Leaderboard

Sorry for the long wait. I have been busy and struggling with my own depression a little, but I am doing better now. Here is the next chapter. I know I got a little wordy, but I felt it was needed. As always, I am open to feedback and appreciate all the support everyone has given me. Chapter 60 - Nightmare Avery’s nap was not the healing peace Darlene had hoped for, but a descent into the churning logic of a nightmare. The cozy, lavender-scented blanket felt heavy, the soft mattress of the crib a pit of inescapable darkness. The Schoolyard The dream began with a blinding, sun-drenched day that felt strangely hostile. Avery was standing not in the quiet nursery, but in the center of a schoolyard, a cruel amphitheater of bright concrete and mocking laughter. Kids were playing on the playground, and some were playing dodgeball, their movements fast and aggressive. He was wearing yellow, elephant-print footed pajamas, the thick, blue-train diaper massive and obvious beneath the thin cotton. All of a sudden, they stopped playing and turned to him. The children were pointing, their faces contorted into masks of mean-spirited glee. "Look at the big baby!" one girl shrieked, doubling over. She was Tilly, but her face was cold and hard, stripped of its usual kindness. "He’s got elephant feet! And he smells funny!" "Look at his diaper!" a tall boy yelled, stepping forward. It was a distorted, older version of one of the foster kids Avery had known years ago. "It’s huge! Does the man-baby need a changing?" The laughter ratcheted up, a piercing, hysterical sound that drilled into his ears. He tried to run, tried to cover his ears, but the footed pajamas made his legs feel clumsy and slow, and the heavy, saturated diaper felt like two bricks strapped between his thighs. Every move he made was a loud, humiliating squelch. "Go to the bathroom, baby!" another voice, high and taunting, called out. "Can’t you even wipe yourself? Are you useless?" He stumbled, falling hard onto the concrete. The impact jarred him, and the pressure of the wet diaper against his bottom was a sudden, sickening confirmation of their words. He tried to stand, but the shame was a physical paralysis. He was helpless, useless, trapped in the body of a boy and the clothes of an infant. Then he looked up, and John’s Shadow was over him. The schoolyard suddenly dissolved, the harsh light turning into the familiar, suffocating gloom of his old apartment. The children vanished, replaced by a sudden, absolute silence that was even more terrifying. A shadow fell over him, immense and cold. Avery looked up, and his blood turned to ice. John was standing over him, his face a mask of furious disappointment, his eyes holding the flat, dead look Avery remembered from the worst beatings. John was holding the massive adult high chair from the kitchen, wielding it like a weapon. "Get up, you useless waste of space." John’s voice was a low, menacing rumble that seemed to shake the very air. "Look at you. Still a baby. Still needing to be coddled. You think a pretty little outfit and a warm lap can fix what’s wrong with you?" Avery whimpered, trying to scramble backward, but he was pinned to the floor. The shame of his wet diaper and childish clothes was an unshakeable weight. John knelt, his face inches from Avery’s, the scent of stale whiskey and menace filling the air. He reached out and pinched the thick, sodden diaper between two fingers, a gesture of absolute contempt. "This is who you are," John sneered, twisting the material painfully. "A broken, pathetic thing that needs to be cleaned up. Your new mother is just playing dress-up. She doesn’t want a broken boy; she wants a doll to control. And you are so weak, you let her put you in this cage." "No," Avery choked out, the sound a ragged whisper. "She loves me." John let out a dry, hacking laugh that held no humor. "Love? There is no love for trash. She is going to get tired of you, just like everyone else. And when she throws you out, I’ll come back to and finish what we started because you will be mine to publicly humiliate and tear you apart." John raised the high chair slowly, the red tray casting a dark shadow over Avery’s face. "You can’t run. You can’t hide. You are a child, and children are useless. Now, let’s make sure you stay exactly where you belong." The red high chair tray, still casting its looming, dark shadow, began to descend slowly. Avery squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating the crushing blow. But instead of the sound of impact, there was a sudden, jarring change of texture and temperature. He was no longer on the cold concrete floor. He was lying on his back, his body sinking into the soft, comforting mattress of the crib, the elephant-print pajamas clinging to him. He tried to move, to sit up, but a fresh wave of panic hit him. Heavy, wide cloth restraints—the kind used on hospital beds—were securely buckled across his chest and ankles, pinning him to the crib mattress. He thrashed weakly, his arms pushing against the thick webbing that held his upper body immobile. The sound of the thick, wet diaper squelched loudly beneath the restraints, a horrifying accompaniment to his helplessness. John was still there, now standing at the side of the crib. He was no longer holding the high chair. Instead, a razor blade glinted under the dim, sickly yellow light of the apartment, the steel edge catching a malicious reflection. John’s eyes were flat and devoid of recognition, fixed only on the task ahead. "You won’t run now," John said, his voice a low, satisfied hiss as he advanced on the crib. "I’m going to make sure that no one will ever want to put you in a crib again. You won’t be beautiful for her, you won’t be lovable, and you won’t be worth keeping." Avery watched, paralyzed, as John bent over the crib railing, the razor blade poised above his chest. The smell of metal and sweat choked him. He closed his eyes, bracing for the burning, tearing pain, the realization that he was about to be broken again, only this time, permanently. Suddenly, a shift in the light caught his attention. He instinctively turned his head to the side, his neck straining against the chest restraint. The wall of the apartment dissolved, replaced by a large, spotless window, bright with the sun of the schoolyard dream. A crowd of children, their faces distorted with a malicious, hysterical joy, were pressed against the glass, pointing and laughing. "Look at the big baby getting cut up!" "He can’t even run!" "He’s weak! He’s just a toy!" The laughter was an avalanche of sound. Avery squeezed his eyes tighter, begging for the nightmare to stop, when another movement at the edge of the crowd forced his eyes open again. Darlene was standing there, her expression not one of fierce protection, but of profound disappointment and cold pity. She was dressed in her crisp, professional work suit. Beside her, Tilly stood in her cute dress, her smile wide and bright, but directed at the laughing children, not at him. Her eyes were empty of the affection Avery had come to crave. Next to Tilly, Laurisa stood with her arms crossed, her clinical gaze resting on the restraints and the razor blade, nodding as if in agreement with John’s actions. John raised the razor higher, and Avery cried out, a small, choked sound. He looked desperately at Darlene, a silent plea for help. Darlene met his gaze, and then, slowly, deliberately, she turned her back to the window. Tilly followed suit, their figures retreating from the glass, leaving him alone, tethered and exposed to the malice of John and the mocking laughter of the children. The window went black, and the sound of the children’s laughter faded, replaced by the terrifying, solitary silence of the crib and the rasp of the razor blade descending toward his skin. "Welcome to hell, baby," John whispered, and Avery screamed, a sound that tore itself from his throat. Avery shot awake, his scream—a raw, ragged sound of pure terror—ripping through the quiet of the nursery. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, and his body was instantly thrashing against the soft mattress, convinced he was still restrained, still pinned beneath John's descending razor. He clawed at the air, his fists swinging wildly, trying to push away the blade that wasn't there. His stuffed red dog and dragon flew to the corners of the crib as they were tossed. He could feel the razor coming towards him as he couldn’t distinguish between the dream and reality as he woke. The instant he moved, the heavy, waterlogged diaper beneath the soft light blue pajamas squelched with a loud, sickening sound. The cold, massive weight pressed against his groin and bottom, a horrifying, physical confirmation of the nightmare's humiliation. He was soaking wet, not just from sweat, but from a complete loss of control. The feeling was overwhelming, dragging him instantly from the dream’s horrific scenario to the immediate, crushing reality of his degradation. Downstairs, the quiet click of Darlene’s laptop was the only sound in the living room. She was settled deeply into the sofa, the laptop resting on her knees, reading over a new email from the COO—a follow-up on the client contract discussion. Beside her, a mug of steaming chamomile tea warmed her hands. She was just beginning to draft a concise, professional reply when the high, desperate scream tore through the house. Darlene dropped the mug onto the low coffee table with a clatter, the hot tea sloshing dangerously close to her laptop. The sound was instantly recognizable: not a simple bad dream, but sheer, primal terror. She didn't hesitate. She launched herself off the sofa, racing toward the stairs, her professional focus vanishing in a wave of purely maternal panic. She took the staircase two steps at a time, her feet pounding a rhythm of urgency on the wood. She burst into the dim, quiet nursery, her eyes scanning immediately for the source of the distress. Avery was sitting bolt upright in the center of the giant white crib, a large, light blue figure with little rockets on his shirt, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and unfocused with lingering terror. The front of his pajamas and the massive, sagging diaper were visibly darker, heavily sodden, and the air around him held the unmistakable, heavy odor of concentrated urine. He was still thrashing weakly, his arms moving in panicked, defensive arcs. Screaming John's name in fear out loud. Darlene rushed to the side of the crib, her hands reaching out instinctively through the tall wooden bars. "Avery! Honey, it’s okay! It’s Mama, you’re safe! It was just a dream!" Her touch was meant to be comforting, but to Avery’s still-dreaming mind, it was the final violation. His eyes, fixed on a point far beyond her, snapped back to her face. He didn't see Darlene; he saw John, leaning over the railings of the crib, the razor about to descend. He recoiled violently, his face contorted with a frantic, desperate rage. "Get away from me! Don’t touch me! You can’t control me!" he screamed, his voice raw. He swung his fist, striking one of the wooden rails, the force making the crib rattle. Darlene pulled her hands back instantly, shocked by the force of his terror and the pure hatred in his voice. She tried again, keeping her voice low and soothing. "Avery, look at me. It’s Darlene. You’re in your room. You’re safe." But he was lost in the acid logic of the nightmare. He pointed a trembling, accusing finger at her. "You left me! You turned your back! You let them cut me! You wanted me to be broken!" He was yelling incoherently, his words a desperate, panicked torrent. "You lie! There is no love! Get out! Get out!" He then began to shriek, a sound of profound emotional breakdown, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over his head, curling into a terrified, heavy, wet ball in the corner of the crib. The movement produced a loud, sickening squelch from the fully saturated diaper, a sound of absolute, humiliating submission to the consequence of his regression. Darlene stood frozen, her hand still hovering over the crib rail, her face etched with confusion, pain, and a fresh wave of maternal heartbreak. He was not rejecting the care; he was battling the demons of his past, and in his terror, he had mistaken her protective presence for the ultimate betrayer. Her name was not Darlene in that moment; it was John. Darlene’s maternal heart shattered, but her protective instinct instantly overrode the pain. He was breaking, and she was the only one there to hold the pieces. She moved with sudden, decisive action. The crib bars were high, but she found the latch with practiced hands and dropped the side rail with a heavy thunk. She didn't wait for him to calm down; she climbed over the lowered rail and into the crib, her large body crowding the small space. She reached for the terrified, squirming weight of him, ignoring the frantic, wet squelch of the saturated diaper. She pulled his struggling body against her chest, wrapping him in a powerful, non-negotiable embrace. Avery felt the sudden, warm pressure of her body, and his terror spiked. He let out a wordless scream of pure, panicked rage, convinced John was about to break him again. He pushed at her shoulders with his fists, kicking his legs wildly, the weight of the soaked diaper amplifying the frantic, wet noise of his struggle. "No! Let me go! Get off! Get off me!" he screamed, muffled against her shoulder, his voice a desperate, tear-choked cry. He pummeled her back with his good arm, thrashing with all the strength his exhaustion allowed. Darlene absorbed the blows, her arms cinching tighter, locking him in place. She didn't speak a word of rebuke, only a constant, soft stream of soothing sound—a deep, resonant "Shhh, shhh, shhh" that vibrated through his core. She rubbed his back firmly and rhythmically, her hand patting the heavy, wet padding of the diaper, communicating only safety and absolute presence. His frenzied energy was a desperate, final defense, but Darlene’s embrace was an unyielding wall of love. Slowly, the fight began to bleed out of him. The adrenaline that had fueled his nightmare and his resistance faded, replaced by the profound, exhausted misery of his situation. The screams dissolved into racking sobs, and the frantic blows weakened into the mere pressure of his trembling hands gripping her shirt. He buried his face into the soft curve of her neck, the wet, cold feeling of the soaked diaper a profound, shameful reminder of his helplessness, but the warmth of Darlene’s body was an immediate, primal comfort. His weeping was no longer rage, but pure, heartbroken grief—for his past, for his stolen future, for the fear he still had and for the humiliating reality he now inhabited. He clung to her, a large, soaking wet, shuddering weight, completely surrendered to the shame and the shelter of her maternal embrace. Darlene held him for a long time, rocking him gently in the cramped confines of the crib, letting him cry until only quiet, hitching breaths remained. When the silence had completely settled, she loosened her hold, pulling back just enough to look at his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted, his cheeks stained with tears, but the terror was gone, replaced by a devastating vulnerability. "It’s okay, sweetie," she murmured, kissing the top of his head. "You’re safe now. Mama’s got you." She climbed carefully out of the crib, retrieving the pacifier from the mattress and tucking the sodden blanket and Red Dog out of the way. She then guided his heavy, shaking body out of the crib and towards the massive, upholstered rocking chair. The chair, a beautiful, sprawling piece designed with a deep, wide seat and a generous back, was easily large enough for two people to sit comfortably side-by-side, or, in this case, for Darlene to hold her full-grown little boy on her lap. She sat down, the chair creaking softly as she settled its weight. She then lifted Avery and gently placed him back onto her lap, positioning him so his head rested just above her breast, his body curled securely against hers. The thick, cold, wet diaper pressed against her thigh, a stark physical testament to his needs. Darlene didn't flinch. She simply wrapped both arms around his trembling body and began to rock, the soft, rhythmic motion of the chair a familiar, ancient comfort. Avery didn't fight this time. Utterly spent, he simply let his body sag into her warmth, the gentle rocking finally stilling the last frantic tremors of his terror. Darlene held Avery securely in the large rocking chair, the rhythm of the wood against the carpet a soft, steady pulse. His face was buried deep in the soft curve of her breast and shoulder, his cheek pressed firmly against the cotton of her shirt. His sobs had subsided into deep, hitching breaths and quiet, rattling gasps—the sound of an exhausted body struggling desperately not to fully collapse. He clung to her, his good arm wrapping tightly around her waist, and she felt the small, familiar weight of his cherished Red Dog pressed between their bodies, a fragile anchor in his terror, which was crushed against her chest, a silent witness to his breakdown. The thick, cold mass of the fully saturated diaper pressed into Darlene’s thigh, its overwhelming wetness soaking through the thin cotton of her skirt. The chill of it was undeniable, but she didn’t flinch. Her maternal instinct had kicked in, a fierce, primal protection that dismissed the mess as irrelevant. All that mattered was the trembling, exhausted weight of the boy in her arms. She focused instead on the soft, heavy squish of the padding, a physical testament to his immediate need for her care, and her heart swelled. She reached a hand down, finding the wet plastic backing, and began to pat the heavy, sodden bulk with a slow, rhythmic motion—a purely calming, non-verbal reassurance. As she held him, she felt a familiar, sharp ache bloom in her chest. Her breasts, the physical anchors of her lost motherhood, felt heavy and full, a feeling of milk rushing in response to the deep, absolute need of the child in her arms. Her body wanted to provide him comfort. "Shhh, sweetie, shhh," she murmured, her voice a low, steady thrum against his ear, vibrating gently through his skull. "It’s okay, little one. The bad man is gone. He can’t hurt you here. You’re safe. Mama’s got you, and I won’t ever let you go." He continued to tremble and emit those quiet, heartbroken whimpers against her skin, the sound muffled by the press of his face against her. He felt the soft, rhythmic rocking—a motion he realized he hadn’t felt since he was an actual infant—and the warmth of her body seemed to seep into his rigid muscles. He was overwhelmed by the profound, confusing feeling of love and safety that this woman, his Darlene, was offering. It felt like being wrapped in the kind of peace he hadn't known existed. Darlene lifted her hand from his back, reaching to the crib rail where she had left the pacifier. She brought the large, light-green object toward his face, the thick silicone nipple thick and prominent. "You’re so tired, honey," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Let this help Mama keep you quiet and resting. Just a little suckie, sweetie. Just for a moment." He didn't fight. His lips, wet with tears and saliva, parted almost automatically, a final act of utter surrender. Darlene gently nudged the thick teat past his lips, and he closed his mouth around the rubber. At first, the action was hesitant, but the simple, mechanical sensation of the large nipple against his tongue and palate instantly calmed the frantic rhythm of his breathing. The residual terror melted away, replaced by the soothing, repetitive act. He began to draw on it, the soft suck-suck-suck sound a quiet counterpoint to the creaking chair. Darlene was shocked; it worked, but she smiled, a warm, relieved expression of triumph. "That’s it, my good boy," she praised softly, her fingers gently smoothing the damp hair back from his forehead. He needed this right now. Need her. Needed to be held. Needed his stuffed animal, and even though he may not understand, he needed the soft soothing sucking of the pacifier. He needed to be little. As he continued to draw on the pacifier, Darlene stopped talking. Instead, she began to hum, a deep, gentle melody without words—a simple, resonant sound that she felt more than heard. The vibration of the tune was transmitted through her chest, a soft, buzzing sensation against his cheek and the top of his head. He felt the warmth, the rhythm, and the profound, physical connection of her body surrounding him, filling his ears with the comforting sound of her love. The weight of his eyes became too heavy to hold open, and the deep, restorative sleep he had been fighting finally claimed him. The nursery was finally peaceful, filled only with the soft, repetitive creak of the rocking chair and the faint, wet suck-suck-suck of the pacifier. Darlene looked down at the massive, heavy form nestled in her lap. Avery's exhaustion had finally conquered his terror, leaving him a perfect, pliable weight against her chest. The large, light-green pacifier was settled firmly between his lips, a rubber plug of silence and submission. His beloved, threadbare Red Dog was clutched tightly in his good hand, the stuffed animal pressed firmly against her maternal bra. The faint, sweet smell of baby powder mingled with the heavy, cold scent of the saturated diaper, an aroma that, to Darlene, now smelled like necessity and care. She continued her deep, gentle humming, the melody an ancient, wordless stream of maternal sound vibrating into his skull. Her gaze lingered on his face—the soft curve of his cheek, the long lashes resting on his wet skin. He was so big, yet in this state, cradled against her breast with the pacifier in his mouth and his dog in his arms, the man vanished, leaving only a large, vulnerable baby. My little boy, she thought, the phrase settling into her heart with a fierce, quiet certainty. This was the healing she would provide, the absolute safety of unconditional infancy. The fear and defiance of the nightmare had been a test, and her unwavering presence had been the answer. He needed this boundary, this regression, and she would be the rock against which his trauma would finally break and heal. She was convinced that the path ahead, though difficult, was the correct one, and she would not waver in providing this safe, loving, disciplined environment. As she looked down, her hand stroking the hair from his forehead, the phantom ache in her chest intensified. The physical need to nurture, so long repressed, was now fully awakened by his absolute dependence. The sight of his lips around the pacifier triggered a deeper, more primal desire. She felt the heavy, full weight of her breasts beneath her shirt, a deep, pulling pressure of milk as she leaked a little into her maternity bra.. She yearned for him to not just suck on a rubber teat, but to turn his head, to find the source of warmth and life, to latch onto her nipple and draw in the comfort only she could provide. She wanted the total, biological bond of breastfeeding, the physical confirmation of the maternal role she was now wholly inhabiting. The thought was potent, momentarily overwhelming, a sudden, hot flash of need for that exquisite, ultimate act of surrender and connection. Not yet, she told herself, tightening her grip slightly and forcing the maternal longing back down. First, he heals. First, he accepts the love. But the desire remained, a silent, powerful promise of the complete, total bond that she now knew was possible between them. The world outside the dark sanctuary of the rocking chair had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, absolute internal landscape of sensation. With his eyes clamped shut, Avery was suspended in a profound, deep warmth. The soft, rhythmic creak-creak-creak of the chair was a gentle metronome, measuring out safety, and the powerful, steady thrum of Darlene’s humming resonated directly against his ear. The sound was not a melody he recognized, but a deep, comforting vibration that seemed to bypass his intellect and settle directly into the core of his exhaustion. He was pressed firmly against the curve of her chest, his cheek resting on the soft cotton that barely concealed the yielding, warm, maternal shape beneath. The sensation was potent: the constant, steady beat of her heart, the soft, clean scent of her skin and clothing, and the surrounding, absolute containment of her arms. It was the physical intimacy of unconditional refuge, a feeling he realized he had been desperately starving for. Avery didn’t understand and didn’t want to fight it right now, but the large, light-green pacifier was an unexpected, potent source of comfort. His mouth worked around the thick silicone nipple, and the soft, repetitive suck-suck-suck became a soothing mental blankness. He didn't think about the pacifier's ridiculous size or what it looked like; he only felt the physical release of the action, a simple, primal comfort that drained the last traces of terror from his mind. Clutched tightly between their bodies, pressed against the soft material over Darlene’s breast, was his oldest friend: Red Dog. The threadbare, floppy-eared terrier was a tangible link to a less complicated past, and the feel of its familiar, worn stuffing under his hand was an anchor. Surrounded by Darlene's warmth, holding his dog, and with the pacifier ensuring silence, a profound peace settled over him. The heavy, cold mass of the fully saturated diaper was pressed into Darlene’s thigh, the chill and wetness inescapable. Yet, he found he did not care. The initial shock and shame had dissolved, replaced by a deep, weary acceptance. Her hand, large and warm, found the plastic backing of the wet diaper and began a slow, rhythmic patting. The movement was not a reprimand, but a simple, continuous act of acknowledgment and care. He was wet, and she was tending to him. There was no judgment, only presence. He felt the soft squish of the padding with each pat, and the sound, far from being humiliating, was a soft confirmation that, in this moment, nothing was being asked of him but to be held, loved, and safe. He sagged completely into her, letting the absolute security of her embrace claim him entirely. Darlene tried to talk to him about the nightmare, her voice a low, vibrating hum against his temple, but he remained silent. When she pressed for details, he only managed to whisper that it was about John, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. Sensing the depth of his lingering terror, she didn't push further. Instead, she slowly lifted his head from her chest, her movements guided by a newfound maternal intuition. With a gentle, knowing smile, she told him he needed to get changed; he hadn't realized he had been sitting on her lap in such a soggy, heavy diaper for so long. The embarrassment flared briefly in his chest, but he said nothing, his mouth still occupied by the rhythmic comfort of the pacifier. He allowed her to lead him toward the changing table, his legs feeling heavy and clumsy. Darlene worked with a calm, practiced efficiency, unfastening the snaps of his onesie and unpeeling the adhesive tabs of the sodden diaper with a series of soft, rhythmic crinkles. She slid the heavy, chilled padding away, and Avery felt a fleeting spike of vulnerability that was quickly smoothed over by the warmth of her touch. Throughout the process, she talked to him softly, her words a stream of gentle reassurances that helped still the remnants of his shaking. She cleaned him with slow, deliberate wipes, her movements firm yet incredibly tender, ensuring he was perfectly clean and dry. He watched her as she reached for the tube of cream, gently massaging it into his skin to soothe the irritation from the long morning. “Your rash is getting better,” she cooed at him. Then came the baby powder; the fine, white mist settled over him with that familiar, comforting scent of lavender and starch that seemed to signal the end of the storm. She took her time, expertly centering him over a fresh, exceptionally thick diaper. As she pulled the front panel up and secured the tapes with four definitive snaps of plastic on plastic, Avery felt the smoothing sensation of the snug fit. The massive padding crinkled loudly in the quiet room, but the sound no longer felt like a taunt. Instead, her calm competence had replaced his sharp mortification with a profound feeling of being protected and swaddled. The diaper was no longer a symbol of shame, but a warm, heavy cocoon that made the unspeakable reality of his day finally bearable. Once the new diaper was secure, Darlene reached into the dresser drawer and produced a royal blue adult onesie with fish, whales, and dolphins playing. The fabric was a heavy, brushed cotton, thick enough to provide a sense of structure and weight that Avery hadn't expected. She guided his left arm through the sleeve first, then moved with practiced care to accommodate his right hand’s bulky mechanical brace, the wide sleeve opening easily sliding over the titanium exoskeleton without catching. As she pulled the garment up and over his shoulders, Avery felt the immediate sensation of compression. The heavy fabric hugged his torso, providing a firm, steady containment that seemed to hold his trembling body together. It was a physical pressure that functioned like an emotional anchor, smoothing over the sharp edges of his shame. For the first time, the dependency didn't feel like a hollow defeat; instead, the onesie’s snug fit made him feel encased in a layer of absolute protection, a soft armor that shielded him from the jagged world outside. Avery felt her pull the oneise down between his inner thighs as she pushed four buttons to secure the diaper on. The edges of the diaper were exposed outside of the onesie. Darlene led Avery downstairs, and he didn’t even realize the pacifier was in his mouth, his lips performing soft, slow suckling motions. The rhythmic sensation provided a calming anchor to his drifting thoughts. She led him over to the playpen again. He didn’t really want to go there, the wooden slats feeling like a physical manifestation of his lost autonomy, but he didn’t resist. His body felt heavy, his mind clouded by the lingering effects of a nightmare. “Here we go, honey,” Darlene murmured, unlatching the gate and helping him step onto the padded, colorful mat. She gathered a few items—a fresh box of chunky crayons, a large sketchpad, and a set of smooth wooden blocks—and placed them within his reach. She then reached for the remote, clicking on the television to a low volume. The cheerful theme song of Bob the Builder began to play, the bright colors flickering against Avery’s hollow-eyed expression. “I’m just going to be right in the kitchen, okay? You’re safe. I’m right here if you need anything.” Avery didn’t respond; he simply sank onto his knees and sat down, his good hand resting limply on a wooden block as he stared at the screen. The rest of the day proceeded in a muted, strangely normal rhythm. Avery remained passive, never quite engaging in the toys Tilly had left or attempting any "little talk," but he also stopped resisting the boundaries Darlene set. He moved through the house like a ghost of his former self, a silent passenger in his own regression. Every request Darlene made was met with a slow, mechanical compliance, as if the adult Avery was watching from a great distance, unable or unwilling to intervene. The nightmare played over in his head. Why was Darlene and Tilly in, they both turned away. Would Darlene really do this? The fear of not just John but now of losing Darlene deepened his heart. Later that afternoon, while Avery was settled back in the playpen, Darlene sat beside him on the floor rather than the sofa. "You've been very quiet, sweetie," she said, reaching out to adjust the collar of his onesie. Avery looked at her, then down at the blue dragon in his lap. "I don't know how to do this," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I feel like I'm breaking." Darlene moved closer, pulling him into her lap despite the awkwardness of his size. "You aren't breaking, Avery. You're just letting me hold the pieces for a while. It's okay to need me." Avery leaned his forehead against her shoulder, the plastic of his diaper crinkling loudly as he finally relaxed his weight into her. "I... I used it again," he admitted, his face burning as he referred to the diaper. "I didn't even try to get up." Darlene kissed his temple. "That's what it's there for, my little one. You don't have to worry about that anymore. Mama will take care of everything." He couldn’t believe he had wet himself without even asking to use the bathroom. It was easy and hardly with thought. It was too easy; it scared him. Later that afternoon, Darlene had a private conversation with Laurisa. They spoke in hushed tones near the kitchen window, Laurisa providing clinical reinforcement on the necessity of the structure they had established. She gave Darlene specific tips on how to handle Avery's non-verbal cues and reminded her that every act of care—no matter how small or infantile—was a brick in the foundation of his new sense of safety. Laurisa emphasized that consistency was key; Avery needed to know that the rules of his new environment were as unwavering as the protection Darlene offered. Then she gave an update on Christi. “She is healing nicely. They think she will make a slow but full recovery and expect her to wake up sometime this week. I know she would love to see you two there when she does wake up.” Darelene's heart was relieved. She wanted to tell Avery, but not today. There had been enough emotions, but tomorrow she will tell him. She hoped she was doing the right thing. As evening shadows deepened across the nursery, Darlene stood and reached for Avery’s hand. “Time for your very first bath at home, sweetie,” she said, her voice a gentle but firm melody. Avery stiffened, his good hand clutching the blue dragon tighter. “I can—I can just take a shower tomorrow, Darlene. I’m okay,” he whispered, the prospect of such intimate vulnerability sending a jolt of panic through his chest. Darlene didn’t argue; she simply guided him toward the Hollywood-style bathroom. “The warm water will help your bruises, Avery. And Mama needs to make sure you’re all clean before bed.” Inside, the air was already thick and humid, smelling of vanilla-scented bubbles. The tub was filled nearly to the brim, a mountain of white foam topped with a yellow rubber duck and a plastic tugboat. Avery stared at the toys, a hot flush creeping from his neck to his forehead. “Darlene, please,” he croaked as she reached for the zipper of his onesie. “I’m nineteen. I can wash myself. Just leave the soap on the edge.” Darlene paused, her hands resting on the plastic pull of the buttons on his shoulder of the onesie. “Avery, look at me,” she said softly. When he met her steady, loving gaze, she continued, “We talked about this. You’re letting me hold the pieces for a while. That means letting me take care of all of you. You aren’t a project or a burden; you’re my little boy tonight. Just let go.” With a slow, rhythmic unfastening of the crotch buttons, she opened the onesie and pulled it off over his head, then unfastened the tabs of his diaper. Avery squeezed his eyes shut, trembling as he stood naked and exposed in the warm room. The shame was a cold, sharp blade, but when Darlene helped him step into the tub, the transition was transformative. As the hot, bubbly water rose around his hips and chest, the physical relief was so profound it drew a jagged sob from his throat. The water supported his weight, easing the throb in his hand and the ache in his ribs that hadn't stopped since the hospital. “There we go,” Darlene murmured, kneeling on a cushioned mat beside the tub. She took a soft sponge, ladling warm water over his shoulders. Avery leaned his head back against the rim, his breath hitching as she began to wash him. Her touch was methodical and tender, treating his body not as a source of embarrassment, but as something precious and fragile. When she gently scrubbed his hair, massaging his scalp with circular motions, Avery found his resistance finally crumbling. The shame was still there, a distant echo, but it was being drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of being cherished. He felt a tear slip into the bathwater. “It feels… too much,” he whispered. Darlene stopped, her hand resting against his wet cheek. “It’s just love, Avery. You’re allowed to have it.” She continued to wash his most private parts with the same matter-of-fact grace, and Avery realized that for the first time in his life, he didn't have to be strong. He leaned into her hand, a diapered man-child in a world of bubbles, finally surrendering to the relief of being someone's responsibility. Once finished, she dried him thoroughly while he stood naked and vulnerable in the warm air of the bathroom. She led him back to the changing table, where she prepared a heavy-duty diaper equipped with an extra absorbent insert. To ensure against any leaks during the night, she pulled a plastic diaper cover over the padding, the extra bulk making his gait wide and his movements noisy with crinkling plastic. Finally, she zipped him into a pair of soft, footed pajamas. The combined weight of the diaper, the stuffer, and the cover made him feel encased in a cocoon of cotton and plastic. She set him down on the playmat in the center of the nursery and handed him a few soft blocks, but he only stared at them, unmoving. He looked around the room, his eyes taking in the adult-sized crib where his blue dragon and Red Dog waited, and the large stuffed bear and raccoon perched on the floor. The unreality of being in a nursery designed for his grown frame made his head swim. While Darlene moved between the nursery and the Hollywood-style bathroom, putting away the bath supplies and tidying the space, Avery sat in the center of his new world, a silent, diapered young man waiting for what came next. The rest of the day unfolded in a muted, strangely surreal rhythm. Avery remained largely passive, a silent observer in his own life. He didn’t engage with the wooden blocks or the colorful ring-stacker Tilly had left for him, and he made no attempt at the "little talk" Laurisa had suggested might help. Yet, he also stopped resisting. He moved through the house like a ghost of his former self, a quiet passenger in his own regression, allowing Darlene to guide him from room to room with a hand on his shoulder. In the late afternoon, Darlene had a private, hushed conversation with Laurisa near the kitchen window. Laurisa provided clinical reinforcement, stressing the absolute necessity of the structure they had established. She gave Darlene specific tips on decoding Avery’s non-verbal cues—the way he clenched his jaw when overwhelmed or the specific way he avoided eye contact when feeling shame. Laurisa reminded her that every act of care, no matter how infantile, was a foundational brick in his new sense of safety. "He needs to know your boundaries are as unbreakable as your love," Laurisa whispered, her gaze fixed on the young man sitting motionless in the playpen. As evening shadows lengthened, the reality of the routine deepened. Bedtime brought a new hurdle: his first full bath in the nursery's connected Hollywood-style bathroom. Avery felt a renewed surge of mortification when he saw the tub filled with a mountain of bubbles and a few floating plastic toys. He begged Darlene to let him wash himself, asserting his adulthood in a voice that shook with effort, but she was immovable. With a matter-of-fact tenderness that brooked no argument, she washed his hair, his bruised body, and his most private parts. She acted with the focused efficiency of a mother, ignoring his blushes and treating his physical vulnerability as a simple matter of hygiene. The bath had been quiet, warm, and loving. Now, as the water swirled down the drain, Darlene reached out and took Avery’s good hand, helping him stand on the non-slip mat. He stood shivering, the cool air of the bathroom hitting his damp skin, making the bruises on his ribs stand out in stark, colorful relief. Darlene draped a massive, fluffy white bath towel over his shoulders, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth that instantly dampened the chill. She worked with a quiet, focused tenderness, patting the moisture from his arms and chest, her movements slow enough to ensure he felt every bit of the care she was providing. With a gentle but firm lift, Darlene hoisted him onto the padded surface of the changing table in the nursery. Avery looked at the ceiling, his face burning with a shame that felt like a physical weight, yet beneath it, a profound comfort was beginning to take root. Darlene reached for a fresh, remarkably thick diaper. It was decorated with a vibrant, playful print of cartoon animals: lions on drums, elephants with trumpets, and giraffes strumming guitars. The childish imagery was a sharp contrast to the gravity of his adult life, but as Darlene applied a soothing layer of cream and a light dusting of scented powder, Avery found himself leaning into the sensation. The coolness of the cream and the soft puff of the powder were sensory anchors, grounding him in a world where his only responsibility was to be cared for. She brought the front of the diaper up between his legs, the thick padding creating a wide, cushioned gap that felt strange yet oddly secure. The loud, rhythmic crinkle of the adhesive tabs being secured punctuated the silence of the room. Finally, she reached for a pair of footed, one-piece pajamas. The fabric was a thick, plush navy blue fleece, patterned with a galaxy of white stars, yellow moons, and glowing orange and red planets. As she zipped him into the soft material, the fleece hugging his frame, Avery felt the warmth and coziness. “It is almost bedtime”. Darlene smile grabbing a clean blue pacifier and holding it in one hand. She helped him down from the changing table, and she set him down on the foam playmat in the center of the nursery while she tidied the bathroom. Avery sat in the center of his new world, surrounded by a large stuffed bear and a plush raccoon. He stared at the adult-sized crib where his blue dragon and Red Dog waited, the unreality of the scene making his head swim. He felt profoundly silly sitting there, a diapered man in a room designed for a baby, waiting for the next step in his life to be decided for him. When Darlene returned, she was wearing a soft smile and spoke to him in gentle baby talk as she sat on the floor beside him. Avery felt the familiar prickle of embarrassment at the tone, but he said nothing. After a few minutes of quiet interaction, she told him she'd be right back. She returned from the kitchen carrying a large baby bottle, its contents a creamy white. Avery knew, with a jolt of realization, that it was her breast milk that he had before. He would never admit it, but he liked it. She reached over and turned on a projector that cast a rotating galaxy of shimmering stars across the cloud-painted ceiling, signaling the official start of bedtime. Avery tried to protest, pointing out that it was only eight o'clock, but Darlene reminded him gently that he'd had a rough day and the medication was still sapping his energy. She guided him over to the massive, upholstered rocking chair. She retrieved his pacifier and Red Dog, placing the pacifier on the nightstand and tucking the dog into his arm. She began to rock him slowly, the rhythmic motion intended to ward off the terrors of the previous night. Then, she handed him the warm bottle. Avery was shocked when she pulled out a child's bedtime storybook and began to read aloud while he drank. She finished the story, but Avery's drinking had slowed as he drifted. She repositioned him, holding the bottle to ensure he finished every drop. When the bottle was empty, she replaced it with the large blue pacifier. He tried to push it out twice, but she urged him to relax. "Just let the paci do its work, sweetie," she whispered. Slowly, he accepted the silicone nipple for a second time today, falling into a rhythmic sucking motion while clutching Red Dog. Darlene turned out the lamp, leaving only the projected stars swirling overhead. She patted the dry padding of his diapered bottom, rocking him in the darkness and humming the soft, low melody of "True Colors" until his breathing finally evened out into deep, restorative sleep. Darlene gently settled Avery into the plush, oversized rocking chair, the movement causing his new, thick diaper to crinkle loudly in the quiet room. She retrieved his well-loved stuffed dog, Red Dog, and tucked it under his uninjured arm before reaching for the warm bottle of milk she had prepared. Avery watched in stunned silence as she pulled a colorful children's bedtime storybook from the side table, his adult mind struggling to reconcile the sight of his professional colleague preparing to read him a nursery tale. As he drank, the steady rhythm of the rocking chair and the soft, melodic cadence of Darlene's voice reading the simple prose began to work their magic. She noticed his eyes drooping and his pace at the bottle slowing, so she repositioned him slightly, ensuring he finished every drop of the nourishing milk. When the bottle was finally empty, she deftly replaced it with a large blue pacifier. Avery instinctively tried to push the silicone nipple out twice, his remaining adult ego recoiling at the infantilizing object, but Darlene leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear. "Just let the paci do its work, sweetie," she whispered with such maternal certainty that he found his resistance melting away. Slowly, he accepted the pacifier, his lips forming a rhythmic sucking motion that seemed to soothe a deep, ancient part of his psyche. Darlene reached over and extinguished the lamp, leaving only the soft, rotating glow of the projected stars swirling across the cloud-painted ceiling. She hummed a low, soulful rendition of "True Colors," her hand gently patting the thick, dry padding of his diapered bottom in time with the music. Under the canopy of artificial stars, Avery finally surrendered to a deep, restorative sleep. Darlene continued to rock him long after the song ended, lulled by the weight of his body against her chest and the soft, wet sound of him suckling on the pacifier in his sleep. She remained there for hours, the rhythmic creak of the chair the only sound in the nursery. She reflected on the profound shift in their lives—how this brilliant, broken young man had become her absolute responsibility. She felt the heavy fullness in her chest, a physical response to his total dependency, and embraced the role she had committed to with Laurisa. Eventually, her own exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted into a light sleep while still cradling him in the oversized chair. She startled awake around 11 PM, her leg completely numb from the hours of supporting his weight. Avery was still profoundly asleep, his breathing even and heavy. With agonizing care, she rose from the chair and carried him the few steps to the massive white crib, managing to lay him down without disturbing his slumber. After tucking the star-patterned blanket securely around his shoulders, she leaned over the rail to press a final, lingering kiss to his forehead before quietly retreating to her own bedroom for the night. Thanks for your comment. Your response was what was needed to get off my diaper butt and finish this chapter. It has been hanging out there for a while.

-o- The next morning, Jim rolled over in bed and felt a squish. He must have pooped in the night, and now it was spreading across him. He heard a knocking at the door. It must have been what woke him initially. He stood up, hoping that it was a staff member coming to change him. To his surprise, it was Jackie. She had a bag slung over her shoulder. “Oh, hi,” was all he could come up with. “I just wanted to say goodbye. They’re sending me home.” Jim gave her a hug. “Congratulations. When do you leave?” “Now, I just convinced them to let me come see you first. They’ve arranged transportation back. All I have is this diaper bag.” “So you didn’t get toilet-trained?” Jim asked. “No. I guess it will be a souvenir of my immature past and my time here. I’ll have to live with it.” “Gee, I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. This place has really helped me, and I’m grateful.” “OK. Well, maybe I’ll see you on the outside sometime.” After Jackie left, a staff member appeared and offered to change his diaper. She picked out a nice outfit for him. “You have a meeting this morning with your coordinator.” OK, Jim thought. Now something is happening. He was led to an office, and a pleasant older woman greeted him. “How have you been doing?” “I’m OK. I mean, it is all rather odd to me. But I’ve met interesting people, and it’s not been too unpleasant.” “That’s good to hear,” she said. “I know we haven’t discussed goals for you. This was mostly because we wanted you to relax and not obsess over things, which is a major reason why you are here, right?” “Yes, I guess you are right.” “So are you wondering when you get to leave?” “I was wondering that. One of my friends stopped by to say goodbye this morning. I know another is probably getting close.” “Was that Miss Marshall or Miss Thompson?” “I’m afraid I don’t know their last names,” he said. “Just on a first-name basis. It was Jackie.” “Yes, Jackie Thompson. She left this morning. Also a Katheryn Marshall has gone home”. “Kate,” he said to himself. “So how do you feel about this?” “I’ll miss them. I will probably meet new friends. I met one of the naked guys yesterday.” “Yes, we have new people all the time. But do you feel ready to leave?” “I suppose I am. I like it here, but I know it can’t be forever. I do have a life on the outside.” “Work?” “Well, I’d like to get back to work. I understand that while I should work hard, I shouldn’t obsess over it like I did in a way that made me ineffective both at work and in my personal life.” “I think you understand things well. We’ve done some simple stresses to you to test you, such as getting you a bowling partner and seeing how competitive you got.” Jim thought back to sharing a lane a few days earlier. “We also tested you with your friends telling you they were leaving. Not just the two women, but a Randall Garrison.” He thought back. “Randy,” he thought. The first of the nude inmates. Your reaction with him wasn’t what we expected, but with Miss Thompson, you did well.” “So?” “So, we think you are ready to leave.” “When?” “Now. Unless you have someone you’d like to say goodbye to.” Jim thought about it. No, if Kate and Jackie were gone, they were the ones he was closest to. Jim shook his head. “Then it is arranged. Your escort will be in shortly.” Another, younger woman entered and handed him a bag. Having seen Jackie’s, he knew it was a diaper bag. “No potty training for me, either?” he asked. The coordinator answered, “No, I’m afraid not. We don’t want to add stress by making you worry about the bathroom. Does this concern you?” “Actually, while I was initially shocked, I find it oddly liberating not to have to stress about that. I did have some accidents over the year.” “Yes, we knew about that. Good. Well, Miss Bell here will take you home.”

Chapter 208: Foreign Object I FELT MYSELF freeze in raw terror as Shelby squeezed me again. A wave of humiliation burned through me as I felt the contents of my diaper ooze out the leg holes, the substance seeming to burn my skin. I was debating using my SphereVerse connection to send a cry for help to Grandma when Leelah sat up. Even in the darkness, I could see her wrinkle her nose from the real bed she slept on. “Eew…” she said softly, and then turned to see my petrified eyes. Her face softened, and she whispered, “Do you need a change?” I groaned, but nodded. “It’s bad though… You might want to get someone else?” She pushed her blankets aside and stood up. “Let’s get you out of Shelby’s grip first…” I felt her gently pry apart my smaller cousin's arms, freeing me. As I wriggled away, she said, “Oh… you weren’t lying.” I froze. “Shelby?” she said as I stopped moving. “Huh?” My cousin sleepily said. “Umm… Carly leaked on you, we need to get you both cleaned up…” “I leaked on her…” I whispered in horror. I turned and realized the back of my diaper must have leaked up my back, soaked through my pajamas, and onto her. Her entire shirt was wet… Shelby looked down at her wet shirt but somehow managed not to panic, even though I could feel more leakage from my own diaper. “Come on, let’s get you both in my bathroom. Probably easiest to do this in the bath…” “Eew,” Shelby said as she followed me into Leelah’s attached bathroom, and Leelah turned the lights on. I couldn’t see the countertop or the mirrors from the ground, but I turned and saw that the front of her shirt was one big brown wet splotch from her chest down to the waistband of her pajama bottoms. As I walked, I could feel some liquid sliding down my back and down the legs of my sleeper. Shelby sighed, then hesitantly pulled her top off. Her skin looked damp, and when she caught my eye, her expression was pained. I felt horrible. “Sorry, Shelby…” “Don’t worry about it, Carly. It’s not like you can control when you have a blowout…” “Leelah, you want to just hop in my shower for a moment to rinse off and wash? I’ll start stripping Carly here, and we can wash her in the bath after?” “I can just stay in the tub with her,” she told her, pausing, “It may take both of us to get her clean.” “I can…” I tried to argue. Leelah addressed me as Shelby pulled off her clothes and turned on the shower, already stepping inside to scrub. Leelah laid out a towel she had folded twice and placed on the ground. “Lie down here,” Leelah told me. I sighed, but did as she asked. As I did so, I couldn’t help but grimace at the feeling of the disgusting fabric being pushed against my back. Even now, the putrid substance was burning where it was touching, and I just wanted it off! “This is disgusting…” I whined. “Sorry, Carly. I’ve seen Meggy with blowouts before – sorry to say they do happen to you all from time to time. Just sit still, though, we’ll get you all cleaned up and back beautiful in a hurry!” Leelah was younger than me, but I’d guessed she’d helped take care of her ‘big sister’ for a number of years since she was over twice our height. She unsnapped the flap covering the zipper pull and gently guided the zipper of the sleeper down to its end by my left foot. I watched her wrinkle her nose as she pulled my left foot clear, and then gently did the same with the right side of my body to expose the putrid diaper. I tried to sit up to see the damage, but she just gently pushed down on my shoulder, “I got this, Carly.” Leelah next guided my arms out of the sleeves, leaving me lying atop the messy sleeper. She made a face as she accidentally got poop on her fingers. "Forgot wipes!" she quietly scolded herself. "Wait right there, I’ll be right back," she said, then left the bathroom. I sat there for a couple of long moments even as Shelby had turned the water off and emerged in my view, wrapped in a towel that was comically large for her short frame. Leelah soon returned with a package of wipes, a sack, and another diaper. “Sorry, I should have grabbed you a smaller towel!” Leelah told her. “Thought you were going to help me wash the munchkin in the bath?” “I will, but I didn’t want to waste water, and I figure we probably should spray her off first?” I blushed as they talked about me like I wasn’t there. The thing was, I didn’t even feel like I could respond right then! “Yeah, probably a good idea. I’ll grab the sprayer nozzle down, and we’ll rinse her off before doing a bath you both can soak in.” Right then, Shelby gave me a sympathetic smile, “That should be nice… help us forget this!” Leelah looked at me, took a breath through her mouth, then leaned in to pull the tapes of my diaper open. I sat stock still as she pulled the front down, managing to maintain a calm face, even as she began humming a soft, gentle tune. The size disparity of my younger cousin became even more obvious a moment later when she was easily able to lift my rear off the disgusting diaper by my ankles, held in just one of her hands. She spent a number of wipes cleaning me before gently picking me up and holding me at arm's length. Leelah carried me gently to the tub, stood me up inside, and said, “Stand there just a sec, I want to clean up the floor and wash my hands…” I felt myself blush as I realized she had some brown on her hands. It was mortifying to just stand there naked, but I had nothing else I could do right then! To her credit, Leelah quickly wrapped the diaper in the sack she’d brought, along with the pile of brown wipes she’d not been able to quite wrap inside. The towel was carefully rolled up and set aside before she scrubbed her hands and returned. I watched as she easily reached a shower head nozzle above me that I couldn’t hope to reach on my own. Looking at Shelby, I realized she couldn’t either! After starting the water, checking it, Leelah began gently rinsing my back and butt until the water stopped dripping, a brown sludgy mess, and instead was clear. “Here, let’s get a bubble bath going for you two now…” Leelah said, gently guiding me to the other end of the tub, even as she turned the main tap on and closed the drain. Slowly, the water crept up, and bubbles formed, with Shelby joining me in the tub as it filled to our shoulders. “Sorry about that…” I said again, “Thank you…” “That’s what families are for,” Leelah said with a smile, kneeling beside us on the outside of the tub. “What in the world did you eat though?!?” I grimaced, “It was something spicy at this place we went for lunch? It wasn’t spicy though!!!” Shelby facepalmed across from me, then said, “Didn’t you have a problem after the fiery foods contest, too?” She looked thoughtful, “I think there was something on the island during spring break too…?” I sighed, “Maybe…” "Next time you eat something like that, make sure someone puts you in better protection!" Leelah kidded me. "Not sure if you can get crawler diapers in your size though..." I blushed. Shelby actually used a washcloth and some scented berry soap that Leelah had, and then scrubbed my back for me, and then forced me to let her clean the rest of me too. It was embarrassing to realize I was still the size of a four-year-old compared to her! Even my smaller ‘Little’ cousin was almost so much bigger than me with the latest shrinkage. Thirty minutes later, I was in a new diaper and new footed pajamas, and Shelby now had her own set on. Leelah had the foresight to swap the bedding on our bed quickly, too, and we all soon went back to sleep after Leelah made me drink some water from a sippy cup. “You’ve got to be dehydrated,” she’d told me. I groaned, but drank some and snuggled back down into the bed. As I drifted to sleep, I had to admit that I was a little surprised that Shelby was risking hugging me to her again as she did! BETH WOKE UP on Sunday morning and found herself drafted into helping her mom finish getting their new house inventoried for things they needed. Her mom’s personal assistant, Ophelia, had arrived that morning. While her mom had basically become detached from her mother’s company and empire, the resulting wealth had meant there was plenty of need for an assistant. She’d been hired not long after Laura was born to help her out with household staff organization, planning her and her siblings' calendars, coordinating her dad's schedule, etc. She’d been with the family for long enough that she was practically a member. That meant, of course, that Beth smiled to see the beloved staff member. Giving her a hug when she saw her at the house. Just before lunch, they’d finished going room to room, when one of the members of her mom’s security team said, “Doctor Westerfield just pulled up?” “Would you please show her in?” A few moments later, Beth watched Carly walk in beside her Grandmother. She was wearing an outfit she remembered them purchasing the day before, made up of a ribbed-knit pink top with little ruffled mini-sleeves that reached just past her shoulders. It was covered by a set of denim shortalls that looked like they tied with thin straps at the top, but she knew they really pulled on over the top and snapped in the crotch. Someone had tied her hair up in tall pigtails with matching pink bows. It was an adorable look for her! Beth found herself walking to her and hugging her, then picking her up and placing her on her hip. Carly just leaned her head in, seeming content to be held. “Carly, you look adorable,” Amanda told her. “Thanks,” Carly blushed as Ophelia came in. “Oh, hi, I’m Ophelia Clemson, Mrs. Harris’s assistant?” She said to Amanda. “Hi, I’m Amanda Westerfield,” she told her. “And this is Carly,” Beth answered for her girlfriend. “That’s Carly?” Ophelia spluttered. “Is there a problem?” Beth asked. “No… just with the stories I’d heard… I thought she would be taller?” Carly sighed, “I used to be taller!” “Are you ready to go, Beth?” Amanda asked. “We picked Fred up from the hospital, so he’s outside with the kids in the car.” “Finally released him?” Beth’s mom asked. “Yeah, I think he was about to break out on his own if they wouldn’t discharge him today!” Amanda laughed lightly. “Anyway, we’ll bring her back with whatever we can salvage?” “Sounds good,” her mom told her. “Beth, we’ll be running to go get some bedding and things that we know we need. We’re going to go ahead and check out of the hotel and stay here now.” “Okay,” Beth told her. “My stuff’s still in the hotel room?” “Your dad will take care of it,” she told her. “He’s going to go check out.” “Okay,” Beth told her. She gave her a quick hug, then told Amanda, “We’ll give you the tour when we come back?” “Sounds good,” she replied, leading her out to the waiting vehicle. Apparently, the marshals and her mom’s security team had already been aware of the trip, as they had a lead car and a chase car ready in the driveway. Beth saw Fred sitting in the passenger seat of the running vehicle. She opened the rear door and maneuvered through to the middle row, where her booster seat and Carly’s rear-facing seat were buckled in beside each other. “Hi Beth,” Shelby said from the back row, sitting between Bella and Ryan’s car seats. “I forgot how cramped the car gets with this many car seats,” Beth found herself saying. “How are you feeling, Fred?” She asked, tears of joy welling in her eyes at seeing him up and about. “Still feeling like I got run over by a train, but I’ll live thanks to you,” he said to her as she climbed into her own seat and buckled up. She was a little annoyed that it was a five-point harness booster! Amanda must have seen her face, “Sorry, Beth, we borrowed one of Leelah’s old booster seats that they had in the garage.” “It’s fine,” she told her. “So… things are cleaned up now?” “Tessa thinks the house is secure now. We’re using the marshals and your mom's private security to triple-check. Tessa and a contractor we trust have upgraded the security and made it impossible to get to the breaker panel they blew to shut everything off.” “Good,” Carly said, quietly beside her. “You okay?” Beth asked her. She sighed, “Just tired.” “Why?” Beth asked. The blush in Carly’s face said it was a touchy subject, and she decided to wait for some privacy to answer. She swore she could see her trying to look over the back of the seat at Shelby for some reason to be quiet! It was a quiet trip as the vehicle self-guided them down the highway from the house her parents had bought down to the Westerfields. Right away, they were greeted by four security guards who waved them through the gate. Beth struggled to get the buckle for a moment, but eventually opened her harness and then reached over to do the same for Carly. Amanda came around and managed Bella, Shelby, and Ryan. After setting Carly on the ground, Beth gave Fred a big hug. “I really am so glad you are okay!” He hugged her back, “Thanks to you, it seems! Thank you!” Beth noted that Amanda was carrying Carly’s backpack and items Lilly had brought as they entered the house and were greeted by Tessa. “Welcome home,” she said. There was seemingly far more emotion in her voice than Beth would have believed possible in an AI hologram, but this wasn’t the first time Beth wondered about how sentient Tessa was. “It’s good to be home,” Fred told her. “Everything is basically back to normal,” Amanda asked. “Yes, Mandy, we just have one last set of cameras that they’re working on along the fenceline for better warning of anyone coming.” “That’s good,” Beth said. “Okay, Shelby, Ryan, Bella, we know your real house was untouched, as they just thought it was a playhouse. Go to your bedrooms in here and figure out if there’s anything you need us to buy and replace before we move back here,” Grandma told them. “Yes, ma’am,” the three said. Beth watched them climb the staircase with Shelby carrying her mom right then. “Beth, I know your mom wants you to live at your new place most of the time, but we’ll figure out some nights you can still sleep over here every now and then. For now, though, you might go through and figure out what wasn’t destroyed that you want to take with you. Tessa, you left those tubs up there, right?” “Yes, Mandy, she should have plenty of storage to take stuff back to her house.” “And me…?” Carly asked her grandma. “We’re going to have to do the same, as well as check over the bag and everything Miss Lilly brought over for you. I think we should start with that. We might check and see if you can then fit in some of your mom’s clothes since you’re now pretty much her size.” Carly blushed, “Okay…” Beth carried the pint-sized girlfriend up the stairs behind her Grandma until they reached the split to go to her lab, and she sat her down to toddle after her. ‘Probably need to change her soon,’ she noted from the puff of the bottoms of her outfit. Sighing, though, she began the process of checking for all the things she would now need to move for a third time this year! ‘I hate moving…’ she griped as she began opening drawers, her closet, and cringing at how much had been damaged. It was depressing how little of her wardrobe had survived! GRANDMA HAD LED me into her private lab and then shut the door. Tessa appeared immediately inside the room then. “Mandy, you wanted me to come and assist?” “Yes, I don’t trust them not to have used Lilly willingly, or unwillingly, to have planted something in her bag?” Tessa reached for the bag she held and placed it on the scanner she’d used before on me, while Grandma sat me on the table not far from it. The contents of my backpack were being projected above the table, and I watched as my phone blinked red in the holo display, and Grandma reached for it. “I believe there was some tampering there,” Tessa told us. “Not surprised, that would have been very easy to have hacked…” Grandma said. “Can you clear the issues, or should we just buy a new phone for Carly?” “I think I can get everything, but I think it would be safer to purchase a new, completely clean device.” Grandma sighed, “We’ll go do that after we finish with Beth gathering her stuff, then.” Another item showed red then, and I felt a bead of sweat form on my forehead. “Mandy?” Tessa said, “There’s another foreign object in Carly’s bag that I don’t recognize.” Grandma looked with a concerned look as she tried to figure out how to get into the hidden compartment. ‘I didn’t want to tell her about that…’ I thought as she found Aunt Bella’s hidden zipper and withdrew the object I’d brought from home. “What is this…?” Grandma asked Tessa. “Unknown…” Tessa said. “It has a quantum signature, though that seems to be originating in Carly’s home dimension…?” “Carly?” Grandma asked. “Do you know what this is…?” +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!! Please press the Like button and leave a comment! Sofia apologizes profusely to her European readers, she woke up sick several times in the middle of the night... but no rest for her as she's frantically beginning to clean house for parent visit next weekend! This was the first time she had to edit the chapter to post. There is another chapter ready to go, but it's not quite finished. Depending on this cleaning stuff and this week, there may be a two-week break again here. This weekend was supposed to be a good writing weekend with a three day weekend, but that got destroyed with cleaning and sick... Sofia is going to try, though! Anyway, comments and likes are likely to help fuel any writing!!!! Please leave them! They're medicine for the sick soul too! 🥺 Just a reminder, I have published Book 1 of this (Chapters 1-73ish) on Kindle and Audible, with an AI-read version. I spent some time going through and editing it as best I could for pronunciation and the like, and it’s pretty decent. (Especially when a human would cost thousands for a project this size!) The best deal if you want the Audiobook is to purchase the Kindle Book, then add the Audiobook for $1.99. That’s available here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GDRDWS5P . Thanks to those of you who have purchased or do purchase my books! Your support really helps me out when money gets tight! Also I do have a discord if you haven’t joined that, you can do so here: https://discord.gg/3JR4bEsmdN

Chapter One Hundred & Fifteen: Part Four The front door clicked shut behind them with the soft, familiar sound that always meant home. Lilly stepped inside first, the Louis Vuitton overnight bag still slung over her shoulder, her hand reaching automatically for the light switch on the wall. The house was dark and quiet, the late-night stillness wrapping around them like a blanket after the long day. Bryan moved faster than she expected. His hand caught hers gently but forcefully, stopping her fingers just before they touched the switch. He pulled her back against him in one smooth motion, her back pressing flush to his chest, his arms sliding around her waist with a hunger that had been building for two long months. Lilly’s breath caught sharply. The sudden closeness sent a shiver racing across her skin, every nerve tingling as if she had stepped into warm sunlight after a long winter. From Lilly’s point of view, the world narrowed to the solid heat of Bryan’s body behind her. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, the way his arms tightened around her like he was afraid she might vanish again. His face lowered to the curve of her neck, and he breathed her in—deep, slow, deliberate. The act itself made her skin prickle with electricity; the faint stubble on his jaw brushed her shoulder, sending sparks down her spine. Then the release of his warm, intoxicating breath washed across her chest and neck like a caress, carrying his scent, the crisp December air, and something unmistakably him—the scent that had always made her feel safe and desired at the same time. Her pulse quickened, a low, aching heat blooming low in her belly as the longing she had pushed down for weeks surged forward, raw and undeniable. Bryan’s POV was a storm of sensation. Holding her like this after so many nights apart felt like coming home to something vital he had been starving for. His skin prickled with tiny electric pulses of pleasure everywhere they touched—her back against his chest, her hips nestled perfectly against him. When she turned her head slightly, he captured her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. His tongue sought hers, massaging the inner curve of her cheek with slow, deliberate strokes that drew a soft, needy moan from her. The taste of her—sweet, familiar, Lilly—flooded his senses and sent a rush of heat straight through him, making his grip on her waist tighten with barely restrained want. They kissed like people starving for each other, panting between breaths, hands roaming with urgent tenderness. Lilly’s fingers clutched the front of Bryan’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer as they moved through the darkened house, their bodies tangled and unwilling to separate even for a step. Bryan’s hands slid down her sides, then back up, memorizing every curve he had missed for far too long. They paused long enough for Lilly to tug his shirt up and over his head, exposing the toned lines of his body—the defined five-pack of his abs that flexed under her touch as she ran her right hand slowly up and down them, feeling the warmth of his skin and the faint tremor of desire beneath it. “God, I missed this,” she breathed against his mouth, her voice husky with need. Bryan lifted her arms high, his eyes dark with longing as he slowly peeled her top off, his fingers brushing her skin in a way that left goosebumps in their wake. He unclasped her bra at the same time, letting it fall away. Before she could feel exposed, he wrapped his arms around her chest, holding her close so that only the soft swell of her ample bosom was visible to the shadows. He leaned down and kissed the curve there ever so subtly, reverent and hungry all at once, his lips lingering just long enough to draw a quiet gasp from her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, voice rough with two months of pent-up longing. “I’ve dreamed about touching you like this every single night.” They continued kissing, moving through the house like a single living thing, their breaths mingling, hands exploring with growing urgency. In the kitchen they paused again. Lilly jumped up suddenly, wrapping her legs around Bryan’s waist with a playful laugh that broke into another deep, desperate kiss. Bryan supported her behind with a soft but firm squeeze on her ass cheeks, his grin flashing in the dark as he whispered hotly against her lips, “Are you my bad girl tonight, Lil?” Lilly leaned in, aiming for his cheek but instead gently biting his ear with just enough force to draw a low, guttural moan from him. She giggled softly, the sound warm and teasing, her breath hot against his skin. “Not bad… but I’m your wildest fantasy come to life. Think you can keep up, stud?” Bryan’s eyes darkened with raw desire. He turned and set her down on the cool granite island, the stone a sharp contrast to the heat between them. His hands reached back and tugged off her pants, leaving her in just her black satin panties. He gently spread her legs open and slid those off too, spinning the delicate fabric once on his finger with a wicked little smile. Lilly reached around and pulled Bryan into another kiss, deep and hungry, her tongue sliding against his as her left hand reached down, unlooping his belt with practiced ease. She unbuckled his pants, the metallic click echoing softly in the quiet kitchen. Bryan smiled against her mouth, voice low and rough with want. “Okay… fair is fair.” He simply dropped his boxers, stepping out of them without breaking eye contact. Lilly sat there for a moment, admiring the view of him in the low light, her gaze full of love and hunger, drinking in the sight of his toned body and the clear proof of how much he had missed her. “God, Bryan,” she whispered, voice thick with longing, “you’re so damn beautiful.” Before she could say anything more, Bryan scooped her up again. Flashing a glimpse of Lilly’s bare ass, smooth and warm in the moonlight, before Bryan spun her around. They engaged in another deep, breathless kiss, tongues and hands desperate and hungry, before they moved out of frame, disappearing down the hallway toward the master bedroom. The digital microwave clock on the kitchen counter glowed softly in the dark. 1:28 a.m. 6:45 a.m The morning light was just beginning to filter through the drama hallway at Bishop Gates Academy. The tall windows, painting the crimson-and-gold banners in soft gold. Lockers lined the walls, still quiet before the rush of students. A few early arrivals moved through the corridor, their footsteps echoing. But not everyone was quiet. A sneaker scuffing hard against the tile. A burst of laughter choked down into somebody’s sleeve. A whispered, “No, no, over there—do it over there—” Then all at once they were there in the middle distance of the corridor, four figures gathered in a crooked little knot just outside the range of the nearest wall camera, positioned with the kind of instinctive teenage criminal intelligence that wasn’t really intelligence at all so much as the half-formed arrogance of kids who thought being unwatched for thirty seconds made them invisible. Three boys. One girl. All of them dressed exactly the way boys and girls at a place like Bishop’s Gate dressed when they wanted to look casual while still announcing money from twenty feet away. Crisp white trainers that had never seen a public bus. Slim quarter-zips in muted navy and cream. A black Canada Goose vest over a pale gray hoodie on one of the boys, even though Florida had no real business inspiring that level of insulation. Expensive denim. A pleated tennis skirt under a camel coat for the girl, her dark hair clipped back with something gold and understated enough to cost more than it should. The whole group looked polished in that private-school way that suggested rules had shaped them but never really restrained them. One of the boys—tall, sandy-haired, the kind of face that probably photographed well for lacrosse brochures—had a backpack on the floor between his feet. Not a school backpack. Something darker. Older. Zippers already half-open. Another boy crouched beside it, rifling through the contents with the quick, excited movements of someone who wasn’t afraid of getting caught because the fear was part of the fun. The girl stood watch with one hand over her mouth, not to hide horror but laughter, eyes glittering as she glanced up and down the corridor. The fourth kid, shorter and meaner-looking in a way that had nothing to do with height and everything to do with the hard little set of his mouth, leaned back against the wall and kept muttering variations of the same phrase under his breath like he couldn’t get enough of how it sounded. “Diaper boy.” He snorted. Then louder, trying the words on for maximum damage even though the person they were meant for wasn’t there to hear them. “Can’t believe it’s actually true.” The crouching boy laughed. “Dude, I told you. I told all of you. He was literally wearing one.” “Shut up,” the girl whispered, and immediately laughed right after saying it, because she didn’t want him to shut up at all. “Oh my God, if somebody filmed it—” “If somebody filmed it?” the one in the vest cut in, grinning. “Freak show,” the shorter boy said, almost lovingly, like he was polishing the insult before setting it down somewhere permanent. “The little freak-show theater prince.” The crouching kid unzipped the bag wider. Inside, things flashed only in pieces as his hands moved too quickly to let any one image settle for long. A spray can pulled halfway free, silver cap catching the fluorescent light. Another one after it. A four-pack of pudding cups, the plastic ring connecting them stretching between his fingers. A teddy bear with stupidly soft beige fur and a satin ribbon at its neck. The girl laughed, a high, cruel sound as she reached in and yanked out a single adult diaper, holding it up like a trophy. “Look at this thing! It’s huge. Think he wears these under his costume during rehearsals? ‘Diaper Boy and the Mockingbird’—that’s the new play title, right?” More snickers erupted as another boy pulled out a teddy bear, dangling it by one ear. “Aww, does the wittle baby need his stuffie too?” He tossed it into the air and caught it, the bear’s soft body flopping limply. They all lost it at that. Not loud at first. A contained, vicious little implosion of laughter. The kind teenagers were best at when they knew they were doing something ugly and were enjoying the fact that it would look ugly if described plainly, so they transformed it into a joke and let that absolve them. “Imagine him, though,” the girl said, stepping forward now, eyes bright with the rhythm of cruelty finding an audience. “Like actually imagine it. Up there on stage all serious and dramatic and then what—” She mimed a startled expression, then slapped both hands to her hips. “Psshht.” Laughing at her own sound effect. “Diaper boy has an accident in Act Two.” One of them pulled out neon papers—bright flyers they had clearly printed themselves—and waved them like flags. “These go up everywhere.” The mischief built like a crescendo, spray cans clattering, pudding cups being shaken, duct tape unrolling with a sticky rip. The group was fully in it now—vandalism and gossip blending into one ugly game, the backpack spilling more supplies onto the floor as they laughed harder, feeding off each other’s cruelty. The girl looked over her shoulder again, the laughter dimming just a fraction under real nerves now. “Can you all hurry up? This is taking too long.” “Relax,” the vest boy said. “Nobody’s—” He stopped. Not because wisdom had struck him. Because another sound entered the corridor. A wheel. Then another. The metallic, tired squeal of something heavy being dragged. The kids froze in staggered degrees, their heads turning at different speeds toward the far end of the hallway where a figure had just rounded the corner. He was older—sixties maybe, the kind of age hospitals and schools and places built on quiet labor wore down into something timeless. He had on janitorial gear in Bishop’s Gate colors, a black work shirt tucked into faded khaki pants, the patch on his chest clearly visible even from a distance. Bishop’s Gate. A gray maintenance key ring clipped at his hip. One hand on the long handle of a mop bucket that rattled as he dragged it over the seam in the floor. He took in the group first. Then the spray cans. Then whatever was on the wall. And his whole body stiffened with the authority of someone who had spent enough years being ignored to know exactly how loud he needed to get before children with expensive parents remembered adults still existed. “Hey!” The shout cracked down the hallway hard enough to make the girl jump. Then louder. “Hey, you KIDS!” Everything broke at once. “Shit—” “Grab the bag—” “Let’s get outta here!” The backpack kid lunged down, yanking the canvas bag up by one strap so fast the zipper gaped wider and a spray of neon papers flew loose in every direction—fluorescent pink, acid yellow, electric green flashing through the air like panicked birds before skating across the polished floor. At the same time, the crouching boy fumbled one of the cans and then the other. Both hit the tile with sharp metallic cracks and spun away in opposite directions, rattling ugly little echoes down the corridor. The older man kept coming, faster now, mop bucket wheels bumping and splashing as it dragged behind him. The teenagers split on instinct, not strategy. Two pairs. Two directions. The girl grabbed the vest boy and tore off left, shoes slapping the floor hard enough to squeal at the corners. The other two bolted right, one still half-laughing in that high, feral way adrenaline made some boys sound when they confused fear for fun. “Go, go, go!” A hydraulic door somewhere at the far end hissed open. Then slammed shut behind one pair with a thick, air-sealed thud. Another door banged on the opposite side of the corridor seconds later. Then silence came back too fast. Not true silence. Never that. The mop bucket still squeaked. One spray can gave a final lazy roll and tapped the baseboard. The janitor slowed. Didn’t stop dragging the bucket until he reached the space they had just abandoned. And still— The scene itself stayed hidden from view. The corridor gave up only fragments. A splatter of something pale and slick near the wall, catching the light like spilled cream. Neon paper stuck crooked to a locker door, the bright flyers already curling at the edges. A teddy bear slumped on its side, one ear torn, lying in the middle of the floor like a discarded witness. The white edge of an adult diaper where it had come loose and not been fully recovered, crumpled beside a spray can that had rolled to a stop against the baseboard. Whatever had been done, it was enough to make the old man go still in a way that had nothing to do with surprise. His face changed first. Not to anger. Anger would have been easier. It folded instead into something older and heavier—sadness before disgust, disgust before disappointment, disappointment before that exhausted, private kind of hurt adults got when children proved exactly how cruel they were capable of being the moment they thought no one was forcing them to pretend otherwise. His mouth tightened into a thin line. His eyes lowered, the lines around them deepening as the weight of years of cleaning up after privileged kids who never learned better settled heavier on his shoulders. The radio on his left shoulder buzzed for a moment before a scratchy voice pierced the air around him. “Jim, are you there over?” “Yeah, Percery, I’m here. Gonna need some help with the clean up here by the theater, the locker.” Buzzing interrupts. “No, Jimmy, I’m gonna need your help. There are flyers all over the damn quad and over by the south side of the campus.” “What?” Buzzing. “Jim, Percery, it's Betty.” “Yeah, Betty, what’s your six?” “Fellas, I’m gonna need some help here, it’s like some kids went up to the roof of the north end Hobbsion buildings and started throwing these bright pink and green flyers off the roof, making such a mess over in the faculty parking lot and...” Buzzing “Can anybody help? We’ve got these blue flyers everywhere.” The first bell of the day rang out, sharp and piercing, echoing through the hallways like a starting gun. Within seconds the once-defaced empty corridors filled fast. Sneakers squeaked, voices rose, laughter bubbled up in clusters as students poured in from every entrance. The janitor’s face grew more pained, the sorrow deepening with every new arrival. His eyes, already heavy, now carried a quiet, aching disappointment that seemed to weigh on his entire frame. Laughter rang out louder, sharp and cruel. “Yo, did you see the pics of Diaper Boy in the gym?” “Bro, he was legit crying with a pacifier in his mouth!” “Freak show.” Phones were out everywhere—snapping pictures of the vandalism, recording videos mixed with the chatter, turning the hallway into a digital feeding frenzy. The janitor stood still, mop bucket forgotten, his expression now a portrait of quiet heartbreak as the cruelty spread like wildfire around him.The evidence was everywhere, and the students were only too happy to make sure the whole school would remember. A flicker of light came first, sharp and artificial, like the quick glare of a cellphone screen catching the eye in a dark room—cold, momentary, intrusive—and then it dissolved almost immediately, softening, warming, stretching outward into something far more natural as morning sunlight began to spill gently through the tall windows of Paul’s hospital room. The light didn’t rush in. It crept. Slow and patient, like it knew better than to disturb what it was touching. It spread across the pastel-colored walls first, washing the soft greens and blues in a warm golden tone, then slid along the floor in long quiet bands before finally climbing its way up the side of the bed, inch by inch, until it reached him. The room was quiet except for the soft, rhythmic shh-shh of the sports-themed mobile turning lazily overhead, its tiny footballs and basketballs drifting in lazy circles above the bed. Paul hadn’t moved. He was still tucked safely beneath the blankets, both bed rails raised now on either side of him, framing him in a way that didn’t feel restrictive but protective—like quiet guardrails holding the world back while he rested inside it. The sunlight found his face and settled there. And something about the way it touched him changed everything. It softened him. Not physically— but emotionally. The tension that had lived behind his eyes over the last three months espically had finally eased, smoothed out by sleep and exhaustion and whatever small safety his body had finally managed to claim. The light caught along the edge of his lashes, warmed the curve of his cheek, and for a moment—just a moment—he didn’t look like someone carrying anything heavy at all. He looked… Young. Innocent. Untouched. The Safari-themed pacifier moved gently between his lips, rising and falling in slow rhythm with his breathing, the soft silicone catching the sunlight each time it shifted outward before settling back again. There was a quiet sound that accompanied it, barely audible unless you were close enough to notice—the faint, steady suck, small and instinctive, something his body did now without needing permission. Beneath that, softer still—a crinkle. The light rustling of his diaper as he shifted just slightly deeper into the mattress, the material responding with that familiar, subtle sound that followed even the smallest unconscious movement. His hands were tight. Not tense— but anchored. Batman was pressed firmly against his chest, Long Knight tucked just beneath it, both held close in a way that wasn’t decorative, wasn’t passive. His fingers curled into them slightly, drawing them inward, his chin dipping just enough that he nuzzled faintly into the soft fabric without waking. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t forced. It was instinct. And it was—quietly— undeniably—innocent. Behind him, just beyond the edge of the bed, Nurse Marigold stood watching. She hadn’t moved for a while. Didn’t need to. There was something about the scene that held her there—not professionally, not out of obligation, but something closer to reverence, the kind that came when you recognized a moment that wasn’t meant to be interrupted too quickly. She stood in pediatric scrubs that softened her presence before she even spoke, the fabric patterned with small, gentle designs meant for younger patients—muted animals, soft shapes, calming colors that contrasted subtly against the natural confidence of her posture. Her figure was strong but balanced, her movements always controlled, her presence grounded in a quiet maturity that went beyond her years. Her dark hair, thick and softly waved, caught the morning light in warm undertones, pulled back just enough to stay practical while still framing her face. Her makeup was simple but intentional, natural tones that enhanced rather than masked, giving her an approachable warmth that worked perfectly within the pediatric wing. She was young. But not uncertain. And as she watched Paul—a small smile crept onto her face. Because this wasn’t the first version of him she had seen. Her mind slipped back without effort. To that first day. Hours after everything happened. He had been— fragile. Not just injured. Broken in a way that had nothing to do with bones. Bruised, yes. But more than that— overwhelmed. He hadn’t even been able to feed himself. She had done it for him. She had sat beside him then, guiding the spoon to his lips with the same patience she used for the tiniest patients. Yesterday she had warmed an adult-sized bottle of milk for the pink-haired pixie and watched her carry it in with such care. And now— this. Pacifier. Stuffies. A sleep so deep it pulled him somewhere smaller, somewhere safer than anything he could reach while awake. Her smile softened. But—they had a schedule. And the little guy’s breakfast— was getting cold. She moved quietly, guiding the cart toward the foot of the bed, the wheels rolling softly without disrupting the calm of the room. Then she stepped around to the left side, her hand finding the rail, lowering it slowly, carefully, making sure the motion stayed gentle enough not to pull him out of sleep too abruptly. Then she leaned in.Just slightly. Her hand resting lightly along his arm. Grounding. Warm. “Good morning…” she said softly, her voice smooth, steady, carrying that gentle rise and fall that made it feel almost like a lullaby without ever becoming one. Paul stirred. The pacifier shifted as his breathing changed. His brow tightened for just a second— then eased. He wasn’t awake. Not really. But the voice reached him. Soft. Female. Safe. And without thinking— without context—his lips moved around the pacifier. “…guh…mornin… mah…mmy…” The words came out thick, muffled, wrapped in silicone and sleep, barely formed but unmistakable in intent. Marigold let out a quiet, surprised chuckle. Not loud. Not mocking. Just— human. That sound pulled him the rest of the way up. Paul’s eyes opened slowly, blinking against the light, the world coming into focus piece by piece—and then all at once. Paul’s eyes fluttered open fully at the sound. His face went from pale to beet-red in under a millisecond as the woman looking over him was most certainly not his mommy. The realization hit like cold water—his pacifier still in his mouth, the stuffies clutched tight against his chest, the crinkle of his diaper loud in the sudden silence of his awareness. His big side recoiled in fresh embarrassment while the little side clung to the comfort of the moment, the two sides warring quietly behind his flushed cheeks. Marigold’s smile remained soft and maternal, her Brazilian warmth shining through as she gave him space to wake up fully. “It’s okay, Paul,” she said gently, her voice still soothing and safe. “You’re safe here. It’s Nurse Marigold, remember? Breakfast is ready whenever you are.” Paul’s fingers tightened on the plushies, the pacifier still bobbing once more before he slowly pulled it from his mouth, cheeks burning. The morning light continued to frame his face, but now the innocence was mixed with the very real vulnerability of a young man trying to find his place in a world that had already seen him at his lowest. “…mmf—” he stopped himself, eyes widening, the pacifier still in place as he tried to speak and failed for half a beat, his voice catching behind it. Mortification landed. Hard. “It’s alright,” she said softly, a hint of that sing-song cadence slipping into her tone—not childish, not diminishing, but shaped in a way that made it easier for him to land. “Let’s get you sitting up, honey… nice and slow.” Her hand moved to support his shoulder, the other bracing lightly at his side as she guided him upward, and the second his body engaged, it hit him. The rib. A sharp, unwelcome reminder. Paul winced. Not dramatic— but real. A tight pull across his face as his body resisted before settling. “Easy… easy…” Marigold murmured, her voice lowering slightly, steadying him through it. “No rush. Day’s just getting started.” He let out a small breath through his nose as he adjusted, his grip tightening briefly around Batman before loosening again as he found his balance against the incline of the bed. Marigold watched him for a second longer than necessary—not clinically, not detached—but with that quiet attentiveness she carried, reading more than just movement, making sure he was actually there before she let go. Then— a small shift in her tone. Lighter. Warmer. “And according to your chart…” she said, glancing briefly at the tablet tucked at the end of the bed before looking back at him, “…you’ve got a pretty big day ahead of you.” A beat. Her smile widened just slightly. “Birthday boy.” Another beat. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” The word landed gently. Not invasive. Not misplaced. Just… soft. She reached for the plushies then, carefully easing Batman and Long Knight from his arms, setting them off to the side within reach—not removed, just relocated—before sliding the rolling tray toward him. The dome lifted. And the room changed again. Not emotionally but sensory. The smell hit first. Warm. Savory. Real. Fluffy scrambled eggs, still steaming slightly, the texture soft and rich in a way that didn’t feel like hospital food at all. Two strips of bacon rested beside them, crisped just right, a small cup of green salsa verde placed neatly to the side. Two slices of sourdough toast, already buttered, the surface glistening faintly in the morning light. HIS sippy cup filled to the brim with cold orange juice, condensation forming along the sides. And a strawberry yogurt cup tucked neatly into the corner like a quiet afterthought. Paul blinked. Then—licked his lips. Subtly. Almost without realizing it. It smelled…good. Better than good. Familiar. Like something he’d seen before—craft services tables. Long days on set with Dad years ago. That strange mix of comfort and routine. He didn’t even notice when Marigold moved in again, fastening the bib gently around his neck, the fabric settling against his chest with a soft adjustment. No comment. No reaction. Just—normal. Paul let out a small breath. A quiet sigh. And then— he smiled. Because no one reached for the food. No one moved to help him. No one assumed. His hand closed around the plastic spork. Right hand. Steady enough. And with his left, he grabbed the salsa verde, tilting it over the eggs without hesitation, letting it spill freely, soaking into the soft scramble until the whole plate shifted in color and smell. Then— a big bite. Too big. Almost. But he didn’t care. He brought it up—took it in—and paused. Savoring. His first breakfast as an eighteen-year-old. And despite everything— it wasn’t bad. Not even close. He swallowed. Reached again. Another bite. Then—his eyes shifted. His phone. Sitting there. On the table beside him. Waiting. The room quieted again. Not physically. Internally. Because now— it was there. The choice. His hand stilled mid-motion. The spork hovered. His throat tightened slightly as something cold slipped into his chest, his little side pulling back immediately, fear rising fast and instinctive. Don’t. Don’t look. Don’t touch it. But the other side—the one that needed to know—pushed forward. Harder. You have to. You need to know how bad it is. You need to know if there’s anything left. His hand lowered slowly. The spork slipped from his fingers onto the tray with a soft plastic tap. His right hand trembled. Just slightly. But enough. And then—it started. The flashes. Flashbacks slammed into him as his fingers inched closer. The gym lights glaring down like spotlights. Danny’s cruel laugh echoing off the walls. The sudden yank of his shorts, the cold air hitting his skin, the flash of phones recording. The laughter—sharp, disbelieving, cruel—ringing in his ears. “Diaper Boy!” “Freak!” “Look at him leak!” The sensory memory was intense: the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the sting of tears, the heavy humiliation that made his stomach drop even now. The sound of it echoing in his head, layering over itself, louder, sharper, the memory distorting until it felt bigger than it had been. Faces. Turning. Looking. Seeing. Really seeing. The worst possible version of him—exposed. He swallowed. Hard. His fingers curled inward, then stretched again as he forced them forward, inch by inch toward the phone like it might burn him before he even touched it. His big side edged him one.... You need to know. You need to see. You need to fix it. His hand reached. Hovering. Shaking. Then— grabbed it. Tight. Like it might disappear. Like it might save him. The screen stayed dark for a second. Then—lit. Bright. Blinding. He just needed to unlock it. Just needed to see. Facial recognition— and then— “No, no, no, mister.” The phone disappeared from his hand before the system could even register his face. Paul blinked. Stunned. Marigold held it just out of reach, her tone playful—but there was something underneath it now, something firm, something that didn’t bend. “You’ve got a breakfast to finish first,” she said, her smile easy but controlled. “And then we need you all nice and clean before your physical therapy with Doctor Washington at nine.” She tilted her head slightly. “And that means this birthday boy needs a shower.” A beat. Her nose scrunched just slightly. “Because you’re starting to smell a little ripe.” Paul’s face flushed again. Instant. Hot. But— she wasn’t wrong. And the thought of it—the heat. The water. The reset— it pulled at him. He swallowed. Then nodded slightly. Marigold caught it immediately. Her smile softened. “It would be safe to say that smile means you agree?” Paul huffed quietly through his nose, then nodded again, more clearly this time. “Yes.” The word came clearer. Still soft. Still careful. “Excellent,” she said, straightening slightly. “So you finish your breakfast… then you shower… and then we get you into a fresh diaper.” That—hit differently. “My Dad said he’ll be back soon so he’ll be able to do that, so you don’t have to worry.” Paul then took a big bite of his toast after sliding a bacon strip in as well. He was trying to mask the worry, trepidation, and outright embarrassment of coming to the realization that this pretty nurse would see him naked and even worse, change his diapers. Marigold smiled politely. “Well, it sounds like we have a plan with your Dad and a backup plan with me. So nothing to worry about at all, because either way you’ll get a fresh diaper in no time.” Her tone stayed light. But the message held. Either way—it was happening. Paul nodded. Didn’t respond. Focused on chewing. On swallowing. On not thinking about it. As Marigold turned, she left the TV remote on the tray beside his breakfast—a small, quiet gesture that didn’t ask for recognition. His hand reached. Pressed the button. And soon enough— the familiar sound of the NFL Network filled the room. Normal. He took a long sip from his juice, the cold cutting through everything else, grounding him, followed by another bite of eggs, and for just a moment— just a moment—he felt like the age he had just turned. Behind him— Marigold paused. Turned slightly. Watched. The image—him focused on the screen. Sippy cup in hand. Taking another bite. A bit of salsa slipping from the corner of his mouth, catching on the bib as it fell. It didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel strange. It just…fit. She turned fully then, her phone already in her hand, her expression shifting back into something more professional as her thumbs moved quickly across the screen. “In room 185, may need assistance in helping to change a patient's diaper…” The message sat there for a second. Then—sent. The cellphone screen went dark. In the reflection of the now-black glass, Amber’s face appeared—tired but determined, the soft morning light catching the faint worry lines around her eyes as she stared at the message that had just come through. Amber read the message again. Not because she hadn’t understood it the first time. Because some messages asked to be read twice—once for the words, once for the ache hidden beneath them. “Recuerda, mi niña dulce… I’ll pick you up right after school so we can both wish Paul a Happy Birthday at the hospital. Love, Mami.” Mi niña dulce. (Sweet girl.) The words sat warm against the cold little tremor already living in her chest, and for half a second Amber just stared at them, thumb hovering uselessly over the glass, her own reflection barely visible beneath the message. Then the screen dimmed and took the words with it, leaving only her face looking back—pretty, composed, almost convincing if you didn’t know where to look for the cracks. The morning air outside Bishop’s Gate had that early-December Jacksonville softness to it, winter in name more than in practice, cool enough to make the skin notice but not enough to demand a coat if you cared more about fashion than comfort. Amber always cared more about fashion than comfort. It was one of the few things about herself that still felt dependable. Not flashy. Never cheap. Just… precise. High-waisted cream trousers cut long enough to flatter and clean enough to look expensive even if they weren’t. A fitted black knit top tucked in just right, the neckline simple and elegant, the sleeves hugging her arms in a way that made the whole thing feel intentional instead of effortless. Over it she wore a cropped camel jacket with sharp shoulders and gold buttons that caught the morning light without begging for it. Her shoes were polished white leather sneakers, immaculate in that way only someone with real discipline or real anxiety could manage before eight in the morning. Small gold hoops framed her face. Her makeup was clean, warm, top-tier without looking overdone—soft liner, brushed brows, gloss instead of lipstick because she knew exactly how much was too much for first period on a Monday. And there at her collarbone, resting against the hollow of her throat on a fine gold chain, was the ring. Her engagement ring. Threaded through the necklace instead, close enough to her heart to feel significant, far enough from her hand to feel like a question she still had not answered out loud. Her fingers touched it once. Only once. Then dropped. She looked up at the school and immediately felt it. The campus was doing what it always did on a Monday morning—doors opening, students spilling across the walkways, laughter skipping from group to group, the engine of Bishop’s Gate grinding itself alive for another week of polished cruelty and college-prep performance. But there was something else moving through it today. A different current. A buzz that didn’t feel normal. Not excitement. Not gossip in the ordinary sense. Something sharper. Something meaner. She heard it before she understood it. Laughter, yes—but the wrong kind. Not warm, not stupid, not casual. This kind had hooks in it. It snagged as it passed. It lingered too long. It kept doubling back on itself like the people making it couldn’t get enough of whatever was feeding it. Amber’s stomach twisted. Then she saw the first horde of kids spilling out of the drama wing. They came in a loose cluster, uniforms and Bishop’s Gate-approved casual wear all softened by money and self-assurance—tailored sweaters thrown over shoulders, expensive sneakers, pleated skirts with designer belts, boys in dark slacks and quarter-zips looking as if they had just wandered out of a prep school catalog and decided to become monsters on the way to homeroom. They were laughing too hard. One guy bent over at the waist like he physically couldn’t keep the joke inside him. A girl beside him had both hands over her mouth, not in horror but to hold the sound in. Another boy was whispering something into someone’s ear and whatever it was made the whole group break open all over again. Amber slowed without meaning to. Then further out in the parking lot she saw another group, and this time there was no missing what made them look so thrilled. Neon paper. Everywhere. Green. Blue. Pink. Yellow. Several kids held single sheets up like trophies. Another had three tucked under his arm. One boy—too pleased with himself for eight-thirty in the morning—threw an entire fistful of them into the air and watched them scatter over the pavement like he was celebrating confetti at some private parade no decent person had been invited to. Amber stopped. Her body knew before her mind did. Something in her chest tightened so fast it almost felt like a stitch. “Amber!” Her name snapped across the lot and pulled her out of the spiral just enough to turn. Evelyn Ortiz came running from the direction of the drama wing, one hand gripping the strap of her bag, the other waving once to make sure Amber saw her. Evelyn moved beautifully even when she was panicked, all quick lines and breath and intention. Her skin was a deeper brown than Amber’s, warm and luminous even in the pale morning light, and she wore a dress that looked like tradition had been taught how to flirt with modernity. The skirt flowed just below the knee with embroidered floral detailing along the hem, the bodice structured but soft, the sleeves short and fitted. Over it she’d thrown on a cropped denim jacket with pearl snaps and white stitching, and on her feet were spotless platform sneakers that should have ruined the look and somehow finished it instead. Gold bangles at one wrist. Tiny cross necklace. Dark hair pulled back in a sleek braid with ribbon worked through it in a way that nodded toward older generations without surrendering to them. She skidded to a stop in front of Amber, breathing hard enough to prove she had actually run. “Evelyn—hey.” Amber frowned immediately, the dread sharpening. “Girl, is everything okay? What’s the rush?” Evelyn looked at her for one second too long, and that was answer enough. “Have you seen these yet?” Amber’s heart dropped another inch. “Seen what? What are you talking about? I just got here.” Evelyn swallowed. The color in her face had changed. Whatever she’d seen, it had moved past gossip and into damage. “Come on,” she said quietly, already reaching for Amber’s right hand. “I think it’s best that you see it.” Amber let herself be pulled. There was no real choice in it. Together they crossed the last stretch of the lot and went through the front doors of Bishop’s Gate, and the second the school swallowed them whole the noise changed shape around Amber. The interior was buzzing the way it always buzzed at first bell—lockers opening and slamming, shoes against polished floors, teachers pretending not to hear things they absolutely heard, students clustering in little social constellations before the day sorted them into classrooms. But threaded through all of that was something uglier. The laughter had sharper edges in here. The whispers didn’t just exist; they pierced. Heads turned too quickly and then away again. Mouths folded inward around secrets that were not even trying to stay secret. Amber felt the school looking at itself. Enjoying itself. Three steps into the locker hall and she saw them. Hundreds. Every other locker door, it seemed. Maybe more. Neon flyers slapped up in wild repetition, their colors screaming against the orderly rows of brushed metal like infection spreading across something sterile. Green. Blue. Pink. Yellow. Down the whole corridor. At eye level, shoulder height, some crooked, some carefully centered, some already peeling at the corners from how fast they’d been put up. Amber slowed. Then stopped. Evelyn’s hand tightened around hers. The hallway kept moving around them—kids sidestepping, whispering, laughing, pretending not to stare while absolutely staring—but Amber couldn’t move. One flyer directly ahead of her seemed to swell larger than all the others, the rest of the corridor dimming around its shape until the whole world narrowed to that one rectangle of paper. She stepped closer. Didn’t need to touch it. Didn’t want to. Her face changed before she even let herself fully register why. First confusion. Then recognition. Then something far worse than either. Her lips parted but no sound came out. The color drained out of her so fast it looked painful. Her eyes locked on the image, then tightened, then widened again as if seeing it once had not been enough to convince her the thing was real. She looked sick. Not dramatically. Not theatrically. Sick in the way a body goes still when it has just understood a fresh humiliation in a language older than words. Paul. Mocked. Flattened. Turned into a joke you could hold in your hand. Turned into something reproducible. Portable. Easy to laugh at while you walked to chemistry. Her chest had gone so tight she wasn’t sure whether the next breath was actually going to happen unless she made it. Her fingers clenched around Evelyn’s hand hard enough to hurt. The engagement ring on the chain at her throat suddenly felt heavier than it had a right to, as if every choice she had ever made was hanging there in metal and gold and watching her fail to protect the person who needed it most. She stared at the flyer and realized, with a kind of sickening clarity, that the fight had not been the worst of it. Not the hospital. Not the bruises.Not even the exposure itself. This— this was what came after. The part that lingered. The part that multiplied. If Paul came back here— if he ever walk these halls again—the building would remember. The lockers would remember. The students would remember. And not passively. Not quietly. They would wait. Hungry. Ready. As if the school itself had developed teeth overnight and all it wanted now was one more chance to bite down on his humiliation and make it permanent.

Chapter 30 “Ah… that was… well, you girls certainly got creative.” Hazel looked down at Lucas and Juliette. They were both covered in finger paint - all over their hands, their shirts, even stray patches of it across their faces and hair. They stood before a large canvas propped against the wall, which itself was atop a tarp. Cascades of colourful paint and glitter coated both, with the canvas varying between crude finger-painted drawings and random rainbow splotches. Juliette looked proud of her work. Lucas looked a little dazzled, like he’d been sapped of all his energy. The two were clad in the plainest clothes that Hazel and Angie could find - Lucas was wearing nothing but a plain white t-shirt and a diaper. It was an odd feeling to start the day with, as he realised it was easily the most gender-neutral thing that he’d been dressed in since coming to this dimension. “Well, we’d better get you cleaned up. Did you have fun?” “LOTSA fun Miss Hazel!” Juliette exclaimed, still boasting energy to spare. She turned to pull Lucas into a tight hug. He felt like he was going to explode before she mercifully released him from her grip. “It was… pretty fun, actually.” Lucas admitted. “I’m glad,” Hazel laughed. “Your mommy will certainly be excited to see this beautiful painting you made! What should we call it…?” “Hmmm…” Juliette thought. “What do you think Luci?” “Uh…” he looked at the sprawling canvas. It was certainly unique, that’s for sure. He was never a particularly artsy person, so he wasn’t exactly sure what to name it. “…I’unno… Paint Party?” He shrugged. “PRINCESS Paint Party!” Juliette added. Hazel smiled. “A very fitting name!” Angie entered the room, having finished scrubbing some paint out of her own uniform after getting splashed. “Angie, will you help Juliette get cleaned up and dressed? I’ve got Lucille.” Hazel said, picking Lucas up. Angie nodded in return and went to grab Juliette’s hand. Hazel carried Lucas out of the room, and as they left, he heard Juliette stifle a giggle. It seemed to be directed at him, given Angie’s attempts to shush her. He wondered what was so funny - unaware of the large, purple hand print painted across the backside of his diaper, after Juliette had playfully slapped it with her paint-covered hand. “Good thing we held off on giving you a bath until after the finger painting, huh Luci?” Hazel said. They moved into the front hall of the castle to begin ascending the stairs. At the same time, Mr. Bennett was answering the door. “Ah, gentlemen, come in.” He turned back towards the hall. “Prince Leo, your guests have arrived.” Two young men, about Leo’s age, entered the front door, and Leo quickly emerged from one of the rooms to greet them. “Ah, Sebastian, Asim. Thought you two would never show.” “Couldn’t miss your birthday outing, could we?” Asim answered with a sly tone. Hazel stopped and smiled. “Hello boys! Good to see you again.” “Hello, Miss Hazel. And… ah, what have we here?” Sebastian wondered as he approached Hazel and Lucas. Asim followed shortly after. Lucas got an uneasy feeling. It was clear that their attention was suddenly focused on him. These were definitely rich boys like Leo, and they had a certain air of superiority around them the way most rich boys do. Leo sighed in the background, apparently having expected this. “Boys, this is Princess Lucille, Prince Leo’s new baby sister. Say hello to Leo’s friends, Sebastian and Asim, Lucille.” Hazel bounced Lucas in her arms a bit to prompt him. “H-hi.” Lucas said meekly. He was glad to not be wearing a dress and so was not expected to curtsy, though having his diaper on display wasn’t much better. “Charmed.” Sebastian grabbed Lucas’ hand between his thumb and index finger and shook it. His tone had a hint of condescension to it. “So this is the little one you’ve been telling us about. She doesn’t exactly look regal…” Asim snickered. “She was just having some playtime. I was about to get her cleaned up.” Hazel added flatly. Leo was hovering near the door. “Guys, let’s just go…” “Cleaned up? I thought that was Leo’s job?” Sebastian added. Asim joined him in a sneaky laugh. Leo burned bright red. “Well, Leo did help out a bit the other day. And he did a great job of it.” Hazel said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were teasing Leo, something that even Lucas picked up on. “Ahem!” Leo interrupted. He interposed himself between his two friends and Lucas. “Yes, I cleaned her up. It was gross, but some of us care about helping others. Now, did you two come over here to laugh at a baby, or should we just get going?” That shut Sebastian and Asim up pretty quick. Leo directed them out the front door. Asim turned as he was walking away towards Lucas. “Later, Princess.” His tone, though still not very respectful, was less mocking than they had been giving previously. The two friends left, and Leo shot Lucas and Hazel a look of apology before exiting himself to join them. “Hm.” Hazel said disapprovingly. “What’s their problem?” Lucas asked. “Oh, don’t mind them. Leo’s friends have always been a bit… well, they’re teenagers.” “They’re just allowed to talk to me like that? I’m royalty and they’re not.” Lucas said, adopting a more pompous tone than usual. “Their families are quite wealthy, and they’re not exactly well mannered. Unfortunately that’s how it can be in noble circles… best to just ignore them. If they cause any more trouble, I can put in a complaint. But it seems like your big brother has them handled.” That was true, Lucas thought. He didn’t expect Leo to jump in and stand up to them like that. It seems their bonding exercise did some good after all. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.” — Charlotte and Alexander smiled and posed for the army of photographers before them. It was all very familiar to them by this point - the flashing lights, the crowds clamouring for their attention. Charlotte had always enjoyed engaging with her subjects, but she didn’t count this experience in that category. It was all so tedious. They cut the ribbon to commemorate the opening of the new research centre - or was it a cultural centre? She wasn’t entirely sure. The advisors assured her and Alexander that their presence would give the opening the prestige it demanded regardless. They then went through the motions as usual - shaking hands, speaking with diplomats and activists and some noble family representatives. Finally, they had finished up their duties for the day. Charlotte retreated to the penthouse of a nearby hotel - they weren’t staying the night, of course, but being royalty had its perks, and among them was being able to use the penthouse for an hour and then head off. “Thank goodness,” Charlotte sighed, putting her feet up. Her shoes were promptly removed by Nathan, a young man from the castle waitstaff who usually acted as the King and Queen’s personal assistant on outings like these. Alexander sat next to her, and a moment later Nathan had procured a glass of bourbon for the King, a small tradition of his after such public appearances. The royals thanked Nathan, but in a way that signalled that he should make himself scarce, which he promptly did. “Here’s to another one down.” Alexander raised his glass and began to drink. “It feels like there’s always another of these events that requires our attendance.” “The curse of royalty.” Charlotte’s phone pinged and she retrieved it from her purse. She checked the attachments, and saw Angie had sent videos of Lucas and Juliette finger painting, with Hazel frantically trying to mediate the ensuing chaos. “Nana!” Lucas whined in the video. “Juliette’s hoggin’ all the glitter!” “Am not!” Juliette replied, clearly holding a large tub of glitter in her hand. “I was using it! I’m painting a shimmercat.” Lucas pouted. Hazel chimed in from off camera. “Girls, play nice and share. That means you, Juliette…” “Just oneee more minute…” Juliette began throwing clouds of glitter at the painting she was working on. Charlotte found a smile growing across her face as she watched. Seeing her children laughing, playing, even bickering together - it warmed her heart and made her motherly feelings swell in her chest. At the same time, a pang of regret came over her, as she remembered how she was missing yet another moment with them. “Look, honey,” she turned her phone so Alexander could see. “Aren’t they precious?” Alexander watched the screen a moment. He saw footage of Lucas standing on his tippy toes to reach a higher up part of the canvas, his paint-spattered diaper in full view. “Indeed.” Alexander replied. His tone was not insincere, but was lacking in a certain warmth that Charlotte took note of. “Honey…” she began, searching for the words. “I wanted to talk to you about Lucille.” “Oh?” “Well, she’s been with us almost two months now… I haven’t been spending as much time with her as I would like, and to be honest, you’ve barely spent time with her at all.” Alexander looked taken aback. “I’ve been present as much as my duties allow, Charlotte.” “You’ve been in the room some evenings while she plays,” Charlotte replied. “And even when we went camping, you spent a lot of time with Leo. I think the girls need more time with their Mommy and Daddy.” Alexander sighed, and he placed the glass on the table to give full attention to the subject. “Charlotte… I can see that this is very important to you. And I’m willing to do what I can for the children, of course. But…” “But?” “But you know I’ve never been good with little ones. Juliette is growing up fast, and I have no doubt that she will be a distinguished young woman. But Lucille… well, she’s a Little. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I can’t imagine what I could offer someone who won’t grow up.” Charlotte heard her husband’s point. Though he had been supportive of Charlotte’s desire for a Little, it was certainly more her idea than his. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated with his lack of engagement. “I’m just saying, getting Lucille to adjust will take not just time, but effort, from all of us. Even Leo has started to warm up to her.” “Yes,” Alexander chuckled. “I heard. I honestly didn’t know the boy had it in him.” “So why not you?” Alexander was silent a moment. “Well, what do you propose?” “You can start by coming to her ballet recital.” “Charlotte, I told you. I’m meeting with the Jandoran delegation that day. I can’t miss it.” “They should be done by 3 o’clock, though.” “Perhaps… I’ll try my best to get out on time, but I can’t make promises. I can’t see what my presence would add, regardless.” Alexander rose from his chair and knocked back the rest of the bourbon. “Now, we’d better get ready to head back.” Charlotte sighed. Alexander could be so stubborn and closed off. A fine king, but his skills as a family man needed… encouragement. Lots of it. — “Here she is!” Hazel carried Lucas into Charlotte’s study, where the Queen sat on a large couch. She was wearing a thick, fluffy bathrobe, monogrammed with her initials. “Come here, Princess…” Charlotte took Lucas from Hazel’s hands. Lucas’ head swayed a bit, and he was feeling drowsy after finishing his evening feeding. He had been especially hungry today, having drained not only Hazel’s breasts, but Angie’s as well. The result was a very powerful milk-haze. “She’s just eaten, and I’ve got her taped up in her nighttime diaper, so there shouldn’t be any leaks. But just call me whenever you’re ready and I’ll put her to bed.” “Thank you, Hazel. I’ll let you know.” Hazel bowed gently and took her leave from the room, leaving Charlotte alone with her Little. “Let’s get this off you,” Charlotte sad softly, unsnapping the buttons of his onesie and pulling it over his head. Lucas was now dressed only in his nighttime diaper - Charlotte noted its bulkiness, and felt confident she wouldn’t be peed all over this time. “Come to Mommy…” Charlotte opened her bathrobe, revealing no clothes underneath. Her bare breasts invited Lucas into a warm embrace as she pressed him against her chest, holding him secure as she wrapped the bathrobe back around herself and Lucas. Charlotte felt the warmth of her Little against her. She felt his steady breathing, and the small, frequent twitches of a Little experiencing the fleeting dreams brought on by Amazon milk. She ran her fingers through his hair, and after kissing his forehead softly, she lounged back on the couch, allowing Lucas to lay on top of her. After some time, Lucas began to barely register his surroundings. He knew he was against skin, and he felt breathing rising and falling. As he gently rubbed his eyes to see where he was, he realised that he was nestled snugly between a very large pair of breasts - too large to Hazel’s, or even Angie’s. He looked up and saw Charlotte’s face. “Oh, you’re awake. Mommy missed you, Princess.” He grumbled incoherently, unable to form words in his current state. Some voice in his mind thought he ought to feel mortified right now, trapped between a massive pair of boobs, making such extensive skin contact. Yet that voice was quiet, and only grew more quiet as the sensation of warmth became more evident. He looked over to one of the mounds either side of him. He saw Charlotte’s nipple, perky and prominent. The voice came back, and fleetingly it told him that, only a few months ago, he would have seen a sight like this and become aroused. But once again that voice was silenced, and the only thought that floated in his head was that he wanted to suckle. And he would have probably tried, had he not already had more than his fill of milk, not to mention the fact that Charlotte couldn’t nurse him anyway. Still, the thought soothed him. Lucille let out a tired yawn in her girly tone, and allowed his face to settle into Charlotte’s chest contentedly. Her hand rested on one of her breasts, the feeling of the soft and supple flesh bringing her further comfort. Charlotte sighed, satisfied that this kangaroo care was pretty good for bonding after all. Lucille let out a few muffled toots as he slept, and Charlotte noted that she shouldn’t linger with her daughter too long - having drunk so much breastmilk, it surely wouldn’t be long before her daughter left her a big, stinky present in her diaper. Still, she snapped a few pictures, and couldn’t help but send one to Alicia. Only moments later, Alicia replied with a picture of her own, showing Sophia slung over her shoulder, apparently in the midst of a crying tantrum. “Count yourself lucky”, the caption read. Charlotte got a chuckle from it. She looked down at her Little. Her eyes lingered on the bulky diaper, and she was reminded of something she meant to do earlier. She opened a text conversation with Nathan, and began typing out a message. “Nathan - get in touch with those CrinkleCare people, will you? I’d like to set up a meeting.” She sent the text. Little Lucille was just too precious to not share with the world. Hazel probably wouldn’t approve… but Mommy knows best. — Author’s note: Chapter 31 should be out very soon! It’s a bigger one than this and features the ballet recital. I can’t wait to share it with everyone!

CHAPTER 8 A couple of weeks after Midsummer, the annual summer party was held at the Sydänsalo farm. Preparations were carried out with care; for a few days beforehand, only the absolutely necessary work was done on the farm – the rest of the time was devoted to getting everything ready for the celebration. This year the party was more important than usual, as Mr. Dahlqvist and his family had been invited. He was a wealthy agricultural entrepreneur who had purchased a farm in the neighboring village the previous year. They were planning to negotiate a land deal with him the following day, so it was important to make a good impression. Joppe cut the lawn so short that it almost resembled a golf course. Sara cleaned the yard, trimmed the bushes, and took care of the flowerbeds. Liisa baked sweet buns, ham pies, and two different cakes, and scrubbed the house from floor to ceiling. Anna helped with a bit of everything; she spent a lot of time with Sara and guided her in new tasks. They had fun together. Sara kept a low profile for a couple of days after the sauna incident, and Anna didn’t fuss over her quite as much as usual. Of course, Sara hadn’t escaped her role as a little girl; she still wore diapers and childish nightwear just like before. She got used to it quickly – even became somewhat numb to it. Sara was looking forward to the party, excited by the idea of having fun and meeting the villagers. She was also curious to see how Anna would behave toward her in front of other people. The day before the party, Anna came into Sara’s room carrying a black garment bag. “Sara,” she began with a smile, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “I thought you could wear this to the party.” Anna opened the zipper and pulled out a beautiful dress. It was pale pink, knee-length, fitted at the waist with a slightly flared skirt. The neckline was high, and the sleeves were lace. The outfit was pretty and cute, but clearly designed for someone younger than Sara. It wasn’t babyish exactly—Sara could imagine a twelve-year-old wearing it to a school spring celebration. It would also be a safe choice with a diaper, since the skirt was long and wide enough to hide it completely. “Okay, I’ll try it on,” Sara replied flatly, without much enthusiasm. Anna nodded, left the room, and gave Sara space to try the dress in peace. The girl undressed, tossed her clothes onto the bed, and pulled the dress over her damp diaper. She had wet herself just moments earlier while sitting at the coffee table – that, too, already felt completely natural. The dress fit her well and concealed the diaper perfectly. Sara stared at herself in the mirror, but it felt like someone else was staring back. She stood there for a long time. Finally, she turned away, took off the dress, and neatly placed it over the back of a chair. She didn’t go show it to Anna, and Anna never asked. ******** On the day of the party, the sun shone through a partly cloudy sky. The weather was hot and humid. Two long tables had been set up outside, covered with white tablecloths and filled with Liisa’s baked goods—sweet pastries and savory pies. There was water, juice, a couple of pitchers of mocktails Anna had made, and white wine to drink. Bunting and string lights had been hung between the apple trees, though their glow would only be visible later in the evening. Sara helped with the final preparations, dropping ice cubes into drink pitchers and arranging flowers in vases. Eventually, Liisa told her to go change into her party clothes; the first guests would arrive soon. Sara went upstairs to her room and opened her wardrobe. The pink dress was there, hanging neatly, clean and pressed. She looked at it for a long moment, then turned away and began to undress. After removing her T-shirt and sweatpants, she decided to take off the diaper Anna had put on her about an hour earlier. She had been wearing diapers for weeks, and when she pulled on her own black underwear, it felt incredibly liberating—as if she had regained something she had lost. Next, she reached to the back of the wardrobe and took out the most beautiful dress she had brought with her from Tampere. It was dark blue, satin, elegant and slightly provocative. She had packed it just in case, even though she hadn’t expected to wear it at all during the summer. Now she put it on and admired herself in the mirror. It clung to her figure, revealed her shoulders and upper back, and the hem ended mid-thigh. Sara looked stylish and sexy. She curled her hair and applied light makeup—some eyeshadow, mascara, lip gloss. When she looked in the mirror again, an adult woman looked back, one who knew what she wanted. At that moment, she heard two cars pulling into the yard. She glanced out the window: Joppe was already shaking hands with someone, Liisa was carrying a tray of drinks. Anna wore a floral summer dress and looked incredibly beautiful. Sara took a deep breath, adrenaline rushing through her body. She knew this was a risk. Liisa might be angry. Anna might be disappointed. She had no idea what kind of punishment might follow, but she decided to play this card anyway. With guests present, no one could force her to change. This might be her only chance to show Anna that she was more than just a little girl. Sara walked slowly downstairs and stepped outside. The sun warmed her bare shoulders. Her heart pounded as she crossed the yard toward the terrace, feeling eyes on her. A neighbor’s wife glanced at her and gave a small approving nod. A younger man in a white T-shirt smiled and waved at her. Liisa looked surprised but said nothing. Sara shook hands with the guests one by one, meeting their eyes warmly and trying to remember their names. Anna stood under a large apple tree, holding a glass of mocktail. When her gaze met Sara’s, her mouth fell slightly open. She stared, her brown eyes taking in Sara’s slender figure and the deep blue dress. Sara studied her reaction carefully and sensed something new in her gaze. She walked straight up to her and stopped in front of her. “Hi,” Sara said, trying to sound casual. Anna tried to respond, but the words caught in her throat. “You… you are…” she began, but couldn’t finish. Sara smiled. “I am.” Anna said nothing more. She stood there, glass in hand, looking at Sara as if seeing her for the first time. Sara turned slowly and walked back toward the other guests, feeling Anna’s gaze on her back—it warmed her far more than the July sun. **** Cars kept arriving steadily at the gravel parking area. Soon the yard filled with cheerful chatter, glasses clinking, and a warm, communal atmosphere beneath the apple trees. Sara quickly noticed that people accepted her with surprising ease. The guests smiled at her and were happy to stop and talk for longer stretches. Many were curious about how a city girl had adapted to life in the remote countryside. Sara answered willingly, though she had to be careful not to reveal anything about the household’s unusual dynamics. Even that had started to feel almost normal to her. At one point, Sara noticed Liisa watching her. The woman’s expression was still somewhat reserved, but there was something new in it—perhaps approval, or at least relief. Gradually, people began moving toward the tables. Joppe welcomed the guests, and Sara and Anna offered wine to those who wanted it. Liisa’s food received plenty of praise: the buns were soft, the ham pies perfectly savory, and the cakes delightfully light. Sara sat comfortably among the guests, laughing along and answering questions. She noticed she was speaking more freely than she had in a long time, even though Anna’s gaze still made the hairs on her skin stand on end. After the meal, they played croquet. Joppe brought out the mallets, balls, and hoops from the barn and set up a challenging course winding through the colorful garden. “Going for a fourth win in a row?” someone called out to Anna with a grin—she was known to be a master of the game. “No pressure,” Anna laughed back, though her smile was slightly strained. There were only six balls, so not everyone could join the first round. Sara stayed to the side, watching. She had struck up an easy connection with Mikko, a twenty-five-year-old who had come to work at a neighboring farm for the summer. They got along well, conversation flowed naturally, and even the silences between them felt comfortable. From the croquet course, Anna watched their chemistry thoughtfully, and her game suffered for it. “History made! The champion is defeated!” one of the village men shouted ceremoniously when his ball hit the final stake first. Anna hadn’t come close to winning this time. “I was trying too hard,” Anna said, trying to laugh it off, though she wasn’t enjoying herself at all. No one felt like playing another round, so Joppe gathered the equipment and invited the men behind the barn for an air rifle shooting contest. A target was set against the back wall, and Joppe fetched the rifle from his small workshop along with a few beers from an old rusty fridge. The men took turns shooting, applauding good hits and teasing each other when someone missed. Joppe hit the bullseye almost every time and didn’t hide his satisfaction. The shooting went on for about half an hour until Liisa’s sharp voice cut through it: “That’s enough! Now we dance!” Anna turned on the sound system set up in front of the house, and a light summer waltz flowed from the speakers. People gradually moved onto the lawn to dance. Liisa nodded approvingly at the first couples and then pulled Joppe in as her partner. ***** “Want to dance?” Mikko suddenly asked Sara, who had drifted into her thoughts. She turned to look at him—angular features, sun-lightened hair, an easy presence. Sara smiled. “Maybe I will.” Mikko held out his hand, and Sara took it without hesitation. He led her among the other couples and placed his other hand on her waist. From the very first steps, it was clear he knew how to dance—he had spent several summers at dance halls. Sara wasn’t as experienced, but she managed the basics well enough. They moved smoothly with the rhythm, and Sara realized she was genuinely enjoying herself. She felt free. Seen. A short distance away, Anna stood still, arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was watching. Sara danced with him. Laughed. Leaned closer now and then to hear what he was saying. “Fuck this,” Anna muttered under her breath, just loud enough for herself to hear. Then she turned her back on the dance floor and went to get a glass of wine. ****** After several songs, Sara and Mikko decided to walk to a nearby ridge to take in the view. The landscape stretched endlessly—fields as far as the eye could see, a few dirt roads cutting through them, scattered houses, barns, and enclosures. The sky had quietly darkened, and a cool wind hinted at rain. Mikko took Sara’s hand and pointed south. “Behind those trees—that’s the farm where I’m working. Just a short run from yours.” Sara nodded. A gust of wind tossed her hair and brushed against her cheeks. “I’ve got to head off soon,” Mikko said, sounding a little regretful. “Still need to feed the animals, and I have to leave early for forestry work tomorrow.” He looked up at the sky, watching the dark mass of clouds being pushed overhead. “But I was thinking… if you’d want to meet this weekend… maybe we could go swimming,” he added after a brief silence, his voice careful. Sara looked at him calmly, considering her answer. Mikko was kind. Polite. Handsome. And he looked at her in a way that flattered her. But going on a date felt wrong. It probably wouldn’t even be possible under the strict rules of the house—but that wasn’t what she was thinking about now. “I’m sorry, but I’ve fallen for someone else,” Sara said finally, honestly. The words came more easily than she had expected. Mikko looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Figures,” he said with a faint, disappointed laugh. “Well… good luck with that.” Sara smiled gently. “Thank you.” “That person’s really lucky,” he added before turning and walking slowly back toward his car. Sara stayed on the ridge for a moment longer, then headed back as the first drops of rain landed on her arms. Then the sky opened. Rain poured down in sheets. The ground couldn’t absorb it fast enough, and the dirt road became covered in a thin layer of water. Sara’s shoes were soaked within seconds. She hurried toward the house, each step landing with a wet slap. When she reached the yard, she saw that Liisa had managed to gather the food and tablecloths just in time. The speakers had been moved into the barn, and Joppe was covering the grill with a tarp. Liisa waved the guests inside to continue the party—coffee, cake, conversation. Most followed her in, though a few groups shouted quick goodbyes and dashed through the rain to their cars. Sara ran across the yard toward the house, rain lashing against her face. She was only a few meters from the steps when she nearly collided with Anna, who was rushing in from the other side of the house. Anna’s summer dress was completely soaked, clinging tightly to her body, revealing almost everything beneath. Sara couldn’t find her voice. Suddenly, Anna grabbed her hand. “Come.” ******** Anna didn’t explain. She didn’t ask. She simply pulled Sara with her, past the house, toward the tin-roofed building (“piha-aitta” in Finnish) at the edge of the yard. Sara didn’t have time to think—she just ran after her, rain beating mercilessly against her face. They reached the building, the door creaked as Anna yanked it open. They stepped inside, and only then, in the sudden shelter, did Sara realize how cold she was. The space was dim, gray light filtering in through a small window. Rain hammered against the roof so loudly it almost hurt. The air smelled of old wood. A large bed stood inside, neatly made with a checkered cover. Anna closed the door and turned to Sara, who was shivering. They stood facing each other, soaked, breathing hard from the run. “Sara,” Anna said, her voice low, slightly uncertain. “What are we doing here?” Sara asked. Anna didn’t answer. She stepped closer, raised her hand to Sara’s cheek, and pressed her lips against hers. It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t asking. It felt like something breaking loose—like Anna was finally allowing herself what she had wanted for a long time. Sara responded to the kiss—gently at first, then with growing intensity. Her hands moved over Anna’s body, and suddenly she wasn’t cold at all. Their lips parted briefly, and they touched each other’s faces, taking each other in. The touch grew bolder. Sara moved to kiss Anna’s neck while Anna’s fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress. Slowly, she pulled it down, sending a shiver through Sara. The wet fabric slipped softly to the floor. For a moment, Sara just stood there—naked, rain-soaked, under Anna’s gaze. Anna drew in a deep breath. Then she slipped out of her own dress in one smooth motion. Sara kissed her again, her hand finding Anna’s breast. Their damp skin pressed together as they moved closer, drawn to each other. Anna paused and looked into Sara’s eyes, water still dripping from her hair. “Are you sure?” Sara didn’t answer. She didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around Anna and pulled her down onto the bed with her. They fell together onto the sheets as the storm raged on outside, the sound of rain swallowing everything else.

Chapter 1: Coming home After graduating and starting my career, I found myself living in a tiny room in downtown Manhattan. At first, I had a steady job, working as a data analyst at a financial services company. Unfortunately, my company was bought out, and since they already had people doing the same thing, I was laid off. I suddenly was twenty-four, with no job, and no prospects for a new one. As it was, my job barely covered expenses, and it was impossible to live in New York without one. I either had to return home or hope for a break. Returning home was clearly the safest option, but it meant going back to my mom, and living under her rules. It had been six years since I left Sacramento, right after graduating from high school. I deliberately chose Dartmouth because it was as far away from Sacramento as possible. Because it was so remote, my mom couldn’t just drop by unexpectedly, which gave me the independence I’d always wanted. If I returned, she would be in control. I’d have to live by her rules, with her dictating what I could and couldn’t do. Despite what movies might suggest, my life in New York was far from glamorous. I rented a cramped room that had only the bare essentials: a bed, a small counter, and a television mounted high in the corner. The sole window was positioned so high on the wall that it barely let in any natural light or fresh air. That was the only place I could afford in Manhattan, and my mother insisted that I live there. As a result, I ended up in what was essentially a boarding house. Although it wasn’t much, there were a few comforts: meals were provided, and the landlord was always close by in case I needed help. While New York can be a wonderful city, my daily life was monotonous. I spent 10 to 12 hours working in a windowless cubicle, only to return to another windowless room for the rest of the day. Weekends were worse; I couldn’t afford to go out, so I stayed in my room. The routine was unbearable, and I needed a change. I decided to leave New York, hoping that returning home might be an improvement. Maybe my mom wouldn’t be so bad, now that she had a granddaughter. Hopefully, she’d let me live my own life and grant me some independence. I called home to let them know. My mom picked up the phone, which she always did. I only talked with my dad for greetings and simple updates; any serious discussion was always with my mom. With a little bit of trepidation, I explained, “Mom, my company was bought out, and they laid me off.” Her response was sympathetic, but I could tell she was relieved. “Oh, Reggie. That’s too bad. What are you going to do?” She sounded eager, and I confirmed her hopes: “I'm heading back home. There is nothing for me here. I'll look for a new job and leave you in peace. Ideally, it won't take more than one or two months.” “Oh honey, don’t worry about that. I’m glad that my baby is coming home, and you need some of your mommy’s love right now. You can stay here as long as you need.” Her words made me wince, but I knew better than to complain about it. Instead, I kept my response simple and direct. "I'll fly home Wednesday," “Honey, I can’t get to New York that quickly. You’ll have to wait until next week.” I protested, “Why do you need to fly to New York? I’m an adult. I don’t need my mom to fly with me.” She wouldn’t budge. “Honey, I can’t let you do that. It’s dangerous, and I don’t want you to get lost.” My mom still thought I was five years old, but that’s because my body thinks it’s eight. I was born with a growth-defect, so I only grew half as fast as everybody else, and then it stopped when I was sixteen. I’m only 4’5”; I weigh just 70 pounds, and I skipped through puberty. Biologically, I’m a Ken Doll, with no body hair, and skin as smooth as a baby. People see me as a child, even when they know my age. My mom was adamant, and I was determined to reclaim a sense of dignity. I wanted her to see that, despite my appearance, I wasn’t a helpless child. I was an adult, and fully capable of handling myself. I let out a frustrated sigh, and huffed. “Mom! I’ll be fine. I’m not going to get lost. It’s only one connection, and that’s in Denver. It’s in the same concourse, so I just have to walk down a few gates.” Using that tone with my mom was never a good idea. If I did that at home, I’d end up in the corner for twenty minutes, only to be forced to apologize when she let me out of timeout. However, I was 3,000 miles away, so she couldn’t put me in time out. She still didn’t let it slide. She scolded me, “Don’t use that tone with me! I’m sorry, but Denver is a big airport. It’s too big for somebody like you. And just how do you plan to get to the airport in the first place?” I responded, trying to keep my frustration in check, “I’m taking the PATH to Newark. It’s easy. Don’t worry about it.” But she was still uneasy. “I don’t like that, honey. It’s just too dangerous for somebody like you.” “I’ll be fine, mom!” I insisted, but my frustration was starting to show. That was never good, especially when dealing with my mom. She wasn’t having it. “Don’t you raise your voice to me, young man!” I knew better than to keep pushing. “I’m sorry.” It was always best to apologize to my mom. If I tried to argue, she would only dig her heels in more. My mom’s tone softened just a little after my apology. “That’s better. But what if you have an accident?” Somehow, my mom always managed to bring up the one thing that made me feel even worse. For reasons no one, not even the doctors, can fully explain, my bladder sometimes releases automatically when I’m under emotional stress or feel threatened. It is as if my body goes into fight-or-flight mode, and my bladder responds on its own. This meant that, in addition to looking like a child, I still peed my pants. Most days, I managed to keep it under control as long as I stayed calm. But when I got nervous, I took precautions and wore Pull-ups; not even the ones made for older kids, but the actual toddler Pull-ups. They were cheaper, and fit me better. I hated it when my mom brought it up, turning my not-so-secret shame into the center of our conversations. “Mom, I won’t have an accident!” I tried to mask my embarrassment with a touch of defiance, and it was hard not to let my frustration show. Mom snapped, “Do not use that tone with me! Don’t you remember what happened last time?” I sighed, and tried to calm myself. “Mom, that wasn’t my fault. There was a lot of turbulence, and I couldn’t leave my seat.” “Yes, but you stayed in the same clothes until you got home.” I let out an exasperated cry. “Mom! I’m not a baby. I’m twenty-four years old! Can you please stop treating me like I’m a kid?” Mom quickly retorted, “Listen here, Reginald.” She only used my proper name when she was really mad. Her voice was sharp and unwavering, leaving no room for argument. “For the last time, do not use that tone with me! I’ll stop treating you like a child when you stop acting like one.” She paused for emphasis, making sure her words landed. “You know full well that you are too small to travel alone. You may be an adult, but the world will never see you that way. Maybe, if you were more like Alex, and not so tiny, I could trust you to travel by yourself. But you’re not! I’m afraid that you’ll just have to wait until I can come to get you. I can help you pack up; make sure you don’t forget anything, and we can fly home together.” I protested, “Mom, I don’t have that much stuff. I’ll ship a box home, and the rest can go in my carry-on.” Despite my reassurance, Mom was unconvinced. She replied, “I’m afraid that I just don’t trust you with that. You always leave something behind. I’ll fly out next week, so just hang tight. I’ll have Daddy send you some money.” Her insistence made it clear she wasn’t going to budge, no matter how much I argued. I couldn’t help but respond with sarcasm. “Yes Mommy.” However, it was wasted. My mom thought I was being polite.

Ok, I thought about it and thought this would be a good place to post my daily life. But there may be days I do not feel up to it, as well as not everyday is exciting! So to start off, I want to go give an experience I have been having over the last 30 or so years. It is like a story of vulnerability with me. Since Daily Diapers is family to me, I thought I would start off with this first. As some of you know, I am an entrepreneur. 💰💸 Over the years, I have made money online and off. Mostly online, though. But something kept me from moving forward and making good or even better money. So I figured out why I am not at my full potential. It is the fear of loss. But the issue I have with fear is that it is not real. The acronym for fear is this: Fales. Evidence. Appearing. Real. So fear is just fake. So now for the vulnerability part and how this is messing with my moving forward. I was reading a blog post from a guy I follow for my business. I am in network Marketing and I am always working towards learning how to improve myself so I can make money. And in this guy's blog post, he talks about childhood trauma, which is what is holding us back. So, as of today 4/02/2026as I write this last night, I was reading a blog post of his and saw that what he was talking about hit home to me with the fear of loss. See, when I was growing up, my grandmother was the sole caretaker of my older brother and me. And in 1991, I graduated in June that year. And that October Halloween, to that fact, my grandmother passed away. That is where this all began. Then, in 1993, I started my entrepreneurial 💰💸 mindset of making money without a job but my own business. Though I did have a job, my dad and I lived together. I was doing pretty well, come early spring of 1994, and see I was not a pleasant person back then, I was a wreck house. Disobeyed my mom and dad all the time. So that spring, my dad brought me to meet my mom at a diner, and they cornered me. And they told me if you do not shape up my dad said if you do not shape up, I will die on your birthday. Now jump to January 18th, 1995, he died on my birthday. Even though my dad and myself where really close, even though I misbehaved all the time. We were very close. I believe when my mom and dad had that talk with me, my dad said if I do not shape up, he will die on my birthday. I to this day believe it was not him, but GOD telling me shape up or I'm going to take your dad from you. And I still believe this. So now jump to 2008 I started my online making money ventures. I wrote a ebook called 15 advertising methods. And sold 2 copies using only Facebook and Paypal. It made me feel great. since that time I have made money on different websites. Come 2017 I started a friendship that still is a good friendship though he and I do not see eye to eye. 👀 Though I helped him with his website which is all about the law of attraction. He would create products and I would create his sales pages and setup his payment processor. And at the time I would get a % of the sales plus a monthly fee that I charged him to make all this come to life. THere where like 4 or 6 products that I came up with so I got 50% commission on those 3 of them I got paid $160.00 for each sale and made some really good money. Then come 2019 I started doing Uber Eats and regular Uber to make ends meet. Then in 2021 I quit my day job so I can take care of my mom as my stepdad well he was careless and forgetful of when my mom told him he had to take her to Dr appointments and such. So I quit my job and just did Uber Eats and DoorDash and regular Uber to help pay my bills. and I was still getting paid from my client each month from working for him plus the commissions. and I made some good money with that. Now come 2022 the year it hit me in Feburary of that year. my mom really got sick. Then found out she got cancer then we put her on Hospice. Then April 18th of that year she died. So as you can see the pattern where I am at here. It is the fear of loss. Though I was talking to a friend today about all this he is my upline in the Network Marketing company I am in and I told him that I need to get over this and move forward. I know for a fact that each and everyone of us are going to die. I need to let this go and move forward. The end of my story. I am tagging a few of my friends here to allow everyone to see my post. Though I am sure to miss a few as I always do. IF I miss tagging you please just let me know. @SpiderBaby @LilRugrat @FretaBWet @Dill_Pickle @jesse78 @Little Sherri @Crinklz Kat @DailyDi @spoonchicken @DiaperedDarkElf @dl-bishop @froggy @~Brian~ @spark @Spanky @AbabeBill @Babygeebee @oznl @chubbyABDLcub @babysara_4 @Diaper Duck @Scarth @foreverdl @Goerge @Inconjr @Txdiapered @newpad101 @Young1 @Tai K @Timmybaby @olympus @Pampered66 @MessyBoyKG @Dprczyone @snobak @rusty pins @ValentinesStuff @astrodiaper @Dubious @Pampertimmy @drynot @2sail2 @Cute_Kitten @le Hollandais @Stroller @Baby Binky @wetmonkey @AngusMac

Chapter 1 : Beep! Beep! Beep! The sharp, insistent sound of Jack’s alarm clock cut through the stillness of the early morning, its red digital numbers glowing 5:45 AM in the dim light of his room. The world outside was quiet, not yet stirred awake, with only the faintest hint of dawn beginning to creep through the curtains. Jack groaned softly, his body heavy with sleep as he shifted beneath the covers. One arm lazily stretched out from the warmth of his bed, blindly fumbling across the nightstand until his fingers found the clock. Without opening his eyes, he pressed the snooze button, silencing the relentless beeping. The room fell quiet again, wrapping him in a brief, fragile peace. He exhaled, sinking deeper into his pillow, savoring the promise of just a few more precious minutes of sleep before the day inevitably demanded his attention. Jack Dawson was, by all appearances, your average 19-year-old—standing on the edge of adulthood with a mix of quiet confidence and lingering uncertainty about what lay ahead. This year marked the beginning of his first journey into college life, a milestone he had both anticipated and worried over in equal measure. He had chosen to study Journalism, driven by a natural curiosity about the world and a desire to tell stories that mattered. Whether it was uncovering the truth or giving a voice to those who didn’t have one, Jack felt a pull toward something bigger than himself. Bright and capable, he carried with him the kind of potential that made professors take notice, even if he didn’t always see it in himself. His future stretched wide open before him, full of possibilities he had only just begun to imagine. Among the courses on his schedule that semester was Health Studies—a required class he hadn’t thought much about at first, but one that would soon prove more impactful than he expected. The course was taught by Mrs. Turner, a seasoned professor who had spent the last thirty years shaping young minds at the college. With decades of experience behind her, she had a reputation for being both firm and deeply knowledgeable, the kind of instructor who had seen generations of students pass through her classroom and knew exactly how to reach them. Jack gathered his books, stacking them carefully against his chest as he stepped out of the dorm building and into the cool morning air. The campus was already alive with energy—clusters of students filled the walkways, their voices overlapping in easy conversation, laughter carrying across the open spaces. Backpacks slung over shoulders, coffee cups in hand, everyone seemed to be moving with purpose. Jack moved among them quietly, keeping his head slightly down and his pace steady. He had never been one to draw attention to himself, and college hadn’t changed that. If anything, the unfamiliar faces and constant buzz made him feel even more inclined to blend into the background. As he neared the academic buildings, his grip tightened slightly on his books. Up ahead, leaning casually near the entrance, was someone he would recognize anywhere—Jill. She stood surrounded by a small group, effortlessly at the center of attention. Her laughter was easy, her posture relaxed, like she belonged wherever she chose to stand. Jack felt his stomach knot almost instantly. He had known Jill since elementary school—shared classrooms, passing moments, small memories that had stayed with him far longer than they probably should have. Somewhere along the way, those small moments had turned into something more, a quiet crush he had never quite outgrown. And now, of course, they had Health Studies together. Jack hesitated for just a second, debating whether he could slip by unnoticed. But as if drawn by some cruel twist of fate, Jill glanced up—and their eyes met. “Hey, Jack!” she called out, her voice bright and familiar. There was no escaping now. “H-hey,” Jack managed, forcing a small, awkward smile as he approached. His mind scrambled for something—anything—normal to say. “Uh… didn’t know you had this class too.” “Yeah,” Jill replied easily, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Health Studies, right? Should be interesting.” “Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” Jack said quickly, nodding a little too much. He shifted his books in his arms, nearly dropping one before catching it at the last second. “I mean—not that I know much about it or anything. Just… a class.” Smooth, he thought, immediately cringing at himself. Jill smiled politely, though there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “Well, I guess we’ll find out.” “Yeah… guess we will,” Jack echoed, his voice trailing off. An awkward pause settled between them, stretching just a second too long. Jack could feel the weight of it, his heart beating faster than it should have for such a simple interaction. Finally, he gave a small, almost apologetic nod. “Well, uh… I should—class, you know.” “Yeah, see you in there,” Jill said. Jack quickly slipped past her and into the building, exhaling the moment he was out of sight. His face felt warm, and he shook his head slightly at himself as he made his way down the hallway. By the time he reached Mrs. Turner’s classroom, the noise of the crowd had faded behind him. He stepped inside, finding a seat and setting his books down, trying to steady himself. But even as he settled in, he couldn’t help but glance toward the door, knowing Jill would be walking in any moment—and that somehow, this class had just become a lot more complicated. At the front of the classroom stood Mrs. Turner, her presence commanding attention the moment the final few students slipped into their seats. She adjusted her glasses and scanned the room with the ease of someone who had done this for decades, her expression calm but purposeful. “Good morning, everyone,” she began, her voice steady but firm. “Today, we’ll be starting a semester-long project—one that will account for sixty percent of your final grade.” A low murmur rippled through the class at that number, but Mrs. Turner continued without missing a beat. “This will serve as both an assignment and an icebreaker. You’ll be working in small groups to better understand the responsibilities, stress, and realities of raising a young child while balancing college life.” That got their attention. She moved slowly between the rows as she spoke. “Each group will consist of two students. One will take on the role of the ‘mother,’ the other the ‘father.’ Together, you’ll be responsible for the care of an A.I. simulation doll designed to mimic the needs of a newborn—feeding schedules, crying, sleep cycles, all of it.” A few students exchanged nervous looks. Others chuckled under their breath. “It may sound simple,” Mrs. Turner added, turning back toward the class, “but I assure you—it won’t be.” With that, she instructed everyone to pair up. Chairs shifted and voices filled the room as students quickly gravitated toward friends, partners, or whoever was closest. Laughter and casual conversation broke out as groups formed almost instantly. Almost. Jack stayed seated. He glanced around, his heart sinking slightly as he realized everyone had already paired off. His eyes flicked toward Jill—already seated beside Marcus, her boyfriend—both of them talking quietly as they claimed their roles without hesitation. Jack looked away quickly, not wanting to linger. At the front, Mrs. Turner began handing out the A.I. dolls to each group, one by one, explaining basic expectations as she went. Then, she paused. Her gaze landed on Jack. “Well now,” she said, tapping her clipboard lightly. “It seems we have one student without a partner.” Every head in the room seemed to turn at once. Jack felt his chest tighten under the sudden attention. Mrs. Turner clasped her hands together. “Would anyone be willing to form a group of three?” Silence. A few students avoided eye contact. Others pretended to be busy adjusting their things. No one volunteered. Mrs. Turner nodded slowly, as if she had expected as much. Her eyes scanned the room before settling on a group near the middle. “Jill, Marcus,” she called. Both of them looked up. “You’ll be taking Jack into your group.” The reaction was immediate. Marcus’s expression tightened, clearly irritated. Jill looked surprised, her eyes flicking briefly toward Jack before back to Mrs. Turner. Jack, meanwhile, felt his stomach drop. He hesitated, then slowly gathered his things and made his way across the room. Each step felt heavier than the last as he approached their desk. “Hey…” he muttered awkwardly as he reached them, not quite sure where to look. Marcus leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed. “This is gonna be weird,” he said under his breath. Jill didn’t say anything, but her posture had stiffened, the earlier ease in her expression gone. As if sensing the tension, Mrs. Turner stepped in again. “Now,” she said, glancing at her remaining materials, “it appears I only have enough simulation dolls for pairs.” Jack blinked, unsure where this was going. Mrs. Turner smiled—just slightly. “No matter. We’ll improvise.” Something about the way she said it made Jack uneasy. “For this group,” she continued, gesturing toward Jack, Jill, and Marcus, “we’ll be modifying the assignment.” Jack’s grip tightened around his books. “Since there are three of you,” she said, “Jack will assume the role of the child.” The room went quiet for half a second—then a few students snickered. Jack froze. “W-wait… what?” Jill’s eyes widened. “You’re serious?” Marcus let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding.” But Mrs. Turner remained completely composed. “Jack will participate as the ‘baby’ in your group dynamic,” she explained. “You and Marcus will be responsible for meeting his assigned needs, following structured guidelines I will provide.” Jack shook his head quickly, heat rushing to his face. “No—there’s no way. I—I can’t do that.” Mrs. Turner’s expression softened, but her tone didn’t. “Jack,” she said, stepping closer, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel more personal, “this project is not optional. If you choose not to participate, you risk failing—not only yourself, but your group as well.” Jack’s stomach twisted. “You’re all being evaluated on cooperation, adaptability, and commitment,” she continued. “Sometimes, life doesn’t give you ideal circumstances. This project reflects that.” Jack glanced at Jill and Marcus. Marcus looked annoyed. Jill looked uncomfortable. Neither of them spoke up. Mrs. Turner gave Jack a small, expectant nod. “I trust you’ll make the right decision.” Jack swallowed hard, his mind racing, his pride and anxiety clashing all at once. Every instinct told him to refuse—but the weight of her words, and the pressure of the entire room watching, pinned him in place. Slowly, reluctantly… he nodded. “…Okay,” he muttered. Mrs. Turner smiled, satisfied. “Excellent. Then we’ll begin.”

Sorry about the delay, In this chapter you get to know his mom a little better. For some reason, when I asked AI to summarized his mom, it described as nurturing. Chapter 2: My mother It’s not just me; everybody in my family is short. My dad is only 5’2”, and my mom is just an inch taller. My older sister Charlotte, who is six years older than me, has the same disorder, but her case is less severe. In high school, she looked a lot younger than her peers, and even her friends treated her like a child. She didn’t get her first period until she was nineteen, and her breasts didn’t develop until her daughter was born. However, she is five inches taller than me, and doesn’t look like a child. Our brother, Chris, is right between the two of us. He is three years older than me, and three years younger than Charlotte. He wasn’t as affected by the disorder. He’s still relatively short compared to most people, but at 5’7”, he towers over the rest of us. He also didn’t look that much younger than his actual age, and fit in better with his peers. I'm not sure if it was the disorder or something else, but my mom has always been overprotective and controlling, especially with Charlotte and me. We couldn't do things other kids considered normal, like biking in the neighborhood or staying home alone without a babysitter. Even though she never spanked us, she used infantile punishments; saying, “If you act like a baby, I’m going to treat you like one.” I was frequently put in time-out, even as a teenager, and once that was served, she sometimes put me in a playpen for the rest of the day. Whenever we talked back, swore, or whined, we had to keep a pacifier in our mouth until my mom took it out. I had one put in my mouth when I was sixteen, and it happened to Charlotte when she was in college. Growing up, we wore diapers much longer than most children. At home, our mom had a strict rule: any accident meant that we would be put back into Pull-ups. We had to stay in Pull-ups until we went three days without any accidents. If she felt we weren’t making enough progress, she didn’t hesitate to pause potty training altogether. During those times, we stayed in diapers until she was ready to try again, which could be a couple of weeks. When I was five years old, my family went on a vacation, and my mom kept all three of us in diapers the entire trip. Since I wasn't completely potty trained, it was typical for me. Charlotte was eleven and Chris was eight, and they thought they were too old for diapers, especially during the day. However, both of them had accidents before the trip, and they were still wearing Pull-ups. Since my mom didn’t want to deal with potty training while we were away, she put both of them in diapers. Back then, I didn’t question it. I knew kids my age used the potty, but I didn't think I was a big kid. I was still a little kid, and little kids wear diapers. I didn’t want to be a big kid, anyway. Charlotte and Chris got in trouble when they peed their pants, but not when they wet their diaper. Regardless of our age, whenever we wore a diaper during the day, we restarted potty training from the very beginning. There were no exceptions or shortcuts, even when we were eleven years old. After our family trip, my mom started by taking Charlotte to the potty, and watching while she used it. If we did it correctly, we put a star on our chart. After five stars, we were allowed to use the potty on our own. Since big kids don’t wear diapers, mom treated us like we were little kids when we wore them. We weren’t allowed to open any doors. Instead, we had to stay close to an adult, or remain within range of a baby monitor. We ate in highchairs, and sometimes we rode in a stroller. Drinking from sippy cups was another rule, but that wasn’t just when we were in diapers. If we spilled something, we switched to sippy cups until mom let us go back to a regular one, which usually took a week, but sometimes it took a whole month. In truth, until I was fourteen, the only time I used a regular cup was at school. At home, I almost always had to use a sippy cup. We didn’t get to move to a real bed, or have our own room until we stayed dry for five consecutive nights. Until then, we slept in the same nursery that we used as babies, with cribs, mobiles, a changing table, and plenty of diapers. While my mom viewed us as little kids when we wore diapers, her expectations changed dramatically when we weren’t. When we weren’t wearing a diaper, she expected us to be mature and responsible. She didn’t think we should ever need to be told what to do; instead, we were expected to anticipate what needed to be done and do it independently. Even the slightest lapse, such as forgetting to complete a chore, was met with a sharp and stern reprimand. She simply did not tolerate carelessness, or forgetfulness. When we missed a chore, we were scolded for forgetting about it, and then we had to do it under her supervision. After completing the chore, she scolded us once again, because we wasted her time. My mom used the same infantile punishments regardless of whether we were in diapers or not, but delivered them in a different way. When we were in diapers, Mom explained punishments without shaming us. However, when we weren’t, she shamed us for acting like a baby. She never explained our punishment, since we were expected to know the reason. For bedwetters, who still slept in the nursery, those high expectations ended immediately after dinner. After dinner, it was time for our baths, and we became babies again. When we were older, and Mom trusted us, she would let us shower on our own. I always treasured those last few minutes of independence, because once that was over, I was a baby. Unfortunately, even as teens, if she was upset or thought we weren't bathing properly, she'd put us in the tub and bathe us herself, just like when we were little. Regardless of our age, as soon as the bedtime routine began, my mom saw us as little kids and treated us that way. At eight, my mom still bathed me, but Charlotte showered by herself. One evening, she was upset and told Charlotte, “You haven't been cleaning yourself properly, so I’m bathing you and Reggie together.” Charlotte rarely argued with my mom about these things, but this time, she tearfully protested. “But Mom! You can’t, I’m too old for this.” She pointed at me, “I can’t take a bath with him.” Mom looked genuinely surprised and asked, “Why not?” “Mommy! I’m fourteen. I’m too old to take baths with my brother.” Mom scoffed, “If you want to be treated like you're fourteen, start acting like it. You’ve been acting like a toddler, and you still look like a little girl, so why shouldn’t I treat you that way? Besides, you used to love taking baths with Christopher.” Charlotte stomped her foot in frustration and pleaded, “Mommy! I’m not little anymore. I’m in high school.” Mom put a pacifier in Charlotte’s mouth and curtly said, “Stop your whining! I’m going to treat you like this until you’re ready to act like a big girl.” After we finished our bath, my mom would wrap us in towels and parade us into the living room. There, she would diaper us and dress us in the pajamas that she chose for the evening. Once we were ready for bed, we sat on the floor, because we weren’t allowed to sit on furniture when we wore diapers. We watched whatever my parents had on TV, which was usually the news. At 8 o’clock, my mom would hand each of us a bottle to help us settle down for the night. We were allowed to hold the bottle ourselves, but only if we actually drank from it; otherwise, she would hold it to our mouths until we did. On most nights, if my dad was home, he would read us a story while we sucked on our bottle. After our story, we were tucked in our crib, and we stayed there until the morning. If we woke up dry, mom gave us some underwear, and we ate breakfast from a regular seat. If not, we ate breakfast from the highchair, and waited until my mom changed us out of the wet diaper. Chris was the first to leave the nursery, when he was nine years old. At the time, I was too young to understand, but I remember Charlotte being upset about it. Chris resisted my mom the most, and therefore, faced the worst of her wrath. Since Charlotte and I were considered babies, and babies don’t have chores, he had to clear the table after dinner, which included loading the dishwasher and cleaning the kitchen. If he didn’t work quickly enough, my mom would yell at him. Worse still, if the job wasn’t done to her satisfaction, she would make him redo it, standing nearby and watching to ensure he did it properly. Usually, it was while my dad was reading the bedtime story to me and Charlotte. As Chris grew older, his clashes with Mom grew more intense, and he separated himself from the family. My parents wanted all of us to go to college, and they were willing to pay for it. However, after he finished high school, Chris didn’t want anything to do with them. Although he had the grades to go, he didn’t go to college. He got a job in construction, and left home as soon as he could. I still talked to him, but he won’t talk to my parents, and he never came back. Charlotte was, and remains, much more of a rule follower than the rest of us. She rarely challenged Mom's rules, and as a result my mom thinks she still a baby. Even when Charlotte was sixteen and I was ten, whenever my parents left for the evening, my mom insisted on hiring a babysitter. Chris refused to cooperate, so he was left alone. At the time, our regular babysitter was Charlotte’s friend’s older sister, who was just three years older than her. Fortunately, the babysitter and her friend already knew about the diapers, and she was by far the kindest and most understanding babysitter we ever had. However, Charlotte refused to be changed by someone that she considered a peer, so my mom got us ready for bed before she left. Charlotte left the nursery when she was in 11th grade, but she was still under my mother’s control. She wanted to go to UCLA, but my mom made her go to UC Davis. She wanted to become a doctor, but my mom pushed her towards nursing. During the Covid pandemic, Charlotte moved back home, and even though she was 24 years old, she was subjected to bedtimes and curfews. After Charlotte moved out of the nursery, I became the only baby left in the family. With no other child to baby, my mom quickly put me back in diapers and treated me even more like a toddler. Honestly, there was little motivation for me to act like a big kid. My mom always yelled at Chris, and Charlotte was criticized for every decision she made. In contrast, whenever I was in diapers, I escaped most criticism and harsh treatment. However, when I attempted to act like a big kid, she was just as strict and mean to me as she was to Chris and Charlotte. My mom usually sent me to school in Pull-ups, knowing diapers weren't appropriate for a seven-year-old. Every day after I got home, she checked if I was dry. If so, I could keep my Pull-up on until bedtime, but she never acknowledged my effort. Most of the time, she just told me to move on to my next task, like my homework. On the other hand, she was far more attentive when my Pull-up was wet. When that happened, she brought me to the living room, and enthusiastically changed my diaper. I was a good student, but socially and emotionally, I struggled with school. As I grew up, the gap between me and my classmates increased; I was always the smallest, looked younger, and I struggled to fit in. Although I was in 5th grade, I still looked and felt like a little boy. Because of all of that, my mom enrolled me into an online school that I could do from home. Without the need to attend a physical school, my mom no longer had to alternate between Pull-ups and diapers. Instead, she simply kept me in diapers all the time, and I got the full baby treatment whenever I wore them. I wore diapers nearly every day when I was in fifth grade, and with the exception of a few months, I wore them almost every day in sixth grade as well. I also had to wear diapers for parts of seventh and eighth grade, but I was mostly potty trained by then. To be honest, I was partly responsible for this. Even though my mom treated me like a toddler when I wore diapers, she was kind. She rarely got mad at me, and she stayed calm when she corrected my behavior. On the other hand, she was very harsh to Chris, and frequently yelled at him. My mom was also critical of Charlotte, even when she still slept in the nursery. Unlike me, Charlotte rarely needed diapers during the day. Because of this, whenever she wasn’t wearing a diaper, my mom expected her to behave like an adult. These expectations only increased after she left the nursery, which led to a lot of conflict. However, Charlotte is more compliant than Chris, so my mom wasn’t as harsh with her. While there was a part of me that wanted to grow up, I watched my brother and sister get scolded for almost everything they did. In my mind, it was better to stay in diapers, and be a little kid. I finally moved out of the nursery when I was fourteen years old; just before I started high school. A week before school started, I stayed dry for five nights, stopped wearing diapers, and got a real bed. With my dad's help, I convinced my mom to let me go to a regular high school, freeing me from her constant supervision. I learned to manage my anxiety, so I had fewer accidents. Taking matters into my own hands, I started buying Pull-ups, hoping my mom wouldn’t know when I peed my pants. Even though I suspect she knew about the Pull-ups, she never mentioned it. Overtime, I became more independent, and avoided the worst of my mother’s wrath. I found it easier to ask for forgiveness, rather than to seek permission. Accepting the consequences is easier than negotiating with my mom, even if it means endless hours in the corner. My mom wanted me to go to UC Davis, just like Charlotte, but I wanted more independence, so I chose Dartmouth. When the Covid Lockdown started in 2020, my mom demanded I come home. However, I stayed in Hannover, and after some resistance, she reluctantly accepted my decision. At that same time, Charlotte had just finished at UC Davis. She moved back home during the lockdown, and found herself subjected to the same juvenile bedtimes and rules that we had as children. In 2022, Charlotte finally broke free from my mom’s control, got married and welcomed her daughter. Once Kristy, Charlotte’s daughter, arrived, my mother shifted much of her attention to her granddaughter. This allowed Charlotte and me some respite from her constant scrutiny. However, my mom continued to meddle in Charlotte’s marriage, which eventually caused her and Dennis to get divorced.

Thank you @oznl for your thoughts! And your right about my dad using fear to control me but for all my life he did that. I used to wear cups of hot coffee or learn to dodge that cup if i missbehaved. I was really good at Dodge ball back in the day because I was Dodging Coffee cups and large candles from my grandmother. I was really quick. My dad was 46 when he passed so he was not that old. so not sure about the medical field experts. As for the entrepreneurial part of life. I always was an outcast as I do not really like working for others. It is a learned skill. And as the internet came along I found YouTube to be a lot of help in learning how to do something. @oznl it is never to late to start learning how to make extra money from a computer or now a days even from your smart phone. People do it all the time. It is a choice that only you can make. And with the money being shortened and bills going up this is a perfect way for everyone to start an online business.

Chapter 58 As summer crept in, we began gathering our gear for the annual cabin getaway—maybe for the last time in a long while. The air felt heavier this year, tinged with the bittersweet scent of change. Both Betsy and I had just graduated. She’d been accepted into medical school right here in town, her path clear and ambitious. I’d be attending a local college too, though my direction felt more like a sketch than a blueprint. Still, one thing was certain: I’d keep drawing house plans. It’s more than a hobby—it’s a passion that’s already paying off. There’s something grounding about imagining spaces where people live, dream, and grow. This summer feels different. Like the final page of a chapter we didn’t realize we were writing. The cabin has always been our sanctuary—a place to pause, reflect, and just exist without the noise of the world. But this time, we’re bringing more than sleeping bags and fishing poles. We’re bringing memories, quiet hopes, and the weight of everything that’s about to shift. At seventeen, I towered at six-foot-five, still awkward in my own skin, stretching into adulthood like a sapling trying to find the sun. Betsy, also seventeen, hadn’t grown an inch in years. At four-foot-eight, she was a pocket-sized force of nature—sharp, funny, and endlessly curious. Standing side by side, we looked like mismatched puzzle pieces from different boxes. But somehow, we fit. Not perfectly, but meaningfully. And none of that ever mattered. We still had fun—real fun. The kind that doesn’t need an audience. Whether we were hiking through the woods, skipping stones across the lake, or trading inside jokes that would baffle anyone else, we lived in the moment. Every laugh, every silence, every shared glance felt like a thread in the tapestry of something bigger. Our differences never got in the way. If anything, they stitched us closer together, thread by thread. Where I was tall and lanky, Betsy was small and compact. Where I hesitated, she charged forward. Somehow, we balanced each other. That morning, as I helped my dad load the last of the gear into the car, Betsy’s mom called out from the porch, saying she was going to get Betsy moving. We had ten minutes before departure. I slid the final box into place and turned just in time to see them walking toward me. It was still dark—5 a.m.—the kind of quiet that feels sacred. The world hadn’t woken up yet, and the air was cool and still. Betsy wore her usual travel outfit: a short shirt and a diaper, something she’d always preferred for these early drives. It was familiar, like the rhythm of our summers. Her mom reached me and handed over a fresh diaper bag. “This should last the ride,” she said, her voice casual but kind. I noticed the bag was new—sleek, clean, and sturdier than the old one. “The other one was falling apart,” she added with a shrug, like she was explaining a worn-out suitcase. As she walked off toward my mom, I caught a snippet of their conversation. Her voice was light, almost amused. “I never thought I’d be buying another diaper bag for my daughter at seventeen,” she said with a soft chuckle. It was one of those moments that hung in the air—not awkward, not heavy, just real. Honest. And somehow, it made everything feel more grounded. We weren’t just packing for a trip. We were packing up pieces of ourselves, preparing for a summer that might be the last of its kind. Because I knew Besty would enjoy the comfort, I kept her in diapers during the drive to the cabin. By the time we arrived, her diaper was noticeably soggy, swaying gently as she walked up the path. Once inside our room, I got ready to change her, but first I needed to fold a few fresh diapers. As I folded a few fresh diapers, Betsy’s mom stepped into the room carrying her diaper bag. She gave Betsy a playful smirk and said, “Let’s try not to turn a white diaper into an off-brown this summer, okay?” Betsy’s cheeks turned crimson. “Okay,” she mumbled, clearly embarrassed. After her mom left, Betsy leaned toward me and whispered, “See? I told you Mom knew about my stinky diapers last year.” I chuckled softly. “Sounds like you were right.” She climbed up onto the change table without hesitation, a quiet sign of trust built over years. As I opened the diaper, I noticed how naturally she positioned herself—legs gently apart, relaxed. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. She remembered the rhythm of care, the quiet understanding between us. It wasn’t just about routine. It was about comfort, dignity, and the kind of bond that doesn’t need words to be felt. The biggest challenge I faced this year was the sheer amount of hair she had grown—it was noticeably thicker and longer than before, making my usual routine much more difficult. Trying to do a thorough job became a real test of patience and precision. Each strand seemed determined to get in the way, clinging stubbornly to everything, especially the diaper rash ointment. After what felt like a small battle, I finally managed to work my way through the dense tangle of Betsy's fur. I carefully parted and wiped, making sure every bit of ointment was removed from her sensitive skin. It took extra time and effort, but I knew how important it was to keep her clean and comfortable. Next, I moved on to gently wiping her bottom, taking care to be thorough yet tender. Once I was finished, she gave a little hop off the changing table, ready for the next step. I crouched down and held her underwear open, steadying it so she could step into each leg with ease. As I slid the fabric up her legs, I paused when I reached the area where her hair had grown in thick and soft. Curious, I ran my hand through it briefly, noting the texture—it was surprisingly silky, with a gentle wave that caught the light. Then I pulled the underwear the rest of the way up, adjusting it carefully to make sure it fit comfortably and didn’t tug at her skin or fur. That moment hung in the air, light and teasing. She looked at me with a playful glint in her eye and asked, “Did you enjoy that?” I met her gaze and offered a quiet smile. “Yes,” I replied, simple and honest. Her grin widened, a spark of mischief dancing across her face. “Well, just remember—turnabout is fair play.” It was one of those exchanges that said more than the words themselves. A shared understanding, a gentle challenge, and the kind of warmth that only comes from deep familiarity. I handed her the shorts, and together we headed downstairs for dinner. For the first three weeks, everything felt just like our previous trips to the cabin—peaceful, familiar, and full of quiet routines. Then one evening, as I was helping Betsy get ready for bed, I noticed something different. Her period had started earlier that day; the small string of a tampon was visible. I gently asked if she wanted me to remove it and whether she’d like to put in a new one. She looked at me calmly and said, “Go ahead and take it out. I don’t need another—my diaper will work just fine.” As I gently applied the diaper rash ointment, I noticed her hair had grown quite a bit—it was probably time to bring up grooming. Once the diaper was snugly in place, bedtime followed. As we lay together, she turned to me with a soft voice and said, “I miss my nighttime baby bottle. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss my bib too.” A few days later, we were out sunbathing when I saw Betsy walking down the path. I smiled to myself—her tampon string was visible, but she moved with such ease and confidence, completely unfazed. There was something quietly admirable about that. As I sat soaking up the sun, a thought struck me. I turned to my mom and asked, “Why do you always wear your bikini bottoms when you’re on your period?” Betsy’s mom overheard and burst out laughing. “This should be good,” she said, grinning. I looked at her and added with a chuckle, “Actually, same goes for you.” They both paused, exchanged glances, and shrugged. Neither had an answer. I looked at them and said, “You know, Betsy and I both know you still get your periods.” It came out more matter-of-fact than I expected, but the silence that followed was oddly comfortable—like we’d all just acknowledged something unspoken, something that didn’t need to be explained. About a week later, I was sitting at the dining table, sketching out house plans, lost in the lines and angles of imagined spaces. My mom emerged from her bedroom, heading outside to sunbathe. She paused beside me, leaning in to glance at my drawings with quiet curiosity. As she did, I noticed a small detail—subtle but unmistakable—that confirmed what I’d already suspected. She was on her period. It wasn’t a big moment, but it added another layer to the quiet understanding we’d all been circling around. Just then, Betsy and her mom walked by. Betsy caught sight of us and grinned. “Well, at least I’m not the only one advertising to the world when it’s that time of the month,” she teased. We all laughed—it was one of those light, oddly bonding moments that made everything feel a little more human. About a week later, it was her mom’s turn. She strolled out to join us in the sun, carefree as ever, clearly unbothered by the visible signs of her period. Betsy nudged me and whispered, “Looks like it runs in the family.” We chuckled together, the moment adding another layer to our growing comfort with each other—and with the quirks of life that no longer felt awkward, just real. Another week passed. Betsy was lying beside me in bed, gently sucking her thumb, her eyes calm but focused. She looked up with quiet determination and said—not asked, but declared—“We’re floating the river tomorrow.” I smiled at her certainty. “Sounds good to me.”

Chapter 153: Dumped “You’re an idiot,” Janet said to me, glancing at me in the rear view mirror. It wasn’t unkind or scolding. It was just a gentle bit of teasing. “Yeah,” I sighed. “I know.” The bottom of the car floor suddenly seemed very interesting. “We’ve been searching all these daycares,” Janet said, “looking for Cassie, and you never even considered going to her parents’ house?” She was kind enough not to chuckle at her own remark. Evidently, extreme pessimism and the fear that leading an Amazon to a veritable cornucopia of Littles would result in every one of them being Adopted was also another symptom of Matursosis. My cheeks turned hot with embarrassment. “I sent a letter.” I looked out the window and took in the skyline and the passing trees. Out of some misplaced sense of nostalgia I turned my head to the left, half wishing Cassie to be grumpily in a car seat next to me. “Okay,” Janet replied, “but they can’t just ‘return to sender’ you in person.” I thought about Bert Braun’s meaty fists. I thought about my brother in-law and all their neighbors. I didn’t know how many of them it would take to kick my ass but I had a pretty good idea how many they could use. “Cassie’s not going to be there.” The odds of Cassie arsoning our house and getting away from any Amazon authorities and making it all the way back to Misty Brook on foot were simply astronomical. “She probably wasn’t going to be at any of the other places,” Janet said. “We should still look.” “Yeah,” I replied. “That’s true.” That and the Braun’s were still family to me. If I couldn’t find Cassie, I could at least apologize to her parents and accept a black eye or a broken nose in penance. I wasn’t wearing what was now known as the ‘Feast Friend’ getup, but neither was I in my most infantilizing attire. Just another t-shirt and shorts that Beouf had gifted me. As long as I didn’t lift my hands up over my head and whomever I was speaking to didn’t look below my waistline, I’d be able to navigate the trailer park without causing too much of a stir. “Turn’s coming up,” I reminded her. Janet turned onto the winding dirt road. “I see it.” It was Janet’s idea to drive me to Misty Brook. I felt like I was breaking so many written and unwritten rules just by telling Janet that this place existed, but she was absolutely right to suggest it. Why talk in secret with a bunch of Littles who have been mindfucked or threatened into silence and try to weedle Amazon daycare workers with a vested interest in misdirection when I could just talk to my own people face to face? Why trust a creep online when I could trust people whom I actually knew and loved? “Okay. Now slow down and stop. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” The car stopped. “How far is it?” “About a mile.” The car started moving again. “Let’s get closer.” “But Mommy!” I saw her roll her eyes. “Baby, I’m not going to get out of the car and start cossetting and Adopting every Little I see.” “I know that,” I told her. “You know that. But they don’t know that.” “Do you trust me?” “What?” “Do you trust me?” Well shit. Yeah. I did trust her. “Yes, ma’am.” The car rolled on for an extra minute or too, Janet’s car kicking up dust all the way. I sucked on my teeth nervously, quietly admitting to myself just how goddamn nerve wracking this all was and wanting to destroy something to alleviate the tension. Never before have I wanted a pacifier or Lion so badly. I reached between my legs and gave my padding a squeeze. I had no idea how wet I was or even if I was wet. If I’d peed, I’d already forgotten about it, and the diaper wasn’t heavy or full enough to produce a telltale squish or swelling. Which was better, asking for a change just in case or risk talking to people in wet pants? I kept my mouth shut. I’d rather be slightly damp than reeking of baby powder or risk a local driving down the road and see Janet bending over by the backseat. Thankfully, Janet stopped before the entrance came into view. “How’s this?” A twenty minute walk had just turned into a 2 minute toddle. “This will work.” Janet got out of the car and unbuckled me, but left the engine running. She grabbed me by the armpits but sat me down on my own two feet. “Alright. If you’re going to be more than half an hour, please come back and tell me.” A strange shudder of surprise passed through my entire body. I looked up at her and then back to the road to Misty Brook. “What?” was all I could muster in response. I patted my chest and pocketless pants as if searching for a tracking device or toddler harness. Janet’s lips went thin and her nostrils flared as she lied to herself. “I trust you.” I rushed up and gave her leg a quick hug. “Okay. I’ll be back.” Funny thing is I wasn’t lying. The dirt road curved around so that Janet’s car would be out of sight once rounded. I looked back several times, unsure if I wanted Janet with me or not. What I wanted wasn’t important. I had to do this alone. It was still kind of comforting that everytime I looked back, Janet was leaning against the car and looking very intensely at her phone. She wasn’t leaving me; neither was she shadowing or stalking. Good enough. I was already lost in my own head by the time I rounded the corner. “Mr. Braun?” I said to myself. “I lost Cassie and don’t know where she is. I’m sorry.” No, that didn’t sound right. “Bert? Irene? I got Adopted. So did Cassie. I’m so sorry.” Closer, but not there yet. “I really fucked up and got Adopted and I have no idea where Cassie is and I hope she’s here or she’s managed to contact in you in some way and I really was a Helper and now I’m Adopted and I’m so sorry. I was an idiot and I didn’t listen to Cassie and it’s all come back to bite me in the ass and my life is over. I understand if you never want to see or talk to me ever again, but I feel I owed it to you to tell you the truth.” The words were not spoken so much as mouthed. “And I love my Mommy, my best friend feeds me in a high chair, and most of my other friends are completely unpotty trained and their idea of a party involves Duck-Duck-Goose and smash cake.” I wiped my eyes and nose with my forearm and chuckled bitterly. Nope. Wouldn’t be telling them that part. I scratched and slapped at my face to toughen up and steel myself. It wouldn’t do to be blubbering and red faced before I even knocked on the trailer. There wasn’t a trailer, though. As I rounded the corner and approached the gate, it was readily apparent that Misty Brook no longer existed. The sign was still there, but practically nothing else. The few trailers that remained were up on blocks and so dented and beat up that they couldn’t hope to make the trip without Amazon attention. Windswept pools of garbage and natural debris dotted the landscape where homes and vehicles had been. My in-laws’ neighborhood had been turned into a dirty abandoned parking lot. I wanted to stop. I didn’t. Then I wanted to sprint. I couldn’t. My entire world had become numb and I was left shambling through the wreckage of my past life like a zombie. Contrary to the season my skin was fire. There were no trees for shade and the asphalt reflected all of the sun’s heat right back up at me. My entire body was as if in shock. I felt the heat but I did not sweat. My foot crunched down on a broken liquor bottle and I didn’t so much as flinch. Empty beer cans littered the ground like dead leaves scattered by the wind. My feet kicked them lazily out of the way, the hollow echoes from the aluminum shells didn’t even make my ears twitch. What might have been the remains of a stilt was left in my path; the wood corroded from weeks if not months of exposure to the elements. The wet plopping step left a residue on the bottom of my right shoe. A Gwiffin Party. The whole trailer park had one last Gwiffin Party and bailed. A final ‘fuck you’ to the giants we lived beneath. Granted, if any Amazons had been around to witness the carousing and destruction, it would have been immediate grounds for a Maturosis diagnosis, but anything could be anyway. Paying rent on time for years could be used to show that one benefits from routine and structure… The one broken down car remaining on the lot was missing a door and was looked to be down an engine and with all the glass and lights smashed. The perimeter fence had been battered down and completely run over. I’d a very dangerous job for a Little. I’d missed more than enough visits and check-ins over the months, and the Brauns had always been of a better-safe-than-sorry mindset. When they finally figured out that I wasn’t coming back an adult, they held one last big ‘fuck you’ to whatever Amazon landlord owned this lot and trashed it before fleeing the scene forever. When Littles feel threatened, we hide. It’s all we can do. Some of us hide behind money and sturdy walls with gated communities. The rest have to make themselves scarce and find some other dusty lot to call home. The smart ones, do anyways. The idiots just tear up apology notes and keep denying reality until it’s too late because they’re afraid to lose their nice house in the suburbs. Beyond the reduced source of income the landlord probably didn’t care much about this place. Given enough time, a new group of Littles would come; maybe Tweeners. They’d have to clean up the mess left by the previous tenants, but they’d be given a reduced rent for the inconvenience (even though it was probably the same rate as the previous tenants). Depending on the span of time, it might even be the previous tenants; it’s not like Amazons kept track. Cassie always told me that if she were ever captured I should just forget about her and she would do the same. Til death or diapers do we part. Cassie’s parents had taught her that rule, and they lived by it. On the bright side, I couldn’t hear the crinkling coming from my shorts over the sound of my own breathing and the shuffling of debris. So I had that going for me. Naw. On second thought, it probably wasn’t just me. More likely, the Littles who’d lived in the few remaining trailers disappeared suddenly and close together so everyone else got while the getting was good. At most Cassie and I chummed the waters for the frenzy that followed. This is why my letter never got through. Anyone who would have read it was long gone before it arrived. A laptop looked to be broken in half, only its cracked and broken screen remained to be found. This is why I never thought to reach out when I had my tablet. Every phone, electronic device, and email was essentially a burner to be discarded at the first sign of danger. Cassie had burned down my home. My parents were barring me from my own past. Bert, Irene, and company had taken care of the rest. I’d never find Cassie or the Brauns, or any other free Little ever again. I had no life now. No past that didn’t start with enrollment in Beouf’s class. I was well and truly dead to everyone I’d ever known or cared about. No one was coming. No one was looking. And they damn sure didn’t want to be found. I stopped moving, my feet melting into the patches of hot cement right where the Braun’s trailer used to be. The only thing left behind was a clear orange diaper pail bag half full of used Monkeez sized for an actual toddler and several black garbage bags filled to bursting. Garbage was all that was left for me. Fitting. I was garbage. I was used up. I was useless. I belonged here. “Come back.” I whispered to myself. “I’m still here. Please. Please just give me a chance. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go away. I just…” Just what? Wanted more for myself than living in constant fear? Wanted to prove that I could make it and be the exception to the rule about Littles? Wanted to be proud of something?! My entire body burned from the inside out. I was angry. Angry the way an orphan is at his parents. Only I was the dead one. Their lives went on. Mine stopped right here with the garbage. At some point I took a seat next to the garbage bag. I started petting it like an old dog in need of comfort and company. “Please…please…I’m sorry…don’t leave me…please say something…anything.” My throat closed up and my words came out as pitiful squeaks. “I love you. I love you all. And I miss you so damn much! Please give me another chance. Please…” “Please…” “Please…” “Clark?” Janet’s voice broke into and interrupted my spiral. It had been longer than I thought. “Clark? What are you doing, honey?” Her hand rested on my back. I never heard her coming; no cans rattled, the ground did not shake with her approach. I thought a merciful cloud had come and blocked out the sun. “Hey,” I said, still fighting for control of myself. “Time to go?” Mercifully she did not take the bait. “What happened?” She knew what happened. Even an Amazon couldn’t rationalize this away to something timid and mundane. “They’re gone,” I blinked back tears. “They’re all gone.” All the words in my mind jumbled together, creating a scribbled cacophony of despair in my brain that no amount of spoken words could properly convey. “All of them. Without me.” A look of genuine concern and terror overcame Janet’s calm and patient exterior. “All of them? Adopted?!” I shook my head. “No,” I managed to choke out. “Just gone.” All gone. Everything gone. Everything I’d ever worked for and built up for myself was definitively gone. And just like all Littles, it took only one slip up for it to happen. I knew this already, academically speaking, but seeing it all like this made it really hit home. I was dead to them. I was really dead to them. I just wanted to crawl into one of the garbage bags and asphyxiate myself. My Mommy didn’t immediately respond. She just kept rubbing my back and let me fight off my approaching breakdown. “I knew this would happen,” my voice cracked. “I just knew it.” “Knew what?” I held my breath a second and puffed it out in one big burst. “Nothing. Nevermind. Let’s go home. Thank you.” “Hey.” She stopped rubbing my back and stood. “C’mere.” Like a good Little boy I looked up at her, her smile sad but understanding, her eyes filled with love and sympathy for me. I did not stand back up. I lifted my hands up towards her and she bent down and lifted me into a soft embrace. “I’m sorry,” I whimpered. “I’m so sorry.” She started patting my back again and I buried my face back into the nape of her neck. “Shhhh…it’s okay.” “It’s not,” I moaned. “It’s just not. I’m sorry I wasted your time. I’m sorry I brought us out here.” I wanted to apologize for telling her about this place, of confiding in her, about writing everything down so she got the idea of coming here, but that would have been a lie. “I’m sorry I’m such a brat. I’m sorry that I’m such a burden. I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused you. It was wrong of me.” I’d come all the way out here to try and make peace; I was apologizing to somebody. “It’s okay.” She whispered in my ear. “I forgive you. You’ve never been your worst day to me.” Right then it felt like she was the only one who could say that and have me believe it. “I love you.” “I love you, too.” “Get me out of here,” I croaked. And that was that. The walk back to the car felt longer than all the time I’d spent wallowing in filth. Janet kept hugging me and petting me the whole way, trying her best to soothe me without disturbing me. I didn’t resist. It felt good to be comforted in my grief; like I wasn’t just blowing everything up in my head and making a mountain out of a molehill. It was all strangely validating. Janet buckled me back into my car seat and then walked back around to the driver’s seat. “Let’s get you home, then.” She sounded far less satisfied than she should have. She was an Amazon, and every Little in my life before her had vanished or abandoned me so that she and the rest of her cult were all I had left. I was a prisoner that had fallen in love with my warden and every possible co-conspirator had bailed on me. I was defeated. I was regressed. I was hers. However, it wasn’t satisfaction I saw in the rearview mirror as much as it was pain and anxiety. Her eyes flicked from me to the glove box and back again. Her right hand reached to the side and then withdrew like she was trying to stop herself. I watched her hand dart back and cover her chest. She was leaking; her milk pouring out into her nursing bra after hearing my cries. Time for a snack. I resigned myself to a peaceful oblivion after drinking from her. Janet had other plans. “Clark?” she asked, her voice soft and trembling like my own. “I think I’d like to give you one of your Solstice presents early. Would that be alright?” “Fine,” I said. “Whatever.” I lifted my head and saw her wince. “I mean…if you want to. If it would make you happy.” It was probably just an Amazon trap in toy-form. Something that jingled and made me pee my pants giggling or something. Slowly, she leaned and opened the glove box. “I did a lot of thinking when I was out shopping for you,” she said. “I wanted our first Solstice together to be perfect.” I sniffed and wiped my nose again. “Uh-huh.” “I looked all around town and bought you a lot of cute outfits and fun toys, but I still felt like something was missing.” “Yeah?” I didn’t actually care- I was beyond caring- but the cadence of the conversation demanded it. “Yeah. I went all the way back to Elizabeton to get it for you.” She took my gift and handed it over to me. “I was going to save it for last, give it to you at Mrs. Beouf’s party. But I think it would do you some good right now.” I opened the gift and -not for the first time that day- found myself at a loss for what to say. “Wha-...huh?” Janet wrung her hands together, a chef awaiting judgment from a most discerning customer. “I hope you like it…” “I…I do…” I managed. “I love it! But…why? You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to give me this!” She shrugged meekly. “I know. But I wanted to let you know that I love you and see you. All of you.” Attached was a blank card with my name on it. On the inside, in royal blue were her words: “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. I can’t picture a future without you in it. I’m not really your mother. You’re not really my child. But I will always be your Mommy and you will always be my baby boy. You’ve made my life worth living. Thank you. -Mommy” Objectively, it wasn’t that great a gift. It didn’t grant me any additional freedoms or give me my old life back. It didn’t make me seem like any less of a Full-Native Mindfucked Helper Doll. It didn’t give me back any of my potty training or make me feel any less ashamed for all that I had become and all the mistakes I’d made. Reading that card and looking at the present she got me still made me feel more whole than I’d allowed myself to feel in a long time. “I love you, Mommy.” She looked confused for a second, as if I had mispronounced it or something. “I love you, too, baby.” “Did I do something wrong?” She shook her head and finally started driving. “No,” she smiled, seeming completely at peace. “Not at all, baby. Not at all.” ******************************************************************************************* Oh. I suppose you’d like to know what the present was attached to the card. That’s a story for a different time, dear reader. That’s a story for a different time. (END PART 12)

Landon and Livy continue to struggle to connect. At home, Dan feels as lost as ever trying to work out how Robyn works and what she wants. --- I am only able to pay the bills, keep the lights, put food in the fridge and keep my butt in nappies through the generous support of those who enjoy my stories. I have both a SubscribeStar AND a Ream page, both get the same content, and the wonderful subscribers are all able to read every story update I write a full week before anyone else. Not only that, but at the $10 tier there are 29 stories EXCLUSIVELY available to subscribers. There's also the opportunity to have big discounts on commissions and even free stories written for you at the other tiers. I deeply, deeply appreciate everyone who supports me by subscribing. It really means the world. This is my only source of income and my subscribers allow me to dedicate my time to writing and posting more stories for everyone. If you have the spare funds and wish to find out more, you can visit either of my subscriber pages. https://reamstories.com/elfy https://subscribestar.adult/elfy --- “I just, erm, need to go in there.” Dan pointed to the door of his home office, down the landing from the nursery. “But it’s the weekend…” Robyn replied. She had her hands on her hips and as she swayed slightly her recently changed padding crinkled. “Yeah, I just forgot something I have to do.” Dan was backing up towards the door, not turning his back on Robyn as if she was a wild animal that might suddenly attack, “It’s, erm… important.” “Well, should I come in with you?” Robyn asked, “Keep you company?” “No, no…” Dan was pawing at the door behind him, trying to find the handle, without looking away from Robyn, “I’ll only be a minute. Why don’t you… go downstairs and play… or something?” Dan turned the handle and stepped into the office. He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He waited until he heard Robyn heading downstairs before he walked across and slumped into his chair. He leaned forwards and put his head in his hands. It was so much tougher than Dan had imagined. He felt completely at sea with Robyn. The energetic Little was like a bouncy ball that kept slipping out of his hands, he had no idea what Robyn wanted of him. It was so different to looking after Livy. His wife was always such a good girl, he had never had to punish her, and he was fairly certain Livy would hate it if he tried. Robyn, on the other hand, seemed to be asking for it. There was no way he could do something like that though. Robyn wasn’t HIS Little. He looked after Livy; it was Landon who was supposed to handle Robyn. Dan sighed. “That’s the point…” Dan muttered to himself, “You aren’t two pairs, you’re one quad.” The relationship was supposed to be even. Sure, the relationships between the four of them didn’t have to be exactly the same, but they should be comfortable with each other, they should all feel equal with each other. The problem was that Robyn was pushing boundaries and Dan had no idea how to cope with it. He didn’t feel it was his place to tell her what to do, which wasn’t to mention that he had almost no experience doing it either. Dan wasn’t helped by the feelings he got around Robyn. They were complicated and he had no idea how to sort them out in his own head yet alone express them out loud. In some ways it was like when he was around Livy, in other ways it was like when he was with Landon. It flared up more when Robyn was acting particularly bratty. A tingling feeling, maybe even butterflies, but lower than his stomach and seeming to spread over him. It felt like his body wanted to do something, but it didn’t know what. There was one person that Dan was sure would be able to help him. He picked up his phone and scrolled through to Landon’s name. He really didn’t know if he should interrupt Landon’s day with Livy, but he had to do something. “Hey Dan.” Landon said as she picked up the phone. He heard background noise as Landon moved somewhere out of the way. “Hey…” Dan said. Suddenly he wasn’t sure what to say. Telling Landon that he didn’t know how to look after Robyn seemed shameful, “How are things with you girls?” “Oh, we’re fine.” Landon replied. Was that some faux cheeriness in her voice? It was hard to tell with Landon, “Livy’s just getting her ears pierced.” “Oh, she’s… What!?” Dan suddenly exclaimed. “I bought her these adorable earrings. I can’t wait for you to see them.” Landon continued. Now that was definitely genuine cheeriness that time. “And she agreed to it?” Dan asked with a frown, “Getting her ears pierced, I mean?” “Yeah.” Landon said, “She’s being very brave.” Dan was a little confused. It wasn’t like Livy to do something like that on the spur of the moment. At the same time, he trusted that Landon wouldn’t have forced his wife to do anything she didn’t want. In the end he didn’t say anything, just held the phone to his ear and listened to the background noise of whatever shop they were in. He stared into the middle distance and wondered if he had never quite pushed Livy out of her comfort zone enough… “Dan?” Landon’s voice brought Dan back from thoughts that were quickly spiralling out of control, “It’s lovely to hear your voice but… is there a reason you called?” Dan didn’t know if he could answer Landon truthfully. There was a shame involved in admitting that he wasn’t succeeding, especially when things seemed to be going so well on the other end. Then he thought about Robyn, downstairs and waiting for him like an excitable puppy, and he had to ask for some help from Landon before he annoyed Robyn or ended up running away for good. “I just… I don’t know what to do.” Dan said eventually. He actually felt himself tearing up a bit, which surprised him. “What do you mean?” Landon asked. “Robyn.” Dan said, “I don’t know what to do for Robyn. When you and Livy are here, she’s fine, plays all day and everything, but with you two gone it’s like she’s trying to push my buttons, like she WANTS to get in trouble!” Dan was surprised to hear Landon actually chuckling. She asked what she had been doing, and he told her about the incidents at breakfast and with the diaper check. Dan got a lot off his chest with Landon only making occasional noises to show that she was listening. “So, I don’t know what to do.” Dan finished, “Livy is always so sweet and good, and I know Robyn is like that with you, but today it’s just… I don’t know.” “She’s just being bratty.” Robyn said finally. “Bratty?” Dan repeated. “Yeah, you know, acting bad and testing limits. I don’t know how to tell you this, but not all Littles are as innocent as your Livy.” Landon chuckled again, “In fact, I bet most aren’t. Do you know how I keep her in check? How I make sure she’s good?” “How?” Dan asked. He held the phone closer to his ear as if he was expecting to hear that there was a secret password that would unlock Robyn’s best behaviour. “I keep her in line.” Robynn said, “When she acts-…” Dan waited to hear more but there was suddenly a commotion on the other end of the line. He heard some voices and someone hurrying up to Robyn though he couldn’t make out any of the words being said. “For Heaven’s sake… Dan? We’ll have to discuss this later, alright? Something’s come up.” Landon said. Suddenly she sounded a little bit frazzled. Maybe things weren’t as smooth as Dan had imagined. “Is everyone OK?” Dan asked. “Yeah, everyone’s fine. I’ll call you back or something.” Landon said quickly. “OK, just let-…” Dan was cut off by a beep that let him know the call was over. Dan looked at his phone as he slowly lowered it. He took a couple of steadying breaths and pushed aside thoughts of just staying in his office and hiding. He stood up and walked over to the door. Robyn was downstairs and one way or another he was going to have to work out what she wanted from him. --- Landon looked back over her shoulder at Livy. The adult baby looked as small and timid as she ever had before. Her shoulders were slumped; she was looking down at the floor and she gave the air of someone who was physically shrinking with every step she took. Landon faced forwards again before Livy caught her looking. To say the day hadn’t been going totally to plan would’ve been an understatement. She had wanted to show Livy some of the things she enjoyed, shared some of her life with her partner, and get to know her a bit better. Instead, it seemed like all the confidence Livy had gained since the start of the polycule had leeched out of her. The poopy diaper she had just had to change was very symbolic of how the morning as a whole had gone. To tell the truth, Landon had considered cutting the day short. She could see that Livy wasn’t comfortable after all. She couldn’t admit defeat though. It was important that the two of them bond more. She had been left frustrated that Livy had withdrawn into her shell, several times she had to stop herself from being openly exasperated. When she had found out what Livy had done in the jewellery store, she had almost exploded at her. Part of Landon wondered if Livy wasn’t just deliberately sabotaging the day. “Keep up.” Landon called over her shoulder when she saw Livy had fallen behind. Landon wasn’t going to cut the morning short. Right then, it felt like Livy didn’t like her at all and that was a disastrous state of affairs. The four-way relationship couldn’t last if one of them really disliked another. No, the correct course was to carry on. The breakfast at the café had gone wrong and the jewellery store had been a complete disaster, but the day could still be salvaged. Landon was determined to get Livy to like her. As they carried on down the high street, Landon remembered back to her first dates with Robyn. Those hadn’t always been smooth either. In fact, sometimes they were downright fractious, but in the end, Landon had realised exactly what Littles want. A firm hand that keeps them in line and tells them what to do. As soon as Landon had started being more domineering everything with Robyn had fallen into place. Dan was always a bit of a soft touch with Livy. Landon didn’t doubt that her boyfriend’s wife had some severe issues with anxiety, but she didn’t think coddling her as much as Dan had was necessarily the right direction to go in. If that morning had shown anything, it was how unprepared for the world Livy was. Landon wasn’t going to suggest Livy should just “grow up” and get on with things, but there must’ve been a happy middle ground which gave Livy a little more self-confidence. That morning, Landon had tried to tone down her usual instincts to take control. She wanted to see Livy flourish a little bit. It hadn’t worked, so now Landon would try going the other way. Landon would deploy the tried-and-true tactics that had netted her Robyn. “Where are we going?” Livy’s voice was so small and quiet it threatened to be carried away by the wind. “A restaurant that I like.” Landon replied, “For lunch.” Landon looked at Livy, still behind her but keeping close, and saw that she seemed to want to say something but didn’t. Landon guessed she was contemplating asking to go home instead. She wasn’t going to give the adult baby the easy way out. She would draw Livy out of her shell come hell or high water. “As a matter of fact, we’re here.” Landon said as she pointed at one of her favourite places to eat. “Ah Cheean Qwee Fume?” Livy attempted with a frown. “Au Chien Qui Fume.” Landon corrected, “Did you never learn French at school?” Livy sort of shrugged and looked away. Landon let out a deep breath through her nose whilst her lips formed a thin line. She pushed the door open and led the way inside. “Table for two please.” Landon said. Lunch time wasn’t the busiest for the restaurant, even at the weekend, and the pair were soon taken to a small table for two. They were left with menus for both drinks and food. Landon looked across from her at Livy who shifted uncomfortably and looked around as if she’d entered a spaceship rather than a restaurant. “It’s a copy really, I’ve been to the original in France and honestly, they’re just as good as each other.” Landon said with a little chuckle. She pushed the menus across to Livy, she already knew what she was going to get. “A… A copy?” Livy asked. “Yes, there is a famous restaurant in Paris with the same name.” Landon explained, “This one is basically trying to look as much like it as possible. They do a decent job. Are you alright if we order both drinks and food at the same time, by the way?” Livy looked a little lost as she scanned the menu but eventually nodded her head. Landon smiled. She really did like Livy, she just wished she could tear down the invisible wall that she sensed separated them. She would dig in with her fingers and pull out each brick by hand if she had to. The two of them sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Landon watched Livy as her eyes skimmed the lines of text and looking as if she was trying to decipher the Dead Sea Scrolls. Her eyes occasionally flicked up to look at Landon but would always dart back down the second she saw that Landon was looking back at her. “May I take your orders?” A waiter had walked over and was smiling down at Landon. “Yes, I’ll have a sparkling water and the Bouillabaisse please.” Landon said. Landon and the waiter both turned to Livy who seemed to freeze up. Her face was red as she kept scanning the page as if there was an objectively correct answer to choose. Landon watched as she became increasingly frantic for a few seconds before she looked over the top of the menu, right at Landon, with teary eyes. “She’ll have the same as me.” Landon said. She didn’t look away from Livy whose eyes seemed to be thanking her before they looked away. “Very good, will that be all?” The waiter asked as he took the menus back. “Yes, thank you.” Landon replied. The waiter walked away. With no menu to hide behind, Livy’s head turned down to stare at the tablecloth. Landon remained silent, quickly checking her phone to see if Dan had tried to get back in contact with her. There were no texts or missed calls, he must’ve figured things out for himself. “Couldn’t choose what to have?” Landon asked as she put her phone her away. “I… didn’t know what any of it was.” Livy mumbled, “It was all in French.” Landon looked at Livy for a few seconds and then let out a sigh. She drummed her fingers on the table as she kept questions like: “Why not ask me what things meant?” unspoken. She could see that Livy was looking very upset, more upset than she had seemed for most of the rest of the day and Landon couldn’t understand why. --- Robyn laid on her back with one leg bent and the other crossing it so that her knees were in the air. She had her head propped up on a stuffie and was looking at Dan. The television in the corner, so often showing cartoons, now had rapid sports commentary from the football game Dan was watching. It was very dull. Robyn didn’t mind taking part in sports, but she found watching it to be very boring. She didn’t know the proper rules of football though, it all seemed needlessly complicated. For the previous ten minutes Robyn had been trying to get Dan’s attention. She thought the way she was lying was pretty provocative, with her diaper on obvious display towards the man, yet he remained steadfastly focused on the screen. She pouted. It would certainly have got Landon’s attention, Livy’s too. “Why are you watching that?” Robyn asked. “I support one of the teams.” Dan replied without looking away from the television. “Which one?” Robyn asked. She tilted her head back, so she saw the screen, though it was upside down from her point of view. “The Giants.” Dan replied. The commentator seemed to get excited and as he did, so Robyn saw Dan let out a deep sigh. On the screen someone in a white jersey had just run to the end of the field and was now engaged in some elaborate celebration. “Which colour are they?” Robyn asked. “Blue.” Dan said. He seemed frustrated. “Oh.” Robyn watched as the screen went to commercials, “They don’t seem to be doing very well.” Dan briefly looked over at Robyn. She felt herself get a little excited. She wanted attention and now she was getting it. He looked annoyed, then his eyes flicked down to her diaper before he quickly turned back to the screen again. It was time for the nuclear option. All Robyn’s none-too-subtle attempts at getting what she wanted had failed, it was time to throw everything forward. She was going to turn her brattiness up to one hundred and go all in. The commercials soon ended, and Robyn rolled on to her front. She got on to her hands and knees and crawled to the couch before hopping up and sitting down. She kicked her legs out a few times and bounced a little on the seat. She could see that it was causing Dan’s cushion to move, and he looked across to her. “What?” Robyn asked innocently. “Could you stop kicking your feet?” Dan asked, “It’s a little annoying.” “Sorry.” Robyn shrugged, “I’m just booooored.” Robyn let the first vowel go on and on to emphasise her point. Dan reached forwards for his drink and took a sip before putting it back on the table. On the screen Robyn saw someone kick the ball high and long, then all the players ran into each other. “Why did they do that?” Robyn asked. “It was a kick-off.” Dan said distractedly, “Happens after a team scores.” “Like… after a home run?” Robyn asked. “Home run… no, not a home run.” Dan shook his head. He watched someone throw the ball only for a man on the other team to catch it, “Oh, come on!” Robyn didn’t know a lot about sports, but she DID know, courtesy of her brothers, that being asked to explain what was happening as a game was played was very annoying indeed. When she had been a kid she would sometimes hang around and bug her brothers until they would literally pay her to leave the house with. “Was that good?” Robyn asked. She kept her voice full of wide-eyed innocence as she poked the sleeping bear. “No.” Dan sank back into his seat, “Not good. Look, why don’t you go play or colour or… something.” “That’s all booooooooring.” Robyn elongated the word again. She could almost see Dan’s teeth clenching. Robyn wouldn’t have been walking this line if she didn’t know Dan. She trusted Livy and Robyn, they both said Dan was great, so she wasn’t worried that annoying him would result in something bad. She just hoped it would result in something good. She needed to encourage the mild-mannered man to find his wild side. “Well, maybe you could-…” Dan started. “What does that number mean?” Robyn asked. “It’s… it’s the downs.” Dan replied. “What does that mean?” Robyn continued. Dan didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the screen and pretended not to have heard Robyn who knew she must’ve been like a fly that kept buzzing around his head. The couch was against the wall, and she now climbed up on to the back of it, lying down so her head was next to Dan’s, her body and legs resting on the tops of the vertical cushions. “Who’s that?” Robyn asked. Her hand flicked past Dan’s ear as she pointed. “It’s one of the coaches.” Dan said quickly, “How about getting do-…” “What does he do?” Robyn asked. “Well, he…” Dan started. “Oh! Look the other team scored!” Robyn said excitedly as she thrust out her hand, again flicking Dan’s ear, and pointing at the other screen. “Yes.” Dan’s teeth were definitely clenched. His jaw refusing to move as he spoke, “It’s time to get down from there.” “Fiiiiiine.” Robyn said slowly. Dan leaned forwards to pick up his drink from the table. In that moment, Robyn saw an opportunity. She’d seeded the ground, if her brattiness wasn’t enough now, it never would be. She waited as Dan picked the glass up and timed her movement precisely. “I’m sure you can… Watch out!” Dan shouted. A second later a glass hit the floor. “Oops.” Robyn said as she landed back on the couch cushion. She had timed her movement so that her foot had hit Dan’s hand and caused him to drop his drink. Robyn sat on her knees and looked on as Dan stood up. A lot of the drink was now on the floor, but a considerable amount was also soaking into Dan’s pants. Dan seemed to notice as he held his arms out and looked down at himself, the top of his pants was soaked. Robyn started to giggle. “You need a diaper!” Robyn said as she pointed at Dan’s crotch. Robyn watched as Dan looked up at her and after less than a second of hesitation, he marched forwards. Robyn’s eyes went wide as he grabbed her wrist in a much rougher manner than ever before and pulled her off the couch. “W-What’re you doing?” Robyn asked, secretly delighted that she had apparently awakened something in Dan. “Something I should’ve done some time ago.” Dan muttered as he marched Robyn up the stairs. --- If you have enjoyed this start and want to see the second update RIGHT AWAY, you can do so at either of the following links: https://reamstories.com/page/lpjgftb4y2/story/mlsyc4p9f42661/chapter/mnh9rb5v1ca6046 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/2422784 Money is a little tight right now. All subscribers are always very appreciated, but new subscribers now would be more appreciated than ever!

Chapter 10 - Wardrobe Walking out into the noise and lights of the heaving mall, George had to fight the urge to turn and dash right back into the disabled toilets. He felt like everyone was staring at him as he walked alongside Alice, meek as a mouse as she held his hand firmly and walked them at a fair pace off towards one of the corridors. It might have been the one they had just come down five minutes ago. He couldn’t tell. They’d been in such a rush. Soon enough they came to a storefront, the sign out front calling it The Children's Place. An unfamiliar shop for George. Back home, most of his clothes came from whatever shop was having a sale that week. He tugged obsessively at Alice’s coat, his only shield from exposure, as he glanced fervently around, convinced that at any second crowds would be pointing and staring at the upset kid walking around a crowded mall in pink Pull-Ups. It was a scene out of a nightmare and George was half convinced it was just that. That at any moment he would jolt back awake, to find that the last few days had been nothing but a fever dream, and that he had fallen asleep on the flight over to America. But it was no dream. He let Alice pull him inside, happy to be away from the crowds at last. Less prying eyes to wonder why he was wearing a comically oversized coat. “Give me a minute George, I just need to ask the assistants something.” George felt his heartbeat spike once more but said nothing as she let his hand slip. She moved over towards a nearby counter. The woman there looked about Alice’s age with blonde hair and pink streaks that came down to her waist. A glance at her orange name tag told him her name was Rachel. As Rachel and Alice talked, George did his best to fade into the background. Glancing about to get the lay of the land. Clothing shops were clothing shops no matter which side of the Atlantic he was on, he supposed. Paneled ceilings and harsh fluorescent lights up above, white tables smothered in piles of clothing in organized chaos all around him. Interspersed with flags and signs advertising prices and deals. T Shirts and jeans and trousers in a hundred different patterns and colours. Jackets and scarves and more outdoorsy things over there, a small shoe section over here. He had the feeling Alice could make him spend hours in here if she wanted to, and a familiar weariness honed over many a shopping trip back home came over him. His eyes inevitably wandered to the people, only marginally more interesting than the clothing. A couple of store workers in uniforms milled around, lacking much to do. Over in the shoe aisle a boy about half his own age was being coaxed into trying on a new pair of school shoes. A couple of girls were comparing shirts and talking in quick whispers with each other. One of them caught his eye for a second and he quickly looked away, afraid they might wonder about what he was wearing. “Alright George, over here.” His eyes snapped over as Alice called his name and he practically sprinted over towards her. “The nice lady was kind enough to recommend some things for you.” He frowned at the condescending language, and noticed several sets of clothes on hangers she was holding. The paranoid part of his mind reared its jittery head at that moment. What had she told the shop assistant? She wouldn’t have told a complete stranger that he’d wet himself in the middle of the day, would she? But then he thought back to how casually she’d spoken with that other mother outside the disabled toilets. His stomach started to form knots as she grabbed his arm unprompted and began pulling them towards the back of the store, where a couple of small changing rooms sat built against the back wall of the store. He yanked his hand free from her grip as soon as she stopped moving. He was quickly getting sick of being dragged around like that. “Alright, so there are a couple of things here I want you to try on.” She explained as she maneuvered the set of hangars around her hands and did her best to show them to George. He blinked as he assessed what monkey suits he was going to be forced into. Comforted only by the thought that just about anything would be better than wandering about in a shirt, Goodnite, and an oversized jacket. There was a soft beige set of shorts, alongside a twin in green. But what caught his eyes were the pile of denim that he instantly assumed were a set of jeans. Whiter than he would have liked, but they would be perfect for today. Much better than the shorts at least, which with their length could expose his pink underwear. “Do I have to try them all on?” He asked. Instantly defaulting into pouting pre-teen mode. “Just try on these. We’ve got other stuff to do today. I can always return stuff later.” Alice replied. George looked surprised at this capitulation but didn’t dare jinx it. He nodded and tugged the bundle of denim free from the pile and darted into the changing room beside them, pulling the curtain shut before she could change her mind. The rings screeched along the metal pole and he winced at the sound. There was only a mirror on one wall and a chair in the far corner. Looking for somewhere to hang Alice’s coat, he had it folded and ready to throw over the top of the chair before noticing the peg on the other wall. Oh. He placed it up there and turned to see himself in the mirror again. Standing in just his shirt and Goodnite, he looked mortifyingly infantile. An oversized toddler who’d wandered into mummy’s room for comfort after a nightmare. All he needed was a teddy bear to hold and the look would have been complete. He shook his head, trying to get that image out of his mind. Unfurling the bundle of denim in his hands, he realised he was holding it the wrong way around as it unfurled itself, seeming much longer than he had expected. He watched as the legs unrolled, then the waist, and then kept going past it, ending in a set of odd loops. Frowning, George flipped the garment and tried to make sense of it. It was like someone had stapled a denim vest to a pair of jeans. Puzzling over it, he held it up to himself in the mirror to try and make sense of how it would look on him. Only then did it click, as he superimposed it over his shirt and underwear. Overalls! Alice had sent him off to try on a pair of overalls?! Like he was some snot nosed three year old! He glanced back at the jacket hanging on the hook, then the curtain that offered thin protection from the rest of the store and the wider mall. He thought about fighting it. Putting the coat back on to cover himself and argue with Alice that he wanted something else. But he knew he wouldn’t win that argument. She held all the cards, and he didn’t have the mental energy for another big fight with her. Holding it out gingerly, like it might turn feral and attack him, he looked over the shoulder straps and the high rising front and back. “How are you even meant to put these on?” He muttered to himself as he fiddled with the adjustable suspenders. — As George was struggling not to get himself ensnared in the tangle of blue denim, outside his caretaker was not idle. Alice took the opportunity to be proactive. She slipped her phone out of her pocket, opened up the group chat, and scrolled back a bit to find the conversation she’d had days ago about George’s ongoing issues. After a minute she found what she was looking for; the link that Melissa had dropped her about the therapist for her boys. She’d been on the fence about jumping right into something like that so far, but the repeated incidents spoke for themselves. Once was just a fluke accident. Maybe even two. But two wet nights, the hidden, soiled jeans from yesterday, and now this little episode at the mall? It clearly called for something a bit stronger than spare sheets and more frequent bathroom trips. Clicking the link with her thumb she was pulled out of her app and onto the web browser, jumping her automatically to the website in question. Then the rest of the page loaded a white and green themed website. Sleek and modern looking, she eyed the blurb at the top of the page and began to read: Dr. Amanda Paige – Cognitive Behavioral Therapist, Child Psychologist, Sleep Therapist Do you have a child that suffers from nocturnal enuresis (bedwetting), urinary incontinence, difficulty concentrating, trouble with falling or staying asleep, moodiness, and other academic and social problems that can stem from these issues? We are here for you. We have helped hundreds of children, teens and their families to live better lives. Many services are covered by insurance. Reading through the blurb, she found herself nodding along to the list of symptoms. All except for George’s academic performance. She didn’t know how he was doing in school in the UK but if she had to guess she would have said he felt like an average kid who could be doing better with some help. Well, now it was time to get him some. She eyed the contact us tab at the side and tapped it, her phone helpfully auto-filling most of her contact details before she got to the text box below, and began to type quickly. Fingers dancing across the touchscreen with the practice of a woman who had spent years learning to quickly take notes in high stress corporate meetings. Good Afternoon. I was recommended your practice by a friend and I’m hoping you might be able to help me. I’m the guardian of a twelve year old boy, the son of a close friend that I’m looking after for the summer. He’s come all the way over from England, and I fear the stress of the new environment has exacerbated his existing issues. He’s been with me for a few days but I’ve seen evidence that he’s had numerous bathroom accidents and has tried to cover them up from me. Please reply to me at the above email address, and let me know if he sounds like a good fit for your therapy program. Happy to send over insurance details as needed. Looking forward to discussing this further with you. Kind regards, Alice Warding Her thumb hovered over the little blue “send” icon for a few seconds as she quickly re-read what she had typed. Satisfied, she hit send. A small smile came over her face. It felt good to take some decisive action. And one good act deserved another. She flipped back to her home screen then back into her chatgroup, then into her DMs with Melissa, who had recommended Dr Paige in the first place. Scrolling past old back and forth messages of jokes, idle chatter and recipe recommendations, she got to the latest ones and was happy to see that her friend was currently online. Alice glanced back up at the changing room curtain to make sure George was still busy, then started typing once more: Alice: Hi Melissa, hope you’re having a good afternoon. Just wanted to drop you a line and let you know I’ve pulled the trigger on George. I’ve just emailed the therapist you recommended to see if they can take George on. I know it seems a bit drastic to be moving this fast, but we’ve had a few more accidents since the last time we spoke, and it's putting a lot of stress on him. I’ve got him for the whole summer and I’m not going to let this derail things if I can help it. She hit send, and a few seconds later saw the “Melissa is Typing” notification at the bottom of the screen. Then her message popped up. Melissa: Oh that’s great news! I’m so glad to hear you’re getting him the help he needs. Poor guy, he’s probably under a lot of stress right now. He’s lucky to have you looking after him. Alice: You’re too kind. Though, I was wondering, since you mentioned that your boys are in the program? Would you happen to have any hints or tips you could share? I’m a bit in the dark here and I’m sure the therapist will explain it, but I’d like to know from someone who’s been down this path themselves. Melissa: Oh, for sure! Well, it's a bit hard to explain it all over text, but it's all about directly treating the bedwetting and tackling the root causes of the behavior issues. They want you to reconnect and reinforce the parental relationship with him. Though I suppose it's a little different in your case. I’m sure it's still principally the same though. Melissa: What’s the rest of your day looking like? Because I was thinking if you have the time, you could drop by and I can let you see how things are with my boys? I’m sure Dr Paige wouldn’t mind. It definitely sounds like George is ideal for the program. Alice paused for a moment and thought things through. They were meant to be spending time at the mall, getting George some badly needed new clothes. But the day was still young. She reached into her pockets and pulled out her little diary, heavily marked and annotated with her schedule for the entire summer. She flicked through it and looked at the notes for what they were meant to be doing today apart from clothes shopping. They still needed to pick up swimming trunks and a baseball uniform for George, she remembered as she re-read her notes. But that was all they needed for the immediate future. Assuming the clothes he was trying on now fit him well, she’d be able to order some more as needed. She had planned on taking him out to the park that afternoon as well, but that could easily be rescheduled. Seeing that her charge was still taking his sweet time getting changed, she resumed typing. Alice: If you’re making the offer I’d be glad to accept it! We’re just out at the mall getting George some new clothes - He had another accident here, believe it or not - and then we’re going for lunch at the food court. But I can definitely drive by after that! Melissa: Excellent! Though it might be better to leave George at home when you visit, or let him go and play with a friend. It's just with the way the therapy works, Dr Paige told us it's better for the child to take the step into it blind, so to speak. Better for George if the doctor is there to help his transition from the start, making it a definitive step the two of you take together. I don’t want to jeopardize that. I know this all sounds over the top and kind of ridiculous, but if George gets accepted into the program you'll see for yourself. This stuff works Alice, trust me. Alice raised her eyebrow a bit at this evasiveness. It was some sort of therapy routine for bedwetters like George, not nuclear launch codes. Still, she knew Melissa well enough to know she wasn’t a bullshitter. If she swore by it then Alice was inclined to believe her. Alice: Sounds perfect! Will see if I can drop George off with the neighbors. He’s already made friends with the girl who lives across the road from us, happy to say. I’m sure he won’t mind spending an afternoon playing with her. Melissa: See you then! Alice replied with a thumbs up, then put her phone away. “George, are you nearly done in there?” She called. Surprised it had taken him this long to put on a new set of clothes. “Um. Yeah. Just, don’t laugh…” She heard him hesitate and mumble from behind the changing room screen. The curtain pulled along with a soft scratch of metal on metal as George was unveiled like a prize on a quiz show, and Alice couldn’t help but grin a little at how adorable he looked. “You look cute!” She couldn’t help but comment as the pre-teen in front of her replied with a glare, and crossed his arms instinctively over his new overalls in a manner that only served to enhance the look. “I’m not cute. I’m not a baby.” He huffed. Alice ignored him as she came over to take a look at him. Moving about him as she adjusted the straps slightly here and un-creased a leg fold there. Satisfied with her finishing touches she stepped back, feeling vindicated that her pick of clothes suited him. The light denim matched his eyes, and made him look younger, more innocent. It was a nicer look than the dark shirts and old jeans he usually wore, and certainly an improvement to walking around in his protection and her oversized coat. Speaking of which, she could see the rim of the Goodnite he was wearing peaking out of the side of his waist, where the shirt he was wearing had ridden up. The pink colouring made it an obvious contrast against the blue of the overalls. That might be an issue, if his shirts rode up with them. “Why don’t you walk up and down the aisle, get a feel for them.” She suggested. Though before she did, she moved a hand to his side and smoothed down the end of his shirt, tucking it into the waist of the overalls and hiding his underwear from view. George didn’t seem to notice his Goodnites had been on display, merely rolling his eyes as she finished and wordlessly trudged down the store in lazy, exaggerated steps. She watched as he meandered past a few shoppers and shelves towards the far wall. As he did so, she saw the shirt starting to ride up again, and by the time he had turned around at the wall, the rim of the Pink Goodnite had once again revealed itself. On his way back, he brushed past the girls he’d seen earlier and they both glanced at him. Then they must have seen the same glint of pink on blue that Alice had. Oh dear. Alice saw the both of them smirk a little as their eyes followed George. One whispered something inaudible to the other and they both giggled. George glanced back at them briefly, a nervous look on his face. His ears looked slightly red as he came back up to her, and he glanced back again at the girls, who looked away from him now but were still smirking as they perused designer brand belts. “Ignore them George.” She tried to dismiss his fears, and reached over to adjust the straps on his overalls. “Think these are just a little too low, there we go. Should stop your shirt riding up in those things now. "She flashed him a smile. “They saw!” He blurted out, a little loud. “I mean - my shirt, under them, they saw me, you know.” He resorted to sheepish sputters as he seemed to be trying to shrink into the floor before her. “Come on George, don’t worry about them.” She put an arm on his shoulder. “It's none of their business what they saw, and they frankly shouldn’t be looking.” She looked past him and challenged the girls with a stare of her own. They seemed to get the message and shrugged in an “Whatever, lady.” way, then skulked off casually to another part of the store. “Don’t dwell on it. Let's get these paid for and we can go get lunch upstairs, your pick of where we go.” She offered, hoping the offering would be a salve to his wounded pride.

Who needs the song of time to go backwards when you have diapers big enough to fit? Happy April Fools’ Day, or Day of Pranks as it’s known in Termina! Cremia and Romani enjoy a “stroll” out in Clock Town, though Cremia may be enjoying it a little more. Maybe if Romani is good, she will get to go to the milk bar. Though, it may have to be served to her in a baby bottle this time…. I was inspired to do some art today. I remember a similar image I can’t seem to find anymore here. It featured one of the two characters in a diaper and had a very similar premise. I have always loved Majora’s Mask as a game, story, and just a vibe. Though similar works like this one are out there, I still wanted to take a stab at doing one my own. I am just glad I was able to post this before midnight, or I may have met with a terrible fate…just kidding! Happy April Fools’ everyone!

Welcome to Mommy Anna's Diapered Storybook! Some of you may know me from my website, diaperhypnosis.com I've decided to publish full-length diaper and regression stories, for free, as a special way of giving back to our community. I'm also recording most of these stories and posting them (full-length) on my YouTube channel, so you can hear me read them there. Mommy Emma from diaperhypnosis.com will also be recording some of these stories for YouTube. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these stories and keep being the wonderful you that you are! This new story introduces "The Registry", a government department where some adults willingly surrender their adulthood to become "registered". Want to know what that means? Well, read on! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter One: Wake-Up Protocol The nursery no longer smelled like comfort. It smelled like ownership. Powder. Plastic. Faint ammonia from a soaked overnight diaper. All of it lingered in the air like the scent of decisions Sophie could no longer undo. The room was a perfect simulation of sweetness—pastel walls, lace curtains, plush toys stacked neatly along the shelves—but beneath the surface, everything was clinical. Functional. Inescapable. Soft rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a golden haze across the floorboards and over the crib. Sophie lay motionless inside it, her limbs curled in unconscious surrender, her thumb resting just shy of her mouth. The blanket twisted around her legs, her body humid with sleep and the sticky heaviness of a soaked diaper. She hadn’t stirred yet. Not fully. But the house was awake. Click. A single heel on hardwood. The sound cut through the silence like a countdown bell. Sophie twitched, her face scrunching with the first flickers of waking panic. Click. Click. Not fast. Not angry. Deliberate. Mommy was coming. The final click stopped directly outside the nursery door. Then, silence—just long enough to twist a knot in Sophie’s belly—before the doorknob turned with a slow, almost theatrical creak. And then, she entered. Mommy didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to. Her presence filled the room. Her figure silhouetted in the light behind her, tall and composed, her black pencil skirt and pristine blouse immaculate as ever. Hair coiled in a severe bun. No jewelry. No softness. Just the woman Sophie feared and longed for in equal measure. She walked to the crib with measured grace, each heel landing like punctuation. Click. Click. Click. The air felt thinner with each step. Sophie’s eyes fluttered open. For a second, she forgot where she was—then the crinkle between her thighs reminded her. She felt the warmth of the soggy diaper cling to her skin, the press of swollen padding between her legs. She whimpered. Mommy looked down, her expression unreadable. “Up,” she said. One word. No room for delay. Sophie sat up slowly, clutching the bars. The blanket slipped off her shoulders, revealing her onesie with its faded pastel print of ducks and bottles. Her diaper sagged beneath it like a weight of guilt. Mommy unlatched the side rail with a metallic clank, lowering it with practiced authority. She didn’t reach to hug or greet Sophie. Instead, her hand went straight between Sophie’s legs, pressing the front of the diaper with two fingers. The squish was loud. Obvious. Shameful. Mommy raised an eyebrow. “Thorough.” Sophie bit her lip, cheeks burning. “You think this qualifies you as a baby?” Mommy asked, voice cool. “No. Not yet. That’s not for me to decide anymore.” She turned and walked toward the changing table. “Today, you’re not my secret. Today, the Registry decides what you are.” Sophie’s breath caught. She wanted to speak, to beg, but she stayed silent. The rules were already in effect. Mommy returned with a firm grip on Sophie’s wrist, guiding her out of the crib like a lamb to slaughter. She was lifted onto the padded changing table and laid flat without resistance. Her onesie was unbuttoned at the crotch and peeled back, exposing the saturated diaper underneath. No words. No mercy. The tapes came undone. The diaper peeled away with a sticky sound, revealing her damp skin to the morning air. Mommy didn’t flinch. She wiped Sophie down with practiced efficiency—clinical, not maternal—then folded the used diaper and dropped it into the pail. The next diaper was different. Thicker. Mommy didn’t say a word about it. She simply unfolded it with the flair of someone performing a ritual. The padding was dense, triple-layered, with a pastel registry pattern printed across the back—stars, letters, a barcode. The tapes weren’t adhesive. They clicked. As Mommy lifted Sophie’s ankles and slid the new diaper underneath her, Sophie realized what it meant. It was locking. The moment the final click echoed in the nursery, Sophie’s legs parted involuntarily. The thickness made closing them impossible. She didn’t try. Mommy dusted her lower belly with powder, then reached for the outfit. Hanging on the closet was the ensemble Sophie had seen the night before. She’d prayed it was a threat. A warning. It wasn’t. Ruffled pink romper with puffed sleeves. A heart-shaped bib that read “Registry Ready.” White ankle socks with lace trim. And, on the dresser, a matching bonnet. Mommy dressed her slowly, deliberately, her fingers tightening each bow and adjusting each frill with care. Not love. Care. She turned Sophie to face the full-length mirror near the dresser. Sophie stared at her reflection. The girl looking back wasn’t her. Not anymore. The massive diaper bowed out beneath the romper, so thick that her knees bent naturally. Her arms hung at her sides in silent resignation. Her lips trembled, but she said nothing. Mommy approached with the pacifier—white, oversized, institutional. A clip-on strap dangled from it, the end already tagged with her registry number. “Open.” Sophie obeyed. The pacifier slid in with a soft click. The bulb filled her mouth, silencing her. Mommy fastened the strap to the bib. “There,” Mommy whispered, brushing a curl from Sophie’s forehead. “Now you look the part.” She reached for the final accessory. A leash. It wasn’t leather or rope. It was a soft satin ribbon, pink and thin, but the clip at the end was steel. It latched onto a ring sewn into the back of Sophie’s collar. Mommy gave it a test tug. Sophie stumbled forward one step. Perfect. Mommy opened the nursery door. Outside, the hallway glowed with warm light and the low hum of weekday morning. Birds chirped. Somewhere in the distance, a delivery truck rumbled past. Sophie turned to look back at the room one last time—her sanctuary, her cell. It no longer mattered. That space, that crib, even the powder-sweet smell—none of it belonged to her. She belonged to the process now. Mommy tugged the leash gently. “Time to go.” And with her pacifier between her lips, her shoes squeaking, and her legs forced apart by the diaper’s bulk, Sophie took her first waddling steps toward the Registry. Her last day as a secret baby was over. The world was about to find out. Chapter Two: Transportation The leash tugged gently. Sophie waddled, her legs bowed by the thickness of her new diaper. Every step released a chorus of crinkles and squeaks—the frilly romper bouncing with every awkward shuffle. The pacifier bobbed gently between her lips as her cheeks burned. This wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t just dressed like a baby. She was being processed like one. Mommy didn’t look back. She led Sophie through the hallway with unshakable calm, her heels sharp against the hardwood. Sophie's breath came shallow as they passed the front room mirror. A glance was all it took to see her reflection—and recoil. The pink outfit. The bonnet. The bulging diaper. The clip-on pacifier. The leash. She looked like a parody of helplessness. But it was worse than that. She looked like she belonged that way. Down the front steps. Out into the bright suburban morning. The sun was already rising, its warmth brushing against Sophie’s exposed thighs and rustling the lace on her socks. Birds chirped. A lawn sprinkler clicked somewhere down the block. The world was just... normal. And that’s what made it unbearable. There were no guards. No fences. No dark alleys. This wasn’t a secret shame whispered in fantasy. This was reality. And today, reality would watch. Mommy opened the rear passenger door of the SUV, revealing the newly installed restraint system: a custom car seat designed for Littles over 80 pounds. High-backed. Over-padded. Full harness. This wasn’t for transportation. This was for secure delivery. Mommy didn’t ask Sophie to climb in. She placed her. Lifted under the arms. Swung sideways. Diaper first. The seat’s wide base pressed the padding outward, forcing Sophie’s knees up and apart. She squealed through her pacifier. Mommy ignored it. The harness came next. Lap belt first, then shoulder straps. The chest clip clicked into place with a heavy snick. Then came the crotch strap, pulled up tight between Sophie’s thighs and buckled into place. Each fastener was mechanical. Final. Finally, Mommy produced a baby bottle. Not a little one. A full liter, lukewarm, already dripping slightly from the rubber nipple. Inside was thickened formula—a milky blend of bland nutrition and quiet humiliation. The nipple was pressed to Sophie’s lips. “Drink.” Sophie hesitated. Mommy’s eyes narrowed. The leash, still attached, gave a warning tug. She obeyed. The nipple filled her mouth. The formula dripped onto her tongue—chalky, barely sweet, designed more for sustenance than pleasure. She had to suck hard to get it flowing. The rubber bulb pressed against her lips like a gag. Mommy closed the door. Sophie was alone now—strapped down, suckling, exposed. The engine started. They pulled out of the driveway, down the street, past hedges and recycling bins and people who had no idea what was going on behind the dark-tinted windows. A jogger passed on the sidewalk. A neighbor waved from their porch. Sophie pressed herself deeper into the car seat. She could still hear the bottle squelch every time she suckled. From the driver’s seat, Mommy’s voice floated back with cruel casualness. “Keep drinking. They’ll check your hydration level at intake. You don’t want to disappoint the Registry, do you?” Sophie closed her eyes. The bottle was still half full. Her jaw already ached. Mommy turned on the radio—classical music. Calm. Sterile. The perfect soundtrack to Sophie’s internal unraveling. Time passed slowly. Each bump in the road made her diaper squish. Each traffic stop made her skin crawl. Her mouth never stopped working. If she let go of the bottle, it would spill down her chest, and she knew what that would mean. She kept drinking. Eventually, Mommy turned off the main road and entered a large parking structure. The SUV climbed two levels and parked in a private, designated space: “DEPENDENT DROP-OFF — ZONE 3A.” Sophie opened her eyes. And stared. This wasn’t some kinky boutique or fantasy daycare. It was a government building. Five stories of red brick, steel-trimmed windows, and automated doors. A gold-and-blue sign stood out front, adorned with a soft emblem of a rattle and a barcode: Littles Registry Bureau Department of Classification, Regulation, and Dependence She wanted to scream. Her limbs pulled against the harness. The bottle fell from her lips, landing in her lap. She whimpered. Mommy opened the back door. “What a mess,” she said, retrieving the bottle. “You only drank two-thirds. That’ll have to do.” She reached for the buckles. One by one, they unlatched with cold finality. Chest clip. Shoulder straps. Crotch buckle. Each undone restraint made Sophie feel more exposed, not less. Then came the squeeze. Mommy pressed her palm firmly against the front of the diaper, checking it. Her hand stayed longer than necessary. “Damp,” she said. “That’ll score well.” Sophie was helped down from the seat, wobbling as she adjusted to gravity. The diaper’s bulk made normal walking impossible. Her legs bowed, her hips swayed. The squeaky shoes announced her arrival with every reluctant step. Mommy attached the leash to the ring on the back of Sophie’s collar. Then she smiled. “Come now, baby girl. Time to show the world what you really are.” The walk to the entrance took less than thirty seconds. It felt like hours. Other Mommies were arriving. Some carried their Littles in their arms. Others pushed them in modified strollers. Still more were leashed, like Sophie, waddling with blushing faces and downturned eyes. Every one of them was diapered. Every one of them wore something pink, blue, or yellow. No one looked surprised. This was normal here. Sophie reached the front steps. The glass doors whooshed open automatically. Air conditioning blasted across her thighs. Inside was a clean, silent lobby with tiled floors and white walls. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A receptionist sat behind a thick plexiglass window. “Name?” she asked, not looking up. Mommy stepped forward. “Sophie. Class B-2. Voluntary surrender for dependent classification. Registry packet prefiled.” The receptionist typed rapidly. “Weight?” “Eighty-six pounds.” “Daytime control?” “Absent.” “Hydration?” “Moderate. Bottle administered en route.” The receptionist’s eyes flicked up—only for a second. “Proceed to Station Three for strip-down and tagging.” Mommy tugged the leash. “Let’s go, baby.” The tile beneath Sophie’s feet was cold. The silence of the lobby was deafening. Her pacifier clip swung with each step. Her bib rustled. Her shoes squeaked. Her diaper crinkled. Everyone could hear her coming. And no one looked twice. Because she was exactly where she belonged. Chapter Three: Registration The door to Station Three slid open with a mechanical hiss. Sophie hesitated in the doorway, diaper rustling as she shifted her weight. Beyond the threshold, the world became colder. Brighter. The lobby’s sterile politeness ended here. Inside, everything was fluorescent, functional, and final. The room was rectangular, split into bays by waist-height partitions. Each one housed a different Little being processed. One lay on a table, kicking weakly as a nurse tagged her ankle. Another stood naked and trembling, her bottom marked with an inspection stamp. A third knelt in the corner, nose pressed to the wall, her bib dripping with drool as an attendant checked off boxes on a clipboard. This wasn’t a place of comfort. It was a place of measurement. “Next,” barked a voice. A uniformed staffer—female, tall, hair in a tight bun—stood waiting with a digital tablet. Her ID badge read Processing Technician - L. Raine. She wore gloves. She didn’t smile. Mommy walked Sophie forward by the leash. “Sophie. Class B-2,” she said. The technician tapped her screen. “Strip her.” Sophie’s stomach turned to ice. Mommy didn’t hesitate. She reached for Sophie’s bonnet first, untying it and tossing it into a labeled bin: “OUTFITTING—TO BE CATALOGUED.” Then the bib. Then the romper. Each item was removed with clinical efficiency, folded once, and handed over. Soon Sophie stood in just her diaper and shoes. The technician looked up. “Everything.” Sophie whimpered behind her pacifier. Mommy tugged her arm upward, unfastening the plastic panties and letting them fall to the floor. Then she unfastened each of the diaper’s four locking tabs. The thick padding peeled away with a sound that made Sophie want to disappear. The cold air hit her bare skin like a slap. “No covering,” the technician repeated. “Hands at sides. Legs shoulder-width.” Sophie obeyed. Her whole body burned with embarrassment. The tile was cold beneath her squeaky shoes. Her bare chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. Her thighs trembled. Click. Click. Click. Photos. The technician circled her slowly, snapping multiple angles: front, back, profile. No warning. No countdown. No poses. Her eyes never met Sophie’s. She didn’t see a person. She saw a subject. A barcode printer chirped behind the desk. The technician peeled the backing from a label and applied it to Sophie’s hipbone with one smooth motion. The adhesive was cold. The gesture was colder. “You are now property in flux,” she said, reciting the line like a prayer. “Not yet private. Not yet public. Status pending. Classification to be determined.” Sophie’s heart pounded. The technician handed Mommy a form. “Initial signature to confirm pre-surrender status.” Mommy signed it without reading. “Weight: 86.4 pounds. Control: none. Behavior: compliant. Visual inspection: moderate body tension. Shame response: elevated.” She tapped a few options on the tablet. “Recommended status: Class B-F3 — Fully Fitted, Public Baby.” Sophie’s knees buckled. The technician turned away and returned with a clear plastic bin. Inside were tools. Wipes. Gloves. Swabs. A set of measuring tapes. She donned a new pair of gloves and approached. “Arms up.” Sophie obeyed. Her wingspan was measured. So were her wrists. Ankles. Neck. Torso. Inner thigh. Everything was catalogued with cold detachment. “Turn.” She turned. The technician parted Sophie’s cheeks slightly, inspecting with a flashlight. Sophie gasped, humiliated. “Skin integrity intact. Diaper rash absent. No sign of self-removal attempts.” She tapped her tablet again. “Proceed to vitals.” A portable scanner was wheeled over. Sophie was made to stand on a platform as a robotic arm circled her slowly, capturing heat, hydration, bladder fullness, heart rate. “Pulse elevated. Bladder: partially filled. Oral hydration: moderate. Muscle resistance: minimal. Reflexes: submissive.” The technician looked to Mommy. “She’s ideal.” Mommy’s mouth curled into a satisfied smile. “I knew she was ready.” The technician reached for a collar—soft, pale pink, lined with silicone. It had a silver tag on the front, etched with Sophie’s barcode, registry number, and the words: DEPENDENT — B-F3 — MATERNAL CLAIMED. She fastened it around Sophie’s neck. Sophie flinched. The clasp clicked into place and locked. “There. Now we know who you belong to.” Sophie stood frozen. Naked except for her collar and her shoes. The pacifier swung slightly from the clip still fastened to her now-empty bib snap. “Remove the shoes.” She stepped out of them clumsily. Her bare feet slapped softly against the tile. The technician took them and placed them in the bin marked “TO BE FITTED.” Then she reached for a small container and pulled out something horrifyingly familiar: a government-issued diaper. Not like the ones from home. This one was thick—unrealistically thick—with pastel printing and reinforced leak guards. Tracking code printed across the back in pale purple. A tamper-proof waistband. Triple-adhesive tapes. Embossed with the Registry seal. “Step back. Lie down.” Sophie sank onto the padded changing mat. The tile squeaked beneath her as she moved. The diaper was slid beneath her bottom. Powder followed—heavy and scented. Then lotion. Then the diaper was drawn up tightly and sealed with a series of loud, irreversible clicks. “This is your designation diaper,” the technician said. “Registry Class B-F3. You will wear this model and size until your status changes. Do you understand?” Sophie nodded slowly, her eyes glassy. Mommy stepped closer, her expression unreadable. “They’ll see her in it, won’t they?” she asked. The technician nodded. “Visibility is required. This classification mandates public awareness.” She handed Mommy a small envelope marked PUBLIC FITTING – INSTRUCTIONS & OPTIONS. “She’s ready for outfitting.” The technician made a note on her tablet. “Proceed to Station Five.” Mommy reattached the leash to Sophie’s collar. The tug was gentler this time. Almost proud. Sophie’s diaper crinkled with every step. The cold from the floor gave way to heat rising in her face, behind her ears, between her legs. The door to the fitting chamber opened before them. And behind her, the scanner emitted a soft chime. Classification: Confirmed.

Great chapter! Happy to see this story back! Definitely looking forward to what's next! (Now we just need Shifting Sands and Going Green to come back too )

Chapter 3 : Jill and Marcus glanced at Jack from across the desk, their expressions sharp. Marcus leaned back slightly, a faint smirk on his face. “You better not mess this up for us,” he said, his tone casual but carrying an unmistakable weight. Jack felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Marcus was broad-shouldered, towering over him by a good head and more, muscles visible even under his sweatshirt. Compared to him, Jack felt small, fragile, entirely out of his depth. The thought of disappointing either Jill or Marcus made his throat tighten, his palms prickling with nervous sweat. He nodded quickly, trying to force confidence into his posture, but the sense of inferiority lingered like a shadow. Mrs. Turner continued at the front, her voice calm and steady, explaining the finer details of the project: the documentation requirements, the grading rubric, the unexpected scenarios that could come up throughout the semester. Jack tried to focus, but his mind kept wandering back to Marcus’s words—and the looming dread of being the “child” in their project. The bell finally rang, cutting through the murmur of conversation. Jack gathered his books with a careful precision, stuffing papers and packets into his backpack. Just as he reached the door, Mrs. Turner’s sharp voice stopped him. “Jack,” she said, her gaze firm but not unkind, “you, Jill, and Marcus are to report to my classroom by 10 a.m. tomorrow for your special project supplies. Be punctual.” Jack’s throat tightened. “Yes, Mrs. Turner,” he said, trying to sound steady. He stepped out of the classroom, his steps slow and deliberate, and made his way to the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he shut himself into a stall and leaned against the cold metal door, trying to steady his breathing. But it wasn’t long before panic crept in. His chest tightened, his vision tunneled, and the room seemed to tilt around him. From the stall next to him, he could hear the familiar, unmistakable sound of Marcus’s deep voice. “So, you guys saw what’s up with our group, right? Jack’s gonna be the baby.” Jack’s stomach sank. He stayed perfectly still, listening as Marcus laughed with his friends from the football team. The words cut sharper than he expected. “Wonder what Mrs. Turner has in mind for him,” Marcus joked. “Special tasks, all tailored just for our little project baby. Bet it’s gonna be hilarious.” The group erupted into laughter. Jack’s hands tightened into fists, his knuckles white, but he said nothing, remaining silent as the laughter echoed through the bathroom. When the voices faded, Jack pushed off the wall and took a shaky, uneven breath. He left the bathroom, each step toward his dorm feeling heavier than the last. By the time he reached his room, he was trembling slightly, his heart still racing. He dropped his backpack on the floor and collapsed onto his bed, hugging his pillow tightly as if it could shield him from reality. The ceiling stared back at him, blank and unyielding, and for a moment, he wished he could close his eyes and wake up from this nightmare. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Jack glanced at it reluctantly. A message from Jill. “Don’t be late tomorrow.” He didn’t reply. He tossed the phone onto his bed and curled tighter into the pillow, letting the weight of the day press down on him. He stared at the wall above his bed, wishing with every fiber of his being that this was all just a bad dream—and that somehow, by morning, it would all be gone.

Part 44 The picnic was about as awkward and uncomfortable as I expected. Normally, I made a point to keep my distance when Paige’s friends were around. Yet here I was, sharing another meal with them on top of all the ‘quality time’ from the previous evening. Noelle’s presence hardly helped. Even behaving as closely to my real self as possible felt like an act, when she could very well be interpreting my attitude as a troublesome girl just pretending for the time being. I also had to ignore the knowing looks from Paige, Annika, and Violet as they traded off with whomever had my babysitter’s attention. While I quietly ate my lunch, focusing on taking small bites to demonstrate to the best of my ability that I could handle what Noelle recently suggested, the other girls struck up a conversation with the brunette. She talked about her college classes and how she ended up choosing her major, as well as the specialized babysitting services she offered. Apparently she started just like anyone else when she was younger–simply taking whatever jobs she could find around the neighborhood for a little spending money. However, once she proved capable of handling the houses that most sitters took on once and then never returned to, everything fell into place. She started getting referred to other families that had similar issues, and figured out that people would pay a premium for someone who not only wouldn’t be scared off in a single evening, but who could often reform the charges she was hired to watch. It didn’t happen overnight, of course, but repeat clients almost always reported a noticeable improvement over time. “Long story short, I shifted from quantity to quality once I started college,” Noelle said, “I didn’t want to drop the business, but I also wanted to focus on my studies and have a social life.” “So, the occasional lucrative job during the semester,” Paige said, “And whatever you want over the summer?” Noelle nodded, “Pretty much. I make more in a single weekend than someone would for a whole week at a minimum wage job. Not that I’m trying to brag; it’s just important to know that there are better ways to make money, especially if you can find the right niche.” “Totally,” Violet said, “Like how I make a decent amount by streaming.” Paige scoffed. “Uh huh. Because of your gaming skills, or because you’re a hot girl?” “Both!” she grinned, “Like you’re complaining, anyway. I’m the reason our whole team has such good tech.” “And your team is the real secret to your success,” Paige fired back, before abruptly turning everyone’s attention towards me, “What about you, Miley? Any big plans to be rich or famous?” Rich, maybe. I had no interest in being a streamer or an influencer or whatever like more and more girls my age were getting into. Even the former wasn’t a current desire, as I was more focused on figuring out a college major for the time being. I still had all summer to narrow down the possibilities. Yet I couldn’t go into any of that when Noelle believed I was a thirteen year old who didn’t really care for school. Leaning on my middle school memories wouldn’t help much, as I had always been more into extracurriculars than anything that provided extra spending money beyond the allowance I had at the time. “Not really,” I replied after a beat. What did Miley even like doing for fun that could be parceled into cash? I had no clue. Deflecting right away, I said, “I’m going to go find a bathroom.” Though I did have to pee a little bit after not going since whenever I did overnight, I was mostly interested in enacting my hope/plan to find someone I knew. Sitting at a picnic table certainly wasn’t the best way to achieve that. “Don’t stray too far,” Noelle warned me. We both knew why she wasn’t insisting on coming with me. As I got up from the table and turned to walk away, I let out a quiet sigh of relief when no one else decided to tag along for the trip. It would have been easy enough for Paige or one of her friends to claim they needed the bathroom as well, if only to keep eyes on me, but apparently they were more interested in talking about side hustles that could be both lucrative and flexible. Or perhaps they wanted to see what Noelle would do if I did stray too far. Either way, I was free to enjoy what I realized was the first moment of alone time I had found all day. Since this was my first time at the park, I had an excuse to act like I didn’t know where I was going. The truth was, I had spotted the small building with bathrooms and water fountains on our way in, but I intentionally took a more perpendicular path while I pretended to find my bearings. Anything that would let me cover more ground. Unfortunately, luck was not on my side. My wide arc towards the eventual destination didn’t lead to me seeing any familiar faces. Of course, I planned on completing the loop on the way back. And keeping my eyes peeled on the way back to the car, too. Anything that might save me from Noelle’s assumptions and Paige’s lies. Initially, I hadn’t planned on actually using the bathroom; it had only been a convenient half truth I used to excuse myself. I typically avoided public restrooms when possible, for obvious reasons. Except now that I was there, the simple proximity and sight of the ‘Women’ sign and symbol was enough to tell my body now was a better time than waiting until we got home. Deciding to step into the bathroom instead of turning around ended up unintentionally being a really good choice. Because I immediately recognized the girl washing her hands. “Ruby!” I exclaimed. Way louder than I meant in the resonant bathroom. Blushing as she jumped a little in surprise, I lowered my voice back to a regular volume. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know . . . ” The brunette girl from my ballet studio turned my way and took a moment to register who I was, no doubt due to my simple outfit that was unlike both my leotard and what I normally wore, then said, “Alyssa? Hey.” Wow. It was the first time I had heard my own name all day. Now I just had to cross my fingers that I would be able to explain this in a way that didn’t sound as insane as it actually was, and convince her to follow me back to Noelle so I could finally prove that I was who I said I was from the very start. ------------------------ Check out my website: www.ladyluciastories.com And read the entirety of "The Babysitter" (105 parts) and other stories on my SubscribeStar: https://subscribestar.adult/lady-lucia

18. Meeting People Getting to Greater Ashfields should have been easy. The busses were regular, and stopped every two or three minutes along the route. However, Palmerston didn’t seem to have any central bus depot; just different circular routes around the centre. Some of them went back to Ashfields, some to other towns that Tess had only heard the names of. She knew that the number 74 was the Raybridge—Palmerston circular, because she’d used it quite a lot before. But that was no use to her because she wasn’t heading for anywhere on that route today. It would have been fine if she had some reason to visit her old house, but she needed to head into town. She missed the first bus, because when it came it was heading in exactly the wrong direction, and there wasn’t a break in traffic long enough for her to reach the bus stop on the other side of the road. Asking her phone for transit directions had told her which street she needed to catch it at, but didn’t seem to show the direction. Thankfully, she wasn’t too bothered about a little delay, and she knew that if she just crossed over there would be another one along sooner or later. So she stood and waited, leaning against the least-rusted side of the bus shelter while she tapped out a quick message on her phone. Her friends would know right away that she was likely to be delayed ten minutes, and she hoped that they wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t like any of them was universally punctual; and Clatter allowed them to let her know with a single tap that they’d seen her message, so she knew nobody would be wondering where she had got to. When she caught sight of herself reflected in the window of a little shop opposite, Tess almost did a double take. She’d thought that she looked pretty good before, but now she was impressed with how mature she looked. Maybe not as tall as most girls her age, and a little underdeveloped physically, but that would come with time. What impressed her was how serious she looked, like she had everything sorted out and nothing was going to worry her. In a way, perhaps, she looked a little more like Gabby. She wasn’t in a suit, but there was something familiar in that pose, and that expression. Maybe she was coming to understand her cousin more, or just starting to understand herself. She snapped a quick photo of herself just in case she couldn’t recreate the same look later. She’d have to share something to let everyone know she was getting on well after moving to a new home. Friends complimenting her on her pics were the one thing she missed from starting new schools. The people she used to know would be universally positive and give a wave of compliments to keep her spirits up for a couple of weeks until they forgot about her, but now she had the same friends, it seemed strange to move but not have a new and exotic landscape to show herself off against. The bus came before she could send any of those messages, and once it set off she kept herself occupied just playing silly games on her phone. It would take nearly half an hour to get to Ashfields, and she assumed that it would still be early in the morning for most of the people she might have wanted to talk to. She did briefly consider calling her parents, to let them know she was getting back into the swing of things. She might not like them always peering into her lifestyle, and she knew that she didn’t need their help, but it would be polite to let them know that there was nothing to worry about. But she paused for a second before making the call, when she realised that she had absolutely no idea what time it would be in far-off San Lorenzo. It could have been lunchtime, or it could have been the middle of the night. She would have to look up the time difference before she called them again. She was used to sleeping erratically for a few days after moving, and being unable to wake up at a sensible time, but this was the first time she’d had a real reason to call someone who wasn’t in her current time zone, and it was a shock to realise just how little she knew about the arrangement of different countries in time. That gave her enough to think about for the journey, and she was stepping out onto Hilbert Avenue. After all the things that might have slowed her down getting here, she was back on familiar ground. Spike was already there, and Annette. They were standing outside the Swaggery, the girls’ favourite place to check out quirky jewellery. There was everything displayed in the window, from faux-antique brooches to wannabe-gangsta bling, all at prices that weren’t completely out of reach for a couple of teenage girls who wanted to change it up a bit. But that wasn’t the point on this kind of shopping trip. More than likely, in five minutes they would have fixed their collective attention on something on display in the window, a particular ring that was discounted for good reason, and taking turns to add their own little twist to fantasies about the kind of person who would voluntarily purchase something so hideous. Occasionally they might see something they liked, but that wasn’t the point in a shop like this. It wasn’t the point of the day at all. Today it only took them ten minutes to assume that one set of rings was actually a torture device. They knew that some people liked to have a series of tacky gold rings spelling out a word, although their best guesses about the reasons all seemed to fall short. But in a town like this, not the most bohemian of places, why would someone choose to buy something like that bearing Greek characters? The stories started with gangsters who liked to leave a mark when they punched someone, but Tess was able to tell them that the unfamiliar characters spelled out the words ‘War’ and ‘Peace’, which seemed a rather unusual choice. Perhaps, she said, they were used by the Greek Mafia to leave people with bruises that reminded them precisely why they had earned a beating. Only Spike could have managed to one-up that feat of imagination, and he did. He spun a tale of the Greek Inquisition, funded by a secret society of half-elven immigrants from a fantasy land, who didn’t fully understand what they were writing. It was completely absurd, even more so than their previous attempts, but it just fit the escalating mood of silliness. And all three were laughing out loud before Chloe and Kim arrived to join them. “Having fun without us?” Tess jumped in surprise at the tap on her shoulder, and when she got her breath back she still couldn’t talk through the insistent fit of giggles that now lurked behind her serious facade. “Why, Miss Kim, I think perhaps you have startled my friend. She seems quite unable to warn you about the wiles of the Greek Inquisition.” The voice was perfect. Nasal, and with a faint accent, it was the kind of thing that could bring instant laughter to any fan of Live From Palmerston! whether they understood the context or not. That had always been Spike’s gift. When he was being serious, he could say exactly the right words, but when he wanted to make someone laugh the words didn’t even matter; he could call up any character from pop culture just with the right voice, and when he coupled that with an appropriate style of speaking, just the right mix of pretentious and pompous phrasing, that laughter was pretty contagious. “Is it okay if I get something to eat?” Chloe asked, without dismissing the giggles that had followed. “I know I just got here, but I had to deal with Dyllan again, so I skipped breakfast.” “Early lunch?” Spike suggested. “We got all afternoon to hang out.” Everybody nodded. Tess didn’t check the time until they’d decided, but she was sure that it must be after eleven, so there was no reason they couldn’t all get some food. She’d only recently had a substantial breakfast, but that probably meant she would be able to sustain herself on a less substantial meal, and maybe save some money at the same time. 19. Exactly What You Wanted The perfect place for a quick lunch was a little café called Brunchietta, although Tess had never known anyone not to call it Nigel’s. The menus and signage had changed about a year ago to bring in a new kind of customer, but everyone still knew the place by the old name. Even if Nigel himself (a middle-aged man with grey-gold hair that seemed to grow only around his ears) wasn’t there as often as he used to be, it was still a place that held so many happy memories for her friends. They got food at the counter, and went to sit at one of the weird little wrought iron tables on the street outside. There were only a few tables that actually belonged to Nigel’s, but the pedestrian area of Ashfields had benches everywhere, and there were already people all across the courtyard enjoying an early lunch or a late breakfast. “I said I’d get you lunch,” Spike said with one eyebrow raised. “I can afford a sandwich,” Tess answered. “I got enough to last until my parents get my allowance sorted out. You can save your money for nice things.” “What kind of nice things?” “I mean, you…” Tess started, and then cut herself off, blushing. Was he offering her a gift? Had she implied that without meaning to? She didn’t know the right words to say now, She didn’t want him to feel like he owed her something, but she also didn’t want to risk rejecting him if he actually wanted to give her something. Why were people so hard to read? She could never tell if Spike was being serious, and right now she was really wishing she could be sure. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, cutting off her confusion. “But I do need to get you a housewarming gift. You’re in a new place now, it’s tradition.” “You don’t have to. But if you want to, I’m sure it’d help me feel more at home there.” Chloe changed the subject soon after that, but Tess couldn’t stop wondering what this gift was going to be. She wished that she could invite him to her new house, but she was still too embarrassed. She hated that she couldn’t spend time with him without all of her friends around, and that made her feel a little guilty too. She didn’t even know what she wanted, so it was just as well that she didn’t need to think of something else to say. Lunch was pretty good, as usual, and the topic of conversation changed so quickly that probably nobody could remember all of the things they talked about. Kim and Spike both got cakes, and walked around town with their mouths full for a few minutes. Tess could have had one if she wanted, but wasn’t particularly hungry by then. The chatter continued, not about anything in particular. To a casual observer, they might have seemed like a group of friends who got together like this, just killing time. It seemed a little weird to Tess when she realised that Spike wasn’t normally with him. He was a year younger than all of the girls, and he was only here because he’d wanted to spend time with her, but he was instantly a part of the group. That was his talent, more than anything else. Everybody liked Spike, apart from his own family. Tess tried not to let herself think about anything so serious. For the most part she threw herself into staring into shop windows, chatting with her friends, and making up imaginary histories for the people they saw on the street. She’d been worried that Spike would think that was a weird hobby, but he seemed to have a natural talent to go with all his charisma. She hoped that he would be able to join them more often in future, and that next time she would be the one offering to get him something for lunch. The day wasn’t particularly remarkable, until the sky started fading to grey and the girls were starting to glance at the time occasionally. Then they passed a charity shop, and there was only one thing on Tess’s mind. She didn’t know why it had caught her attention; it had probably been standing there on display for weeks, and she had never noticed. She was in a different frame of mind now, or something had jogged her memory. Standing in the window, a little to one side, was a weird little rubber figurine with purple hair and a glitter-coated jacket that looked like it had come straight out of the 1980s. It certainly wasn’t something any of this group would consider buying, and it would be a safe guess that everyone else passing the shop felt the same. But when she saw it, Tess remembered something that made her stop right away. “Something you like?” Spike asked right away. It should have been obvious from the way she had walked right up to the window, but he felt the need to ask. “No,” she answered. “It’s hideous. But it’s a memory, right? You know I said my cousin Gabby used to babysit when I was a little kid? She had like two posters in her room with that dude on, I think it’s from some anime thing. And she had the doll too, but it got broken. Some kid she was looking after broke it, for all I know it might have been me, but I remember she was always sore about it. She wouldn’t let me touch any of her stuff, said she didn’t trust little kids after that thing got wrecked. Like the earliest I remember of her, and she could never get another one because the show was only really popular in China, and regular shops didn’t have the merch.” “Wow, that is some kind of obsession.” “I guess. It was years ago now, maybe there was something cool about it. But I thought I should get her a present to say thanks for letting me stay, and a dumb memory from ten years ago… I guess I don’t know that much about what she likes now, and anything I can think of might be wrong. But ten years ago, I know she would have loved one of those.” “That’s sweet. I didn’t know you were such a romantic.” Tess didn’t know how to answer that, so she breezed into the shop and pointed to the weird figurine visible in the window. It wasn’t expensive, and she was sure it would make a perfect present. The bored girl behind the counter took her money, and wrapped the doll up in a messy ball of crumpled paper to guard against it getting damaged again. While she was there, her eye caught on a T-shirt that would be perfect for Spike’s sense of humour as well, so she quickly grabbed it while he was looking away. She put it into her bag, thinking that it would be better if she could make it a surprise. She would give it to him later, and let him know that he was always on her mind. The rest of their trip was relatively uneventful, and before long they started to go their separate ways. The girls all had to get different busses to head home, after reassuring each other that they would do this again soon. Just getting the time to spend with her friends made Tess feel more confident, and less isolated after all the stresses of the last week. Spike was still walking by her side; he would probably be walking home, so saw no reason to head off as long as there was someone still around to talk to. Tess considered herself lucky that her bus was the one they had just missed, buying her an extra ten minutes of his company. She liked to tell herself that he would have stayed talking to her anyway, that it was only her he was interested in, but she didn’t have that much confidence. Compared to the charismatic and imaginative people he surrounded himself with, she didn’t really stand out at all. “So… had a good time?” “Yeah.” “I kind of–” “I got you–” they spoke at the same time, and then both went silent. After a few moments they tried again, both coming out with “You first” at the same moment, and then giggles took away their power of speech. This time, instead of speaking Spike swung a battered backpack off his shoulder and put his arm through the strap the other way, holland the bag against his chest. He started to unzip the top, and Tess wondered what he was reaching for. It turned out to be a large bundle, slightly smaller than a football, wrapped in the same untidy mess of paper and sticky tape as the gift she’d bought for Gabby. “I got you something,” he said. “To help a new house feel like a home. You always said you wanted a plant in your room.” “Yeah, but I can’t keep them alive,” she smirked. “It’ll be dead in a week. And this… doesn’t feel like a plant.” “Open it when you get home,” he said with a smile. “Send me a picture if you like it. Show me you’re settling into your new place.” At that, Tess went silent again and stared down at the package in her hands. Would she be able to take a picture of his gift – whatever it turned out to be – without showing off the outrageous pinkness that now surrounded her? She told herself that she would find a way. This was a really thoughtful gesture, and she wanted him to know just how much she appreciated it. But she didn’t want to think right now about that room, and all the things that had happened. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked, making Tess aware that she’d just gone silent on him, lost in her own thoughts about how the next few weeks of her life were going to go. “No, not you. I’m just… Well, I don’t know. There’s things I don’t think I can say. To anyone. But I can deal with it. If I want to share, you’ll be the first to know. Best to just keep my mind off it. Don’t worry about me.” “It’s hard not to when you say things like that. But I trust you. You’re like a best friend; you’ll tell me if you need help, right? Promise me that much.” “Yeah,” she said, giving a little nod. But somewhere deep inside, she wasn’t sure what she was really worried about. Was it her childish room still upsetting her, even after changing the blinds? Was it the fact that she’d wet the bed like a little kid twice in one week, making her see just how tentative her claim to adulthood was? Or could it be that there were things she wanted to say to Spike that she didn’t even have the words for? She didn’t know the right thing to say, but she reached into her own bag and produced a gift. “I got something for you too. I saw it and just… thought you’d appreciate it.” Spike pulled his gift out of the bag before saying thank you, and then smiled as he read the words on the shirt. “Soft serve?” he appeared confused. “Should I assume the other text makes some kind of sense of this?” “I don’t know. I think it says something about the price of fire. I never got the hang of Chinese writing. But the Russian on the back says ‘because you did’, so I’d guess it’s just characters chosen because they look nice.” “It’s gibberish,” he said with a smile. “At least it’s not pretending to be all insightful. And I’m sure I can think of something to say if anyone asks what it means. I love it, thank you. You know me so well.” “I’m sure you saw into my soul just as well. But if it needs to be wrapped carefully, maybe I’d best not open it yet. I’ll let you know what I think later. I wish I could invite you round, but… oh hell.” “Something wrong?” “I forgot, I’m supposed to be meeting Gabby’s girlfriend today. I was going to offer to help with cooking when I got back, make a good impression. But I didn’t plan for half an hour on the bus home, I might be back late now. I really hope I’m not going to disappoint her.” “I think she knows you. And it sounds like she cares. You judge yourself more harshly than anyone else does. You should let yourself relax occasionally, stop pushing yourself to be this super mature person you feel like you have to be.” “Yeah, maybe I… well, that’s my bus. I’ll see you Monday, maybe call later to tell you how good you are at choosing the perfect gift. I’m sure I’ll love it.” “I hope so. Just call me if you need anything. Any time.” Tess blushed as she stepped onto the bus, and went back to wondering why she was so scared to say what she really felt.

Chapter 2 : Mrs. Turner returned to the front of the classroom, a neatly organized packet now in her hands. She waited for the room to settle before beginning, her voice steady as she walked them through the details of the assignment. “This project,” she said, holding up the outline, “is designed to simulate the day-to-day responsibilities of caring for a newborn while maintaining your academic obligations. You will be graded not only on completion, but on consistency, effort, and cooperation within your group.” Pages rustled as students flipped through their packets. In the back of the room, Jack, Jill, and Marcus sat in an uneasy silence, each of them scanning the outline with growing confusion. Without the A.I. doll, the instructions felt… off. Incomplete. Or worse—impossible. Jack’s eyes moved quickly over the page. Each “parent” will be evaluated individually on their ability to complete essential childcare tasks. He swallowed. At the front, Mrs. Turner continued. “Your responsibilities will include, but are not limited to: diapering, feeding, and engaging your child in social and developmental activities. Each task must be documented. One parent will perform the task, while the other photographs it as proof of completion.” A few students laughed nervously. Others scribbled notes. Mrs. Turner began pacing slowly between the desks. “You will also be expected to maintain a daily care log,” she added. “This includes feeding times, sleep schedules, mood observations, and any challenges you encounter.” Jill flipped a page, her brow furrowing. “There’s more…” she muttered quietly. Jack leaned slightly closer, reading along. Additional responsibilities include: – Establishing and maintaining a consistent sleep routine – Participating in at least two “public outings” with your child (campus-approved locations only) – Engaging in developmental interaction such as reading aloud, talking, or playtime – Managing periods of distress (crying simulations or assigned scenarios) – Coordinating caregiving schedules between both parents – Attending one scheduled “wellness check” with the professor for evaluation Marcus let out a quiet breath. “This is insane…” Mrs. Turner continued, clearly in her element. “You will also be assigned unexpected scenarios throughout the semester—situations that require adaptability. Illness, schedule conflicts, emotional distress. Parenthood,” she said simply, “is rarely predictable.” Jack shifted in his seat, his grip tightening on the packet. Without the doll, every single instruction seemed to point back to him. Jill glanced between the outline and Jack, the realization slowly setting in. “How are we even supposed to… do this?” she whispered. Marcus shook his head. “We’re not. This doesn’t make any sense.” At the front, Mrs. Turner gave a small, knowing smile—as if she could feel the tension building in the room. “For those of you in… unique group arrangements,” she added, her eyes briefly flicking toward the back, “creativity and commitment will be especially important.” Jack sank slightly in his chair. Every task. Every responsibility. It all still applied. Just… differently now. And somehow, that made it feel even more overwhelming. Mrs. Turner began moving slowly through the classroom, a series of small, colorfully labeled boxes in her arms. Each one rattled softly with the clink of tiny items tucked carefully inside—bottles, diapers, wipes, pacifiers, and miniature blankets. “As you receive your supplies,” she explained, placing a box on each group’s desk, “remember that these are essential for the care of your child. Take inventory, check everything is in place, and plan accordingly. Organization is part of your grade.” Excited murmurs rose from the other students as they opened their boxes, examining the contents, shifting diapers from one hand to another, testing the weight of the bottles, and laughing quietly at the realism of the tiny clothes. Jack, Jill, and Marcus watched in silence, a knot of unease forming in Jack’s stomach. When Mrs. Turner reached their row, she paused, holding the final box in her hands. She leaned slightly forward, resting the box on the edge of the desk. “For your group,” she said carefully, her tone calm but authoritative, “the situation is… a little different. Since your group is short-handed, you won’t receive your supplies today. Instead, you’ll need to return to my office tomorrow after class to pick up a special set of items designed for your unique arrangement.” Jack’s stomach sank further. “Special set?” he asked hesitantly. “Yes,” Mrs. Turner replied, her gaze sharp but not unkind. “This set includes everything your group will need to simulate childcare without a standard A.I. doll. It will require creativity and a bit of improvisation, but I have every confidence you’ll manage.” Jill exchanged a glance with Marcus, their expressions mirroring each other’s mix of frustration and disbelief. Marcus muttered under his breath, “Great… just great.” Jack, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The idea of being the group’s “child” was already overwhelming, and now the added complexity of improvising with unknown supplies only amplified his anxiety. He could feel Jill’s eyes on him, though she didn’t say anything. Mrs. Turner straightened, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “I know this seems unusual, but remember—this assignment is about teamwork, adaptability, and understanding the pressures of parenthood. You’ll report back tomorrow. For now, everyone else can begin familiarizing themselves with their dolls and supplies.” With that, she moved on to the next row, leaving Jack, Jill, and Marcus in an awkward silence. The rest of the classroom buzzed with activity, laughter, and the faint squeak of doll limbs as students explored the contents of their boxes. Jack exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel the weight of both Jill’s and Marcus’s eyes on him, and the realization settled in: tomorrow, he would have to face this project fully—and in a role he never imagined for himself. For the first time since stepping into Mrs. Turner’s classroom, Jack felt completely out of his depth.

There are some pretty solid survival advantages conferred to us by fear so I’d be wary about TOTALLY disregarding it. Despite what Hollywood suggests, fearless people statistically end up lifeless people. Having said that, I accept that since being eaten by wolves is less of a daily risk in modern life, our propensity to weight the risk of catastrophe so much more highly than reward can hold us back. Maybe we should learn to evaluate our fear a little more clinically rather than being simply ruled by it. I still think running with scissors is a bad idea 🤣 Do you really think it was fair for your Dad to weaponise his own demise as a tool to try to force behavioural change from you? To me that was an attempt to manufacture and exploit fear but all it achieved was loading you up with guilt at his (statistically inevitable) demise. On pure statistics, the chance of him dying on his birthday were no greater or lesser than any other day of the year. In reality however, it's probably a little more likely than not. Friends in the medical trade who work with the aged have told me before of significantly enhanced mortality risks on or shortly after significant life events. It's as though our brains pass a mile marker and realise at some level that the next mile marker is too far away and so there's not so much point in continuing. Congratulations on having an entrepreneurial persuasion: I’ve never possessed that and I suspect this deficiency has cost me in term of foregone opportunity but on the other hand, I haven’t been eaten by wolves: so far, at least. I will check out the window before going to the mailbox.

VENTURA HIGHWAY Let's go surfing now Everybody's learning how Come on a safari with me Pulling into the parking lot, Hollie reached out and turned off the radio. Not knowing what to expect, she had timed her arrival at The Pirate's Roost for a little after seven. If the parking lot was empty, she would order something to eat at the bar and chat up the bartender. If the place was packed, she would settle for a drink and try and work the room the same way she had the night before at The Mermaid. As it tuned out, the joint was busy, but there were still empty tables. From her seat at the bar, she quickly surveyed the room. The boating enthusiasts who had spent the day out on the water were easy to spot; she had spent many a weekend in Santa Barbara's bars and lounges playing cat and mouse with similar groups. She would have to chat them up because the odds were good that they would know what pier her targets were using if they were indeed the crew that the Outfit was after. And her targets were also easy to spot. Younger, well tanned and physically fit, their arms covered with tattoos, they stood out from the rest of the crowd. They were also keeping to themselves, holding down a couple of tables between the bar and the bandstand. One of them, she noted, was keeping a wary eye on the bouncer, who was leaning against the opposite end of the bar. Three young women whom Hollie recognized were sitting in various laps, and wandering hands were teasing parts of their anatomy that traditionally were off limits in public places. The bouncer, she knew, would let it go so long as everything remained covered, but he would spring into action if the girls began to show off their wares in violation of California's dreaded public indecency law. Wandering over to the jukebox, Hollie dialed up the Platters' Red Sails in the Sunset before returning to her perch. It didn't take long for an elderly member of the sailing set to approach her. “Good evening, Miss. My name's Ralph; are you meeting someone here?” “No. I'm driving from LA to Santa Barbara, and this looked like a good place to stop. Lots of nice cars in the parking lot.” “Then you're welcome to join us. Might be best for you to do so. The crowd in here sometimes gets ugly.” Ralph threw a quick glance at the hard cases on the other side of the room. “I was born and raised in the west Texas oil fields, Ralph, so I can take care of myself. Still, I'm not looking for trouble, so I think I'll take you up on your offer.” “West Texas, eh? Until I retired two years ago, I flew 727's into Midland two or three times a week.” “Continental?” “Yeah, but I was based in LA. Fell in love with the ocean, so decided to move up here when I retired, buy a boat, and learn how to sail. Keeps me busy.” Hollie smiled. There seemed to be at least one Ralph in every bar she visited. The climate and life style drew them from the Midwest in ever growing numbers. Drink in hand, she followed Ralph to his table and introduced herself. “So what brings you to our favorite watering hole,” Wayne politely inquired. He owned a local sporting good's store that no longer ate up much of his time. “I'm a legal secretary up in Santa Barbara. The senior partner and I were down in LA meeting with corporate clients in Century City. This looked like the kind of place where a single girl could get off the highway and grab a bite to eat without being mauled. Ralph set me straight about those guys over by the bandstand, and suggested that I join you. How's the clam chowder?” “I'd recommend it,” Steve cut in, “along with the swordfish.” “Steve taught math at the local high school for forty years,” Ralph laughed. “Now his job is to figure out who owes what when the check comes.” “So what's with those guys?” Hollie nodded in the direction of her targets. “Property development is going great guns all over the county right now, and we engage the construction crews when we walk the sites. If there are problems, they can lead us right to them. You wouldn't believe how often we run into snafus like surveying errors up in the hills, never mind potential violations of the Environmental Quality Act. These guys look the type, but I've never seen any of them before, and a lot of their tattoos are military.” “And how would you know that?” Warren had retired from the police department, and he also wondered about the hard cases over in the corner. They had never caused any trouble that the bouncer couldn't handle and he hadn't spotted any gang tattoos, but something about them rubbed him the wrong way. “I'm from west Texas … the oil fields. I worked in a cafe when I was eighteen, and a lot of the riggers who dined there were ex-military. Airborne, navy and marines for the most part. Lots of tattoos.” “Good call,” Warren conceded. “Those guys don't say much,” Ralph went on, “but I've never heard of a construction site where a crew works three weeks steady then takes three weeks off. Whatever it is they're doing, construction ain't it.” “And who takes a boat to a work site,” Steve wondered. He was as puzzled as the others. “Maybe there's a development of some kind under way on one of the islands,” Hollie suggested. “Not without a permit,” Warren snorted; “and if one had been issued it would have been all over the newspapers. Remember, apart from Catalina there's no one out there except for the Navy. It's true that five of the islands are being turned into a national park next year, but the Park Service is keeping the footprint to a minimum. These guys aren't building facilities because there aren't going to be any.” “And the Navy doesn't sail people out of Ventura harbor on fishing boats,” Wayne muttered. “A fishing boat?” “A deep sea sport fishing boat,” Wayne amplified, “and a big one … eighty feet or more. Drive over to the harbor and take a look if you want. Even at night, she's easy to spot.” “You mean you can just drive right up to it?” “Nah, access to the dock is controlled. But if you drive up to the gate, you can see her from the dirt lot where you turn around.” “Fascinating. Maybe after dinner I'll take a look; does it have a name?” “Yeah … the Marlin Hunter, out of La Jolla.” “I'd love to see it underway; any idea when she is due to sail?” “Sure. Nine-thirty this coming Friday morning; the skipper and his mate ferry fourteen of them somewhere, and bring fourteen others back to shore. Regular as clockwork.” “Could they be working on a gambling ship moored in international waters?” “You mean like the one in that TV series, Mr. Lucky?” Warren pursed his lips thinking about it. “I suppose it's theoretically possible, but how are the gamblers getting to and from shore? Not on the Marlin Hunter, that's for sure.” “Could they be working some kind of smuggling operation?” “Another possibility, but we keep coming up against the fact that the boat only goes out once every three weeks. Plus, a fleet of smaller fishing boats would draw less attention. Trawlers constantly coming and going would be ideal for smuggling purposes.” “That might explain why I get high eating sushi,” Wayne tittered. “You and me both,” Hollie laughed. “And here I'm having swordfish for dinner! Is it too late to change my order?” . . . . “Mommy?” Lying on the changing table, looking up at Sarah, Priscilla could feel two of Mommy's fingers plunged deep into her rectum. “Dulcolax,” Sarah said with a vicious smile. “Your mother called me while you and Vic were driving home. She wanted me to know that you were clearly jealous because she was paying so much attention to your sister. She wants me to take you in hand. I could spank you, but the state of your diaper tells me that you're constipated, and a spanking won't solve that problem. Maybe your attitude will improve if we clean you out; we're going to give it a try.” “But at bedtime?” “See? There you go again, questioning my judgment. You will mess your diaper, hopefully more than once. I'll clean you up in the morning, and fill your tummy with nice, warm breast milk. A healthier diet should improve your digestion.” "But lying in a shitty diaper all night … I could get a diaper rash!” “Possibly. If so, it will be the first of many. You might as well get used to it.” Removing her fingers, Sarah liberally doused Pris with baby powder before tightly pinning her diaper in place. She pulled her pink baby pants up, and then the canvas diaper cover. When the locked clicked home, Priscilla knew that there would be no escaping the torment her Mommy had in store for her. . . . . Deciding that her targets weren't going anywhere, Hollie settled back to enjoy her meal. The clam chowder turned out to be forgettable, but the blackened swordfish with fresh asparagus on the side proved outstanding. She enjoyed every bite, just as she enjoyed the banter of her elderly companions. She could relate to Ralph's graphic descriptions of long layovers in the Mile High City with sex-starved stewardesses, while Steve's tales of what fifteen and sixteen year old girls got up to in his geometry class brought back vivid memories of her own high school days. It was a good forty-five minutes before she excused herself to visit the restroom, which was on the far side of the bandstand. She took her time crossing the room, casually studying some of the men, and she paused long enough to exchange a few words with Lana and Maureen, with both of whom she had occasionally teamed in Santa Barbara. As she walked down the short corridor leading to the restroom, Hollie studied the pay phone on the wall to her right. It had the usual counter, and the local directory was resting on the surface. Perfect! After freshening up, she rearranged her handbag so that her camera was on top, the lens cap removed and the focus adjusted. She would have to set it on the phone book in order to dig out the pouch that held her loose change. It would be aimed at the table roughly thirty feet away, and while making her call she would take the shot. Two of the targets had their backs to her, but the other four would be facing her. Since she couldn't use a flash, she would just have to hope that there was enough light overhead to make the risk that she was running worthwhile. Laying her change out on the counter, Hollie opted to make a long distance call. Feeding nickels and dimes into the phone kept her hand in motion, but on one pass she pushed down on the tiny button alongside the viewfinder and took her picture. Pivoting to face the room, she discovered that two of the guys were looking her way. No surprise there, she thought, given what I'm wearing. Now the question is how to play the scene. Best to be cool, calm and collected … Hanging up the phone, Hollie took her time reorganizing her purse before starting back to her table. “Gonna introduce us to your friend,” one of the guys asked Lana. “Sure,” she said as she crawled off his buddy's lap and stood up. “Guys, this is Hollie. Hollie, meet the guys.” “Do the guys have names, or is everybody here a John Smith?” “I'm Russ. Going around the table, there's Curt, Dennis, Jack, Norman and Carl.” Lana had been sitting in Norman's lap, and Curt still had his arms wrapped around Maureen. “Construction crew?” “Only when money's tight,” Curt laughed as he fondled Maureen. “Have to go back to work next week because this little missy keeps coming up with new ways to relieve me of my hard earned cash. You on the game?” “My services are for hire,” Hollie coyly replied. “Thought so,” Curt grinned as he pushed Maureen off his lap. She took advantage of her freedom to head to the restroom. “Been inside,” one of the others asked as he pointed at her t-shirt. Hollie was still advertising the Ventura County Jail. “Got thirty days once for soliciting a guy who turned out to be the Mayor. He would have let it go, but his wife wasn't so forgiving.” That earned Hollie a round of chuckles. “What's up with the old guys? One of them your grandpa?” “Those gentlemen all have money in their pockets, and time on their hands. They tend to be well mannered and easily pleased, which makes them ideal companions for young women in our line of work.” “But can they get it up?” “Leave that to us, Jack,” Lana smiled. “We know a lot of tricks that we don't have to use with you young stallions.” “So, what's your going rate?” Russ was definitely interested. “Three hundred for the night, in advance. No anal, no rough stuff, and you wear a condom. But you'll have to wait your turn. It's first come, first serve in this business, and Ralph and his friends beat you to the punch.” “I'm here for the duration,” Russ countered. “If it comes to it, take grandpa home and tuck him into bed. Then hustle your butt back here, and I'll show you a real good time.” Not bothering to reply, Hollie strolled back to her table. Ralph had a worried look on his face, which touched her deeply. “Clients,” she said, wanting to shut down the questions before they got started. “We've negotiated their sentencing for solicitation more than once. Forty-five days gets reduced to thirty, and a one thousand dollar fine drops to five hundred. Like the rest of us, if they want to eat they've got to work.” Ralph and his friends called it a night shortly after ten, and Hollie walked out with them. She wanted to check out the Marlin Hunter, and this late on Sunday evening it seemed unlikely that there would be anyone around. She had a telephoto lens in the camera bag in her trunk, and if the craft was illuminated she was prepared to walk around and take shots from different angles. She had partied on similar boats in Santa Barbara's harbor, and she knew how to read the craft's draft. If it was sitting low in the water, it meant that the skipper had topped off his fuel tanks when he returned to port and was ready to sail, awaiting only his passengers and whatever cargo he would be hauling on Friday morning. One phone call to Jerry Costanza was all it would take to have someone with the right credentials at the gate to check every delivery to the dock on Thursday and Friday. . . . . “You shouldn't be here,” Priscilla warned. “Sarah shoved a couple of Dulcolax up my ass; I'm going to stink to high heaven!” “Expect so,” Francie grinned as she climbed into the crib and pulled the side rail up, locking it into place. “But Mommy wants a night to herself, and Vickie is sharing Ian's crib. So I get the dubious privilege of sleeping with our baby girl and her messy diaper.” Crawling over Priscilla, Francine stretched out and rolled to the side so that she could run her fingers over the heavy canvas diaper cover girdling Priscilla's loins. “Such a shame that you're locked up,” she maliciously remarked; “I would love to let my fingers do the walking.” “But you're also locked up,” Pris noted. “I can't get you off. Why is Mommy being so mean?” “Because you've been a bad girl; lying there in your mess, helpless to do anything, is your punishment. But I would like to take it to the next level. Do you know what this is?” Francine opened her fist and held her hand out to Pris. “Nipple clamps,” she said when she saw the blank look on Priscilla's face. “I screw them onto your nipples … screw them tight enough to hurt, and then I lock them so that they can't be removed without the key. Some women find the pain very arousing. I want you to wear them while you are nursing on my tits. It will give your body something to think about while you're pleasuring me.” “Okay,” Pris agreed, “If it will make you happy, I'll try it. I want to make you happy, Mommy!” Carefully, Francine attacked Priscilla's nipples. She wanted the clamps to be tight enough to hurt, but not so tight that they would cut off blood circulation. When she was satisfied, she used the tiny key to lock each clamp into place. They were connected by a small gold chain, which Pris fingered while Francie was hiding the key inside her pillowcase. The pain was noticeable, but she thought that she could bear it. “Come to Mommy,” Francine ordered as she rolled over onto her back and spread her arms. She was naked from the waist up, and eager for Priscilla to get to work. Priscilla was happy to oblige. Francie had beautiful mounds, and she loved sucking on them. The act made her feel like the baby she once had been, the feeling surging to the surface from deep in her psyche each time Sarah or Francine took her to their breast. She couldn't wait for them to begin breast feeding her for real. . . . . Ventura Highway in the sunshine Where the days are longer The nights are stronger than moonshine You're gonna go, I know Cause the free wind is blowin' through your hair And the days surround your daylight there Seasons crying no despair Alligator lizards in the air, in the air Hollie flicked off the radio as she approached the gate that separated the dock from the rest of the harbor. The setup was just as Wayne had described it: the harbor and some of the piers were open to the public, but this was one of three with controlled access. The pier was wide enough to take vehicles, even delivery trucks, so she thought it likely that whatever supplies the Marlin Hunter took on board would be dropped off and loaded on the spot. And the craft was huge … much bigger than the sport fishing boats on which she sometimes partied in Santa Barbara. The fourteen passengers would not be cramped, even if the space below decks was packed with provisions sufficient for a three week voyage. Since there was no security guard around and the pole lamps strung out along the dock provided all the light she needed to get some good shots, Hollie took out her telephoto lens and got to work. Marlin Hunter was riding low in the water, so she looked ready to sail. She would emphasize this point to Costanza: the boat appeared to be very well maintained, which argued for a captain who minimized risk. He would want his cargo stowed and secured well before departure, not leave it to the last minute. They should, therefore, plan on intercepting deliveries on Thursday, not Friday. Scouting the terrain, Hollie looked for a place where she could set up shop on Friday morning and use her telephoto lens to get shots of all fourteen passengers. But the vacant lot on which she had parked offered no cover, and she could hardly take pictures from her car without drawing attention to herself. Loading a fresh roll of film into her camera, Hollie decided to return to the bar, walk around the lot, and take a shot of every license plate on the premises. The Outfit had undoubtedly bribed someone at Motor Vehicles. Matching the plates with names and addresses should be a breeze, and California registration would tumble a driver's license application, complete with photograph. It wouldn't take the Outfit long to give Russ and his buddies last names and get hot on their trail. . . . . “Something on your mind?” Herb had rolled over on his side and was idly stroking Julia's thigh. They were both well diapered, although Herb had told her that he no longer required her moral support. He had come to terms with the fact that he needed to wear “protection,” and long nights of uninterrupted sleep had definitely improved his disposition. “Priscilla. When she called after dinner, she wanted me to know that Ian took Sarah and Francie to an indoor range down in Bloomington. He tested both of them in combat mode. Francine centered the target when she was wearing panties, but went high and left when she was diapered. Could the bulk have thrown off her aim?” “Hmmm,” Herb muttered as he thought about it. “It probably affected her stance just enough. Balance is everything on the range.” “And in a real shootout. We need to book time out in Maple Grove and put our reactions to the test. If our aim is off, we have to find a way to compensate.” “Good thinking. I'll check the schedule first thing in the morning. Maybe getting the booze out of our systems will put us a leg up.” “Can't hurt,” Julia agreed. Herb was no longer drinking to excess, and his wits seemed much sharper as a result. It remained to be seen whether his addiction to caffeine would affect his aim now that the alcohol was not canceling it out. Rolling over, Julia kissed Herb good night. It was late, and roll call for the day shift at headquarters came early. . . . . Hollie hummed to herself as she worked her way around the parking lot. There were a surprising number of pickups with gun racks behind the cab, and more out of state plates than she had expected. Did the Outfit have someone who could run the plates in Montana or Wyoming? She had her doubts, which made getting photos of the men a more urgent proposition. Locking her camera in the trunk when she finished up, Hollie headed back inside to try her luck with Russ and his friends. She was relieved to find that Lana and Maureen were still hard at it; she was relying on them to run interference for her. “So where are you from,” she asked him when, drink in hand, she pulled up a chair to join the group. “Me? I was born and raised on a ranch outside Billings, Montana … small town called Roundup. Still call it home. You a Texas girl?” “From a hick town southwest of Lubbock … oil field country. My first job … at a diner in Pecos, I met a rigger from a burg called Cabin Creek. You know it?” “Yeah. East of us, in the oil fields other side of Miles City. Ranchers over there became instant millionaires when they leased the drilling rights on their homesteads to the big oil companies. In Roundup, we weren't so lucky. I grew up in the saddle; won some prize money on the Junior Rodeo Circuit, but wasn't good enough to move up when I finished high school. Ended up going military. Never saw a horse in the 'Nam but sure learned a lot about construction-- and I'm not referring to digging foxholes. I poured a lot of concrete.” “Pillboxes-r-us,” Jack laughed as he reached for his drink. “Spent most of my tour living in one up in the DMZ. One night a snake came slithering in … thing must have been well over ten feet long. Carl went to shoot it, but he missed and we all had to hit the deck because the round ricocheted … went everywhere. So there we were flat on our bellies when the snake reared up. It turned out to be a king cobra, and it was not in a good mood. I got so scared I pissed my pants. That thing bites you and you're dead, and there it was, swaying back and forth right in front of me, getting ready to strike ...” “Jack was screaming his head off.” Carl smiled, remembering the moment. “'Shoot it, shoot it', he screamed, over and over again. But none of us moved; hell, I couldn't even blink. All I could do was stare into those hideous eyes, expecting the worst.” “What happened?” Hollie was genuinely curious. “It dropped back to the floor, turned around, and slithered off into the darkness. It was probably hunting rats, and found us instead.” Jack shook his head as he downed his shot. The whiskey tasted good. “So, the tattoos … all military?” “Yeah,” Jack confirmed as he rubbed the tattoo on his upper arm-- a paratrooper descending to earth. “Carl and me? We were 5th Airborne. But we've got a good mix here … Green Berets, Marines from the 3rd, Special Forces guys ...” “Real bad asses,” Curt laughed. “Wyatt went native … spent too much time embedded among the Montagnard.” Curt raised his glass, offering an alcoholic salute to a guy seated at a nearby table. Methodically, Hollie counted them off. There were six guys at each table, and two more sitting by themselves at the bar. She would try and learn all their names before she and Russ called it a night and headed for The Coastal Inn. In the morning, if her luck held, she would cross-check the license plates in the hotel parking lot against what she had recorded outside the bar. Photographs would have to wait.

My journey back to babyhood – Part 15 Shortly after lunch, Susan started packing for Seattle. She didn’t ask me for help, so I had plenty of time to play with my caterpillar. It wasn’t until I started playing with coffee grounds and scooping them from the living room table into a small bowl that she took it away from me and told me to watch cartoons instead. Too bad, I thought. How else am I supposed to get ready for Friday? We sat down together again for dinner. Susan had a delicious salad, while I got fish sticks and fries. I hadn’t eaten that in ages, but it tasted really good. Then it was time for bed, and Susan changed my diaper again for the night. The bedroom looked different now. On one side of the bedroom were lots of big gray bags, and on the other side were lots of moving boxes. “Your old clothes,” she replied when I asked Susan what was inside the bags. “You don’t need those anymore. We’re donating some to charity, and the rest is going in the trash. But don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of new clothes in our new home.” When I woke up the next morning, Susan was already busy in the bathroom. “Hi, Danni, did you sleep well?” she asked when she saw that I was awake. “Very well. I dreamed about our new house. It’s very nice,” I replied. “You’ll like it,” Susan smiled and began to put my morning diaper on me. “But it looks like you haven’t found the bathroom in our new house yet,” Susan laughed. “Good thing you wear diapers—even in your dreams.” Susan was expecting the buyer of my convertible at noon. A woman from Wyoming, she said. “She’ll probably want to take it for a test drive. So I’ll be gone for an hour. But it would be good for you if you could do your big business before she gets here. Otherwise, you’ll be sitting in your poop for a long time. Or do you want to get changed in front of her?” Maybe the woman would like to see that, I thought to myself, remembering how Hellen had once been there. But my poop came shortly after breakfast, and Susan had to clean me up again. Unfortunately, way too soon, because I would have enjoyed sitting in my warm poop for a while longer and moving around in it. I should have waited for the woman. The test drive went smoothly, and Susan came home with the woman to sign the contract with me. “A very nice car. I’ve been looking for one like this for a long time,” she remarked as we sat together in our living room. “But of course, it still needs to be repaired.” “Maybe, but I liked it,” I swallowed. “And it was a gift from my parents.” “I’ll keep that in mind when I drive it,” she replied kindly. When the woman had left, Susan turned to me with a smile and handed me a small paper bag. “You’ve been really good. I miss your old car, too. But you can’t use it anymore.” In the bag, I found a die-cast model of my old BMW, which brought tears to my eyes. But I felt much better after Susan gave me a big hug. And the thought of my excavator ride cheered me up, too. We just had to get through Thursday, with our visit to my financial advisor. The appointment was at 11:30 a.m.—again, not much time for my poopy diaper. After Susan had put a fresh light blue diaper and blue PVC overpants on me, she handed me one of my suits. Probably the only item that had survived Susan’s cleaning sprees. “That looks better on you today,” Susan remarked and waited until I was fully dressed. But when I looked at my reflection, I wondered if the suit was really such a good choice. The top and my jacket still looked quite presentable, even though I hated the shirt and tie. But the rather thin fabric of my pants could barely hide the fact that I wasn’t wearing normal underwear underneath. Even the see-through blue PVC pants were very near to my waistband and threatened to slip out. When I felt the tension around my button, I looked at Susan and asked if I could just put on my comfortable play pants instead. “No. You look good. Almost like a businessman. Just for today, and then we’ll get rid of this suit together with your other stuff.” When we arrived at the bank, our financial advisor was already waiting for us and gestured for us to take a seat. “It’s so nice to see you both again. You both look great,” he began. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to me, but he was definitely right about Susan. She looked stunning. Today she was wearing a white pleated skirt with black polka dots, a medium-blue, shiny blouse, and her black, semi-sheer tights with a diamond pattern were an eye-catcher in their own right. I still wondered when she had developed such a fondness for skirts and tights. “I’ve already prepared everything according to your wishes,” the advisor added, casting a second glance at Susan’s legs as she sat down in the chair. “As soon as you’ve signed, all your assets and stocks will be transferred to Susan’s accounts in Seattle. Is that correct?” “Yes, that’s fine. We’re moving to Seattle on Sunday,” I replied, though I was focusing more on my little penis, which had just opened its gates and relieved itself. Before I could say any more nonsense, Susan took over the conversation and discussed further details with the financial expert. Since I got really bored after a while, I started pushing the little toy truck that was right in front of me back and forth. “Our business is YOUR business” was printed on it, along with a gold “100” and the bank’s logo on the other side. When Susan gave me that look of hers, I left the truck alone. “That’s a nice truck, isn’t it? By the way, do you have kids? Sorry if I don’t know. But I just got a box of promotional gifts this morning.” “Not yet,” Susan replied with a grin, “but we have some nice kids in our neighborhood.” “Good. I’ll get you a little bag with a few things when we’re done.” The advisor then handed me the papers and a pen and mentioned something about 420,000, which would be transferred in 2–3 business days. I signed the papers—almost with my new signature—and we were able to leave the bank. Me holding a bag of promotional gifts, which I clutched happily. It was a worthwhile visit after all, I thought. “There’s a good barber nearby. Let’s see if he’s open,” Susan said as we stood outside. At the same time, she wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled up my pants. “Your diaper was showing. Maybe a suit isn’t suitable for my big boy anymore,” she said with a laugh. The hair salon was open, and I was able to get my hair cut right away. As I sat down in the smooth chair, I felt the many layers around my butt gently shifting against each other. The fabric of my pants slid on the chair, and underneath, it slid over my PVC pants. I wondered what it would feel like if I had also messed myself—too bad I hadn’t done that. “Danni, can you please sit still?” Susan advised as the hairdresser covered me with a cape. Then Susan explained how she wanted my hair being cut before she went out to make a phone call. After about 30 minutes, I was done. The hairdresser had talked nonstop during the haircut, but my mind had been preoccupied with how I would steer the caterpillar tomorrow. “All done. I hope you like your fresh new look,” the lady said when she was finished. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a new Danni. Most of my hair was gone, especially on the sides. On top, however, it was neatly combed back, with a small quiff sticking out above my forehead. Cool, I thought. The hairdresser set the cape aside and I stood up. While I was still admiring my new hairstyle, I didn’t notice that my pants had slipped down quite a bit, revealing not only my PVC pants but also some plastic-pieces of my diapers. Feeling a little embarrassed, I pulled my pants up as far as I could and took my jacket from the bewildered-looking hairdresser. I was so flustered that I wet my pants again. Maybe next time I should listen to Susan’s advice. to be continued…

CHAPTER 7 July 1st “I saw rabbits yesterday. They were there in the meadow bordered by an old stone fence. Three brown ones and one almost white. The rabbits weren’t afraid when we stopped to watch them. They just lifted their heads, ears alert, and then continued eating the grass. There were also a huge number of butterflies flying around; orange, yellow, and white. Against the sunset, their wings looked almost transparent. It’s the most beautiful place I know. At least when I go there with Anna. I’ve been trying to write this for several evenings, but I haven’t found the right words. Or they’ve started to feel wrong as soon as I’ve written them down. But now I’ll try. A week ago Liisa forced me to put on a bodysuit. I had spilled soup on myself and didn’t have any clean clothes left. She took me into her bedroom, and suddenly she had that bodysuit in her hands—as if it had been waiting there just for me. Liisa knew what she was doing. I don’t know how long she had planned it. I don’t want to know. I refused. I really tried to resist. I said I wouldn’t put it on, but she just looked at me threateningly and grabbed my hair. It didn’t hurt that much, so it wasn’t bad because of that. But the fact that she felt she could yank me by the hair—it felt horrifying. Liisa said that on a farm, girls always obey their elders. That she can do whatever she wants, because this is her house and I’m just some summer worker who can’t leave. It was the worst thing I’ve experienced in years. Worse than when Anna pushed me away at the shore. Worse than anything. I’ve never felt so small and helpless. When she finally let go, I had to force myself to breathe. And then I had to put on the bodysuit, even though my hands were shaking so much I couldn’t fasten the snaps. Then Anna came home. I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t come just then. I don’t remember what she said, but it was something embarrassing and silly. “Cute little one” or something like that. But the situation changed immediately—I knew right away that I wasn’t in danger anymore. I couldn’t speak or move. I was completely broken, but Anna saved me. Later, when I had gotten to my room, Anna came there too. She sat on the edge of the bed the same way she did when I was sick. Touched my cheek. “Are you okay?” she asked. I couldn’t answer. I cried. And Anna just held me in her arms for as long as I needed. She stroked my hair. Said everything was fine, that I was safe, that no one would hurt me. I don’t know what I would have done without Anna that evening. After that, I seriously thought about packing my things and leaving. Walking all the way to the station if I had to, taking the first train and never looking back. But then I thought about Anna. Thought about never seeing her again. And I couldn’t. I just couldn’t, even though the house scared me. The thought of not sitting next to her on the pier anymore, not feeling her fingers running through my hair—that was worse than anything Liisa could do. And now, as I write this, I know I’m still not safe here. Liisa hasn’t done anything like that since, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t. That’s what’s so strange about this house—sometimes everything is completely normal: we work, tell stories, eat buns. And then suddenly something frightening happens or I’m forced to act like a little child. Sometimes I actually feel like I enjoy being here, and sometimes it feels like this place is completely sick. But Anna. Anna is why I stay. And that scares me almost as much as Liisa. These days I wear diapers almost all the time. It doesn’t even feel strange anymore. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and notice that the diaper is wet—and even that doesn’t really shock me anymore. Anna comes and changes me before breakfast. She’s very skilled and gentle when changing me. Sometimes her hands linger on my skin for a long time, and I love those moments. Then she smiles, pats my diaper, and says “good girl.” And I just want to stay there all day, but I have to get up and go eat and work in the fields. In the evenings I wash and use the bathroom on my own, but after the shower Anna chooses and puts on my night clothes. Sometimes she takes a bodysuit, sometimes just a normal nightshirt and pants. I never know what she’ll choose until I see it in her hands. And I… I want her to choose the bodysuit. Even though I’m too embarrassed to say it. Even writing it feels embarrassing. It scares me how easily I become small. Anna says “little one” and I almost instantly am. She looks at me a certain way and I melt. I don’t even realize it, it just happens. And it feels so good that I don’t want to fight it. And when it’s over, I always start wondering who I really am. Am I still the adult who studies psychology, does yoga, and lives in her own student apartment? Or am I just a diaper-wearing little child. Maybe I’m both. My days are pretty normal. I work in the fields, tend to the garden, and clean the barn. Everyone knows I wear diapers—it's completely normal to them. Joppe is the same as always, maybe even a bit warmer. Liisa has never said anything about that evening. It's like we share a secret that must not be spoken aloud. And Anna. Anna is almost always near me. In the mornings she changes me, during the day we work together, and in the evenings we sit side by side on the pier. It’s what I’ve always wanted—someone who is present, who nurtures me and makes me feel safe. I didn’t know it before, but that’s exactly what I need. But I want more. I try to flirt. I’m really bad at it, but I try. Sometimes I touch her hand when she hands me a coffee cup. Sometimes I look at her a bit too long. Sometimes I say something suggestive—sometimes cleverly, but more often awkwardly. And Anna… she notices. I know she does. Her gaze changes and my heart starts pounding. I feel the tension and the sparks between us. I wait for a kiss. But then she always says “little sister” or “little one,” or starts talking about something else, or asks if my diaper needs changing. And that’s it. Do I understand it? No. She wants to care for me. She loves it when I’m little—you can see it in her eyes. But when I try to approach her as an adult, she pulls away. Every time. And I’m so damn frustrated. And I don’t know how to say it. How do you tell someone you want to be both her little one and her woman? How do you say you want her to nurture you and desire you? That you are a little girl, but also an adult woman who wants her? I’ve thought that maybe all of this is my own fault. That she doesn’t see anything in me except that little one. I’ve let that role grow so big that it overshadows everything else. But then on some evenings, when we sit on the pier or walk in the meadow, it feels like there are sparks. Sometimes Anna looks at me the same way she did at the shore before our kiss. But for some reason, nothing ever happens. Anna just refuses to see me as a woman anymore. Anyway, I’m going to keep trying. Wish me luck. I drew the rabbits at the bottom.” Sara had just closed the grey-covered diary when someone knocked on her door. “Sara? Are you there?” Anna’s voice. Sara felt her heart start pounding faster. She shoved the diary under her pillow and quickly fluffed her hair. “Yeah, come in.” The door opened quietly and Anna stepped inside. She was wearing short denim shorts and a loose t-shirt, her hair tied in a simple ponytail. She looked unbelievably beautiful—as always. “I was thinking,” Anna said with a smile, sitting down on the edge of Sara’s bed as usual, “since we have our turn at the village sauna tonight… would you like to come with me? Joppe and Liisa aren’t up for going today.” “Yeah,” Sara replied faster and more eagerly than she meant to. “Let’s go.” Anna smiled and stood up again. “Good. Let’s leave soon.” After Anna disappeared down the stairs, Sara instinctively touched between her legs. She startled when she didn’t feel the thick, crinkly diaper she had grown used to over the past week. Anna had unexpectedly said at the end of the workday that today Sara could put on her own underwear after showering. Sara had wondered about it for a moment, but hadn’t made much of it. Now the pieces were starting to fall into place—Anna had probably planned the sauna trip already in the afternoon and asked Sara to wear her own underwear because of it. After all, she wouldn’t have to go to a public sauna in diapers. Anna and Sara walked through the meadows, a gentle summer breeze brushing their faces. Birds were singing, butterflies dancing, the first mosquitoes gathering into swarms. The sun was already beginning to set, painting the sky pink and orange. That evening when Sara and Anna had kissed by the lake, the sky had looked just the same. Maybe this was a sign. It felt somehow strange for Sara to walk wearing her own underwear instead of a diaper. As if something important had been forgotten. On the other hand, it was also liberating—and most importantly, now she wouldn’t appear as a child in Anna’s eyes because of what she was wearing. “The sauna is old, over a hundred years. Or well, it’s probably been rebuilt, but the spirit has stayed the same,” Anna told her as they arrived at the dark wooden building. “Almost as old as Joppe,” Sara replied without thinking, making Anna laugh. The sauna smelled of tar and smoke. The previous bathers had just left, so they didn’t have to start the fire from scratch. Anna opened the sauna door, tossed a few logs into the firebox, and stared at the dark walls for a moment. Then she stepped back onto the porch and led Sara around the corner to the changing room. Anna began to undress—Sara tried not to look, but failed again. Anna’s skin was sun-bronzed, and when she let her hair down from the ponytail, it spread like a lion’s mane. Sara quickly turned away, but Anna had already noticed her glance. “Feeling shy?” Anna asked, amused. Sara didn’t answer. “Come on, I won’t bite,” Anna laughed softly, stepping into the sauna and climbing up to the top bench. Sara followed a few steps behind. The sauna was hot and small. The rickety benches could only fit two people at a time, and Sara and Anna sat almost pressed against each other. The temperature was around 80 degrees Celsius, but Anna immediately threw a full ladle of water onto the stones. Steam rose with a sharp hiss, and Sara felt the biting heat on her face, arms, and ears. She closed her eyes and tried to enjoy it. “Do you like it?” Anna asked. “I do,” Sara replied, at least half-truthfully. When the worst of the heat faded, she opened her eyes. She let her hand brush lightly against Anna’s upper arm; her skin felt hot and damp. Sara slowly turned to look at her. She admired how large droplets ran down Anna’s neck and disappeared between her breasts. Wet hair rested on strong shoulders, her cheeks flushed from the heat. Anna closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and let out a deep breath. She let Sara look—she enjoyed being looked at. “You know what,” Sara began softly, her voice lower than usual, “you’re pretty right now.” Anna opened her eyes. She looked at Sara for a long moment, searching for words. “Sara…” “What?” “You’re… you’re really red.” “So are you.” “But you’re more.” Sara smiled crookedly. “Are you saying I can’t handle the heat?” “I am.” “Okay, I challenge you. Who lasts longer?” “You’ll lose.” “We’ll see.” Anna threw more water onto the stones. The steam burned their skin, but Sara clenched her teeth and endured. The only window fogged up quickly, the steam filling the room until Sara could barely see Anna’s face. And every time it began to clear, Anna threw more water. Sara cursed inwardly—she had given Anna the perfect way out. “I give up,” Anna said after a few rounds, climbing down from the bench with a smile. “You’re tougher than I thought.” “Yeah,” Sara said quietly, getting up as well. “I’m tougher in a lot of ways.” Anna stepped out onto the terrace, her skin steaming even in the warm summer air. Sara followed and stepped closer than usual. Anna didn’t move away. They stood facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes. The crackling of the fire carried outside. Sara’s heart was pounding so loudly she thought Anna could hear it. Sara lifted her hand and gently placed it on Anna’s cheek. She prepared to kiss her. “Sara…” Anna whispered. “What?” “I… I’m glad you’re here.” That wasn’t what Sara wanted to hear. In fact, she didn’t want to hear anything—she wanted a kiss. “Me too,” Sara said, keeping her hand on Anna’s cheek and rising onto her toes. She was sure this was the moment. Anna would lean in, their lips would meet, and all the tension between them would finally break. But it didn’t happen. Anna turned her gaze away. “I think it’s time to go,” she said, stepping aside. Sara stood still. She felt so much—disappointment, anger, sadness—but she didn’t say anything. She just took her towel and wrapped it around herself. They didn’t speak a word as they walked back to the farm side by side. A couple of rabbits played in the meadow again, but this time Sara didn’t even bother to look up. The ground was dry and cracked; rain would do it good. The walk back passed quickly. Sara was lost in her thoughts, trying to keep the painful feelings inside. Anna hung her towel to dry on the rack in the garden, and Sara followed her example. When they finally went inside, Liisa and Joppe had already gone to bed. Lights were still on in the hallway and kitchen, but the house was completely silent. “Let’s go upstairs and put on your diaper,” Anna said gently, her gaze drifting toward the narrow staircase. Sara felt another wave of disappointment wash over her. Of course. This was what always happened. Anna took Sara’s hand and led her to her room. She asked her to undress and lie down on the bed. Then she took a white diaper and a container of baby powder from Sara’s wardrobe—they had recently started keeping them in her room, since that’s where the changes almost always happened. Anna crinkled the diaper for a moment and then began dressing her little one with special tenderness. She touched Sara softly, hummed soothingly, and cooed to her like to a baby. She sprinkled a bit of powder onto Sara’s skin, fastened the tapes carefully, and lightly tickled her sides. Anna was so gentle that Sara forgot her disappointment almost immediately—it was replaced by a soft calm. “Anna,” Sara whispered. “Shhhhh,” Anna replied softly. “I’ll take care of you, little one.” Then Anna took a bodysuit from the closet, asked Sara to stand for a moment, and pulled the childlike nightwear over her head. She adjusted it comfortably and fastened the three snaps between her legs. After that, she sat down on the edge of the bed and asked Sara into her arms. Sara went willingly. She lay down, letting her upper body rest against Anna’s chest. “Come closer,” Anna whispered into her ear, leaning forward slightly. Sara pressed her face against Anna’s soft breasts and closed her eyes. She felt Anna’s heartbeat, steady and strong. The softness against her face sent warmth through her body. Anna began to sing quietly—an old lullaby that Sara faintly recognized. Sleep, sleep little bird of the meadow... Grow tired, little wagtail... Sara’s eyelids grew heavy, her body and mind relaxing. She was no longer the adult woman who longed for a kiss and felt disappointed. She was small. She was safe. She was in Anna’s arms. Sleep as I lull you… Grow tired as I soothe you… Sara fell asleep. Anna sat beside her for a long time. She watched the sleeping girl’s face—peaceful, lips slightly parted, eyelashes dark against pale skin. The diaper peeked slightly from beneath the bodysuit; those babyish clothes looked as if they had been made for her. “Silly girl,” Anna murmured quietly, thinking back on the day’s events. “You’re so cute” She carefully stood up, tucked the blanket around Sara, and walked quietly to her own room.

This is a re-upload of a story I did not write. https://www.diaper-bois.com/stories/ryan-s-new-daddy/ Chapter 1 - One Confused Boy To say that Ryan Willis didn’t know quite what he was getting himself into was a massive understatement. Agreeing to surrender himself for an entire summer to the whims of a complete stranger is one thing, but when that person intends to treat you as his infant child for that time… well, you’d probably think you were completely fuckin’ bonkers as well, like he did. Some background information is probably necessary here. Ryan Willis was a pretty unassuming guy. Fairly freshly 18 and graduating high school; he was fairly popular, well-built from years of intensive hockey playing (the last year he spent as captain of the school’s team), and certainly no slouch in the looks department with his deep hazel eyes, fair features, and deep brown locks, always styled perfectly. Indeed, he had all the girls at school fawning after him. He got respectable grades that would have no trouble getting him into his college of choice, made no enemies, and was always home in time for tea. For all intents and purposes, Ryan was just a normal kid. But of course, as is typical for stories like these, he wasn’t. Ryan had a secret deep inside. Well, really, he had two secrets. The first; he was gay. A complete and utter raging homosexual. He’d had a girlfriend, sure, but him and Elise broke up a little while ago; thankfully before things got serious enough that his cover might be blown. Regardless, one thing was for sure: every time he ended up in the changing rooms after a sweaty game of hockey with his team was a massive struggle for dominance between his libido and his shame. All those rippling, hockey-player bodies, and the way they’d shower naked… Ryan had to start getting changed by himself after everyone had left by the end of it. They could never know; it was just how it had to be. No one could know, in fact; not his parents, not his younger sisters, not his friends, no one. He was Ryan Willis, star hockey player and future Harvard Law graduate, and he was expected to find himself a trophy wife and pop out a few kids in the future. He couldn’t fuck it up by being a faggot, as his dad would call him no doubt. But that was practically nothing compared to his other secret. See, not only was Ryan gay, but he was in what was called the ABDL community; specifically, he was what some termed a “teen baby”. Basically, Ryan enjoyed the idea of wearing diapers, playing with baby things, and being treated like an infant, preferably by an older, larger, stronger man. It was the cornerstone of his fantasies, and the thing he dreamed about every night he went to bed. In a way, ever since he got out of diapers, he’s dreamed of getting back into them. He’d spent countless hours in his teen years holed up in his room, door locked, jerking off over young guys in diapers and baby clothes, or reading stories about guys being forced into diapers by another man, always imagining himself in their place. Sure, he could get off over normal vanilla gay porn, and bottoming for another guy was something he desired too, but as soon as he threw diapers into the mix, his libido went nuts. Regardless, his fantasies always involved being dominated by an older man, a father figure as it were. It was nothing to do with his own father issues, or so he hoped. It was just how he was wired. In addition, he was a regular on all the usual ABDL haunts and forums. But this bummed Ryan out more often that it should - he saw all the guys his age freely wearing diapers and baby stuff and having people to change them and care for them, and though he always found it hot as hell, he couldn’t help but also feel intensely jealous. He knew he would never be able to get that. He was just too terrified that someone might recognise him on the internet, and his secret would be out, and his life would be over just like that. Being gay was one thing, but being a gay freak obsessed with diapers… He spared no expense in covering his tracks. He didn’t dare buy diapers or even training pants to live out his fantasies in real life, such was his fear of being caught. Bottles and pacifiers and the lot were out of the question as well. He even bought a second laptop, unbeknownst to the rest of his family, and used an anonymous browser on it to ensure that they could never find out. He brought the laptop out when he was sure no one was home, and went loose, but when he was done, or someone came home, he quickly locked it up and hid it underneath a loose floorboard under his bed. He had it all under lock; no one could find out. But this all led to Ryan feeling incredibly lonely. He knew that he wasn’t the only one with this weird fixation, but his paranoia meant he feared he’d probably never be able to actually experience his most desired fantasy. And of course, he was constantly racked with guilt, something that plagued practically everything ABDL in the course of their lifetime… the insistent, nagging thought that what you were doing, what you found enjoyable was actually a disgusting perversion, and only one degree of separation away from pedophilia. Of course it was ridiculous, he reasoned, but it didn’t really matter - if anyone found out, that’s exactly what they would think of him. However, everything changed in April of his senior year, not too long before graduation… Chapter 2 - Diaperlist It was a crisp, early Spring night, the sort you’d only ever get in good ol’ New England, when Ryan discovered Diaperlist. His parents were out for their anniversary dinner, and Jemma and Becca (his sisters) were out with their friends or boyfriends or whatever - he didn’t really care, all it meant for him was quality time alone with his fantasies. One of his closest teen baby friends (who lived on the other side of the country, a shame since he looked so cute in diapers) had posted a link on one of his favourite haunts, Teen Baby Hangout: “A cool new website I’ve developed. Sorta like Craigslist obviously, but just for us, so much less chance of us being found out. Plus it’s got a fully functional Facebook-esque messaging system, so you can shoot the shit before you decide if you wanna meet up for real. It’s invite only, so PM me for an invite if we’re friends. I wanna keep this safe, so I’ll only give you access if I fully trust you. And obviously, give out invites if you trust anyone else. I don’t really care if I offend anyone by not giving them an invite, security’s more important. I’ve posted this on all the other ABDL and fetish sites so it’s not just us. Otherwise, go crazy!! Meet all the ABDL/TBDL/whatever’s you’re legally entitled to in your home country or jurisdiction!” Intrigued, Ryan went to PM the guy, but he had already sent him an invite. Feeling rather touched at the thought, Ryan sent a “thank you” and signed up to the site. Already, there were a couple dozen posts, all sorted by geographical area. A handful in the UK, Canada, and other parts of Europe and Australia each, even one in Kyrgyzstan (poor dude), but naturally, the large majority were focused on the good ol’ US of A. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat when he saw that there were 5 listings for Massachusetts… and it caught up to speed again when he found out they were all for Boston. ‘Of course’, he reasoned. He probably wouldn’t know what to do if anyone in the Springfield, MA area actually wanted to meet up. Nonetheless, he looked at the listings for Boston, if only out of curiosity. They were all pretty much the same - “45yo Daddy looking for little girl to pamper ;)”. Very lovely, but hardly what he was looking for. And so, after that brief detour, Ryan’s “secret session”, as he called it, played out much like it normally did - he went on Tumblr, checked up on all his favourite blogs, had a good old-fashioned fap over one of the hotter diaper boys there, came, cleaned up, hid the evidence and went on with his life. “Hey Ryan!” a voice called out from outside his window, just as he placed the laptop under the floorboards. He just about leapt out of his skin. He didn’t even have any pants on! “Just a minute!” he said back, quickly throwing on a pair of raggy sweatpants. He went to the window and opened it to see his best friend, Jeremy Linnard, tossing rocks at his window. “Are you here to serenade me, Jeremy?” Ryan said jokingly. “I have a confession to make, Ryan,” Jeremy said in a faux-dramatic fashion. With a flourish, he mimed producing flowers and said in a dovey voice, “I… l-love you…” “Fuck off, ya faggot,” Ryan laughed, tossing his rocks back at him. Jeremy laughed as well, dodging his shots (or at least trying to). God, if only Jeremy knew. “Alright, alright, you wanna go bowling? Me and Sarah were bored and she’s fetching all her girl friends. Cynthia’s gonna be there too, big boy…” Oh right, Ryan thought. Her. See, in Ryan’s usual attempts to assert his masculinity and obvious heterosexuality, he had to pretend that he was interested in a girl. And so, choosing completely at random, he picked Cynthia to be his fake object of affection, a fairly plain but agreeable girl, not unattractive by any means. ‘Dammit,’ he thought to himself, ‘shoulda picked someone totally impossible.’ Not like that was easy, though - every goddamn girl in school would’ve probably dropped their pants for him in a heartbeat. “Sure, sure,” Ryan said. “Just gimme a minute.” Chucking on whatever was at the bottom of his clean clothes hamper (thanks ma!), Ryan went bowling with his best friend. He coolly played hard-to-get with Cynthia, which was really quite easy since he genuinely wasn’t interested, but it wasn’t as suspicious as outright turning her down. When he got back, his parents and sisters were home, so he couldn’t allow himself another secret session, to his dismay. He went to bed that night thinking about Diaperlist, however. He wondered if this might be his way to finally meet someone who was like him. Maybe when he went to Harvard in the fall, he could meet a friend… a “big bro”, or something. Or even a Daddy…? No, that was ridiculous. Just a fantasy, he reasoned. Something that could not happen. Friends, probably. But he couldn’t count on his deepest, dearest fantasy coming true just like that. And so, Ryan went on about his life. School, hockey, friends, secret sessions, sleep, rinse, repeat. Every now and then, he’d check up on Diaperlist, just to remind him of what might happen some day. He saw listings come and go day by day. Sometimes he’d check other areas, just to see what others were posting. He saw listings like “19yo smooth baby boy looking for Daddy” (same here pal), “mommy looking for obedient boy for kinky humiliating fun” (close, not quite), “60yo luvvving generou$$$ daddy after teen girl to spoil and pamper” (uhh)… But ultimately, it was what kept him going through his finals - the knowledge that getting through, and making it into college would enable him to get a good career and all, sure, but also give him an excuse to get away from home and maybe meet someone who understood. Well, fate sure did a number on him one particularly humid night about a month later. Ryan was stripped down to just a tank top, getting ready to fap away as usual. He logged onto Diaperlist, went to the Massachusetts section and read the listing at the top of the page, only posted three hours ago. “43yo, Springfield MA - dominant Daddy looking for <20yo fully submissive little boy. READ FIRST.” Ryan just about leapt out of his skin when he read that headline. Was he hallucinating? Dreaming? Nope, he pinched himself and he definitely wasn’t dreaming. That was really what it said. His heart was racing when he finally built up the courage to click and read the profile. “I’m a well-off semi-retired professional in the southern MA area. Looking for a cute, healthy, toned and FULLY submissive boy (no exceptions for any of those) under the age of 20 who is interested in becoming my baby boy. Message me if interested. Must provide pics.” That was it. Ryan was dumbstruck, but more than that, he was hard as a rock. Was this for real?! He didn’t know what the hell to do. Jesus Christ. He resolved to message him anyway, even if he hardly planned on actually meeting him. Maybe he could just entertain the fantasy for fapping fodder. It was sure making him horny as fuck just thinking about it, anyway. He opened the message tab and started typing, one-handed of course. >Hey there, I’m baby_ryry as you probably notice. I’m interested. Tell me more about what you would do to me. Send. He waited for a reply. Didn’t take long; under a minute in fact. Heart pounding, he opened it. >>I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Damn it. He wanted a pic. Ryan scoured his school’s website for the hockey team photos. He found a decent one of him, topless even, celebrating their victory earlier this year. He cropped his face out of it, and sent it off. >Here you go 😉 [photo attached] >>Nice pic… >>But that’s not quite what I want. Face pic. Shit. He really wanted to know what he would do to him. It’s like when you’re really goddamn horny and you find the perfect porn (or the perfect diaper picture set, in Ryan’s case), but it’s behind a paywall and you can’t find it anywhere else. You either cum quickly and get over it, or you submit to your horny desires and pay up. Unsurprisingly, Ryan chose the latter in this case. A few naughty selfies later, he sent them off to the mysterious man online. Pretty cute as well; Ryan had a fairly youthful face, so it lent itself well to a childish pout, especially with his naked butt sticking right up in the air. “I’ll save that for some porn Tumblrs,” he said to himself. Pause. Then a notification sound. >>Adorable boy. >>Tell me more about yourself. The long game, Ryan smirked to himself. Fair enough. >My name’s Ryan. I’m 18, turning 19 next January. I’m going to Harvard in the fall after I graduate high school to study English. I play hockey, and well, I guess you could say I’m a real teen baby, obviously haha. Smooth, Ryan thought to himself. He was reminded of those icebreaker games you had to play at a new job or school or something, where you say something interesting about yourself but you just can’t think of anything at all to say. >>Very nice. >>Would you like to know what I’d do to you? Aw yeah. This was what he wanted. >Yes please. >>I would make you mine. >>I would be strict, dominant and very controlling; but that’s what is needed. >>You will obey everything I tell you to do, wear anything that I dress you in, play with whatever I give you to play with, and submit to your Daddy’s every whim. >>You will not protest, or talk back. >>You will do this, because that’s what you are. >>You are just a helpless little baby. >>And babies, especially baby boys, need structure, discipline and routine. >>They need to depend on their Daddy for everything - changing, bathing, feeding. >>And they need to be punished when they’re naughty babies who disobey their Daddy. >>And when they’re good babies who make Daddy proud, they will be rewarded. >>But most of all, they need love. And that is what I would give you. >>I will love you like any good Daddy loves their precious little boy. >>All I ask is that you submit your entire self to my authority. Ryan was so incredibly aroused by this. He had to slow down to stop himself from cumming, he was just so close. And then another message. >>What are you doing now? >At home, chilling. >Why? ‘A great liar I am’, Ryan smirked >>You should come over. >>[location shared] Oh Jesus. This guy was serious. Ryan’s heart was pounding again. He looked at the map that was shared. It was in a fairly small township about 50 minutes away from Springfield; fairly rich and full of yuppies. He looked to his side table, where he kept his car keys. What if… >But what will happen? >>Why don’t you come over and find out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! FUUUUUCK! Far too quickly, Ryan ejaculated harder than he had done in months. He shot himself in the eye even, making himself jump. His heart pounding, and his body still spasming slightly, the message box was still there, flashing with the new message. Ah, damnit. He shouldn’t have said anything. Now he’s gonna have to let him down easy. He tried to think of an excuse. >Sorry, I can’t tonight. Just thought I’d say hi. I’m super busy with study for finals and graduation. ‘That sounded so flaky,’ Ryan thought. Ping. >>That’s a shame. But I understand. >Thanks for understanding! No reply. Guess he blew it. Chapter 3 - The Offer After that, the mysterious man seemed to go quiet. In fact, he didn’t even come online. A week later, Ryan logged in again, nervous to see if he had any new messages… but he didn’t. He checked the listing again - still up. “Last online: 1 week ago”. Weird. Did Ryan’s flakiness make him give up on his search? Or maybe he actually found someone willing to go through with it… lucky bastard, in that case. Once again, he settled into a routine… one that was swiftly shaken up when finals came round for real. Reluctantly, he had to put his secret sessions on hold for a while so he could concentrate on cramming for tests. Mom helped out a lot by baking him some good old fashioned nerve-calming Russian fudge (thanks ma) and Dad helped by… well, being Dad, which is to say he didn’t really help. Great. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He didn’t even get to see his face. What if he wasn’t even real, Ryan thought…? Just some sick pervo wanting to trap someone and murder them? …or a cop trying to catch perverts? What on Earth would the cop do when an actual 18-year-old kid turned up? More than anything though, Ryan couldn’t stop thinking, “What if he was for real? What if I had actually gone round there, and let him have his way with me? What if he… diapered me?” Every time he jerked off before he went to sleep, he couldn’t stop kicking himself, wishing he really had just gone round. But after he came, he would always remember his family. How would he explain where he had gone? “Hey sorry Mom and Dad, I just popped out to meet a complete stranger who’s twice my age so he could put me in diapers and treat me like a fuckin’ toddler.” It was never meant to happen. Finally, after a week and a half of sleepless nights, crying over incomprehensible notes, and general procrastination, Ryan made it through finals alive and well. Graduation would come in a few weeks, and the after-party of course. But what Ryan was looking forward to most of all was his first secret session in about a month. God, he was backed up. The next morning, Mom and Dad left for work, and the girls went out shopping or something, he didn’t care. They barely left the driveway before Ryan had his laptop (and his dick) out, eager for some good old-fashioned infantilist fappage. But first, as per routine, he checked the Diaperlist. The listing was gone. Ryan sighed. Too good to be true. He probably found someone else. He went to close the tab, and then… Ping. >>Hello there. It was him. Ryan didn’t know what to say. >Hi x That little kiss at the end; always smooth. >>Your finals are all over now, aren’t they? >Yup! Sure are, thank God 😛 >>That’s good. I suppose graduation’s not far behind either. >Absolutely. >>Well then, I have something to ask you. Ryan’s heart was practically leaping out of his chest. Was he going to ask him to come over again? >>Actually, it’s more of an offer. >What is it? >>I want you to come and stay with me and be my baby boy for two weeks over summer break. Ryan stopped dead in his tracks. His first, primal gut instinct was to smash “YES!” into the keyboard and race right over. But his second thought was, “What the hell.” >Are you serious? >>100%. >What do you mean? >>Simple. >>You will live in my house, obey all of my rules, and call me Daddy. >>You will be under my authority 24/7 for the entire stay, no exceptions. >>If you want to leave at any time, you can. I do have rules for you to follow, and some are quite strict. >>But I will provide you a warm, caring and loving environment for you to simply be yourself in. >>You will receive nourishing, nutritious meals, and provided with ample entertainment. >>You can live your wildest baby fantasy without any fear of judgement. >>Because your Daddy will be right here to change you if needed. Oh my God. This was for real. This man was genuinely offering Ryan a chance to live out his ultimate fantasy. But of course, reality kicked in. >I need to make money over summer. I can’t not work for two weeks. >>I can compensate you for any lost income. >>I am retired early, but I am very well-off. >>This means I can devote myself entirely to your care. 24/7. ‘Don’t tempt me!’ Ryan snapped. >What about my friends and family? >>That’s up to you. >>It’s only two weeks after all, I’m sure they’ll cope. >>And that’s my offer. >>Take it or leave it. Ryan’s head was spinning. In fact, the worst part was that he was already thinking of an excuse to tell his parents! He couldn’t possibly do this. No, he just couldn’t. No! It’s not happening. >I’ll think about it. >>Of course. Just let me know. Ryan couldn’t even concentrate on jerking off. He paced the room, trying to calm down. On the one hand, he thought about how boring it would be to just be a baby for two weeks. But then, of course, he realised that it would actually be the most exciting, erotic thing he could ever imagine. And really, what else would he do over summer? Watch TV and jerk off? While that sounds nice, it’s not exciting like being someone’s baby boy for a few weeks. He could just tell his parents that he and his friends were going on a cross-country road trip to Miami for two weeks. That’s the sort of spontaneous thing he and his friends would probably do. And… uh, he could just tell his friends that he and his family were going on a cross-country road trip to Colorado. That’s the sort of spontaneous thing he and his family would probably do. They would believe it. He could get away with it… Fuck! He can’t possibly be entertaining this thought. Nope, he can’t do it. That’s it. He’s just gonna have to tell the man, “Thanks but no thanks”. Yep, that’s what he’s gonna do. >Yes. I’ll do it. >>Good. >>I will arrange a time for you to come after graduation. >>We will sort details out then. >One more question. >>What is it, little boy? >What’s your name? >>It doesn’t matter. All I am is “Daddy” to you for these two weeks. >>Let your friends and family know now, okay? >Yes. >>Yes, what? >Yes Daddy. >>Good boy. Chapter 4 - Graduation Ryan had been having dreams about being put into diapers and cradled by a loving, muscular beefy man for years, and now it was going to happen any day now. He really couldn’t believe what he was doing. He even convinced the skeptical part of his mind to go along with it - if he didn’t like what was happening, he could just call it quits, like the man said. And it was only two weeks after all. If he turns up and it’s just some weirdo, he could ditch it. He’s a strong boy, he can hold his own if need be. The man… “Daddy” didn’t message him again leading up to graduation. He did say that he would wait until after graduation, but Ryan would have at least appreciated some acknowledgement. The first night, Ryan stayed up all night in bed, tossing and turning, thinking about what he just agreed to. Mostly, though, he was thinking of the best way to lie to his parents and his friends; rehearsing it in his head. "Mom, Dad… me and my best friends are going on a road trip to celebrate our last grasp of freedom before adulthood ties us down forever. I know this might be shocking to you, but we really need it. We might never see each other again. I love you both. Please accept this. I’ll see you guys when we get back, in two weeks.” The next day, he went down for breakfast and saw his Mom and Dad getting ready for work. They smiled when he walked in; well, Mom did anyway. “Hi sweety, you’re up early!” “Y-yyeah, hey guys, s-so…” Jesus, Ryan, calm yourself. “M-me and the guys are gonna go on a trip-- road trip…” “Oh yeah? Sounds cool. When will you be back?” “Uh… two weeks?” “Aw okay, hun. I hope you have fun. When do you leave?” “Uh… sometime next week after graduation on Friday?” “Well, be safe. I’ll pack you some stuff if you need it.” Mom kissed him on the cheek before she and Dad left for work. …That was easy. “Hey Jeremy,” Ryan said on the phone to his best friend, “Me and the folks are going on a road trip to Colorado for two weeks after graduation, cos they wanna spend some time with me before I leave Mom forever and ever.” “Aww sucks dude, was gonna go on a road trip to Miami with ya if you were interested!” “Well… I might, if I decide to bail on them. I’ll let ya know. Otherwise if you don’t hear from me, I’m in Colorado!” Jesus, this was easier than expected. Graduation rolled around, and the after-party soon followed. Even though he had a raging hangover, on Saturday morning Ryan still raced home as soon as he recovered enough to not puke his guts out at the slightest sign of light. The girls were home, but he was too impatient to wait. He just locked his door and retrieved his laptop. One new message. Just like clockwork. >>On Monday, at 9am sharp, you will go to Vienna Cafe in the city. I will meet you there. >>You will not need to pack anything other than the clothes on your back. >>From there, I will take you back to my house, where you will be living. >>I will have everything that you need for the entire time you’re here. >>Do you understand? >Yes daddy. >>Good boy. I will send a copy of the rules that you will be living under later tonight. >>I have two more requests for now, though. >>Firstly, I want you to abstain from masturbating until you have come here. >>Can you do that for me? Ryan was so incredibly aroused - he wanted dearly to jerk one off right there. But he figured that whatever “Daddy” had in store for him, it was clearly worth it. >Yes daddy. >>Secondly, I want you to shave yourself. >>Not your head, just your facial hair and everything below that. >>This is the only time you’ll need to do this. >>Do you understand? >Yes daddy. >>Good boy. “You better be worth it,” Ryan said to himself. Later that night, sure enough, a PDF document came through. >BABY RYAN’S RULES >Daddy’s word is final. >Daddy will be addressed as Daddy, and nothing else. >If Baby Ryan is a naughty boy and disobeys Daddy, he will be punished. >If Baby Ryan is a good boy and obeys Daddy, he will be rewarded. >Daddy has the authority to alter the rules as he sees fit without notice. >Daddy’s word is final. Ryan was almost disappointed at how vague and brief it was. He was expecting something with more detail… but this meant it left much more to Ryan’s imagination, which he actually found hotter than anything. Sunday came round quicker than Ryan anticipated - one day to go, and then he would move in with the strange man he was now required to call “Daddy”. Out of sheer curiosity, he made an impulsive decision to go and scope out the address he’d been provided upon first contact with “Daddy”. Driving down the street, he found himself in a leafy, fairly wealthy neighbourhood - the sort you’d want to raise your kids in. He stopped right opposite the address he’d been given. It was an impressive, old-fashioned two-storey white home, with a large stone fence and iron gate, well-maintained green lawn, and a two-car garage. The house looked freshly painted, well-maintained and generally welcoming. Something in one of the upstairs windows caught his eye… he could’ve sworn he caught a glimpse of the familiar bars that signified a crib… and was that silhouette a teddy bear? Suddenly, a figure walked past the window, and stopped. Ryan leapt into action and immediately sped off, not looking back. His mom was suddenly much more emotional about Ryan disappearing for the summer, which made him feel quite a bit guilty, especially since he was being so dishonest about the ordeal. But he knew he couldn’t really justify backing out now; even if he wanted to. At dinner, she burst into tears and wouldn’t stop hugging him before he went to bed. He felt babied, and not in the way that he liked (thanks ma). It’s not like he was disappearing for good. He lay in bed that night, thinking what on Earth he had gotten himself into. He looked at the clock. 12:30 AM. In just under nine hours, he would be under the complete control of someone he had never even met before in his life. And he couldn’t be any more excited. It was surprising that Ryan managed to sleep at all that night, but indeed he did. He had a lot of peculiar dreams that night and some he remembered more than others: one dream he was sleeping in a crib, a usual fantasy of his; another he dreamt of a large, beefy man holding him and feeding him a bottle; and another, he was trapped in a massive, cage-like crib, unable to escape… Beep beep beep. 8:00 AM. Time to get up. Chapter 5 - Meeting Daddy Ryan was in a daze as he showered and dressed for the fateful meeting. He went through his clothes, wondering what he would possibly wear - “Not that it really matters,” he reasoned with himself, “You’re probably gonna get changed into something else straight away anyway.” He went with a fairly innocuous pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Not daring to look back or think twice, he left. It was a clear, crisp morning, so he resolved to walk. And it was a brief walk - much too soon, he found himself on the corner of Vienna Street, with the Vienna Cafe in sight. Ryan’s heart was pounding so hard and fast, he might have been in danger of collapsing right there. He checked his watch. 8:50 AM. This was it. He walked past the cafe three or four times before he built up the confidence to walk in. And when he did… it was empty. Weird. They only just opened, clearly, so he ordered a coffee and sat at a table by the window. He checked his phone, which read 8:59 AM, and then he almost jumped when a tall, muscular figure passed by the window and went straight into the cafe. Ryan couldn’t suppress a gasp when the man walked in, and looked straight at him. He was well-built, of course; quite beefy and clearly strong. He was wearing a plain button-up shirt which was unbuttoned slightly to reveal his hairy, rock-hard chest, and was tucked into a pair of tight slacks that certainly accentuated his crotch well. His sleeves were rolled up, putting his muscular, hairy arms on display. But Ryan was more drawn towards his face - he had a decent amount of facial hair, but not exactly a full-on beard, just enough stubble to let you know who was the man of the house. His dark hair was speckled with gray spots, the only thing betraying his age. And yet, it was his face that was the most striking feature of all… he had a gentle, warm face which filled Ryan with a similarly warm feeling inside… it was incredibly peculiar, and even more so considering Ryan was now staring at this strange man for about ten seconds. What could he say - he just oozed authority. The man beamed widely, and walked over. “Well well well,” he said in a calm, warm voice that put Ryan off guard. “You must be Ryan.” Ryan laughed nervously. “Yup, that I am. And you are…?” The man chuckled, making Ryan feel that much more nervous again. “Well, you know who I am.” Ryan stared at the floor, unable to quite make eye contact with the man… “Daddy”, yet. “I’ve gotta finish this coffee,” Ryan said hastily. “That’s OK, baby, I can wait. But we’ve got to get going soon.” Ryan looked around anxiously in case anyone heard him call him “baby”. “Don’t be embarrassed, little Ryan,” he laughed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” “I have to tell you something,” Ryan blurted out before he could stop himself. “What is it?” “Uh… this is kinda my… well… first… anything.” “You mean you’ve never worn diapers before?” Ryan flinched at the d-word. He never even dared say it out loud himself. And yet, here was this burly, intimidating man using it freely in front of him. “Y-yeah… or, y’know, been with another man…” “Is that so?” he cocked an eyebrow, smiling again. “Yup…” Ryan was sure getting a great view of his shoelaces here. “Well, you do understand what I’m going to do to you, don’t you? You know that I will be putting you back in diapers? And that you will be my baby boy?” Ryan was flushing with embarrassment, but he silently nodded. “Look at me and say so.” Ryan looked up and made eye contact with him. His eyes were warm and loving, sure, but his face was hard and authoritarian. Not the sort of person you wanted to mess with at any rate. “Y-yes.” “Yes, what?” “…” “Say it.” “…Yes, Daddy.” Immediately after saying that, Ryan’s cock (which had been more or less inert since waking up) sprang to attention. He blushed even further at that. “Daddy” seemed to notice and smiled widely again. “Don’t get too excited now,” he chuckled. “We’ve still got to get you home and settled in now.” Ryan laughed nervously, and returned to looking at his feet. “Well, we should get going now.” Ryan was frozen. He acknowledged the man’s words, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Frankly, he probably just wasn’t ready to go yet. “Daddy” seemed to notice. “Let me just lay everything out on the table here,” he said, his face softening and allowing a smile. "I might have been a bit vague, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. But I should clear a few things up anyway, just so we’re both on the same page. I’m sure you’ve read things on the internet about “babies” and their “daddies”. Well, in case you haven’t already realised… I’m not like those other daddies. I’m not going to just put you in diapers and change you, although that will certainly be a major aspect of our relationship. "You will need to submit yourself entirely to my control. You’re going to fed by me, bathed by me. I will choose what you wear, and you will wear it, no questions asked. You will eat and drink what I feed you, no questions asked. And yes, you will be diapered 24/7. But ultimately, above all else, you will be my baby boy. Not just my boy, who’s dressed like a baby… my baby boy. You will need to forget who you are. You won’t be Ryan Willis, high school graduate, star athlete and future college student. You will just be Baby Ryan, Daddy’s good little baby boy; and nothing more. And I mean 24/7… there will not be any breaks or moments to breathe; no safe words. You live under my roof, you’re my baby. "I know I sound like I’m repeating myself now, but I just really want you to fully understand what I’m offering. And I understand that’s an immense commitment to make. So if you’re having any second thoughts now, this is your chance to turn back and go home. But that’s it; the offer’s off the table. I don’t deal with second chances or boys who don’t know what they want. I want you to be absolutely certain with regards to what you want. Same goes for the other option - if you come with me, there’s no turning back. You commit to this, and you commit entirely for these two weeks. “So, little guy, that’s my final offer. You can go home and back to your life as Ryan Willis, the closeted, suppressed college student unable to express his desires, doomed to a life of pent-up urges he might never be able to fully indulge in. Or… you can come with me, and be my Baby Ryan. And I know it’s what you want, what you desire with every inch of your being. You wouldn’t have gone to my house yesterday if you didn’t.” Ryan blushed profusely at this. "Nonetheless, it’s your decision. Two weeks of bliss.” Strangely enough, the first thought that entered Ryan’s head was, “Man, this must be the weirdest conversation to ever take place in this coffee shop.” And then, all at once, Ryan’s mind began racing at a million miles per hour. He was, indeed, having second thoughts now that he really thought about it. Planning this whole thing in his mind and imagining all the situations he would get into was one thing, but now he was here, with the man who wanted to baby him standing right in front of him. Ryan truthfully didn’t quite prepare for how serious “Daddy” was about this. Playing baby was something Ryan obviously wanted… but by the sounds of it, “Daddy” didn’t just want Ryan to pretend to be his baby, he wanted Ryan to BE his baby. It was intense, it was scary… and Ryan couldn’t think of anything more amazing. And now he had to choose between getting into “Daddy”'s car, or going home. “No turning back”, though? Ryan thought he said he could opt out at any time if he wa– “Well, if you don’t want to come, that’s fine. I’ll see you later, baby Ryan.” The man left. He was about to open his car door and hop in, no doubt to drive off and never be seen again, when he looked back at the coffee shop to see Ryan, standing by the car. He silent. He looked “Daddy” in the eye, and slowly nodded. The man smiled. “That’s my boy.” Chapter 6 - The Nursery “Woah, little guy, let Daddy help you there.” Ryan was taken aback when he went to open the passenger door - he barely even touched the door handle before “Daddy” interjected. He almost went to say, “No, it’s fine,” before he remembered himself. “Daddy” came round to the other side and opened the door for him. A lump formed in Ryan’s throat when he saw that the passenger seat was occupied by… a booster seat. A fairly large one, clearly custom-made for larger kids. Suddenly, Daddy clasped Ryan’s shoulder with his right hand; his grip was very firm. Ryan looked at him, and he motioned his head as if to say, “Go on, then”. Ryan wasn’t quite prepared for the baby thing to start so soon; he thought it would at least wait until they got back to his house. But Daddy looked pretty serious, so Ryan reluctantly climbed into the padded seat. Immediately, once he was in, Daddy strapped him in - it was one of those straps that crosses from all four sides, and buckles in the center. It was certainly tight, and in fact, Ryan could’ve sworn that he heard a clicking sound, like a lock, when Daddy finished buckled him in, and closed the door. This was it. “Alright then baby, let’s go home.” The drive went by rather quickly. The radio played quietly in the background, but otherwise, it was fairly silent. Ryan was too nervous to think of anything to say that wasn’t just awkward small talk, so he stayed quiet. Every now and then he’d look at the man and think to himself, “That’s my Daddy”. Just a few weeks ago, he thought the idea of having a Daddy was in the farthest realms of pure fantasy, and now here he was, locked into a baby’s carseat and at the mercy of a man almost twice his age. And he absolutely loved it - he was still rock hard, and the added tightness of the straps pressing up against his crotch only made him hornier. Every now and then, Daddy would catch him staring, and Ryan would look away, blushing. Then the man would beam that oddly comforting smile of his, and he’d feel a bit better. And then his dick would throb, and he’d blush again. Finally, they pulled into his driveway. Daddy released him from his carseat, and guided him inside. Ryan looked outside, at his one last gasp of freedom, before taking a deep breath and stepping inside. Daddy closed the door and locked it behind him. “Take your shoes off.” Ryan looked around the foyer - it was light and airy, with polished wooden floors and attractive paintings adorning the walls. To his immediate left was a staircase, and he could see into the big, open lounge area to his right (with a piano, large dining table, and other grand furniture suitable for someone with a sizable income), but otherwise, there wasn’t much to see. And Ryan was only interested in one particular room, obviously. “Would you like to see your new room?” Oh how overjoyed Ryan was to hear those words. Daddy took Ryan’s hand, as usual in a firm but not painful grip, and guided him upstairs. He walked past multiple rooms, no doubt bedrooms, being led to the door at the very end of the hallway. Ryan simply couldn’t suppress a smile when he saw the words “Baby Ryan’s Nursery” adorning a sign designed with baby blocks hanging on the door. Daddy unlocked the door (quite a hefty lock on it as well, Ryan noted) and took him inside. Ryan might have been smiling before, but now his jaw simply dropped. The room was quite large; about twice the size of his room, he wagered. But it wasn’t really the size of the room that took his breath away, of course, it was the contents. And what contents! The room was painted in whites and soft baby blues, with the odd pastel yellow or green thrown in here and there for good measure. The walls were adorned with images of famous children’s cartoon characters like Elmo (lots of Elmo), Blue from Blues Clues, and the Teletubbies. The carpet was a soft, fleecy white with a multitude of baby toys scattered about… blocks, cars, rattles, teething rings, and even a big rocking horse to the side. A toybox in the corner no doubt contained a multitude of other toys to play with. A massive brown teddy bear sat in the corner by the window, and a few other plush toys were scattered about as well. A rocking chair sat next to the big bear, and on the other side of it, a massive padded changing table, with shelves underneath stacked high with what was the unmistakeable sight of (Ryan’s heart lept with excitement) large disposable diapers, a few fluffy white cloth ones and plastic pants, in addition to the usual diaper changing supplies - powder, baby wipes, etc. A stack of shelves next to the table was stacked with pacifiers and bottles. The wardrobe door was ajar, enough that Ryan could catch a brief glimpse of what was inside - he saw a pair of white footed pajamas with what appeared to be cute little pictures of teddy bears and rattles on it. A big TV sat to the side of the room, hidden behind the open door. A full length mirror hung on the other side of the door. Sunlight spilled into the room, aided by the big, airy windows that overlooked the street below. And completing the scene, the words “Baby Ryan” adorned the wall above the changing table, matching the sign on the door in big baby block letters. But what easily dominated the room was the huge, white crib sat right beside the window (decorated with Winnie-the-Pooh curtains, of course). The bars were down, ready for its new occupant. There was even a cute plush rabbit waiting inside. In short, the nursery was everything Ryan had dreamed of, and more. Everything was perfectly re-scaled for a boy of Ryan’s size, but all without sacrificing the infantile nature of the objects inside. Make no mistake, this was not a room for a young adult; it was a room for babies who just happened to be teen-sized. Ryan was an expert on adult baby supplies, having spent hours staring wistfully at websites that he thought he’d never be able to sample; and there were things in this room that he never even thought existed in such large sizes. Clearly Daddy had gone out of his way to customise everything to perfection. Never in his wildest dreams would he fathom a room as wonderful as this; and now it would be his room for the next two weeks. Naturally, Ryan was in awe at the sight. He took in every single detail, constantly reminding himself that no, he wasn’t dreaming, and yes, this was really the room he would now call home for two weeks. He sniffed; and he was suddenly transported back to visiting his Aunt Jemima as a child who had a one-year-old daughter, his cousin Janine… it was the sweet, gentle scent of baby powder. Ryan breathed it in further; he’d never smelt something so sweet. Daddy was watching him this whole time, smiling as his baby boy took in the sights and smells. Ryan eventually realised that he was doing so, and blushed. Daddy clasped an arm on his shoulder. “Well, let’s get started.” Immediately, Daddy seized Ryan and lifted him into the air with extraordinary ease. Ryan was so taken by surprise his instinctive reaction was to struggle, but it did no good; Daddy was simply too strong. He carried Ryan over to the rocking chair and sat down in it, forcing Ryan over his lap, his butt sticking out most prominently. Ryan breathed heavily, no longer knowing what was going to happen next. “Well, this is just no good,” Daddy tutted, “the naughty baby thinks he’s more grown up than he really is. Look how silly he looks in these grown-up clothes, he’s not fooling anyone. I think it’s time Daddy taught him a little lesson.” Chapter 7- Back to Basics Without warning, Daddy roughly ripped Ryan’s pants off and tossed them aside, exposing Ryan’s plain white briefs (Ryan’s preferred underwear, as they were the closest things to diapers he could really get), which he then pulled down to expose his naked butt. Ryan realised what was coming, and started to grow nervous. A spanking? This wasn’t part of the plan… Ryan squirmed uncomfortably, but Daddy’s vice-like grip meant he was going nowhere. “Wait, I don’t think I’m r–” Ryan was swiftly silenced when a sharp slap came across his butt cheeks. He yelped in pain, but barely had time to catch his breath before another came. And another. And another. Ryan hadn’t been spanked since he was 4 years old, but the experience was no less humiliating at 18 years old. In fact, obviously, it was much more degrading and painful than he remembered. After what felt like an eternity, but was really more like about a minute, Daddy stopped spanking. He rubbed Ryan’s bright red stinging bottom, and then let his finger linger on his pink hole, teasing it thoroughly, and slipping a finger inside to explore. Ryan just about yelped. “Such a smooth, round bottom… my baby boy’s going to look just precious in his new diapers.” Ryan’s heart jump-started once again. He knew what was about to happen. He’d been dreaming and fantasising about it ever since he got out of them in the first place, but now it was a reality - he was about to be put back in diapers. The man held Ryan in a firm grasp and brought him over to the changing table. He was laid out on the padded surface gently, and the burly man went about gathering supplies. Ryan wriggled experimentally; the soft padding crinkled slightly. A real-life changing table, all right. He felt so exposed, lying butt naked at the mercy of this total stranger, and his bottom still stung quite a bit from the spanking. Another crinkling sound filled Ryan’s ears, but it wasn’t the changing table; the man had retrieved one of the large, thick diapers and presented it to him. Ryan got a close-up look of his new underwear. They were pearly white, plastic, and the front featured little pictures of teddy bears and stars, much like a real baby’s diaper. But, of course, these were much larger than a normal baby’s diaper, and they appeared to be much thicker. In fact, Ryan realised they looked even a bit thicker than the usual diapers tailor-made for ABDLs, and those were specifically optimised for maximum thickness. It was the most beautiful thing Ryan had ever seen, and his eyes (and dick) widened in anticipation. Daddy looked down at Ryan’s erect member, and Ryan blushed. “Well well,” he chuckled, “Looks like someone’s excited for his new diapie! Better get it on you so we don’t have any little accidents.” With one swift move, he grabbed Ryan’s ankles and lifted his butt high up in the air. Ryan was taken aback by this sudden movement; he’d never been so easily manhandled before, and the man seemed to be doing it with such little effort, as if he was setting to work on a real little baby. He had unfolded the diaper and used this opportunity to slide it under Ryan’s butt, and then lowered him back down onto it. Then came the wipes - of course Ryan didn’t really need it, since he wasn’t wet (yet…) but this was a Daddy who liked to keep up appearances. Ryan flinched as the cold, damp wipe was dragged across his crotch. Noticing his excitement, Daddy paid extra attention to Ryan’s throbbing boner, grabbing it with the wipe and giving it a few gentle strokes. Ryan was just about to burst when Daddy immediately stopped, denying him the satisfaction of a good climax. Ryan’s initial gut reaction was frustration, followed by an even more intense wave of excitement. He was lifted into the air again, held up by his ankles in one hand while the other hand busied itself wiping Ryan’s butt down. Freshly wiped, Daddy moved onto the next stage: a bottle of Johnson & Johnson’s baby powder. With a few generous puffs, the sweet aroma of the talcum powder filled Ryan’s nostrils, and he breathed in the wonderful smell deeply. Daddy applied a liberal amount of powder, making sure every nook and cranny was covered. And now, the final coup-de-grace - Daddy grabbed the diaper and pulled it up through Ryan’s legs, meeting the tapes at his hips and taping it up tightly and securely. He made sure it was fitted as snugly and securely to him as possible, before standing back to admire his handiwork. “There… that’s much better than those silly big boy pants. How does baby like his new diapers?” Ryan looked down, his heart pounding with euphoria, to see his crotch now encased in a thick white mass. They really were thick - Ryan brought his legs together experimentally, and found he could no longer touch his knees together, as the sheer bulk forced his legs apart. He also noted the crinkling sound that accompanied even the slightest of movements - he touched the front, and rubbed it a little bit. Crinkle crinkle. He could barely even feel his penis underneath the thick layer of plastic padding; an impressive feat considering how rock-hard it was. When he touched his dick, Daddy immediately took his hand and gave it a sharp slap, giving Ryan a considerable fright. Ryan looked up at him, looking almost offended, but withered against Daddy’s dead-serious face. He was in trouble. “Naughty baby! You don’t touch your diaper or your private parts. That’s Daddy’s territory. If you’re a very good boy, I might let you have some fun, but you have to earn that privilege. Understand?” Ryan realised what he was doing; orgasm denial. It took second-stage to his babying fantasies, but Ryan did always find the idea of only being allowed to cum when his Daddy gave him permission to do so, kinda hot. He nodded silently, and when he was given another insistent look, added, “Yes Daddy.” “Good boy! Now sit up for Daddy.” Ryan moved himself into a sitting position (crinkle crinkle… God, he could never tire of that wonderful sound) and waited. He wondered how ridiculous he might have looked to anyone else right now - this well-toned 18-year-old guy in a massive baby’s diaper. At least Janine wasn’t here; she’d have a field day. Daddy had gone to the wardrobe, and ruffled through a few items before saying, “Aaaah,” this will look just precious with your new diapers," he cooed. He returned to Ryan’s side, holding a baby blue T-shirt with a pastel yellow pocket complete with a little picture of Winnie-the-Pooh on the front, and light purple sleeves, with a white collar. It was the most babyish, adorable T-shirt Ryan had ever seen. “Arms up!” Ryan did so, and the shirt was promptly thrust through his arms, and pulled down. Ryan looked down and noticed that the shirt stopped just centimetres of the top of the diaper’s waistband, not even pretending to cover it up in any way, exposing it for any and all to see. “I would’ve dressed you in some shortalls or a onesie, but your new diapers look just so precious on you, I just have to show them off this time! What do you think, Baby Ryan? I think you look super handsome.” Ryan nodded in agreement. “One more thing,” Daddy said, turning his attention to the shelves beside the changing table. “Now you’ve been a very good boy, not crying or throwing a tantrum for Daddy, but I think we’d better give you your paci for now, just in case.” Daddy returned with a large yellow Winnie-the-Pooh pacifier, matching the pocket on his shirt. He pressed the large rubber nipple gently against Ryan’s lips, causing him to open them and accept the pacifier. The nipple was really quite big, and filled Ryan’s mouth causing his cheeks to puff out just a bit. He gave it an appreciative suckle, making Daddy beam widely. “I bet you’re a hungry little tyke now, aren’t you?” Almost on cue, Ryan’s stomach rumbled in agreement. He couldn’t help but smile behind the pacifier at it, and kept sucking away happily. Daddy picked Ryan up by the armpits once again, as effortlessly as ever, and set him down on the soft carpeted floor, adding, “Well, you just wait here for a little bit while Daddy fixes you a nice, yummy bottle of milk.” He gave Ryan a crinkly pat on the bottom, making him blush a little bit, before heading down to the kitchen. Chapter 8 - Bottle Time! Ryan sat on the floor motionless for a few moments, dumbstruck that this was really happening to him. He gazed around the room once more, drinking in the sights, before resting on the “Baby Ryan” sign above the changing table. “Baby Ryan,” he said out loud to no one in particular, forgetting for a second that his pacifier was in his mouth and startling himself with his muffled voice. It was a cute name all right. He shifted a bit, the crinkling sound bringing him back to the fact that yes, he was wearing a diaper - a proper, thick baby’s diaper. It was an odd feeling having so much padding around your crotch, but it was surprisingly comfortable. The plastic front was so shiny and reflective, Ryan could almost see his reflection when he gazed down at it. He poked and prodded it some more just so he could hear that wonderfully babyish crinkling noise, opening and closing his legs, sniffing it to get more of that sweet powder smell. He rubbed it again. And again. And again. And again… ‘Whoops,’ he thought to himself when he realised he was getting a bit carried away with his vigorous rubbing. He decided he’d better distract himself; didn’t want to get on Daddy’s bad side too quickly. Besides, he didn’t wanna just blow his load straight away, when there was still so much more to come. ‘Heh, come.’ Ryan was nothing if not a true comedian when no one was around to hear his wisdom. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the mirror. He realised he hadn’t actually seen his reflection yet, so he shuffled on over to that on his knees. When he saw himself, he couldn’t suppress a gasp. He looked so positively infantile he couldn’t believe it. The T-shirt, the massive diaper, the pacifier making his face look all pouty and adorable… He sucked on it for a while, watching himself do so. He turned around to look at his behind; his butt never looked so puffy. Ryan had spent countless times staring at himself in the mirror imagining himself in diapers and baby clothes; but now he didn’t have to imagine it anymore, it was really happening. It still felt so surreal, like a lucid dream. He patted his big butt curiously, much like Daddy had done before. They somehow looked even thicker in the mirror, and Ryan simply couldn’t help but blush from embarrassment, even if no one at all was around to see him in that moment. There was still that part of him that knew he should probably feel ashamed, but right now, his acute embarrassment only made his dick strain even harder against its tight plastic padding. Ryan sat in front of the mirror for a few minutes longer, transfixed by his new outfit, before Daddy came stomping back up the stairs. He returned with a few bottles full of milk in his arms, setting them down on a table by the rocking chair and turning to Ryan. “Goodness me,” he said with a chuckle, “Baby sure seems to love his new diapers!” Ryan blushed again and looked down with a nervous smile. “Don’t be embarrassed, tiger. You’ll be wearing them for a while now, so you might as well get used to them! Now come on, it’s time for a nice baba. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Ryan was lifted up and carried over to the rocking chair. Daddy got comfortable in the big chair, sitting Ryan so that he was cradled in his arms securely. It was incredibly intimate - Ryan could almost hear his heartbeat, and his warm, fuzzy arms held him tightly, making him feel very safe. Ryan was starting to feel very peaceful - he figured he was entering his “little space” he always read about online, for the very first time. He started gently, rhythmically sucking on his pacifier as he snuggled up to Daddy. Daddy lifted Ryan’s head a little, before grabbing the bottle. He removed the pacifier from his lips, before gently replacing it with the large nipple of the bottle, and Ryan continued sucking. It took a little while to get the hang of drinking from a bottle, but eventually he got it down pat, and the milk began to flow steadily down his throat as he kept rhythmically sucking away and Daddy began rocking gently. The milk was rather warm, and tasted a bit sweet; not your usual milk. Ryan wondered to himself for a bit what exactly was in the milk - he detected a slight tinge of something medicinal. But the drink overall tasted so good, and it made him feel very warm and calm inside. The combination of the calming milk, the gentle, hypnotic sucking action of being bottlefed, and being held so tightly and warmly in Daddy’s arms as he gently rocked made Ryan feel so incredibly peaceful, and he closed his eyes. All his doubts and inhibitions and feelings of shame about being treated like an infant simply melted away, allowing him to simply lose himself in a state of infantile bliss. All that mattered in this moment was the yummy taste of the warm milk. A few minutes later, Ryan finished the bottle. He felt very satisfied, almost groggy even from the mixture. He opened his eyes to see Daddy putting the empty bottle to the side and immediately grabbing another. “Round two,” Ryan thought to himself as the second bottle was pushed into his mouth, and he resumed his suckling and returned to his babyish haze. By the end of this second bottle, Ryan was starting to feel full. In fact, he could feel his belly beginning to swell out just a bit from the amount of fluids he was being fed. Daddy grabbed the third bottle, and Ryan started to feel a bit nervous. He was full by now, sure, but that wasn’t all - the coffee from earlier had also worked its way through his system by now, and he felt a quickly onsetting urge to pee. He squirmed uncomfortably while Daddy fed him the last of his third helping, knowing that he needed to go fairly soon. By now, his tummy was pudging out quite a bit, full of the yummy, unusual milk. “One more,” Daddy said cheerfully, probably noting Ryan’s uncomfortable expressions. He knew he was going to wet himself, but his subconscious was fighting dearly against it, and winning. Ryan almost wanted to just lose control and wet helplessly, but he knew 17 years of potty training weren’t just going to go away like that. And, if he thought about it, it would be better if it didn’t - this whole thing wasn’t going to be permanent after all, and he needed to get back to a life after it. But he could worry about that after his bottle. Ryan was positively bloated after one last bottle of milk, and then Daddy sits up, throwing Ryan over his shoulder in a tight bear hug. Ryan almost hugs him back, thinking it to be just an expression of intimacy and fatherly love, but when Daddy starts roughly patting him on the back, he gives himself a small jump when he burps loudly. Ryan blushed again at his rude utterance, and Daddy stuck his pacifier straight back into his mouth. “Playtime!” He said chirpily. Chapter 9 - Play Time! Most 18-year-olds might scoff at the idea of spending their morning playing with blocks and toy cars, but Ryan was no ordinary 18-year-old; right now, that sounded like the perfect way to spend a morning after being changed into a diaper and bottlefed some delicious milk. Daddy seemed to have started off with bottlefeeding to get Ryan into the perfect babyish headspace from the get-go, and boy did it work. Sucking away happily on his pacifier (he could really get used to this, it was quite soothing), Ryan lost himself in his inner child and built towers out of blocks, grabbing the cars and sending them crashing to the ground as he rammed the cars into them. Daddy watched him, grinning from ear to ear as he observed the teenager slipping so easily into his newfound infantile role. He really did choose the perfect boy. Ryan was amazed at how entertaining this could be - an hour later, he was still playing… but more urgent matters were demanding his attention. The need to pee had grown more and more urgent with every passing minute, and Ryan even went to go to the toilet once or twice before he realised himself. He tried to wet himself, but he just couldn’t even force himself to do it - there was, unfortunately, some sort of mental roadblock preventing him from engaging in such an obviously infantile act. “Alright, baby, Daddy has things to attend to, but he’ll be back super soon, okay?” Ryan was disappointed that Daddy was leaving so soon, but he gave him a hug and Daddy gave him a little peck on the cheek (causing Ryan to blush a little) and was left to his own devices. Now on his own, Ryan became a little self-conscious again. When Daddy was playing with him and encouraging him, he didn’t mind acting so infantile, but now his inner monologue wasn’t drowned out by Daddy’s encouraging and gentle words, and it let him know how ridiculous he really looked. Ryan blushed a little again. He looked over to the mirror, and caught sight of him sucking unconsciously on the pacifier, and spat it out immediately in embarrassment. Ryan was a little concerned about how easily he seemed to be slipping into his newfound babyhood. He’d read a million stories about this - the naive young man put back into diapers and babied to the point of losing his mind and turning into a real baby. Of course those stories were mostly just thinly disguised fap material, but he still didn’t want to get too lost in it - who knows what could happen? But he had other matters to attend to right now, like the sudden return of his need to pee, stronger than ever. “All you have to do is let go and pee,” Ryan said in his mind. “Just let go, wet yourself.” Ryan looked down again at the thick padding bunched between his smooth, youthful thighs. He spent his entire adolescence fantasising of wetting a diaper, but now he couldn’t even bring himself to do it; it seemed his pride was just getting in the way. Frankly, the whole experience was tainted now. He wanted out. Daddy… the man, was still gone. Ryan knew he would be disappointed that he got cold feet, and he himself was disappointed to lose this opportunity, but Ryan just couldn’t justify carrying this charade on anymore. Like, what was he thinking? He knew he couldn’t really just get away with disappearing an entire summer. And his parents would likely find out about his secret, and then what would he do? He just had to wait for him to return and break the news. Minutes passed, though, and he still hadn’t returned. Now the urge was to pee grew painful, and Ryan was worried. What was he doing? Ryan couldn’t wait anymore. He had to go and find him. He went to stand up… …and stumbled, landing flat on his stomach. He gave himself such a fright, his bladder immediately let go and flooded his diaper. The crotch grew warm and damp as it expanded with the urine being released into it. Ryan got back onto his knees and touched the front of the diaper, still somewhat paralysed with the surprise of it. The diaper was now soggy and damp, and squelched instead of crinkled. He really did it. Ryan wet his diaper, and really it was actually somewhat of an accident. Almost immediately after, Ryan heard the distant stomp of footsteps coming closer. The man was returning. “Hello baby, I’m back,” he beamed before noticing Ryan looking down at the ground. “Is something wrong?” Ryan could finally tell him the bad news, that he was having second thoughts and wanted to leave… “I wet my diaper. Could you change me… Daddy?” Chapter 10 - Messy Time? It was a strange series of events that ultimately led to the captain of the hockey team and one of the most popular jocks in school to be laid down on a padded changing table to have his puffy wet diaper changed by a man he’d never met until today - that same man he now called his Daddy - while he sucked placidly on a bottle of juice. Ryan was thinking deep about the situation now. He’d very seriously intended on bailing on the whole charade, right up until Daddy walked back in. For some reason, as soon as he walked in, Ryan’s will just melted away. It seemed like even if he wanted to get out, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Daddy… the man… Daddy. And frankly, right now he didn’t really want to. Daddy had cooed to him after realising he was wet, praising him for being a good little boy and using his diapers just like he was meant to. It was a little embarrassing but still made him all warm and fuzzy inside. He had gently laid him out on the changing table and untaped the sodden garment, and was now wiping him down lovingly, giving Ryan yet another surprise boner. Stopping just short of climax once again, to Ryan’s building frustration, he instead went to wiping down his bottom. Ryan was lost in the ecstasy of the moment as Daddy caressed his smooth bottom… and then yelped in shock when he shoved something straight up his hole. It seemed like just his finger at first, but Ryan could’ve sworn there was still something there when he retracted his finger and, oddly, taped the wet diaper back up. That was odd. Why did he go to all that trouble just to wipe him down a little bit and put him back in the same diaper? Daddy blew a raspberry on Ryan’s stomach, making him squirm and giggle a little bit, completely pushing the diaper situation out of his mind. Ryan finished the bottle just as Daddy picked him up again and brought him over to the rocking chair. Ryan sat in Daddy’s lap while he fussed over his new baby boy, stroking his hair and patting his soggy bottom. Ryan blushed and smiled, quickly learning to grow out of his embarrassment over being coddled and babied. About a minute or so later, Ryan’s tummy started to feel funny. He thought it was just a bit of gas, and he farted loudly, giggling at Daddy’s feigned shock reaction. But it kept gurgling away, and Ryan realised with slowly creeping dread that the urge to poop was growing with unsettling speed. He looked at Daddy, who kept smiling. “Uh… I have to go poop,” Ryan said, blushing profusely. “Yeah?” Daddy cocked an eyebrow knowingly. “Well, what are we gonna do about that, little man?” “Well, uh… could you take my diaper off so I can go to the, uh, potty? …Please?” Daddy chuckled, pinched Ryan’s cheek and said, “Silly baby! Little boys in diapers don’t use the potty, remember? They do all their business in their diapers!” “Wh-what? But I don’t wanna mess… I don’t like it, this wasn’t part of the de—“ Ryan was swiftly silenced by a sharp smack on the thigh. “You will use your diapers as fully intended, baby! And yes, that does include going poopy! The only time I will ever take off your diapers is when I’m changing you into a fresh one, or when it’s bath time! If you ever try and hold off from messing, I’ll know, and I’ll give you something so you don’t have any choice. Just like the suppository I gave you just before.” Ryan started to get very uncomfortable. He really didn’t want to mess; as much as he always liked the idea of it, the current reality of actually soiling himself was a bit too intense. Admittedly, not as intense as the ever-growing urge to let go. He started to squirm in discomfort, and Daddy held him tightly, whispering in his ear. “Shhh… it’s okay, baby. Don’t worry. It’s coming, so just sit still for Daddy and let it happen.” Intense stomach cramps, wave after wave, hit Ryan and he started moaning in discomfort. Just as the urge disappeared, it immediately came rushing back harder and more intense than ever. Daddy just held him tightly in his arms, gently reassuring him and rubbing his back soothingly. “It’ll be over soon, baby boy… shhh… just let it happen!” Ryan couldn’t even struggle against Daddy’s iron grip, and could only whimper as he tried to put up a fight against his ever-weakening bowel muscles. Eventually, Ryan finally farted like he had never done before, followed by another big, slightly runny fart, and finally, all at once, a hot rush of mushy, warm poo completely filled into his diaper and smeared all over his bottom and even up his crotch. Ryan was in shock. He had never even crapped himself as a child, but now here he was, the high school graduate in a completely soiled diaper. Daddy released Ryan from his grip, still patting his back. “There there, little man…” he gently whispered. “All better?” Ryan was petrified with shock, unable to muster the ability to speak at all let alone reply to him, so he just nodded without making a sound. “Good boy. And stinky boy for sure! Big poopies for such a little guy, guess you really do need these big thick diapers, huh?” Daddy beamed and patted Ryan’s bottom, mushing it about even more and making him squirm in discomfort. Ryan was genuinely humiliated, and Daddy noticed. “Aww… is widdle Ryan embarrassed about his stinky winkies? It’s OK to make poopies, little guy! That’s why Daddy keeps you in diapers, after all. Daddy thinks you need a change though. Don’t you agree?” Ryan nodded again, still too humiliated to speak. “Hmm, I’m not sure… you need to ask Daddy nicely.” Ryan swallowed, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “Wil-will you change me please?” He received a sharp slap on the thigh for that. “That’s not how little babies ask for their diapies to be changed! You need to tell daddy what you’ve done, and ask him very nicely to help.” Ryan blushed furiously, harder than ever. He put on a babyish tone and slowly said, “Daddy… I made poopies in my diapee… Can you change me… pwease?” Daddy pinched Ryan’s cheek and gave him a few good bounces on the knee, smushing the mess about again. “Good baby!” He exclaimed. “Time for a change.” Chapter 11 - A Change Well Earned Ryan was in something of a state of shock as Daddy carried him gently over to the changing table. He couldn’t quite believe that he had really done that; just completely soiled himself, let alone in front of another person. He was petrified with humiliation and felt incredibly babyish, much like he did being bottle fed earlier. But this wasn’t the soothing, innocent babyish feeling like that one; Ryan felt completely helpless and at his Daddy’s mercy as he was gingerly laid down onto the table. This, he realised, was the reality of being a baby: complete and utter powerlessness over yourself. Ryan was brought back to reality as his soiled diapered butt made contact with the table. He was blushing furiously, and must’ve looked as if he was ready to cry or something as Daddy pushed his pacifier between his lips. Ryan gladly accepted it and placidly sucked while Daddy set to work untaping his diaper. Daddy exclaimed as the offensive bundle was released from Ryan’s side and the smell escaped. “Goodness me, Ryan, you are definitely a stinky baby huh?” Ryan could only blush and close his eyes as he sucked harder on the pacifier, trying hard to distract himself. Daddy just smiled at Ryan’s embarrassment as he started wiping his messy bottom down. “Don’t be embarrassed, tiger. Babies don’t need to use the potty after all. It’s OK to make poopies in your diapies. We’ll have lots more smelly diapers to come, don’t you worry. You’ll get used to it.” Funnily enough, despite (or maybe because of) Ryan’s intense humiliation, he was now completely rock-hard. Daddy noticed, and teased him a little bit by stroking his cock a little bit. He stopped before Ryan could climax, making him huff in frustration. Daddy grinned at this outburst. “Aww, I’m sorry baby, did you wanna cum? Poor baby. Daddy’s gotta make sure you aren’t naughty and playing with yourself. So if you’re a good boy, he might let you cum.” Ryan got the gist. As long as he didn’t act up or protest or resist, he would eventually get his reward. Daddy finished cleaning Ryan’s poopy butt off, and got him all nice and clean and taped up into a dry, clean new diaper. Daddy sat him up, patted his crinkly bottom and said, “Now there’s a happy baby. All cleaned up and changed into a nice clean diaper. What do you say?” “Fankyoo Daddy,” Ryan said, forgetting about the pacifier in his mouth that garbled his speech. Daddy chuckled as Ryan blushed. “I think it’s about lunch time!” Chapter 12 - A Nutritious Lunch Over the past few hours Ryan had been through so much in the name of babying that compared to shitting his diaper, being fed lunch wasn’t really anything at all to him. Daddy picked Ryan up and threw him over his shoulder with ease as he carried him downstairs to the kitchen, one hand cheerfully patting his diapered bum. A big highchair sat by the table where a normal chair might sit, complete with a “seat belt” strap in the seat and wrist restraints. Thankfully Daddy didn’t strap Ryan’s arms into those, but he did strap him into the seat before sliding the tray into place. Noticing Ryan’s concerned face at the wrist straps, Daddy said, “Those are only for naughty babies who make a fuss at mealtime. But you’re a good baby, right Ryan?” He nodded. Daddy set to work preparing Ryan’s lunch. He couldn’t see what he was preparing, but it smelled… Interesting. A few minutes later, Daddy came over with a big yellow Winnie-the-Pooh bib to tie around Ryan’s neck, before setting down a bowl of steaming mush. “Ready for num nums?” Daddy asked. Almost as if on cue, Ryan’s tummy rumbled audibly. He blushed as Daddy took his paci out and grabbed a spoonful of mush. “Here comes the Choo-Choo train!” Ryan didn’t really know how to react, so he didn’t open his mouth in time before the spoon collided with his lips, smushing the spoonful on his chin. “Silly baby,” Daddy chuckled, “Open wide now!” Ryan opened up and let the spoon fill his mouth. He gagged a little at the taste - mashed carrot. He couldn’t help but dribble a little bit more onto his bib. He felt, and no doubt in his mind looked absolutely ridiculous. But before he could even finish swallowing, Daddy had another spoonful on its way. Daddy fed Ryan at this speed throughout, ensuring that he couldn’t quite stop himself from missing or making a mess every now and then. Daddy retrieved a second bowl, this time of mashed apple, and repeated the process. Ryan was pretty full by the end of it, and an absolute mess - face, chin and bib covered in mushy baby food. But before Ryan was released, Daddy gave him one more bottle of milk, which he eagerly lapped down. Daddy finally wiped Ryan’s face clean with his bib, before releasing him and burping him again. Ryan was feeling positively blissful. After a somewhat traumatic experience in messing his diaper, he was now fed, burped and feeling really quite sleepy. Daddy picked up on this. “Hmm, baby’s getting sleepy huh? I think widdle Ryan needs a nap. Come on, daddy’ll put you down in your crib.” Putting his paci back in his mouth, Ryan placidly sucked as Daddy took him upstairs and laid him down in the big, cosy crib. Daddy pulled the curtains shut, and gave Ryan a cute teddy to cuddle while he tucked him in. “Sleep tight my beautiful baby boy,” Daddy whispered lovingly. “You’re going to love it here.” With a kiss on the forehead, Daddy raised the side of the crib and locked it into place, before turning on the stars and planets that hung over Ryan’s head making them spin. He locked the door behind him. Ryan was in bliss. He felt so light and fluffy, watching the stars spin as his eyes felt heavier and heavier. Before he fell asleep totally, he felt another urge to pee. But to his surprise, he found he could just let go and flood his diaper again, feeling the crinkly plastic grow warm and expand with his sogginess. Ryan smiled as he sucked his paci and closed his eyes, drifting peacefully off to a dreamless sleep. This was perfect. Chapter 13 - Lessons Learned Ryan learned a lot of things over that next week or so, living with Daddy. Lesson Number 1: life as a baby is very routine. After the first day, Daddy had quickly settled Ryan into a very consistent and repetitive daily routine. He’d wake up around 7.30, waiting for Daddy to come greet him before taking him downstairs for a spoon fed breakfast in his highchair (usually oatmeal and a bottle of milk). Following that, Daddy would take Ryan up for a diaper change into his outfit for the day - sometimes a cute onesie, a pair of shortalls, even just a T-shirt sometimes, but always with a thick, crinkly diaper around his waist. Then it was playtime for a few hours; he’d play with the toys and blocks and cars, which Daddy occasionally played along with, or if he was extra good he could watch some Teletubbies or Barney on the TV. Then it’d be lunch in the highchair around 12 or 1, followed by a nap in the crib for an hour or so. After his nap, Ryan would play for a bit more until dinner, followed by a bath, one last bottle and bedtime at 7pm sharp. Throughout the day there would be at least 3 or 4 wet diaper changes (and usually at least one messy one too), and playtime was occasionally interrupted for a bottle in daddy’s lap. This leads into Lesson Number 2: it was pretty easy to slip into the baby role once you stopped getting so embarrassed about it. Ryan was a mess of embarrassment and shame on his first day as a baby. But once he realised that no one here was going to judge him in any way, he was able to just lose himself in his newfound infancy and enjoy the complete lack of worry and responsibility that life as an infant enabled. He could play with the trucks and blocks as much as he pleased and he didn’t have to worry about school, work, money, parents, anything. Hell, he didn’t even have to worry about wiping his own ass anymore. After a few days, Daddy let Ryan cum too. But the catch was, since he wasn’t allowed to touch his diaper, he had to hump himself to climax. Ryan was so backed up that it still didn’t take long for him to absolutely explode, and Daddy praised him, reminding him that as long as he’s good and Daddy doesn’t have to punish him, he can do that again very soon. And once he got over that embarrassment hurdle, inhabiting the mind space was also easy. He grew to love the soothing rhythm of sucking on a bottle of milk. He could just let go into his diaper knowing Daddy would always be there to clean him up afterward. Even the TV shows were really entertaining once you stop caring about how old you supposedly “really” are. Life as a baby was pretty sweet. Except when it wasn’t, which brings Ryan to Lesson Number 3: being a baby kinda sucks sometimes. First of all, babies do kinda lead boring lives. They watch simple TV shows, and play with simple toys, and always need to be cared for and kept safe at every moment. There’s no excitement or risk; the biggest thrill ride of the day was if Ryan got to watch two episodes of Dora the Explorer instead of one. And the routine was repetitive sometimes to the point of mind numbing. Ryan had to struggle to remember what day it was, because they all blurred into one. Not to mention all the rules he had to follow and privileges he was no longer allowed. He wasn’t allowed to talk like a “big boy”, as Daddy said, and although he was warned at first if he didn’t talk in a sufficiently babyish manner, eventually Daddy would spank him every time and make him keep his pacifier in his mouth for a few hours. It wasn’t the only thing that would earn Ryan a spanking now either; refusing food, standing up instead of crawling, playing with himself, resisting a diaper change or doing anything that wasn’t totally consistent with a baby’s mindset was severely punished. And because Ryan inevitably slipped up at least once a day, it meant that since the first time he came, he had yet to earn the privilege again a week later. He was so frustrated but even trying to touch himself only meant he had to wait longer still. His least favourite punishment came about because he wouldn’t stop touching himself - Daddy put his hands in super thick white mittens that stopped him from being able to even play with his toys, let alone play with himself. He felt impossibly infantile with them, and vowed never to touch himself for the rest of the stay if that was the punishment. And there were countless other things about adult life that Ryan never even thought about until he was no longer permitted them. His diet now consisted solely of spoonfed mushy baby food and bottles of either juice or daddy’s specially made milk, and he certainly was never allowed to feed himself. The early bedtimes were also kind of a drag, especially since the sun would still peek through the curtains in the evening as he was tucked into his crib. Even Daddy was kinda getting to him in a way; he was intent on making sure Ryan knew he was the baby in this situation, so he always talked to him as if he were talking to a one-year-old. He never called him just Ryan; it was always ‘baby Ryan’, or even just ‘baby’ or ‘little man’. The lamest thing about being a baby was the complete lack of privacy it now meant. Daddy had complete authority over every single aspect of Ryan’s life now - he controlled when and what he ate, what he did, what he wore, when he slept, even what he said. Ryan had no independence or control over himself whatsoever. He was truly as helpless and dependent as a little baby. But it was easy enough to just lose yourself in the baby life. In fact, this led Ryan to the final Lesson, Number 4: it was kinda too easy to lose yourself in the baby life. Daddy was very intent on Ryan being dependent on his diapers for all his needs - he fed him lots of bottles to make sure he was constantly taking in fluids and thus constantly wetting. Even worse, he gave Ryan more than a few more suppositories after the first one to get him messing with ease. And they both worked with almost frightening effectiveness - Ryan didn’t even need to force himself to wet within a few days as he’d just let go and start peeing, and by the 6th day he just had to push a little bit before he found himself sitting in a messy smelly diaper. By the 9th day, Ryan started waking up soaked with no memory of wetting in the night. By that next afternoon, he was playing with his trucks when he felt his diaper suddenly growing warm as he wet himself unknowingly. Ryan was increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that he seemed to be losing control of his bodily functions against his will. But it wasn’t just his toilet training that seemed to be reversing. With all the forced pacifier use as punishment for big boy talk, Ryan started to really get fixated on it. He really did enjoy just sucking on it, and it was the best way to calm down if he was upset after a punishment. Once or twice, when it wasn’t nearby, he would instead start sucking on his thumb subconsciously. The baby treatment had physical implications too. The diet of baby food and milk meant Ryan’s messes became runnier and easier to just let go. And the diet combined with the lack of physical stimulation meant Ryan’s ripped chest and stomach had already started to devolve into a slightly chubbier build. He’d need to hit the gym big time at the end of this, he noted. No doubt a significant time on a diet like this would weaken him beyond help. Most of all though, Ryan was just bored with the routine. Daddy could tell. Ryan needed some excitement. So on the 13th day of his stay, Daddy got up extra early to prepare for Ryan’s big day. He packed a big Winnie-the-Pooh bag full of powder, wipes, an outfit change, a bottle, paci, bib, and a few diapers of course. All ready for his day out. Chapter 14 - A Grand Day Out Ryan stirred as the sunlight streamed in through the bars of the crib. Opening his eyes, he adjusted to the sight of his nursery he had grown so accustomed to over the past 13 days. He moaned behind his pacifier and grabbed Robbie, his favourite rabbit plushie. His diaper felt incredibly damp and saggy between his legs. It was a fantastic feeling, even if concerning that bed wetting was now a very real thing for him. He was rock hard but didn’t dare even hump the crib without daddy’s permission. Another day locked in mittens didn’t sound pleasant in any way whatsoever. Nonetheless, the blue onesie (complete with tiny little bottles and teddies all over!) strained against the heavy diaper, pressing it tight against Ryan’s crotch. At least it felt good. Daddy came in right on schedule. “Rise and shine my baby boy, time for num nums!” Ryan rolled over and couldn’t help but smile up at Daddy. For all of his strictness and control, he was always loving and cheerful… At least when Ryan wasn’t being punished, that is. “How’s my baby doing this morning? Hmm, soaked as usual… But at least you’re not leaky today!” Ryan blushed. Yesterday morning he was so wet that he had actually leaked through his diaper and soaked his sheets. Daddy wasn’t mad at him, but he did say that if it happened again, Ryan would need to wear double thick diapers to bed from now on. The diapers he already wore were thick enough without extra layers, so he was quietly grateful he didn’t have to endure that, and grateful his bed wetting wasn’t quite at crisis mode… Yet. Daddy lowered the crib side and picked Ryan up over his shoulder to carry him downstairs. He set him up in the highchair and strapped him in, pottering about preparing breakfast. Ryan was grateful not to have his arms strapped down this time - Daddy had done so three days ago, when he had earned his hands in mittens. That wasn’t a fun day. Bib around his neck and paci out, Daddy set to work feeding Ryan his breakfast. Oatmeal was on the menu today, and as usual Daddy somehow seemed to make sure Ryan still ended up with mush over his face, chin and bib. While Ryan sucked on his usual morning milk, Daddy sat down to his own breakfast - bacon and eggs on toast. It had been so long since he’d had solid foods, Ryan had almost forgotten what it tastes like. Two weeks on a diet of mush meant he didn’t really notice the taste anymore, but he still missed big boy food. He was grateful then that his time was almost over. The bottle finished, Daddy cleaned Ryan up and burped him, before carrying him upstairs again to get ready for the day. “Big day for you today, little guy!” Daddy said as he laid Ryan down on the changing table. He untapped the sodden garment and wiped Ryan’s damp crotch down as usual… But instead of taping another thick diaper around his waist, Daddy slid a pair of white briefs through Ryan’s feet and up around his waist. What was going on? “Daddy has some errands that he needs to do today. Normally I’d get a babysitter for you, but it’s not possible at such short notice, so instead you’ll be coming with me today! Are you ready to be a big boy just for today, baby?” Ryan flushed with nerves. He was anxious about anyone seeing him in this state… But, he reasoned, at least Daddy wasn’t making him go out diapered. And it’s not like he had anything resembling a choice these days anyway. Daddy dressed Ryan up in a light blue polo shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers with ankle socks. He looked a bit like an overgrown child, but he supposed at least that was better than an overgrown baby. Ryan was strapped into the car seat again, but that wasn’t so bad. If he knew what was coming for him on his outing with Daddy, however, he might’ve just preferred the mittens at home. Chapter 15 - Big Boy Denied If Ryan thought that just because Daddy dressed him as a somewhat more mature kid rather than a complete infant, that meant he would be treating him as more of an equal… Well, he was sorely mistaken. As soon as Daddy pulled into the parking lot of the mall and unbuckled him from his car seat, Ryan was made to hold Daddy’s hand wherever they went, from the bank to the hardware store. Since Daddy looked old enough to be Ryan’s actual father, it made at least a few people do a double take and raise an eyebrow at the late teenager in the juvenile outfit holding the older mans hand. But to Ryan’s moderate relief, most people didn’t really look twice. It felt really weird to be walking around in normal underwear again. Ryan was now so used to having a thick layer of crinkly plastic padding encasing his crotch 24/7 that he felt oddly naked in just the thin white cotton briefs. Not to mention the baby talk which still didn’t quite relent much at all; Daddy still talked to Ryan as if he was really a toddler. “You want a lollipop, little guy?” He asked while they were in line at the pharmacy. Ryan nodded, blushing since there were definitely other people in earshot. “And one lollipop for my special little guy!” He exclaimed once they reached the counter. The cashier smiled tentatively at Ryan, who avoided eye contact. “Ryan loves lollipops, don’t you? Here you go, little guy. What do you say?” Not even daring to look up, Ryan muttered, “Thank you.” Daddy looked sternly at him while squeezing his hand and said, “I think you can do better than that, Ryan. Say thank you to the nice lady for your lollipop.” Ryan blushed a furious red as he looked up and made eye contact with the still-smiling woman and said in a slightly shaking voice, “Thank you for the lollipop. Daddy just tutted. “Kids,” he said to the cashier with a chuckle. She laughed in response, but was clearly very bemused by the entire situation. Ryan popped the lollipop into his mouth to distract himself from the embarrassment, especially since everyone behind them in line was now staring. He really quite enjoyed the lollipop a surprising amount; probably because it reminded him of his paci which he found himself craving a lot. “Okay tiger, we’ve just gotta stop in at the grocery store and then we’ll get you some McDonald’s for being such a good boy today!” Ryan beamed with happiness - finally some food that wasn’t just mush! Before they went into the store, Daddy grabbed a large bag from the backseat and put it around his shoulder. Ryan knew not to question daddy so he said nothing. Daddy led him by the hand again into the store. It was around the dairy aisle that the cramps started to hit Ryan. It was nearly 11am - around this time every day he would have his morning mess, and the bowel train was right on schedule. He almost just let go right there, until he remembered that he wasn’t in a diaper. Shit, that was a close one. He tugged at Daddy’s arm. “Yes, what is it sport?” “I, uh… I have to go potty.” “Oh yeah? Well, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to wait until we get to McDonald’s, sport. There’s no bathroom here.” Ryan whined, but Daddy slapped his wrist and he shut up. Daddy was taking his time with the groceries, and as Ryan realised, it took a lot more effort holding it in now than it did two weeks ago. He knew that if he let his mind wander for just a few moments, his body would take over and he’d immediately lose contr— “Hey Ryan, you’re back! Wait, who’s that guy and why are you… Uh, holding his hand?” Ryan froze, first at the sound of Jeremy Linnard’s voice and then at the all-too-familiar sensation of his bowels immediately letting loose, first with a loud fart followed by the seat of his pants filling with a big stinking mushy poop. Sensing the all-clear, his bladder followed suit as he completely flooded his shorts and even made a puddle where he stood. Jeremy and his buddies stared mouth agape as his hockey buddy wet his pants and messed himself all while holding the hand of some older man. “Ryan… Dude… Did you just wet yourself?” The others stared in shock as Daddy turned around. Ryan was completely petrified. “Aww, did my baby boy have an accident? Someone couldn’t even wait until we got to McDonald’s. Oh look at you, you’re soaked! And… Oh my goodness, you went poopies too didn’t you?” There was now a considerable audience to Ryan’s predicament. He could feel tears of humiliation building as Daddy put his arm around him. “Don’t worry little Ryan, Daddy’s here. C’mon, let’s get you changed and cleaned up.” Daddy escorted Ryan away, making sure to walk straight through Jeremy’s group. “Excuse me boys, my lil guy had a big accident so he needs to be changed.” Ryan didn’t dare make eye contact with any of his friends, but he could hear them immediately burst into laughter as daddy walked him to the checkout. “Excuse me ma’am, but my boy here had an accident. Do you think there’s a toilet or changing room nearby where we can get him cleaned up?” The cashier directed Daddy to a changing room nearby. Ryan could feel the eyes of the entire store on him as he was escorted away. He couldn’t help it anymore; he started sobbing. He had never felt so humiliated and degraded in his life. He actually just had an accident in public. Not only that, he shat himself in front of his friends. What the hell were they going to think of him now? Chapter 16 - Back to Basics... Again Once they were alone in the changing room, Daddy threw his arms around Ryan and grabbed him in a tight bear hug. “Shhh… It’s ok, little guy. Daddy knew he shouldn’t trust you in big boy pants. Back to diapers for you. Let’s get you all cleaned up and dressed properly, okay?” Ryan calmed down a little, and just sniffled as daddy unfolded a big changing mat over the cold linoleum floor. He closed his eyes as Daddy pulled his shorts and peeled his briefs off. Ryan dared to peek again as Daddy tutted. “Definitely not a big boy, even these shorts are ruined!” Indeed, the back of the shorts was stained brown as the mess had seeped through his briefs. He couldn’t stop himself whimpering again. “Shhh, don’t cry baby. Here.” Daddy pushed Ryan’s paci into his mouth, and he started sucking immediately. He didn’t care how babyish he felt, it was the only thing that made him feel better right now. After wiping Ryan’s thoroughly poopy bottom down, Daddy pulled out a bottle of powder and not one, but two thick diapers from the bag he had brought in. How coincidental that as soon as Daddy had brought that bag with him, Ryan had a huge accident that necessitated it… Except maybe it wasn’t an accident. Well, it certainly was for Ryan… But maybe Daddy had planned it all. He wanted Ryan to mess in public so he could humiliate him beyond anything else he’d ever experienced. Ryan felt so desperately helpless. He was now beginning to realise just how much power Daddy had over his life. Daddy powdered him up and taped both diapers around his waist. One was thick by itself, but this was something else. “That was a big accident you had, little man. It’s a good thing Daddy packed a change of clothes too, you ruined these shorts and briefs! Daddy’s gotta keep you in double diapers for a while, I think, if you’re having such big accidents. Don’t wanna risk ruining any else of your nice clothes.” Daddy pulled out a change of outfit - his “favourite” light blue T-shirt with tiny teddy bears and bottles adorning every inch, and a pair of denim shortalls with a Winnie-the-Pooh print adorning the bib and snaps in the crotch for easy diaper access. Ryan tried to blink back the tears as Daddy dressed him in the humiliatingly infantile outfit. He got terrified for a moment when it seemed like the snaps weren’t going to fit over his diapers, but thankfully they eventually snapped into place. But that was only a small consolation. Standing up, Ryan still looked incredibly infantile; the shortalls did absolutely nothing to hide the massive diaper bulge and the plastic rims even peeked out of the leg holes. His butt looked massive, and if it wasnt obvious enough to almost anyone that he was wearing a big diaper underneath his clothes, the forced waddle caused by his legs being spread apart by the thick plastic and the extremely audible crinkle was proof. And the Velcro shoes and socks combo may have made him look like a bit of a kid before, but now combined with his new outfit, he looked nothing more than an absolute baby. “Good baby,” Daddy chuckled. “One last thing…” He retrieved a Winnie the Pooh pacifier clip from the bag, and attached it to his shortalls bib. “Daddy knows how much you love your binkie little man, so this is so you don’t lose it.” Ryan suckled in meek appreciation. “Okay, back to shopping and then lunch!” Chapter 17 - Baby on Board Ryan felt as if the eyes of the entire store were on him as Daddy marched him by the hand toward the cashier. It didn’t matter that no one was particularly staring aside from a few double takes. The undeniably and overtly infantile outfit, the massive bulge in his crotch, the obvious crinkle sound that Ryan made with every step that now seemed louder than ever (or maybe Ryan was just more conscious of it than ever), and of course the goofy waddle that the thick diapers and Daddy’s brisk stride forced him into… Ryan would’ve felt completely humiliated even if there was no one in the store at all. “Sorry about that,” Daddy said cheerfully to the cashier. “My poor lil guy had an accident so we had to get him all changed and dressed more appropriately.” Ryan blushed furiously as Daddy ruffled his hair. The cashier smiled at Ryan bemusedly, looking his outfit up and down. Ryan realised he had still been sucking away on his paci the whole time and spat it out immediately. “Ah ah ah, you keep that in for now, little guy.” Daddy immediately retrieved the pacifier hanging down on Ryan’s front and shoved it back in his mouth. Ryan whined quietly to himself. “You just keep sucking on your binkie until Daddy says so.” He turned to the cashier and chuckled, shaking his head. “Kids…” The cashier continued staring at Ryan even while he was scanning the items. “So if you don’t mind me asking,” he started, “why is he dressed like a baby and all? It’s a pretty good costume.” “Oh this isn’t a costume,” Daddy smiled, “these are little Ryan’s normal clothes! He is kind of just a big baby boy, you see. He uses his diapers, sleeps in his crib and plays with his toys and everything. Normally at home I just keep him in a T-shirt and diaper; makes it easier to see when he needs changing. He’s a little stinker, all right! Aww, he’s embarrassed. It’s ok, little guy, we’ll go get you some lunch now, yeah?” Ryan was just about in tears again as Daddy led him out of the store finally. He could’ve sworn he saw the cashier whip out his phone and record his crinkly waddling bottom as he left. Finally he was in the car, the car seat straps feeling even tighter against Ryan’s massively puffy crotch. Daddy pinched his cheek and smiled. “Don’t worry baby, you’re still a good boy even if you did have a big accident. It’s ok, daddy just knows now that he needs to keep you in diapers properly now. Let’s go get you some num nums!” Ryan was at least happy to have some reprieve from the constant baby food. It was almost a slight relenting in Daddy’s constant babying, in a way. Except for the fact that Daddy still chose his meal for him (a happy meal, which daddy cut up for him), he still had to wear his bib, Daddy still fed him and he still had to drink his milk from his bottle - Daddy specially requested the cashier to put his milk in his bottle. And Ryan still ended up a mess with ketchup all over his face as per usual. Before leaving, Daddy stuck a finger into his shortalls; he was indeed wet. He didn’t even remember going at all. “Soggy already! Well, it’s about time we headed home anyway. You’re well overdue for your nap. Those double diapers can hold a lot, so I won’t need to change you for a bit.” He was right; Ryan was already getting sleepy. It was a totally exhausting day. The rest of the afternoon played out much as usual. After his nap, Daddy thankfully changed him into his normal diapers, and he watched some Teletubbies for being a good boy. After the usual mushy dinner and a bath, he was put down to bed. The events of the day out earlier were still vivid in Ryan’s mind. You might wonder why he didn’t just try and escape or protest against Daddy’s humiliating treatment of him. Well, it was pretty simple - starting from the moment he messed himself in the store, Ryan was completely rock hard, more so than he had ever been in his life. The experience was humiliating, sure, but it was also incredibly hot and one of his deepest fantasies brought to life. And now he was still just as horny as then. He was going to be a good boy for Daddy and not touch it… but fuck it, he’d be going home tomorrow anyway and he wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anyway. He rolled onto his front and started vigorously humping the crib mattress. He furiously sucked his pacifier as he quickly approached climax, thinking of what a stinky, naughty baby he had been and how Daddy had humiliated him. He completely exploded into his diaper, barely suppressing his moans. He rolled back onto his back and smiled. Tomorrow he’d have some explaining to do to his friends, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. Tonight was his last chance to enjoy this blissful sensation, before he went home the next day to his big life. Of course, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. But he didn’t know that. He just sucked his paci, cuddled his plushie and drifted off to a peaceful sleep, his diaper growing warm and wet as he did. Chapter 18 - This Is Your Home Now And so Ryan woke up that morning to Daddy gently shaking him awake, saying that his time was up and that it’s time for him to go back home now. Ryan was sad to leave, but grateful that he was now able to return to his normal life after two whole weeks as a baby. He could walk, talk like an adult, use the bathroom and eat proper food! He felt kinda silly in his briefs after two weeks of diapers, but he was happy he had this experience. It was fun being a baby, but he was glad it wouldn’t be a full time dealio; he just wouldn’t be able to handle that. He burst into his front door and said, “Mom, Dad, I’m home!” His mom came bustling into the foyer and gave him a big hug. “How did you guys go when I was gone?” “Oh we did fine, your father just did some work on the garage and I kept myself busy with the office work and all that. And how was your trip? Did you see lots of sights and good morning baby boy! Rise and shine, time for num nums!” Ryan froze. "Wait… what did you say? His mom was still smiling as she broke away from him and continued. “Goodness me you’re a soggy baby this morning!” “Wha’ the he’ iss goin’ on?!” Ryan said, or more appropriately mumbled, because his speech was garbled by the pacifier now in his mouth. Mom suddenly grabbed his diapered crotch, which was definitely wet. Wait a minute… diapered?! Ryan looked down and found himself suddenly dressed in a light blue Care Bears onesie with a very thick (and soggy) bulge in his crotch that could only mean he was well diapered and in need of a change. “Let’s get you changed, baby boy,” Mom said, but this time, her voice was much deeper and masculine, just like Daddy’s voic– Ryan awoke with a start to Daddy leaning over him in his crib, lowering the side rail. “Well good morning sleepy head!” Ryan looked around to see himself still in the nursery. It was just a dream, then. But today was still the day for him to go home. “You’re a soggy little baby boy aren’t you? Almost leaking, even! Daddy’s gonna have to put you in thicker diapers for bedtime from now on, I think.” From now on? But Ryan was going home today. Daddy really was committed to the role play. Daddy picked him up and changed his soggy bottom as usual. He got ready for his sodden diaper to be replaced with the thin white briefs that would herald his return to adulthood… only to find his nostrils confronted with the sweet smell of baby powder, his ears with a distinct plastic crinkling sound, and when he opened them, his eyes with the sight of a thick diaper being unfolded for Daddy to tape onto Ryan’s waist. Was he going to be sent home in a diaper? Perhaps a memento of his stay? Ryan was quietly contemplating while Daddy set to work at his usual routine, sliding the diaper underneath Ryan’s bum and taping it round his waist. And then his outfit… Daddy retrieved a blue Sesame Street snap shouldered T-shirt, but nothing else over his diaper. Ryan was a bit confused now. Surely he wasn’t going to send him home in this? Breakfast time, and Ryan was still confused. It had definitely been two weeks, but there was not a single change in Daddy’s demeanour as he spoonfed Ryan in his highchair and bib as he had always done these last fourteen days. Ryan went to try and ask Daddy when he would be going home today, but was swiftly silenced with a spoonful of oatmeal. One baba and a burping later, and Daddy took Ryan back upstairs, sat him down and looked him in the eye. This must be it. “Playtime, baby Ryan!” Or not. “Daddy…” Ryan said hesitantly, not sure how to put it. “Yes, sport?” “Well, I mean… uh…” “Come on little man, use your words.” “Well it’s been fourteen days now…” “Goodness me, has it? Well, the time flies doesn’t it?” He chuckled and picked Ryan up, taking him over to the rocking chair and sit him on his knee. “Uh… So when was I gonna go home?” Daddy chuckled again and bounced Ryan on his knee. “Silly baby! You are home.” Ryan was extremely lost. “No, I mean, it’s over now, and I get to go back home to my normal life and–” “This is your home now, baby. And this is your normal life now too. You’ll be living with Daddy from now on.” Ryan paused, and then it dawned on him what he was saying. “But-- no, you can’t do tha–” Ryan was immediately silenced as Daddy tutted and shoved Ryan’s pacifier into his open mouth - but this time he secured it with a strap so that he couldn’t spit it out. This was immediately followed by his hands being encased in the mittens that he usually earned for touching himself. His eyes went wide with fear and he tried to protest, but as usual the pacifier reduced all his words to incomprehensible babble. Daddy smiled and grabbed Ryan closely, rocking back and forth as he gently rubbed the terrified boy’s back. “There there, little baby… it’s ok, Daddy’s got you. You thought that Daddy was going to let you go back to your big boy life now, didn’t you?” He chuckled again. “Silly baby. Daddy knows what little Ryan needs, and it’s not big boy pants. Because you’re not a big boy anymore, Ryan. You really are just a little baby who needs to be back in diapers permanently. I mean, just look at what happened yesterday when you went poopy in your pants! No, you’ll be living with Daddy for good from now on. But don’t worry, it’s ok, Daddy knows just what his little baby wants and needs. He doesn’t need any of those silly big boy things like school or cars; he just needs his paci, his baba, his teddy and his daddy to change his diapies whenever!” Daddy sniffed and smiled deviously at Ryan. “Oh, in fact, I think Ryan might need that last one right away!” Ryan was thoroughly confused, until Daddy cheerfully patted his diapered bum, and Ryan felt a sensation that had never felt so horrific - the distinct smushing of poop up against his butt, and the unfortunate smell of a very stinky diaper. Ryan was petrified in complete shock. He had absolutely no memory of even feeling the need to mess, let alone actually doing it. In just two weeks, had he really just been completely un-potty trained?! His emotions were in a daze as Daddy pinched his cheek and said, “don’t worry baby, Daddy is always here to change your stinky diapers.” Ryan was completely checked out as Daddy changed his diaper and laid him down in the crib for an early nap time. But this time, Daddy strapped him down tightly to the mattress, ensuring he could barely move an inch let alone try and escape. “I know you’re probably upset about not going back to big boy pants,” Daddy cooed as he tucked Ryan in. “But you’ll learn to love it, little man. Daddy just wants what’s best for you, and it just so happens that what’s best is that you’re kept in diapers and as a baby for your own good.” He kissed Ryan on the forehead, eyes still wide with fear, and closed the curtains before locking the door behind him. Ryan looked around him, since it was the only thing he could do. He couldn’t move his legs, or his arms, or even his fingers since they were encased in super thick padded mittens. He couldn’t even talk, only suck on his pacifier that was strapped around his head. He looked at the bars of the crib, now seeming like the bars to his infantile jail cell. All Ryan had wanted was two weeks to live out his fantasy, and then straight back home, no strings attached. Well, he got his wish. Ryan kept sucking away on his pacifier - he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. It just made him so calm and peaceful. Even after everything that had just happened, he could feel himself drifting off to sleep somehow. His mind was screaming to resist, to stay awake knowing that this was just part of Daddy’s plan. He had to try and escape at the first possible opportunity. But right now the sleep was overwhelming - Ryan could barely keep his eyes open, and the rhythmic sucking didn’t stop. The last thing Ryan before he closed his eyes was the “Baby Ryan” sign emblazoned above his crib. Two weeks ago, Ryan thought it was a cute nickname and a sign of his role in the little role play. But right now, it was clear that this wasn’t a cute nickname anymore - “Baby Ryan” was no longer role play, it was a life sentence. Chapter 19 - The Next Morning Ryan squinted as he woke up, the bright early morning sunlight streaming in from the windows. He had that dream again, that he was back to his normal life and treated like an adult once more. As his eyes came into focus, he saw the bars of the crib and his wider nursery again that confirmed it was all just a dream - he was indeed still trapped under Daddy’s care, still in diapers, and still a baby. The events of last night, indeed, were not a dream. He groaned and sucked his pacifier as he cuddled Robbie, his favourite plushie, as the distinct aroma of a super wet diaper greeted his nostrils. Normally he might try and enjoy this sensation, but yesterday Daddy had locked Ryan’s “peepee”, as he called it, in a chastity cage preventing him from even getting a boner, let alone being able to play with it. Ryan sighed as he rubbed his eyes - or tried to anyway, since the mittens stopped his fingers from actually doing anything. He wasn’t strapped down to the crib anymore, but that’s only because Daddy didn’t need to do it - the bars of Ryan’s crib were high enough that he couldn’t get any real grip with his mittens to climb out. He was truly trapped in this infantile prison. Things had changed dramatically since Daddy had abandoned all pretense of letting Ryan go the day before. He was still babied - Daddy still fed him, dressed him, changed his diapers and cared for him in every way. But it had changed for sure. Ryan didn’t feel calm or at peace anymore. Now that he knew Daddy fully intended on keeping him forever, Ryan felt completely helpless to resist. He was now hyper-aware of how little control he had over his life now, and how much he was really beginning to regress. Yesterday he really did make poopies in his diaper without even realising… He barely had time to mull this over before Daddy came striding in, his usual jovial self. “Good morning baby! How’s my good little baby this morning?” He grabbed Ryan firmly and turned him over, so he could unbutton his onesie and check his diaper. Ryan noticed that much of the gentleness Daddy treated him with previously had all but evaporated, replaced with a sort of firmness that only made Ryan feel even more helpless as Daddy pulled the back of Ryan’s diaper. “Just soggy,” Daddy chuckled. “Good baby,” he pinched Ryan’s blushing cheek. “Time for num nums!” Daddy released Ryan from his crib and picked him up to carry him down to the kitchen. Daddy had fixed Ryan the usual breakfast of mushy oatmeal, and after locking him in the highchair tightly, he went about the usual routine of tying the bib round Ryan’s neck and getting his bottle ready. But before taking Ryan’s pacifier out, he gave him a stern look. “Now Ryan, you’ve got two choices. You can kick up a fuss and try and act like a big boy if you want. But all that’s going to earn you is your binkie back in your mouth, a good spanking and the rest of the day in the crib with an enema cleanout to stop your fussing. Or, you can be a good baby and eat your num nums for dadda without a fuss at all. So, tell me - are you going to be a good baby?” Ryan sucked on his paci and nodded up at Daddy. He knew this wasn’t the right time to try and formulate an escape anyway - he had to make Daddy let his guard down, and as much as he hated it, Ryan knew that meant he had to fully submit to the treatment at least for a bit. Daddy removed the pacifier straps and finally let Ryan’s jaw move freely again. “I want to hear you say it. Are you going to act like a big boy?” Ryan swallowed and adopted the cute childish tone that Daddy had trained him to use. “No Dadda, I won’t.” “And what will you be?” “I’ll be a good baby.” “Because…?” Ryan swallowed hard and blushed as he said it: “Because I am a baby.” Daddy smiled widely. “That’s right Ryan. You’re just a widdle baby boy and nothing more. And once we get some num nums in baby’s tummy, we’re going to start some new methods to make little Ryan into the happiest little baby in the land!” Ryan gulped inwardly as Daddy started spooning the familiar mushy muck into (and onto) Ryan’s mouth. That window of opportunity for escape seemed to be getting smaller and smaller… Chapter 20 - Who’s a Good Baby? After breakfast, Ryan found himself back in the nursery again. But there were two new additions that he swore were never there before - a huge TV screen, much bigger than the old one, and what looked like an oversized baby bouncer facing it. Daddy hoisted Ryan up into it and strapped him in tightly. “Daddy’s got some fun stuff for baby Ryan to watch while Daddy does some work. It’s a special show just for babies so Daddy can’t watch it!” He ruffled Ryan’s hair and squeezed his still soggy crotch. Daddy strapped the paci back in Ryan’s mouth and popped a pair of headphones over his head. And then, Ryan was alone. He could barely move at all - just sorta wriggle and squirm to make him bounce up and down. He whimpered behind his paci as he felt more helpless than ever. Suddenly, the massive screen burst into life and a whimsical childish tune started filling his ears. A bunch of happy teddy bears were dancing across the colourful screen to a simple rhythm. It caught Ryan’s attention and he was a little captivated. The melody was gentle and soothing, and the way the bears danced back and forth on screen was transfixing. He started sucking his paci to the rhythm of the music and bobbing his head along too. He felt very soothed and blissful as he happily sucked his binky. “Snap out of it!” He thought to himself, breaking free from his infantile trance state. He had to avoid whatever this bizarre show was doing to him and fight the hypnotic spell. But all he could do was try and avoid looking at the screen, and when he did, it felt like the hypnotic music grew louder and louder, and all Ryan wanted to do was suck his binkie and watch the funny bears dance across the screen and bounce up and down. He was vaguely aware of his diaper growing warm and wet as it pressed up against his skin, but he thought no more of it once his eyes were glued back to the screen. Suddenly, the bears stopped dancing, but the music continued at a lower volume. The “head” bear looked at the camera and said, “It’s baby time! Who’s a big boy?” The bear pointed at the screen… no, the bear pointed right at Ryan. “Are you a big boy?” ‘Of course I am,’ Ryan thought to himself. “No’ me,” Ryan said clumsily behind the pacifier, not even thinking about his words as they just sort of tumbled out instinctively. “No, that’s right!” The bear said happily. “You’re just a baby!” Ryan smiled gleefully and nodded. “Who’s a good baby?” “I’m a goo’ bay-bee,” Ryan said. “Who’s just a baby?” “I’m jus’ a bay-bee!” “Good baby!” Ryan kicked happily and sucked his binkie in bliss. Yup, he was just a baby. Just a silly little baby who loved his daddy. “What do babies do?” One of the bears asked. The main bear smiled and said, “Well, that’s what we’re going to teach the baby!” Ryan felt a mix of emotions. He felt so oddly happy and gleeful, and wriggled about in his bouncer, but in the back of his mind he felt the terror of his now-suppressed adult consciousness that had seemingly been replaced with a powerful infantile bliss. It felt so good to submit to it. It felt so good to become a baby. It felt so right to be a baby. Ryan was a baby. Just a happy little baby. “First, babies suck their binkies.” Ryan sucked happily and kicked his feet. “Babies don’t drink from cups, they drink from their baba!” Ryan loved his milky babas that Daddy made for him. He wanted one now! “Babies always eat with a bib and love their num nums!” “And…” the main baby paused and looked straight at Ryan again… “babies make poopies in their diapees!” Ryan immediately felt a soft warm mush spread all over his bottom as he filled his diaper without a care in the world. Ryan’s adult mind was screaming in horror but his body had been taken over by a vastly powerful infantile power that just kept sucking his paci harder and harder as Ryan bounced up and down in his soiled diaper. The bears clapped. “Good baby!” They all said in unison. “Good babies always make stinkies in their diapees!” Ryan giggled and bounced, feeling the mess smushing up against his butt. It felt so good to be a good baby and make stinkies. He wanted to do it all the time now. He wanted to make Daddy happy. He knew that making Daddy happy meant he had to be a good baby. And now, Ryan knew that being a good baby meant making stinkies in his diapees. “Are you a big boy?” The bear asked again. Ryan empathically shook his head and said, “No!” “Are you a baby?” Ryan nodded energetically. “I’m a baby!” “Who’s a stinky baby?” “I am!” “Who’s a stinky baby?” “I’m a stinky baby!” “Good baby!” The screen and the colours began to swirl before Ryan’s eyes making his pupils dilate. Ryan sucked his binkie and bounced up and down in his poopy diaper as the first bits of his baby programming latched themselves onto his mind. Chapter 21 - Baby Wants His Baba “Showtime’s over, baby!” Ryan immediately jolted back to his senses. The film was over; long over, in fact. He completely blanked once the bears had appeared… and all he remembered was being all happy and blissful as he sucked his paci and– “Oh my, I think someone is a stinky baby!” Ryan’s ears immediately pricked up at that and he looked straight at Daddy. “Who’s a stinky baby?” Daddy chuckled as he unstrapped Ryan and hoisted him into his arms. Ryan felt it again - that overwhelming sense of bliss taking over his body. He started sucking his binkie to the rhythm of the music again. “You’re a good baby for going poopy in your diaper. Such a good baby. You like being a good baby, don’t you, Ryan?” Ryan looked at Daddy and immediately found himself nodding. He did like being a good baby and making Daddy happy. He wanted to know how else he could make Daddy happy. Daddy patted Ryan’s heavily poopy diaper and the sensation of poop smudging against his butt immediately snapped Ryan out of it. What the hell was that? He felt like he entered some sort of trance and all sense of self and maturity was replaced by infantile simplicity and bliss. Daddy chuckled again as he laid Ryan’s poopy butt down to change him. “There’s a good baby. Looks like your baby programming went very well. From now on, you’ll have no control over your poopies ever again. Don’t worry, this is just the beginning. We’ll work on your speech next, I think. Before long, you’ll learn to love your new life. You’ll be a real baby boy, Ryan!” Ryan’s eyes widened in terror as he realised what Daddy was doing to him. He didn’t just want to treat Ryan like a baby; he was now doing his best to make sure Ryan became a baby. And he was well on his way… “Time for a baba!” Ryan felt that gush of overwhelming babyishness flow through him again. ‘Babies love their babas,’ he remembered the bears saying. Silly bears, they were so colourful and cuddly. Maybe Daddy would get Ryan a bear like that if he was a good baby and drank his baba– Ryan snapped back to reality. This was really beginning to terrify him. Lying in Daddy’s lap, he tried to move away as Daddy brought the bottle to his lips. He knew that drinking the bottle in this state would only make his programming even harder to resist. Ryan had to resist. He had to break free of Daddy’s power and stop himself from being regressed into a mindless infant. But all he could do was close his mouth. “Open up, Ryan. Be a good baby and drink your baba.” It took all of Ryan’s willpower and then some to keep his mouth shut. The voice in his head was saying, ‘Daddy’s right, I am a baby and I need my baba, and I love my baba…’ Acting purely on reflex, Ryan knocked the bottle out of Daddy’s hand. Daddy looked very cross, and Ryan immediately regretted it. With one swift move, Ryan was thrust over Daddy’s knee and his diaper pulled down to expose his butt. SLAP! The spanks came hard and fast on Ryan’s butt and thighs. He’d been spanked before, but somehow this time felt even worse to Ryan. In fact, he could feel his emotions getting out of control. And then like a dam bursting, Ryan burst into tears and started howling with pain. It was a good minute of spanking before Daddy stopped, and Ryan was a complete blubbering mess. His face was red and hot and streaked with tears. Daddy looked him in the eye. “Now tell me, are you going to be a good baby?” Ryan sniffled and nodded. “Tell me.” “I-I’ll be a good baby,” Ryan whimpered out. “Do you want your baba?” “Yes Daddy…” “Say it properly!” Daddy slapped Ryan on the thigh again and made him sob. “Yes Daddy! I want my baba! I want my baba!” “Good baby.” Ryan was laid back in Daddy’s lap and the bottle offered again. This time, he took it without protest. Still a blubbery mess of emotion, he immediately latched onto the nipple and suckled the milk down fast. He just wanted his baba. Daddy put Ryan’s paci back in, but didn’t strap it in. He need not anyway, since Ryan passively accepted it and sucked. Back in the crib for nap time, Ryan tried to muster the resolve to calm down and think of a way out… but then the hypnotic music started playing gently, and Ryan felt his mind empty. He sucked his binkie to the rhythm, felt his diapee expand and grow warm as he wet and his eyelids grow heavy as he drifted off to a peaceful, dreamless sleep… just like a good baby should. Chapter 22 - Reprogramming Continues The next day, Ryan woke up as usual in the relatively early morning. He groggily stirred, sucked his paci and cuddled his teddy. He had slept so well; like a baby, even. Ryan rolled over and sat up. But it was when he sat his heavily diapered bottom on the mattress that he realised something was very, scarily different: he was met with the unmistakeable smushing sensation of a poop-filled diaper. Ryan froze in terror, and the smell of poop quickly reached his nostrils to confirm that yes, he had made stinkies in his diaper in his sleep. Ryan’s heart started pounding with terror. He really felt like he was losing his entire sense of adulthood and reverting back to infancy at a speed he never even thought possible. The most terrifying thing was, the only thought going through his head: ‘I want my Daddy’. His emotions were welling up inside of him and he felt like he would burst. Ryan opened his mouth and his paci fell out as he let out an involuntary whine before he came back to his senses and clasped his hands over his mouth. He really did just about cry because he needed a diaper change. He was losing himself already. Daddy came in at that, clearly hearing Ryan’s little whimpers. He praised Ryan for making stinkies as usual, which made him swell with happiness. Ryan really loved being a good baby and making stinkies. Ryan shook his head again, clearing the haze. He felt so powerless up against these infantile traits that seemed to be slowly taking over his mind. After a diaper change and breakfast, Daddy announced it was time for Ryan’s show again. This time, Ryan wasn’t locked in his bouncer or had his paci strapped in, but was just sat in front of the TV. Daddy said he was just going to go to the store while Ryan got to enjoy some more baby conditioning and reprogramming. He kissed Ryan on the cheek and left. Ryan was alert. This was his chance! He waited to hear Daddy’s car leave the driveway, as the screen burst into life again. The music penetrated his mind and he started sucking his binkie to its rhythm once again. He loved his binkie, it made him feel so happy and peaceful and reminded him of his baba, which he also loved. The bears danced onto the screen and Ryan beamed widely. He couldn’t stop himself from clapping a little bit with glee. It was his favourite show! His adult conscience screamed in horror as it knew another aspect of himself was about to be reverted back to infancy, but the hypnotic power of the bears had already taken hold of Ryan completely. He took absolutely no notice of the fact that he was wetting himself without the slightest semblance of control. The session yesterday had seemingly completely taken away his toilet training. “Who’s a good baby?” The bears asked again. “I am!” Ryan said happily. “I’m a good baby!” “Yes you are! Are you ready for your next baby lesson?” Ryan’s adult consciousness was begging with his overpowering baby self to resist. ‘Just get up. Look away, stand up and go. The door is wide open, he’s gone. You can escape before it’s too late.’ “Yes!” Ryan said, nodding. “This is a big one… can you count to ten with us?” The bears counted, and Ryan counted along with them. Easy! “Good baby! Now you try again!” Ryan started counting alone. “One, two… three… uh… f-five… no… that’s not right…” Ryan was confused. He knew what came after three, and it wasn’t five, it was… wait… what was it?! Ryan didn’t know what came after three. The information was genuinely absent from his mind. He looked up in confusion and shock. “Good baby! Babies don’t need to count, that’s what Daddy is for! No more numbers for you, baby.” Ryan nodded emphatically at the bears. That made sense! Of course babies don’t need numbers. That’s a big boy thing! “Now look around the room. You should see some words.” Ryan did so; he saw a big picture book in the corner and grabbed it. It was a simple story about bears, of course, “The Bears in the Woods”. “Now read those words, baby.” He opened the book and found a random sentence. “The bears loved the woods; they would always frolick and play together,” Ryan read slowly and out loud. He looked up at the screen again. The main bear looked him straight in the eye, and said, “Good baby! But I think you should try again!” Ryan looked down and went to read again, but the words had changed. In fact, they weren’t words at all now - they were just unintelligible squiggles. Ryan turned the pages of the book frantically, but saw only more squiggles. He closed the book and looked at the title - but it too was just a mass of nonsense squiggles. “Good baby! Babies don’t need to read. Daddy reads for baby! No more reading for baby!” Ryan had just completely lost the ability to read and count, but he didn’t mind right now. In his utterly transfixed and hypnotised state, he felt right. “One more thing… babies need to be talking like babies too! Say, ‘Daddy’.” Ryan repeated. The bears continued reciting a bunch of words to Ryan for a good few minutes, as Ryan repeated them back to them. ‘Diapee’, ‘stinkies’, ‘baba’… all babyish words that sounded very cute and infantile, as well as normal words like ‘thank you’ and ‘please’ that had been babified into ‘fankyoo’ and ‘pwease’. At the end, the bears praised Ryan again, and he swelled with happiness. “Good baby!” The screen started swirling again, and Ryan’s pupils dilated again. In the absence of his binkie, he shoved his thumb in his mouth and started sucking away to the beat. The programming continued to take over his brain as the door laid wide open. The front door was even unlocked. But Ryan didn’t even notice anymore. Any thought of escaping had long been wiped from his thoughts. He just sucked his thumb and stared at the colours and swirls as he descended further and further into infancy. Daddy came back to find Ryan asleep on the floor, his thumb in his mouth as he gently ducked, and his diaper soaked. Daddy smiled. Ryan was ready for another day out. Chapter 23 - Another Grand Day Out “Wakey wakey! Naptime’s over, baby!” Ryan opened his eyes in surprise. He was in the crib again, on his stomach, with his thumb planted in his mouth. He sucked it placidly for a few seconds before coming to and yanking it out, covered in drool. He blushed furiously at his infantile transgression, but Daddy just chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Good baby,” Daddy smiled. “You’re such a good little boy, Ryan. You love being Daddy’s baby, don’t you?” Ryan’s trance was reactivated with the words “good baby”. His thoughts emptied out of his mind, and he was transfixed on Daddy. He loved his big strong Daddy. And he did love being a baby. He was a baby. Nothing more. He smiled vacantly and nodded. Daddy smirked. “Time for a diapee change, tiger! You’re soaked! Besides, we’ve got somewhere to be soon. Daddy needs to take his baby to see a special doctor for a checkup, but we need to run some errands first!” Ryan got jolted back to reality as Daddy laid his soaked butt down on the changing table. At first he was mildly terrified of the prospect of another public humiliation… but then he realised this was a chance to escape! Surely he’d be able to signal to someone that he was being kept prisoner, and someone would rescue him from Daddy’s clutches. Daddy put Ryan into double thick diapers again, and picked out the cutest outfit again: a sailor suit with the smallest pair of shorts Ryan had ever seen. They did absolutely nothing to hide the massive diaper bulge in front and back, and the leg bands of the diaper could be easily seen through the extremely brief leg holes. Daddy wasn’t bothering with big boy wear this time. Daddy got ready and packed Ryan’s diaper bag ready for the day out. Ryan squirmed nervously while he watched: Daddy stuck a few diapers, powder, baby wipes, his paci, bottle, a bib, spoon and some baby food… and what looked like a very babyish but nonetheless intimidating harness. Daddy noticed Ryan’s nervous look and chuckled. “This is just for naughty babies who try and run off. But that’s not you, is it, little guy?” Ryan nervously shook his head. “Do you know what you are?” Daddy grinned. Ryan squirmed in discomfort as Daddy leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You’re a good baby.” Ryan could feel that overwhelming warmth flood his body at those words. Whenever Daddy called him a good baby, everything just seemed so much nicer, so much more colourful and warmer, and so much happier. It was the most overwhelming sensation he’d ever felt, and it was impossible to resist. Daddy grinned widely and gently pushed Ryan’s paci into his mouth, which Ryan immediately accepted and sucked to the rhythm of that music that was now resonating around his brain. He heard the bears’ voices in his head. ‘Good baby’, they chanted in unison to the rhythm of the music. Suckle suckle suckle. Good baby. He opened his eyes and looked at Daddy, who was carrying him to the car. Daddy smiled down at Ryan and pinched his cheek and said it again: ‘Good baby’. Ryan smiled behind his paci as Daddy patted his super thickly padded bottom, making Ryan giggle. The mantras of the bears kept resonating in Ryan’s head. Good baby. Good baby. Just a baby. Just a baby. Daddy’s baby. Just Daddy’s good baby… The click of a car seat lock encasing Ryan’s crotch finally brought him out of his deep trance properly. Daddy had been free to secure Ryan in his car seat, and no amount of fiddling with the straps or lock could budge it at all. In fact, Daddy chuckled at his efforts when he climbed into the drivers’ seat. Ryan could only sit in nerve wracked anticipation as Daddy drove him off, without a single clue of where he was being taken or what awaited him. As they stopped at a light, another car pulled up right beside them. Ryan was wise enough to know (with a stern look from Daddy as a reminder) that things could only get so much worse if he tried to make a scene in front of these people - after all, he was tightly strapped into this car seat, so there was no escape from his wrath. But Ryan did suddenly become much more conscious of how infantile he looked as he looked down at his adorable sailor suit outfit, and then he looked back at the adjacent car and realised the occupants (a young teenage couple) were staring at him. Ryan immediately spat the pacifier out and went bright red; he could’ve sworn he recognised the guy from school. Daddy tutted and said, “You’re a fussy baby tonight, aren’t you?” He grabbed the dangling paci and shoved it straight back into Ryan’s mouth. “You keep your binkie in for now. The couple started laughing and Ryan went bright pink with humiliation. But he still dared not resist or protest - he was in no such position of power to do anything of the sort. He could only suck his pacifier to try and forget the humiliation. He started sucking that pacifier a lot faster though when Daddy pulled up at their destination. “Here we are, lil guy… a playground!” Chapter 24 - Park Time Ryan looked around the park in trepidation. It was a big park; lots of swings, slides, merry-go-rounds, those bouncy horses on a spring, and a few benches as well. It was also totally empty, and Ryan was unsure if that was a blessing or a curse. He could only assume one thing: Daddy was expecting him to play. Daddy took him by the hand and led him over to the swings first, in a brisk stride that made Ryan waddle in an almost comical way as he tried to cope with the huge diaper in his far-too-brief shorts. He could only imagine how massive his butt looked, and he was partly grateful that the park was deserted… but his heart sank once he realised it meant escaping Daddy would be impossible without other people around. He wasn’t dumb enough to just try and run away; he needed a real and proper distraction. Daddy picked Ryan up and sat him in the swing seat. “Play time for baby,” he cooed while he pushed Ryan gently in the swing. Daddy made him play on all the equipment, and made sure to supervise him closely at every step - Ryan went bright red when he realised it was because Daddy was filming and taking pictures of his playtime. “Isn’t this fun?” Daddy chuckled. Ryan had to nod; he couldn’t tell if it was the brainwashing or not, but he couldn’t help but smile and enjoy the playground, especially the merry-go-round while Daddy spun him round and round. It aroused the playful child in him - the one that always enjoyed playgrounds and parks such as these but never got the chance to once it became socially unacceptable for someone his age to still play like this. He needn’t worry about that now. After a good half hour of play, Daddy led Ryan over to the park bench, his soggy diaper making him waddle all the way (when did he go? He didn’t remember anymore). The bib went round his neck and the usual routine of spoonfed mush followed. Ryan was extra nervous about people seeing, and for good reason - a jogger couple ran by, distracting Ryan as he made eye contact with him. He must had looked one hell of a sight with his big Cookie Monster bib and face all covered in mushy baby food, and Daddy certainly didn’t help matters when the spoon collided with Ryan’s cheek while he was distracted, smearing the entire side with yellow mush. “You really are a cranky one tonight, huh?” Daddy chided a little too loudly. “Stop being a fussy baby and open wide for Daddy!” The couple gawked as they passed, and Ryan blushed furiously. But he had to stay calm. His opportunity had yet to come. The babyish humiliation would just have to be endured… but how much longer could he take it? After a milky baba and a wipe down, Ryan was made to continue playing. Daddy took dozens of photos and made Ryan pose on the equipment. And just as Ryan was bouncing on the bouncy horse, a big warm smushy sensation began to cover his rear end. He groaned inwardly as his bowel muscles betrayed not a single ounce of control and Ryan uncontrollably messed himself again. Daddy smiled at Ryan - he knew exactly what happened. “What’s wrong, baby? Do you need Daddy’s help?” Ryan nodded solemnly. “Aww… did baby make a stinky?” Without warning, he pulled Ryan towards him and yanked down his shorts, exposing his massive diaper butt for all to see. “That’s okay, baby, we can still play for a while longer.” He chuckled and patted Ryan on the butt, making him whine as the mess was mushed about. He was about to put Ryan back on the horsie when two guys talking loudly rounded the corner. Daddy looked around for a second, and Ryan realised that now was his chance! While Daddy was distracted, Ryan kneed him in the crotch and punched him in the gut. Daddy was taken aback and doubled over, giving Ryan the chance to sprint away… well, he tried to sprint, but forgot about the bulky poopy diaper around his waist so he stumbled and fell on his face, but quickly got up and corrected himself into a very fast but awkward waddle. The joggers saw Ryan approaching them and stopped in their tracks, speechless at the sight of this flustered young man in a sailor suit sans pants and a very big and saggy diaper around his waist, waddling towards them. Ryan caught his breath and quickly said to the guys, “You gotta help me! I’ve been kidnapped by a lunatic who’s forcing me to be his baby! I need the cops!” Well, at least that’s what Ryan thought he said. What actually came out of Ryan’s mouth was, “You gotsta help me! I made a big poopie in my diapee. I need my dadda!” Ryan looked confused at the guys for a second as they looked bemused at each other and started trying not to laugh, before he realised what he said and immediately clasped his hands over his mouth. There was absolutely no way that was what he was trying to say. “No, that’s not what I meant to say! He’s brainwashing me into becoming a mindless baby, and I can’t resist!” Well, it actually sounded more like, “Nooooo, I made big stinkies! I want my Daddy!” “Oh yeah?” one of the guys taunted. “You need your daddy, little baby?” Ryan was freaking out. He realised that the programming earlier hadn’t just wiped his brain of the ability to read or count, but now it had somehow reduced his vocabulary to the level of a 3-year-old toddler’s. “Aww, look at the little baby,” they taunted. “Holy crap, you stink! Did you actually shit your diaper? Jesus Christ, you are a baby!” “I’m not a baby!!” Ryan whined… or rather, “I want my baba!!” “Aww, don’t cry baby. Looks like your Daddy’s coming right over!” Ryan didn’t even have a chance to turn around before he felt a large rubber nipple suddenly fill his mouth and Daddy’s firm hand grasp his shoulder after shoving Ryan’s binkie in his mouth. “Shhh, silly baby. You know better than to run away from Daddy. I’m gonna have to keep an extra close eye on you now so you don’t try and run off.” “Jeez,” one of the guys laughed. “You’d have to keep him on a leash!” Daddy laughed. “Funny you should mention that, actually…” Ryan felt that sinking feeling as Daddy rummaged around in the diaper bag and retrieved the harness that Ryan dreaded so much. In no time, Ryan was quickly fastened into it, with Daddy tightly clutching the leash. Ryan whimpered. His escape attempt, pitiful as it was, had indeed failed and he knew Daddy wasn’t gonna let his guard down like that ever again. The guys were still snickering at him, just as Daddy was fussing over his straps and making sure he was locked in tight. The constant taunting of the two guys, the humiliation of Daddy’s constant fussing, the pervasive smell of his stinky diaper, and most of all the knowledge that he had failed to escape his baby prison… it all became too much for Ryan, and he couldn’t stop himself bursting into tears. He realised how pitiful he looked as he sucked his binkie and the tears rolled down his cheeks. But he just couldn’t stop. The guys finally left, and Ryan started to calm down. But he was still miserable, and Daddy seemed to notice because he pulled Ryan in for a tight hug when they got back to the car after Daddy finally changed his smelly diaper. “It’s OK, Ryan. Daddy’s not mad that you tried to run away. In fact, I expected it. But I hope you understand now that there’s no way out. You’re going to be a baby no matter what, and it’s only going to make your life much easier and happier if you just accept it.” He stroked Ryan’s cheek, and Ryan said nothing, just continued to suck his pacifier to calm himself down. “Good baby,” Daddy smiled. The butterflies didn’t come that time, but for good reason - Ryan was angry. Daddy had reduced him to a humiliating little plaything, and Ryan realised that the more he got scared, the easier it was going to be for Daddy to brainwash him into submission. Well, no more of that. It was time to get mad. Daddy could take away all of his adult privileges and identity; he could take away his toilet training, his ability to read, his ability to count… he could even force him to speak like a baby. But he couldn’t break Ryan’s spirit. Chapter 25 - Six Weeks Later Six weeks had passed since Ryan’s little excursion out - although to Ryan, it could’ve been six days or six months, the days just blended into each other now. Ryan awoke to a gentle tinkle of his baby mobile, slowly spinning above his head. He loved watching the spinning stars and spaceships, and he sucked his binky mindlessly while he squirmed. Daddy stopped strapping him down at night so he could roll over and cuddle his bear without any trouble. Ryan’s tummy started rumbling so he sat up and squatted, frowning as he pushed some bad thoughts out of his mind. Once he did that, he sat back down but suddenly his diaper felt all squishy and stinky. He felt his emotions start to well up, and involuntarily he started sobbing, the pacifier falling out and dangling by a clip to his teddy bear onesie. Daddy came in after a few moments and started cooing, making Ryan immediately calm down a little. Daddy always made everything better. Daddy was making all of those scary thoughts and dreams that sometimes plagued Ryan go away for good. Daddy picked Ryan up and cuddled him closely, patting his stinky bottom. Daddy said... something to Ryan. Ryan found it hard to understand what Daddy said anymore, it kinda just sounded like happy noises from Daddy so it made Ryan happy but he didn’t really know what he actually said. Then Ryan was being carried down the hall. He thought he was gonna get a change, but Daddy had already taken him out of the nursery. Ryan couldn’t help but pout. He felt like he was forgetting something very big, but he couldn’t fathom what it was. His memory was getting fuzzier. Daddy placed Ryan down into his high chair and strapped him in. Breakfast, that must be what he forgot. Ryan squirmed involuntarily and the big stinky mess in his diaper squished against his bum. No, there was something else still. The bib went round Ryan’s neck and he tugged at it. “I’m a Good Baby”, it said. Ryan couldn’t read it, since it just looked like blocks and weird squiggles, but he nodded anyway. He was a good baby. He sucked his binky rhythmically and within moments, all of his conscious thought left his mind as if was quietly asked to leave. Ryan felt warm, fuzzy and comfy. His big stinky diaper felt all silly and poopy but he knew that big babies like him needed to make stinkies in his diaper. He wasn’t a big boy who could use the potty and eat big boy food and make choices for himself. Ryan was a baby who needed diapers and feeding and Daddy and bottles and he was never going to be big ever aga— The spoon collided with Ryan’s mouth and the mush smeared all over his face. Ryan was so zoned out that he didn’t even notice Daddy sit down with his big bowl of yummy baby mush for Ryan’s breakfast. Daddy said something again, and Ryan opened his mouth on command. He still didn’t know what Daddy said, but it sounded right anyway. He shifted in his high chair and felt the warm squishy mess smush up against his peepee now. He was so stinky but he didn’t even notice anymore. After breakfast, it would be time for his warm baba, a stinky diaper change, and then playtime. It was the same routine as ever. But what was it that he was forgetting? He was starting to worry that if he didn’t remember soon, he’d never remember it again. He didn’t know how right he was.

It’s almost 9 pm German time here. So I’m going to bed. You can expect the latest chapter in about 20–30 minutes (or in 1–2 hours, so that Sofia can prove a point by saying she didn’t upload it just after I went to bed. But we all know that’s exactly what she’ll do.)

Cool @Little Sherri I like that assortment.

I'm surprised he actually didn't grab the phone when the nurse left. It would stand to reason that hed be excited for any messages or updates and snaps I'm not sure Amber will turn yet or soften towards Paul. But This has arch villain all over it and hopefully as the kids ran away they caught them on camera

High school children are evil

Happy Birthday Mickey @DailyDi

Wow just wow! Excellent job! And I love that it’s Amber starting to have to face her choices and who she will become.

Interested to see the results of your survey. I usually masturbate as a boy, but there have been a couple times when I've been locked and had a vibrating plug in my 'sissy pussy'. It turns me into a shivering lump, face down on floor with my bottom raised. I don't actually 'ejaculate', but I can barely move in such ecstasy, 'dribbling' into my diaper. Needless to say, when it's turned off, I'm eager to do as I'm told to 'earn' my key so I could finish. So not a 'sissygasm' per se, but a wonderful tease & denial activity. Mind you I'm not a full-time sissy, but it is one aspect of my sexuality. So I'm in chastity sometimes (when I deserve it... hehehe) but I can't stand to wear a cage 24/7, it's too painful on my scrotum.

I want to thank the following people for posting a comment on my thread. @Young1 @~Brian~ @Ginger @oznl @kawaharu it seems I can not tag that person. @Little Sherri @stevewet @munkey @Little Belle @Dprczyone @RonnieJA @Hannah YMS @Ryan1967 @NightWitch @Nat @PlstkBakdnghtnday @BabyJune @ppdude @MrTheFox1157 @wearer24/7 @fillemup @peepantsx @diaperdl @longislandguy @AngelO @PuraVidaDip @Teensy @iluv2crinkle @ArtsuABDL @JustMe.dk As the years went by I have gotten to wear and use diapers more often though I am still not able to be 24/7 though it is coming to be soon. As my #2 problems keep rising and the cost of regular underwear and the Anxiety it creates keeps creaping up on me. I am working out details to help me afford to move to full time wearing. I have started a thread in Scoop the Poop. Sub forum. If you would like to follow me on there. https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/topic/98312-days-of-eddies-life/#comment-2232907 As I talk about different parts of my life. I do not want to go into much detail on this thread about all that so please feel free to check that thread out.

Here is my dream closet. I do not care for the bibs. Maybe @Babygeebee or @sillybaby123 or some other ABs would love them. But everything else is so cool looking!

Most of the time I wear plastic pants over my disposable diapers, including premium ones like Betterdry and Trest. Plastic pants can help in many ways. Obviously an extra layer of protection from leaks, but also keeps a diaper from sagging, holds it tighter to the body and if snug enough, decrease bulkiness.

Poor Avery having a hard time. Good on Darlene for staying strong, paitent and the mama he clearly needs! thanks for the update!

Pretty intense chapter. Avery is having a real challenge with all this, for sure.

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.

Chapter 9 - Mall Rat Breakfast was a silent affair as George alternated between chewing wordlessly on slices of wholemeal organic toast (with slightly too much butter) and slurping from a large glass of fresh orange juice. His Nintendo DS sat heavy in his pocket, but he didn’t feel like playing right now. Besides, Alice would likely scold him for taking it out at the table. She sat opposite him, drinking coffee as she ate her own jam-covered slices and browsed a paper that had been delivered in the early hours, before he’d even woken up. Apparently paper rounds were still a thing in a world of smartphones and constant internet access. Speaking of which, he’d need to ask Alice for the Wi-Fi password at some point... “George?” He looked up at her as she put her coffee cup down. “You’re getting crumbs all over your shirt.” George looked down at the toast crumbs speckling his top and clumsily wiped them down. “I thought you said we were getting new stuff for me?” He huffed. “We are.” She paused to take a long sip of coffee again then resumed “But that’s no excuse to not look presentable. I won’t have people thinking I can’t take care of you.” George tried to think of something snide to say back, failed, and settled for munching on another bite of toast. “And that reminds me, we need to finish taking care of your little performance from last night.” She stood up, tucked her chair in and took her coffee mug and plate over to the sink to stack them with the growing pile of dirty dishes there. George watched her and had a suspicion he was going to get drafted to help clean those later. Then she mentioned his accident and he wilted. “Come on over when you’re done with your food. I’m going to show you how to use the washing machine. Don’t look at me like that, it's never too early for you to start learning important life skills. Besides, if your new protection works you won’t need to wash your bedding like this very much.” George had no real counter to this as he gulped the last of his orange and reluctantly walked over to join her in the adjoining utility room, trying to ignore the feeling of his unusual underwear as he walked. A small corridor that led to a door to the garage and which was mainly occupied by a washing machine, a drier, an outlet for the boiler, and not too much else. “Do I have to?” He sighed. “Yup. Now come on. It's not hard. Start with turning that dial there...” She spent the next minute walking him through how to operate it. Getting him to open the drawer and pour in powder, turn the dial to the right setting, then stuffing his bedding, plus his old jeans and a capsule inside and shut the door with a thud. There was a quick double beep, and the machine came to life and started whirring. The jeans and bedding whirling round and round inside at speed. “That should be done by the time we get back.” Alice nodded. “Now go get your shoes on, time to get you something new to wear.” He met her smile with a forced one of his own and trudged to the shoe stand to get ready. Happy to get out of this house for a bit. He quickly did up his laces and stepped outside, not even bothering with his usual trip to the toilet before leaving. It was only about an hour later, stuck in traffic, that he realised that had been a mistake. George didn’t know much about the area he and Alice were living in, but he knew their little tucked away suburb was relatively close to the city. As such he had just assumed they would only be driving for a short while. Definitely no more than an hour. And if the traffic was light, they might well have made that time. But that wasn’t to be. Instead, they were stuck dead still, staring at the back of the same garish red van that had been in front of them for what felt like eternity but which the time on his phone insisted was merely twenty minutes. All around them the traffic stood as it was, frozen in time, as Alice tapped her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, occasionally stealing a look back at George in the mirror above her. He looked away from her each time, not in the mood to talk. George for his part was forced to squirm and shift in place as best he could without making his situation obvious. After this morning's events he wasn’t about to give in and admit he needed the toilet. So he suffered in silence as the cars creeped forward, no obvious end in sight, as his bladder twinged and ached, growing in intensity by the minute as the orange juice from breakfast seemed to go right through him. Rapidly approaching the point where he was having to actively hold it. Not for the first time he tried to distract himself and play his Pokemon game, but found it impossible to enjoy in his current state. Shoving the DS console back into his pockets with a frustrated sigh, he glanced around, half hoping there was an empty bottle laying somewhere. No such luck. Alice’s car looked as spotless as the day it rolled out of the factory. “Finally!” He glanced up as Alice exclaimed, and he felt the car lurch forward. The sudden motion shifted him back in his seat from where he’d been leaning forward, and the pressure in him spiked suddenly. He clamped down even harder than before, but he was slightly too late. He felt a small warm dribble escape him and quickly soak into his clothing - as he remembered he wasn’t wearing his usual boxer shorts today but those stupid goodnites. Oh no, that did not just happen. He hadn’t just had an accident. He hadn’t! It was like, a couple of drops at most, and it wasn’t even his fault. It was the stupidly big glass of juice he’d had at breakfast, and stupid Alice making him forget to go before they left, and this stupid traffic jam… The excuses and explanations swirled rapidly in his head. He bit his lip and tried to stay as still as possible, practically willing them to get to their destination in that instant so he could go and find a toilet before any awkward conversations were had with Alice. “George, are you alright?” His dour revery shattered at her voice.Her eyes staring intently at him from the front mirror. “I-I’m fine!” He managed after a few seconds. “I just- I really need to find a bathroom soon.” He admitted. Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds and George braced himself for a dressing down, but she stayed quiet, and focused on navigating them out of the sea of cars. With his bladder throbbing now, every action Alice took seemed to take an age in itself. George clenched his fists and tried not to groan in frustration at every slight stop, every slow turn, and every moment that wasn’t taking them closer to promised relief. After over two minutes of driving about a parking lot looking for a free spot, George could stay quiet no longer. “Alice, I really, really need to find a bathroom. Can you hurry up?” He didn’t mean it to come across as aggressively as it ended up coming out, but it had been a long, desperate morning for the boy. “I am going as fast as I can George.” She replied in a displeased tone. “And don’t you take that attitude with me mister, you’re not exactly in the good books right now.” George winced a little at this. “I will park this car just as soon as a spot opens up, then I'll take you to the toilet.” “Fine.” He huffed, visibly squirming and trying to cross his legs in his seat by this point. After what felt like another hour of prowling the asphalt jungle they finally came across someone’s car that was in the middle of backing out, and Alice jumped for it. As the car lurched forward suddenly, George was pulled forward against his seatbelt by the change in velocity, and it was enough for his control to be broken yet again. His eyes went wide as he felt the gates of his bladder slip open and a small stream of pee escaped this time, out into the padding of his girly goodnights before he slammed them closed again. But the damage was done. A nervous glance up told him Alice was too focused on reverse parking into her claimed spot to notice, which was just as well because his reflection in the window told him of the look of shock plastered on his wide eyed face. His legs shifted, and for once he was grateful for his disposable underwear as it absorbed his accident rather easily, leaving him with only the slightest feeling of dampness against his skin, rather than wet and clingy cotton boxer shorts. “At last. Alright George, put your game away and stay close to me. I’d rather not have to tell the mall to put out a missing child announcement.” George winced at this as he unbuckled his belt and followed her out of the car, stopping only to double check he’d taken his DS and phone with him before shutting the door behind him. Diligently he walked behind Alice as she made a path through the maze of cars and trucks that seemed to go on forever. Each step making his Goodnite shift in place under his jeans. He might have been able to forget he was wearing them - he was certainly trying - but the faint feeling of wetness in the small patch that had caught his accidents seemed to make it impossible. He was also quickly finding out that Goodnites generally weren’t meant to be used when in constant walking motion. The flimsy elasticity of the waist and leak guards were rubbing against his waist and thighs, enough that by the time they made it to one of the mall entrances the chafing was noticeable and the urge to reach down and pull them away from his skin was growing. “Come on then, clothes first, then we can try some of the more exciting places, as long as you behave.” Alice made the peace offer as she reached out a hand. After a second of hesitation, he reached out and took it. George was of an age where it was seen as embarrassing to cling to parental figures like this. But being in a foreign country, away from all his friends and usual family, was enough to bring out the little boy that still lurked inside the angsty pre-teen. He stepped forward with her hesitantly as the automatic doors glided open, and he was taken aback by the sheer amount of noise and commotion all around him. The only context George had was the old shopping centre back home. A dingy, run down complex with grimy floors and dim lighting that smelt of cigarette smoke and social decay. This mall didn’t seem like that at all. Large crowds milled around through shopfronts and portable stalls selling everything from phone cases to hotdogs. Colorful lighting decorations hung above, illuminating posters advertising the movies shown in the theatre on the 2nd floor and the array of clubs and organisations that seemed to use the mall as a meetup place. At the end of the hallway in front of him stood a plaza of some sort, with escalators leading up to a food court upstairs, which overlooked a stage, whilst elaborate looking fountain structures flanked the staircases on the other side of the square, which George assumed must also lead up towards the food court. “Wow.” George spoke aloud. Taken aback by the size of the crowds but also feeling genuinely impressed with what he saw before him. For a few moments the feeling of trepidation and awe that had filled him when he’d first arrived in the country returned, only to be washed away just as quickly by the constant ache of his need for the bathroom. “Impressed?” Alice smiled down at him. “They did a big renovation and reopening a few years back. We can get lunch upstairs later and you can pick, but I expect stellar behaviour from you this morning in return. Does that sound fair?” George nodded quickly. “Uh, can we go to the toilet first?” He asked sheepishly, glancing about. “I really have to go, Alice.” Alice sighed in a tone of exasperation that was universally familiar to all children George’s age who had annoyed any sort of parental figure. “Didn’t you go before we left?” She asked, visibly irritated. “I must have forgotten.” George admitted and looked at the ground. “Alright, fine, let's go and find the toilets in this place. Then we go clothes shopping. I’m not delaying that any longer. I’m not having you going about all summer in stained jeans and dirty shirts.” George felt his ears grow hot as his accident was brought up yet again. “It was one time.” He muttered. Alice simply ignored him and proceeded to pull him after her. Moving with surprising speed down the wide avenues of shopfronts towards the main square. George struggled to keep up,practically having to skip after her as she kept a firm hold on her hand. “Can you slow down!” He whined as he stumbled and scarpered forward as Alice pulled him into the more crowded interior of the mall, not letting up for a moment. It felt like he was stuck on a treadmill gym machine that someone had set a couple of settings too high for him. “We don’t have the time to dawdle George, and I’m not having you getting lost out here.” She told him as they kept going, Alice confidently guiding them through the mass of people all around them now. “You’re a bit big for a toddler harness, so just hold my hand, we’re almost there.” She lectured as she looked up above them, having spotted the blue and white signage that directed them towards the restrooms on this side of the mall. Only mostly sure she had been joking, George almost let his hand slip from hers, only for her to redouble her grip and stop to yank his hand back into hers, as the finally stumbled out into the side of the main plaza, where the toilets were located. The ones with lines that looked about a mile long. “Oh perfect.” Alice muttered as she pulled them over to what looked like the shortest of the lines, which still contained a dozen or more people in front of them. “This is ridiculous, aren’t there any other toilets in a place like this?” She lamented. A woman in a green shirt turned around to face them. “The other ones are all closed.” She motioned vaguely in the direction of the other side of the plaza. “Something about renovations. These are the only ones that are open. I know, it's completely unacceptable.” “Well, I just hope we get in before this one ruins his pants again.” Alice nodded her head towards George, who stifled a whine as he looked away. “Poor guy.” The woman said to Alice. “I did tell him to go before we left the house, but you know what boys are like, always think they don’t have to listen to you.” The woman laughed politely. “My nephews are the same. Never listen to dear old aunty, no matter what their mother tells them.” She looked past Alice at something closer to the sets of doors that led to the various bathrooms. “You know, if you’re that desperate, you might be able to join the line for the changing room. There’s toilets in there I’m sure.” George whirled around and looked back up at Alice, a look of silent pleading on his face. But she was already convinced of the merit of this idea. “Really? Well, I never would have thought of trying that. You might have just saved me more washing tonight. Thank you so much! George, come on, quickly now.” He barely had time to move himself before she resumed her act of pulling him along by that hand, towards the far side of the set of lines of waiting mall patrons, until they stood in front of a door with the mother and baby sign on it. There didn’t seem to be anyone waiting in line, but the door handle sign was marked occupied. George glared up at the signage as if it was a high voltage warning. He looked back at the lines swarming the “proper” toilets, and found himself feeling angry at whomever had decided not to finish the mall renovations before he’d gotten here. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. “Can’t we just see if one of the other lines gets moving?” He pleaded to his caretaker. But the judge was unconvinced. “George, this is faster, and I am not risking you having another accident. I doubt those goodnites of yours will hold all that much anyway, and I’m not letting you go commando either mister, so just hold on, it won’t be a minute or two.” George felt like he wanted to scream with how nonchalant she was in talking about his accidents and underwear right out in public like this, even if no one else seemed to notice. She was treating him like some bratty toddler. He sniffed. Now that they were all standing still in line, the pressure on George’s bladder was back with a vengeance and he found himself shifting in place, unable to keep still as he waited for what seemed like an eternity for the door to the disabled bathroom to open. What was taking so long? Shifting his legs together and back again was also making his goodnites crinkle under his jeans, and the sound of the hated underwear was very much not helping his current mood. After what felt like several torturous hours, he heard the bold slide back and the door opened forward. Another woman emerged, pushing in front of her a rather large blue stroller with two individuals sitting side by side in the double seating. To George, they looked like they were brothers with their matching bright blond hair and green shirts over blue jeans. One looking about three or four years old, and the other a few years older than that. The younger one was busy playing some noisy game on a tablet in an orange casing, but the older brother gazed at George for a few moments, fidgeting in his seat. Alice and the boy's mother were somehow stopping to make smalltalk, and being stuck where he was, he felt obligated to push a smile onto his face and half raise a hand as if to wave hello. The older boy in the stroller responded in kind, and in doing so the bottom of his shirt lifted up giving George a glimpse of a white plastic cover sticking out of his trousers. It was only visible for a second, but he instantly clocked it for what it was. “Alice, can we go, I really need the bathroom!” He didn’t mean to sound as fed up and whiny as he ended up being when he spoke, but he was getting truly desperate to pee now, it was almost painful to hold it. Alice turned from her conversation looking visibly annoyed. “Yes, George, we can go. And I shouldn’t have to tell you it's rude to interrupt someone else’s conversation. Your mother taught you better than that before she sent you to me.” George felt ashamed at getting a dressing down right in front of a set of strangers like this, but it still wasn’t over as the other lady felt the need to chime in. “Oh, it's alright, really. I think your little one is just a bit desperate for the facilities.” “Little one! Lady, I’m twelve!” George thought as Alice turned back to the lady and her boys. “Well, he’s old enough to remember to go before we leave the house, or so you’d think. I told his mother I’d look after him this summer and it's been a bit of a handful getting used to having a kid running around the place.” “Oh I sympathise! My two can run me ragged on a good day!” The two women both laughed lightly as she moved her hands across the bar of the stroller. The older boy inside had lost interest in looking at George by now and was leaning to his side to get a better view of his brother’s tablet. “At least your ones are potty trained!” “Well, you say that- “ALICE I NEED TO GO!” The words were out of his mouth before he realised just how loud he was being, and there was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity, as the background rumblings of the people in line quietened a little and a few heads turned his way. Alice gave the other woman a silent look that said “Sorry about this” then looked at George with a glare that told him he’d officially worn out her patience. “Right. Come with me then.” The words came heavy and almost emotionless, as she grabbed his hand and yanked him around the stroller and the woman, and into the disabled toilet. Before he could really think George found himself past the door and door clunked shut behind them. That proved to be the final straw. With a muted whine of desperation, he took a single step towards the porcelain throne in the opposite corner of the tiled floor before the dam’s defences were overwhelmed. Alice had opened her mouth to speak, presumably to give him a serious dressing down for the little outburst he’d had outside, but she stopped mid breath, her eyes darting down to his trousers and the muffled hissing sound that announced he was having an accident in his goodnites. “Are you- “I couldn’t hold it!” George choked, wetness still flowing into the padding between his legs and swelling quickly to leave the feeling of soggy absorbent pulp against his groin area. He could feel a hollow sense of relief where the ache of his bladder had been replaced by the radiating warmth of his absorbed accident. He swallowed hard. He wanted to wake up in his bed and for all of this to have been some sort of nightmare. “Oh I can see that!” Alice snapped and stepped up to him. She hooked both of her thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers and yanked them down to above his knees with a single frustrated yank. The sight that greeted her confirmed what they’d both heard and George had felt. The girly goodnite, now visibly swollen and drooping between his legs, tinged and mottled yellow slightly. “Unbelievable! I can’t take you anywhere!” George just sniffed in reply as he stared at the worn black and white tiling beneath his shoes. “Why didn’t you go before we left!” “I forgot!” George blurted, struggling to stay under control. “I was just, I was just upset about last night, and you being angry with me, and forgot, alright!” Alice looked down at the boy in front of her. Tears started to form in his eyes, cheeks red, breathing quickly, on the verge of a full breakdown, and felt her own frustrations with him start to recede. Her expression softened and she reached out with a hand to squeeze his shoulder gently. “It’s ok George. I’m sorry for yelling at you, I just - I don’t have a lot of experience with looking after older kids with issues like this. When I planned out this summer I really wasn’t expecting to have to deal with this sort of thing.” She motioned at his soaked Goodnite. “I suppose it did its job at least.” Though as she peered closer, she could see she spoke too soon. At the leak guards on his right leg where it hugged into his thigh there was a slight wetness that moved down his leg. “Actually buddy, take your shoes off and take your trousers and that diaper off as well. I think you’ve leaked.” She sighed. At this George looked down and spotted what Alice had seen, and gripped his fingers into his palms in frustration and anger. Bad enough he had to wear one of these things, but it didn’t even work! “George, get them off for me please, we need to get you cleaned up.” She gave him a verbal prodding that seemed to get him moving. Slow, automaton-like movements executed in heavy silence. First the unlacing and pulling off of shoes, then the trousers, which Alice took and folded over to hold in her hands. She’d been right. There was a large,long dark stain where a line of urine had escaped his padding and soaked into the trouser material. He wouldn’t be wearing these again today. “That as well big guy.” She said as she saw him hesitate, now down to just his shirt and soaked undergarments. George paused for a second as if trying to muster some resistance to being stripped of his last shred of dignity. But it never came. Silently, slowly, he pulled down the soaked pink Goodnites and held them awkwardly, gravity pulling the swollen, warm padding down in a droop that stretched the rim he was holding it between two fingers. Not quite sure what to do with it and trying to ignore his current state of undress as much as he could, he spotted a bulky plastic container beside the folded up changing table and quickly darted over as Alice was gathering together his latest pair of ruined trousers. He pulled the lid open by the handle and deposited it inside, catching a glimpse of two pairs of swollen looking baby diapers within before he shut the lid again. He wondered if it was the two boys in the stroller he’d seen earlier who’d been changed in here then. They both seemed a bit old to still be in nappies. But he could hardly talk. He turned around, wondering if he was going to have to go commando for the rest of their mall trip, and he hesitated, eyes wide as he saw Alice retrieve a pristine Goodnite from her bag. “Guess it pays to be prepared.” She smiled at him as she opened up the garment between her hands, then lowered them. Waiting for George to step into them, like he was some toddler who still had trouble getting dressed by themselves. “Do I have to wear.. I mean, can’t I just…” He tried to think of arguments for why he shouldn’t have to wear another pair of those infernal pink garments, but his thoughts refused to coalesce. They floated off, absorbed into the aether like his accidents in his Goodnites had been. “Sure you can, just step in.” Alice encouraged him. “I’m not having you walk about a mall without underwear on George, I’m not looking after some feral child.” She chided him, stretching the undergarments a little more for emphasis. With a deep and shaky breath, he took two steps forward, then lifted his left leg first into the appropriate leg hole, followed by the right. He reached down to try and pull them up his legs but Alice beat him to the punch, lifting them into place around his waist in one smooth movement, checking again to make sure there was no chafing or biting against his skin. It was only then that George realised his ruined jeans, currently folded over the edge of the upright changing table like an improvised drying line, would not be going back on him. “I -I’m not wearing these out there!” He glanced around, starting to panic like a deer in headlights. “George, relax. George, just listen.” Alice placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and the distraction was enough to stop his spiraling for now. “The first place we go out of here is somewhere that sells trousers. Until we get you into a fitting room, just wear this.” George blinked as Alice took off her own long coat and handed it over to him. Looking it over, it would be comically long on him, but it would definitely cover up his Goodnite. “I’m gonna look so stupid. People will look.” He sniffed in protest. “A lot less than they will if you go out there in just your protection, mister.” Alice retired. ”They’re much too busy getting on with their own days to pay much attention to you. Unless you kick up a fuss I suppose.” George shook his head vigorously, then awkwardly pulled the overly big jacket around him. Maybe if he wore the hood up it would keep people from seeing his face too. But then again maybe having the hood up would just draw more attention in a busy indoor mall… “Come on, the faster we go the faster we get you into something you can walk around in.” Alice pulled his jeans off the changing table and stuffed them in a plastic carrier bag that had somehow materialised from inside her bag, then reached out a hand. George felt like a toddler as he took it. Alice led the way, swinging the door to the outside world open once more and George followed her. He could feel the Goodnite moving against his skin with every step.

For me I will sort from oldest to most recent. I was a little kid, potty trained for a year or two already I mistakened a fart as poop. I did not tell anyone and it felt so good. Dad eventually found out and was not happy. Since then I had fantasized about that feeling of poop squishing around and made makeshifts. Another was I was maybe 18 or 19 and I pooped tighty whities. While walking around the semi-firm load kneeded itself into a ball. I had not sat down yet and I ran up the basement stairs the turd ball was bouncing around in the seat of my undies and felt soooo amazing. Another was in my 20s and had an upset stomach after eating something so I put on a goodnight and messed in the back yard while trimming some plants in the garden. Evertime I crouched down my pants would force that soft load forward. Get up and walk a little then crouch down again. Next was late 20s and I had liquid in my sphincter without any urgency. I relaxed and every time I walked down the stairs I could feel a little come out with each step. And the rest are a few that I posted on here with a diaper over a good nite.

Ohhh, good memories. Was alone at home the entire weekend, like 10 years ago. So I diapered up with a thick diaper and a booster. About noon I went for a walk outside and had to poop really urgently. It was the perfect poop - not too soft, not too hard and a lot of volume (lasted shurely 5-8 secounds). I managed not to sit down or drink too much until in the evening. I peed a couple of times outside of the diaper to enjoy longer. Then I decided to get drunk - until midnight or so, and went to bed. I woke up in the morning at around 9 in a really huge wet spot in the bed - so first time I seem to have unconsciously peed my diaper while sleeping. The smell was enourmous. As I was hungover - I punctuated the diaper and did put another on top. Finally sat down in it for breakfast. It lasted until noon until it was so full and started to become uncomfortable so I went for a long shower. Wow, that was the best thing I ever had in my life so far.

I’m not sure if the question is about physical or psychological ‘feeling’. For the physical, well, that’s just like wearing diapers any other time except that it’s ALL the time. It’s a little bulky, it can be a little be hot, a little humid and it’s not always great for physical flexibility but I don’t mind. Sometimes however it’s quite nice having your own private cushion to sit on. After a few weeks, their presence starts to be less noticeable and in my case, I started to not notice being wet that much. It became normalised. Leaks happen and they suck but that gets better over time. It seems that the price of the convenience of being able to pee in your pants is a substantial amount of inconvenience. It requires time, effort, money and planning The main benefit for me was psychological. When I used to wear diapers intermittently I found myself in one of two headspaces. One, thinking about how I’d rather be diapered and how long it was going to be before I could get back into a diaper and Two, IN a diaper but fretting about how long before I had to come back OUT of it. My low level anxiety about having to NOT wear diapers was starting to get in the way of the comfort I derived when I WAS wearing diapers. 24/7 resolved ALL of that. There is no beginning. There is no end. I am literally ALWAYS diapered. The borderless/endless cycle of diapering comforts me strangely and deeply. I don’t need to think about non-diapered time because there isn’t any: just diaper changes. I don’t have to control my pee because there is literally no point. It’s all going into my pants anyway and diapers prefer dribbles to floods so I don't bother. If I start bedwetting (which of course I did), well that’s one less reason to wake up and I’ll be well-diapered anyway so why care? If my continence erodes (and that is slowly happening), it’s irrelevant. I don’t use my continence anymore and I'll always be diapered anyway. I am being the way I want to be, all the time. I am what I am. Who wouldn’t want that?

It feels amazing! Lol i find more comfort since having gone 247 than ever before in life. If you want it, you adapt to the smaller inconveniences of it

So for me- wearing fulltime feels like wearing regular underwear but bulkier. It did take some time to get used to sitting down and feeling the paddedness whether wet or not. But i guess the trick is to focus on your day to day tasks, and not so much as the diaper til its time to change. I guess if you could take 1 full day of diaper wearing and figure that but everyday and sticking to it, Making it take the place of regular underwear when you wake up and get dressed for the day. Though wearing full time may require you to spent that little extra for the premium diapers all the the time ( crinklz, megamaxs, and other super absorbant diapers) Idk if any of this babble makes any sense but i hope it helps.

Something went crazy with the spacing on this everyone. I can't seem to make it any better than this. If it bugs you, you can click here to read it on Deviantart. Once again, I'm really sorry I haven't been around much everyone. My life has been pretty rough lately, I'm just trying to put one foot in front of the other and push myself forward right now... but I won't bore you guys with the details, as I don't think anyone's life is too easy or pleasant right now, and I've probably got it better than a lot of people. So let's just put all that crap aside for the moment and just have a little fun. The best way to get caught up on this in on Patreon (I just posted chapter Forty Seven this morning.) You can join and get caught up on this story for a $2 pledge. “Y’know, I thought princess’ shit wasn’t supposed to stink,” Betsy said, standing back and admiring her handiwork. The diaper and bonnet clad superheroine responded by grunting as she loudly blasted out another round of mushy poo-poo into her already packed pamper. Diana could only grunt, sweat, and drool. So powerful were the cramps in her stomach and the messy, flatulent detonations they produced in her diaper that Diana didn’t even try to stop them... she just stuck her butt up in the air and let her body force out a seemingly impossible amount of poop into her already bulging adult diapers. “PHEW-WEE!” Betsy Wetsy complained, bending down daintily to pat the seat of Diana’s diapers. “You really funkified that diaper!” Diana could do nothing but press her forehead to the floor, giving thanks to her gods that the mess seemed to have spattered to a stop... at least for the moment. Her nostrils flared, the stink of her diaper invading her cute, upturned nose. “Y’know, princess, I have smelled some STINKY diapers in my time,” Betsy said teasingly, neglecting to mention that many of those smelly diapers were hers, “but this one takes the cake! I mean P-U, princess... I think it might be time to see a doctor!” Diana simply grunted in response, a gooey farting sound bringing another round of mushy diarrhea. Betsy just laughed, bending down to give the seat of Wonder Woman’s bulging diaper a couple of gentle pats. “Well darling, it’s been fun... but the other girls want to have a word with you, and the game is hide and seek, so I guess it’s time for you to go.” She emphasized this with an open palmed SWAT to the seat of Wonder Woman’s diaper, sending the disgraced superheroine crawling off unsteadily on all fours, hugely messy diaper squishing behind her with every move she made. “Ta-ta, babykins,” Betsy mocked behind her, grinning as she watched the stained seat of Wonder Woman’s diaper waggling in the air behind her. Diana, her hot, squishy diaper chafing her with every move she made, tried to keep her cool, but she found herself getting upset, tears stinging her eyes. She was supposed to be a proud warrior, in constant control of her body and emotions... but the hot muddy mess squishing against her buttocks and stinking up her general area was a constant reminder of her failure to maintain control. For the proud, powerful Amazon Princess, the humiliation was nearly overwhelming, and she couldn’t stop the fat tears from rolling down her cheeks. Meanwhile, elsewhere in the maze, The Paddler was enjoying herself. The past few weeks had been difficult for Ava, but things were starting to look up. Her new and improved bionic anus was functioning perfectly... She only farted or defecated when she felt like it now, and she possessed complete control over her bowels. Well... almost complete. Wolfe had, of course, left himself with back door control over her new butt-hole, and he rarely let her forget it. Although he hadn’t used it to humiliate her in front of the others yet, she’d been forced to put on a couple of ‘performances’ for him, farting uncontrollably for his amusement, and once he’d sent her running from the room with a case of explosive diarrhea when she’d questioned his authority one time too many... but so far, she had no regrets. She stalked the maze quietly, ears open and listening for any sign of her quarry, only the slight jingle of the paddles on her belt to distract her. In the distance, she heard a small noise. Halting in place, Ava cocked her ear and listened again, holding her breath and closing her eyes. There, she thought with a smile when she heard it again. Moving slowly and carefully, she tiptoed closer to the door on the south side of the room and stuck her head through, listening. She heard the sound again, tiny, distant, but unmistakable... someone was softly crying as they moved through the halls. The Paddler’s suspicions were confirmed when she heard a large, muffled farting sound. It was the princess, alright, and from the sound of things she’d already run into Betsy. Slowly, cautiously, moving without sound, she tiptoed down the hall towards her prey. Fighting back tears, Diana continued crawling aimlessly, her messy pamper squishing behind her with every move she made. She knew she needed a plan, knew she had to find someway to hide, to escape, to fight back, damnit! But after her encounter with Betsy Wetsy, Wonder Woman was having a hard time staying focused. In fact, far from thinking strategically, she found she was only able to feel sorry for herself. She was angry at herself, her years of stoicism and self control rendered null in the face of one messy diaper. Worse, her bowels were still giving her grief, and periodically, her stomach would cramp, and Diana would force out another gassy explosion into her pampers. She had stopped to grunt out another noisy mess when she heard a sound behind her. Frantic, her heart hammering in her chest, she took off crawling as fast as she could, not knowing where she was going. She tried to listen for someone approaching from behind her, but all she could hear was the persistent ‘squish squish squish,’ of her messy diapers. She rounded one corner, then another, frantically searching for some place to hide herself. Instead, she found herself at a dead end... and the sound of footsteps behind her were getting louder by the second. The stink of a poopy diaper tickled her nose, and The Paddler smiled, knowing that she was closing in on the princess. She bit her lip to contain a smile and flexed her fingers, aching to deliver a spanking to the formerly haughty, superior superheroine... the messy diaper would be the cherry on top of her humiliation. She pushed forward into the maze, following both the faint, muddy squishing noise, and the smell of poopy diapers, which got stronger the closer she got. At last Ava rounded the corner, grinning when her victim came into view. Wonder Woman didn’t look like much of a hero now. Her eyes red and puffy from crying, she sat on her thickly pampered rump in the corner, sucking her thumb and sobbing. The stink of dirty diapers was gagging, and The Paddler was forced to pinch her nose shut as she approached. “Well well well... what have we here?” She said smugly, looking down on the cowering former heroine with maximum contempt. “It kind of looks like Wonder Woman... except for the diapers, of course!” she said, laughing when Diana began sobbing anew. “Sure doesn’t SMELL much like a hero, though... Smells like a big, stinky diaper!” Diana broke into loud sobs again, sucking her thumb even harder and squirming in her squishy pampers miserably. There was noting in the world she wanted more at this moment than a diaper change... but one look into Ava’s smug face let her know that there probably wasn’t one forthcoming. “A big STINKY, WHINY BABY who needs an attitude adjustment... don’t you agree?” Ava grinned, taking a paddle from her belt and tapping it against her palm menacingly. In the corner, Diana shook her head and slurped her thumb, cowering before her nemesis. The Paddler approached slowly, grinning, enjoying the reversal of power. When last they’d met, it had ended in Ava’s complete defeat and humiliation. Now, it was Wonder Woman waddling around with a big mushy load in her pants, and Ava was determined to enjoy every moment of her disgrace. “You’ve been acting far too big for your britches, babykins,” Ava said with a chuckle. She pressed a hidden button on the wall, a simple bench rising up out of the floor in response. Settling down, she reached over, taking Diana roughly by the ear and tumbling her across her lap in one swift motion, grinning at the sight of her hugely inflated diaper. Diana shrieked and kicked, but The Paddler was easily able to hold her in place. “You’ve needed this for a long time, you little brat,” Ava said, bringing the flat, hard paddle down on the seat of Diana’s pampers, squishing the mess inside against her smooth buttocks and making her squeal. “and now you’re gonna get it!” Read the next part on Patreon