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Chapter Nineteen Jenny sat in the highchair in absolute despair. Nanny Olivia seemed to find the tiniest bibs possible for dinner, serving more to mock them than to provide any form of modesty or protection from the dripping baby food. And there was a lot of dripping baby food. As a glop of orange mush slowly trailed down her chin, Jenny raised her arm to clean herself, only to be stopped by the mittens and restraints. The only positive of this experience was that Daisy was seated two feet away and seemed to be having an even worse time. Nanny Olivia sat between them, alternating spoonfuls of mush from one whiny woman to the other. Jenny had lost count at some point, but there were at least a dozen empty baby food containers between them and a few empty bottles. Daisy groaned, shaking her head back and forth as the spoon came in for another landing. “What was that Baby Daisy? Did you say something? Oh, I think it was your little bum-bum. Does your little bum-bum have something to say?” Daisy was in too much distress to even be snarky. A series of very unladylike toots had filled the room for several minutes, muffled only slightly by the thick padding wrapped around the cute blonde’s rumbly tummy. “Ughh…please, Nanny Olivia…no more…I can’t….mmmmph!” Another spoonful of orange mush, either sweet potato or carrot, was forced into the pleading blonde’s mouth and Jenny didn’t even have time to enjoy the sweet taste of revenge before her mouth was filled with the same. “Okay, little ones, one bottle for each of you and then we’re done!” Jenny hoped for mercy as the bottles approached, but there was none to be found. The various flavors of mush on her lips blended with the creamy liquid that poured out of the bottles and ran down her cheeks and onto her bare breasts. Both women tried to mount protests and complain but Olivia held firm and any attempts to communicate only resulted in a bigger mess until it was clear that neither woman was moving until both bottles were emptied. Jenny turned to Daisy, and they each looked into each other’s tear-filled eyes as they silently agreed to a truce and to finish their bottles as quickly as possible. Several agonizing minutes later, Jenny watched Daisy lean forward as Nanny Olivia patted her back until unladylike sounds were coming from both ends. The struggling blonde winced as the waistband of her diaper was pulled back for an impromptu diaper check. “I see some little messies in there, Miss Daisy. All of this could have been avoided if you had just made your morning messy, but your chart said that you were a very stubborn girl this morning. I hope you are learning a valuable lesson about listening to grown-ups.” It was just as Jenny was in the middle of her own bizarrely effective burping session that the dam burst and Daisy cried out. “Ughh…ooh…oh nooo….please, let me out! Please! Ugh…” “You know as well as I do that you aren’t done yet, you little stinker. Let’s get you two cleaned up and we’ll see how you’re doing then.” Daisy rocked her head back and forth as her face and chest were wiped free of one disgusting mush while the adorable blonde was forced to sit in another. Once clean, her pacifier was reapplied and Jenny went through the same humiliating wipe down. It was in the still silence in the aftermath of their feeding while both women leaned back in their highchairs that Jenny let loose a little toot of her own. Jenny blushed and looked away as Daisy surprised her with a look that she didn’t think the scornful blonde was capable of: empathy. Jenny’s stomach now churned as Daisy was helped down from the highchair, her eyes fixated on the sagging discoloration that now filled the seat of Daisy’s diaper. Oh god…that’s going to be me. That’s going to be me. She had an even better view of the damage as she crawled behind Daisy on their way to the changing tables, clenching her bottom as tightly as she could with each slight movement. “Stand up, Daisy. Let’s get a look at you.” Daisy stood to her feet, wincing as the contents of her diaper shifted. There had been dozens and dozens of dirty diapers over her last few months, but they never got easier and the pampered princess never got used to the icky feeling. Most mornings, Daisy would wake up and mess in her crib to get her required daily messing over with before heading to the Preschool Room and trying to regain some sense of maturity. But some mornings it was all just too much and she couldn’t bring herself to debase herself like that. She had experimented with different methods to keep her bottom clean. In the early days, she tried to bribe a few of the nannies, but her daddy’s money was no good here. Then she tried to flaunt her body at them, promising them wild sexual favors. But if any of them swung that way, it didn’t matter. They all dismissed her in laughing hysterics at the mere thought of the adorable little diaper-filler as a sexual being. There had been a few instances where she couldn’t hold it and had to resort to using the potties in Miss Rachel’s room, but the look of absolute disgust from Miss Rachel, her classmates, and whatever maid drew the short straw that day had been enough to reduce her to tears. Some Night Nannies would give her a few hours to try to make a mess on her own before resorting to the nuclear option, but some of them…like Nanny Olivia…seemed to enjoy taking the attractive blonde down a peg whenever they got the chance. Looking into Nanny Olivia’s big green eyes, Daisy was pretty sure that the deranged woman was a sadist at heart. “Oh, what a full diaper, Miss Daisy! You made a big present for me tonight. How can such an adorable little thing like yourself make such a big, stinky mess?” Daisy hung her head and waited for Olivia to finish entertaining herself. She was made to bend over and Jenny watched as the chubby nanny playfully smacked the heavy, diapered bottom, listening to the adorable little squeaks with a wicked smile. “Give me one more little push, Daisy. Let’s make sure you’re all cleaned out!” Daisy groaned but did as she was told, squeezing out one final, humiliating toot. Nanny Olivia booped the girl on the nose and held out her hands. Jenny could never have imagined the bratty blonde from her Preschool class could have ever been in such a humiliating predicament. She seemed so sure of herself and confident, even when she was being punished and humiliated. Jenny saw none of those characteristics as Daisy crawled onto the table, doing her best to keep the mess from spreading further. All of that was for naught, as Olivia gave the defeated blonde a slight nudge and watched her land on her mushy bottom with a wince and a groan. She cuffed Daisy and made sure she was secure, but, for once, there was nowhere in the world Daisy would rather be than on top of a changing table. “And what about you? You’ve been awfully quiet, Baby Jenny. Have you made any presents for me yet?” Nanny Olivia bent her at the waist for a diaper check and Jenny’s eyes opened wide. No. Not now. Oh god….oh god….please…not now. Jenny’s eyes grew wider as what she believed to be a small release of gas was a trojan horse for the bountiful harvest of mushy baby food and creamy liquids she had been forced to consume over the last several hours. The demoted journalist fell to her hands and knees, unable to stop the devastation happening in her diaper. There were no words. Only whimpers and groans as she bent forward and filled her diaper, feeling every bit the baby that she was being treated as. Several messy moments later, Jenny closed her eyes and panted, at least glad to be done with her ultimate humiliation. And then her bladder released. The warm torrent rushed through her already soiled diaper as Jenny sat motionless like a deer in headlights until a few firm pats to her messy bottom shook her back into reality. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back for you.” And Jenny didn’t. Not a muscle. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Jenny sat in the large bubble bath, still shaken from the devastatingly humiliating experience. She hadn’t spoken a word since the eruption in her diaper, and wasn’t sure if she would ever speak again as her mind continued to relive the mortifying experience. She had tried to remain motionless while she waited for Daisy to be wiped, but every breath, every tiny movement, reminded her of what she had just done. She, Jennifer Brooks, had just messed her diaper like a baby. And apparently, she wasn’t finished. Her bottom continued to erupt and add to the mess in small bursts and toots as she waited her turn to be cleaned. In the end, Jenny forced herself to push and make sure that this would be the last time she would ever have to face this indignity. As Daisy was finished and the heavy, sealed diaper was dropped into the bin with a loud thud, Jenny began her reluctant ascent to the changing table. Keeping the disgusting mush away from her skin was her primary concern, but proved impossible as she laid on the table and tried to imagine herself as anywhere else in the universe. Suddenly, waiting in the line at the DMV or having a cavity filled sounded like pleasant experiences. For her part, Nanny Olivia did not seem phased by the catastrophic mess in front of her, having undoubtedly changed hundreds of wet and messy diapers in her time. The cleaning process was an out-of-body experience for Jenny. She winced from time to time as the cold wipes cleaned away her shame and came into contact with her skin. At some point during the humiliating procedure, Jenny realized that if she hadn’t been changed promptly, she would have been at risk for diaper rash. A thirty-eight-year-old journalist with diaper rash. What am I doing with my life? Nanny Olivia finished the task in either moments or years. Jenny couldn’t be sure, as her mind drifted to a completely different galaxy. A world where she was sitting in her corner office as a well-respected journalist instead of laying on a changing table in the middle of a very messy diaper change. Nanny Olivia continued to coo at her with sweet little comments designed to humiliate and regress her further, but Jenny wasn’t listening. She was in a tornado, with the world swirling around her until, just as suddenly, it stopped. Jenny was standing next to the changing table, forced to hold hands with Daisy. At some point, it seemed that their mittens and booties had been removed, but Jenny didn’t have any recollection of that. She watched in slow-motion as Daisy fell to her knees and proceeded crawling past the changing table to an area in the back and her body followed, an infantilized zombie blindly trudging towards her impending doom. Now she was sitting across from the cute, frazzled blonde in a large bubble bath, both blinking at each other but not really seeing each other behind their pacifiers as they waited for what was coming. They each allowed themselves to be thoroughly cleaned, raising an arm or lifting a leg as they were prompted. Being bathed and scrubbed alongside another woman, by a third woman, seemed like something out of one of the stories that Jenny had read, designed to titillate and arouse. It would have been unthinkable even six hours ago, yet now she allowed every nook and every cranny to be scrubbed alongside the blonde that began her downfall without as much as a peep. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o “I haven’t done that in weeks. I don’t know what I was thinking this morning. I just, like, couldn’t go through it again. I just wanted to feel pretty and have a relatively normal day without shitting my pants when I woke up.” Jennifer nodded and sucked on her bottle, hoping beyond hope that whatever was in it would only result in wet diaper changes from here on out. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since Daisy entered the nursery, and then she suddenly launched into a monologue out of nowhere. “It’s so much worse when they make me do it that way. In the mornings, it’s small and controlled, and I’m changed quickly and they’re always so nice and cheerful. What was I thinking?!” Jennifer continued to nod and suck, fairly certain that Daisy would have this exact conversation whether she was here or not, but grateful for the insight on the younger woman’s experience. She wasn’t sure what to make of her article anymore. At first, she had planned it as a hit piece. Then more of an expose’, where she shared all the dark secrets. Then, it was going to be more of an experimental, day-in-the-life sort of thing. Now…well, she certainly wouldn’t be sharing any of that. “...and that’s why the enemas are even worse. I’ve only had those a few times, and it was when I first started. And it’s always Nanny Olivia. I think that bitch really hates me.” “How long have you been here?” “Oh…ummm…” Daisy stopped, partly because she had gotten used to monologuing without interruption and partly because she didn’t actually know the answer. “Umm, what’s the date?” Jennifer blinked and tried to drain a little more of her bottle, not sure if Daisy wanted to hear the answer. “Do they not tell you what day it is?” “Nope. And there are no clocks in here either. Haven’t you noticed?” The journalist looked around and shook her head. That is the type of detail she would normally pick up on. All of this baby stuff had really dulled her senses. “That’s messed up. Well, umm…It’s September. The 15th.” Daisy took a deep breath and sat in silence, drinking her bottle for a few moments, trying to come to grips with what that meant for her. “Three months. No…four months. I’ve been here for four months. I haven’t used a toilet in four months. Haven’t had a hot shower in four months. Haven’t had sex in four months. God, I miss sex.” Jenny chose that moment to continue drinking her bottle. She wasn’t a prude, and this experience had definitely opened her up to a few other things, but it had also been a while since she had been on a date or had a guy over. She nodded along, realizing that she missed sex too, albeit for different reasons. “How long are they keeping you here? What did you do?” Daisy pulled out her mostly empty bottle, letting it come off of her lips with a satisfying pop. Her face turned to an indignant pout. “I didn’t do anything. They got me on the same shit they got everyone else on. I’m guessing you’re here for speeding, resisting arrest, that sort of thing, yeah?” Jenny nodded, noting that Daisy was getting more heated. She listened intently, as this played directly into her earlier assertion that there was something nefarious happening inside of The Academy. “Yeah, me too. Pretty much everyone else. I fought against everything and everyone, hard, and wound up in the Nursery on my first day. I was in here for weeks before they let me ‘graduate’ to Preschool every now and then. For the last month or so, I spend most of my days in there and come here at night, unless I get demoted or they want to teach me a lesson. Sorry I was such a bitch to you in there.” Jenny nodded, finishing up her own bottle and laying it down beside her. “It’s okay. It sounds like you’ve had a pretty rough go of it.” Jenny’s mind wandered. Should she tell the girl that she is a reporter? Was she being held here against her will? Would they keep me here for months if I spoke out against them? Jennifer couldn’t imagine spending even one more day in diapers. “I guess my dad wants me in here. He’s super rich and I guess he just got sick of dealing with me and bailing me out when I got in trouble. I think he’s making some big donations for them to ‘straighten me out once and for all’ or something like that. I guess I wasn’t really doing anything with my life before all of this anyway, ya know?” Jenny put her pacifier back in and nodded. She had spent over a decade in a dead-end job and got herself into this crazy scenario just to…have a slightly better dead-end job? Is this all there was to life? Jenny smirked behind her pacifier, and Daisy pounced. “What’s so funny? Is my story amusing?” “Oh, no…nothing like that. I’m sorry! I just…it got me thinking about some of the deeper things and meanings in my life and now you’ve got me re-examining my life choices. And I thought about how odd it is that I’m sitting in a diaper in a nursery and rethinking my life. It’s almost like starting over, isn’t it?” “Yeah, but I wish there was another way. I mean, I guess I went through my share of rehabs and even had a house arrest for a few months last year. Maybe they’re right and I’m just not cut out for this whole adulthood thing after all.” o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o It had taken almost a full day, but Jenny finally decided to take someone’s advice and it was indeed making her life better. Jenny hated how familiar this felt already. As she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, and waiting for her wet diaper to be removed, she was grateful that Daisy had given her the head’s up about wetting her diaper before bedtime. When Nanny Olivia approached for bedtime diaper checks, she did it with her pink paddle in hand and was clearly bummed about not getting to spank anyone during her shift. The wipes were still cold, the powder still tickled, and the diaper was still soft and confining, and before Jenny knew it she had been changed into a clean diaper and a new outfit. She was pretty sure she had worn something like this almost four decades ago and hated it just as much then. The long footie pajamas also included fingerless mittens so that she couldn’t get into any trouble at night and she was somewhat surprised to see that it zipped in the back to prevent tampering. Daisy had also been changed into an identical onesie and stood beside her, having apparently made a bit of a mess in her diaper as well. They stood patiently as their teeth were brushed, adding another awkward moment to an already bizarre day. Having your teeth brushed by someone else would be bizarre in most other situations, but was barely registering to Jenny anymore. The girls were forced into a long hug and made to say goodnight to each other, earning themselves a brief spanking over their padded bottoms before using the correct names. “Goodnight, Baby Daisy.” “Goodnight, Baby Jenny.” They were each helped into their adjacent cribs and laid on their backs as the rails were pulled up and the lights were dimmed. “Good night, my little babies. Sweet dreams.” Jenny watched as the curvy nurse made her way across the nursery to one of the cushy, oversized rocking chairs meant for nursing and snuggles and made herself comfortable, lazily tossing her short legs across one arm of the chair. She pulled out her phone and began scrolling, the bright light illuminating her face in the otherwise darkened nursery. Jenny’s final thoughts revolved around trying to think of the last time she had gone without her phone for a day. She couldn’t remember and her eyelids felt…so…heavy… ------------------------- Grab the completed story HERE Ream | SubStar | Amazon | Free Monthly Story

CHAPTER FOUR The room looked… off. Like a place that had tried to be soft once and failed. Harper stood in the doorway with her hand still wrapped around the knob. The hallway behind her didn’t seem that far away, but this room didn’t feel like it belonged to the house. It didn’t feel like it belonged anywhere. A mismatched rug covered most of the floor, curling up at the edges like it didn’t want to be there. The wallpaper was childlike—pale yellow with a faint blue print of moons and stars—but it peeled in long vertical strips above the baseboards. Toys were scattered across the rug. Wooden blocks spelled out nothing in particular. A plush rabbit, limp and gray around the ears sat nearby. But that wasn’t what caught Harper’s eye. At first, she thought it was a shadow. A weird trick. The kind your brain plays when it wants to keep things normal. “...Jules?” It barely came out. Her throat clenched around the name like it didn’t want to let it go. Jules was standing in the far corner with her back to the room. Same black boots. Same black top. Same little satin cat ears. But her hair slightly mussed in the back like she’d been grabbed or shoved or— Harper’s brain slammed the brakes on that thought.. Jules’ arms were raised. Not flailing. Not defensive. Resting gently on top of her own head like— No. Not like anything. It was that. She had been posed and left in place. Harper’s eyes trailed down Jules’ body to what she knew was there. What she had seen in her peripheral but refused to process. Jules’s pants were around her ankles, tangled and bunched like they’d been yanked down fast. Her underwear too. Black and plain, stretched between her knees like surrender. And her ass— Harper didn’t mean to look. She really, really didn’t. But it was impossible not to. Because it wasn’t just bare. It was red. Bright, blistered red in the shape of uneven handprints. Ugly splotches across ghost-white skin that should’ve never looked that raw. Harper blinked like that would fix it. Like she could scrub the image out of her brain if she just didn’t let it settle. “What the fuck…” she whispered, not meaning to speak. Harper stepped forward before she meant to. Just two steps. Careful. Light. The corkscrew clinked against her heels. She didn’t notice. “Jules?” Harper kept her voice low. Something about the room made it feel wrong to be loud. No response. Jules was completely still. Not just quiet. Still. Not shifting, not fidgeting, not breathing loud enough to hear. Her shoulders didn’t rise. Her head didn’t turn. Harper leaned in, trying to meet her eye line. “Hey. Hey, Jules. Are you—” Her voice dipped. “What is this? Who did this to you?” Still nothing. Harper hesitated, then inched closer as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She was close enough now to see Jules’s breathing. Barely. Slow. Shallow. Like she was asleep upright. Or holding her breath. Her shoulders twitched once. Then went still. “Hey,” she said gently. “It’s me. It’s Harp. I don’t—what is this?” She took another step, cautious now. The air changed the closer she got. It felt thicker somehow. Like it was pressing in behind her ears. Another step. “Jules,” Harper tried again. “Come on. This isn’t funny.” She reached out, slowly, fingers hovering before she touched Jules’s arm like she was afraid she’d get shocked. Her fingers brushed Jules’ shoulder. It was cold to the touch. No reaction. “Come on,” Harper said. She tugged, gently at first. “Let’s go. Come on, Jules. You’re scaring the shit out of me.” Harper tugged harder, her grip slipping against Jules’s elbow. She reset and tried again, putting her weight into it this time. It was like pulling against a statue. Jules didn’t move an inch. She didn’t even wobble. Her feet were planted. Ankles locked. Her hands didn’t flinch. Her spine didn’t shift. Harper blinked at her, genuinely startled now. Harper furrowed her brow and set both hands to her arm now, pulling harder. She felt the strain in her own wrist, the resistance of weight that wasn’t dead, but wasn’t cooperative either. “Jules, what the fuck—” Still nothing. “What the hell—” she said, loud now, too loud. “Jules, move. Come on. If this is a joke… it’s fucking not funny—” She looked down. Jules’s boots were rooted. Like she’d sunk into the carpet. Like she’d decided not to leave. But that didn’t make sense. Harper stepped back. Ran a hand over her face. Her own breath was loud now. Too loud in a room where nothing else wanted to make a sound. “Can you hear me?” Harper asked, voice shaking now. “Is someone else here?” She looked around fast—too fast—and the room blurred for a second, shadows swimming in her peripheral. But there was nothing. No other door. No closet. No one hiding behind the curtain. Just toys. Just silence. She turned back to Jules. “Please. Please snap out of it, we have to—” Harper stepped away, heart pounding, and began pacing in a tight, useless little circle. in front of Jules. Her eyes kept drifting. She didn’t want to look, but it was right there—that red ass glowing against skin that hadn’t seen the sun in years. She tried not to stare, but it felt magnetic. Like if she looked away, it would get worse behind her back. What the hell happened? She remembered Jules being pale. But not like this. Not ghost-white. Not like paper with ink drained out. The contrast made her stomach twist. Harper ran a hand through her hair like that would unstick the moment. She turned away, toward the door. Then back again. The red against Jules’s skin looked wrong. Not just angry. Not just humiliating. It looked fresh. “I’m getting you out of here, okay?” she whispered. “You’re gonna be okay.” No reply. Harper turned back toward her and moved in close. Closer than before. She placed one hand against the peeling wallpaper to steady herself, and leaned in near Jules’s ear. “Okay,” Harper whispered. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t care. We’re gonna leave. Right now. We’ll figure it out later, okay? Just—just come with me.” Jules didn’t speak. Didn’t turn. Didn’t move. But something did. A single tear slipped down her cheek like it had been waiting for permission. Harper followed it with her eyes. The slow track of it, carving through makeup and sweat as it rolled off of her cheek and into the abyss. She tracked the path of the tear up to the eyes above, wide open and flickering slightly from left to right like they were looking at something that wasn’t there. And they were terrified. Not scared. Not spooked. It was raw. Like she’d seen something that split her open and left her trying to hold her insides together by sheer will. She looked horrified in a way Harper didn’t know was possible. Like Jules was trying to scream with her eyes and couldn’t remember how. Harper recoiled, hand flying to her chest, like her own heartbeat had betrayed her. Her heel caught the leg of a wooden toy and she stumbled, arms flailing for balance. Jules didn’t move. Harper steadied herself and that’s when she heard it. So faint she thought it might be her own brain shorting out. “…tell her…” Harper’s skin prickled. “What?” she whispered. She moved back in. Close. Her skin was crawling, but she had to know. “Jules?” she asked. “What did you say?” Her friend’s lips barely moved. “…tell her…” Harper leaned in, breath caught in her throat. “...tell her I was good…” Harper’s whole body went cold. “Who?” she asked. “Who, Jules? Who do I tell? What happened?” Harper leaned in again, not wanting to, not wanting to hear it—but needing to confirm. Jules’ lips were barely moving. The whisper looped again. Same rhythm. The whisper was all air and repetition, like a prayer said too many times. “I was good. I was good. I was good…” Harper crouched again, voice shaking. “Hey. Hey, look at me. Who—who are you talking about?” “I was good.” The repetition was unraveling. A thread being pulled. Each word was slightly less human. Harper reached out again. Then flinched back before her fingers reached her friend’s shoulder. Her hand just wouldn’t go. “I’m gonna find Lexi,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back. I promise.” Jules didn’t react. Didn’t acknowledge her. Just the chant, soft and desperate. Like it was all that was keeping her together. Like the words were all that she had left. “I was good.” “I was good.” “I was good.” Harper stared for one moment longer and then broke away. “I’m gonna—” Harper’s voice cracked. “I’m gonna go find her, okay? I’ll be back. I’ll be right back.” She didn’t expect an answer. She didn’t get one. Just the same chanted words. Harper turned and fled, nearly tripping on the plastic tea set as she bolted through the doorway and back into the hall as the whispers of her friend echoed through her ears. CHAPTER FIVE Harper stepped back into the hallway, heart hammering, chest too tight. Jules’s voice still echoed in her skull like an aftershock, barely fading. She didn’t look back. Lexi. She had to find Lexi. She had to do something. Harper’s eyes flicked up, down the long stretch of hallway in front of her. There were too many fucking doors. Identical. Evenly spaced. All closed. All waiting. “Lexi?” she called, voice raw and hoarse. Her throat felt scraped out. “Lex—” Nothing. She tried again, louder this time. “Lexi! Where are you?!” Still nothing. No voice. No footstep. No flirty laugh echoing down the hall. Just quiet. That awful, almost polite kind of quiet, like the house was listening, waiting to see what she’d do next. Harper’s fingers clenched and unclenched and she made herself relax her joints, shaking out her fingers and breathing deep. Okay, she told herself. One door at a time. She glanced at the nearest door, the first one on her right. Plain white paint. Brass knob. Yellowed trim like every other goddamn door in this place. Harper reached out slowly. Her hand settled on the knob, but she didn’t turn it. Not yet. She closed her eyes tight. Okay. Just open it. What’s the worst that can happen? Her breath hitched. She told her wrist to twist, but it didn’t move. Behind her eyelids, she saw Jules again, frozen and posed. Red-assed and whispering. She swallowed hard, trying not to be sick. Come on, Harp. Stop being a baby. Just OPEN it. She inhaled through her nose, lashes fluttering as if they could shield her from whatever waited on the other side. Her forehead pressed lightly to the door, the wood cool against her skin. Her body was strung so tight she felt like she’d snap if she moved. Another breath. Another second of gathering herself. She turned her head, cheek resting against the panel now, letting the chill seep into her skin. Her eyes opened slowly, lashes heavy with clumps of cheap mascara. Her gaze slid sideways, tracing the long stretch of hallway ahead—one door after another, all dressed the same. White paint. Brass knobs. Yellowed trim. Except. Halfway down, something broke the pattern. It was faint. Barely there. The kind of thing you didn’t notice until you were already staring. But once you saw it— You couldn’t unsee it. That door wasn’t white. It was pink. Washed in some gentle glow that didn’t make sense. Like it was lit from the inside, but no light bled through. Just that soft flush. That pretty hue. Sitting there at the end of the hallway like it had always been waiting for her to catch up. That was it. Harper didn’t know how she knew. She just did. In that cold, sinking way your gut knows when something’s about to go terribly, irreversibly wrong. Her fingers slipped off the knob. The door she’d been bracing for—the one she’d nearly opened—meant nothing now. Her feet shifted, her body turned before she told it to. Every nerve felt rewired, rerouted toward the pale pink shape at the end of the hall. “Lexi,” she whispered. Her feet carried her forward, slow, unsteady, like she was walking into the pull of a tide. Every other door fell away. There was only that one—soft pink and waiting. Harper moved without thinking. Not walking so much as gliding, like the floor had tilted and her body was sliding toward it, helpless to stop. The walls seemed farther apart now. The light changed. Or maybe her eyes did. Everything was dim and honey-colored, soft and quiet, like she’d stumbled into someone else’s dream. Her footsteps barely made a sound, but the air grew warmer the closer she got. Sweeter, too. Like powdered sugar and synthetic fruit. A smell that made her stomach turn even as her mouth watered. Harper’s heart beat faster, but it felt far away. Like it was happening in another body, one she’d stepped out of and forgotten how to re-enter. The pink door waited. Not impatient. Not inviting. Just… there. Like it knew she was coming. Like it always knew. She reached out. Her hand hovered for a second—just long enough for the thought to flash: What if she’s in there? What if she’s not? Harper didn’t knock. Her palm pressed against the door. It was warm. The knob turned with no resistance. And the door opened. The light inside hit her first. Soft. Dreamy. Pale rose and buttercream, diffused through gauzy curtains that fluttered even though the air was still. Pink walls. Plush carpet. Everything soft and curated and expensive. Not a single thing out of place. Perfect. Harper stepped into the room like she’d crossed into another story. Another life. The air was warmer here and the room was immaculate. So clean it felt suspicious. Everything was soft-edged and coordinated—pale pinks, warm creams, a hint of gold trim. The carpet was plush beneath her feet, swallowing every sound she made. A rocking chair sat in the corner, angled just so. A table with folded linens. A shelf of toys so pristine they may as well have been staged. It was all too much. Too still. Too perfect. The door drifted shut behind her with a gentle click and then she heard it. A muffled, desperate mmmph! from across the room. Harper’s head whipped toward the sound and there she was. Lexi. Harper’s mouth dropped open. Lexi was inside a large crib, on her knees, gripping the rails like she was auditioning for an insane asylum remake of Annie. She still had her red devil horns on. And that was…basically it. Her red corset was gone. In its place there was something frilly and tiny barely covering her breasts. Her mouth was stuffed with a giant pink pacifier, wide cartoon eyes staring out in manic desperation. Harper’s brain stalled. She blinked. Once. Twice. She laughed. Just a breath, the kind that slips out when your brain throws up its hands and says, I got nothin’. There was something disturbingly cute about her—some cartoonish parody of herself—but it only made it worse. Lexi’s eyes snapped toward her like radar locking on. “MMPH!!” she shouted, slamming the side of the crib. Harper still hadn’t moved past the door. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her eyes swept the room again like they were trying to find a different answer. One that made sense. There wasn’t one. She turned back to Lexi and stumbled forward, her voice high and cracking. “Lexi?! Oh my god—what the fuck?!” Lexi bounced like a manic toddler, shaking the crib rails and kicking her legs. “Hey—hey, shh, shhh—” Harper hissed. “What happened?! Are you okay?! Who—who did this to you?!” Lexi yanked on the bars again and did an aggressive gesture that might’ve been “get me out” or “I will eat your soul.” It was hard to tell. Harper reached the side of the crib and went for the latch. There wasn’t one. “What the hell…” She ran her fingers along the railing, looking for a hinge, a switch—anything. “It doesn’t lower?” Lexi shook her head hard. Her whole body wobbled like she was made of springs. Harper looked again. The crib rail came up to her chin. Lexi was eye-level with her on her knees. “Okay. Okay. Can you climb out?” Lexi shot her a look. Harper almost laughed again. “Okay, okay, fair.” Lexi crossed her arms and leaned back, frustrated at her friend’s apparent stupidity. “Wait… what was that?” Harper took a slow step closer, eyes tracking downward. “Oh my god…” she whispered. “Are you wearing a diaper?” Lexi flushed instantly and threw up her hands like what did you think I was trying to say this whole time?! She flopped back against the crib bars with a theatrical huff, cheeks puffed out, and gave her best adorable hostage pout. “That’s not—how—why—” Harper sputtered. “Oh my god.” Lexi rolled her eyes dramatically and pointed back to the pacifier, then to Harper, like can we focus? Harper dragged a hand down her face. “Yeah. Nope. You’re right. Focus now. Diaper later.” She stepped back and tried to look at the situation objectively. “Wait. Okay. Why don’t you just… take the pacifier out?” Lexi made a sharp mmmph! noise, then shook her head hard. “Seriously. Just pop it out. Use your hand. You have hands, Lex.” Lexi raised her hands like duh and tugged at the pacifier. Hard. Nothing. Her brows furrowed. She pulled again, this time using both hands. Still nothing. Just a little click noise from somewhere deep in the plastic. She let out a frustrated, whiny grunt and slammed her fist on the crib rail. Harper stared. “You can’t take it out? Seriously?” Lexi gave her a helpless, overly-exaggerated shrug and let her arms fall dramatically to her sides. They blinked at each other. And stared. And kept staring. And continued staring, as though somehow any of this would suddenly make sense. “Okay,” Harper said slowly, “so you’re in a crib… in a nursery… wearing a… a diaper… with a pacifier glued to your face apparently—” She took a breath, ran a hand through her hair, and shook her head like she was trying to reboot. “And Jules is in the other room, stuck in the corner with her bare ass on display, whispering like a crazy person and she looks like she just got spanked.” Lexi’s eyes widened as she let out a questioning mmmph?! and pointed toward the hallway. Harper waved it off like it wasn’t even worth unpacking. “It’s a whole thing. I’ll explain later. Just—what is happening right now?” Lexi tried again, more urgently this time. One hand pointed to her bib, then to her mouth, then made an exaggerated scribbling gesture in the air. “Bib. Mouth. Write…something?” Lexi slapped the rail with both hands and groaned behind the pacifier. Then she mimed walking her fingers, then tripped them, fell over, slapped her own butt, pointed to the ceiling, did jazz hands, and threw up both arms in a full-body tantrum. Harper stared. “You want me to… start a flash mob?” “MMPH!!” Another series: fingers pointing at Harper → crank turns at side of head → throws arms open like “duh” → points at diaper → points at ceiling → chokes self Harper raised her hands. “Okay! Okay! Chill! I’m trying to figure it out.” Lexi pouted. Like, full-on lip-jutting toddler pout. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so fucking surreal. She kicked one foot against the crib bars and let out a little angry whine, flopping onto her padded butt with a huff. Harper stood there, wide-eyed. “I swear to god, if you start crying like that’s going to help—” Lexi crossed her arms. Crinkle. Harper’s voice cracked with disbelief. “You’re—oh my god, you’re actually stuck.” Lexi nodded emphatically. Then did the two hands pointing to her eyes, then to Harper’s move. Harper blinked. “You… see me? Yes. Thank you. That’s helpful.” Lexi made a c’mon, bitch gesture. “I’m working on it!” Harper circled the crib again. Still no visible latch. Still no way to lower the rail. She looked back up at Lexi. Lexi looked ridiculous. Like a sexy TikTok devil girl who lost a bet and was now the prize in a fetish carnival. Harper exhaled hard. “You look like if Hot Topic got cursed by a daycare.” Lexi flipped her off. The gesture lost some of its punch given her current attire. “Okay, hang on. I’m gonna try—” She yanked at the crib rail. Nothing. Shoved it. Nothing. Lexi did the universal “duh, told you” shrug and mimed climbing again. “You can’t climb out?” Lexi threw up her hands, nodded wildly, then slapped her own diaper with both palms.Then pantomimed diaper-wide leg spread and slippery baby seal flop. “Right. Okay. Got it. Jesus.” Lexi gave her a pout so exaggerated it bordered on performance art. Harper took a step back, running both hands through her hair. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I’m gonna get you out, I just—” A soft voice interrupted from behind them. “Oh, there you are,” the woman said sweetly, stepping fully into the room. “I was starting to think you might make me come looking.” Harper turned. A woman stood in the doorway. Pale blue dress. Hair twisted back in a loose bun. Calm eyes. Calm smile. She looked like a preschool teacher from a nightmare. Like someone who ran a Pinterest page called Gentle Discipline and Other Lies. “I was starting to worry about you,” the woman said sweetly. Harper’s eyes darted to Lexi who had backed herself into the far corner of the crib. The woman stepped closer. “I’ve been waiting for you.” CHAPTER SIX Harper took a slow step back. Then another. She kept retreating until the backs of her thighs bumped the crib rail and she couldn’t go any farther. The edge of her maid skirt pressed against the bars, ruffled lace brushing the tops of her thighs in a way that felt suddenly obscene. The woman didn’t flinch. She stood in the center of the room like she belonged there—like the whole place had bloomed up around her, waiting for her cue. Her pale blue dress looked homemade, ruffled in the wrong places in a way that would have been charming in other settings. Harper didn’t say anything. Behind her, she heard a soft whimper, muffled and shaky. Harper stiffened. She had never heard Lexi make that sound before. Not when she crashed her ex’s motorcycle. Not when she got her navel pierced drunk in Vegas by a guy named Beans. Not ever. Harper’s voice came out low. Barely a whisper. “…Is she the one that did this to you?” No answer. But she didn’t need one. Lexi’s quiet, strangled whimpering was enough. Harper didn’t turn. Her eyes stayed locked on the woman in the doorway. The woman smiled. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she said, tilting her head with a sing-song lilt. “Did that sound too ominous? It did, didn’t it? Be honest.” She stepped further into the nursery, fingers clasped behind her back like a schoolgirl pretending to behave. “‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ Ooooh. Spooky.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically and pulled a cartoonishly serious face. “Boo. Very scary. Would you like a thunderclap and a crow next time?” Harper didn’t respond. She couldn’t breathe. Her ability to form words seemed millions of miles away. The woman smirked as she approached. “See, this is why I don’t get into horror. People are so tense all the time. It’s exhausting.” She stopped in the middle of the room and gave a tiny curtsy, like she was introducing herself onstage. “I’m Briony, by the way. Like the flower. Not the author. Not the cheese.” She held up a finger. “Yes, it’s real. No, I didn’t make it up. And yes,” she added, eyes glittering, “I know everything.” Harper opened her mouth—but nothing came out. Lexi made another tiny sound behind her. Briony turned to look at the crib, hands on her hips, then back to Harper with a cheerful nod. “Okay, you two STAY put,” she said brightly. “Lexi, baby girl, you just curl up and snuggle something soft. Harper, love? Keep doing that thing where you look like you might tackle me. It’s very sexy. Such good tension.” She grinned and winked at Harper. With a theatrical little flounce, she reached forward and flicked the hem of Harper’s skirt. Just once. Just enough. The frills bounced. So did Harper’s stomach. “Aww. Look at you,” Briony purred. “Do you always let them dress you up this cute, or is this just for me?” Harper’s skin lit up beneath the stockings. Her legs burned with the instinct to flinch, but they didn’t move. Briony let her fingers linger on Harper’s thigh for a moment longer. Just because she could. She stepped back with a flair of movement that felt almost choreographed—like this was the grand finale of some twisted magic show. “JOIN US.” Harper looked at the door, horrified at what was coming for them next. She waited with bated breath for the doorway to fill. But it didn’t happen. Briony sighed in mock disappointment. Her smile twitched—not quite gone, but… dimmed. She sighed, long-suffering and dramatic. “Oh, come on,” she huffed. “You’re ruining my entrance, babe.” She rolled her eyes, tapping one foot impatiently. Then she leaned toward Harper like they were sharing a secret at a sleepover, hand cupped to her mouth. “That one is going to be a handful,” she murmured, tapping a polished nail against her cheek. “I can already tell...” A smirk played across Briony’s mouth and her eyes twinkled with something unnatural as they held Harper’s gaze until releasing her and looking back towards the door. Harper’s eyes darted toward the doorway. She squinted toward the hallway, instinctively lifting her chin, eyes searching for someone—anyone—to walk in. But the space above the threshold stayed still. No shadow. No movement. No figure in the doorway. The now familiar sound of plastic crinkle came next, and with it, a burst of acid behind her teeth. She didn’t know why—just that something felt off. Her stomach pulled tight. Her neck ached with the angle as her gaze kept sinking, unwilling but unable to stop. A dark-haired girl crawled in on all fours, slow and silent, knees sinking into the plush pink carpet as she made her way into the room. The delicate arch of her back rose slightly with every small, obedient movement forward. Velvet ribbons bobbed with each slow shuffle—high pigtails swinging like she was dressed for daycare, not degradation. Between her legs, she wore the same thick, crinkling padding as Lexi. Pale yellow this time, with tiny moons and stars printed across the front. A baby tee clung to her upper body, cropped and snug, barely reaching her navel. Her eyeliner smudged and stuffed behind trembling lips, glistening faintly in the low light—was a pink pacifier. Her hips rocked forward as she cleared the threshold, hands planting delicately on the rug, knees following. Every part of her posture screamed obedience, but the tension in her limbs betrayed it. Her fingers curled too tightly. Her breath came too shallow. Her shoulders trembled beneath the polished veneer. The girl didn’t say a word. She didn’t look at Harper. Just crawled—slow and obedient—until she reached Briony’s feet. And stayed there. Kneeling. Head lowered. Shoulders trembling. She wouldn’t raise her eyes, but Harper already knew. Even before her face tilted just slightly in the light. Even before the angle revealed that sharp cheekbone and the familiar edge of her jaw. It was Jules. Her Jules. Crawling into the nursery like she belonged there. Not just crawling—submitting. Like a pet. Like a punished doll. Harper couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The stiff apron of her costume rose with each breath, tugging against her ribs. Her puffed sleeves suddenly felt too tight. Jules’ hands rested delicately on the tops of her thighs, posture perfect in the most unnatural way, like she’d been taught how to sit like this. But her eyes— Harper finally caught them. Just for a second. Wild. Humiliated. Terrified. And then she looked away again. Fast. Like her eyes now belonged to someone else. Briony reached down and ran a hand through Jules’s hair, tousling it like she was praising a particularly good pet. “There’s my good girl,” she said softly. Then looked back at Harper. And smiled. o-o-o-o-o–o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Harper didn’t think—she just reached. Jules was right there, still kneeling, still silent, and Harper’s body surged forward on instinct. She needed to touch her, to make sure she was okay, to shake her if that’s what it took. But her hand was still on the crib rail. Her fingers didn’t budge. The ruffled edge of her skirt brushed her thighs again, like it was mocking her. All lace and helplessness and nothing she could peel off. She tried again, harder this time—willed herself to take just one step, to shift her weight, to do something. But her body stayed locked, frozen in place like it had been poured there, molded into the shape of reaching but never quite allowed to follow through. “What the—?” Her voice caught, cracked against her teeth. She looked down at her own hands. Nothing bound them. No cuffs, no strings, no weight holding her back. Just flesh and bone and…something else. Something that didn’t make sense. Her muscles weren’t sore. They weren’t numb. They just weren’t listening. She strained again, tried to twist sideways. Nothing. Her muscles rebelled with silent obedience. Panic flared, sharp and metallic in her chest. “Lex—?” she managed. Her eyes darted to Lexi, searching for something—confirmation, understanding, maybe even a shared what-the-fuck. But Lexi wouldn’t meet her eyes. She was curled tight into herself, arms wrapped around her knees like a shield, and her pacifier bobbed slightly with each shallow breath. Her eyes were open, but glassy. Wild. Useless. Harper swallowed and turned back toward Jules, who still knelt obediently, hands resting in perfect posture on her thighs. Still not looking up. Still not moving. Only the trembling in her shoulders betrayed her. “Hey,” Harper tried again, softer now. “Hey, Jules, are you—?” Still nothing. Still kneeling. Still silent. Still not meeting her eyes. But there was something in the line of her spine, the tension in her shoulders. Harper’s breath came shallower now, frustration coiling hot in her chest. She didn’t like being stuck. Didn’t like the feel of invisible hands holding her down. Briony gave a soft, indulgent hum. Like she was watching a child try to work out how a jack-in-the-box worked. “What did you do to me?” she demanded, eyes locking onto Briony. Harper’s head snapped toward her and the woman turned with a lazy little smile, like she’d just been waiting for Harper to finally ask. “What… did you do to me?” Her voice was rougher this time, angrier. Her jaw was the only thing that moved easily. Even her eyes felt sticky somehow, like looking away might cost something. Briony arched a brow and looked delighted. She crossed the room in three little steps and stopped just shy of Harper’s trembling frame. “I didn’t do anything to you,” she said sweetly. “You did this to yourself.” Harper’s mouth twitched. “You’re lying.” “Sure,” Briony shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” She leaned against the side of the crib with a theatrical sigh like it was a bar counter. Propped her chin in her hand and looked Harper up and down like she was picking out fruit at the market. Briony gave Harper’s skirt a flippant little flick, ruffling the hem like she was peeking at a surprise. “Aww. Ruffles and lace? You are just too cute.” “You know what your problem is? You still think any of this is about rules. About logic. About right and wrong. Baby girl—this place doesn’t run on rules. It runs on stories.” Her smile sharpened. “And yours just got very interesting.” Harper’s fingers flexed around the crib rail. The little satin bow at the front of her apron scratched against her stomach. She wanted to rip the whole thing off and scream—but her body still wouldn’t listen. Her eyes flicked back to Jules. Still kneeling. Still trembling. “What did you do to her?” she asked quietly. “Why is she… like that?” Briony looked over her shoulder at Jules and grinned. “Oh, she’s just perfect, isn’t she? Some girls take to obedience like a duck to degenerate water.” She turned back, eyes glittering. “But you. You’re gonna fight, aren’t you? You’ve got that spark. I love that.” Harper didn’t answer. Briony tsked. Harper glared. Her hands were still clenched around the crib rail like she might snap it off, but her legs had long since stopped listening. They weren’t trapped exactly. Just… inert. Like someone had whispered a lullaby to her muscles and they’d all gone soft at once. She was stuck. Jules was still kneeling at Briony’s feet. She looked… wrong like this. Too small. Too quiet. Her dark hair was messy, her shirt a soft pink thing that barely met the waistband of her diaper. She had never seen Jules in anything but black. Or shades of grey if she was feeling particularly emotive that day. Her expression was unreadable. Not dazed. Not broken. More like… Muted. Buried. Buried alive. Harper couldn’t stop staring. She opened her mouth to say something, but Briony got there first. “Let’s play.” Her voice was bright and cheerful. Like a preschool teacher at circle time. “Jules, sweetheart,” she cooed, not even glancing down. “Can you show our new friend how very good you’ve become?” Harper’s stomach flipped. “TWIRL FOR ME,” Briony sang. Jules sat back on her heels and raised her arms above her head, like she was stretching. She pivoted awkwardly on her knees, her diaper crinkling loudly in the quiet, and made a full, slow circle. Her arms stayed raised, elbows bent like a ballerina’s. Her movements were stiff, mechanical. Her expression didn’t change. She looked like a marionette in a preschool ballet recital. Like someone else was pulling the strings. Briony clapped her hands, delighted. “Again!” Another spin. Slower. Clumsier. Jules’ knees brushed the rug, her hands fluttering now like she couldn’t control them. Her shirt lifted just enough to flash the cartoon-print waistband of the diaper. Harper’s throat went dry. She tried again to speak—tried to say Stop it, What are you doing to her, That’s not Jules—but the words caught in her chest like static. Briony tilted her head, mock-pouting. “She’s doing so well, don’t you think?” Her voice dipped, sugary. “Our little skeptic. I thought she’d be the tough one.” Harper still couldn’t look away. Jules was on all fours now. Not moving. Breathing hard. “CRAWL TO ME, baby,” Briony whispered, barely audible. “Make it sweet.” And Jules obeyed. It was slow. Terrible. Her hands trembled as she moved. The pacifier kept her face half-hidden, but Harper could still see her eyes—wide, wild, screaming. She wasn’t blank. She wasn’t gone. She was in there, watching herself crawl like a toddler across the rug, one knee at a time. Briony didn’t look down. Not once. She only watched Harper. This was the show. She waited until Jules reached her knees, then bent down slightly, cupping her chin in one hand. “She tried to argue with everything I said,” Briony sighed, stroking Jules’s cheek with her thumb. “Now she just pouts. Isn’t that just the cutest?” Briony gave Jules’s cheek a final tap, then straightened. “Let’s show your friend that BIG SMILE,” she said breezily. “Big as you can.” Harper’s stomach knotted. No. Jules’ hands curled into fists against the rug, head slightly bowed. Just for a second. Just long enough for Harper to believe she might not do it. But then her jaw shifted. The pacifier dropped from her lips with a soft pop, bouncing on the strap attached to her shirt. Jules fists shook as the corners of her mouth turned upward, inch by inch until she was grinning like a fool. It was the kind of smile a child might draw. Too big. Too bright. No warmth behind it. Her eyes stayed locked on Harper’s, glassy and wet and horrified, even as her lips stretched wide into a grin that didn’t belong on her face. “There she is!” Briony cooed, clapping twice in delight. “See, I knew she had it in her.” Jules held it. For three unbearable seconds. Four. Harper couldn’t look away. She wanted to—God, she wanted to—but her body still wasn’t hers. Her spine pressed hard into the bars behind her, like even that small contact was the only thing keeping her upright. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch. The grin faltered first at the edges. Her chin quivered. Her shoulders curled inward. Briony gave an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. You’re gonna scare the poor girl.” Jules’ hands dropped as her smile collapsed into a scowl. Harper’s knuckles were white on the crib rail. Her voice finally broke loose, hoarse and raw. “Stop it.” Briony’s grin widened like she’d just been handed a dessert menu. She didn’t even glance back at Harper. She just pointed, and Harper’s body moved like it wasn’t hers. Harper spun around, petticoat flying as she twirled, frills bouncing like she was part of the fucking show. Her hands gripped the crib bars as she stared at Lexi cowering in the corner. Briony walked forward with Jules crawling beside her. Just inching forward on trembling hands and knees like it was all she knew how to do. Like the rug was her whole world now. Harper tried not to look down at her. But it was impossible. Jules moved so slowly it felt like time was being peeled away. Lexi pressed into the crib rail like she thought she could disappear if she stayed small enough. Her pacifier bobbed with shallow, panting breaths as they approached. The devil horns perched crooked on her head. Her bib had shifted sideways, half-draped over one bare shoulder, the ruffled hem of it barely brushing the swell of her breasts. Briony’s smile widened. “Your turn, cutie.” CHAPTER SEVEN Briony stepped closer, slow and giddy, the air around her practically humming with delight. Lexi flinched, the bars rattling as she tried to press farther back, but there was nowhere to go. She reached down and plucked the pacifier from Lexi’s mouth with a little pop. Lexi gasped. “Please—please don’t—please don’t make me—” “Ohhh my god,” Briony cooed, turning toward Harper like she’d just found a lost puppy. “Look at her. All mewly and scared. Nothing like the little firecracker I met.” She tapped her chin theatrically, pacing in front of the crib. “What was it you screamed at me while I was taping you up?” she asked aloud, as if Harper might remember. “Let’s see…” She dropped into a crouch, imitating Lexi’s voice in a bratty screech: “‘Don’t touch me there!’” “‘You can’t put me in a fucking diaper!” “‘You sick twisted bitch, I swear to God I will—’” Harper’s stomach twisted and Lexi’s cheeks flamed hot, but she didn’t speak. Her mouth trembled. Her legs quivered. Briony reached in and gently booped her on the nose. “You can see why this little kitten needed her paci. So loud. Oof.” Then she turned to Harper with eyes that screamed watch this. “Come on, cutie. Let’s hear that ROAR again.” Lexi shook her head. Tears brimming now. Silent. Briony put her hands on her hips. “Come on, Lexi. Show Harper what kind of scary widdle monster you are. Give us a big RAWRRR.” Harper watched, helpless, as Lexi’s body obeyed. She let out a high, strangled noise—not quite a growl, not quite a sob—and slammed her padded hands against the bars in front of her. “R…rawwwrrr,” she whimpered. Briony raised a brow. “Louder.” “R-RAWWWRRRRR!” Lexi shrieked it this time. Her back arched. Her little red horns wobbled. She pawed at the bars like an over-sugared toddler pretending to be a tiger in a kindergarten play. “Use your claws,” Briony encouraged, eyes gleaming. “Scratch at the bars. Make it convincing.” Lexi flinched again, but her hands moved, fingers curling like claws. And Briony clapped. “Oh my god, you guys. I’m terrified.” She collapsed into a dramatic swoon on the rug, kicking her feet like a teenager at a boyband concert. Jules didn’t move. Just kept her eyes low. Harper couldn’t look away. Lexi was still roaring. Still clawing. Each movement more forced. More animal. Her voice breaking, breath hitching. Harper’s nails dug into the wooden railings in front of her. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t punishment. This was performance. For her. Lexi was still at it. Her frilly little top—Harper realized now that it was probably a bib— had slipped off one shoulder, diaper crinkling with every lurch. Lexi growled with every breath, dragging her hands down the crib bars like a cartoon werewolf trying to escape—if that werewolf was half-naked and trembling. Briony watched for a moment, tilting her head like she was evaluating a piece of abstract art. “Ten out of ten for commitment,” she murmured. Then her eyes flicked to Harper and her glee sharpened. Got personal. “You’re quiet,” Briony said lightly, sauntering closer. Harper didn’t answer. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs weren’t responding. Her whole body was still humming from the horror of what Lexi was being forced to do. Briony leaned in, just a few inches from her face, her voice dropping to a private little whisper. “Wanna know a secret, Harper?” She didn’t wait for a yes. She pivoted, glancing back toward Lexi, still clawing and growling like some diapered beast. She turned back toward Lexi and gave a little tsk. “Okay, devil girl, you can take a breather.” Lexi collapsed to her knees with a full-body shudder, slumping against the bars like a wind-up doll winding down. Briony leaned in close to Lexi, practically nuzzling her ear, her voice syrupy sweet. “Let’s try something softer.” She crouched next to Lexi, smoothing her hair back with mock affection. “TELL HARPER YOUR SECRET. The one you never told anyone. Go on, sweetie. Whisper it like it’s naughty.” Lexi tensed and shook her head. Her breath was ragged, her little devil horns crooked now as she looked at Harper. “Go on,” Briony cooed, brushing Lexi’s hair back behind one ear. “CRAWL to her, baby girl. She deserves to know.” Lexi whimpered through the pacifier—just a soft, pleading sound—but her body moved anyway. One hand in front of the other. Crinkling. Shuffling. Her head low, her eyes cast down. The bib swung against her bare chest with each motion. Harper didn’t move as Lexi approached. She held her breath as Lexi stopped just in front of her through the bars and looked up, eyes wide, glassy with shame. Harper tried to say her name, but her throat locked up. Then Briony gave the gentlest little nod, like she was giving permission to speak. Lexi’s back straightened and her breath hitched, but her mouth opened. “I used to watch you change in the locker room…” Harper blinked. “…and pretend I dropped something…” No. No, no, no. “…so I could look longer.” Lexi’s eyes filled instantly. She clamped her jaw shut, trying to choke it down. Her hands shot up to her face, trying to cover her mouth, but the damage was done. Harper’s face was frozen. Blank. Like her brain had hit the blue screen of death. Lexi wouldn’t even meet her eyes. Briony, on the other hand? She glowed. “Oh, don’t pout,” she purred, running her fingers through Lexi’s messy hair. “It’s cute. I love when besties share.” Her gaze snapped to Harper again, bright and razor-sharp. “Isn’t that right, Harper?” Harper couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. And Briony laughed—low and satisfied—as if this was better than any roar. Better than any crawl. Because it was real. Because it hurt. Briony gave Lexi’s hair one last stroke, then stood with a satisfied sigh, like a chef admiring her finished soufflé. “Ugh. That was so raw,” she said, fanning herself with one hand. “God, that must have been so embarrassing for you.” Lexi let out a tiny sob. Harper tried to lean forward, but her body still wouldn’t budge. Briony’s voice turned sing-song again. That dangerous coaxing tone. “You three are fun. We are gonna have so much fun together.” She giggled. “Well then. Let’s make things fair, shall we?” Lexi shook her head, cheeks burning, unsure of what that witch intended but wanting no part in it. “Aww. Don’t be shy now,” Briony crooned. “You wanted to see her, didn’t you? Isn’t it only fair?” Harper watched, heart plummeting, as her friend slowly—tremblingly—kept her arms at her sides, protesting as best she could. “Go on,” Briony coaxed. “Lift the bib and LET YOUR BESTIE SEE what she's been missing. Raise it up nice and slow.” Lexi’s arms moved like they didn’t belong to her. Trembling fingers clutched the ruffled hem of the bib. Her lips trembled. “Harper, I’m sorry…” “Oh, it’s too late for apologies,” Briony snapped playfully. “This is about making things even.” Lexi lifted the bib. Not all at once. Just a little at first. Then a little more. “Higher,” Briony said, grinning. “Hold it.” Lexi raised the bib. The silence in the room stretched tight. Her bare chest trembled with the motion. Her breathing was shallow and tight. “Good girl,” Briony purred. “Now hold it there.” Harper jerked her head away, chest heaving, mouth open in a silent no, but Briony clocked it instantly. “No no no,” she said brightly. “You LOOK. That’s part of the deal, babycakes.” Briony didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. Harper’s eyes snapped forward like magnets. And Lexi just stood there, frozen, bib clutched in her fists, chest bare, cheeks streaked with hot shame. “Now give ‘em a little jiggle,” Briony whispered. “C’mon, you already watched her undress. Time to make up for lost time.” Lexi tensed her body, trembling from the effort of resistance. Briony sighed dramatically. “Do I have to do everything myself?” She snapped her fingers and Lexi began to shake. Not hard. Not sexy. Just tiny, pathetic movements. Up and down. Back and forth. Her face crumpled like paper. “Oh my God, you’re so bad at this,” Briony laughed. “Jules! COME HELP HER.” A low whimper from the side as Jules, still kneeling, looked up like a kicked animal. Her body didn’t move until Briony crooked her finger. “Come on. Let’s make it a duet.” Jules crawled over on stiff limbs and Briony helped her into the crib until she was next to Lexi like dolls being posed on a shelf. Harper watched as Jules lifted her pink shirt inch by inch. “Together now,” she said. “Nice and slow. You too, Jules. Shake those little sweater puppies and let Harper see the full show.” Jules’s hands obeyed and Harper watched—helpless, locked in place—as her two friends stood in front of her, hands trembling, tops lifted, chests bared, forced into a ridiculous, humiliating little shimmy. Briony didn’t watch them. She watched Harper. “Feels better, doesn’t it?” she whispered. “Secrets all out in the open. That’s what friends are for.” Harper tried to speak, but her throat was thick with horror. Her voice was low and guttural. “Stop it,” she choked. Briony smiled wider. “Gladly.” She snapped again—and the girls dropped their hands like puppets whose strings had been cut. Briony turned to Harper, eyes glittering. “Time to get you ready.” CHAPTER EIGHT Briony didn’t need magic. She had grip strength, charisma, and the self-assured swagger of someone who knew the ending and wasn’t in a rush to get there. Her fingers curled around Harper’s upper arm, just above the elbow, and gave the kind of tug that said we’re going now. Harper didn’t follow. Not exactly. Her heels dragged first. Then one of them gave way with a soft clunk, the other skidding uselessly across the nursery floor. She angled her body away and threw in just enough resistance to feel like she hadn’t completely given up. But Briony only smiled wider, like she enjoyed the little game of it. Like she liked the struggle better this way—real, sweaty, personal. She didn’t yank. She just kept walking—slow and steady—dragging Harper forward like a tired mom pulling a toddler through Target. The crib bars rattled behind them. “Stop it!” Lexi’s voice, panicked and wet. Then Jules: “Don’t touch her—” My girls. The crib bars rattled again, hard enough to shiver the air, and Harper turned instinctively, eyes flaring with hope—maybe they’d gotten free. Maybe— But no. They were still inside. Still on their knees. Still in diapers. Jules had both hands wrapped around the slats like she could will them to break. Lexi was standing and shaking her fist like an angered Karen after one too many happy hour sangrias. “Don’t—just don’t touch her—!” Briony sighed. Loudly. Like she’d heard this routine a thousand times before. Without turning, she lifted her hand and flicked her wrist. Just once. The pacifiers launched back into place like bullets finding their targets. Jules gasped as hers slammed between her lips. Lexi’s barely made a sound—just a faint pop as it sealed her mouth mid-plea. “Mmmpfh!” They weren’t just gagged. They were shut down. The sound died instantly. Only the rattling of the crib bars remained. Then even that stilled. Harper jerked back, her whole body flinching as her head whipped toward Briony. “What—how did you—” Briony smiled. That maddening, radiant smile that glowed like a party trick and reeked of smug satisfaction. “Eyes front, cupcake.” She winked without looking back. “We’re almost there.” She kept walking and led Harper to the wall. To a table, padded and wide, covered in soft pink vinyl that looked suspiciously wipeable. Harper swallowed. Her stomach turned inside out. She tried to dig in her heels, twist her arm free. “You don’t have to do this,” she muttered. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, this isn’t—” Briony turned sharply, still holding Harper’s arm, and brought them nose-to-nose. “You are adorable when you beg.” Her voice was sweet as icing, cold as glass. “Keep squirming if it makes you feel better. Just know it won’t change anything.” Harper tried again, twisting her wrist this time, throwing her shoulder into it but Briony didn’t budge. She didn’t resist—she absorbed. Like a dancer redirecting a clumsy partner, she used the momentum to spin Harper gently sideways and press her backward until her thighs hit the padded edge. Harper stumbled, catching herself with both hands on the vinyl. Briony leaned back, exhaled, and did the thing she did best: monologued like a goddamn Bond villain with glitter in her veins. “Every group’s got a talker,” she said, mostly to herself. “And every talker thinks she’s the first. So let’s skip to the part that you really want, mmkay?” She turned toward the center of the room and began pacing in a lazy arc. “You want answers. You all do. It’s adorable, really.” She started pacing, slow and performative, like this wasn’t her first time giving this speech.. “And they always want the same things. Where am I? What is this place? What do you want from me?” She held up her fingers and ticked them off like Valentine’s candy. “Is this real? Is this legal? Do you know who my dad is?” Harper said nothing. Her breath was shallow. Her legs were locked. The only thing moving was the rise and fall of her chest—and the stiff rustle of her apron as it wrinkled under her fists. Briony stopped pacing. Then she pivoted—sharp, graceful—and dropped the smile just long enough to let something hungry rise behind her eyes. “And then,” she whispered, “comes the big one.” She spread her arms dramatically, like she was conjuring the question from the air itself. Briony paused for effect and Harper asked the question that was burning through her body. “Who are you?” Harper swallowed hard and Briony beamed like a proud parent. “Right on cue. You’re goddamn perfect. The lot of you.” She kept walking—circling now, a lazy orbit around Harper and the table. “Let’s see. Who am I?” A grin pulled wide across her face. “I’m the one who remembered what the world forgot. I’m the girl who stopped asking permission. I’m the woman who said, You know what would be fun? Consequences.” She turned back and winked. “I’m the Girl in the Gingerbread House. I’m the Witch who got bored. I’m the camp counselor from your darkest little sleepaway secret. I’m Briony, babe.” The woman outstretched her arms in presentation and Harper’s brows drew together. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Briony grinned wider. “I’m talking about you, Harper.” She stopped walking. Took a step forward. “You lied.” Another step. “You cheated. You ran.” Another. “You made a mess and let someone else take the fall. You wanted to feel innocent again, didn’t you?” Harper’s pulse slammed behind her ears. Her legs were trembling now, not from fear, but from the truth rising in her throat like bile. “Like if you just fluttered your lashes long enough, the world would forget what you did.” Harper’s back hit the table and Briony stepped into the space between them like it already belonged to her. She leaned in—close enough to kiss, cruel enough not to. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You think you’re the main character, baby girl. But you’re not. You’re just another toy for me to play with.” o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Harper twisted in Briony’s grip one last time—harder this time, like maybe she could shake her loose through sheer force of will. “Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t touch me. You don’t have to—” Briony sighed like a mom who’d already warned her kid once and flicked her hand upward, two fingers snapping in a lazy arc. “Freeze, sweetheart.” Harper’s body locked in place. Her eyes still moved. Her lungs still worked. Her heart was thrashing against her ribs like it wanted out—but everything else? Perfectly still. Her arms hung limp at her sides. Her legs wouldn’t shift. She was standing. Upright. Frozen. And fully aware of every inch of herself. Briony stepped back to admire her handiwork. “There we go. God, that’s better. I hate when they wiggle. It throws off my whole rhythm.” She circled Harper slowly, eyeing her from every angle. “Just look at this little outfit. The bows. The ruffles. A maid costume? Really?” She tugged at one of the apron strings, watching it fall loose like ribbon off a gift box. Her voice dipped into mock wonder. “Have you ever cleaned anything in your whole life?” She leaned in close—nose brushing Harper’s temple, breath warm against her ear. “Because baby… you’re not going to be cleaning anything here.” She tugged the bow free at Harper’s back. “You’re going to need someone to clean you.” Briony paused with a grin that Harper couldn’t see but could feel. “With wipes.” She stepped back again, undid the apron’s neck strap with a quick snap and folded it neatly over her arm. She placed it on the padded table beside them like she was setting up a display. “Let’s get you out of the rest of this, hmm?” Briony walked around to face her again. Her fingers slipped under the shoulder straps of Harper’s maid bodice. “So sweet. So proper. All done up in starch and lace like that makes you safe.” She dragged the bodice down slowly, working each sleeve off Harper’s arms by hand. Her touch wasn’t rough—but it wasn’t gentle either. Harper mentally cursed her choice in costume, built more for sex appeal than performance. There was no bra—just a built-in panel, stitched into the bodice like it belonged to a cheap Halloween rack. Once the top slipped past her elbows, there was nothing holding her in. She winced as her breasts were bared to the room and cold air licked across her skin. Her nipples tightened instantly, traitorous and visible, and Harper’s body pulsed with a different kind of panic. She tried to shift. To fold her arms. To turn her shoulders even a fraction inward. But she couldn’t. She just stood there—topless, frozen, seen. “So many layers,” she murmured. “The ones who wear too many layers always end up being the messiest underneath.” The bodice dropped to the floor. Next came the skirt. Briony unfastened the clasp with a flick of her thumb, then slid the skirt down Harper’s hips, hands dragging softly along the backs of her thighs. “There’s that blush,” she teased, glancing up. “You’re feeling it now, aren’t you?” She let the skirt pool around Harper’s ankles, stepped back again, and tilted her head. “Almost there. Just one more little secret left.” Harper stood frozen beside the table, bare thighs trembling, apron hanging limp at her side. Her eyes darted left, then right. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t step back, couldn’t do anything but breathe and burn. Briony circled her like a seamstress evaluating a mannequin. Fingertips brushing fabric here. Smoothing wrinkles there. “So well put together,” she purred. “Such poise. Such polish.” Behind her, she heard a faint thump—skin against plastic. Jules had pressed her forehead to the inside of the crib bars, eyes wide and concerned. Her pacifier muffled whatever tiny whimper she made, but the sound still landed like a punch to Harper’s gut. Lexi was gripping the slats again and watching. Not moving. Not blinking. Harper’s skin prickled everywhere. Not just from Briony’s hands, but from being watched. From knowing they saw everything. “Let’s take a little peek under all that dignity, hmm?” She crouched slowly, hands sliding along Harper’s hips as she gripped the waistband of her ruffled panties. The elastic gave with a soft stretch—Briony’s touch maddeningly gentle, like she was undressing a child after a long day of play. The fabric came down inch by inch. First over the curve of Harper’s ass. Then down the tops of her thighs. Briony paused. Her hands stilled. “Oh…” She tilted her head. “Oh, sweetheart.” The cotton was visibly soaked between the legs—darkened with a blotchy, unmistakable pattern. Briony pressed two fingers into the wet spot. Held them there. Let it squish. Then she gasped—not horrified. Delighted. Like she’d just found a forgotten cupcake in the back of the fridge. “You wet yourself.” She clapped one hand over her mouth, mock-scandalized. “Oh my god, you really did.” Harper’s body radiated heat. Her cheeks felt like open flame. The only thing that moved was her breath—fast, shallow, shameful. Her eyes shot sideways. Lexi was still watching. Just barely. Her face pale, her shoulders hunched forward. The moment their eyes met, Lexi’s gaze snapped down—ashamed, like she’d been caught doing it again. That was somehow worse. Briony stood back up, holding the panties in two fingers like she didn’t want to tarnish them. “Is this what you were so scared of?” she asked softly, twirling them once. “A little tinkle?” She looked Harper up and down with something new in her eyes—something softer, but not kinder. She leaned in, voice lowering to a private, sticky whisper. “Is that why you’ve been so mouthy? So fidgety? You could feel it happening, couldn’t you?” Harper’s jaw twitched. Her eyes watered. She couldn’t respond. She couldn’t even shake her head. She could only stand there—bottomless, helpless, panties dripping from Briony’s fingers like proof. “Poor baby. You knew you were leaking and didn’t want to admit it.” Briony exhaled slowly, like this had answered everything. “Well that settles it.” She walked over to the table and placed the panties neatly beside the apron. “Some of them just need a little discipline.” She looked back over her shoulder at the other two, smile soft. “But you, Harper? You need care.” She returned to her, brushed a hand along Harper’s cheekbone. Her touch was featherlight. Harper flinched inside it—but her body wouldn’t move. “You don’t even know how to ask for help, do you?” She clicked her tongue. “Leaking all over your cute little costume and trying to pretend you’re still in charge.” Briony reached down again—one hand under Harper’s thigh now, sliding gently between her legs. She didn’t grope. She checked. Fingers slick with what was left. “I bet it scared you,” Briony murmured. “Did it trickle down your leg? Did you try to squeeze and stop it?” She stepped back again. “You poor little thing.” Her voice turned clinical, but sweet. “You're not ready for panties.” She snapped her fingers and there was a soft pop as a pacifier appeared in her hand. It was pastel pink. Oversized. Adorned with a tiny bow. “Open.” Harper’s lips refused at first. Her jaw clenched. Briony waited. Smiling. Patient. She let the silence press in from all sides before pressing two fingers under Harper’s chin and tilted her face up—not forcefully, just enough to make her look. Harper blinked fast. She couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe right. The padded table loomed behind her. Her skirt and panties were gone. Her thighs glistened. Her cheeks burned. Briony’s voice softened again, honey over ice. “You don’t have to fight me, Harper. You’re not the first little maid to make a mess in her frillies. And you won’t be the last.” Harper clenched her jaw. Her arms had fallen limp at her sides—the magic that held her frozen had faded, but her legs felt like sandbags. Her voice, when it came, was so quiet it barely made it out of her chest. “Please…” Briony stilled. Harper looked up at her now, and it shattered the room’s gravity. “Please,” she whispered again. “I’m not a baby. We are not babies. Don’t—” Her voice cracked. “Don’t do this.” Her lip quivered. “Don’t make me do this.” Briony said nothing. She just held the pacifier between them. Not raised. Not pressed. Just offered. A simple choice. And Harper—exhausted, humiliated, stripped to nothing but skin and shame—looked at it for a long moment. And then opened her mouth. Not wide. Not dramatic. Just enough. Just… enough. Briony eased the pacifier past her lips like she was sliding a ring onto a finger. Her thumb brushed Harper’s lower lip. “There. That’s better.” Harper didn’t move. Didn’t bite down. Just stood there, breathing through her nose, pink plastic resting on her tongue.. Harper stood frozen, pacifier now bobbing slightly with each sharp breath. Her skirt was gone. Her panties gone. Her modesty gone. And Briony smiled like she’d just watched a flower bloom. “Now,” she cooed sweetly, “let’s get you up on the table, baby girl. We’ve got you just where you need to be.” CHAPTER NINE Harper didn’t realize Briony was moving until her feet left the floor. No spells. No shimmer of light or spark of power. Just hands. Strong hands, sliding under her knees and back and lifting like she weighed nothing at all. She wanted to fight. Scream. Something. But she was frozen in place with her shame on full display as Briony carried her across the room like a bride. Or a baby. The padded table waited, too tall, too wide, and too obviously meant for things she didn’t want to name. The edge pressed cold against her spine as Briony settled her down, one hand behind her neck like she was something fragile. Like she was something to be cared for. Harper’s face burned and she raised her arms to cover herself, clasping her thighs together as tight as she could to avoid any further humiliation. “Uh, uh, uh. None of that, little one. I think you need to be Mommy’s perfect little STARFISH right now.” Her hands floated gently up, elbows bent, and settled above her head on the table. Her legs spread wider, just enough to send a jolt of helplessness through her. The spell held her in place, but it was the pose that held her breath. Flat on her back. Exposed. Vulnerable. Staring up at the ceiling like maybe it would offer some kind of out. It didn’t. Her thighs were parted wide—too wide—and her bare breasts rose and fell with every sharp, silent breath. The pacifier sat heavy in her mouth and she hated how silly it made her feel. She had spent the whole night prancing around in a tiny costume, but this felt real. She hated that more than anything. Briony made a sound behind her—almost a giggle. “Ohhh, honeybun. Look at you.” Harper’s head stayed flat, her chin lifted just enough to keep her vision on the ceiling. Briony moved into view like a cloud passing over the sun—slow, bright, and impossible to ignore. She was gleeful. Sinister in a glittery, carnival ride kind of way. Like this was all a game and Harper was her favorite new toy. “Oh, baby,” Briony cooed, circling the table. “I can see how badly you need this.” She leaned close, breath brushing Harper’s cheek. “Mommy’s going to make it all better.” Harper flinched as much as her body would allow. Her knees twitched. Her fingers curled into fists above her head. Briony tsked softly. “You’re so tense. Like a little kitty who doesn’t know what brushing is yet.” She trailed her finger down the side of Harper’s thigh. “We’re gonna fix that.” She turned away and began humming. Humming. Like this was a bedtime routine and not the dismantling of a woman’s last shred of dignity. Harper tried not to watch, but she couldn’t help it—her eyes followed Briony across the nursery as she gathered her tools. One by one. Slowly. Wipes. A tin of powder. A ridiculous puffball with a pink handle. And something else. Something folded and thick. Harper’s breath caught. It was enormous. Cartoonish. The kind of thing you’d see on a baby doll in a vintage toy store. Puffy, pastel, obscene. Briony caught her looking and grinned. “Oh, don’t worry, buttercup. That one’s just for you.” She laid it on the table beside Harper like she was revealing a wedding dress. “You want to know a secret?” Briony whispered, leaning in close again. “That one’s called the Princess Peach.” She winked. “Because only the juiciest little girls get it.” Harper wanted to die. Or disappear. Or scream so loud the crib bars shattered. But all she could do was lie there—naked, pinned, and shaking. “Time for your royal treatment.” o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Briony didn’t rush. She arranged her supplies beside Harper like she was setting a dinner table—wipes unfolded, powder tin opened, the puff placed just-so. The diaper stayed centered. Like a main course. Like Harper was being plated. She turned back with a cool wipe in one hand and the same fucking little hum in her throat, as if she were singing to a child. Or herself. Or maybe the whole goddamn room. There was a flick of her finger and Harper’s legs lifted, smooth and gentle, like invisible hands were holding her by the ankles. She hovered, her body exposed, humiliated, and helpless. The first touch was cold and wet. Soft in a way that made Harper’s entire body clench. She didn’t flinch—couldn’t—but her mind flinched, all the way down to the base of her spine. “Ohhh…” Briony whispered, dragging the wipe along Harper’s inner thigh. “I can already tell you’re gonna be one of those girls.” Another wipe. A fresh pass. This one higher and slower. Straight up the center. Harper whimpered behind the pacifier and Briony smiled like she’d just found a weak spot. “Sensitive, huh? That’s okay. I like sensitive.” She leaned in, lips practically at Harper’s navel. “It means you’ll remember every second.” She wiped again—parting Harper’s lips with the folded cloth, slow and thorough, wiping between them like she was cleaning a paintbrush. Harper’s thighs twitched. Her breath hitched. The pacifier bobbed with each ragged inhale. And Briony didn’t let up. She trailed the wipe upward—teasing around the edges of Harper’s clit without ever quite touching it. Just close enough to drive her insane. Just far enough to keep it degrading. “You know,” Briony said casually, “some girls get all blushy here. Try to pretend they’re not wet. Like it’s just the spell or the nerves.” She tilted her head. “But you? You were dripping before I even laid you down.” Briony wiped again. This time directly between Harper’s cheeks, slow and deep, her fingers pressing in with the cloth with barely contained delight. Harper made a noise. Muffled. Raw. Humiliated. “Aww, don’t pout.” Briony gave her a mock-pitying look as she dropped the used wipe. “You don’t wanna get a rash, do you?” She flicked her fingers and Harper’s legs lifted again, floating high in the air, knees to chest. Everything on display. “There we go,” Briony cooed. “Gotta get the messy bits.” She wiped underneath. Around. Over. Her voice never stopped. “This part’s extra important for girls like you. All that stress. All that tight little clenchy control. It builds up. You hold it in ‘til it bursts out your butt like a busted juice box.” She giggled. “And we can’t have that on the nursery rug.” Harper’s face burned. Her scalp itched. Her whole body felt like it was blushing from the inside out. But Briony just dropped the last wipe and turned toward the puff. “You ready for the best part?” She dipped the plush pink puff into the powder and tapped it once against the tin’s edge—like a painter prepping her brush. Then she started patting. Right over Harper’s exposed bottom. Light, rhythmic taps that left soft white prints across her skin. Like powdery fingerprints. “There we go. Gotta keep you dry and pretty and princess-ready.” Another tap. Then another. Each puff was gentle—too gentle. The softness made it worse. Harper’s legs trembled above her. Still floating. Still open. Briony moved lower. Down Harper’s thighs. Back up. Then right between her legs. She held the puff delicately, like it might break if she squeezed too hard. Then she tapped right over Harper’s mound. Her folds. Her dripping shame. “Tsk tsk tsk. Someone’s still leaky,” she sang. “Gotta double up on the powder right here. Don’t want your little twinkle turning into a rashy rash, do we?” Tap. Tap. Smear. She didn’t stop. She didn’t rush. Briony moved in lazy little circles now—pressing the puff down into Harper’s sex like she was frosting a cupcake. “You know, some girls get really messy down here,” she whispered. “Especially the ones who pretend they’re in control. All that pride? All that tension? It’s just got to go somewhere, doesn’t it, little one?” Harper moaned. She didn’t mean to. It escaped from deep in her chest. Her fingers twitched against the vinyl. Her arms wanted to cover herself. Her legs wanted to close. But they didn’t. Because Briony wouldn’t let them. She dipped the puff again and patted softly against Harper’s button. Just once. Just enough. “Poor baby. You just needed someone to take care of you, huh?” Harper shook her head without meaning to. Her breath came in short, stuttering gasps. And Briony—gleeful, glittering, relentless—set the puff down and picked up the diaper like it was a crown. “You’ve been such a good girl,” she whispered. “Now let’s finish what we started.” Briony held the diaper like a sacred relic. Both hands. Palms up. Cradling it like it had weight. She eyed it lovingly before letting her eyes drop down to Harper’s trembling body. A playful smirk crossed her lips as she leaned in close. “This one’s special,” she whispered. “Extra thick for extra special girls. You don’t want to leak in front of your friends, do you?” Harper made a sound—half protest, half sob—but the pacifier caught it, muffled it, and swallowed it like it didn’t matter. She darted her eyes towards the wall. The only act of defiance she had left. “You know what I think? I think you’re used to being the one who has to be strong. Who never gets to fall apart. You’re the ride-or-die. The one who bails out her drunk besties, talks her way past the cops, cleans up the blood and the glitter and never lets it show.” She glanced over, sharp and sudden, like she was trying to catch a flinch. Harper stared back, frozen. “I’m right, huh?” Briony stepped closer, opening the diaper and ruffling it between her hands, somehow making it even fluffier than it was before. “You’re the fixer. The girl who says, ‘I’m fine’ while her mascara’s running.” Harper bit down harder on the pacifier. The taste of rubber was nothing compared to the rush of heat in her chest. “And you are fine,” Briony added sweetly, running the soft inside of the diaper up and down Harper’s lifted legs so that she could feel exactly what was coming for her.. “Fine enough to fool the world. But not me.” She stepped forward again. Close now. Too close. “I see you, Harper.” Harper closed her eyes. “And I see what you really need.” Briony moved slowly now, narrating with a voice that danced on the edge of parody and prophecy. “Now, this isn’t just any diaper,” she said softly, eyes locked on Harper’s face. “This isn’t some starter pack pull-up from aisle five.” She leaned in. “This is the Princess Peach. Limited edition. Maximum shame.” She flicked her fingers again and Harper’s hips lifted—just a few inches. Just enough. Briony slid the diaper under her with both hands, lining it up like she was guiding a plane in for the perfect landing. It was soft. Overwhelmingly soft. The kind of softness that insisted on being noticed. The kind you felt through your skin and your bones and your soul. Harper gasped around the pacifier. The padding hugged her. Cradled her curves. Pressed against the raw, powdered heat of her still-throbbing humiliation. It was thicker than she’d imagined. Stiffer. Bulkier. The kind of bulk that made modesty impossible and walking a joke. And Briony… Briony smiled like she could feel it too. “There we go,” she murmured. “Perfect fit. Princess cut for a princess cunt.” She giggled. “Whoops! That’s a bad word, isn’t it? I guess we better cover it up.” She pulled the front panel up between Harper’s legs slowly. So slowly. So deliberately that Harper felt every inch drag across her skin. It didn’t just cover her—it climbed her. Her thighs spread wider to make room for the bulk. Her hips twitched. She tried to breathe through it. To think about anything else. But there was no escaping it. The padding settled into her. Between her. Around her. Briony smoothed the front panel with both hands—fingers tracing over the pastel hearts and babyish cartoon fruit printed across the landing zone. “You feel that, baby?” she purred. These are just for the dribbliest little darlings who couldn’t keep their little panties dry. That’s the feeling of your last pair of panties disappearing forever.” Harper whimpered as Briony reached for the tapes. Riiiip. The first one peeled free with a sound like tearing paper. Briony didn’t just press it down. She patted it. Smoothed it. Rubbed it in small, circular motions like she was sealing a spell into place. Then the second. Rip. Smack. Rub. The bottom was done. She paused, admiring her work. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Just a few more seconds and it’ll be official.” She leaned close, whispering directly into Harper’s ear. “No more grown-up clothes. No more grown-up choices. Just this. This thick, thirsty pillow between your legs.” Harper’s heart was racing. Her cheeks were soaked. She hadn’t even noticed the tears until they hit the pacifier guard and dribbled sideways down her face. Briony moved to the other side. Slowly. Lavishly. Rip. Smack. Rub. Third tape. And then the final tape. Briony held it above the landing zone like a countdown. “You sure you’re ready?” she whispered. “Once I press this down, you’re not my little rebel anymore.” Her voice dropped lower. “You’re my little diaper girl. Forever and ever and ever.” Harper didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She was gone. She was there. She was still inside her body. But something had already split. Briony sealed the last tape with a flourish. Then placed both hands flat over the diaper’s front—palms pressing down. Hard. She leaned her weight into it and Harper groaned. She could feel everything. Every puffed inch against her sex, her hips, her thighs. It was warm now. Warmer than it had been a second ago. Briony didn’t move. She just stayed there, hands on the front of Harper’s diaper, eyes locked on hers. And then she started rocking. Just the slightest forward-back pressure. A slow, humiliating massage. Pressing the bulk down. In. Letting Harper feel it. “Shhh,” Briony whispered. “Let it happen.” Harper moaned. A broken, helpless sound. Her hands were still pinned. Her legs still splayed. Her body encased in padding so thick it muffled her own heartbeat. Briony leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “There,” she whispered. “That’s the sound I wanted.” Pat. Pat. Harper lay still as the woman claimed her with two final smacks on the front of the diaper. Her arms were still overhead, legs now gently lowered but spread just enough to remind her what she was. Who she was now. Briony stood over her with that slow, satisfied smile, and whispered in a voice soft enough to lull her to sleep—or shatter her completely. “Welcome to the nursery, baby girl.” CHAPTER TEN The nursery was quiet now. Not peaceful. That word didn’t belong here. But the lights had dimmed to a soft pink glow, and the air had thickened with the slow, sleepy hush of nighttime rituals. In the corner, two cribs sat side-by-side—Jules curled up in one, Lexi in the other. Their oversized bottles glowed faintly with enchanted warmth, their hands resting uselessly on the mattress as the spell coaxed them to drink. They suckled without protest, eyes glazed, bodies still. Not asleep. Not awake. Just… drifting. Briony had said it wouldn’t hurt them. Harper didn’t know if that made it better or worse. She was in the rocking chair now, cradled in Briony’s lap like a toddler post-tantrum, her legs hanging limp over one side of the woman’s thighs, her back supported by a soft crook of muscle and silk. Her diaper was thick and puffy. Still warm against her skin. She could feel the powder drying between her legs. She could feel everything. The pacifier had been removed—mercifully—but only to be replaced with this. Something even worse. Something nourishing. The bottle Briony held to her lips was warm and thick. Sweet enough to make her stomach clench. Harper didn’t want it, but she was thirsty. And tired. And the teat had been pressed gently to her lips with a whispered, “Come on, baby girl. Mommy needs you to drink for me.” So she drank. The first suck was instinct. The second was shame. By the third, Harper was too tired to stop. The chair rocked beneath them, the slow, smooth, the rhythm of something practiced. The whole experience was embarrassingly soothing. The formula coated her tongue, trickled down her throat, and quieted the fire in her chest in a way nothing else had since this nightmare began. Briony rocked her slowly. Back and forth. One hand stroking Harper’s hair. The other gently cupping the front of her diaper with idle affection, like she wanted to feel the warmth when Harper finally broke again. Harper’s eyes blinked open. The nursery was dark now. Lit only by soft pink sconces and the faint glow of the enchanted bottles still floating in the cribs. Lexi was curled on her side, eyes unfocused, one hand pressed against the bars like she was dreaming of freedom she couldn’t touch. The bottle hovered above her mouth, milk dripping in slow, even pulses. Jules was on her back. Legs bent slightly outward by the bulk of her diaper, her breath quiet and rhythmic. She wasn’t asleep. She just wasn’t resisting anymore. Briony hummed under her breath then she began to speak. Not to Harper. Not to anyone. Just aloud. Just because. Like it was a ritual. Like it was her favorite part of the day. “Once upon a time,” Briony whispered, “there was a house that wanted to play.” Harper sucked reflexively. “Not a spooky house. Not a scary house. No creaky floorboards. No jump scares. Just a sweet little place in the woods with pink curtains and soft blankets and locks that only clicked from the outside.” Briony’s hand trailed lazily across Harper’s stomach. Just above the waistband. Just enough to remind her where she was. “And inside that house lived a witch. A silly, sparkly little witch who didn’t need frogs or spells or curses.” “She just needed dolls.” Harper flinched and Briony laughed, soft and musical. Like glitter poured into a glass of wine. “Not plastic ones, hunny bunny. Real ones. With lips that tremble and tummies that cramp and eyes that dare her not to fall in love.” The rocking slowed. The bottle drooped. “Most of the dolls didn’t even know they were dolls. Not at first. They thought they were women. Grown-up ones. With thoughts and boundaries and opinions. Adorable.” Harper burned beneath her skin. “They came into the house with all that sass and swagger. Some of them even wore heels. Can you imagine?” She giggled again. “But the witch was patient. Patient and so very bored. She didn’t take their big-girl words. She took their clothes. Their names. Their pride. Slowly. Sweetly. Like peeling an orange in one long spiral.” Harper’s body flushed. Her mouth kept moving. The milk was almost gone. “She bathed them. Bottled them. Bowed their hair and puffed their bottoms. And they still thought it was punishment.” Briony shifted beneath her, one hand slipping between Harper’s thighs—not touching, just resting gently atop the thick front of the diaper. “But it wasn’t punishment, cupcake.” She leaned forward, ready to share secrets. “It was playtime.” The bottle in Harper’s mouth was nearly empty. She didn’t remember drinking most of it. Her body had just… taken over. Suck, swallow, breathe, repeat. Her lips were sticky with milk and shame. Briony’s fingers stroked her side like she was petting something tame. “The girls wondered what they had done to deserve such special treatment. But the witch didn’t take girls to teach them a lesson. She took them because they were fun.” The chair rocked beneath them. Harper lay draped across Briony’s lap like a sleepy toddler. Her diaper crinkled with each shift of her hips, and she hated how real it felt now. Heavy. Warm. Inevitable. “She bathed them and brushed their pretty hair. Fed them bottles in velvet chairs. She dressed them in bows and bloomers and made them spin in front of the mirror and say thank you.” Harper whimpered. It came out as a hiccup around the last sip of milk. “She changed their diapers and powdered their bottoms and always made sure their pacifiers matched their pretty dresses.” Harper closed her eyes. “She taught them to crawl.” “She taught them to curtsy.” “She taught them what it meant to be kept.” Jules whimpered softly in the crib beside them. Lexi’s bottle gave a hollow click as it drained to the bottom. “And sometimes…” Briony’s voice dipped lower, closer, almost conspiratorial, “…when the dolls were very, very good—she let them play other games.” Harper’s throat tightened. She stopped sucking, just for a moment. Briony tilted the bottle up again, gentle and firm. “Not baby games. Not blocks and lullabies. Grown-up games. The kind you whisper about. The kind that make your cheeks all warm and your thighs stick together under your onesie.” Harper whimpered. She couldn’t help it. Briony smiled. Her palm slid, slow and warm, down the front of the diaper. Not teasing. Just checking. “The witch liked those games best. Because they made her dolls all squirmy and clingy and mine mine mine.” “And nothing made the witch happier than a crib full of pretty little pets—wet, blushing, and absolutely begging to be touched.” The bottle slipped from Harper’s mouth. Briony caught it one-handed, like a true professional, and set it on the side table with a soft click. She stood. Harper let out a breathless sound as her body was lifted again—legs hanging, diaper crinkling, face buried against Briony’s collarbone. Her cheeks burned. Her whole body radiated shame. She didn’t want to be held. But she didn’t want to be let go, either. Harper’s arms were too soft to resist. Her legs swung uselessly as she was lifted and carried like something half-asleep. Briony walked them toward the cribs. They looked bigger now. Or maybe she felt smaller. Briony’s arms adjusted Harper as they approached the cribs, hoisting her a little higher so Harper’s head could rest against her shoulder—like a tired child too big to carry and too little to walk. The warmth of the nursery lights brushed their skin in slow pulses—golden, then pink, then low again. Briony bent down to Jules first. "Good night, sweetheart," she murmured, brushing her fingers along the girl’s forehead. Jules blinked up at her, mouth slack around her pacifier. Then Briony turned her hips so Harper could see. “Tell your sisters night-night, baby girl.” Harper shook her head, turned her face into Briony’s neck, completely mortified. Anything to hide her current padded predicament. “No?” Briony giggled, soft and teasing. “Aww, is someone shy?” She waved her hand lazily and Harper’s hand lifted on its own—fingers fluttering like a baby’s wave. Harper groaned—a low, helpless sound of protest. She tried to twist away, tried to pull her arm back, but Briony just rocked her gently. “Such a silly little thing,” she murmured, clearly amused. “We’ll work on your manners tomorrow.” Then she turned to the cribs. “Girls? Say good night to your sister.” There was silence. Then a defeated, uncertain voice from beside them. “…Night-night, Harper,” Lexi said quietly. Her voice was low and muted, but obedient. Jules pulled her pacifier from her lips with shaking fingers. Her voice cracked. “…Umm.. Harper can share my crib.” Harper’s heart lurched. She looked toward her—toward the slats of the crib where Jules lay blinking up at her, pale and scared and trying. She looked so young. So soft. Her eyes still full of questions she wasn’t allowed to ask. Briony smiled like she’d just been handed a crayon drawing by a toddler. She didn’t laugh. Not sharply. Just… warmly. Like she thought it was adorable. “That’s very sweet of you, baby girl,” she said, brushing a lock of hair behind Jules’s ear. “But it won’t be necessary.” She adjusted Harper again, making sure all three friends got a good look at each other. “This little cutie,” she said, nuzzling Harper’s cheek with her own, “is going to spend the night with Mommy.” Harper’s blood ran cold. No. No. No. No. No. Her stomach twisted and she jerked back, hands useless against Briony’s chest, her whole body writhing in sudden, primal fear. But Briony didn’t let her go. She just hugged her tighter. “Shhh,” she whispered. “You’re okay, baby. Mommy’s got you now..” Harper turned her face into Briony’s shoulder, but her eyes stared past it—locking on Jules and Lexi one last time as Briony stepped away. Lexi’s eyes were open. Barely. Her pacifier had returned to her lips, and she was sucking slow and automatic, like her body had given up trying to care. Her fingers curled under her blanket. Her legs were bent outward beneath the bulk of her diaper. Her mascara had flaked off onto her cheekbone. She used to bartend three nights a week and flirt her way into VIP rooms. She was the party girl. The sparkler-in-the-bottle girl. More than once, Harper had seen her sneak a champagne bottle down the front of her shirt and walk out laughing. Now she just looked small. Harper looked at Jules next. Jules, who always had a sarcastic rip and a plan. Who had never worn the color pink or any shade that wasn’t somewhere on the grey scale. Now she was curled up under a pink princess blanket, shoulders shaking, but not from crying. From trying not to. She looked at Harper like she wanted to say one more thing—but she didn’t. She just stared. And that was worse. Briony paused at the door, hand on the handle. Her eyes swept back across the nursery like a proud mother admiring her decorations after a long day of party prep. “Mmm.” She exhaled contentedly. “Look at you two. All tucked in. My perfect little peaches.” She leaned forward and let her final whispers send her two newest dolls off to dreamland. “Good night, my little sweets. Sleep tight.” The door closed with a soft click. The sound wasn’t loud. It didn’t slam. It didn’t echo. It sealed. Like something finished. Like something locked. The nursery was gone. Lexi and Jules were gone. The soft pink glow. The crib bars. The slow, sleepy hum of other bodies nearby. All of it was behind that door. And Harper wasn’t. Briony adjusted her grip as she walked. Harper’s body shifted, the weight of the diaper pulling awkwardly between her thighs. Her hands were still pressed to her chest, trapped by soft padding and gravity and the fact that none of this felt real. But it was. The hallway was darker than the nursery. Narrower. It smelled like vanilla and violets and something richer and deeper. Like honey that had gone just slightly sour. Briony didn’t rush. Her pace was slow and rhythmic. She swayed with each step like she was dancing to a song only she could hear. The click of her heels echoed faintly on the polished floor—sharp and deliberate. Harper could feel every one of them vibrate up her spine. The woman was humming again. Some silly, sing-song nothing. Just a few rising notes over and over, like a wind-up box that didn’t know how to stop. Harper’s head was still resting against her shoulder, but her eyes were wide now. Wide and unblinking. Watching the hall roll by over Briony’s shoulder. Every light they passed flickered softly on, then off again behind them. There were no windows. No clocks. No exits. Just velvet walls and flickering sconces and the slow, inevitable path forward. Briony shifted her again. Her arm slid under Harper’s thighs, lifting her just enough that the thick bulk of her diaper squished softly against the crook of Briony’s elbow. The scent of powder rose with the motion—sickly sweet and unmistakable. Harper wanted to gag. She wanted to scream. She wanted to do something—anything—but all she could do was press her face into Briony’s neck and try not to tremble. It didn’t work. Briony felt it and giggled, high and delighted. “Aww, honey bun. You’re shaking.” Her voice was velvet-wrapped candy. Sweet and chewy and just a little bit sticky. “Oh, don’t worry,” she purred. “It’s just us now.” Her arms squeezed tighter and Harper’s stomach turned. She looked up again, only to find Briony already watching her. Smiling like a little girl with a new kitten. That bright, breathless joy that made everything worse. She looked happy. Not victorious. Not smug. Just purely, terribly happy. And Harper? Harper had never felt smaller. The next hallway was longer. Almost impossibly long. There were doors. Seemingly dozens of them. Painted in pastels, each with little brass plaques that glinted under the light. Briony didn’t pause at any of them. She just walked, steady and glowing, as she adjusted Harper’s hands against her chest with one hand and patted her puffy bottom with the other. Harper stared at the woman’s collarbone, watching the little hollow shift with each step, the gold shimmer of her necklace bouncing gently above the neckline of her dress. It had a charm shaped like a rattle. Of course it did. The last door was larger. White. Trimmed in rose gold. The handle was shaped like a key, but Briony didn’t even slow down. The door swung open on its own. The light inside was warmer than the hallway. Flickering. Amber and low. Harper didn’t see much—just a soft rug, a gilded mirror, something that looked like a canopy bed draped in gauze. But the smell hit her first. Vanilla and powder and something darker beneath it—like perfume on skin, left too long. Briony stepped inside as the door began to close behind them. Harper twisted—just a little—craning her neck one last time toward the hallway behind them. She flinched as Briony reached between her legs. Her touch was soft and indulgent as two fingers pressed into the front of the diaper like she expected it to be wet already. Like it wouldn’t matter if it was. The witch held Harper closely and whispered a new story, just for Harper. “Once upon a time…” Briony murmured, her breath warm against the shell of Harper’s ear as she walked in a slow circle. “There was a girl who thought she was still a girl.” Harper’s stomach turned. Not because of the words—but because of the way they were said. Dreamy. Adoring. Like this wasn’t a punishment at all. Like this was a wish come true. She wanted to scream, but all that came out was a soft, shuddering whimper that made Briony’s arms tighten in a joyful little shudder. “But now?” the witch whispered, bouncing her just slightly, like she was calming a fussy toddler. The motion sent the thick bulk of the diaper rocking between Harper’s legs, reminding her exactly how little she was supposed to be. Briony didn’t wait for an answer. She pressed a kiss to Harper’s temple. “Now she’s my favorite little doll.” —---------------------------------- Trapped in the Nursery is the first book in a new Haunted Halloween Trilogy and my subscribers on Ream and SubStar got to read this book AS IT WAS BEING WRITTEN with chapter drops almost every day. Read the full trilogy HERE. Their comments and questions helped to shape this story in real-time. And that could be you. Check out Trapped in the Nursery on Amazon or join us on Ream and SubStar to read DOZENS of stories like this and be part of crafting the next one. 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CHAPTER TWO The front door didn’t budge. “Still locked,” Harper muttered, jiggling the handle again like maybe this time it would just… give. Like the universe would cut them a break for once. “Lex, can you not—?” Too late. Red horns bobbed out of sight as Lexi disappeared up the staircase, her heels clicking a cheerful little fuck-you across the polished hardwood. “Lexi!” Harper called after her. “Seriously?” “I’m exploring,” Lexi sing-songed from somewhere above. “This is, like, vintage Scooby Doo realness. If I find a hot vampire, I’m not coming back.” Jules didn’t even look up. She was crouched by a cabinet near the fireplace, tugging it open like it might contain secrets instead of just dust and disappointment. She’d already inspected three bookshelves, a weird old mirror, and some kind of antique umbrella stand with more suspicion than Harper had ever seen applied to furniture. “Do you think she’s okay?” Harper asked, hovering halfway between the stairs and Jules. “No,” Jules said flatly. “But not for the reasons you mean.” Harper sighed, glancing at her phone again. Still no signal. No Wi-Fi. No bars. Just that little emergency call icon and a lock screen she’d stared at six times too many. “This isn’t funny anymore,” she muttered. The fake feather duster on her hip kept brushing her thigh like it had opinions. “It’s not even a good prank.” “Depends who the prank’s on,” Jules said, rising to her feet and brushing dust from her thigh-high boots. She looked absurdly put-together for someone poking around like aTikTok Nancy Drew in a haunted Airbnb. Lexi’s voice floated down from upstairs, all sugar and sparkles. “There’s like a million doors up here! Ooh, this one’s pink—dibs!” Jules raised an eyebrow. “Dibs on… what, exactly? What the hell is this place?” “I heard that,” Lexi called. “Rude.” “She’s gonna open a door and find a pit full of snakes,” Jules muttered. Harper took a few steps toward the staircase, then backpedaled toward Jules. Then hesitated again. “I should go after her.” “Then do it.” “But—” She gestured weakly toward Jules, the room, the whole confusing night. “What if you find something?” “I’ll take a selfie with it,” Jules deadpanned. “You can frame it.” Harper exhaled hard, then turned to the stairs. “Lex, I swear to God, if you get kidnapped, I’m not writing another statement for the police. My handwriting’s already on file.” “Tell them I died hot!” Lexi shouted back. Harper’s boots creaked on the third step. “Lex, if you touch anything—” “I’m not touching it, I’m just looking at it,” Lexi called down, her voice echoing faintly from somewhere above. “God, relax. You’re worse than my dentist.” One of her thigh-highs had started rolling down again, the little black bow sagging like it was giving up. Harper sighed and tugged it back into place, muttering something under her breath, then turned to Jules, still hovering near the weird hutch in the corner. “You good?” she asked. “I’m gonna go—” “Wait,” Jules said sharply. Harper froze. Jules wasn’t the dramatic one. Not like that. “What?” she asked, stepping back down. Jules didn’t answer right away. She’d pulled open a narrow drawer in the side of the hutch—one Harper would’ve sworn wasn’t even a drawer—and now she was holding something. Turning it over in her hand like it might bite. It looked like… a key? “Check this out,” Jules said, holding it up proudly. “I knew this was an escape room. There’s probably a map or instructions or something upstairs.” Harper stepped off the stairs. “A key? Seriously?” “It’s not just a key,” Jules said. “It’s old. Like really old. And—” She tilted it to show the tag attached with a thin rusted wire. Room 3. Harper frowned. “You think it opens something upstairs?” “Or downstairs,” Jules said, already scanning the room like she was seeing it new. “Lexi’s been gone like… five minutes.” Harper hesitated, glancing toward the stairs again. “...Plenty of time to knock over a candelabra and start a small house fire…” Jules didn’t even look up. She was already tugging at a panel near the baseboard, fingers methodical, like she was hunting for Narnia. Harper hovered for a second longer, then sighed and turned away from the stairs. “Fine. You wanna keep playing detective, I’ll help. But if she ends up in a cult, I’m blaming you.” They wandered deeper into the house. Past the sitting room and the empty dining area, past a hallway that seemed to loop in a way that made no architectural sense, until Harper found a door tucked behind a dusty curtain rod, half-open like it had been waiting. It led to stairs. “Basement?” Jules asked. Harper walked a slow circle, arms folded. The stockings kept sliding down her thighs as she paced, snagging on nothing but nerves and losing the fight against gravity. “Oh great. Perfect. Let’s go down into the dark, old-timey murder hole. Jesus… What do you think is down there, Jules? Storage? Panic room? Ghost sex den?” Jules snorted. “Lexi would love that.” That made Harper smirk. She hovered at the top of the stairs. Jules noticed. “You scared?” “I’m practical,” Harper muttered. “Also allergic to mildew.” She clicked on her phone flashlight. Still no signal. Just the cold, pale glow cutting through dust motes like a horror movie teaser. They descended together, shoes creaking on each step. The air shifted around them—cooler, damper, like the house was sweating. The basement wasn’t dramatic. No chains on the wall. No pentagram etched into the floor. Just a half-finished concrete space with some ancient storage bins, a rusted-out utility sink, and the world’s creepiest rocking horse shoved into the corner like it had been punished. “This place smells like sad laundry,” Jules muttered. Jules opened one of the bins. Inside: an old coat. A chessboard missing half the pieces. A VHS tape labeled Homecoming 1998. She closed it again with a sigh. “No bodies,” she said. “Disappointing.” Harper wandered over to a fuse box that looked older than her grandmother. They lingered a few more minutes. Opened a cabinet. Poked around. Found a stack of yellowed newspapers in a milk crate, but the date was smudged and the headlines were in another language. Jules tried to lift one and it disintegrated. “Okay,” she said, dusting her hands. “My nose is starting to itch. I don’t think this place has been aired out since the Bush administration.” “First or second?” Harper asked. Jules gave her a look as they headed for the creaking stairway. Back upstairs, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it had been still too long. Harper checked her phone again. Still no bars. Still no Lexi. She chewed her lip. Jules noticed. “Getting worried?” “I mean… a little,” Harper admitted. “She’s not exactly a quiet wanderer.” “You want me to check?” Harper nodded, relieved. “Yeah. Would you? Just… see what she’s doing up there while I try the doors again?” Jules took the key, her brows raised but unreadable. “You sure?” “No,” Harper said. “But if she’s naked and live-streaming on OnlyFans from the closet again, I’d rather you walk in on it.” Jules grinned. “Fair.” She turned toward the stairs, boots thudding softly up the steps. Harper turned for the hallway and paused. “Hey—if anything feels weird, like actually weird... yell, okay?” “Copy that, Mom.” Harper rolled her eyes and crossed back through the main hallway as Jules made her way upstairs. Her fingers trailed along the cold wood paneling as she headed for the front door. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o The front door didn’t budge. Still. Harper jiggled the handle, pulled harder this time, shoved her shoulder against the frame like force might unlock whatever century-old secret was wedged in the wood. Nothing. She swore under her breath, turned, and made for the back door. Click. Rattle. Nothing. The handle spun, but the bolt didn’t slide. It didn’t even try. It just sat there, locked and frozen. Actively mocking her. “Cool,” she muttered, trying it again. “Super cool. Love that.” She checked the kitchen windows next—two above the sink and one near the pantry. The lace trim on her skirt caught on the corner of a drawer and ripped with a soft snap. Harper didn’t even flinch. Just one more thing falling apart. The windows were all painted shut. Probably for decades. The glass was thick and bubbly with age, the kind that wobbled the light and turned your reflection into a funhouse ghost. She pressed her palm to one pane. Cold. Solid. Harper tried to open it anyway. Wedged her fingers under the frame and heaved. Nothing. “Nope, that’s fine,” she whispered to herself. “Not weird. Just… old house stuff. That’s a thing. Settling. Sticking. Dry rot. Paint. Whatever.” She moved to the next one. Same result. By the time she got to the third window, she was sweating. Not from the effort—just the wrongness of it all. The heavy silence. The way the air felt like it was sitting on her. “I could break it,” she said aloud, just to have noise. “I could throw a chair or… I don’t know, smash a cabinet door.” She looked around. Eyed the thick legs of the antique dining table. Thought about it. Really thought about it. But something in her stomach curled tight. What if it worked? And what if it didn’t? What if she shattered the glass and now she was bleeding and barefoot in a French maid costume, starring in the worst local news headline of all time. What if this was just a stupid prank or a busted lock and she smashed a window in a historical Airbnb like a psychopath? Harper paced the kitchen twice. Her thighs were already starting to itch under the lace tops of the stockings—cheap costume fabric and stress sweat, a winning combo. She pulled open the nearest drawer and found forks, a tarnished soup ladle, and what might’ve once been a corkscrew. No keys. No help. She checked the side door near the mudroom. Locked. The cellar bulkhead? Sealed from the outside. Harper walked the entire ground floor again. Found two more windows. Tried them both. Nada. She paused in the hallway, her back to the staircase, and tried to breathe. “Okay,” she said. She adjusted the top of her corset—again—and gave herself a look. “Okay. Don’t be that girl. This is just a house. Just an old, weird-ass house.” She turned slowly and looked up the stairs. The silence was unbearable now. Not just absence of sound—but a pressing stillness. Like the whole house was holding its breath. Harper swallowed. Lexi is probably filming TikToks in a bathroom mirror somewhere. Jules is out hunting for clues to a non-existent puzzle like Scooby’s smartest friend. Totally normal. Absolutely fine. Except—Lexi would’ve said something by now. Laughed. Screamed. Asked where her charger was. Jules would’ve texted. Thrown a sarcastic comment over the railing. Instead there was nothing. Just the faint smell of something sweet. Faint and unnatural. Like powder or perfume, half-forgotten in the attic. Harper ran a hand down her face. She didn’t want to go upstairs. Not really. She knew she shouldn’t. But she was already walking. CHAPTER THREE “Jules?” Harper’s voice sounded too loud. It bounced off the high ceilings like it didn’t belong here. She waited. Just long enough to be sure. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Lexi?” Still no answer. No footsteps. No shuffling, no laughter, no door creak. The house didn’t even seem to breathe. Just the faint hum of air too still for comfort. She swallowed and turned in a slow circle, like maybe the house would give her a hint. A noise. A direction. Something. But it just sat there, indifferent. Same old furniture. Same locked doors. Same silence. Harper let out a shaky breath through her nose. “Okay,” she muttered. “Okay. It’s fine. This is fine.” She smirked weakly, like maybe if she kept things light, her stomach would stop doing somersaults. They were upstairs. They were fine. Probably playing some dumb prank. Or Lexi had found a mirror with good lighting and was staging a thirst trap photoshoot It was fine. Harper lingered at the base of the stairs, hand resting on the banister like it might electrocute her if she gripped it too tight. She should go up. She would go up. Right after she grabbed that corkscrew. “Just in case,” she muttered, pivoting hard and marching back to the kitchen like that was the plan all along. She walked fast, like getting there quicker might outrun the feeling chasing her down the hallway. It was still sitting in the drawer, crooked and rusted with that weird old-house patina. Useless for fighting off a ghost or an axe murderer, but better than nothing. And if she have to break a window, it might help with that too. She gripped it tight, trying to ignore the way her fingers trembled. Her thighs brushed together as she crossed the kitchen, hyper-aware of how stupid she must look—ruffled mini skirt, heels, fishnets, little black corset that was not made for heroics. “God, Lexi,” she hissed, tugging the skirt down as she climbed the stairs and instantly catching a draft up the back. “Why do I let you talk me into this shit?” Every movement felt louder now. The click of her heels. The rustle of tulle. The little creak the floor made when she stepped wrong. The second floor stretched long and narrow, dimly lit by a single bulb above the landing. Shadows stretched out from corners that didn’t have obvious sources. Harper stood there for a moment, corkscrew in one hand, thumb brushing the edge of it. Doors. So many fucking doors. Three on the left. Four on the right. Another at the far end of the hall. All closed. All waiting. She paused at the top of the stairs. Waited for some echo of movement, some telltale creak or laugh or groan of old floorboards under a retreating foot. There was nothing. “Jules?” Harper called, softer this time. No answer. Her voice felt out of place up here. Thin. Like it didn’t belong. She waited, listening hard. Even her breathing sounded too loud. “Lexi?” she tried again. “You good?” Still nothing. No footsteps. No laughter. No creak of a floorboard. Not even the thump of something being knocked over and played off like an accident. Just silence. The kind that pressed against her ears and made her second-guess her own volume. Harper forced a breath through her nose and swallowed hard. “Okay,” she muttered, forcing a small smirk. “Cool. You got me. Hilarious.” She made herself laugh under her breath. Just once. Just to prove she could. It didn’t help. The silence was oppressing now. Like it was actively working against her. The corkscrew felt ridiculous in her hand. She held it tighter anyway. But her palm was damp where it gripped the cool metal, and she wasn’t putting it down. There were too many goddamn doors. Harper stopped in front of the first one. Same as the others—plain wood, old brass knob, white trim that had yellowed just slightly with time. It didn’t look threatening. It didn’t look like anything. But her stomach didn’t like it. “Alright, assholes,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “if you jump out screaming, I swear to God...” No reply. She stepped closer and reached for the doorknob. It was cool to the touch and slightly sticky. Her fingers hesitated. Just a second. Just long enough to register the way her pulse ticked up behind her ears. Harper turned the knob and it resisted. Not locked. Just.. stuck. Just enough to make her pause. Just enough to set her teeth on edge. She gave it a gentle nudge and it gave back with a groan. Not loud. Just sharp enough to sound wrong in the silence. The door groaned open an inch. Then another. The creak felt impossibly loud. She winced and paused again, corkscrew half-raised, like she was about to carve a really angry pumpkin. She pushed the door the rest of the way open. And… It was a bedroom. Just a regular-ass bedroom. A normal, aggressively unremarkable bedroom. Twin bed with a lumpy mattress. Beige sheets, tucked tight. A mismatched nightstand with a lamp straight out of a 1970s motel. It was dusty and had carpet that was probably once blue, now just vaguely grayish. The air smelled stale—like air freshener had tried to fight mildew and lost. Harper stood in the doorway, blinking like her brain needed a second to reset. No blood. No bodies. No secret passageways. No Jules or Lexi either. She let the corkscrew fall to her side and exhaled slowly. Harper exhaled hard and leaned against the doorframe. She let herself breathe for real and closed her eyes. A laugh slipped out, shaky and breathless. “Jesus, Harper. You’re spiraling.” The room didn’t even feel haunted. It just felt tired. Like someone used to live here a long time ago and then stopped, and the room had never really recovered. She looked around again, just to be sure. Nothing. Not even a drawer left open for effect. She rubbed her fingers along her forehead and muttered, “You’re overreacting. They’re just messing with you.” Assholes. Just a normal old house. Just a couple of friends being weird. She just needed to find them. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Harper stepped back into the hall and let herself breathe. One long inhale. One long exhale. Long and shaky, like she’d been holding her breath for too long without realizing it. The room behind her was empty. Just a dead space where nothing had happened. Where nothing was going to happen. She kept telling herself that. She pushed off the doorframe and wiped her palm against the side of her skirt, feeling the sweat clinging to her fingers like glue. Harper exhaled again, trying to steady her hands. She still had the corkscrew. Still had her shoes. Still had a little dignity. Probably. One more glance inside the bedroom, just to be sure. Still empty. Still fine. Harper turned back into the hallway. And stopped breathing. There was someone standing directly in front of her. A woman. She was right there. Not even a foot away. Wide eyes. Pale skin. Black clothes. Frizzled hair and posed like she was ready to strike. The corkscrew hit the floor with a sharp metallic clatter. And Harper screamed. For a full second, Harper couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Her mind didn’t offer explanations. It didn’t offer anything. She just reacted. Her back slammed into the doorframe behind her as she stumbled backward, trying to scream and breathe at the same time and failing at both. One foot caught the other and she went down hard, her ass hitting the floor with a jolt that knocked the sound out of her lungs. Harper scrambled backwards, heels scraping against the wood, hands braced behind her, half-crawling in a wild, graceless panic. Her body was in flight mode before her brain caught up. She stared into the woman’s unrelentingly wild eyes. She blinked, hard, once—twice—and the woman blinked too. Her breath hitched. The lighting. The symmetry. The fact that the woman hadn’t made a sound. Hadn’t breathed. Harper twitched. And moved. But not forward. Not toward her. With her. Her palms were slick with sweat. Her lungs burned. Harper’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Just this tight little laugh. Panicked. Thin. Ugly. It wasn’t a woman. It wasn’t anyone. It was her. Harper stared at her reflection. A warped, full-length mirror set into the hallway wall like some kind of fucked-up trap. She laughed. A breathless, panicked sound. Her fingers dug into the carpet like she was trying to hold onto the Earth. She was still frozen in fight stance. Skirt rucked up from the fall. Eyes wide with leftover terror. One hand outstretched like she was trying to push something away. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sat up slow. Her heart was still hammering in her throat, begging for a different explanation. And then she felt it. “Shit.” Warm. Centered. Just enough to register. Harper looked down, then back at the mirror. The black satin panties were still in place—thank God—but the wet patch was real. Small. Manageable. Embarrassing as hell. The heat between her legs. The unmistakable warmth of wet satin clinging to skin that hadn’t meant to get wet. “Goddammit.” She adjusted the skirt and stood up fast, like standing would somehow make it less true. She didn’t want to look at the mirror again, but her eyes flicked back anyway, drawn to the reflection like it might confirm some awful suspicion. The girl in the mirror looked pathetic. Not fierce. Not funny. Just a scared girl in a slutty costume holding a stupid wine opener. The hallway was still empty. Still full of too many doors. Still silent in that awful, waiting way. Harper grabbed the corkscrew again and avoided looking at the mirror this time. The girl in it wasn’t helping. She took one step toward the next door. Then another. The hallway felt longer now. Narrower. Like the walls had shifted while she was in the room. Her fingers trailed along the wallpaper—faded green stripes with tiny repeating flowers—just to make sure it was still there. Still solid. Still real. She paused at the next door and reached out her hand. A muffled sound behind her grabbed her attention and Harper jumped back so hard her heel caught on the carpet and she went down on one knee with a grunt, corkscrew clattering out of her hand and skittering across the floor. “FUCK!” She didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, wiping her palms against her thighs again. She sat there for a second longer, breathing through the residual panic, trying to feel human again. Her legs were still shaking. Her pulse still pounding in her neck like it was trying to get out. Eventually, she reached for the corkscrew and stood. Not fast. Not confident. Just upright enough to keep going. The hallway was still empty. But now it didn’t feel quiet. Harper stood there for a second, knuckles white around the corkscrew, eyes flicking toward the door she’d nearly opened before the phantom noise rerouted her spine. Her pulse was still a live wire behind her ribs, but she was moving again. Kind of. She turned to the door directly behind her. Opposite the one she’d been about to enter. Same white trim. Same aged wood. Except this one had something dangling from the handle. Her stomach dropped. A key. It swayed ever so slightly, catching the overhead light in a dull metallic glint. Not swinging like it had just been placed there, but not still enough to feel innocent. Harper tilted her head and took a slow step forward. The hallway didn’t feel narrow anymore—it felt funeral quiet. Like everything had stopped to watch. She reached out, fingers brushing the key. It was old. Brass. Cold against her skin. Stamped across the oval tag in blocky black letters: ROOM 3. Harper didn’t say anything. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t try to play it off this time. Jules had this key earlier. So what the hell was it doing out here? Her stomach twisted. A new kind of wrong settling in. Her hand was already on the knob. It turned easier than she expected. No sticking, no creak. Just that soft, obedient click of a latch giving way. The door swung inward, only a few inches and Harper froze. The air that crept out was different. Not dusty, like the rest of the house—staler. Thicker. Like it hadn’t moved in a long time. Like it didn’t want to. She opened the door a few more inches and peaked her head inside. Slowly. She didn’t understand what she was seeing at first. The room was lit, barely. Just a faint lamp glow filtering through sheer curtains. Not a bedroom. Not an office. A…playroom? Old toys littered the dusty carpet—wooden blocks, a beat-up dollhouse, a plastic tea set overturned on the rug. No screens. No chargers. Nothing newer than 1993. Everything was worn and soft at the edges. Like it had been used hard and often. Harper took a slow step forward, corkscrew still clutched in one hand. She had no plan. No idea what she’d do if something jumped out at her. But nothing did. Just those toys. Just the sound of her own heartbeat. Just the faint, awful creak of the door creaking open beside her. She turned slowly, eyes tracing the walls when eyes locked on something across the room. Her chest rose sharply, nostrils flared, heart hammering against bone like it wanted out. Her body slowed down before her brain caught up. Her foot hovered, then touched down without her permission. The corkscrew hit the floor with a dull, traitorous clatter. She didn’t scream. Didn’t move. Just.. stared. Her throat worked, trying to form a word and failing. Something tightened in her chest. She tried again. “…Jules?” --------------------------- Trapped in the Nursery is the first book in a new Haunted Halloween Trilogy and my subscribers on Ream and SubStar got to read this book AS IT WAS BEING WRITTEN with chapter drops almost every day. Book 2 is dropping this weekend. Their comments and questions helped to shape this story in real-time. And that could be you. Check out Trapped in the Nursery on Amazon or join us on Ream and SubStar to read DOZENS of stories like this and be part of crafting the next one. SubStar | Ream | Amazon

“Okay… um…” Natalie adjusted her posture on the edge of her neatly made bed—cross-legged, knees pulled tight in front of her, fishnet-covered toes curled against the pink microfiber blanket she swore she'd never let appear on camera again. Her laptop glowed in the background, the recording light just out of frame. “I guess today’s theme is, like... slouchy office bimbo?” she muttered to herself, then smiled again for the camera—bright, breathy, trying to land somewhere between accidentally sexy and selling-my-soul-for-content. She lifted her leg a little higher, pivoted her foot, and gave the sole a slow flex. She pitched her voice down into that low, breathy tease that paid so well. “Hope you boys are having a good day. I heard you like girls who wear their fishnets until they rip.” She fingers a tiny snag in the webbing just above her ankle, dramatically pouting. “Uh-oh. Guess I’ll have to get new ones. Unless… you wanna buy me some?” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Link’s in the bio. Again.” Natalie exhaled, rolling her ankle to loosen the cramp. The camera was still running—B-roll, she called it. Sometimes guys tipped just to watch her reposition, like some behind-the-scenes peek into her humiliating little side hustle. A side hustle that, by her most recent pivot table, was now outperforming her actual job. Tab 1: “Fetish ROI Analysis – Sorted by CPM (Creep Per Minute™)” Tab 2: “Costume Investment vs Subscriber Boost” Tab 3: “Sock Destruction Requests – Rising Trend” Tab 4: “Regression Themes – High Yield/Low Supply (See: ABDL_Heatmap_Q3)” She minimized her face from the corner of the feed. Her nose always looked red after filming. Three months ago, she’d been trying to budget car repairs on a train back from Queens when her roommate Carly, a literal dental hygienist with a literal latex kink and a literal 6-figure income from JustUs, leaned over and said the worst sentence in recorded human history: “Honestly, Nat, your legs are hot. Just show your feet or something. No one will even know it’s you.” At the time, Natalie laughed. But that night she ran a keyword scrape of every public “feet” profile she could find and cross-referenced subscriber count against upload frequency and engagement tier. The math was... promising. The anonymity? Less so. But she had student loans. And three broken molars. And a 780 credit score she wasn’t about to lose. So she made an account. Natalie stood up, knees popping, and rotated her hips to let the fishnet shadows dance against her thighs. The top was technically a vintage band tee (she didn’t know the band), and the skirt was plaid and barely long enough to pass as clothing. “JustUs Trends” → Nylon content up 8.2% week-over-week. Subscriber spend per creator: plateauing. But… fishnets? 23% spike. Most of it from POV “worship” creators. Low saturation. High payoff. Natalie bit the inside of her cheek. Tomorrow she’d have to update the script. Or maybe bring in a ruler. Those always got more clicks. Her first post had been a photo of her knees. Just her knees. She captioned it: “Is this… anything?” It got 2 likes. One was Carly. The other was a guy named ToeDaddy69, who messaged her, “Put ‘em in socks next time.” So she did. And then things got… faster. Natalie didn’t even remember filming half of these. She sat cross-legged at her desk, one fishnet-clad foot bouncing absently in front of the ring light, watching the dollar amount on her JustUs dashboard update in real time. A new tip flashed. $19.99. Caption: “For the way you said ‘uh-oh’ in last night’s clip. Masterful.” Masterful. She didn’t even mean to say it. She’d tripped over a prop and caught herself on the edge of the crib—yes, the crib—and muttered “uh-oh” under her breath like a glitching baby doll. It hadn’t even made the final cut. But she’d thrown it in the B-roll at the end. It was her most popular clip this month. She highlighted the video title in her spreadsheet: Playpen_Panic_FINALfinal2.mp4 and adjusted the earnings projection upward. She’d already crossed the threshold for her third tax bracket. It wasn’t supposed to go this far. She'd started with the librarian thing. That felt innocent enough. Black glasses, hair in a bun, blouse buttoned one too high instead of one too low. She didn’t even take the skirt off—just bent down to pick up books in slow motion and asked the camera if they'd been "naughty in the stacks again." It was stupid. Easy. But it paid for the timing belt repair. Then someone asked for banana squishing. She’d laughed at first. Sent Carly a screenshot and wrote “your followers are freaks.” Carly replied, “Do it. $100 minimum.” So she did. Peeled it with her teeth. Giggled like a mall goth. Let the mush ooze through the holes in her fishnets and drip onto the floor. She even moaned a little, just to sell it. $380 in tips. One night. Then came the dog ears. The collar. The soft “woof” into the mic while crawling on all fours across her throw rug. She tried not to think about the fact that she used that same rug for yoga. Tried not to think about what it meant that she now had a “Crawling” folder in her file structure. Or that it had subfolders. Every time she tried to say no, someone offered more. More for pet play. More for mommy play. More for “oopsie” clips and bedtime ASMR and sitting in a high chair talking about what a messy girl she’d been. And then there was the guy who wanted her to talk taxes. Like, literal taxes. He wanted her in a pencil skirt and blouse explaining amortized interest rates. Asked her to whisper “depreciation schedule” and chew gum while she filed paperwork. She didn’t even have to undress. Just lick a pen slowly and flip through documents while the camera zoomed in on her pantyhose-covered legs under the desk. “Best video of my life,” the guy wrote. Then he tipped her a $100 Starbucks card. Natalie hadn’t paid for coffee in weeks. Somewhere in the chaos, she learned what a crinkle haul was. Had to google it. Then had to film it. Now she could rattle off the absorbency differences between LittlePawz and BunnyTails like a brand rep at a trade show. That should’ve been the low point. But then came the regression scripts. The pacifier gag. The alphabet song in a onesie. The 12-minute video where she roleplayed crying because someone took away her potty chart. That one made her cry for real after editing. She didn’t even know why. It had good lighting. She charged $150 for the custom. It made $900 in the first day she posted it on her main page. The worst part? She didn’t even hate it anymore. She didn’t like it—but she’d learned how to click into the part of her brain that made it bearable. Made it efficient. The same place she went when debugging corrupted spreadsheets or sitting through quarterly finance calls with CFOs who thought women should smile more. She could do anything in that headspace. Even diapers. Even.. messing. Well. Implied messing. There were still lines Natalie hadn’t technically crossed. But her viewers didn’t know that. It hadn’t taken long to A/B test a few different substances until she got it just right. It still felt gross in the diaper, but her subscription rate was way up and there was no way she was doing the real thing. Besides, these goons would buy anything. She scrolled back to one of her early uploads—knees only, socks on, captioned “Is this… anything?” It still only had two likes. Natalie stared at her knees on the screen. So bare. So innocent. So low-resolution. She closed the window and clicked back to the dashboard. Another tip. $25 – "More bedtime stories, please. Especially if you’re fussy." Natalie opened her script template and added a new tag: #FussyBedtimeWhining – Test Demand / Create Variant She rubbed her temples. Her thighs squeaked against the vinyl seat of the high chair she'd bought “ironically” and had been using as her desk for the last few weeks while she let the camera on for a livestream. A framed certificate still sat on the corner shelf behind her for “Employee of the Year.” She hadn’t taken it down. It was barely visible on camera, tucked behind a pack of pacifiers and her ring light’s carry case. That version of her felt like another lifetime ago. She stretched, big and wide and fake, with the slightest hint of a playful smile at the corner of her mouth. If these freaks wanted to pay to watch her work on spreadsheets in a highchair, who was she to deprive the masses? It wasn’t who she was. It was just who the data wanted her to be. The notification dinged again—another custom request, this one flagged “urgent” and marked VIP. She opened it half out of reflex. "Hey baby girl. Would love a livestream where you try to be a big girl and use the potty while we watch. Doesn’t have to be real—I just wanna hear you beg." Natalie stared stared at the word livestream. That was the new push. Everyone wanted her live now. No edits. No filters. Just her, in real-time, sitting in a plastic high chair trying to act like a toddler in heat while hundreds of usernames with "Daddy" in them spammed the chat with emojis and encouragement. Natalie hadn't done it yet. Not that. She would leave the livestream on while she worked or got dressed. She didn’t mind given them a little voyeuristic peek into the monotony of her daily life and getting paid to do her own house chores or make lunch or pay the bills was a hell of a lot better than the office job she left weeks ago. Even if she did have to do it in diapers these days. But she hadn’t given them more than that. Not because she couldn’t. She had made far worse content for videos. But because the idea of watching herself perform while also seeing their reactions in real time made her stomach twist. She liked the delay. The control of it. The editing, the curation. Even the B-roll felt like armor. She’d glanced at the stream chat once and then vowed never again. Someone had typed “mommy’s watching,” and five others responded with matching eggplant emojis. Another asked what her diaper smelled like. She hadn’t even known that was a thing to ask and had a hard time masking her contempt with the camera rolling. Going live was like peeling off the last layer of plausible deniability. There was no cutting away when your voice cracks. No muting the part where you slip out of character. No closing the laptop when you realize you’re still wearing the same fishnets from three days ago because you haven’t done laundry and these are the ones that convert. Natalie minimized the tab and reached for her planner. Not the app—her actual paper planner, the one with pastel tabs and a sticker that said Slay the Day in cursive. It used to be full of job interviews and dentist appointments. Now the entire week was blocked out in shorthand that only made sense if you’d been to the darkest corners of Reddit. Mon: SPH Scripts – Finance Dom Tues: Pacifier Custom (milk only) Wed: Fishnet Wed! Thurs: ??? (Consider Livestream?) Fri: Check chargebacks. She’d written a little heart next to Thursday, as if that made it less bleak. Another ding. $50 tip this time. Caption: "Your thighs look so good in that chair. I wanna see you cry in it next time." Her phone vibrated, too. Carly, probably. Or her mom. She didn’t check. Just leaned back and let her eyes flutter shut for a second. The ring light buzzed faintly behind her, humming in the quiet. Her scalp was tight from the pigtail she wondered if she had any more baby wipes left. Wondered if she'd have to go out and buy more in person again. She wondered when she’d stopped caring. Natalie opened her eyes and looked at the camera. “Okay,” she whispered, pressing record again. “Let’s try that pout one more time, Daddy.” ----------- See more of my stories here: SubStar | Ream | Amazon

Chapter Eighteen “Oh, perfect timing. I was just about to take Barbie to your office. Do you want to take both of them? I’m sure Barbie wouldn’t mind pushing Jenny in the stroller!” Ashley pushed the stroller into the Nursery and walked around to loosen Jenny from her restraints. “Baby Jenny will actually be staying here with us for the night. Would you help me get her out? I can give Barbie a ride back to my office.” “Oh? Sounds like someone had a rough time in PPR…” Barbie and Jenny shared a glance at each other before Jenny looked away. She told me. Ashley told me. I could be going home right now.. The diapered women switched places, Jenny taking a seat on the play mat with a sigh as Barbie settling into the stroller. Ashley didn’t bother with the restraints, only using the harness to hold Barbie in place. It had been more than six months since their first stroller ride together, and Ashley could tell that Barbara was having one of her good days. “So, who’s on for tonight?” “Olivia. She’s going to have her hands full for sure. I bet she…” Jenny tried to eavesdrop to see what her future held, but Barbara was waving her over to the stroller. Crawling over, she came to a stop and looked up at the wise, diapered blonde woman expectantly. “Hey, take care of yourself in here, okay? If you haven’t wet your diaper yet, go ahead and do that before they switch shifts. Nanny Olivia can play real hot and cold, so try to stay on her good side. And you’ve got to stay away from the other girl that stays overnight.” Jenny spit out her pacifier. “Other girl?” “Yeah, she’s a real piece of work. I’ve spent a lot of nights with her in here and she always gets me in trouble, even if I’ve been good all day. Just be careful, okay? Her name is…” “Okay, Barbie! Let’s get you changed back into some grown-up clothes. Wave bye-bye to your new friend!” Barbie waved obediently and Jenny groaned as she felt one of the nannies lift her padded mitten and wave it as the stroller rolled away. Jenny let the sound of the stroller hide the faint hissing sound as she willingly wet herself for the first time in three decades. It felt just as warm and gross and uncomfortable as the first time, but this time she had full control over her stream. Tightening her muscles in shock after her initial burst, Jenny released again, slowly flooding her diaper with several bottles' worth of liquid. The stream came to its natural end, and Jenny paused as the thirsty padding soaked up her humiliation. In the time it took her to ponder whether she should push again to squeeze out the last few drops, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to see one of the nannies holding yet another bottle. “Come on, Baby Jenny. Time for one last bottle while she finishes up the paperwork for today.” The nanny walked across the play mat and Jenny followed on her hands and knees, feeling the familiar tingle as the wet padding squished between her legs with every movement and trying her hardest to not let her urges overwhelm her as she crawled across the nanny’s lap. Jenny looked up at the woman expectantly, hoping that the bulk of her diaper masked her squeezing her legs together to prolong her arousal before she was forced to down another bottle of mystery fluid. She looked at the bottle and groaned, a little louder than she would have liked, before the nanny stopped and looked at her diaper with a curious look. Oh, no. Shit. She knows. She knows! “What is all of this squirming about, little one? Does someone need to go pee-pee? You haven’t had a wet diaper since nap time, so I’m sure that you…oh…” Jenny looked up at the younger woman, knowing that she was busted. She was going to be spanked and humiliated again because she couldn’t learn to control her urges. Because, for some reason, her pervy little mind and undersexed body seemed to think that a wet diaper was now a source of arousal. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Good girl, Jenny! You wet your diaper all on your own. I’m so proud of you!” Jenny blushed at the infantile praise and was not at all opposed to the firm tapping the nanny was doing to the front of her diaper while she commended her lack of bladder control. She watched with confusion as the cap was put back on the bottle and Nanny reached into her apron pocket. “Good girls get treats.” Jenny followed the woman’s hand into and out of her apron pocket, eager for her treat. And there it was…That was the bottle. The one that Barbie had told her about. With that special fruit juice. Oh, god, did that sound good right now. She forgot all about her pulsating pussy and could almost taste the sweet juice on her tongue. The pacifier fell from her lips. “Please?” The two women stared at each other for a moment, Jenny unsure if she had ever wanted anything more desperately in her life. The nanny uncapped the bottle and held it up to her lips, letting her formerly fussy baby taste the sweet nectar. “I’ll take this over paperwork any day. You are so stinking cute, Baby Jenny. And such a good girl!” Jenny beamed and sucked down the sweet juice. Barbie was absolutely right. It was delicious, and she savored every sweet drop, already desperate to find a way to get another before this one was halfway through. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the nanny’s arms. BZZZ. BZZ. BZZZZZZZZZZ. Jenny’s eyes shot open as the vibrations consumed her diaper area. She looked up at the nanny with surprise and gratitude before her eyes rolled back and she moaned into the bottle. After all the spankings and humiliations and punishments, her senses were completely overloaded with the taste of juice and the strong vibrations that she was now thrusting her wet diaper into. As the bottle emptied, Jenny flicked the nipple with her tongue, morphing from sweet suckling to graphic blowjob techniques as the vibrations took her higher and higher to places she had never imagined. Her naptime orgasm was the most powerful she had ever experienced, and she was still trying to process those feelings when the new feelings bubbling inside of her threatened to completely dwarf that experience. “Mmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmmm.” Jenny closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment, allowing the last drops of juice to trickle down her throat as her body tensed and crested into what was now officially the best orgasm of her life. She laid her head down onto the nanny’s lap and sighed the contented sigh of someone that had been properly laid. “What’s up, bitches?! It’s time to….wait…what is she doing here?” o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Jenny’s eyes shot open, suddenly aware of how she must look, and scrambled out of the nanny’s lap, evidence of her shameful submission all around her. No. No. Please god, no. “Daisy! We have talked to you about using that kind of language. Come on. I see two little ones in need of diaper changes, and then you two are Olivia’s problem.” Jenny followed behind Daisy, who stomped and pouted her way towards the changing table. She crawled faster to try to hear what Daisy was mumbling to herself, the warm tingly feelings gone and replaced with cold and clammy shame. Maybe a diaper change is a good idea after all. She crawled to a stop a few feet from Daisy, who was already making a fuss over having her dress removed. Jenny looked at the cute girl in her little pull-ups. She had been so angry at Jenny for wearing panties while stuck in her training pants and Jenny couldn’t help but smile to learn that Daisy had been the biggest baby of them all. “What the fuck are you smiling about? Does she have to be here? Why can’t I…mmph? Mmmph!” “One more word out of you and you’re getting your mouth washed out. Leave Baby Jenny alone. She has been a good girl for me this afternoon. You could probably learn a lesson or two from her.” Jenny wasn’t sure why the childish praise always lit her up from the inside out, but there were a lot of things she didn’t understand about this place. She watched as Daisy’s shirt was removed, and even her socks and buckle shoes, until she was standing in nothing but a pull-up. The girl was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. With her long blonde hair and big blue eyes, she looked like any of the thousands of influencers that Jennifer had scrolled past on social media. Jenny would never deny their beauty. Just their ability to actually contribute anything useful to society. Daisy was pulled to the table and strapped down with minimal fuss while Jenny rose onto her knees to have her onesie unsnapped and pulled over her head until she, too, was left in nothing but her diaper and pacifier. “Hmmm…looks like you’re a little wet. Did little Daisy have an accident in her training pants?” “No…hmph!” Daisy looked away and Jenny smiled at the big bad bully who couldn’t even keep her training pants dry. The sides were torn away and Daisy squeaked through the required wiping, trying her best to wiggle away, but helpless to do anything with the straps holding her down. “Which diaper should we pick for Baby Daisy tonight? Hmmmm….Jenny, would you like to help pick Baby Daisy’s first diaper?” Oh god, yes. A million times yes. Jenny smiled and nodded, crawling towards the cubbies in her own soggy pampers. There were so many to choose from. Different thickness and colors and patterns. Jenny grinned and reached for the thickest and most babyish print she could find, only to look down and realize it was the same one that she was currently wearing. She shrugged and handed the puffy garment to the nanny who smiled and winked at her before handing the diaper to her counterpart. “Mmmph? Mmmph…” Daisy settled in with a pout, knowing from hundreds of changes on this very table that putting up a fight wasn’t worth the trouble. She obediently raised herself and let the soft diaper touch her pert bottom. As much as she hated all of this, even she had to admit that they were soft. As the nanny reached for the powder the door opened and Jenny braced herself for whoever else was coming to share in her shame. “Olivia!” “Hey girls, getting everything wrapped up? Oh, who’s this little cutie?” Jenny blushed again, wondering when or if she would stop reacting in the same childish way each time she was complimented with praise meant for a toddler. “This is Jenny, and she’s going to be spending the night, too. Like a sleepover! Her chart is over there next to Daisy’s.” The nanny picked up the powder to continue, eager to clock out and head home and let Daisy be someone else’s problem for the night. “Oh, hang on…Daisy? I’m looking at your potty chart. I see a few little pee drop stickers but…” “She actually had herself a little accident in her pull-ups over there, too.” “Mmmmph!!” Daisy banged her little fists on the changing table above her head and mounted her pointless protest. “Oh, did she now? Hang on, let me mark that down. I’ll be sure to let Miss Rachel know about that tomorrow morning..” “Mmmph!!” “Oh, hush, you…Her pull-up wasn’t messy, was it? I don’t see any smiling poop emoji stickers on your chart at all, Daisy. You know what that means..” Daisy spit out her pacifier and raised her head, adorable pigtails rocking back and forth. “Nooo! Please, Nanny Olivia! Please…not with her here. I’ll be good. I actually have to go right now!” Jenny watched the new nanny stroll across the room. She was shorter than the others, with more curves, and was dressed in something resembling pale green scrubs, similar to what Nurse Ashley wore, instead of the simple dress and aprons worn by the other nannies. She had a cute, round face with bright green eyes and dark hair pulled into a simple, no-nonsense ponytail. She glanced down at Jenny with a purposeful stare that made the diapered journalist release the last bit of pee she had been holding onto. Jenny turned to see the showdown between Daisy and the only woman who seemed to put fear in her. “Oh, Daisy…Nurse Ashley has made it very clear that you need to make your silly little boom-booms at least once every day. You had your chance in the preschool room..” “I can’t go in there! On the little training potties. Come on!” “You’ve done it before. I think you were just hoping we would forget.” Nanny Olivia leaned in close. “I never forget.” And, with that, the dark-haired nanny replaced Daisy’s pacifier and booped her on the nose. “Do it.” “Mmmph! Mmph! Mmmph!” Daisy cried out and pulled against her bonds, but she was no match for the three women. Nanny Olivia helped another Nanny to hold her flailing legs high into the air while the other reached into a small container to take out a pair of clear torpedo-shaped objects. Daisy’s objections became more and more desperate as the nanny’s gloved hand came closer to her bottom. “Mmmph! Mmm…no! Nooooo…..ugh….why?!” Daisy was quickly powdered and diapered, and Nanny Olivia replaced her pacifier once more. “You are just too cute when you pout. You and I are going to have fun tonight.” The diapered blonde continued her petulant ways, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the ticking-time bomb in her tummy went off. “And that just leaves…you…oh, you two are wearing matching diapers. That’s cute.” Jenny attempted to cover herself, suddenly remembering that she was topless in front of the only person in the room that hadn’t seen her naked or getting her diaper changed. She looked up at the curvy nanny, whose eyes darted back and forth between the chart and the older woman kneeling at her feet. “I don’t think we planned on having two tonight, and it’s just me. I can handle it, but your cute little diaper gave me an idea. We’re going twinsies tonight. You two are going to do everything together so that I don’t have to bounce back and forth taking care of two girls. Okay, get her on the table and get her changed, and then you two can head on out.” The nannies got to work, quickly lowering Daisy to the ground and securing Jenny in her place. Jenny watched as Daisy held her belly and squirmed, not at all jealous of what was happening there. Maybe being a good girl was paying off. Jenny stared at the ceiling as she was wiped and was somewhat relieved to feel the new diaper under her bottom, knowing she would be covered again soon. A handful of diaper changes weren’t enough to wipe away her sense of modesty. She laid back and waited for the soft powder to hit her skin, somehow already used to the routine. The pressure on her back door caused Jenny to pop her head up and spit out her pacifier as she scrambled to see what was happening. “Hey! What are you..oh…oh, god..no! I don’t need that…please…I wet my diaper. I was good! I don’t need to do that. Please…oh! Ugh…I don’t need TWO…please….please…PLEASE!” Jenny was desperate and looked around for help. Nanny Olivia merely smiled and shrugged. She made the mistake of looking at Daisy, who mouthed ‘twinsies’ between groans of her own. The powder fell, and the tapes were sealed and soon Jenny was on her knees next to her baby blonde adversary. She pawed at her diaper with her mittens, looking desperately at Nanny Olivia for help. “Oh, yeah…twinsies! Let’s do something about those mittens.” ------------------------- Grab the completed story HERE Ream | SubStar | Amazon | Free Monthly Story

CHAPTER ONE “Wait—was he the one with the rings or the one with the lip scar?” Lexi had her bare feet propped up on the dash, boots on the floor, toes wriggling through ripped fishnets. She was halfway through a gas station iced coffee that smelled like cake frosting and chemicals. No jacket. No sense of the cold seeping through the car windows. Typical. Harper didn’t look over. She kept her eyes on the GPS, which hadn’t shown a road name in ten minutes. Just a thick blue line slicing through the woods like it knew where it was going. “Lip scar,” Lexi muttered. “I think.” She made a pleased noise and stretched out like she was sunbathing, not hurtling down a rural two-lane road in the dark in a red corset and dollar-store horns. “He was hot.” Jules made a sound from the back seat—somewhere between a scoff and a sigh—but didn’t look up from her phone. The black eyeliner was already smudging at the corners, and her fishnet gloves were making it impossible to scroll. Harper had watched her try to refresh Instagram at least six times since they left town. Harper reached down and turned the music down two notches. Lexi didn’t notice. The same bass-heavy remix had been looping for almost half an hour. Something about it was starting to feel mechanical. “How far is it?” Jules asked. Her voice was even, like always. Harper didn’t have to look to know she was staring out the window, thumb tapping idle circles on her thigh. Lexi answered before Harper could. “Like, almost there. Probably another five minutes.” “You said that ten minutes ago.” “No, I said almost. Which is a vibe, not a measurement.” Jules groaned and flopped sideways against the window. “I should’ve just gone to my sister’s. She made pumpkin bread and has real Wi-Fi.” “You hate your sister,” Harper reminded her. “I do,” Jules said. “But she has cinnamon butter and a couch that doesn’t smell like body spray and regret.” Lexi snorted. “Your sister’s hot, though. If we die tonight, can I haunt her?” Harper smiled in spite of herself. She kept her eyes forward, one hand loose on the wheel, the other hovering near the console. Her thumb tapped the same rhythm against the gear shift she always used when she was trying not to get annoyed. It didn’t work. “So,” Harper said carefully, “how exactly do you know this guy again?” “I told you already,” Lexi said, still swiping through her camera roll. “I met him at Gutter last weekend. He was at the bar with that group of guys doing the stupid ‘no smiling until you talk to me first’ thing.” “You mean the guy who negged you about your earrings and then bought you a shot?” Lexi grinned. “Yeah. But it was a really good shot.” Harper didn’t respond. She slowed the car slightly, just enough to avoid the crater of a pothole that had probably killed someone’s axle. “He said he was going to this party,” Lexi went on, “but it’s like, low-key. Private. Not one of those open invite disasters. He said they’re doing a whole vibe—like real music, actual decor, no dudes in morphsuits dry humping the walls.” “And you just… asked for the address?” “I said I wanted in, and he said he’d send me the pin drop,” Lexi replied, like that explained everything. Jules lifted her head a little, just enough to glance out the window. “Did he give you a flyer or a name or literally anything else?” “No,” Lexi said, frowning. “He said not to share it.” “So we’re driving to a second location on Halloween night because some guy with a lip scar and no last name told you it was gonna be cool?” “He had really good bone structure,” Lexi said. “You’re welcome.” Harper tightened her grip on the wheel. The road was narrowing. Gravel now, not pavement. No shoulder. No lights. Just trees. They hadn’t passed another car in fifteen minutes. Not since that crazy BMW had gone flying by and almost run them off the road. There hadn’t been a turnoff in almost ten. The last house they saw had boarded windows and a political sign from two elections ago. Lexi glanced over, sensing the shift. “You’re being weird.” “I’m being cautious,” Harper said. “You dragged us into the middle of nowhere on vibes and a Snap location from a guy who didn’t even give you a real name.” “I think it started with a D,” Lexi offered. Harper sighed so hard she fogged the windshield. “Can you just double-check the address?” “I put it in right,” Lexi shrugs. “It said 419 Baxter Hollow Road. That’s what Danny said. No...Dylan?” Jules made a noise that might have been laughter. “He was nice!” Lexi snapped. “God. You guys are so judgy.” “No,” Harper said quietly. “We’re trying not to end up in a Netflix documentary.” Lexi rolled her eyes. “Whatever. We’re almost there.” The road curved, and for a second it looked like there was a house through the trees, but it turned out to be nothing. Just shadows and brush and more road. She should have said no. When Lexi showed her the pin drop and said “just drive me, I swear it’s legit”, Harper should have laughed. But it had been a long week, and the idea of getting out—even just for a night—sounded better than being alone. And now here they were. Middle of nowhere. No signal. A boy with a maybe-name. One bar on her phone, flickering in and out. “We can turn around,” Harper said. She didn’t really expect them to. “If this is sketchy, I mean. We don’t have to do it.” Lexi looked at her. “You think it’s sketchy?” “I don’t know. It’s just… off.” “You’re the one who said you needed a night,” Lexi said. “You literally said that. You said, ‘I need to not be in my head for once.’ And I was like, okay, cool, here’s a party, let’s go. That was the deal.” Jules didn’t say anything. Harper felt her face heat up. She gripped the wheel a little tighter. They drove another minute in silence. Jules lifted her head just enough to glance around. “Where the hell is everyone? Shouldn’t we be seeing cars? Or drunk girls in angel wings puking on the lawn?” Harper didn’t say anything. A branch scraped across the side of the car as they took another curve too fast. She winced and eased her foot off the gas. “Maybe they all Ubered?” Lexi offered. “Or they parked in back. Or maybe we’re early.” “It’s after nine.” “Then maybe it’s one of those haunted parties where everyone’s quiet on purpose.” Harper squinted through the windshield. The house emerged like a secret. Three stories of peeling paint and slanted porch, every window dark. No lights. No music. No people. It looked like something out of a YouTube documentary called “Five Places You Should NEVER Explore Alone.” Lexi leaned forward, nose to the glass. “Ooh. That’s hot.” “That’s haunted,” Jules corrects. Harper pulled the car up along the dirt driveway and stopped. The engine hummed too loud in the silence. There were no other cars. No porch light. No sound but wind and whatever was creaking inside those shutters. “So,” Harper says, “now what?” Lexi was already unbuckling. “Now we go in.” “Are you— Lexi. No. This is literally how horror movies start,” Harper says. “Blonde girl in a tiny costume walks into a cursed house while her friends beg her not to.” “Exactly.” Lexi grinned and popped the door. Harper shivered as the cold air rushed in. “I look amazing. This is my moment.” “You’re gonna get possessed,” Jules said. “Or eaten.” “Worth it.” She stepped out into the gravel, heels crunching. Red lace, black horns, zero hesitation. Harper and Jules sat there staring after her like they were watching someone walk off a cliff in slow motion. Jules broke first. “So we’re following her?” “I guess.” “Cool. Can’t wait to be murdered in a slutty cat costume. That’s been my dream since middle school.” Harper killed the engine. The car clicked slowly as it cooled. Her stupid French maid skirt rode up when she leaned forward, the tulle catching on the seatbelt like it had a vendetta. She opened her door and stepped out, heart ticking louder with every step toward the porch, where Lexi was already knocking like she was delivering pizza. Behind her, Jules sighed and muttered under her breath. “We’re so fucking dead.” o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Lexi knocked again. Three sharp raps, like the house owed her money. Nothing. She turned and looked at them, eyes wide and expectant and shrugged. “Maybe the music’s just in the back.” Harper stayed by the car. Her boots crunched lightly in the gravel, and she felt the cold in her teeth. The air had that brittle, too-still quality—like snow was about to fall even though the sky didn’t look ready. Behind her, a branch snapped. Just a deer, probably. Maybe. Jules didn’t move. “I’m not going up there unless someone answers the door.” Lexi tried the knob. “Lex,” Harper warned. “It’s open,” Lexi said, with the kind of grin people usually have right before saying something like ‘Hold my beer.’ She stepped inside without waiting. The porch boards creaked under her heels. Harper felt her chest tighten, not out of fear exactly—more like that specific kind of exasperated panic you get when your friend decides to do mushrooms at a Waffle House. Harper followed. The house swallowed her the second she crossed the threshold. The air inside was different. Stiller. Warmer, somehow—but not in a comforting way. More like the heat that rises off electronics when they’ve been running too long. Lexi was already halfway down the front hall, peeking into rooms like she was shopping for a haunted mansion. “Guys, this is so cute. It’s giving… deranged Martha Stewart. Come look!” “Nope,” Jules said, still on the porch. “Hard pass.” Harper looked back and forth between them—her chaos demon of a best friend stomping through some abandoned hellhouse in stilettos, and her doomsday-prepping introvert who probably already mapped the escape route twice. She took a breath and stepped inside, calling out—soft, instinctual—“Hello?” Nothing. Just the thud of Lexi’s heels against old wood and the occasional chirp of floorboards settling like bones cracking. Jules finally caved. She stepped inside but hovered by the door, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “There’s no one here, Lex. I’m serious. We should go.” Lexi popped back around the corner. “There’s a bar set up in the kitchen. Like, full-on spread. Real cups. Garnishes. Who goes to that much trouble for a prank?” “Serial killers,” Jules offered. “Event planners,” Lexi countered. Harper felt it too. That weird almost right vibe, like everything had been cleaned too recently. Like someone wanted it to look lived-in. There were coats hung by the door. A purse slouched on the side table. A pair of boots by the stairs. But no people. “You said he sent you the pin drop,” Harper said, lowering her voice. “Did it look like a business? Or someone’s actual house?” “I don’t know, it was just a dropped pin,” Lexi said. “God, you’re making it weird.” “It’s already weird.” Lexi scoffed. “If this is a prank, it’s a really elaborate one. Like, rich kid levels of commitment.” Harper turned slowly in place. The wallpaper was old, yellowed at the edges, curling just slightly in the corners. She felt her stomach dip. Jules crept in a little further, phone still held like a weapon. “I don’t like this. There’s no dust. Look at the floors. No footprints. No drag marks. It’s like someone… staged it.” Lexi rolled her eyes and disappeared toward the kitchen again. “You guys are just mad you didn’t get invited to cool parties in high school.” “I was the cool party,” Jules called after her. “I just didn’t invite guys with face scars and mystery houses in the woods.” Harper moved toward the staircase, eyes scanning. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Proof this was a mistake? Proof it wasn’t? The front door slammed and all three of them froze. Harper spun first but Jules was already there—reaching for the knob. She twisted it. Locked. “Lexi,” she said sharply. “Did you close it?” “No.” “Did you lock it?” “No!” Lexi said, appearing from the kitchen with a bottle of something neon pink in her hand. “Why would I—” Click. The sound came from upstairs. Like a door being closed. Soft. Deliberate. They all looked up. Harper could see the second floor landing, a railing lined with little decorative pumpkins. And one of them was new. Wet. Like it had just been carved. A little triangle grin still gleaming with pulp. Jules moved closer to Harper. Her voice was quiet. “We need to leave.” Harper nodded. Lexi didn’t. “Guys,” she said. “There’s a bowl of full-size candy bars in the kitchen.” Jules looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “That’s bait, Lex.” “Okay, but like, good bait.” Another sound. This time from the basement. A whirring hum, like a generator. The music started. Somewhere distant. Something old. Scratched. A slow, low waltz. Lexi looked toward the sound. “Okay… now it’s a vibe.” Harper’s voice was flat. “Lex.” “What?” “This is a murder house.” “Correction,” Jules said. “It’s a murder home. With ambiance.” Harper turned toward the door. “We’re leaving.” “Guys—” “Now.” --------------------------- Trapped in the Nursery is the first book in a new Haunted Halloween Trilogy and my subscribers on Ream and SubStar got to read this book AS IT WAS BEING WRITTEN with chapter drops almost every day. Their comments and questions helped to shape this story in real-time. And that could be you. Check out Trapped in the Nursery on Amazon or join us on Ream and SubStar to read DOZENS of stories like this and be part of crafting the next one. SubStar | Ream | Amazon

CHAPTER SIX Morning light spilled through the small kitchen window, catching on the edge of the high chair’s plastic tray like a spotlight. Kaleigh shifted in the high chair, the soft squish of her wet diaper making her wince every time she adjusted her weight. She tried to focus on anything else—on the way the light pooled across the worn tile, on the faint floral pattern of the wallpaper—but her skin buzzed with discomfort. She’d woken up in the middle of the night with that awful, aching pressure in her bladder and nowhere to put it. The crib bars had loomed like prison bars, and even though she’d tried—God, she’d really tried—to hold it, the fear of waking The Sheriff was worse than the shame of soaking herself. She cried quiet, angry tears that went hot down her cheeks as the diaper grew warm beneath her. Hours later, Vicky had walked in like it was nothing. Like this had been expected. Kaleigh had tried to sit up, to tug the blanket higher and beg for her clothes and a shower and some freaking dignity, but Vicky had just taken her hand—soft, calm, inevitable—and led her straight to the kitchen like she was five years old and being marched to time-out. By the time Kaleigh realized what was happening, she was already in the high chair, strapped in, soggy, and small. “Oh, ummm…” she tried, her voice hesitant, a wobbly attempt at normalcy. “I don’t really like oatmeal. Maybe… cereal? Or just some coffee before we get on the road?” She felt ridiculous even saying it, like she was trying to pretend this was just a regular morning, just a weird breakfast at a stranger’s table. But Vicky was already bustling around the kitchen, the quiet clink of dishes and the low hum of the kettle filling the air. Kaleigh watched her, half-hoping for a spark of understanding in her eyes, something that said this was all just a weird joke. But there was nothing. Vicky had changed into a simple dress, something plain and neat that almost made her look normal. But Kaleigh’s eyes kept darting to the hem, to the soft curve of her hips. She couldn’t see the pull-up, couldn’t be sure, but the thought of it made her stomach twist. Vicky caught her staring and gave her a small, embarrassed smile, her cheeks flushing before she turned away. A moment later, a bowl of thick, sticky oatmeal landed in front of her. A bright plastic spoon, too big and too small all at once, and a sippy cup of milk that made Kaleigh’s heart stutter in her chest. She stared at it. The smell of the oatmeal was cloying, heavy in the warm air. Meanwhile, the rich, smoky scent of bacon and eggs drifted from the stove, and her stomach twisted with a sharp, hungry pang. “Or maybe I could have some bacon and eggs?” she tried again, her voice soft, hopeful. “If it’s not too much trouble, I mean.” “Silly girl…you have your breakfast right here.” Kaleigh looked up and there he was—The Sheriff. He paused in the doorway, his calm, polite smile a neat contrast to the low, thumping panic that burst hot in her chest. “Good morning, girls,” he said evenly, like they were just three people having a quiet breakfast. Kaleigh’s stomach flipped. She tried to square her shoulders, to find some scrap of defiance left in her chest, but her voice was stuck and her face burned as she squirmed in the padded seat. Vicky gave a small, nervous smile. “Good morning, dear,” she said softly, moving closer with that warm, patient way she always seemed to have. “Let’s make sure our little guest is ready for breakfast, hmm?” the Sheriff said, his voice mild but edged with something else—something that made Kaleigh’s hands clench tight around the tray in front of her. “Oh. Yes… sorry, dear,” Vicky murmured. She gave Kaleigh a small, apologetic look, her mouth tight. She set the oatmeal bowl down and turned to Kaleigh, her hands reaching for the snaps at the crotch of the onesie. Kaleigh’s hands flew down instinctively, covering the small metal buttons. “Hey—stop. What are you doing?” she stammered, her voice sharp with panic. The Sheriff’s gaze flicked up from the paper for a second, calm and level. “Where’s Kaleigh’s pacifier, honey?” he asked, his voice low and measured. “You know little girls should be seen and not heard.” Kaleigh’s stomach flipped and the quiet finality in his voice made her mouth go dry. Vicky didn’t say a word but her eyes flicked down with a subtle raise of her eyebrow, and Kaleigh’s eyes followed—down to the soft restraints dangling from the sides of the high chair. Straps she hadn’t noticed before. She swallowed, her throat tight. Oh. She understood. Kaleigh cheeks burned as her lips parted, voice catching on the first breath of protest, but Vicky gave her a look—soft, pleading—and Kaleigh hesitated, then opened her mouth to let the rubbery shape slide between her lips once more. She sucked in a shaky breath around it, her shoulders stiff and hated how small it made her feel, how the soft rubber filled her mouth and left her silent. She let her hands fall away, hating how adorable she knew she looked pouting behind a pacifier. Vicky’s fingers worked the snaps open, the quiet pop of each one echoing in the bright kitchen. She peeled the onesie away from Kaleigh’s hips, the thick diaper exposed in the morning light. Kaleigh’s cheeks burned hotter. She hated how exposed she felt—how the Sheriff’s eyes didn’t linger, didn’t gawk, but saw her all the same. Vicky wiggled the onesie over her hips and then over her head, leaving her topless and shivering in the warm kitchen air. The Sheriff didn’t linger—he just gave a small nod of approval, turning a page of his paper like this was just… normal. Kaleigh’s fingers formed tiny rigid balls that shook as she fought to control the urge to reach up and cover herself, but she could already tell that would be a mistake. The bib came next. Vicky slipped it around her neck, tying it snugly at the back. The soft fabric brushed over her bare skin, making her feel even smaller. “There now,” the Sheriff said, his voice still smooth, as he glanced up over the top of his paper. “Much better. Feed Kaleigh so that you can eat your breakfast,” he said calmly. “Yes, dear,” Vicky replied, her voice hushed. She took the first spoonful of oatmeal, moving slow and careful. Kaleigh turned her head away, making a soft whimper behind the pacifier. The pacifier came out and clinked softly on the tray and Kaleigh felt the air rush back in, her lips tingling where the rubber had been. Her voice was breathless, desperate. “Please—I don’t like this. I can feed myself, okay? I’m not—” Vicky’s eyes met hers, patient and unyielding. “Let’s just get through breakfast, sweetie,” she said softly, the faint tremor in her smile belying the firmness in her voice. The first spoonful of oatmeal came in slow and deliberate. Kaleigh pulled her head back, making a face that was half defiance, half disgust. “Ew—no, please—” But Vicky just shushed her gently, the first spoonful pressing insistently to her lips. Kaleigh swallowed, the thick, sticky taste of the oatmeal making her gag. She tried not to make a face, but it was thick and bland and she couldn’t help it. “Ugh—gross,” she mumbled, her face twisting. The Sheriff’s brow twitched up, his eyes moving to the cuffs again. He flipped his paper with a soft rustle, his calm voice breaking the silence. “If Kaleigh can’t be trusted to eat nicely, Vicky, you know what you have to do.” Kaleigh’s eyes darted to the cuffs again, cold dread curling in her gut. “I think she can be a good girl, dear,” Vicky said softly, her eyes on Kaleigh’s. “She’s just… settling in,” she said quietly. Vicky didn’t stop. Another spoonful. Another. Kaleigh’s hands twitched, wanting to push it away, but she caught the Sheriff’s quiet, patient stare and let them fall back to her lap. She looked around the kitchen, her eyes flicking from the battered chalkboard to the floral dish towels, the soft, worn edges of the wooden table. There was a calendar on the wall, neat squares filled in with little notes—potluck, book club, repairs. It was all so normal. So sweet and cozy. Like it belonged in a different world. She watched the Sheriff out of the corner of her eye—how he sipped his coffee, how he turned the pages of his paper without even looking at her. Like the half-naked college girl was just… background noise during his morning routine. Vicky kept feeding her. Slow, patient spoonfuls. Every few bites, Kaleigh’s hands twitched up to wipe her mouth, but Vicky’s gentle slap kept them down. The Sheriff’s eyes flicked up with each motion, his brow raised in a silent question. “Good girl,” she murmured, dabbing at the oatmeal that clung to Kaleigh’s chin. “You’re doing so well.” Kaleigh hated it. Hated how she let herself be fed, how she swallowed down each bite even though her stomach turned. What the hell are these people? she thought desperately, her eyes darting between them as her mind flickered from panic to confusion and back again. What is this? A cult? Some weird kink? She shifted in the high chair, the wet diaper pressing into her skin, the bib heavy around her neck. She didn’t understand any of it, didn’t know how she’d ended up here or how she’d ever get out. Kaleigh tried not to look at him, but every so often, her eyes flicked up—watching the calm way he sipped his coffee, the quiet, unbothered way he flipped the pages of his paper while she sat there in nothing but a diaper and a bib, being spoon-fed like a toddler. Finally, Vicky set the spoon down, her shoulders relaxing for the first time. “Can Kaleigh drink her milk while I eat my breakfast?” she asked softly. The Sheriff’s eyes lifted just enough to meet Vicky’s. He didn’t say a word, just gave Vicky a small, approving nod that made something in Kaleigh’s chest go tight and cold, before going back to his paper. Kaleigh picked up the sippy cup with both hands, the childish shape of it awkward in her grip as Vicky took the seat next to her at the table. She watched as Vicky closed her eyes and took one slow, cleansing breath before opening her eyes and beginning her meal. Kaleigh drank milk from the sippy cup, the soft plastic spout childish and humiliating against her lips, and watched them eat their real breakfast—bacon and eggs, real food that smelled so good it made her stomach cramp. She wondered about the fresh-baked muffins that Miss Sandy had promised would be waiting and when her team would come looking for her. She shifted in the high chair, the wet diaper squishing beneath her, and wondered how far this would go. How much longer she’d have to keep playing along. What are you doing, Kaleigh? she thought, a sick twist of panic deep in her chest. What the hell did you let them do to you? o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Kaleigh drank slowly, watching the couple—this domestic, normal breakfast that felt like a scene from someone else’s life. She shifted in the high chair, the damp squish of the diaper a constant reminder that she didn’t belong here. Her stomach flipped every time she caught the Sheriff’s eyes flicker up from his paper—calm, distant, but seeing her all the same. She let her gaze drift to the cover of the thick book he had propped up beside his plate. A Clash of Kings. The gold-and-black lettering gleamed in the bright morning light. Kaleigh blinked, heart racing a little. Normal conversation. Just… normal. That’s what she needed. “Is that… Game of Thrones?” she tried, her voice small and tight. “I never read the books, but… I really liked the show. How are the books?” The silence that followed was immediate and heavy. The Sheriff’s eyes lifted from the page, fixing on her with a slow, deliberate calm that made her skin prickle. He looked at her like she was a stain on the tablecloth—something small and intrusive that didn’t belong. “This,” he said softly, the faintest edge of disdain curling around the word, “is the problem with the world out there, Vicky. Little girls like Kaleigh shouldn’t be filling their heads with… this.” He tapped the spine of the book lightly, his fingers precise and controlled. “Mature subject matter. Violence. Power struggles. Little girls should be seen and not heard.” Kaleigh’s cheeks flushed hot, the words sparking something small and angry in her chest. “I’m not a little girl,” she said quickly, her voice brittle with defiance. “I—” She didn’t get to finish. The Sheriff shifted in his chair, rising up to his full frame—broad and towering, his shadow falling across the table like a final verdict. Kaleigh’s breath caught, her words dying in her throat. She immediately regretted her decision. “Oh… oh, shit…” she whispered, the small, shaking curse slipping out without thought. Vicky’s head snapped up, her fork clattering softly to the table. “I’ll handle this, dear. Why don’t you finish your breakfast and I… I’ll take her back to the nursery,” she said quickly, her voice too light, too sweet. “Get her changed, dear. She’s just… she’s adjusting, she didn’t mean—” “No.” His voice was steady, like the word had already been decided long before she spoke. His eyes stayed on Kaleigh, calm and cold and final. “Do it here. Now.” Vicky’s breath stuttered, her hands trembling faintly in her lap. “Oh… I don’t have any changing supplies here—” “No, Vicky. Don’t change her here. For fuck’s sake, do I need to spell everything out for you?” His eyes slid back to Kaleigh, and he let the silence stretch, just long enough to feel the weight pressing down on her shoulders. “Take the little princess out of the high chair,” he said quietly. “Take off her diaper. Put her over your lap. And spank her little bottom until she is crying and a very sorry little girl. Is that clear enough for you?” Kaleigh’s mouth went dry. Her fingers fumbled at the edges of the tray, her breath coming in short, panicked little gasps. “No, please—” she tried, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” But Vicky was already moving, her face pale, her lips pressed tight. She reached for the tray, the quiet click of the latch ringing in Kaleigh’s ears. Kaleigh’s breath caught in her chest. Her hands fumbled at the tray, fingers clenching tight as her pulse pounded in her ears. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. The Sheriff didn’t say another word. He just watched, calm and patient, as Vicky unbuckled the straps and guided her out of the high chair. Kaleigh’s legs kicked uselessly as she was lifted out, the diaper sagging between her legs with every movement. She felt the tapes rip away with a soft, sticky sound that made her stomach clench as the diaper fell to the floor with a wet, heavy thud. Kaleigh’s face burned hot, her whole body shaking as she was turned, until her bare skin met the soft cotton of her lap. Kaleigh’s face hovered just above the wet diaper on the floor, the smell sharp and shameful in her nose. Kaleigh gripped the legs of the chair in front of her, her arms tense and trembling. “I’m sorry—please, I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice thin and frantic, her mind racing with half-formed thoughts. This isn’t happening. I can’t… I can’t do this. But the words didn’t matter. The Sheriff turned a page in his book, calm as ever. And Vicky’s hand hovered over her bare skin—hesitant for a moment, then firm. SMACK! The first sharp crack echoed in the quiet kitchen, and Kaleigh’s breath went ragged in her chest. The tears came hot and fast, but she bit them back, trying to stay quiet. SMACK! The next smack sent another shudder through her—each one a humiliating punctuation in a morning that already felt too full of them. She gripped the legs of the chair in front of her, her knuckles white, the wooden edges biting into her palms. “No—please—Vicky, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Her voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a rush that made her chest ache. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. Another smack. And another. Each one a sudden, bright flare of pain that made her legs kick uselessly against the floor. She tried to twist away, tried to pull her hands back to cover herself, but Vicky’s gentle hold kept her right where she was. Kaleigh’s body felt like it was stuck in two places at once—her chest heaving with frantic, half-formed protests while her mind fizzled with a sick, dizzy disbelief. I can’t believe this is happening. No—no—this isn’t real. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. “Please—I’m sorry—please stop—” Kaleigh babbled, her voice high and breathless, her words slurred together as she tried to keep herself from sobbing out loud. The Sheriff just watched, his eyes calm and steady, as Vicky’s hand came down again, the sharp crack echoing in the small kitchen. Kaleigh’s took in a sudden gasp of air, her face going red as the tears finally slipped free, hot and mortifying. She bit down on her lip, trying to stifle the sounds, but it didn’t help—every sob felt like it echoed in the bright, cheery kitchen. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. Kaleigh hated how small she felt. The soft, rhythmic smacks of Vicky’s hand made her feel like she wasn’t even real anymore. Just a doll. Just a plaything in their neat little morning routine. Finally, Vicky paused, her hand resting soft and warm on Kaleigh’s lower back, her breathing ragged. Kaleigh’s own breath came in short, wet little gasps, her cheeks streaked with tears. She kept her eyes down, staring at the floor, at the faint, sticky shine of the wet diaper that felt like the final, humiliating blow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely there. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good. Please—no more.” The silence that followed was jagged, brittle in the warm morning light. Kaleigh’s shoulders slumped in relief, her whole body shaking as Vicky’s hand slid gently up her back. She could feel the warmth of the woman’s palm, but it didn’t reach the cold knot in her gut. No one moved, and Kaleigh’s heart thudded like a trapped bird in her chest as she stood, naked and trembling before the deranged couple. The Sheriff’s chair scraped back with a sharp, angry squeal that made both women flinch. He pushed up to his full height, towering and rigid, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He didn’t look at Vicky. He didn’t even glance at Kaleigh. His gaze was fixed on some far point beyond the kitchen window, his jaw tight, his breath coming in slow, harsh pulls. “I expect to see a very different little girl at lunch,” he said, the words low and clipped—like they were dragged out of him by something that didn’t care how they landed. He turned on his heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a sharp, final crack that made Kaleigh jump. The kitchen felt impossibly still now, with only the soft, anxious trail of Vicky’s fingers across Kaleigh’s trembling thighs. “Come on, dear,” Vicky said softly, her voice a thread of calm she didn’t seem to believe in herself. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” Kaleigh nodded, her head swimming. She let Vicky help her to her feet, her mind caught somewhere between the raw fear of his voice and the horrible, humiliating question of what the Sheriff would expect next. What are you doing, Kaleigh? she thought wildly, her breath catching in her chest. What the hell are you letting them turn you into? -------------------------------- The Sweet Hollow series is a psychological thriller mystery. Follow along as Kaleigh and the other girls from the bus discover the mysteries of this sleepy little town that seems determined to turn them into helpless little girls. You can read the ENTIRE 55k word story RIGHT NOW on Ream or SubscribeStar or grab it now on Amazon. Book 2 in the Sweet Hollow Series (Peyton: The Tomboy Tamed) launched last month and Book 3 came out last week (Erin: The Mayor's Favorite Toy). You can read the first few chapters of each book on Ream or SubscribeStar. Read more here: SubStar | Ream | Amazon

Chapter Seventeen “Hey, girl…how you holding up?” Jenny sucked on her pacifier and stared up at Nurse Ashley. Logically, she knew that it had only been a few hours since she had last seen the woman, but so much had changed in that time. Ashley looked exactly the same but Jennifer was very, very different now. She wasn’t just a reporter playing dress-up anymore. This was more than being embarrassed by outfits or nudity or a weird experience. More than being displayed or spanked. She had changed. Jenny didn’t feel like a professional journalist dressed as a baby for a story. She felt like a baby. Strapped into a stroller with her hands and feet locked in thick padded mittens and booties, Jenny had no autonomy. She couldn’t get out of her stroller or take off her diaper even if she wanted to. And it wasn’t about what Jennifer wanted anymore. That ship had long since sailed. It was now about what Jenny was allowed to do. She certainly wasn’t allowed to dress or undress herself. Or touch her diapers. Or go to the bathroom. Even the humiliating training potties felt like an unreachable mountaintop now. She had wet herself. Many times. Several of those in an actual diaper. And it wasn’t treated as strange or unusual. It was expected. It was what she was supposed to do. Jennifer Brooks, respected journalist, would never wear these humiliating outfits or give up so much control of herself. But Baby Jenny…She wore and filled her diapers like a good girl before getting changed by the nannies. She was fed baby food and drank from baby bottles in a high chair. Jenny wasn’t even allowed to use her voice. Pacified and with no way to write, she couldn’t save herself with words as she had done so many times in the past. She sucked on her pacifier and stared up at the woman who had started it all. “Jenny, are you okay? Jennifer?” Ashley bent forward to pluck out the diapered woman’s pacifier, and Jenny blinked up at her. “Oh, umm….hi…Nurse Ashley.” Ashley squatted down to stay face to face with the woman for a moment. “Oh, wow…they really did a number on you. Come on, we’ve got a few minutes before you’re scheduled for PPR.” o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o They stood at the door and waited until it opened in a flurry of activity. “Oh, I’m sorry. Excuse me…oh…Jennifer?!” Jenny offered a small smile behind her pacifier for the redheaded yoga teacher that had made her feel normal in this crazy place. It was just another reminder of how far she had fallen and how powerful the effects of this place had on the women that went through the process. Nurse Ashley turned and smiled at the red-headed adult preschooler. “Hey Jodi, how did you do?” “Oh, ummm….good, I think? They just asked me some questions and then gave me a little spanking. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Is Jennifer next? Is it the same for her?” This was another new part of Jenny’s life that was taking some getting used to, where she was talked about, like she was an object, or something too small and cute to be trusted with even answering simple questions. Just another lack of autonomy for the normally self-sufficient young woman. “Well, it’s a little different for her but, like you, it’s nothing she can’t handle.” Jodi looked at the diapered woman, sensing a lot more than an outfit change had happened since they last saw each other. She reached down to hold Jenny’s hand and, seeing the padded mittens, settled for letting her fingertips graze the woman’s forearms again. “Hey, you’re going to be fine and you’ll be out of here soon and back to normal. Maybe you want to come take a yoga class sometime?” Jennifer nodded, mostly because she was used to going along with whatever questions were asked of her. An invitation like that was something that Jennifer Brooks would have politely declined or expressed interest in to appease the asker while having no intention of ever actually showing up. But Jenny was certainly open to trying new things and it would be nice to see Jodi again in a more normal environment. Jodi smiled and waved after Ashley confirmed that she would make sure Jennifer left with her contact info. Jenny attempted a wave, but with her padded mittens and restraints, had to settle for a weak smile. “Okay, are you ready? You’re going to be fine. Just do whatever they ask and I’ll be here when you get out to take you back to the nursery, okay?” Jenny nodded and held her breath as the door opened, and she was rolled inside. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o The lights were bright; blinding, even. Jenny squinted and looked out at the large viewing window as her stroller rolled to a stop and the wheel locks were activated. Jenny wasn’t going anywhere. There was a mid-sized crowd on the other side of the glass, made up of men and women of all ages. Some were eating snacks, but all had a hungry look in their eyes. Despite her many humiliating predicaments thus far, she had never felt more on display than at this moment, like an animal in a zoo with eager spectators waiting for her to perform. She sucked on her pacifier, growing to appreciate that she wasn’t expected to speak when the silencer was activated. “Jennifer Brooks, Age Thirty-Eight.” Jenny looked up at the screen with her mugshot, feeling like it was so long ago. It had seemed silly at the time. She looked into the eyes of the old her, wondering if she would ever be that person again or if something had fundamentally changed within her. “Sentenced to one day at The Academy after receiving nine swats with the Board of Education in open court this morning.” The screen changed, showing a split screen of her from the front and the back during her very public paddling. She looked at her blazer and her basic gray panties and it all just felt like she was watching a movie of a different person. Jenny shifted in her stroller, hearing the crinkling of her thick diapers. “After her initial session with Nurse Ashley, Jennifer was taken to the Classroom.” Jennifer sat there in her schoolgirl uniform at her desk, presumably writing her essay. “...where she was spanked for trying to preserve her modesty and writing dirty stories instead of her assigned work.” “Mmmph?” Jenny looked at the images as they flashed by on the screen: holding her skirt up next to Maria, writing lines on the board without her skirt, bent over for her spanking. Wait, did they have pictures of everything? EVERYTHING? “When Jennifer could not handle the stresses of the Classroom, she was demoted to the Preschool Room with Miss Rachel.” Photos of her as an adorable preschooler came onto the screen. She saw herself seated at the table with Jodi, and then on training potties with Jodi, and then…” “Initially the Preschool Room seemed like a good fit for Jennifer and a place where she could reflect on the error of her ways and learn to be the good girl we know she could be. She colored and played with friends. She passed her panty check and made tinkles on the potty like a good girl. By the end of her time, Jennifer was the only girl in the room that was not wearing training pants and was proving to be an excellent role modell for the others to look up to. But, the Preschool Room also proved to be too much for Jennifer…” Her wet panties filled the screen. Tears and wet clothes and Daisy sitting beside her looking mortified at the ‘accident’ she caused. “Mmmph? Mmph!” There were no pictures of Daisy tickling her. Holding her down and forcing her to wet herself. If they have pictures of everything else, surely they had pictures of that! Why were they not showing it? What were they trying to hide? Jennifer’s journalistic integrity sprung to life as she felt the cold injustice of the situation. And not just for her. If this is how this PPR thing worked, then she likely was not the only one to fall victim to it. The system really was rigged. This wasn’t fair. She watched in graphic detail as her clothing was removed and she was powdered and diapered, with Daisy smiling and helping next to her. “It seems that Miss Brooks had some incontinence issues and had an accident in the Preschool room. Luckily, some of the more responsible girls were there to lend a helping hand.” “Mmmph?! Mmmph!” What the fuck? Now she was just getting angry. This is NOT what happened. They were portraying a false narrative of her story in order to show their version of the facts. This was not right. This was not okay. “After her demotion to diapers, Baby Jenny, unfortunately, continued her downfall and put up quite a fight while her nanny was just trying to keep her well nourished and hydrated. You can see that the woman next to her handled the situation with as much dignity as one could muster, but this proved to be too much for Baby Jenny.” Jennifer had to look away as she saw the photos of her covered in baby food and being force fed bottles in the high chair. In some pictures, she could see Maria and Daisy smirking in the background. What was PPR like for them? She hoped that they got what they deserved. “Things did not get any better for Baby Jenny in the Nursery. She did not have a wet diaper before naptime and instead threw a tantrum in her crib before wetting her diaper multiple times. After being restrained by a nanny, it seems that Baby Jenny could not control her urges and had to be punished for attempting unauthorized cummies.” Jennifer’s anger temporarily subsided in favor of being absolutely mortified. Having her shameful masturbatory habits discussed openly in such a clinical manner was enough for her to wish the world would swallow her whole. Having to watch it on the screen in front of an audience of her peers was too much. “During her subsequent punishment, Baby Jenny wet her diaper again and fully completed her unauthorized cummies. At her diaper change, she was spanked in the diaper position and had to be fitted with our thickest diapers, as well as padded mittens until she can learn to keep her naughty hands to herself.” There were no photos of Barbie’s ‘special treatment’ with the vibrator, nor were there any further pictures of her obedient playtime alongside the other woman. She submissively and willingly took part in snack time and drank her bottles like a good girl. But none of that was shown or discussed. Jennifer’s anger at the injustice of this presentation was reaching a fever pitch. “We can clearly see the selfish, indulgent behaviors that led to Jennifer’s original sentencing. But she has shown some improvements along the way and we know that our treatment methods can be very convincing.” There was some laughter and murmuring as the crowd nodded in agreement. “Jenny, do you feel like you have been reformed? Have you learned how to be a good girl?” Jennifer knew the answer. She knew what she should say. She knew that Barbara and Jodi had both told her to just play along and do whatever she was told. But…she couldn’t. Jennifer prepared her speech as she leaned forward for her pacifier to be removed. “Okay, first off…” “Jenny, have you learned to be a good girl?” “You don’t have the whole story. When I was in the Preschool room, Daisy..” “Jenny…we are not here to discuss Daisy. Or Baby Barbie. Or any of the other girls that you have come into contact with today. Each of them will have their time here to discuss their own behavior. We are here to discuss you and the things that we have seen from you. Are you ready to be a good girl?” Jennifer looked down at her bare legs. Her diaper was so puffy that she couldn’t feel anything below her waist and she held up her hands as far as the restraints would allow, still balled into tiny little padded fists. They did this to her. She already was a good girl. She always had been. She had never been in trouble before. Never been arrested. Never been punished. Never been spanked. This was their fault. “This is not my fault. Before I…mmmmph!” Jennifer protested, but the pacifier was held in place as the brake on the stroller was unlocked and she was turned from the crowd. “Sorry, folks. I think we’ve seen what we needed to see here. We will send Baby Jenny to the Judge for further deliberation of her time here.” “Mmmph? Mmmph! Mmph! Mmmmph!!” Jennifer continued her protest as her stroller was rolled out of the room and into the cold hallway where she came face to face with a very confused Nurse Ashley. “What the hell happened in there?” o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o “All you had to do was say ‘Yes’. You could have even just nodded and said you would be a good girl. What were you thinking?” “It’s not fair! They…” “Oh, I’m done with you. Time to see the Judge.” “Mmmph!” The short stroll to the Judge’s office was brief and Jenny fought against her restraints the entire time. Ashley pulled to a stop in front of the Judge’s door and tried again. “Hey, listen to me. If we go into the Judge’s office and you act like that, things will not go well for you. I’m not sure if you’re just trying to act out to get a more thorough experience for your article or what, but this needs to stop. If you have questions, the Judge or I would be happy to answer them but, listen to me: this is not the time. Make good choices and be a good girl, okay?” “Mmmph.” Jenny pouted, but relented, as the door opened and she found herself right back where her adventure started. “Miss Brooks! It is good to see you again. I trust that you are getting a lot of firsthand experience for your article?” “Mmmph. Mmmph?” “Oh, dear. Nurse Ashley, would you remove her pacifier, please?” Ashley bent down, putting her face between Jenny and the Judge and raised an eyebrow as she reached behind the journalist’s head to unfasten the gag. Be good, she mouthed. Jenny nodded and waited for Ashley to clear her path to the Judge. “It looks like you have had quite the day, Miss Brooks. Spanked and kicked out of The Classroom for writing dirty stories. Wetting your pants and being demoted to diapers in Miss Rachel’s Room. And…oh…well, that is just inappropriate. Let’s just say that you are having problems with…impulse control.” Judge Stern raised an eyebrow and looked at the diapered journalist who he assumed had gotten a lot more than she bargained for. Jennifer looked down and blushed. “Transgressions aside…have you gotten what you came for, Miss Brooks?” Jennifer wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. The experience had overwhelmed her senses completely, and she was surprised at her own transformation. On the other hand, there were injustices present and Jennifer felt obligated to speak up. “It has been quite the experience, Judge Stern. But, there are some things I think you should know…” “Oh?” Jennifer looked to Ashley who shook her head back and forth as discreetly as she could, begging the woman to relent and stay quiet. “There are some injustices within The Academy, Judge Stern. To speak frankly, some things are just not fair.” The journalist took a moment to compose herself, realizing how she must look as she tried to plead her case and bring the injustices to light while dressed as a baby in the confines of an oversized stroller. “In PPR, and I assume your report, they did not bring all the relevant details. Some of the other women were quite mean and Mrs. Stern took my writing out of context and turned it into something very different.” “You are…calling my wife a liar?” Shit. “No, Judge Stern! I just mean that she seemed to be confused about my writing. I was taking notes for my article and…” “Was that what Mrs. Stern asked you to do in The Classroom?” “Well, no…I was supposed to write about my experience, which I did, and then, while I had free time, I was…” “There is no ‘free time’ in The Academy, Miss Brooks. I understand that your circumstances here are different, but you took a plea deal because of your crime and agreed to a stay at The Academy. At The Academy, we believe…” “I know that, Judge, it’s just that…” Jennifer stopped as she saw the expression on the Judge’s face drop. This was clearly a man that was not used to being cut off, especially in his own chambers. He took a deep, thoughtful breath and continued after a long pause. “You are here for your article, Miss Brooks, but you are also currently a very real student in The Academy right now and my role is to see that every woman that comes through our doors has learned her lesson and is ready to be a productive member of society.” Jennifer leaned forward, her pacifier rattling against the buckle on the stroller harness. “I do not think you have gotten what you came for, Miss Brooks, and, as such, you will not be going home today.” “Wait…what?!” “You still have a lot to learn. Life is not fair, Miss Brooks. It is not what happens to us, but how we choose to react to these things that define us. If this is the woman that was hiding under that blazer, then it seems you are exactly where you need to be. You will spend the night here in The Nursery and I will see you in my chambers at 8am. You are dismissed.” “No. Judge, please. This isn’t fair. This isn’t why I came here! Why are you doing this to me?” The Judge closed Jennifer’s file and resumed his computer work, nodding to Nurse Ashley to confirm that his work with Miss Brooks had concluded. Ashley raised an eyebrow and Jennifer took that as her cue to stay silent…but chose to fully ignore that cue and continue her rant. “This isn’t fair! You can’t just lock people up and keep them in diapers! I’m a grown woman. I can wipe my own ass! I can wipe my own ass!!” Those were the last words the Judge heard as the door was shut and Jenny was rolled into the hallway to face an angry and disappointed Nurse Ashley. Nurse Ashley reached down for Jenny’s pacifier, and Jenny flinched, hyperventilating, as the emotional weight of what had just happened overtook her. With wide, pleading eyes she looked at Nurse Ashley as she was pacified and given a moment to compose herself. “You are where you need to be. Trust us.” Jenny continued to breathe short, jagged breaths behind her pacifier, finally spitting it out for her rebuttal. “Trust you? This wasn’t the deal. What if…what if the Judge just keeps me here to keep this story from getting out? Is that what this is? Are you going to keep me here forever??” “Hey…breathe. You’ve been through a lot in the last hour…and the last few hours…and likely in your life if it led you here to us. Judge Stern sees something in you. It’s why he agreed to this whole thing in the first place. We aren’t keeping you here forever, but your journey isn’t through yet. You haven’t gotten what you came for.” Jennifer blinked. And nodded. And tried to wipe away a tear, but her hands were still locked in mittens and strapped to the stroller. Ashley reached up and wiped away the woman’s tear, replacing her pacifier with a silent boop to the nose. They walked down the hallway towards the Nursery and Jenny’s mind raced. She wasn’t going home. She was going to spend an entire night here…and maybe longer if she didn’t figure herself out. As they neared turned the corner towards the Nursery, Jennifer felt herself transforming again as her adult self faded and Jenny came back into view. She had felt so small and helpless when she left her infantile prison and spent the last hour fighting against all of it as she reached for freedom and justice. And where had it gotten her? Right back where it started. “Okay, Baby Jenny…” They both paused, taking in the name and all that came with it. They looked at each other and it was clear that if she went into that room as Jennifer Brooks that she would continue falling down the mountain. She needed to let go and trust the process. Jenny nodded to the nurse with the kind face. “...I need you to be a good girl in there. Not perfect, but good. Things will happen. They will not go as planned. Some will be unfair. You just need to be a good girl, okay?” Jenny sucked on her pacifier and nodded, ready to get this over with. ------------------------- Grab the completed story HERE Ream | SubStar | Amazon | Free Monthly Story

Chapter Sixteen Jennifer sat on her diapered bottom and pouted, utterly disgusted with herself, and trying to regain any sense of dignity that might remain. After being awakened from her nap, Jenny felt surprisingly refreshed…until she looked into her nanny’s eyes and remembered what had caused such a deep sleep. The ensuing diaper change had been as thorough as it was humiliating. Strapped down to the changing table, the front of her heavy diaper hit the table with a commanding thud and Jenny gasped as the cool air hit her moist skin for the first time. The wipes were also cold, but felt refreshing as they wiped away the remaining remnants of her lustful shame. After getting a little too wiggly during the lotion application process, Jenny’s legs were held high into the air by one nanny while another showed her the painful difference between diaper position spankings and over the knee spankings. Jenny was powdered and placed into a diaper that seemed even thicker than her previous one, which was also lined with something they called a ‘stuffer’ as it was humiliatingly explained to her that she needed the thickest padding because her inappropriate cummies and the amount of pee-pee required the most absorbent diapers. The pacifier gag remained and was joined by padded mittens and booties that were locked onto her extremities. When she was released from the table, she immediately fell to the ground, unable to stand on the padded booties and the bulk of the padding between her legs making even a single step impossible. “I think Baby Jenny needs to crawl for now. Why don’t you head over to the play mat with Baby Barbie and try to stay out of trouble?” Jenny sighed and put her head down as she crawled her way across the nursery. She couldn’t remember the last time she had crawled. It felt awkward and demeaning, surely not helped by her humiliating outfit and restrictive clothing. She came to a stop at the edge of the play mat and rotated to sit on her fluffy bottom with her legs splayed out widely in front of her, looking every bit the oversized infant she was being treated as. Jennifer sighed deeply, like a train pulling into the station. Barbie handed her a set of soft blocks and continued to hold on to a stuffed llama, which she lightly bounced on the ground, glancing over at the nannies. “That was dumb. You have to wait until they leave the room, and you have to be fast and sneaky. The bigger stuffed animals help if you get them positioned right.” Jenny looked up with a pout at the woman that seemed to be only good at dispensing useful advice after it was no longer needed. “I’m Barbara. Jennifer, I presume?” Jenny nodded, trying to find a place for her tongue with the pacifier gag still in place. “It’s not so bad here. You get used to it. You just have to keep your head down, do what they ask, and not get caught doing anything dumb. You’re not doing so great with the last part so far.” Jenny rolled her eyes and stacked the blocks, unsure of what to do next, before Barbie knocked them over with her plush llama. “Just stay busy. If you look like you’re busy, they’ll leave you alone. If you look bored or troublesome…well, there are lots of things they can do to remedy that.” They played alongside each other for a few minutes, each obviously bored but trying to remain enthusiastic enough to avoid suspicion. “Try to be good for a bit and I’ll see about getting your pacifier taken out. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to.” Jenny nodded and knocked her blocks over, already reaching out to begin the rebuilding process. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Jennifer learned a lot about her playmate during their first hour or so together before her pacifier gag was removed. Barbara seemed quite chatty and enjoyed having someone to talk to. Or talk at. Jennifer could only nod along and offer the occasional eyebrow raise or smile as Barbara gave her the lay of the land and explained the strategy and complexity of an infantilized life. Soon enough, Jenny had her pacifier gag removed, just as Barbie had predicted. But it was only for their afternoon snack. Jenny didn’t particularly care for the mashed banana, but it seemed preferable to jars of actual baby food. The taste wasn’t bad…it was just a banana after all…but something about watching the nanny take a perfectly good piece of fruit and smash it to oblivion before spoonfeeding it to her seemed to dampen the whole experience. Still, Jenny took her cues from Barbie and decided to be obedient, opening her mouth dutifully for each mushy spoonful and only wincing or making faces occasionally. Her bib wasn’t any better. She looked down at the embroidered bunny with ‘Baby Jenny’ written in pink cursive, wondering how they could have possibly made this so quickly. Hearing the name aloud was one thing, but seeing it written on something, especially something this humiliating, only served to further sink the diapered journalist into her newfound infant status. Barbie was eating some kind of puffs with her fingers, and Jenny’s nanny saw her looking over longingly between airplane landings. “Oh, Jenny is much too little for big snacks like that. Those are only for good girls, and Barbie has been working very hard to earn her snacks. Now, open up for the airplane, Baby Jenny!” Jenny sighed and opened her mouth for another bite of banana mush, and looked longingly at her older playmate. Am I not a good girl? o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o The rest of the early afternoon was spent in a similarly boring state. Playing with Barbie on the play mat. Leaning against her nanny for a bottle while she watched Barbie hold her own bottle. With her padded mitts, Jennifer probably wouldn’t have been able to hold one anyway, but she struggled with feeling so out of control and helpless when something like drinking a baby bottle on her own seemed so far out of reach. Barbie was still rambling on about something but, for once, the journalist wasn’t interested in someone’s story. She was more interested in her own. Jennifer had lived a very mid life. She hadn’t had any major traumas or tragedies. But there had been nothing great either. She always did what she was supposed to do and had a good enough life to show for it. On the outside, she was certainly a good girl, wasn’t she? Jennifer paid her taxes, never missed a day of work, and flossed every day. She did what was required of her and always did as she was told. That kind of subservience hadn’t resulted in a great life, but it had given her a pretty good life. And maybe that’s all that someone like her could ask for. She certainly hadn’t been punished on the outside for not following simple instructions. Her thoughts were interrupted by another diaper check. She allowed herself to be repositioned and poked and inspected until she was deemed clean and dry. Unsurprisingly, Baby Barbie was now being praised for being such a good girl and wetting her diapers again. Her reward for being a good girl on this occasion seemed to be a diaper change on the play mat with her toys instead of the changing table. Jenny sat courtside as the mat was laid in front of her and Barbie crawled over, lying on her back and spreading her legs to allow the nurse to crawl between. “Baby Barbie was such a good girl, making pee-pees in her diaper.” Jenny rolled her eyes at the infantilizing praise and was surprised to see Barbie grinning ear to ear, clearly basking in the approval. The other nanny brought over a bottle filled with a colored liquid, looking far superior to whatever white stuff she had been drinking all day. “Good girls get treats. Baby Barbie gets a juice bottle for making another wet diaper for us!” Barbie dropped her llama to her chest and reached out with grabby hands for the sweet nectar. Jenny listened as the woman who was easily into her forties, slurped noisily on the baby bottle. “Okay, there are One, Two, aaand Three poppers on Barbie’s pretty onesie. Barbie has a dancing llama on her onesie. That’s her favorite. What do you have on your onesie, Baby Jenny?” Looking down at herself, Jenny realized she hadn’t even glanced at the newest humiliating outfit she had been forced into. It was a pale, baby-girl pink with an overly adorable flamingo that declared her as ‘Pretty in Pink’. “Umm…flamingo?” “Very good, Baby Jenny! That’s a flamingo!” Jenny smiled, not used to getting praise in her day-to-day life. Mrs. Stone surely never gave her compliments for her work. Not getting yelled at meant that her article was satisfactory , and that is about the highest praise she could hope for most days. “Oh, that’s a very wet diaper, Baby Barbie! Let’s get you into something more comfortable.” The ripping of the tapes brought Jenny back into the moment as she looked at the older woman’s bare hips for the first time. Remnants of soft, baby powder lingered on her sides and near her belly button and Jenny waited with a surprising amount of anticipation for the front of the diaper to fall. Hours ago, she had her own diaper changed on the floor with other women around and was strangely intrigued to watch it from the other side. As the diaper hit the ground, her eyes were first drawn to the thick, soaked padding. The nanny left it there, lumped between Barbie’s legs as she reached for the wipes. Jenny’s eyes followed the wipes as they slid across Barbie’s thighs and hips. “These are Barbie’s princess parts. We have to keep them nice and clean.” Jenny finally looked between the woman’s legs, letting her eyes fixate in on her…princess parts. Barbie was smooth and hairless, just like her. She wasn’t sure if Barbara had started her journey that way, but it seemed like all the women here were kept perfectly smooth. There were small remnants of powder across her mound and her skin glistened; a reminder of what she had done. “Barbie knows that girls in the nursery should never touch their diaper or princess parts. Isn’t that right, Baby Barbie?” The blonde woman raised her head and nodded around her baby bottle and continued guzzling the sweet juice. Jenny lowered her head, feeling shame for her earlier impure actions. “And, let’s see Baby Barbie’s bare bum-bum!” Jennifer looked to see if the woman showed signs of shame and found none. She had either grown completely accustomed to what was happening or that was damn good juice. “Oh, no…I didn’t see a messy diaper, but I do see a little mess at the end of this wipe. Do you need me to take care of this little bum-bum every day, Barbie?” Barbie shook her head back and forth, stubby blonde pigtails flying. Jennifer looked at the wipe. She wasn’t sure why she did it, and she immediately regretted it, but she did. Then she looked at the women’s round, red bottom. Nanny picked up on her concern and confusion. “Oh, Baby Barbie isn’t always a good girl. She put up quite a fuss when we were getting her ready today. Someone had to have a little talk with Mr. Brushy, didn’t they?” Wide eyes around a rapidly draining baby bottle told Jennifer all she needed to know. “Mr. Brushy has a way of getting the point across. Jenny, would you hand Nanny the diaper and powder?” Jenny hesitated as she reached over for the diaper. That had been her moment. When Nurse Ashley asked for the powder and diaper during her first visit, Jennifer had moved from observer to participant. Helping in Chelsea’s demotion to diapers had been the catalyst for everything that followed. It was her first step down the inevitable rabbit hole that led her here, sitting in a diaper in an oversized nursery, helping some girl in her twenties change another grown woman’s diaper. “Jenny?” The dazed journalist snapped out of it and reached for the necessary supplies. The diaper felt different in her hand this time. Last time, it felt foreign. Alien. It was the same big, fluffy object, but her mind just couldn’t wrap around that cute thing being worn by an adult sized person. The two things just couldn’t connect. But now, she was very aware of what it was and how it felt. Glancing down, she confirmed that it was actually the exact same diaper with pastel baby prints that she was currently wearing. Her fingers traced the stretchy leg holes, dipping inside to feel the thirsty padding as she handed it to Nanny. She had a similar experience with the powder, dabbing a bit onto her finger as she passed it over. As she watched the nanny expertly fluff the diaper, Jenny rubbed her fingers back and forth, feeling the powder across her fingertips and imaging the same dust covering her own bottom and..everywhere else. Barbie’s legs were raised with one hand while the nanny’s other hand sprinkled powder until her full bottom was covered with the fine dust. Jenny continued rubbing her fingers together as Barbie’s legs were lowered and spread for the procedure to be repeated on her front. Barbie closed her eyes as the diaper was pulled to her body and shifted back and forth before the nanny pulled the front to her waist and reached for the tapes. With a few firm pats, Nanny resealed Barbie into her onesie and went off to dispose of the evidence. Barbie sat up and leaned in, conspiratorially. “That juice is so good. It’s like pog juice, I think they call it? Pineapple, Orange, and…I don’t know, but it’s so good. A lot of stuff in here sucks, but I would do almost anything for this juice. I can’t find it anywhere else, and I actually kind of miss it when I’m gone.” Jenny nodded along. This woman was a wealth of knowledge. O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o “Wait…what is PPR? No one told me about that?” “Just do what they say. Whatever they say. They can always make it worse in here. Remember that.” Jenny nodded and crawled for the stroller. She was surprised to not even feel the padding pushed into herself as the straps were tightened and remember how thick her new diaper was. It felt like she was sitting on a pillow and she fought to maintain her balance before just leaning back and resigning herself to enjoy the ride. As the door opened, she was greeted with pastel scrubs filling the doorway. “Hey, ladies…I can take it from here.” ------------------------- Grab the completed story HERE Ream | SubStar | Amazon | Free Monthly Story

CHAPTER FOUR Ava looked like the bastard child of a baby doll and a TikTok cosplay gone wrong—ruffled sleeves, puffed diaper, pastel pink romper stretched tight around her hips like it was auditioning to be cruel. The worst part wasn’t the pacifier clipped to her chest or the bows bobbing in her pigtails. It was the way it fit. Like it was made for her. Like someone knew exactly what shape she’d break into. Behind her, Chloe clapped her hands together like she’d just revealed a surprise party. “Oh my god. Adorable.” Her voice went soft and saccharine. “Do a spin for me.” Ava didn’t move. The diaper between her thighs crinkled just from breathing. Her arms twitched at her sides like they couldn’t decide whether to cover or scream. Chloe didn’t wait. She stepped in and spun Ava herself—slowly, like a Barbie on display. She smiled like she'd been waiting for this. “It’s perfect,” she said, tugging the hem of the romper down even though it wouldn’t stretch. “Snug in all the right places. And none of the wrong ones.” Ava turned, awkward in the puffed legs. “You don’t have to do this.” Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Ava. You’re adorable when you beg.” Ava pouted. “We used to be friends.” “No. You used to let me be your friend.” Chloe said it with a smile. A real one. Sweet and sharp. “You made me wait in line at your birthday party once so I could earn my gift bag. Remember that?” “That was—it was a joke—” “No, babe. This is the joke.” Chloe held up the next outfit. It was worse. A yellow sundress with a ruffled collar and a duck embroidered on the chest. Matching bonnet. Matching booties. Bloomers with “QUACK ME UP” across the butt in sparkly vinyl letters. Ava’s face flushed. “Don’t you dare—” “Arms up, sunshine.” “No—” “You’ll want to be careful with ‘no,’” Chloe warned, her voice still light. “That’s how Cassidy got her corner spot. And her diaper was dry.” Ava didn’t move. Chloe stepped closer. “Do you remember when you told everyone at your pool party that I’d gotten filler?” “Chloe—” “I hadn’t.” Ava’s voice broke. “I said I was sorry—” “No you didn’t,” Chloe said brightly, sliding the romper over Ava’s legs with practiced hands. “You said ‘it was funny.’” Ava tried to pull away. Chloe stopped her with one hand on the diaper’s waistband. “Don’t make me call someone in here,” she said, quieter now. “I can. They love when girls fuss during wardrobe.” Ava’s stomach twisted. “I’m not fussing,” she whispered. Chloe smiled. “Good girl.” She dressed her slowly. Gently. Like a big sister helping a toddler get ready for preschool photos. But every snap, every zip, every press of cotton against Ava’s skin came with a sugar-laced dig. “Hold still. We don’t want you to have a widdle accident, do we?” “Turn around. Let’s make sure those little duckies puff just right.” “God, if your followers could see you now…” The bonnet came last. Chloe tied it under Ava’s chin like a prize ribbon on a show pig, then spun her toward the mirror. Ava didn’t breathe. It was high-waisted, with puffed sleeves that barely reached her shoulders and a hemline that barely reached anything. The matching bloomers were tugged up over her crinkling diaper. “You always did say yellow washed you out,” Chloe mused. “But honestly? It suits you.” Ava bit her lip. Her eyes were stinging. “You can stop now,” she said. “You made your point.” “Oh, honey. This isn’t about a point. This is payback.” Chloe circled her slowly, admiring her work. She fluffed the skirt. Smoothed the sleeves. Tugged the bloomers so they puffed just right. “Because you are going to remember this,” Chloe whispered, “every time you feel that crinkle. Every time someone calls you a good girl. Every time you hear me say your name.” Ava opened her mouth. No words came. Chloe leaned in, one hand brushing Ava’s ribbon-tied pigtail. “Look at you,” Chloe whispered, adjusting the bow at Ava’s chest. “From influencer to infant.” She was still circling Ava like prey when the door opened. “Chloe Madison,” said the voice from the doorway. Ava startled. Chloe froze mid–wardrobe change, bonnet ribbon dangling from her hand. She turned, too fast, plastering on a smile. Langley stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand. One brow raised. The soft click of her heels against the padded floor was somehow louder than Ava’s entire meltdown had been. “You are not cleared for unsupervised peer dressing.” Chloe’s smile cracked. “Ms. Langley—I was only—she needed—” “Hallway. Now.” Chloe’s lips parted. “But I was—” Langley’s eyebrow raised so high it looked painful. Chloe didn’t move at first. Her fingers curled into the hem of her dress. “Do not make me repeat myself, Miss Choe.” Chloe hesitated. Her fingers brushed the hem of Ava’s dress. The yellow duck. The bow. Then she stomped—actually stomped—one foot against the foam tile like a brat denied dessert. “Ugh! Fine!” She spun on her heel, stomping toward the door in three loud steps, pigtails bouncing, bloomers puffed beneath her baby-blue skirt. Her pacifier clip jingled as she stormed past Ava—shoulder-checking her with all the force of a sore loser leaving a tea party. Ava stared after her, wide-eyed. Chloe reached the door, hesitated, then turned back with a scowl. “You looked better in the pink dress,” she muttered. Then she pouted and stomped out like a toddler who hadn’t gotten her way. The door clicked shut behind her and Langley exhaled through her nose. It wasn’t a sigh. Just… disappointment, sterilized. She turned her sights on Ava. Ava’s heart hammered. She stood frozen in her puffed-out duck dress, pacifier clipped to her chest, cheeks burning hotter with every second of quiet. Langley’s expression didn’t soften. But her voice lowered. “Don’t worry, Ava. I know just how to handle girls like Chloe.” 🗳️ POLL: Who Pays the Price? 💢 Chloe Gets Publicly Punished Langley marches Chloe back in and corrects her like the toddler she pretended not to be—spanked, cornered, and stripped of her pride. 🎯 Chloe Blames Ava and Gets Away With It Chloe spins the story and makes it all Ava’s fault. Langley believes her and Ava is punished for manipulating other girls to her benefit. . 👶 Chloe Was Lying All Along Langley reveals Chloe is just another regressive—never a mentor. Ava’s real Big Sister is coming. And she’s worse. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- 🗳️ AND NOW...YOU DECIDE. The next chapter drops this week. VOTE HERE (or drop your choice in the comments): SubStar | Ream | Amazon

PART THREE Ava didn’t remember when the tour began. But they were definitely in it now. One minute she was standing there, diapered and dressed like a toddler on Easter morning. The next, she was being led down a pastel hallway that smelled like baby powder and fake vanilla. She didn’t know where they were going. She didn’t know what was happening. She just followed. Ava wasn’t crying. Not anymore. But her eyes kept doing that thing—burning, blinking too much, trying to process what they were seeing, like maybe if she blinked hard enough, reality would reset. It didn’t. The floor was soft. The walls were too bright. The lighting was too gentle—like something in a children’s hospital or a nightmare trying too hard to be nice. “—and that’s the nap hallway,” Chloe chirped, pointing casually as she led Ava along. “Lights dim at twelve-thirty sharp, and if you’re not in your mat by then, they come find you. Ask Bianca about that one—she tried hiding in the toy closet once. Bad idea.” Ava didn’t speak. She just… couldn’t find her voice. Not with the pacifier still bobbing between her lips. Not with the diaper between her thighs making her walk funny. Not with Chloe walking like she was giving a house tour on a reality show no one agreed to star in. “Come onnn… God, you always were so slow,” Chloe said without turning around. “Even back when you thought you were better than me.” Ava flinched, but Chloe didn’t even look back. “It’s fine. I’ll help you. Someone has to.” They turned a corner and Ava’s bare thighs brushed the edge of a foam wall decal shaped like a butterfly. She yanked her arm away instinctively. Chloe let her, laughing under her breath. “Look at you,” she said. “Still trying to pretend you have a say in anything. That’s cute.” Ava didn’t answer. Her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. “You know,” Chloe went on, more to herself than anything, “I actually requested this. When they said you were coming. I told them I wanted to be the one to show you around.” Her voice dipped lower. “You used to strut around in your little crop tops and heels like you owned every room. Now look at you.” Chloe walked around her menacingly and smiled. “You’re quiet,” Chloe said. “That’s new. I kind of like it.” Ava kept her gaze just below Chloe’s chin, like eye contact might break something else inside her. Her diaper felt too big. Her romper felt too tight. The bows in her hair felt like they were whispering dirty secrets behind her back. Then—without warning—Chloe pushed open a pair of soft double doors. Ava stopped in the doorway. It wasn’t a hallway. It wasn’t a classroom. It was—God, she didn’t even know what it was. The floor was rubber-tiled in soft pink and lavender. The walls were decorated with cartoon murals—bunnies and bears, clouds and suns, all with wide eyes and permanent smiles like they were mocking her. In one corner sat a cluster of oversized bean bags and stuffed animals. In another, a shelf of board books and board games. A plastic kitchen. A dollhouse. Glittery tutus in a rack shaped like a rainbow. And girls. Not kids. Not toddlers. Women. A half dozen or so, scattered across the room. One sat cross-legged, bouncing a plush unicorn on her knee. Another leaned against a beanbag chair, painting on a jumbo coloring page with broken crayons. A third lay on her stomach in front of the pretend kitchen, legs bent, feet in the air, mouthing the lyrics to a nursery rhyme playing on a loop from a speaker hidden in the wall. They were all dressed like her. Romper. Diaper. Bare legs. Pacifier clips. Hair in bows or braids or buns. No makeup. No bras. No dignity. Ava’s feet stopped moving. Chloe didn’t. “Oh, don’t get all deer-in-the-headlights,” she chirped, twirling toward her like this was a runway and not a padded room. She stepped aside, gesturing dramatically like Vanna White revealing the worst prize in history. “Welcome to the Toddler Room,” she said. “Where adulthood goes to die.” Ava’s breath hitched behind the pacifier. She took a shaky step forward. A girl—maybe her age, maybe even older—sitting strapped into a highchair. Arms pinned. A bib around her neck. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was shaking her head while an older woman spoon-fed her something that looked like mashed peas. A sippy cup with her name on it sat nearby. “Oh, that’s Cassie,” Chloe said brightly. “Don’t feel bad for her. She threw her last bowl. Got puree in Miss Kim’s bra. She’s on utensil probation until Monday.” Ava stared. Her body moved forward like it belonged to someone else. Then she saw the girl in the corner and Chloe’s smile widened like the Cheshire Cat. “And that,” she said, gesturing to the girl standing in the corner, “is my personal favorite.” Ava looked. The girl stood, facing the wall. Her diaper was around her knees. Her bare red bottom glowed under the playroom lights like a warning. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides. Her pacifier had fallen, dangling against her chest. She wasn’t crying anymore. Just standing there, silent and humiliated. Ava felt something twist in her stomach. “What did she do?” she whispered. Chloe grinned. “Oh, she threw a tantrum about juice. Called one of the nurses a whore. Not exactly a team player.” Ava’s eyes stayed locked on the girl’s bare, punished backside until she felt Chloe moving forward. She turned away—too fast—and nearly ran into Chloe again. Chloe didn’t stop walking. Just kept up her running commentary like she was reading from a script she’d written herself. Ava’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a costume. This wasn’t temporary. She opened her mouth—but nothing came out. Then she saw the girl on her back. Legs up. Diaper open beneath her. A nurse wiping her clean, calm as can be. The girl didn’t look humiliated. She looked… bored. Ava stopped. “Wait—” The pacifier fell from her lips as she stumbled forward a step. “Wait. Are they… I mean…” She swallowed. “You don’t actually use these, right?” Chloe turned, one brow raised, arms crossed over her puffed-out chest like a fashion blogger at a preschool. “I mean,” Ava rushed, eyes wide, voice cracking, “they’re just for show, right? Like—like punishment. Like humiliation. Not for… actual use.” She heard it as she said it—the desperation, the begging in the question. Like if Chloe just said yes, this is all fake, the horror would fade a little. But Chloe didn’t say yes. She just looked her up and down. Then smirked. “Oh, Ava,” she said, stepping closer. “You still think this is a performance?” Ava’s heart pounded as Chloe leaned in, voice low. “You think they dress you like this and diaper you and cut your food into stars and it’s not real? That it’s for fun? For show?” Ava flinched, but Chloe wasn’t done. “I shit myself this morning,” she whispered. “In the middle of snacktime. Had to raise my hand and ask for a change. In front of everyone.” She pulled back with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “This place isn’t a joke. It’s a machine. And you’re already in it.” Ava felt her knees wobble. She wanted to run. She wanted to cry. She wanted to wake up. But Chloe was already spinning again. “I’m getting promoted soon, though,” she called over her shoulder. “Moving up to the Preschool Room. No more diapers for me. Some of the girls even get real underwear.” She turned, arms spread like a ballerina. “So don’t screw this up for me, Sinclair. I’ve worked too hard to be associated with another brat who thinks she’s above the rules.” Ava’s lips parted, but Chloe was already walking again. “Oh, sweetie,” she called over her shoulder. “You’ve got so much to learn.” Then she looked back and smirked. “And I know just where to start…” 🧁 CHOOSE AVA’S NEXT HUMILIATION: 📖 Story Time Chloe sits Ava in her lap and reads “I’m a Big Girl Now!” out loud to help her understand her new life while other regressives watch. 🍓 Snacktime Chloe straps Ava into a highchair and feeds her spoonfuls of baby food while cooing praise. A bib, a sippy cup, and public humiliation served warm. 👗 Wardrobe Change Chloe drags Ava to the closet and insists she can do way better than what the nurses picked. She dresses her like a baby doll, one humiliating outfit at a time. ----------------------------------------------- Drop Ava's newest humiliation in the comments below or vote in the poll. The next chapter drops this week. VOTE HERE: SubStar | Ream | Amazon

Chapter Fifteen Jennifer’s eyes shot open. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sleeping or if she had even fallen asleep. A quick peek showed that she was still in her crib, that the other woman appeared to be sleeping, and that the nannies hadn’t moved. She wondered if any time had passed at all. One thing that Jennifer was lacking was information. She was someone that absolutely thrived on schedules and organization and being prepared. But here, she was deliberately being kept in the dark. She didn’t know what the rest of her day would be. She didn’t know how long this forced naptime would last. She didn’t even know what time it was. But Jennifer knew one thing with absolute certainty. She had to pee. The need hadn’t come on suddenly, but the urgency surprised her. Almost as soon as she was taped into her diaper, her bladder had whispered hints she had not fully relieved herself during her preceding tickle torture. But she was a grown woman. Surely she could control her bladder for a few hours. In the cafeteria, the need had grown, especially as she was forced to guzzle down not one, but two large bottles. She wasn’t sure about the size and had never been particularly skilled at making mathematical estimates on the go, but they were big. They seemed at least as big as the bottles of diet coke she routinely grabbed from gas stations to keep her caffeinated during her journalistic journeys. She knew that if she had a diet coke in the afternoon, she would always need to pee when she got back to the office before she drove home. There had been a few close calls when she had broken that rule. Jennifer tried running calculations and simulations in her head. She had been forced to drink at least two diet cokes worth of mystery liquid. She would normally have an hour or two at work once she finished before she needed to respond to nature’s call. But this was twice the amount. And it had likely been an hour or so already. If Train A leaves the station at 3pm… She glanced at the nannies and her sleeping nursery-mate, who both showed no signs that naptime would end anytime soon. Her original plan had been to simply ask to use the bathroom once they got back to The Nursery. Jennifer assumed she would need to go in the training potty again and had been pre-mortified as she thought about how badly she had to go and how small the plastic potties were. But then her experienced blonde nursery-mate had gone and wet herself and thrown Jennifer into a full-blown existential crisis. And then she had gotten horny. And now…now she had to pee. Jennifer wasn’t going to make it home in time. It didn’t look like she could climb over the crib railing and she didn’t see any plastic potties. The other woman had already confirmed that apparently women demoted to diapers in The Nursery were actually expected to use them. But she couldn’t. She just…couldn’t. “Hello? Ummm….Nanny?” If the women heard her, they showed no signs of it. Jennifer lay her head back down and tried to think. There had to be a way to reason herself out of this. “Nanny? I have to use the restroom. Could you come see for a second?” Nothing. Silence. She was trying to remain somewhat quiet out of respect for the sleeping woman next to her, but her patience was wearing thin as she broke into a cold sweat and rose to her hands and knees. Immediately not liking that position, she rose fully to her knees, grasping the slats of her crib like a prison cell. She began speaking a little louder, desperately rambling, and unsure of whether she was even trying to get the nanny’s attention or just trying to talk herself down. “I don’t want to wear this! Ugh. I’m not a baby. Please. Please let me out of here. Let me out of this diaper. I have to go to the bathroom. Don’t make me use it. Please. I don’t want to.” Jennifer whined, shivering and trembling as the desperation increased. She noted one of the nannies glancing in her direction and then back to her phone. “Ugh! I really have to go. I don’t wanna use it, please! Let me out. Please, let me out! Just let me go to the bathroom. I don’t want to. I don’t wanna use it. Please. Please, don’t make me do it. Please. PLEASE!” She shook on the rails of her crib, no longer caring who heard or who she disturbed. Squirming frantically, she tried to squeeze her legs together, but the bulk of the padding prevented what may have been her last chance to preserve some dignity. “Please! Oh…oh no….oh no! Ewwww….Ewwwww! It’s so warm. Ewww. Ugh. Let me out! Please. Please!” Jenny lowered herself into the crib and cried, finally letting the weight of her body push the diaper further into her. She cried for several minutes, utterly ashamed at what she had done as she felt the warmth spread and dissipate into the diaper until she felt cold and clammy. Looking up, she saw that the nannies had turned to face her, fully engaged in the show she was presenting. “Please? I used it like you wanted. Please. Please? Please let me out. Ewwww….it’s so wet. Please. Let me out. Please. Pleeeease.” She looked at her diapered companion, hoping for support or sympathy, but only saw the face of an annoyed and pacified older woman who was trying to get some sleep. Jennifer looked back at the duo of smiling nurses. “Ugh, Nanny! Please?! Please come back. You can’t just keep me locked up like this. I’m thirty-eight years old! It’s not my fault. Please come back. Nanny…oh, no…not again. When are you going to let me out? Please…I really have to go. Don’t make me use this again.” Jenny tried to squeeze her legs together and was met with an unappealing squelch as the soggy padding squished against her. She shook the bars and looked at the nurses, desperately pleading to not defile herself again. “Oh no… oh, no. no. no. Ugh.” Jenny trembled, freezing in place, as she stared at her diapered crotch. “Dammit! Ugh…it’s happening again. Oh, no…ugh! This is so weird! Why are you doing this? Ugh! I can’t get out. This isn’t fair. It’s not my fault. Please!!!” Jennifer shook the bars of the crib until one of the nannies finally stood up and walked over. “It’s nap time, Baby Jenny. You will be changed after your nap.” “Noooo! No! You can’t leave me like this. Please! Please change me!” Jenny begged and pleaded for a diaper change for several undignified minutes, without an ounce of shame, and was relieved when she saw the rails of the crib coming down. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you…oh god, it’s so wet…and gross…and UGH…just, thank you!” Jenny was so taken by the nanny’s generosity and act of kindness that she didn’t even register the cuffs being placed around her wrists and ankles as she continued to thank the woman and describe her situation through tearful gratitude. It wasn’t until the nanny helped her onto her side and then rolled her onto her belly that she realized what was happening, as the cuffs were clicked into place. “No, wait! You can’t do this! This is so much worse. I can feel it…ugh…please! No!” Jenny continued to plead her case and beg desperately as the pacifier gag came into view and was placed into her open mouth. “No, please! Please, I…ummph! Mmmmph? Mmmph! Mmmmmph!” Absolute betrayal and fear filled her eyes as the woman sat on the edge of her mattress. The nanny’s hand wedged underneath the sodden diaper to press the warm padding firmly into Jennifer’s drenched loins. “Mmmph!” “Shhh. Shhhhh. It’s okay, Baby Jenny. It’s naptime right now and sometimes girls just need a little help to get settled. This diaper can hold a lot more than that. We will change you when naptime is over. Try to get some sleep.” With a few firm pats on Jenny’s diapered bottom, the nanny was gone. “Mmmmmmph!” Jenny pleaded, but it was no use. Nanny raised the railing of the crib and went to check on the other woman who obediently spread her legs for the nanny to check her diaper. “Oh, that’s a very wet diaper, Baby Barbie! Did you make another wet diaper for Nanny? And you’ve been such a good girl for us while we are getting Baby Jenny settled. Hmmm…I think you deserve a little treat.” Jenny raised her head and watched as the nanny lowered the crib rails and climbed into Barbie’s crib, crawling across the bouncy mattress and leaning against the back railing, where she beckoned the blonde, diapered woman towards her. Jenny saw Barbie’s pale blue onesie, stretched tightly by the bulky diaper beneath, as she crawled and settled into her nanny’s lap. As the older woman found a comfortable position, she looked across her crib, and their eyes met as the buzzing started. “Mmmmm…” “That’s right, Baby Barbie. Good girls get treats.” Jennifer tried to take in what she was seeing. The younger nanny had pulled a small vibrator from her apron and was using one hand to press it firmly into Barbie’s apparently very saturated diaper, while the other hand ran lazily through the moaning woman’s blonde hair. Barbie closed her eyes and moaned, and Jenny closed her eyes and tried to be anywhere else. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o As Barbie’s moaning grew more and more graphic, Jenny found herself in an interesting situation of her own. The thrusting of her hips had started as an involuntary movement. At least, that’s what Jenny was telling herself. A slight wiggle to find a comfortable position seemed to awaken and ignite something deep within her loins. Jenny tried a few small, tentative thrusts and then stopped. Why does this feel so good? I can’t believe I’m getting off to this. It’s so fucking weird. What is wrong with me? But as she listened to Barbie’s continued moans, the wet padding wasn’t feeling as bad as Jenny originally thought. The dry diaper had felt fluffy and poofy between her legs, but it now felt heavier and bulkier, the added weight and density giving her something to thrust into. There was a not entirely unpleasant squish as Jenny continued her tentative thrusting, looking up from time to time to verify that she was still operating in stealth mode. As she picked up in intensity, she moaned slightly into her pacifier gag, but noted that Barbie’s increasingly aggressive moaning and the loud buzzing of the vibrator against her damp diaper was drowning out Jennifer’s small gyrations and soft moans. Jenny lost herself in the moment, closing her eyes and continuing to hump her wet diaper into the crib. The spankings and punishments and her preparations for the Academy had all been humiliating and painful and demeaning as they were happening to her but, now, looking back on them, they seemed to take on different meaning in her highly aroused state. She thought about Nurse Ashley’s nimble fingers during her good girl rubs and being forced to display herself and being spanked and diapered in front of a classroom of other girls. So lost was she, that Jennifer didn’t notice the nanny standing over her until the crib rails were lowered. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o SMACK! SMACK! Jenny moaned and thrust into the crib mattress as she tried to escape the nanny’s firm hand. Being spanked over a wet diaper was not nearly as painful as being spanked on the bare, but it was a thousand times more humiliating. So why am I still turned on?! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The nanny continued her relentless pursuit, landing most of her hits with a thump upon Jenny’s well padded bottom but placing a few well-timed spanks just along the edges of her onesie and grazing her tender thighs. SMACK! SMACK! Each strike forced her to thrust into the mattress as she tried to escape, causing her arousal and confusion to peak as she inevitably headed towards her humiliating climax. “No, Jenny! No humpies. You are far too little to have cummies on your own!” Ugh. Why was that hitting her buttons? SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Mmmmph! Mmmmph! Mmmmph!” Jenny’s bladder released again, filling her diaper with warmth and giving her the final push she needed to go over the edge. “Mmmmph! Mmmph….Mmmmmm.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Looks like this one tired herself out. We’ll deal with that later. She’s going to need..” Jenny tried to stay alert enough to hear what was coming for her, but her eyelids felt too heavy and she drifted off into a well-earned slumber, pledging to deal with whatever repercussions later. Worth it… ------------------------- Grab the completed story HERE Ream | SubStar | Amazon | Newsletter

CHAPTER FIVE The tiny sheep on the mobile was missing an ear. It looked ridiculous, hanging there lopsided and oblivious, like it didn’t even care it was half-broken. Kaleigh lay there on her back, staring up at the slow-turning mobile above her, feeling the faint rustle of the pull-up whenever she shifted. Just for tonight, Vicky had promised. Because they didn’t have a guest room and she couldn’t exactly sleep out on the couch like…this. Vicky had said it would be fine. “You’ll fit just fine, dear.” And she’d said it with that same patient smile, the one that made Kaleigh feel like she was being difficult just for asking questions at all. The rails of the crib hadn’t been pulled up, which somehow made it worse—like they were both pretending this was normal. Kaleigh couldn’t stop thinking about her friends—how they’d teased her a million times for her tiny bladder, the way she’d always had to pee before games and after and sometimes in the middle of practice. They’d laughed and called her pipsqueak or potty princess, but it had always been harmless. Funny. If they could see her now… She tried to think about them—what they were doing tonight, probably lounging in cozy guest rooms after a hot shower. Meanwhile, she was stuck here, dressed like a toddler in a crib, staring at a sheep with one ear. They could never know. She would take this secret to the grave. She shifted under the thin blanket, every rustle of the pull-up making her stomach twist. She didn’t even want to think about how it looked. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender, which should have been comforting, but it just made her feel small. Kaleigh’s questions had slipped out in stuttered pieces as the woman tucked her in like a child, her voice small and tight: “Why do you have a crib? Why is it so big? Do you have kids? Why… am I in a nursery?” Vicky had just smiled, brushing her hair back gently, like she was comforting a fussy child. “Don’t you worry about that tonight, sweetie,” she’d said softly. “Let’s just get you tucked in.” Kaleigh had opened her mouth to argue again, but Vicky was already lowering the side rail and patting the soft mattress. And it was soft. Like it had been fluffed and turned a hundred times until it was the perfect balance of squish and support. Which was insane, because who actually cared about crib mattress fluffiness? Kaleigh let out a shaky breath, trying to convince herself to sleep. She tried to tell herself it was fine—just a weird bed in a weird house. But all she could think about was the slow, creeping pressure in her bladder. She’d barely noticed it until she was lying still, and now it was all she could focus on. She shifted under the blankets, biting her lip. She sat up slowly, glancing around the softly lit nursery. The faint squeak of the mobile above her head. The rocking chair in the corner. The rows of picture books, so carefully arranged. It all felt too neat, too deliberate. She swung her legs over the side of the crib—no rails to stop her—and slid to the floor, the cold wood making her shiver. She moved carefully, barefoot and quiet, slipping down the hall toward the bathroom she’d glimpsed earlier. But she froze as she heard the low voice, rough and controlled. “What the hell is this, Vicky?” She couldn’t hear Vicky’s answer, just the soft, frantic hush of her voice, pleading. Then his voice again, sharper this time. “Do you think this is a game?” Kaleigh pressed her back against the wall, her heart racing. She couldn’t see them—just the faint glow of the hall light and the sharp, cold edge of that voice. The Sheriff’s next words were muffled, but the crack that followed was clear—a sharp, sudden snap that made Kaleigh flinch. She thought of the way her dad used to slam a belt against the kitchen table when she and her sisters fought. Another crack. A soft, broken sound—like a muffled cry. Kaleigh’s stomach lurched. She thought about running—about getting to the bathroom, the front door, anywhere but here. Her breath came fast as she turned and hurried back to the nursery. The Sheriff’s voice came low and cold. “I’m going to check on the girl.” Kaleigh picked up the pace and scrambled back toward the crib, her heart thudding so loud it felt like it filled the room. She clambered in, pulling the blanket up around her, forcing her eyes shut as she heard his boots coming closer. She scrambled towards the room and into the crib, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders, trying to slow her breathing. She lay there, pretending to be asleep, every muscle in her body tense. She could still hear it—the faint, broken sobs from the other room and the Sheriff’s low, quiet footsteps coming closer in the dark. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Kaleigh lay still, her eyes squeezed shut as the door swung open and the Sheriff stepped in. The faint scent of aftershave followed him—sharp and clean—and he moved with a slow, deliberate calm that made the small hairs on her neck stand up. “Ah,” he said, his voice smooth and measured, like he was a host greeting a guest at a dinner party. “There she is.” Kaleigh’s breath caught, her fingers clutching at the edge of the blanket. She forced her eyes open, breathing slow and shallow as the faint glow of the night light lit the Sheriff’s silhouette—broad and still—approaching the crib. The Sheriff stepped closer, each step deliberate and unhurried. His presence filled the small room, a quiet weight that pressed into the spaces behind her ribs. He was watching, calm and quiet, and looked down at her, his expression mild—almost kind. “I’m sorry for the way my wife treated you tonight,” he said softly. Kaleigh swallowed, her mouth dry. She nodded, even though she didn’t really get what he meant. “She should’ve known better.” His eyes flicked down to the crinkling pull-up peeking out from beneath the oversized t-shirt. Kaleigh adjusted the blanket and swallowed, her mouth dry. “I… it’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t. Even though nothing about this was okay. He stepped closer, one hand resting on the crib rail. He watched her, the corners of his mouth turning in the faintest suggestion of a smile. “Vicky will be in soon to make it right.” The Sheriff didn’t move right away. He just stood there, one hand resting on the crib rail, the other in his pocket. His presence filled the small room, and Kaleigh felt like she was pinned in place, unable to look away. After a long moment, he reached out with two fingers and brushed a stray hair back from her forehead. His touch was almost gentle, but it sent a chill down her spine. “You’re a guest in our home,” he said softly. “We take that seriously.” Kaleigh didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know if she was supposed to thank him, or agree, or… what. She nodded again, her heart thudding in her chest. She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that he was the reasonable one here. But something about the way he said it—like it was all part of some script—made her stomach twist. The Sheriff gave her one last look—a slow, deliberate once-over—and then turned and walked out, leaving the door open a crack behind him. Kaleigh let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening here. She lay there for a few minutes, the mobile above her head turning in lazy circles. She could still hear the faint, broken sobs of Vicky in the other room, but they were fading now, replaced by the soft sound of footsteps down the hall. The door opened again, and Vicky stepped in quietly, her face flushed and her eyes red. Vicky looked the same as before, her hair neat, her makeup perfect, wearing the same pale blue dress like she was heading to a PTA meeting—except now it was pinned up above her waist. Kaleigh instantly recognized the matching pull-up that hugged the older woman’s hips, pale and padded and so out of place on someone old enough to be her mom. Kaleigh blinked, her stomach flipping, as the woman crossed the room towards the dresser on the far wall. Her eyes darted down to the faint red marks peeking out from under the edge of the pull-up and she sat up a little, her voice breaking on the words. “Oh my God, are you okay? Did he… did he hurt you?” she whispered, her voice cracking. Kaleigh couldn’t stop staring at her, the way the night light made the pale padding glow faintly in the half-dark. Vicky paused, but didn’t answer. She kept moving around the crib with that same calm, practiced air—like she wasn’t half-naked, like she wasn’t branded with the evidence of what he’d done. Kaleigh’s stomach twisted. “Vicky—seriously. Why are you even wearing that? What did he do to you?” She reached for her, her voice trembling but sure. “Let me help you. I can help you—I can get you out of here.” Vicky paused, finally meeting Kaleigh’s eyes. For a second, something flickered there—something real. Then it was gone. Vicky gave a small, practiced smile. “Don’t worry about me,” she said quietly. She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t explain. She just moved calmly around the room, gathering supplies on the dresser. She moved like this was all perfectly normal, like there was nothing strange about the fact that she was a grown-ass woman wearing the same humiliating padding as Kaleigh, designed for someone decades younger. Vicky moved closer, her own pull-up crinkling softly as she walked. When she finally looked up, her smile was small and tight. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said softly, her voice low. “Let’s get you changed, okay?” o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o “I’m sorry,” Vicky said, her voice low. “I tried to bring you in slowly, because you’re just…you… But the Sheriff… he wants it done by the book.” Her face softened, but there was something in her eyes—something that didn’t quite match the gentle touch of her hand. Kaleigh’s stomach twisted. “What… what does that even mean?” she asked, her voice cracking. Vicky didn’t answer. She just squeezed Kaleigh’s hand, her other hand already reaching for the edge of the pull-up. “We need to get you out of that,” she said softly. “Gladly,” Kaleigh said, trying to find her voice, trying to sound like she was still in control. “Are my clothes dry? Do you have… something else I can wear?” Vicky let go of Kaleigh’s hand and walked to the small dresser, pulling out something so thick and padded it looked surreal in the low light—like something meant for a doll. The plastic backing crinkled softly as she turned to the startled young blonde. “Vicky—stop. What is that?” Her voice faltered, her skin prickling with cold sweat. “What are you doing?” She didn’t look up. “What has to be done,” the woman said calmly, laying the diaper on the table with quiet precision. Kaleigh shook her head, backing up a step. “What? Why? None of this makes sense—” “All will be explained in due time,” Vicky said, her tone even, as if Kaleigh’s protests were just background noise. Kaleigh shook her head, a small, desperate motion. “Why? Why are you doing this? Just give me my clothes back—I’ll sleep on the bus or—” Vicky reached for her again, her fingers brushing Kaleigh’s wrist with a pleading softness. “Just, stop! Please—” Kaleigh’s voice pitched up, raw and sharp. “This… this is insane—” Vicky’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and urgent. She pressed a finger to her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Kaleigh—shhh. Please. I need to do this, and you need to let me. We don’t want him to come back in here.” Her eyes darted to the door, and Kaleigh’s chest tightened. “But… I don’t understand,” Kaleigh said, her voice barely a breath. “Please. Just let me go—I’ll sleep on the bus or with one of the other families. I’m sorry for what he did to you, Vicky, but I can’t… I can’t stay here. I can’t do this.” She started to turn, her feet already moving toward the door, but Vicky’s hand shot out and closed around her forearm. Her grip was firm, her fingers cold against Kaleigh’s skin. “Kaleigh.” Vicky’s voice was low, her eyes locked on Kaleigh’s like they were the only two people left in the world. “Listen to me. My husband—he had to step out tonight to deal with a couple of your friends. Girls who didn’t want to be good.” Her hand tightened on Kaleigh’s arm, just enough to make her flinch. “I’d hate to have him take you away too.” The words sank in like ice water. Kaleigh looked at the door, the night light’s faint glow barely reaching its edges. “What does that mean? Vicky—my friends—what happened to them? What did he… who did he have to go see?” Vicky’s mouth tensed, her eyes darting away. A fresh wave of cold washed over Kaleigh, her mind spinning. Who did he take? Hannah? Peyton? Did he hurt them? Were they okay? Kaleigh looked at the door, then back to Vicky, then to the changing table. The air felt too heavy to breathe. The cold press of reality settled into her bones as Vicky reached for her again, her touch gentle but insistent. “Kaleigh,” she murmured, “I don’t want to see him hurt you, too.” Kaleigh’s eyes dropped to the thick, white diaper in Vicky’s hand, the soft curve of it looking almost obscene in the soft light of the nursery. She didn’t want to climb up there. She didn’t want to believe, but she could feel the edge of something sharp in the air—like the Sheriff’s patience was a fuse already lit. She nodded once, her shoulders slumping. She didn’t trust Vicky—she didn’t trust any of this—but she knew she didn’t have a choice. Kaleigh let Vicky guide her by the hand to the changing table, each step heavy with the knowledge that she didn’t know what was coming next, only that it was already too late to stop it. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Kaleigh’s hands trembled as she climbed up onto the changing table, the padded vinyl cold against her bare thighs. She tried to steady her breathing, tried to tell herself this was all just some twisted game she’d wake up from. But every soft creak of the table, every careful motion from Vicky felt too real—like the whole world had narrowed to this small, humiliating moment. Vicky’s touch was calm, almost soothing, as she reached for the waistband of the pull-up. Kaleigh wanted to flinch away, to shove her hands down and stop it, but she didn’t. She just watched with wide, helpless eyes as the soft padding peeled away from her skin. Kaleigh swallowed, her breath hitching. “Vicky, I don’t… I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “This doesn’t make sense. I don’t need—” Vicky pressed a pacifier to her lips, quiet and final. “Shhh,” she murmured, her voice soft but unyielding. “No more questions, Kaleigh. Let me do what I need to do here.” Kaleigh tried to pull the pacifier back out, her fingers twitching around the rubber, but Vicky’s hand came down over hers, gentle but firm. “No, sweetheart,” she said calmly. “That stays in for now.” The pacifier slid between her lips, the soft rubber foreign and humiliating on her tongue. Kaleigh’s breath caught. She wanted to spit it out, to push it away, but her hands just… stopped. She felt like she was caught in a slow-motion nightmare. Oh my God. This is really happening. Vicky reached for the thick white diaper, unfolding it with a soft crackle that made Kaleigh’s skin flush hot all over. She felt her legs lifted and held her breath. The plastic-backed diaper crinkled under her as Vicky slid it beneath her hips, the cold powder dusting her skin like sugar. Kaleigh clenched her jaw, her heart thudding as she stared up at the ceiling, feeling like she may never make eye contact with another human person again. She felt the tapes close with a quiet finality, each one sealing her in with a gentle pat. The thick padding forced her legs apart, made her feel small and clumsy, like her body didn’t quite belong to her anymore. She thought she was done—thought maybe she’d finally reached the end of this nightmare. But then Vicky turned back to the dresser, pulling out a stack of folded cloth that made Kaleigh’s stomach flip. It wasn’t the ducky pajamas. It wasn’t even normal pajamas. It was… Oh God. A onesie. A literal baby onesie, with snaps along the crotch and soft ruffles at the sleeves. The pale pink fabric looked too small, too innocent—like something a baby would wear, not her. Kaleigh’s pulse hammered in her ears. No. No way. It looked so small, so impossibly babyish. She pulled the pacifier out just long enough to blurt, her voice shaking, “Please,” she managed. She tried to shake her head, her voice a desperate whisper. “I’ll wear the ducky pajamas. Please. Anything but that.” Vicky didn’t even hesitate. “No, Kaleigh,” she said, her tone gentle but final as she pushed the pacifier back into her mouth. “This is what he wants.” What he wants. Kaleigh’s heart sank, her mind spinning. She thought about her friends—what he was doing to them, what else he might want. The thought of them seeing her like this, of them ending up here too—it was too much. Her chest felt too tight, her breath coming in ragged pulls as she watched Vicky unfold the onesie. She could already imagine it—how the soft cotton would cling to her, how the snaps would close around the bulge of the thick diaper between her legs. She pressed her lips tighter around the pacifier, tears prickling at her eyes as she let Vicky guide her arms into the onesie, the soft cotton sliding over her shoulders and hugging her too tight, too small. She tried to think of something to say, something to fight back with, but her mind was just a swirl of panicked thoughts: I can’t wear that. I’m not a baby. What if my friends saw me? What if he sees me? Kaleigh let out a shaky breath and tried to tell herself it was just easier to go along for now, just until she could figure something out, but the snaps closed between her legs with soft clicks that felt louder than any scream she could have made. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. And in that quiet nursery, with the night light spinning slow shadows on the walls, Kaleigh realized she’d never felt smaller. Never felt so completely at the mercy of someone else’s hands. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Vicky guided her back to the crib, the slow, careful pull of her hand making Kaleigh feel even smaller. The thick diaper forced her to waddle, every muffled crinkle a tiny echo in the hush of the nursery. She tried to keep her head up, tried not to flinch with every step, but it was like she could feel her own shame in the quiet air. The crib was just as she remembered—soft sheets, pale blue mobile turning lazy circles overhead. But now, every soft toy, every gentle line of the wooden rails felt like a taunt. Like she was too old, too big—and too small all at once. She climbed in slowly and held her breath, her pulse skipping every time the thick padding shifted between her legs. She tried to pretend she was just… climbing into bed. Just another night, another sleep. But the rustle of the onesie, the too-sweet scent of baby powder coating her skin—it all made her feel like a prop in some twisted bedtime story. Vicky watched her settle in, her face calm, her hands moving with quiet certainty as she smoothed the blankets around Kaleigh’s legs. “There now,” she said softly, like she was tucking in a child. “All cozy.” She could feel the weight of the pacifier in her mouth, the soft, rubbery shape pressing against her teeth with every shaky breath. She didn’t want it, but she didn’t want to let it go either. It was something to hold onto. Something that made her feel like she could still breathe, even when nothing made sense. Kaleigh couldn’t look at her. She flicked the pacifier with her tongue, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. She felt the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. She pulled out the thick rubber bulb with trembling fingers, her voice cracking in the quiet. “Um… can I go to the bathroom?” she whispered, the words so small she almost didn’t hear them herself. “Sorry I didn’t ask before you… put me in all this. I just—please. I really need to—” Vicky shook her head, her fingers brushing a stray hair from Kaleigh’s forehead. “No, Kaleigh,” she said softly, her voice so gentle it almost hurt to hear. “I’m afraid you’ll have a wet diaper in the morning.” Vicky turned away for a moment, her hand drifting to her own bottom—those faint red marks still visible, peeking out from the legbands of her matching pull-up, and turned back, her expression soft, and smoothed the blanket around Kaleigh’s waist. “Goodnight, Kaleigh,” she said quietly, like this was just another night. “I’ll see you in the morning.” The crib rails came up this time with a soft, final click, closing her in. This is insane. This can’t be real. They’re treating me like an actual baby. Kaleigh lay there, staring at the slow, lazy spin of the mobile above her head. She could feel the thick padding of the diaper wrapped around her hips, the warm weight of the bottle in her hands. She could feel the tears building behind her eyes, the tight, hot sting of them. She told herself she wouldn’t let them fall. She wouldn’t. Don’t cry. Don’t you fucking cry. Crying is for babies. -------------------------------- The Sweet Hollow series is a psychological thriller mystery. Follow along as Kaleigh and the other girls from the bus discover the mysteries of this sleepy little town that seems determined to turn them into little girls. You can read the ENTIRE 55k word story RIGHT NOW on Ream or SubscribeStar or grab it now on Amazon. Book 2 also launched last month and Book 3 comes out next week (Subscribers have already read the first four chapters). Read more here: SubStar | Ream | Amazon

I started a FREE newsletter and Pretty When She's Quiet is the first story, a follow-up to Weekend in the Mechanical Nursery. I'll share a new exclusive story each month either following up with characters from some of my stories or writing a new short story that will only be available to newsletter subscribers, not on Ream/SubStar, not for sale. So, if you're curious as to what happened to Jenna, Kayla, and Rebecca after the Mechanical Nursery story wrapped, check it out! ---------------------------------------------------- Chapter Fourteen Jennifer understood now. She looked at the spot in the lunchroom where she had sat only a week ago as she dined on salads and chicken nuggets with Ashley. She remembered looking at Miss Rachel, seated in the very high chair she now found herself in, and wondering how a grown woman could allow herself to be reduced to such a humiliating reduction of infantile femininity. Now, as Jennifer shook her head back and forth, trying her best to avoid the disgusting mush, she understood. For her, it happened slowly, one piece at a time until her adulthood was eroded leaving nothing behind but this baby food covered woman-child. She made eye contact with Daisy, who had lifted up in her seat to eat her chicken nuggets on her knees to make sure that she could enjoy the show. Daisy gave a playful wave and made an elaborate showing of how delicious her chicken nuggets were, displaying a practically orgasmic face for what Jennifer knew from experience were actually damn good nuggets. The mushy slop currently dripping down her cheeks did not hold the same appeal. Jodi was seated next to Daisy and offered a kind smile, but knew there was nothing else she could do for Jennifer now. The demoted journalist stuck out her tongue to force the latest round of dark-colored puree out of her mouth, long past any sense of decency or self-respect. At the next table, all the women from the classroom were quietly eating their salads. Mrs. Stern looked at her and Jennifer quickly looked away, not able to deal with that woman looking into her soul while she tried to stomach spoonful after spoonful of what was undoubtedly prunes or strained beef. Her taste buds simply rejected everything at this point in silent protest. Her classroom nemesis, Maria, was seated at the table closest to her and continued to stare and smile, clearly loving every moment. Jennifer looked away between bites, but every time she glanced over, Maria was there, grinning and enjoying the show while she munched on small bites of her salad. The taste and texture of the colorful purees she was forced to dine on were bad enough, as was being on humiliating display, but the lack of autonomy was really getting to her. Jennifer wasn’t able to control the pacing or size of the spoonfuls of putrid mush heading towards her face as the cuffs kept her grabby hands far out of reach. She so badly wanted to reach up and wipe her mouth as the lingering puree dripping slowly down her cheeks felt slimy and disgusting. To her right, she watched the only other woman that could possibly understand her predicament. She was older, maybe ten years older than Jennifer, and sat obediently in a similarly humiliating state of infantile nudity while she opened her mouth for the next spoonful. The blonde woman made faces from time to time, but almost seemed bored by her treatment. How could anyone see this as routine? Jennifer was thirsty and desperately wanted to wash the taste out of her mouth, but couldn’t bring herself to ask to drink from a baby bottle again. The classroom spankings and training potties were enough to scare her straight, and she hadn’t even done anything wrong. She couldn’t imagine anyone sitting in this highchair or wearing diapers and coming back from the experience. This had already permanently changed Jennifer, and she had only just begun. What had Daisy done to earn more than one day here? “Jenny, try to focus so we can get back to the nursery for your nap, okay, honey?” The condescending baby-talk and pet names were going to be the end of her. She knew it. Jenny opened her mouth, hoping that she could at least speed this part along, and was utterly dismayed when yet another jar of baby food found its way to her tray. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o The milk or formula or shake or whatever was in the oversized baby bottles proved to be a welcomed change of pace from the disgusting baby food. Jennifer looked down at the six jars of baby food, utterly appalled to have been forced to eat so much mushy slop and already daydreaming about where she would stop on the way home for a proper meal. Her high chair reclined slightly, and the nanny gripped the bottle firmly to her messy mouth as Jennifer was forced to slurp down her second bottle. Twin trails of white liquid pooled from the corners of her mouth and down her cheeks, but her new nanny was relentless and gently chided her for being such a fussy little baby. The other woman had already finished her bottles and was having her face wiped clean by her nanny before opening her mouth to accept her pacifier. Jennifer felt so full and looked down to see her normally taut belly poking out over the waistband of her diaper. From her reclined vantage point, she could see her friends and enemies finishing their lunches and heading back to their classrooms; juvenile classrooms that were deemed too big for her now. Jennifer tried to make note of how small she was feeling and invoke those emotions later in her article. But first Jennifer had to get through the rest of the day in The Nursery. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o The trip back to the nursery was uneventful, except that she was a thirty-eight-year-old professional journalist wearing nothing but a diaper being pushed through hallways while restrained in an oversized baby stroller. Jennifer wasn’t sure if another woman being treated as a baby alongside her made it more or less weird and wasn’t sure how much they could chat if the diapered duo remained pacified for the afternoon. The arrival to The Nursery felt different this time. During her previous trip, the trappings of the room itself were overtaken by the drama of a CEO in a maid uniform being spanked and demoted to diapers. It felt strange at the time but, seeing the woman’s haughty attitude, it felt earned. The Nursery felt like a place where deserving women got what was coming to them. They couldn’t act responsibly in an adult world, so they were demoted and had their adulthood stripped from them. But Jennifer didn’t feel that way about herself. She couldn’t speak for her diapered companion strapped in the stroller next to her, but Jennifer felt that she was here unjustly. She had been tickled and forced to wet herself. It wasn’t fair and wasn’t her fault. And then…Jennifer smiled, despite herself, and thought of her favorite movie, The Shawshank Redemption, when Morgan Freeman told Andy that he would fit right in because everyone believed they were innocent in prison. She looked at the other woman, who was already being unstrapped and helped from her stroller, and wondered if her diapered counterpart felt the same way. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Jennifer survived the indignity of her first diaper check as the two women were poked and prodded before bending forward to have their powdery bottoms inspected. She was dry, of course, and was utterly surprised to find that the other woman had wet herself. Her mind was reeling. The women actually used the diapers? Peed in them? That hadn’t come up in her earlier interview and tour. Jennifer had assumed that the mere act of dressing grown women as infants was the punishment. Do they actually expect me to pee in this thing? As the nannies went off to prepare for diaper and wardrobe changes, the older blonde woman leaned over and pulled out her pacifier. “That was a mistake. You should have wet yourself before naptime. Go now if you can and you might get her to change you before they put us down, since it’s your first time.” Jennifer looked at the apparently experienced woman like she was crazy. Absolutely insane. In the Preschool room, the journalist was tickled. Forced. Coerced into submission as her body betrayed her and her bladder released without permission. But there was no way that Jennifer was going to wet herself willingly. She would be going home in a few hours and could surely hold it until then. Lost in her thoughts, Jennifer didn’t realize that she was now standing alone. She looked for her diapered companion, but the allegedly soggy blonde was already on the changing table and Jennifer could confirm that it was indeed a wet diaper she was being changed out of. A grown woman. Older than her. On an adult-sized changing table. Being changed out of a wet adult-sized diaper. Before naptime. What the fuck is happening? o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Jennifer lay in her crib and stared at the bottle. There was no way in hell that she was going to drink that. Not with what she had just witnessed and learned. She was thankful to have some clothes. At least she thought she was thankful to have clothes. Her fingers pulled and prodded at the tight pink onesie that covered her body, leaving her bare legs exposed before her matching booties completed the ensemble. The unexpected part was the new feeling of the restrictive onesie forcing her diaper into her smooth, powdered parts. She shifted and moved around on the crib, feeling the padding push into her, and let her hands trace their way down her body from her breasts to the bulky diaper. Glancing at the nannies, Jennifer saw that their backs were turned, and they seemed to be on their phones, earning themselves a needed break after an exhausting feeding and changing session. She pressed down on the bulky padding, experimenting with the feel and thickness for the first time. This had been her only semblance of solitude since arriving and she took full advantage, exploring the new addition to her wardrobe and how it felt on her body. Jennifer squeezed her legs together, the tightness of the onesie forcing the thick padding against her soft folds. She continued to let her hands explore, closing her eyes, and sucking on her pacifier as she recapped the events that had led her to this point. Being stripped and spanked and…shaved… Her hands pressed into the padding and her hips raised ever so slightly to meet the pressure. They had shaved and spanked her. Forced her into these demeaning outfits and then continued to strip and spank her, humiliating her in front of new groups of women. She had been forced to use a training potty and then wet herself in front of everyone before being changed into a diaper. She continued rubbing, picking up speed, as she thought of her own debasement and demotion until she stopped suddenly, eyes popping open with alarm. What the fuck am I doing? Shame and confusion overwhelmed her as she realized she had been pleasuring herself, somehow getting off on the humiliating treatment. It wasn’t bad enough that they had demoted and humiliated her, but she was getting off on it? Now she had to add horniness to her growing list of new and strange emotions? Nope. Absolutely not. Not doing that. Jennifer tried to roll to her side, but the diaper was too bulky for side sleeping. She rolled to her belly, feeling the bulk of the diaper pushing against her loins in a new way. Jennifer gave one experimental thrust into the mattress and then stopped, peering through the slats of her crib into the amused eyes of the other woman. The journalist closed her eyes, willing the strange situation to go away. Maybe a nap wasn’t such a bad idea after all… ------------------------- Grab the completed story HERE Ream | SubStar | Amazon | Newsletter

With the second book of this trilogy almost at an end (I'm posting the epilogue next week) and the resurgence of an original character, I was feeling a bit reminiscent for our original trio and wrote this short story. I started a FREE newsletter and Pretty When She's Quiet is the first story and then I'll post a new exclusive story each month either following up with characters from some of my stories or writing a new short story. So, if you're curious as to what happened to Jenna, Kayla, and Rebecca after this story wrapped, check it out!