessly opened that turned Ms. Nelson into a ghost. and left her finding flour in her hair weeks later. After that last incident she reassigned him to work with Jenna and Ellie—her two most responsible, mature students. They were supposed to keep him from destroying the place. Bradley shuddered under Ms. Nelson’s stare, then turned toward his assigned table. Ellie and Jenna were already seated, along with Airhead Chloe—the group’s other “problem child,” though nowhere near as disastrous as Bradley. His gaze settled on Ellie, his longtime crush. She sat with her legs elegantly crossed, chatting like she was hosting afternoon tea. She wore a modest sleeveless top and high-waisted jeans that hugged her figure perfectly. Bradley had always loved those jeans; they outlined her bum in a way that made stealing glances at it dangerously addictive. Bradley noticed Jenna and Chloe had their heads together, talking and giggling hushed voices. When Ellie noticed him standing frozen near the door, she gleamed a big smile and gave him a friendly wave over. When Jenna and Chloe realized who she was beckoning, their conversation died instantly. Bradley’s stomach lurched. They were definitely talking about me. The sight of Ellie and Jenna froze him in place like a deer caught in headlights. In an instant his mind hurled him back to that mortifying moment when he was lying naked and exposed on the changing table in the Walmart ladies’ room, his legs held high in the air by Jenna while Ellie sweetly sprinkled baby powder all over him for Michelle, who was putting him back in daytime diapers. After that embarrassing moment, he never wanted to face them again. Not after that. Ellie’s voice pulled him out of the spiral. “Bradley, sweetie, come sit down.” She patted the empty chair beside her. He shook his head to clear it, then crossed the room in short, awkward steps. Every step he took, the diaper between his legs rustled audibly, causing heads to turn from nearby tables and whispers follow him. His cheeks turned red. When he finally reached the table and lowered himself gingerly onto the chair, the diaper compressed with a loud, unmistakable crinkle, and his thighs were forced apart. He kept his eyes glued to the tabletop, praying he could get through this hour without being the center of attention. Of course Ellie wasn’t going to ignore him though. She leaned forward, cheek resting in her palm, studying him with exaggerated sweetness. “Aww, Bradley, you look so adorable today. That little outfit is perfect for you—and those shorts? They’re just the cutest. They show off your cute little bottom so well.” She reached over and gave the back of his hand a gentle pat. “We’re going to make some yummy food today. Ms. Nelson’s getting everything ready for us.” Jenna was still staring at him with her mouth wide open. “‘You think his shorts look cute?’ More like impossible to miss! His diaper's practically bursting out of them, and I can see his diaper bulge clearer than my baby brother's.” Bradley sank lower in his seat, tugging uselessly at the hem of his shirt. Ellie shot Jenna a look. “Jenna, be nice. Katie said he’s already had a really big morning. Poor guy’s still getting used to his new dia—” She caught herself as Bradley let out a heavy, defeated sigh. “—clothing,” she finished, smiling brightly and patting his hand again. Chloe blinked, head tilting like a confused puppy as she tried to crane around the table for a better view of his diaper. “Clothing? Wait… so Bradley’s been wearing diapers this whole time?” Jenna rolled her eyes. “No, I said his mom got tired of his accidents, so she put him back in daytime diapers. And she asked us to help diaper him in the ladies’ room at Walmart.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed like she was trying to do mental math. “And that’s when you saw his baby winky?” Laughter erupted from the tables around them. Bradley dropped his forehead onto his folded arms, trying to disappear through the table. Ellie slid her arm around his back and rubbed slow, soothing circles on him. Her voice dropped into pure babysitter mode—soft, sweet, almost melodic. “Ignore them, sweetie. You just be our big helper today like you always are, and we’ll make you some yummy food, okay?” Bradley stayed curled forward, face hidden. He hated how much he secretly liked the gentleness of Ellie’s hand on his back. He could smell her sweet flower scented perfume and he liked the attention she was giving him. Jenna and Chloe resumed their hushed gossip, while Ellie kept rubbing circles on his back. Finally, the bell rang. Ms. Nelson finished setting out the ingredients, then strode to the front of the room and clapped her hands sharply. “Alright, everyone, settle down. Eyes on me, please.” She noticed Bradley still had his head resting on his arms. With a quick snap of her fingers, she got his attention. “Bradley—eyes on me. I don’t need you making any messes today.” Now that she had Bradley’s full attention, she continued. “Today we’re making authentic homemade spaghetti and meatballs. I’ve left a very detailed recipe on each of your tables. Please review it carefully and begin. I do not want a repeat of the chili incident.” She shot Bradley a pointed look, drawing every eye in the room straight to him. Bradley’s face flushed red. He dropped his gaze back to the table. Ellie calmly picked up the recipe sheet and began reading it with her usual focus. She was always the natural leader of their group—smart, precise, and excellent at following instructions. Ms. Nelson trusted her completely, while the rest of the class needed her constant attention with endless questions and pleas for help. Ellie assigned tasks to Jenna and Chloe—her voice calm and confident. When she glanced at Bradley, still hunched over the table with that familiar glum expression, she decided not to push him right away. Let him breathe for a minute. The rest of the group moved like a well-oiled machine under Ellie's direction. Meanwhile, Ms. Nelson darted from table to table, fielding questions, demonstrating techniques, and putting out the occasional small fires. When it was time to roll the meatballs, Ellie turned toward Bradley. He was still sitting there, staring at the countertop like it had offended him. She softened, she had an idea. “Bradley, sweetie,” she said gently from the cooking station, “want to be my big helper and help me roll the meatballs?” Bradley lifted his head. Her smile was warm and kind, the kind that made it impossible to stay miserable. How could he say no? Besides, anything was better than sitting there doing nothing. He gave a small nod and pushed back from the table to join her. It turned out to be… fun. Ellie scooped a portion of the seasoned meat mixture and plopped it into his palm with exaggerated care, like she was handing him something precious. “Your turn, chef,” she teased, nudging his hip lightly with hers. Bradley couldn’t help but grin a little. He rolled the chunk between his palms, mimicking her motions. When his meatball came out lopsided, she laughed—not mockingly, but bright and easy—and bumped him with her hip again, playful and fun. He bumped her back too. For one sweet moment Bradley forgot about the mocking, teasing, and jokes. She kept giving him playful looks, her eyes sparkling. He felt like she was flirting with him. Then it happened. Without warning, a sharp tug yanked Bradley’s shorts down to his ankles. The thick, crinkling diaper was suddenly on full display to the entire room. Laughter exploded from every corner of the classroom—even Ellie’s bright, giggle joined in. Bradley spun around, face scorching, hands scrambling to cover himself. Ms. Nelson stood behind him, arms crossed, her expression stern and unapologetic. “What are you doing?!” His voice cracked, high and desperate. Ms. Nelson didn’t flinch. “Bradley, if you’d actually paid attention in my home-ec class last year, you’d remember: the proper way to check a diaper is with it clearly visible. To ensure nothing is missed.” Before he could sputter another protest, she leaned over, batted his shielding hands aside, and hooked a finger into the front waistband of his diaper, pulling it open to peer inside. Then she gave the front a firm squeeze, inadvertently pinching his “baby winky” making him flinch. Next she spun him around and repeated the process in the back, causing the waistband to snap back. “All clean,” she announced, loud enough for the whole class to hear. “Good job not making any messes for once, Bradley.” She yanked his shorts back up with a brisk motion, patted his bottom, and continued her rounds. His cheeks burned so hot he thought they might blister. He wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Just minutes ago he’d been flirting with Ellie—actually feeling like maybe she saw him as more than a friend—and then Miss Nelson had to ruin everything. She’d interrupted the one moment he felt normal, yanked his shorts down in front of everyone, and turned him into a laughingstock all over again. He looked around the room—every face was turned toward him, mouths open in laughter. Even Ellie was giggling behind her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Bradley stumbled back to the table, dropped into his chair, and buried his face in his folded arms. The laughter gradually dwindled as students returned to their cooking, but the humiliation clung to him like a messy diaper. Ellie watched him for a moment. She considered going to comfort him, but decided he needed to take a timeout to cool down. A few minutes later the spaghetti and meatballs were finished. The rich, savory aroma filled the air—garlic, tomato, herbs, warm meat. Bradley’s stomach growled painfully. He hadn’t tasted real food since Michelle had restricted him to her “infant diet.” The smell alone was torture. The girls set a heaping plate in front of him like it was a birthday surprise. “We gave you the one with the most meatballs,” Ellie said with a smile. “Hopefully this cheers you up.” It looked incredible. Bradley was starving. He snatched up his fork and attacked the plate, shoving huge forkfuls into his mouth. Sauce smeared across his face; noodles dangled from his mouth. Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Whoa. Looks like he hasn’t eaten in days.” Jenna glanced at Ellie. “Didn’t Katie say something about him being put on an “infant diet”?” Ellie nearly choked on her own bite but covered her mouth, giggling because she knew what ”infant diet" meant. “Yes. She did.” Bradley didn’t register their conversation. He was too busy devouring the food—real food, solid and delicious nothing like Michelle's breastmilk. Ellie set her fork down. “Bradley. Slow down. Smaller bites. You’re getting sauce everywhere.” Before he could argue, Jenna popped up with an idea. “I’ll be right back.” Ellie snatched the knife and fork away from him and slid his plate in front of her. “Here, let me show you.” She took the fork and knife from his hand, cut the spaghetti into smaller bites, twirled a perfect forkful of noodles and meatball, then she held it to his lips. Bradley stared at the food as though it might bite him back. “Open,” Ellie said firmly. He hesitated, then obeyed. The taste exploded across his mouth, his eyes fluttered closed for a second. Suddenly a soft bib was being fastened around his neck. Jenna was back, grinning. “I remembered we had these in the home-ec storage closet. Figured he could use one.” Ellie smiled at her. “Probably a good call.” She offered the next bite. Bradley stared at it, torn. Part of him hated being fed like this in front of everyone—but the food was too good to refuse. Slowly, he opened his mouth again. Jenna and Chloe settled at the table to eat their own plates, openly watching the show with amused smiles. Soon students from nearby tables noticed too. Whispers and stifled giggles spread. “Oh my gosh, how cute,” one girl whispered to her friend. “Feeding time for baby Bradley.” Bradley didn’t hear them. All he could do was focus on the next bite Ellie held out for him. Before long the plate was empty. “All gone,” Ellie said softly, the same soothing tone she’d use with the toddlers she babysat. Bradley was sad it was all gone. Ms. Nelson’s voice cut across the room. “Class is almost over. It's time for everyone to clean up their kitchens.” Ellie wiped Bradley’s face with the bib, dumped her leftover food into a to-go container she brought, and started tidying their station. Bradley stayed seated, still feeling gloomy. Ms. Nelson noticed. “Bradley. I said everyone helps clean up. That includes you. Now go help your group.” He rolled his eyes, slouched dramatically to his feet, grabbed a rag, and halfheartedly wiped the counter while the girls handled the dishes. He could hear the group at the next station grumbling—their garbage disposal wasn't working, and they still had a mountain of dishes left. Bradley glanced over at his group: everything was already organized, dishes done, counters gleaming. He had to admit it—he was lucky to be in her group. Things always went smoothly with Ellie. When their kitchen station was spotless. They stood waiting for the bell while other groups scrambled to finish. Then a girl from the neighboring table wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?” Another plugged her nose. “Seriously. It’s awful.” Heads turned. Students all over the room started sniffing the air and grimacing. Ms. Nelson looked up, confused. She scanned the class, then locked eyes with Ellie across the room.“ Ellie, would you be a dear and check Bradley for me, please?” “Sure thing!” Ellie replied brightly. Before Bradley could react, Ellie stepped in close, grabbing the waistband of his shorts, and yanking them straight down to his ankles—just like Ms. Nelson had done earlier. A fresh wave of cool air hit his exposed diaper. He froze. Ellie hooked a finger into the front, pulled it open, gave a quick squeeze, then spun him and repeated the check in the back. “Its not coming from him, Ms. Nelson,” she reported, cheerful and curious. Ms. Nelson frowned, following the smell. “Then what…?” she said, pacing the room looking for the source of the smell. Then she got close to the floor drain, sniffed, and straightened. “Oh. It’s just the drain. Must be stopped up. I’ll call the janitor. For a second I thought Bradley might have made another mess for me to clean up.” she said, giving him a wink. The room erupted in fresh laughter. Bradley stared at Ellie as she giggled politely behind her hand. The sound felt like a slap. He looked at her the way someone looks at a friend who’s just stabbed them in the back. He’d thought they were friends. He thought she actually liked him. That the smiles, the gentle teasing, the kindness meant something more. But now, watching her laugh at his expense after yanking down his shorts and checking his diaper like it was nothing, the truth settled in. She wasn’t treating him like a crush. She was treating him like one of her babysitting charges. A toddler who needed wiping, feeding, and checking. The realization hit harder the more he replayed the last hour in his mind: How she’d comforted him when he was upset, rubbing his back like a two-year-old. How she’d cheered him up by playing with him. How she fed him because he was making a mess. And now this: checking his diaper in front of the whole class without a second thought, because she thought he was “smelly.” It wasn’t affection. It was caretaking. Ellie didn’t see him as a boy she might like. She saw him as one of the babies she would babysit. The bell rang, snapping him out of the spiral. Ellie turned to him with that same warm, practiced smile.“Enjoy the rest of your day, sweetie, ” she said brightly. "I hope your mommy calls me soon.” She gave him a warm hug and walked out, leaving him standing there, with his shorts still around his ankles, and his heart sinking.

I enjoy being creative with wood and resin, I made this for a charity auction and it went for £100.

Chapter 13 When they finally reached the principal’s office, the secretary opened the door and gave Bradley a quick, sympathetic glance that only twisted his stomach tighter. Nothing could save him now. Principal Eleanor Hargrove looked up from her desk as the secretary slipped out, leaving the door ajar. She had warm brown hair that fell in soft, shoulder-length waves around a surprisingly youthful face for a woman in her early forties. Rising from her chair, she offered a warm, maternal smile. Her simple dress and modest heels lent her an air that was equal parts nurturing and quietly authoritative. Bradley knew this office far too well—countless visits for the same petty offenses: forgotten assignments, chronic tardiness, poor grades. Each time ended the same: Mrs. Hargrove leaning forward, hazel eyes steady, voice calm but firm. “Bradley, you need to get your act together. I know you’re capable of more.” He’d nod, promise change, and then do nothing. “Good to see you again, Michelle!” she exclaimed, stepping forward with open arms. She pulled Michelle into a tight, genuine hug—the kind saved for old friends. “It’s so good to see you—even under these circumstances. ”Michelle returned the embrace warmly. “I wish we were here about Katie instead. It's usually good news then.” Before Bradley could process the exchange, Principal Hargrove turned and enveloped him in a firm hug, patting his back—and, with unmistakable deliberation, the thickly padded seat of his shorts. “Poor lamb,” she murmured. “I already know all about Saturday at Walmart. It was the main topic in the faculty lounge this morning. ”Bradley’s blood turned to ice. He hadn’t even considered that a teacher might have witnessed his public humiliation—or worse, that the staff had spent their coffee hour gossiping about it. The principal gave Michelle a knowing nod. “I’d have done exactly the same if my eighteen-year-old wet his pants in the middle of the store.” She returned to her chair. “So, what brings you in today?” Bradley stood frozen in the center of the room, face burning beneath the childish outfit, eyes wide as the two women settled in. Michelle cleared her throat, set the diaper bag on the desk with a deliberate thud—the contents shifting and crinkling audibly—then smoothed her skirt and sat. “As you’ve probably already heard in the lounge,” she began matter-of-factly, “I’ve had to put Bradley back in diapers full-time. Too many accidents. So, for the foreseeable future, he stays diapered—day and night, and he is not allowed to take them off himself for any reason.” Principal Hargrove tsked softly, fixing Bradley with a look of mock pity. “My, my. Eighteen years old and still struggling with potty training. How sad.” “I know,” Michelle said with a sigh. “And on top of that, his disobedience, lying, and general irresponsibility have only gotten worse lately. ”The principal nodded. “I’ve noticed the same pattern here at school.” Michelle turned her gaze on Bradley, who wanted to melt through the floor. “Well, I’ve decided on a solution. If he’s going to act like a baby, then that’s exactly how I’m going to treat him.” Mrs. Hargrove’s eyes brightened. “That sounds like an excellent approach. It should be very effective for correcting this kind of behavior.” Michelle looked proud. “Exactly. So, in addition to full-time diapers, he’s on an infant diet, early bedtimes, and constant supervision. For the punishment to work, there can’t be any breaks—not even here at school. That’s why I need your help to keep everything consistent during the day. ”Ms. Hargrove clasped her hands together, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely, Michelle. We’ll make sure every teacher follows your guidelines to the letter—no exceptions, no shortcuts. Consistency between home and school is essential, and we’re fully on board. ”Bradley’s stomach lurched violently. This wasn’t mere approval—the principal sounded delighted. The entire school was about to mirror his home regimen with perfect precision. Before the conversation could continue, a ripple of snickers drifted through the open doorway. Three senior boys had their heads poked around the frame, eyes gleaming with confirmation of whatever rumors they’d heard. Principal Hargrove’s smile vanished. She turned sharply. “Bradley, sweetheart, would you close the door, please? ”He obeyed instantly, pivoting to push it shut. As he did, Mrs. Hargrove drew in a soft breath and let out a knowing chuckle. “Oh my goodness… look at those thighs. ”Her gaze lingered on the fresh, vivid handprints glowing across the backs of his legs.She turned back to Michelle with a small, approving smile. “Someone was already naughty this morning, wasn’t he? Still bright red. I see you’re still using spankings. ”Bradley’s face went from red to scarlet. Michelle gave a light chuckle. “Yes. He threw a little tantrum before we left. He needed a firm reminder.” Mrs. Hargrove smiled wider. She reached into her purse on the floor, pulled out a large wooden hairbrush, and held it up casually. “I keep this one handy for when I have to step in at home. My three little ones—all under twelve—still get it regularly when they step out of line. Though lately they’ve been improving… unlike this young man.” She gave Bradley a pointed look. He shrank under her stare, the implication cutting deeper than the lingering sting on his thighs. Her eyes suddenly brightened, as if a new thought had just occurred to her. “Speaking of discipline… I only recently discovered the school district never actually banned corporal punishment. Everyone assumed it ended in the early eighties, but it was simply that parents stopped signing the consent forms, so the practice faded away. ”Michelle’s face lit with sudden excitement. “Really? You can spank him here at school too?” “Yes—and not just me. Any staff member is permitted, provided the parent has signed the consent form on file. The policy is surprisingly permissive: any implement, any state of dress, witnesses allowed… as long as everything is documented.” “Wow,” Michelle breathed, already reaching for her pen. “I never brought it up because I thought it was banned. I’m thrilled he’ll receive the same consistent discipline here that he gets at home. Where do I sign?” Mrs. Hargrove set the hairbrush aside and retrieved a single sheet from a side drawer—the official corporal punishment consent form. Michelle didn't even read it and signed with a decisive flourish. “Done.” “I’m sure his teachers will be relieved when they learn you’ve authorized it,” the principal said with a small smile. “They’ll finally be able to maintain effective discipline with Bradley.” Bradley’s breath snagged in his throat. Teachers could spank him now. The office suddenly felt suffocating; his knees trembled. Mrs. Hargrove’s gaze shifted. “Now, let’s address the elephant in the room.” She reached across the desk, lifted one of the thick, crinkly diapers from the open diaper bag, and held it up between her manicured fingers. “How are we going to handle his changes?” “I was hoping the school nurse could take care of them,” Michelle suggested, “if she’s willing.” The principal nodded and picked up the phone. “Anna, could you come to my office, please?” Moments later the door opened. A young woman in her mid-twenties stepped inside—bright-eyed, warm smile, gentle confidence radiating from her. Bradley recognized her instantly: Nurse Anna, the new school nurse. She had soft features, striking green eyes… and right now, the sight of her made his face blaze. The mental image hit him hard—her peeling away his soiled diaper, wiping him clean, powdering him, taping a fresh diaper snugly around his waist while she smiled that sweet, professional smile. Shame surged through him so fiercely he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Anna, this is Michelle and her son Bradley,” Mrs. Hargrove said warmly. “Bradley has been returned to daytime diapers due to his frequent accidents. We’re wondering whether you’d be able to manage his changes throughout the school day.” Nurse Anna circled him slowly, studying him with open curiosity. Her gaze settled on the obvious padded bulge beneath his shorts. “Aw, poor thing. A little old to still be struggling with potty training, aren’t you?” She tilted her head, considering. “I’ve never changed an eighteen-year-old before, but I babysat through college and handled plenty of toddlers. I can absolutely manage his diapering needs… and honestly, I don’t mind at all. He looks adorable like this.” Without warning, her hand settled on his thickly padded bottom and delivered several firm, deliberate pats—pat-pat-pat-pat. The loud crinkle echoed in the small room like gunfire.“I’ll take good care of the little guy,” she promised, smiling down at him. Bradley’s cheeks burned hotter; mortification flooded every inch of him as Michelle and the principal exchanged approving glances. Michelle exhaled in visible relief. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry he’s such a handful.” She slid the diaper bag across the desk toward Nurse Anna. “Everything you’ll need is in here—wipes, powder, rash cream, and he's quite the heavy wetter so I packed plenty of extra diapers.” Nurse Anna grabbed a Post-it from the principal’s desk, scrawled BRADLEY THOMPSON in large block letters, and stuck it firmly to the bag. “Oh—and one more thing,” Michelle added. “You’ll need to check his diaper regularly. Not just to see if he’s used it—but to make sure he’s still wearing it. I have a feeling he’s already thinking about trying to take it off… but if he does, he’s in serious trouble.” She picked up the hairbrush still lying on the desk and held it up meaningfully, letting it catch the light. Bradley’s face went scarlet. “Don’t worry,” Mrs. Hargrove said calmly. “I’ll email all of Bradley’s teachers with clear instructions: they’re to check his diaper at the start of every hour and send him directly to Nurse Anna if it’s wet or soiled. He is to use his diaper for all his toileting needs. I’ll also inform them that you’ve signed the corporal punishment consent form.” She turned to Bradley, voice dropping into that syrupy, condescending tone adults reserve for small children. “That means your teachers now have full permission to spank you, Bradley. And your mommy has authorized bare-bottom spankings in front of the class whenever they deem it necessary. Do you understand?” Bradley gulped, the room tilting slightly. Teachers. In front of everyone. Bare. His knees felt liquid. He managed a tiny, trembling nod. “Yes, ma’am.” “Perfect.” Mrs. Hargrove beamed. “Michelle, we’ll notify his teachers immediately. They’ll perform diaper checks at the beginning of each hour and send him to the nurse as needed. Any misbehavior will be reported at once—and teachers may administer spankings whenever they feel it necessary.” “Thank you,” Michelle said, voice thick with gratitude. She rose and exchanged a warm, lingering hug with the principal. “Knowing he’ll be properly supervised and corrected here takes such a weight off my shoulders.” “We’re happy to help,” Mrs. Hargrove replied, returning the embrace. The warning bell rang. The principal glanced at the clock. “That’s the warning bell, Bradley. You’d better head to class. We don’t want you late on your first day under your new rules.” Michelle fixed him with a final stern look. “Behave, young man. I’ll pick you up after school.” Bradley turned, legs unsteady, and his cheeks flaming. He took a deep breath and slowly walked back out into the jungle of the hallway. The day had just begun, and he was dreading what was to come.

Chapter 12 Bradley sat in the backseat of Michelle’s car, staring out the window at the blur of trees passing by. He fidgeted nervously in the back. Alternating between attempting to hide his diaper and rubbing the back of his still stinging thighs. The crinkle of his diaper beneath his shorts a constant, humiliating reminder of his new reality. The car radio played softly, but Bradley wasn’t listening as they approached the school. The backs of his thighs still hurt really bad, but that was the least of his worries. His mind raced with dread as he pictured his classmates from Walmart—Emma, helping Michelle pick out his diapers, Anna gawking at him as he soiled himself, Ellie and Jenna in the ladies’ room watching him get diapered, and stupid Caleb filming him get spanked. He was sure the gossip about him would spread like wild fire as soon as those classmates got to school this morning, turning his humiliation into the hottest gossip. He could already hear the snickers when he walked into first hour—Emma and Anna smirking from their desk, Ellie and Jenna exchanging giggles during second hour wondering when they will be hired to babysit him, and Caleb tormenting him. I’m going to be the laughing stock of the whole school! Bradley thought. Just last week his biggest fear was the school finding out he still wet the bed. They seemed to know about his potty chart that hung on the fridge, no thanks to Katie and her stupid friends, and they speculated his “mommy” still put him in diapers every night, all thought all true, he could just deny that. They didn't have any evidence, but now here's their evidence, walking in wearing a toddlers outfit with the most obvious diaper bulge. They’re going to tease me all day, and there's nothing I can do about it. I can't believe Michelle is serious about this. I hate her! Bradley vented in his head. “Stop squirming,” Michelle said sharply, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “You made your bed, Bradley. Now you have to lie in it.” Bradley swallowed hard, his cheeks burning. If he hadn’t wet his pants in the middle of Walmart, if he hadn’t pushed Michelle to her breaking point—maybe he wouldn’t be here now. The car pulled into the parking lot, and Bradley froze. Students milled about outside the building on the lovely warm fall morning, laughing, chatting, completely unaware of the spectacle that was about to unfold. Michelle parked the car and turned to face him, her expression stern. “Out. Now,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt with a sharp click. Bradley hesitated, his fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “Michelle, please—” “Don’t Michelle, please’ me,” she interrupted. “Now get out of the car before I drag you out myself,” Michelle roared as she opened the rear door and slung the diaper bag over her shoulder. Bradley didn’t move fast enough. He just stared at the students milling about. With a sigh of exasperation, Michelle reached into the backseat, grabbed him by the wrist, her grip firm, and before he could protest, she yanked him out of the car. His feet stumbled on the pavement, and he stared at the students like a deer in the headlights while Michelle put his little bookbag on him (the same one he's had since grade school) and before he knew it she was marching him toward the school, with the dreaded diaper bag swinging from her shoulder. Katie followed behind relishing in Bradley's predicament. Michelle’s heels clicked down the sidewalk. She had the confident grace of someone in utter control—tall and slender, her blonde curly hair tucked behind her ear accenting her attractive features and piercing blue eyes. The fitted blouse strained around her bosoms and her pencil skirt accentuated her toned rear, giving her an air of polished, intimidating elegance that made her demeanor all the more commanding. Bradley’s small, scrawny frame looked tiny next to her, the orange-and-white striped T-shirt clung to his narrow chest and barely reached the top of the impossibly short light-blue shorts, while the thick diaper forced his legs apart making him awkwardly waddle. At just five feet tall with no hint of facial hair or muscle definition, he looked more like a lost grade schooler than an eighteen-year-old senior. His skin flushed red from the neck up, and his eyes were wide and panicked. Katie walked behind Bradley to observe his humiliation. With every stride she could hear the diaper crinkle, she watched the bulk shift visibly under his tight shorts. The obvious diaper bulge in the back was impossible to miss. He looked like he was being taken to daycare. She couldn't decide what amused her more, the diaper or the red handprints on his thighs from the tantrum he threw earlier. As he was dragged toward the entrance by his wrist, Katie watched Bradley with one hand awkwardly grab the hem of his too-short shirt and yank it down desperately, trying to stretch the fabric over the glaring white waistband of his diaper that poked out above his shorts. It would sort of work in either the front or the back but not at the same time, and his backpack kept making the shirt ride up, exposing his humiliating diaper. The white vinyl diaper bag Michelle carried was stuffed so full that several of Bradley’s diapers protruded from the unzipped top. It swung from her shoulder like a beacon. Bradley looked around, his appearance was starting to sink in. He caught sight of the diaper bag. Did she really need to pack so many diapers? Couldn’t she at least zip it up? Bradley’s stomach sank as the first giggles erupted from nearby students. Heads turned, eyes followed them as he was dragged toward the entrance. The giggles didn't faze Michelle, she kept dragging him along like a misbehaving child. Because that’s exactly what he was to her. A group of cheerleaders sat on the front steps, their short skirts fanned across the steps. One of them, blonde, and wearing a bright red bow—pointed, and whispered something to her friends, soon their ponytails swayed as they noticed the spectacle. Bradley’s heart raced as he caught snippets of their conversation. The blonde leaned forward, smirking. “Is that a diaper bag?” A brunette with glitter on her cheeks giggled beside her. “Oh my God, is he wearing a diaper?” Another, dark-haired, covered her mouth in shock after Bradley passed right by her. “Look at his thighs—did she spank him?” Bradley's heart sank. The first of many comments he thought. Katie quickly jumped ahead of them to hold the door open. She flashed Bradley a wicked grin. “Be good, little one,” she teased before heading off to her locker, clearly relishing every second of his humiliation. Bradley wanted to retort, but before he could, Michelle tugged him into the front office, nearly pulling him off balance. The fluorescent lights overhead felt harsh, blinding. They waited while the secretary was on a phone call. The only positive thing that Bradley felt so far was that from the brief interaction with the cheerleaders, they didn't mention anything about Walmart. Maybe the news about Walmart hasn't spread to the entire school. The secretary looked up from her desk, she was cute and probably only a few years older than Bradley, her eyebrows rose at the sight of the diaper bag and Bradley’s flushed face. “Yes, we have a scheduled meeting with Principal Hargrove,” Michelle announced, her tone kind and professional. The secretary smiled and nodded, “The principal’s office is just down the main hallway. I’ll walk you there.” She stood and led them to the glass door that separated the quiet front office from the bustling hallway and held it open for them with a big smile. Bradley froze at the threshold, his sneakers rooted to the carpet as the roar of students flooded the hallway, lockers slamming, voices echoing, bodies rushing in every direction. He resisted, pulling back against Michelle’s grip. He was terrified to step into this sea of students dressed the way he was, with the tight shorts doing nothing to hide the thick, obvious diaper bulge, and the bright red handprints on his thighs. He whispered in a desperate voice. “Michelle, please… don’t make me go out there like this. Everyone’s going to see.” Michelle’s hand tightened on his wrist, firm and unyielding. “You’re coming, Bradley. Now quit stalling. Don’t make me give you a you know what in front of the entire you know who.” When his feet stayed planted, she tightened her grip, and yanked him along, pulling him forward into the crowded hallway. The cute secretary could barely conceal her amusement as she let the door swing shut behind them. Once in the hallway Michelle moved with purpose. Her heels clicked with a steady, authoritative rhythm against the linoleum. The overstuffed diaper bag bounced against her hip with each stride, there was no mistaking its purpose. Students could see the many diapers stuffed inside, threatening to spill onto the floor with the next jostle. Her grip on his wrist never wavering as she pulled him toward the principal’s office on a mission. The first group of students they passed were seniors near the water fountain, they went quiet. One girl’s eyes widened; she nudged her friend “Oh my gosh, you can totally see he’s wearing a diaper—it’s poking right out of his shorts!” The words hit like ice water. They can see the damn diaper. Everyone can. His face burned; he wanted to scream at Michelle—This is your fault, you did this—but her iron grip on his wrist kept him silent. A few steps later, a senior couple chatting against lockers noticed him: “Look it’s bedwetter Bradley! I KNEW his mommy still put him in diapers!” The nickname landed softer than usual. For years he hated that name. Now it felt gentle compared to this. The girl commented, “Look at his thighs. He must’ve been really naughty this morning!” The fresh handprints still throbbed on his thighs, visible proof of this morning's spanking. He hated Michelle for this, parading him around school diapered and marked, unable to hide his shame. Near the trophy case, a trio of cheerleaders stood trying to seduce the dumb jock. “Aw, how cute—check out his little diaper bag!” the brunette commented. “His mommy’s carrying extra diapees in case he goes wee-wee!” snorted the jock. Everyone seemed to notice him. Fingers pointed openly, and stifled giggles erupted into full on laughs behind cupped hands. Others simply stared—wide-eyed, mouths open in shock. Bradley’s eyes stung. His bedwetting secret he’d guarded so tightly was out—shattered—but that old shame paled next to this humiliating spectacle. Being known as a bedwetter gave him a bad reputation, but this felt like reputation annihilation he could never come back from.

I don't see any correlation between diaper wearing and homosexuality. What i more see is a lot of straight males acting creepy towards females resulting in them being more quiet because they don't want to be objectified and harassed by a bunch of horny males.

My God, bowl hair cut or baby curl.... I really don't know which to chose. As much as I hate to say it, I vote baby curl. She needs to be the youngest/newborn for trying to spy on the Queen of the Robo nursery!

This is just going to be a quick poll to see what everyone wants. I'm not sure if these are the best examples, but they should at least give you an idea. If anyone wants to submit pics of your own that you think better represent the look in question, by all means post it in the comments. Click here to take the poll (this one is open to the public.) 1. Pixie cut: 2. Bowl cut: 3. Baby curl: (see full pics on SpankingToons.) 4. Shaved bald Click here to vote now

Being stuck in a giant backwards facing car seat, it was difficult for June to figure out exactly where she was being taken to say the least. Based on the street signs and stop lights that June managed glimpse from the rear window, she deduced that Mommy lived on nearly the opposite side of town from where she lived. The fetish had affected her clothing, her potty training, her social status, her spoken vocabulary, and possibly even her emotional control, but it had yet to fully regress her adult intellect. She could still read. She could still count. And as much as an increasingly large part of her didn’t want to admit or accept it, she was physically a fully grown and mature woman. Part of her- likely the part that the fetish was influencing- whispered to her to stop struggling, and just enjoy the ride. She was safe. She would be cared for. She would be loved. Why fight it? Why see this fetish as a curse and not a blessing in disguise? A more cynical, more rational voice- the voice of an archaeologist told her that this was how that Aztec cult must have died out. Their gods and their magics were indeed real, their fetishes powerful, but perhaps they were too powerful to be controlled or contained. Perhaps the fetish needed to be sealed away from the sight of mankind. As June sulked, she managed to let the pacifier- formerly the physical embodiment of the fetish itself- drop from her mouth. At some point in time during her transformation, the pacifier had ceased to even be around her neck and was currently held by a ribbon clipped to her pastel yellow t-shirt. June didn’t even bother to try and yank the damnable thing off, reasoning that Mommy would clip it back on the moment she became too “fussy”. Instead, she examined it and turned it over in her hands. The golden yellow bulb dripped with strands of her own saliva, while the bright pink shield- much larger than a true infant’s pacifier- perfectly matched her jumper. June idly supposed that if Mommy had changed her into a teal onesie or a red sleeper, the pacifier would have somehow matched as well. The button on the paci had a picture of a bundled up and smiling infant staring back at her; nearly identical to what the totem had looked like it when she had discovered the fetish a few weeks ago. It was taunting her, June decided. Mocking her inability to do anything about her current situation. She dared not open her mouth to swear; either she’d find the word completely removed from her spoken vocabulary or Mommy would be upset that she had said a naughty word. But June silently promised herself she’d find a way to get even with the spirit contained within the pacifier. Maybe she’d shove it down the front of her diaper when she got a chance and let things progress from there. This thing was causing her genitals to be on total lock down, so it might as well join them in their puffy padded prison. Take that chastity spirit! Then again, did she want something that could literally warp reality itself anywhere near her vagina? She might not like the end result. “We’re hooome,” Mommy sang out in that same sweet sing-song of hers, shortly before the car came to a stop. June felt the hum of the motor cut off and heard the driver’s side door open as Mommy got out of the car. Within moments, Mommy had circled around to the backseat and was unstrapping June. “Did you enjoy the car ride, sweetie?” Mommy asked as she lifted June out of the baby seat and onto her hip. “No!” June said for what felt like the umpteenth time today. “Do you even know what that word means, Juney Mooney?” Mommy said clucking her tongue and smiling. June had meant to say “yes”, but all that came out was “No!” June immediately clapped hand over her mouth in surprise. She was really turning into a toddler! “Thought so,” Mommy shook her head and kept smiling. “The terrible twos are closer than I thought,” she laughed at her own joke, and then spotted the pacifier dangling from June’s shirt. “Oh, that must be why you’re so grumpy,” Mommy picked up the pacifier and tried to bring to June’s mouth. “Here you go, cupcake.” June shook her head and refused to move her hand away from her mouth. “Mmmm-mmmm” she told Mommy. “Nnnnnah!” “I’ve got a picky little girl today,” Mommy said as she let the pacifier drop. “First she doesn’t want to eat her french fries, and then she doesn’t want her favorite paci.” Mommy said to no one in particular. “What next?” Without any further conversation on the matter, June was carried up a flight of sturdy cement stairs. She looked around, and based on the rows and rows of virtually identical buildings and huge parking lot, she guessed that she was in an apartment complex of some kind. But which one? She hadn’t seen any distinguishing signs driving in, and it didn’t help that a single company owned most of the apartments in town, making their layout and design practically indistinguishable from each other. If it wasn’t for the dark green paint job on the roofs, it very well could have been her apartment complex. Mommy turned the door to her apartment- or rather their apartment- and carried June inside. A few steps carried her past the small kitchen and into the main living room where June found herself placed rump first on a soft foam mat with letters of the alphabet stenciled on it. Partly from the infantile tendencies that were slipping into her very being, and partly because of the bulk between her legs, June’s legs locked and splayed into a “V” shape, putting her diaper on full display. Mommy kicked out of her heels and knelt down in front of her little girl. “Let’s get comfy and kick our shoes off, little girl,” Mommy winked at June before she undid the Velcro on June’s shoes and took the toddler style sneakers off of her. She smiled a not entirely maternal smile and took June’s socks off before playfully tickling her toes, causing June to giggle and fall backwards onto the mat. “Oh no you don’t!” Mommy crowed, crawling up to June. “I’m gonna getcha! I’m gonna getcha!” June exploded with laughter as Mommy ran her fingers up and down her rib cage. “No! hehehehehehe!” June protested between laughing fits. “No! Heeeeheehehehehehe!” She was absolutely helpless to resist. She looked up at Mommy, whose grin was still plastered on and was giggling and telling June that she was going to get her, and saw something in her expression that didn’t quite belong. She still had the lovely blonde hair and the sparkling white teeth, and the oh-so-kissable lips that were at that very moment planting a barrage of pecks on the adult baby’s tender cheeks, but there was something more in her eyes: A certain lust. A longing. Something far more savage and manic, far more passionate than the simple love one has for their child. Somewhere behind Mommy’s maternal love, the sultry, nerdy, and undeniably cute cosplayer that June had met at the bar last night still lurked. The fetish might not be as all powerful as it seemed, after all. Mommy slowed her tickling barrage on June and unbuckled the front of her pink jumper like a pair of overalls. “Let’s get my baby girl more comfy,” she cooed while she slid them down June’s body and off her legs. June sighed with relief from the cease in tickling, but didn’t have time to enjoy it. Mommy wasn’t done undressing her, it seemed. June’s yellow t-shirt was quickly yanked up over her head and joined her other clothes on the floor. She was now completely naked, save for her diaper. The pacifier/fetish she noted, had somehow un-clipped itself from her shirt and dangled from her neck again. Blushing furiously and feeling extremely vulnerable, June did her best to cover her bare breasts and shot a hand over her crotch, trying desperately to cover her Luvs. In a weird way, the scene reminded her of a few bad dates involving rushed foreplay and no patience from her partner. Sadly, the one thing Mommy likely wouldn’t be stripping off was June’s diaper, much as June might wish it otherwise. “Oh?” Mommy tilted her head in curiosity, her eyes darting down to June’s crotch. “Are you going pee-pee? Let Mommy check. If you know when you’re going pee-pee maybe you’re turning into a big girl after all.” June found her hand swatted away as Mommy reached between her legs and giving her diaper a firm squeeze. June writhed in pleasure at even the slightest sensual touch, and remembered what had happened last night. The fetish had worked its magic last night and perverted her very adult desires into a childish fantasy world, changing her entire underwear drawer into disposable diapers and her bed into something more appropriate for a three year old. Now that she was having such intense feelings for another person, instead of images on a computer screen, the fetish had been amplified, and Marge or Marie or whatever her name had been was now transformed into “Mommy.” But the magical chastity device had no spirit for a real fight, she recalled. Just last night, confused and still a little drunk from the bar, June had seen no other recourse than to continue masturbating and finish her dirty business inside her diaper. It might have been that the contradiction of a grown woman climaxing inside a disposable diaper was too much for such an altered reality to explain away. Or maybe the fetish was both triggered by and overwhelmed with sexual energy. It could just be that the chastity spirit considered its mission a failure as June had pushed herself over the edge last night and stopped its mischief, however temporarily. Regardless, June had known what to do and the lust she saw in Mommy’s eyes was perhaps her best chance. She wasn’t going to get the privacy she was hoping for, but perhaps she didn’t need it. Maybe what she really needed…was company. June hadn’t peed since her last diaper change as far as she could tell, but she was definitely wet. This was her chance! Her hair still in pigtails and wearing nothing but a diaper and a horny smile, June grabbed Mommy’s hand and thrust her hips into it; hoping and praying that there was something, anything of her potential lover inside of Mommy. “Biggurl!” June shrieked with delight as she gyrated up against Mommy’s palm, hoping for another squeeze against the relatively dry padding. Hopefully something in Mommy would trigger, and she’d get more than tickles and kisses from her. “Oh no no no,” Mommy tutted, yanking her hand away from June’s crotch. “Good girls don’t do that,” she corrected June wagging a finger in the adult baby’s face. “Naughty!” June smiled as if she either didn’t understand, or understood all too well. She popped one thumb in her mouth, and looked up at Mommy, batting her eye lashes mischievously; perhaps even seductively. It was hard to tell if it was having the desired effect, it being so difficult to feel seductive when dressed in nothing but a diaper. Her other hand snaked down below her waist and she began to gently rub herself through the front of her diaper in full view of Mommy; hoping she’d get the idea. Just knowing that she was masturbating so openly in front of another person turned her on and made her ache inside in the worst and most insane ways. Damn this fetish. At least this wouldn’t take long at this rate. “Uh, uh, uh,” Mommy smacked June’s hand away and continued wagging her finger. “Don’t touch yourself there, or Mommy will spank.” “’Pank?” June grinned, hoping to call Mommy’s bluff. She sucked on her thumb harder, and began to snake her free hand back down towards the padding that so imprisoned her loins. There was nothing wrong with a good spanking, after all. “Yes,” Mommy glared down at June, “and not the good kind.” June stopped immediately. Whatever part of her current state was getting through to the real woman inside of Mommy’s transformation; whatever factor caused that twinkle of sexual desire from behind Mommy’s eyes; defiance was definitely not one of them. “Mommy’s gotta go potty,” Mommy said. “Now don’t touch your diaper while I’m gone, or you’ll regret it.” She patted June on the head and then walked to a nearby bathroom. June waited till the door was closed and she heard the lid on the toilet seat go up. She was amazingly horny now, but wasn’t sure if she had enough time to get off and possibly end this. She’d have to work fast, she knew, and prepared to wriggle both hands down the front of her diaper. She’d have to think some very erotic thoughts and block out literally every sensory message that her brain was giving her. She’d have to draw upon a lifetime of smut to override the crinkle of her diaper and the smell of stale urine barely masked by perfume and baby powder wafting out from what was most likely her nursery in this reality. But just as her hands approached the waistband of her Luvs, they froze, unable to enter. Some part of her didn’t want to disobey Mommy, she realized. She felt a not-so-secret thrill at being controlled so and being spoken down to. Mommy wanted a good girl, not a naughty one. Damn this fetish. How was she supposed to get off now? June propped herself up on the foam mat and looked around for the answer to her problem. There, propped up on the letter “Q” of her alphabet play mat was her answer. It was round, and with blunted spikes in places, with a little switch that caused it shake rapidly when activated. June had seen these in many a toy store and gift shop. Supposedly, it was a “bumble-ball”, designed to propel itself around the room while the blunted spikes kept it from rolling too erratically so that an infant could keep up with it. Functionally, it was a spherical vibrator. Technically, that wasn’t touching her diaper. Mommy couldn’t be mad at that, could she? Goodness, no. With no other quick options, and a sense of her time running out, June leaned back, switched the vibrating ball to “on”, and began to pleasure herself. The buzzing filled her ears, drowning out the crinkle of the diaper, and she quickly found that if she pressed hard enough through the padding she’d gasp and breathe through her mouth, thus circumventing the various infantile odors that clung to the air around her. Still lying on her back, June planted her feet flat and began to gyrate and lift her hips off of the alphabet play mat while she rubbed the makeshift sex toy into herself. She began to moan, and bite her lip, luxuriating in the sensations that she was inflicting upon herself. For the first time since this fetish had kicked in and changed her life, June had managed to utter a few very choice, but very adult words. “Oooooh, oh fuck yeah…” she whispered to herself. “Baby!” Mommy shrieked, her voice a mixture of surprise and anger. June’s eyes snapped open. Her fingers splayed, sending the ball jittering and bouncing along the floor. In the throes of her own pleasure, she had failed to hear the toilet flushing, or the door to the bathroom opening. “Mommy?!” June sat up, doing her best to look confused and above all, innocent. “Don’t you ‘Mommy’ me, little girl!” Mommy yelled. “ You’ve been a bad, bad baby!” She bent over and yanked June to her feet. June, feeling more helpless than before was dragged by her ear to a nearby couch and found herself in short order across Mommy’s lap. “Bad, bad, bad, bad, baby!” Mommy yelled, punctuating each “bad” with a slap on the back June’s bare thighs. “BAD! BAD! BAD! BAD! BAD! ” “WE!” THWACK! “DO!” THWACK! “NOT!” THWACK! “TOUCH!” THWACK! “OUR-!” THWACK! “SELVES!” THWACK! “LIKE!” THWACK! “THAT!” THWACK! Mommy had kept her promise. There was nothing sensual or fun about this. It was all stinging pain, and snarling rebukes from Mommy. The raw anger with each hit made fear and panic well up inside her. June’s shrieks of protests were ignored, as slap after slap upon her increasingly sore thighs rained down upon her, despite her kicking and protestations. “Mommy!” June begged, unable to find other words through her pain and panic. “Mah-meeeeee!” She struggled and kicked. She tried to push herself off, but she couldn’t budge. The pacifier around her neck simply gained weight and pinned her down across Mommy’s lap as the onslaught continued. “I said don’t you ‘Mommy’ me, little girl!” Mommy shouted over June’s pleas. “I told you not to be naughty, and you directly disobeyed me the first chance you got.” A little bit of June broke in that moment, and, overwhelmed both physically and emotionally, she gave up her struggle. As Mommy began to finish spanking her, both ends of June became soaked. Tears dribbled from her eyes onto the couch cushions, while piss emptied out of her and into the one article of clothing she had left. Mommy slowed her spanking as June shook with the force of her own bawling, the fetish becoming virtually weightless again. “Mommy!” June cried out, with real sorrow racking her body with each syllable. “Mah-ah-ah-ah-meeee!” The spanking slowed to a stop and June found herself drawn once more into Mommy’s comforting, warm embrace. “Shhhhh,” Mommy hushed as she stroked June’s hair. “We’re done now. We’re done.” Soft, kissable lips favored the top of June’s head. “We’re done. Mommy still loves you, my little cupcake. Mommy still loves you.” June leaned into Mommy and they wrapped their arms around each other as Mommy began rocking them back and forth. Slowly, very slowly, June’s sobbing subsided, and with it, the stinging pain on her thighs. “Mommy didn’t want to do that, but she had to, baby girl,” Mommy told her. “You were very naughty and Mommy had to spank you because she has to teach you to be a good girl. Do you understand?” “No,” June tearfully nodded her head in understanding, even if her mouth wouldn’t cooperate with her. “Awwww,” Mommy gushed at the babyish contradiction. “You are just too cute for words,” she nuzzled June’s cheek. “I forgive you.” “Mommy,” was all that June could make herself say, sniffling as she was. “Okay, pumpkin,” Mommy nudged June off of the couch. “Mommy’s got some work to do and has to start cooking dinner after that. Why don’t you watch some cartoons and play with your toys while Mommy takes care of things?” Mommy lightly patted June on the bum as she stood up, and June felt herself jerk a little bit in surprise; her punishment still fresh in her mind and stinging on her skin. June looked down at the diaper between her legs and felt her lip begin to quiver at the realization that she had had another accident. Only now, as she was standing up and feeling the diaper swell up did June realize that she had peed herself. “Mommy?” June asked, her face transitioning from the red of pain and anger, to the pink of embarrassment. “Yes, baby?” Mommy replied, still sitting comfortably on the couch. “P-p-potty?” June motioned to her diaper. Mommy came forward and gave the front of June’s Luvs a light squeeze. Then, she stuck two fingers into the leg gatherings and felt the inside. If not for the spanking she had just received, June might have been fantasizing and hoping that Mommy would stick those two fingers inside her, as well as her diaper. As things stood, June was just wanting to be put into another clean one. “Hmmmm,” Mommy seemed to consider as she withdrew her fingers. “Turn around,” she ordered. June complied and faced the opposite direction. June felt a quick breeze rush in and blow across her ass as Mommy pulled back the waistband and looked down inside. “You’re a little wet,” Mommy decided, “but you’re just wet. And not too wet, either. I think we’ll wait a while before changing you.” “Mah-meee!” June whined. “Potty!” “June…” Mommy warned, her eyes flashing with anger once more. “Don’t test my patience.” June bowed her head, sufficiently cowed, and sat back down on the alphabet play mat. She felt a distinct squish from inside her diaper as she sat down; causing her to wince at the knowledge of the added contents, but smile at the added comfort it provided. Maybe Mommy was right, she thought. Maybe she wasn’t ready to be a big girl. Maybe she needed what the fetish had given her. As Mommy began to flit around the apartment, switching laundry, and wiping counters; grown-up stuff; June contented herself to playing with blocks. They were light and plastic, so they wouldn’t hurt if they fell on her, but they were big enough so that she couldn’t choke on them if she put them in her mouth. They were all different shapes, and sizes, and colors, but all connected and interlocked on top of each other. Perfect. With all the concentration of a Buddhist monk raking sand, June started to stack the blocks and build herself a castle to live in. At first she tried for perfect symmetry, but the blocks wouldn’t quite allow that. Some blocks were distinctly thicker than others, and stacking them next to one another resulted in uneven and lopsided layers. Soon, tired of the frustration of trying to make all the blocks fit “just right”, June gave up on symmetry and took on a more organic approach. A few blocks up here. Build this other wall up there. If something started to weeble or wobble, it was time to stop putting blocks there, unless a counter-balance was needed. June smirked at herself. This whole “baby” thing wasn’t so bad after all, once you got over the whole embarrassment thing. At least she still thought like an adult, even if her speaking vocabulary had become severely limited. As June was attempting to prevent the third wall on her block castle from toppling over, a shadow fell over June. June looked up, and saw Mommy, smiling and holding a bottle of milk. “Ba-ba?” June asked, looking up from her blocks into Mommy’s smiling face. “Yes honey,” Mommy nodded. “Ba-ba. I thought you could use a little snack. June reached up and accepted the bottle. “I’m betting you’re a little dehydrated,” Mommy said. Dehydrated? What could she mean by that? Then again, she was thirsty, so she accepted the bottle full of sweet milk offered without complaint. “Do you need a change?” Mommy asked. “Potty?” June asked, looking towards the bathroom, stubborn as ever. “No, honey. You already went potty in your pants. Do you want me to change you? You’re diaper looks like it’s all squishy.” Mommy explained. June frowned in concentration. She looked down between her legs and gave her diaper a test squeeze. It was still warm, and definitely squished under her palm, but as near as she could tell, it was no more need of changing than it had been a few minutes ago. Logically she knew she was wet, but she didn’t feel wet, and that was all that mattered, wasn’t it? “No,” June shook her head matter-of-factly before tossing her head back and greedily gulping back her Mommy’s milk. It didn’t taste as good as it did when it was from Mommy directly, but it still it the spot. Then June’s eyes caught sight of a nearby clock, and she nearly choked on her milk. Nearly an hour and a half had passed since June had started building her block castle. There was no possible way that her diaper would still feel as warm as it did when she first wet it. And yet, it did. June quickly came to the only reasonable conclusion: Her diaper wasn’t still warm, she had warmed it up by peeing again and hadn’t even realized it. She concentrated more intently on what was taped to her hips. The diaper swelled. The diaper bulged. The diaper sagged. The cartoon monkey on her crotch was all but faded from wetness and was distorted from the fabric stretching, like a tattoo after freshman year. “Mommeeee?!” June blubbered. Mommy, on her way to the kitchen, turned around. “Yes, Juney Mooney?” Mommy asked, leaning in and a glint in her eye. “Diaper?” June asked hopefully, her increasing sense of dependency on this woman permeating every part of her being. “So you do want me to change you?” Mommy smirked. Some part of her, whether it had been the part that June had met at the bar last night or the part that breast fed her this afternoon was enjoying this. She had an almost know-it-all-I-told-you-so type of aura about her. June, being the baby, had needed a diaper change, and Mommy, being the grown-up, had known and had simply asked June’s opinion as a matter of courtesy. June supposed the old adage was true: “They think they know everything about you just because they changed your diapers.” June looked away, feeling too timid to make eye contact. But in the end, she nodded her head and said “No…” Mommy chuckled and carried her to the nursery. Her second diaper change of the day wasn’t that different from her first one; mechanically at least. June still laid prone on an elevated surface, this time in an overgrown toddler’s nursery, complete with a crib and changing table big enough to accommodate her. She still shivered slightly as the diaper was opened and that first draft of outside air wafted across her sex. She still shuddered and moaned unconsciously as her privates were wiped clean and stared up at her ankles while her old diaper was yanked out from under her. The biggest difference between this and the experience in the burger joint’s bathroom was June’s anxiety; she didn’t really feel any. The public changing had the fear- and perhaps blushing thrill- of being caught and exposed. There was none of that here. June literally didn’t have anything that Mommy hadn’t already seen before. What did you have left to hide from someone who wiped your privates? Perhaps that old adage did have a ring of truth to it. With Mommy’s gentle humming and tender caresses, along with the privacy offered by being on her own changing table in her own nursery, this was closer to a spa treatment than some hurried stripping of soiled underwear. This had an intimacy on a level that curtained booths at a sushi restaurant just couldn’t compete with. She had so little agency, she realized, sucking on the pacifier magically clinging to her person. She was in control of virtually nothing, it seemed. She didn’t even decide when to go to the bathroom or when to clean herself. Could it even be considered “going to the bathroom” considering that she’d spent this afternoon peeing her pants and then basting in them? At the same time, the lack of agency had a kind of intimacy to it. She had no real independence in this state, but the vulnerability made her feel closer to Mommy because of that. Mommy didn’t flinch. Mommy didn’t judge. Mommy protected her and loved her unconditionally. How many people could say that of their first dates? A moan escaped June’s lips and her body glowed just thinking about it. Finally, she may have had a lack of power, but she also had a lack of responsibility. No digging through ancient ruins, hoping to find some hidden room. No more restoring broken and damaged scrolls that weren’t worth the papyrus they were written on thousands of years ago, but had increased in value due to their age. No more crawling through clubs and bars looking for someone to be with so that she wouldn’t have to be alone. No more heartache or worrying that she’d have to break up with someone because she was about to spend six months on another continent, and long distance relationships never worked. No more fear of making a real connection that would just snap. All she had to do, was let the fetish do its work, lay back, and accept it. She was fading, she knew. The rational part of her brain couldn’t deny it. There was no point in denying it. Bit by bit, the big grown-up archaeologist was fading away, and being replaced with the little girl in diapers. And part of her was okay with that. She might not ever have sex again, but how much sex was she getting anyways? June smiled to herself as a fresh diaper was slid under her, and her legs were lowered back down to the mat. She could get used to this, she supposed. It was a little like being drunk, without the hangover. All fun, and no consequences; only this time she had a permanent DD. “Whoops!” Mommy exclaimed, breaking June’s reverie. June looked up to see Mommy taking a step back, her eyes wide with surprise. A muted, dribbling hiss filled June’s ears and a warmth leaked between her thighs. What was going on? “Heh, almost got my hand, little one,” Mommy said. June found her legs going back towards the ceiling. Cold wipes brushed back against her crotch as the fresh diaper was yanked out from under her. It took her longer than she was comfortable admitting to figure out why. June buried her face in her hands. She had just had the one kind of “accident” a baby could have. She had peed right in the middle of her own diaper change. “Let’s see if you can keep this one clean for just a while longer, sweetie.” Mommy cooed as she slid a replacement diaper under June. Perhaps sped on by the close call, Mommy wasted no time in pulling the fresh Luvs up between her baby girl’s legs and securing the tapes. Clean again, June was picked up and promptly and placed down on the carpeted floor of her nursery. Her nursery. It was extremely odd calling the room hers in that she had never actually been in this room before just now, and yet already knew it as hers. Who else would it belong to? “Play in here for a little bit, baby,” Mommy gave June a kiss on the head. “Mommy’s gonna go fix dinner.” June’s lip began to quiver and she began to mumble some form of protest. Mommy noticed, and pointed to a little box by the crib. “Don’t worry honey. I’ll be listening.” June felt her emotions subside. She was still safe. Mommy would be listening. She watched Mommy leave, and then began to examine her surroundings June noticed a pile of stuffed animals, and crawled over to it. She could have walked, she supposed, but there was something about crawling on her hands and knees that just felt right. She was already on the floor, and crawling was just so in the moment; so appropriate. The pile was filled with your standard variety of plushies: There were teddy bears, and teddy lions, and teddy squirrels, a teddy snake, and all sorts of fluffy and non-realistically colored animals up in front that you would see in any garden variety overpriced stuffed animal construction shop. But June wanted to see all the animals in her menagerie, and too often the real treasures were buried. June stopped her rummaging a moment and considered a strange purple animal. It wasn’t normally purple; not in real life, she knew that much. Unless it was a bird- and it might have been a bird, actually. It had a bill, after all. It also had webbed feet like a duck, but the rest of the stuffed animal was decidedly un-duck like. It was rounded and pudgy, and had a flat paddle tail at the end. Her adult mind knew what it was, but her baby-self simply thought of it as a “duck-beaver”. She thought for a minute longer, and shook her head. “Nah,” and threw the duck-beaver to the side. It just wasn’t her thing. Let some other little girl find it and make it her special friend. As she got deeper into the pile, she hit a section of stuffed animals that were slightly smaller than the first layer. They could sit in the palm of her hand easily, or be stuffed into a pocket at a moment’s notice- if she had pockets. And while they were cute, they didn’t have quite the cuddliness of the bigger, fluffier animals. Experimentally, June took one in her hand, a purple bear, and poked and prodded it with her thumb. It wasn’t filled with cotton; that was for sure. Instead it had little grainy components in it, like beads, or rice…or beans. That was when she noticed that almost all of these smaller stuffed animals still had tags on them. These weren’t for playing, they were for collecting. Beanie babies? Who still had beanie babies? It was like she was literally digging through stuffed animal history and the deeper into the pile she got, the farther back she went. Even as a rugrat, June was still an archaeologist of sorts. June kept digging through the plush toys. Eventually, her digging transitioned to burrowing. It was easier, and more fun to just dive deeper into the pile than it was to pick them up and throw them behind her. Now she was exploring and hiding at the same time, she was so clever! Just as June thought she was getting to the bottom of the pile, a flash of dark blue fur caught her attention. She wriggled towards her discovery, deeper into Plush Mountain. Plastic headed baby dolls were pushed aside; she had no use for cabbage patch kids. She was the baby, not them. The only purpose they served was to keep her from her discovery. She made eye contact with a pair of almost neon-green pupils surrounded by a hideous yellow. On top of the head was two plush horns and a shock of hot pink hair. Rows of jagged looking teeth under a bulbous teal nose smiled back at her. The beasts’ arms were restrained by orange chain link cuffs. June gasped, but not in fright. It was a My Pet Monster doll. She had always wanted one as a little girl, but her mommy- her first one- would never buy it for her. They were “too scary”, or “not ladylike” or “meant for boys.” That part had confounded her pre-school self the most. How could any stuffed animal be exclusively for boys? It just didn’t make sense! She had grown out of that, of course; and later justified her not getting the toy as just a sign of the times she had grown up in. Gender stereotypes were fiercely adhered to back in the day. Girls wore dresses and played with dolls. Boys wore overalls and played with monsters and never the two shall meet. But now she could have both. She could be a girly-girl and have her Pet Monster, too. She would accept this fetish and what it did to her if it meant that she could finally have the one toy she never got as a child. “Mine!” she cried in victory. Toys went spilling, as she jumped up out of the pile of toys, her monster snug in her arms. She held it up to the ceiling, giggling and staring at it, almost afraid that if she looked away it might vanish, or worse, turn into a “Kid Sister” doll. “There’s my little explorer,” Mommy said, walking back in. “Did you find a new friend?” June proudly nodded. “Mine,” she said. “Yes dear, he’s all yours.” Mommy agreed. “But it’s time for dinner. Let’s go get some num-nums.” June looked at her new friend and frowned. She had just gotten her Pet Monster after all of these years. Did she really have to leave him so soon? As if reading her thoughts, Mommy said, “I’ll put him in your crib so you can snuggle with him at bedtime.” She gently took her new toy and deposited it in the waiting crib. “Besides,” she added, “you don’t want him to get all messy, do you?” June put her hand in her chin, as if giving it serious consideration. “No,” she said, nodding her head in agreement with Mommy. “Oooh, you are just too precious sometimes,” Mommy chuckled, taking her baby girl by the hand and leading her to the kitchen. June was lead into the apartment’s tiny kitchen. Two could potentially take up the space. Three could not. But the floor was tiled, and that was a plus when feeding sloppy eaters. “I know you didn’t have much of an appetite at lunch,” Mommy began once June was properly secured in her high chair, tray clicked in place and everything. “Linner,” June corrected Mommy. “So silly,” Mommy rolled her eyes, but still kept her good humor. “Okay, linner. I know you didn’t have much of an appetite at linner, but I made your favorite.” With a flourish normally reserved for a game show reveal, Mommy popped open the microwave and took out a steaming hot bowl of- “MACKY CHEEEEEEESE!” June squealed in delight. She reached forward with both hands, fingers wiggling; every part of her being stretching and reaching for just a handful of that hot sloppy gooey goodness. June couldn’t remember if macaroni and cheese had been her favorite before her transformation into a giant toddler, but she didn’t care. SHE WANTED IT NOW! “Just a second, Juney Mooney,” Mommy tutted, keeping the bowl painfully out of reach. “I almost forgot.” She set the bowl aside and tied a bib around June’s neck. It had the words “Mommy’s Messy Eater” stitched into it. Then Mommy considered June’s pacifier. “Don’t need this getting covered in cheese either,” Mommy said. “The only thing I want going into your mouth right now is food.” Then, with one quick yank, the pacifier- this altered reality’s manifestation of the fetish- came off of June’s body. Something in that single, simple act, snapped June back to her senses. Her little side retreated backwards and her adult-self came raging to the surface. Like a drunk coming down from a buzz, June reflected on her past actions and attitudes and recognized them as the thought processes of someone who was not in their right mind. In the span of a few hours, this “Mommy”- or Mildred or Maggie, whatever her name really was- had force fed her breast milk, made her piss herself, publicly degraded her, exposed and touched her genitals without consent, kidnapped her, stripped her down to her underwear, beat her, held her prisoner, and now was attempting to force feed her again while she was entrapped. And something about all this had, by varying degrees, either given June comfort or turned her on?! The fuck had this fetish done to her?! “Open wide,” Mommy said, offering up a heaping spoonful of artificially yellowed pasta. “Here comes the choo-choo-train.” As the spoon chugged along an imaginary track to a now very much adult-thinking June, she looked around the apartment, considering what her best option was. “Come on honey, open up,” Mommy coaxed. As much as June didn’t like to admit it, she didn’t have much opportunity or choice right now. If she refused she would very likely get another spanking. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was hungry. Seeing no other reasonable choice, June simply opened her mouth and let the woman who earlier this afternoon was her date, spoon the macaroni and cheese into her mouth. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t sushi, but it wasn’t bad. June compliantly opened her mouth for another spoonful. Then another. And another. June was about halfway done eating the microwaved meal when a rumbling in her tummy echoed off the linoleum floor. June felt a pain in her gut, but it wasn’t a hunger pang. She grimaced and clutched at her bare belly as a pressure grew inside her that she did not want to release. Mommy, either oblivious to this distress, or not caring, kept spooning in loads of macaroni and cheese into June’s mouth. It wasn’t long before June’s grimace became an outright scowl and she began to twist and turn her head away from Mommy’s offerings, her mind focusing too much on the pain inside her “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Mommy asked. “Mah-mee,” June whimpered, still unable to properly articulate. “P-p-potty,” “Oh, honey,” Mommy put down the spoon so she could stroke June’s hair. “We’ve been over this before. You’re too little.” Then Mommy said the four words that June had been dreading. “Just use your diaper.” June whimpered in pain, shaking her head. But everything about her from the waist down decided to follow Mommy’s advice. Against every bit of willpower she had, June leaned forward, raised her cushioned rear end off of her seat, and obeyed. She felt no relief as she relieved herself. It was quite the opposite, in fact. She felt a level of personal violation and disgust that she had never experienced in her adult life. The feeling only increased when her body tired and she sat back down. “Someone’s just making room,” Mommy said, paying no mind to June’s obvious distress. “Diaper!” June whined, caught somewhere physically and emotionally between crying and throwing up. “Yes sweetie, you did a good job,” Mommy cooed. “Now finish your din-dins and I’ll get you all cleaned up.” Left with a bad option and a worse one, June relented, and did her best to keep her composure as her captor force fed her while she was trapped in a positively vile Luvs. The meal itself was a tiny eternity. The trip to the bathroom- not because she was going to be allowed to use the toilet, but because she had earned herself a bath- was painfully slow. Every bounce on Mommy’s hip on the way there made a bit of bile rise up in June’s throat. June was allowed to stand up as Mommy ripped the tapes off and let the diaper fall to the ground with a sickening plop. Then, like a good girl, June bent over and allowed her captor to do her work. When she was clean, June allowed Mommy to take the ribbons out of her hair. June glanced the pacifier, magically sitting on the counter by the tub. It seemed that even when it wasn’t invading her thoughts, the fetish followed her around. As she soaked in the bath, wrinkling her nose in disgust at herself and at what had become of her, she made a vow to herself: She would get out of this. One way or another she would undo this curse. Not even the rubber ducky that Mommy squeaked in front of her could change her foul mood, and Mommy seemed to notice. “Awwww, someone’s grumpy.” Mommy cooed while gently massaging June’s scalp with baby shampoo. “It’s almost time for bed, and your monster doll is waiting for you in your crib.” Mind altering fetish or not, June was thankful for small mercies. She really did want that toy when she was little. And it might have been the fetish affecting her from afar, but she silently hoped that if and when she escaped this special hell that she’d be able to drag the toy out of it with her. A warm rinsing later, and June was wrapped in a fluffy bath towel and being carried back into the nursery and being laid on the changing table. Mommy quickly diapered her, making sure to sprinkle on and rub in baby powder all over her body before slipping her into a footed sleeper. “Oh,” Mommy said dangling the pacifier in front of her, “almost forgot.” “Mommy! No!” June protested. “No pa-mmmmph!” June’s pleas were cut off as the fetish was forced upon her. Just as quickly, June’s little side bubbled up to the surface, struggling for dominance with her adult mind. While her mind fought, her body didn’t struggle in Mommy’s grasp, as much as wriggle and try to snuggle up to her. And her heart beat faster being cradled in Mommy’s arms. She loved this as much as she hated it. “Down we go,” Mommy said as she lowered June into a crib big enough to hold a fully grown woman. June was torn. Emotionally, she was safe. Intellectually, she felt trapped. She sighed contentedly as Mommy handed her the My Pet Monster and kissed her on the forehead…and hated herself for feeling that way. “Night night, Princess,” Mommy cooed before turning out the lights. “Tomorrow’s a new day. I hope to see you there.” June laid in her crib, in the darkness, with only the soft crinkling of her diaper making a sound. She was afraid to go to sleep, but was already starting to feel the relaxing fatigue of a hot bath and warm jammies. She wanted to spit out the pacifier and throw it out of the crib, that way she might be able to at least think straight; but her body wouldn’t let her. Her lips kept mechanically suckling on the rubber teat. Right now, she felt that she was on the very cusp of adult and baby. But going to sleep might actually push her over the edge. June, the young archaeologist, might close her eyes and go to sleep, but what if in the morning, a drooling, babbling, diaper wearing idiot’s eyes opened? She couldn’t take that chance. She escaped the fetish’s clutches last night by reaching orgasm. But she was alone that night and had her apartment to herself. She was trapped here. Mommy likely wouldn’t be too happy if she found her little girl acting too much like a big one. But what other choice did she have? Also, it’s not like this was the most erotic of conditions. It’d be an uphill battle anyways. June wearily eyed the baby monitor next to the crib. That was definitely going to be an obstacle. Her diaper crinkled with every shift she made. If she began trying to stimulate herself, there’d be more crackling and crinkling going over the monitor than an old CB radio. Great; her freedom relied on her ability to masturbate quietly. It was freshman year of college in the dorms all over again. June rolled over on her side and noticed a different box on the inside of her crib. It was within easy reach in her crib. Her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted completely to the dark, but she was able to make out a fairly large button to push, as well as a clear panel with some kind of decorative toys inside. It was a soother, she deduced; a music box and nightlight designed to put babies to sleep; and it was positioned so that she could entertain herself. What luck! June softly pushed the button in, hoping that Mommy had left it on for her. Her face was immediately awash in a soft blue light. A slowed down meandering “Off we go into the wild blue yonder” tinkled into her ears as the music box played. Inside the box, a scene of airplanes drawn flying in the sky scrolled on a rudimentary picture conveyor belt. It might be all she needed. June started sucking rhythmically on her paci, using it to keep time. It wouldn’t do to have Mommy burst in unannounced. After approximately ninety seconds had passed, June thought the coast was clear. It was time to try again. Gently, she began teasing herself, rubbing her nipples through her thick jammies. She did her best to keep quiet, breathing in through her mouth and out through her nose, trying to muffle any sounds she might unconsciously emit into her pacifier. When her nipples went erect and her breathing became shallow, she moved south to the more serious business. She thought of her first kiss, and then her first real kiss. She thought of old girlfriends and one night stands and “Bella Donna’s Fucking Girls Yet Again”. Of dirty deeds and dirtier fantasies. But she knew she was going nowhere. She wasn’t particularly sexually aroused. Her diaper was in no way shape or form anything resembling wet. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? No matter what dirty adult thoughts she conjured, she was still trying to rub herself through a giant disposable diaper while lying in a crib, sucking a pacifier, and cuddling with a My Pet Monster while a music box transitioned to “Bicycle Built for Two”. Oh God! She was still cuddling the damn monster plushie and she hadn’t even realized! I tiny but persistent voice told her to give up and go to bed. Mommy would take care of her in the morning. Mmmm…Mommy could definitely take care of her. She smiled perversely at her own innuendo. Ewwww….why did that turn her on? Damn this fetish! Then the thought occurred to her: Don’t fight the fetish. Use it. Like it or not, there were things that had happened in her infantile state that did turn her on. Why fight it? No one was around to judge her anyways, and it was her only chance at escape. Even if it didn’t work, she’d at least get to cum one last time before losing her mind. June closed her eyes and sucked harder on the paci, imagining that it was Mommy’s erect nipple pulsating in her mouth. She pictured being close to Mommy and being held close and petted for reassurance. Oh yeah, that did something. June took it a step further and relived Mommy checking her diaper, violating even the pretense of personal space and telling her what a good baby she was. That was super nice. She pictured Mommy taking her out in a stroller, her diaper on full display and blushing furiously while people told her how cute she was. She positively buzzed at the idea of being talked over and talked about as if she couldn’t’ understand what was being said, all while being hugged and petted and cooed at. She rubbed faster. Picturing her own weird blend of serene comfort and utter humiliation at being treated in such a way. She was both inferior and treasured. Submissive, but protected. All of the restraint of the wild stuff she’d read in her trashy novels; with the car seats, and the highchairs, and the cribs acting as straps and prisons; but with none of the pain. “Baby?!” Mommy burst in the door. “Baby?! What are you doing?!” She had been caught! Oh what a naughty girl she had been! What a naughty, clever little girl! Now she’d get a spanking for sur- If her reality morphing her into an infantilized state was like paint spilling out onto a portrait and covering the canvas of her world, turning back to normal was like glass shattering. One moment she was in her crib, the next second she wasn’t. June’s eyes opened to a quiet beige room, bathed in darkness. She sat up, the adrenaline leaving her body already, and looked around. No cribs. No toys. She looked between her legs. No diapers! Yes! No diapers! No diapers! No diapers! June looked over her shoulder, and dozing peacefully beside her was her date from this afternoon- Mindy- she thought. June slid out of the bed and picked her shirt up off the floor and slid it on. She tiptoed out of the room and took around. Even with the lights off, the living room was recognizable. June recognized the couch, specifically. She’d been spanked on that couch. But there was no alphabet play mat or bumble ball waiting for her. June saw no large highchair in the tiny kitchen area. With creeping dread, June tiptoed into what had been a nursery moments before. In the place of stuffed animals and giant baby furniture, she found a simple office with a computer. They were still where they had been, only now there were no amenities for an adult baby. Good. Very good. June breathed a sigh of relief. The nightmare was over…for now. But before she could let herself sleep, June had to figure out how to overcome this goddamn fetish. She couldn’t have her world devolving back into nursery school every time she became sufficiently aroused. She tip toed over to Missy’s computer and moved the mouse, gambling that the computer wouldn’t be password protected. It wasn’t. She perused all the peer reviewed academic journals that she knew about online and found what she had expected: Nothing. She really had discovered this Aztec Chastity Fetish. How was she supposed to counter its magics if there was nothing on the subject at all; no myths, no legends, no nothing. But academia didn’t have the market cornered on myths and legends. So, without any remaining options to turn to, June turned to Google. She felt lucky. She looked for “Aztec Chastity Fetish”. Nothing. “Then she tried “Aztec Fetish”. Also nothing of use. Then, thinking of her experiences, there was nothing in them that was particularly Aztec about it; and its use might not be immediately connected to attempting to maintain chastity. A laymen wouldn’t call it an Aztec Chastity Fetish. But what would they call it? June plunked in the search terms “Adult Baby Fetish”. The search results that came up horrified her. Oh no! What had she done?! Had she done this? There was no other logical explanation. She had unleashed the fetish onto the world and already it was warping reality. Not just hers, but everyone’s! Gods have mercy on her soul! “Sorry about that, baby,” her date’s voice rang out groggily, her dirty blonde hair framing her perfectly kissable face. “I guess I conked out there. Ready for round two when you are.” “Mommy?!” June whirled around in a panic. “Mommy?” the beautiful stranger cocked her head to the side. “That’s a new one.” Then she looked past June to the computer screen. “What’s this?” June wasn’t fast enough to click out of the web browser. “Heh,” June’s date said coming over to the computer screen and leaning over past June. “Looks like I’m not the only one who likes to play dress up. No wonder you were so distracted the first time around. You had other things on your dirty little mind.” Then she looked at June and smirked. “I’m game if you are.” “I…no…no…Mommy…no…diaper…” June stuttered, unable to come up with any more articulate words. “It’s okay sweetie,” Melissa…perhaps Michelle winked at her as she caressed her face. “I don’t mind being your Mommy.” June felt her heart beat begin to race. Not again! Not again! Why was this turning her on, now?! “Hey,” Mommy said, pointing just below June’s neck. “Is that a tattoo? How come I didn’t notice it before?” June dashed past Mommy and ran to the bathroom. That’s when she saw it. Right under her neck, just above the line of her shirt, was a tiny drawing inked into her skin. It wasn’t much bigger than the top joint of her pinky, but if you looked closely, it appeared to be a baby, wrapped up in swaddling clothes. The End….

I do web development for a living and seriously don't understand, for example, how the beginning of our posts was preserved but nothing more. Is this the machined teaser that had to be replaced with the post content or something? Either way, followers of this thread or admins may be relieved to know I have a backup copy made on October 11th. I also have a backup copy made of the "Close To Incontinence With A Catheter" thread on March 17th. In addition, I've backed up most of everyone's original (full resolution) attachments in both of these threads. If admins or members are interested in either restoring these threads or just having it for archival purposes, I could probably help you out.