Cute_Kitten

Very true, the weakness is in the guards but in this fictional world, the gangs in the outside are a huge mess and disarray. They're used to having the upper hand and running the show, but the new president has special task forces that are actively hunting gang members down and arresting them in a blitzkrieg move. So the gangs are scrambling on how to cope with that and trying to regroup, so they're not much of a threat at the moment, especially with most of their leaders locked up. The guards operate in shifts- the prison has housing just for the guards where they stay while they're on duty. Kind of like oil rig workers- so many days on, followed by so many days off. The way this supermax is set up, the humans are most vulnerable weak link and they would logically try to tackle that angle first. But I can also see the prison having strict vetting and screening of any employees, plus the numerous security camers. I definitely think everyone involved in the planning and adminstration of the prison would have thought of the potential for the gangs to try and infiltrate the guards, and would have security measures and safety measures in place to try and prevent it. Once the gangs on the outside have time to regroup, I can definitely see some cat and mouse games going on. Though given the harsh penalties this regime hands out to the gang members, it's definitely going to be a challenge for them. I haven't presented any of this information in the story because I don't think it's something the Warden would say in front of the inmates, even if he was giving a tour to journalists, and I don't think it's something the main character, as a prisoner, would know.

This is the last bit of set-up before we get to the really fun parts. Normally I feel this would be too much exposition for a story, but that was the whole focus of the start of the story- exploring the outer world and circumstances that led to the development of this particular prison, and exploring the prison routine itself from the eyes of a prisoner. I usually don't work in first person, but I chose to this time because it's the most immersive POV and it just felt right for this piece. My goal at the beginning was to give readers a sense of the overall wider world of the story, and of the narrower world inside the prison. I tried to also build a sense of the main character in bits and pieces, but there is more of that when we get into the upcoming scenes when more characters come into play. And I'm rambling so I'll shuddup now. 😆 So why don’t we abused prisoners just riot and take over like inmates at other prisons have done in the past? It’s not possible in this hellhole. Even with fifty of us in one huge cell, there is no advantage in numbers. First off, the cells are bare. The only furniture are the steel slabs bolted to the walls. Each inmate gets a small scratchy white blanket and a towel. That’s it. No TV. No phones. No books. Not even a religious tome. We talk in hushed whispers only when we’re certain the guards aren’t watching. Which they always are. Our days are spent in silence. Like we’re supposed to be penitent monks or something. We’re supposed to reflect and repent. They say that during religion class. Those bastards just want to slowly drive us insane. That’s their true plan. No clocks in here. No way to tell time by meticulous design. Lights are on 24/7. No windows. Numerous cameras monitor our every movement from every angle. So do armed guards outside our cells. Even caged and diapered, the guards fear us. Just the memory of our ferocious rule still terrorizes their psyches. All of the guards and medical staff -even the burly asshole doctor- wear face masks to conceal their identities. They’re terrified one of us notorious gangsters will identify them then find a way to pass the information to our boys on the outside and have them or their families killed in retaliation for the torment they subject us to. Before the tyrant of a president came to power, that’s what we used to do, part of how we controlled the old prison system. Gang leaders on the inside passed an order to kill a guard to the outside. In this prison, so far it’s proven impossible. Their fear is old and lingering, a scar of mental trauma. This prison uses signal jammers to block any and all contact with the outside world. The prison staff have special landlines to communicate with the outerworld. Prisoners do not get phone calls. No visits, either. Ever. No seeing your family and friends ever again. They say it’s a major safety risk; prisoners can use visitations and phone calls to smuggle out orders or smuggle in contraband. Once the prison beast has swallowed you, you’re as good as dead to the outside world. The Warden claims visits are a high security risk and that safety outweighs our human rights yet again. The only people we’re allowed to see are our lawyers over a heavily monitored video call while we’re shackled to a metal chair bolted into the cement floor while two armed guards stand over us. The only things our lawyers can tell our families are about our health- that we’re alive, we’re okay, and information about our trials. Families can not send us a message through our lawyer, nor can the lawyer deliver one from us. No outside news for us on the inside. There’s a danger that gang orders could be smuggled in code, and the Warden will not let that happen on his watch. The front of our cells are old fashioned iron bars we can reach through. There’s yellow lines painted on the concrete floor outside each cell that indicates how far guards need to stand back so we can’t grab them and steal their guns. Above us are more bars. Above those cage tops are cat walks with grille bottoms and armed guards looking down on us. If we try to grab the guards at the front of our cells, the ones above us will open fire with impunity. That’s not what keeps us so compliant. The threat of the guards is not what keeps two rival gangs housed together without automatically going for each others’ throats. It’s The Abyss. The Hole. Solitary confinement. Segregation. It’s a small room made entirely of concrete, with a concrete slab for a bed and a concrete water basin for drinking water. And a tiny fist sized hole way up top in the ceiling to let in daylight. But it’s so small and so far above you the light never reaches the bottom of the room. So as soon as that cell door slams shut behind you, you’re trapped in darkness and complete utter silence for fifteen days. It doesn’t sound like much of a threat until you experience it for yourself. Total isolation and sensory deprivation. It makes a man mad. Fearful. Compliant. It breaks him. It’s easier to just follow the rules. Fighting will only break you faster. The more you fight, the more time you spend in The Abyss. That along with all the surveillance is how they can house rival gangs together without any problems. No one dares to fight. Trips to the Abyss swiftly discourage you. A weak man could quickly lose his sense of self along with his sense of time. Night and day do not exist in this ever-fluorescent hell. The only changes are exercise, religion, diapers, new guard shifts, and meals. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all blend together. You don’t know which one you’re getting. They’re all the same. Rice, beans, and flatbread. Sometimes we get garlic noodles as a treat. No utensils. Too dangerous. We could use them as a weapon. No meat for the prisoners. It’s an unnecessary luxury and expense like milk and juice and fruit and vegetables. We get all our nutrition from powdered supplements of vitamins and protein added to our meals. When giving guided tours, the Warden loves to brag about it so much I can regurgitate his lines in my sleep. The guards get meat. Sometimes, when there is a shift change right after a meal, I can smell it on them. We all can. Some of us drool. They know it, too. They probably do it on purpose to taunt us and add to our pain and suffering like the sadistic bastards they are. Once a day, cell by cell, we’re shackled one at a time and taken out for exercise, religion, and diaper change time. No weight rooms or rec yards for us. Too risky, too dangerous. Can’t let the pants-pissing violent felons get their cuffed hands on anything. Always, in and out of our cells, we have two sets of armed guards ready to fire if we try anything on top of the regular guards with their batons they freely club us with. Anytime we’re out of our cells, we are shackled hands and feet. Not that we can move much with these bulky, bulging diapers bloated with our bodily waste. Once you’re inside this prison, your world shrinks to your cell and the area outside your cell. It is a rectangular, long and open aisle between the two rows of cells. Exercise, religion, and diaper changes occur in the aisle. Going to medical or talking to your lawyer are rare treats. In our crinkly, bloated diapers, socks and crocs, and clinking chains toddle and waddle out of our cells in groups of ten at a time to form five orderly rows while we’re surrounded by guards. If we jump one or two guards and take them, the others will pounce and fall on us like a ton of bricks. The consequences aren’t worth it. I’ve contemplated various scenarios for success daily. I’ve concocted a variety of escape and riot plans in my head. At this point, they’re more like wild fantasies than logistical plans. None hold a glimmer of success or hope. We’ve all thought the same things since arriving at this accursed fortress of despair. There are worse fates than death. The Abyss is one of them. After we line up, one of the numerous masked and unnamed guards stands in front of us. We sit on the cold cement in the middle of the aisle. We sing religious songs, a guard reads out of a holy book and we recite after him or listen as he lectures us about morality. For exercise, we use only our own body weight. Moving around shackled is hard and awkward. Moving around shackled and in a swollen, fully loaded and squelching diaper that forces your legs apart because it is so saturated and absorbent padding fully expanded is practically impossible. We look like bumbling, unsteady and overgrown tattooed toddlers as we bend to touch our toes and warm up. We jump, the chains preventing us from doing proper jumping jacks. All our movements are hampered. We exercise for half an hour then plonk our sweaty, squishy diapered bottoms on the cement. This often causes a lot of leaky diapers since by this time our padding is usually near full capacity. After exercise and forced indoctrination that will supposedly save our souls for the afterlife since we already ruined our earthly lives, it is finally time for a blessed diaper change. You don’t get those in the Abyss. Hell, sometimes they don’t even feed you. They get away with it by fudging the documentation and straight up lying and denying. Of course the problematic prisoner was properly fed on time and his diaper was changed on time. He’s just lost track of time and wants to cause more problems. Who is the Warden going to believe? Not that we get a chance to complain. Our lawyers are mostly public defenders who do the bare minimum required by law to help us and they make no secret of their relief we’re locked up and the streets are peaceful for the first time in half a century. Us prisoners have no one but each other and we’re all in the same dirty diaper of life. The highlight of our day is diaper change time. Even when you get used to randomly pissing yourself, feeling the padding swell around your dick or when you loudly fart then suddenly an avalanche of warm, mushy, smelly crap fills the back of your diaper and the weight of it makes the diaper sag- even when you’re used to all that, the feeling of a fresh, clean diaper is akin to heaven. The ever-present crinkles become white noise, background music automatically tuned out. While we sit and anticipate clean, fresh diapers, the guards bring out the robonannies. These things are at the cutting edge of technology along with our innovative diapers. They’re used in hospitals, nursing homes, and mental institutions in the space colonies and more progressive countries. They are silver discs the side of a dinner plate or frisbee. I don’t know how much they weigh, but the guards have no trouble carrying them. One by one, us prisoners in our filthy, sometimes leaking diapers are motioned to lay down on the cold, hard, unforgiving cement. No nice cushiony changing mats for our irredeemable ilk. One touch of a guard’s finger and the silver discs silent whir to life, morphing into a metal pole with silver arms and hand-like appendages. The first time I saw one, I was terrified. It’s like a cartoon morphed with a horror movie to create this mechanical diaper changing abomination. More officers wheel over a heavily guarded cart full of disgustingly cheerful, oversized baby diapers, special compostable garbage bags for our dirty diapers, and a huge tub of slimy neon pink goo. One of the metallic skeletal hands lifts my legs up by my ankle cuffs and chains. Obediently, I spread my hips. I keep my eyes open. Closing them is no escape from the humiliation of this ritual. It only shows weakness. They can never break or conquer a free man. They can only kill him. Or make him incontinent. But they will never kill my soul. Always, every diaper change, I always feel the eyes on me. Hundreds of eyes- both the masked guards and my fellow prisoners. Chained helplessly, emasculated, diapered, and dominated, they still fear us. I see it in their cruelty, in their cold eyes, how they cling to their guns and their hatred. Under all that is raw, primal fear. And from that I get my courage to face this torturous existence and live another day. Mechanical fingers rip open the tabs on my big baby diaper. The noise echoes in the vast room as everyone stares at me. I do not flinch even a tiny bit. The front of my diaper is lowered, revealing my piss and shit covered dick to all those watching eyes. I pointedly meet every gaze I can. No one looks away. No one really cares. We all do it to each other. The machine wipes away the shit plastered and smeared all over my hairless ass, swift and efficient. No emotions at all, which is a blessing in a way. I’m used to diaper changes; it’s my new normal. Once my forever hairless dick is clean, a new diaper is flapped open and slid underneath me. It’s white- always white- thick and bulky. This one has pink hearts and diapered ballerina teddy bears in pink tutus. I’ve been here so long that every single print has been slapped on my ass repeatedly. Even the girly pink prints don’t bother me. Nothing fazes me. I’ve adapted to living in this institutionalized hellhole. But they haven’t broken me. I just do what I need to survive. None of us will break in the face of this physical and psychological torture. Before the new diaper is fastened, a mechanical hand slathers pink goo all over my dick, balls, and ass. It’s another new invention, originally created for the astronauts and first inhabitants of the space colonies. It’s the ultimate diaper cream to prevent rashes and to protect the skin and keep it healthy during steady, prolonged diaper wear. It quickly entered mainstream use in hospitals and nursing homes. Once the entire cell of inmates are freshly diapered, one by one our cuffs are removed and we’re back in our cells then the next group of prisoners are taken out while the rest of us look on. Not like we have anything better to do. So there you have it. That’s how we spend our diaper pissing and diaper shitting days in an endless time loop. Only scheduled activities mark the passage of time. We can only whisper amongst ourselves, hoping the crinkles of our diapers prevent the guards above us and in front of us from hearing. They’re always watching. So are the cameras. Talking is a one way ticket to fifteen days in the Abyss. There are no goals of rehabilitation here, no matter what feel-good, sound-good propaganda claptrap the government spouts. It’s all smoke and mirrors, all lies and subterfuge to cover up the fact that this is all pure punishment and revenge from tyrants who hate the might and power us gangsters once had over them. It was power they could only dream of.

Good luck getting the diapers shipped to the hotel. It sounds tricky! Diapered vacations are the best vacations. But they also add another element to manage and add more logistics to the planning. But it's always worth it.

Super fun! If I'm ever up that way, I'd definitely stop and shop too! Back in the 00's and early 10's I used to buy diapers from a medical supply store but now I do all my shopping online. I've never been to a straight up ABDL store. It's awesome you got to go!

I do have a waterproof mattress cover. They make quiet ones now so they're not the traditional noisy crinkly plastic (but I do like the crinkly noises lol) If my night diaper leaks just a little then I will spot clean with a little bit of soap, water, and a sponge then let that air dry. If it's a bigger leak then I change and wash the sheets.

The damn diapers are just the beginning of our torment. This prison is just downright barbarically cruel in its design. It is the largest correctional institution on the planet, in this solar system. Everything about this prison is designed to physically and mentally break you. It is located in the middle of nowhere, in land specially cleared just for it. The prison itself is 57 acres with the surrounding 350 acres on every side cleared flat land so there is nowhere to hide. There is a five mile surrounding radius of cellular signal blockout. There is only one road; one way in, and one way out. There are multiple heavily armed and guarded stop and inspection points along that road. The prison can hold up to fifty-thousand inmates. The massive complex is surrounded by three high cement walls and electrified barbed wire with twenty watch towers and manned by guards all too happy and eager to shoot any escapees. Once inside, the prison complex is divided into eight sectors. Each is fully independent, including electricity etc. Each unit has its own backup generators. Escape is futile. The warden took great delight in pointing all of this out upon arrival. Once an inmate is dragged through the intake doors of this prison, he will never see the outside world again. Never again will he feel the warmth of the sun upon his face, hear the song of birds, smell the spring flowers. He’s a living dead man. This is not a prison. It is a tomb for the living. Cold cement and steel are all we’ll ever know for the rest of our lives. The intake process is brutal. You’re stripped naked and your cuffed hands and feet are bound together by a short chain that forces you to bend in half and shuffle-scoot hunched over. There are multiple scans, both human and machine. Oral and rectal probing are just the start. There are machines that see right inside of you. They claim it is to prevent contraband but we all know the truth. It is to establish dominance and control from the very moment you step off the prison bus that transfers you from holding jail to prison. You’re the government’s bitch now baby. Still chained and naked, it is off to medical. Here the real torture begins. We don’t even get the decency of sexy nurses to look at. Even convicts on death row get a last meal in other countries. There’s no sympathy here. Just hostility and hatred. The doctor and his nurses are all big hairy men with anger management issues. Fully nude, you’re shackled spread-eagle to a metal slab of an exam table. Get used to the feeling. Your new bed in a cell is just a metal slab too. No pillows or lumpy mattresses in this hell. For our own good and safety, of course. All you get is just a light sheet with a chip inside that will start chirping the moment you tie it into a knot. Your head and face are shaved. No beards or moustaches allowed in hell. They say it’s a health issue and the shaving prevents lice. But we know the truth. Any and all traces of individuality- including your heart and soul- are to be stamped out. All we have left of our former selves and old lives are our tattoos. All prisoners look the same with shaved heads and uniforms. This is the first of the psychological torture and conditioning. Rival gangs are housed together, which has never happened before. We’re too violent, too unpredictable. Rival gangs kill each other on site. No matter where. Not here. That was made clear from the moment we stepped off the prison bus. In here, we’re all the same. Monstrous trash. Dead men still living. They just have to kill your soul first. The rest of your body hair is shaved off, including your genitals. A weird smelling cream is then spread over your body from your chin on down. It burns. That’s the sensation of your hair follicles melting. You will never grow hair again. Just like a baby. The nurses do a thorough health assessment and any needed medications assigned. Then the shackles holding you to the exam table are tightened. More are added so you can not move or thrash at all. You’re belted down like a death row inmate on the execution gurney with multiple straps all over you. A burly nurse with a poker face grabs your dick roughly and jabs you with a numbing injection. He does the same thing to your ass. The motions are robotic. He’s done this hundreds, thousands of times to the point it is nothing to him. You’re just another brick in the wall, your torment and anguish just another ho-hum day at the office. Maybe the first few dozen prisoners he faces with sadistic glee but by now the fun has worn off. The doctor inserts a thin silicone looking rod into your penis, up your urethra and sphincter. Once in place, it unfurls into a soft stent that attaches to your sphincter walls and permanently holds the muscles open. Instantly you will never control your bladder again. The same thing is done to your ass. From now on, you will helplessly piss and shit yourself like an invalid or a baby. You will need diapers. They put you in diapers. Not medical diapers. That would give us a pretense of dignity, which is too much mercy for us so-called monsters. All we get are scaled up baby diapers. The diapers are white with a variety of horrendously juvenile and sometimes feminine prints. Baby blocks that spell out the words “Bad Baby”, “Princess Poops A lot”, or “Proud Pants Pooper”, etc. There's pastel rattles, balloons, clowns, teddy bears, ballerinas, unicorns. The teddy bears wear diapers too. These aren’t ordinary jumbo baby diapers. They have been specially engineered just for us, based off the new diaper designs for the space colonies. They’re thick. Incredibly thick and plastic backed. You can’t make the slightest movement without crinkling. The diapers make you waddle like an unsteady toddler they’re so thick. They’re biodegradable and turn human feces and urine into wonderful compost material for crops or to burn as fuel for energy. The smug bastard of a Warden loves to joke that the prison is so efficient even our waste doesn’t go to waste. These diapers swell enormously, quadrupling in size so you can barely toddle as you haul around all the shit and piss you helplessly dump into your ever-expanding diaper. You can not take them off yourself. The only way to get the damn diaper off is one of the robot nannies. The diaper tabs have special electronics that fuse to the landing zone. You could, theoretically, take your diaper off with scissors, a knife, or a prison-made shank but in the four years I've been here no one has managed to get hold of any implement to even try. You can’t even make a shank in this place. It is impossible to try due to the design and the way they run this place. I’ll get to that in a minute. So, the robonannies. Just as the name implies. Like the Moon and Mars colonies, it’s relatively new technology. These robot nannies are programmed to change diapers. They’re not yet capable of full-on caregiving. Diaper changes occur at designated times. Because of these ultra-absorbent diapers, we get changed once a day when we’re let out of our cells for exercise and religion classes. I’m getting ahead of myself again. So, after medical when you’re newly shaved and diaper-dependent, you’re taken in a line with the other new arrivals to your cell. One by one you are uncuffed and released into it. Your prison uniform is a white t-shirt, white ankle socks, a think scratchy white blanket, and white crocs. And your diaper. No dignity or shorts allowed. Your diaper is to be visible at all times, so everyone can see the state of it. How wet you are. How poopy you are. They can see when you piss and shit yourself. Not that they care. The humiliation stings your pride the worse the first few times. Eventually you won’t notice. You grow numb to it as your pride is cut away diaper by loaded, smelly diaper. It becomes your new normal and you’re numb to it all. It’s just one of the ways in which your mind adapts, a small step to becoming institutionalized just like the victims of the old mental asylums centuries ago used to be. I bet their abusive captors forced them to wear diapers, too. Why force us into incontinence? Numerous reasons which the government will deny. They say it is to help us learn humility, for rehabilitation, and sanitary reasons. Toilets- even just a cement hole in the ground- is a safety risk for such violent felons like us. It gives us access to our own feces, and being the aggressive animals we are, have been known to use as weapons, to throw at guards and each other. It is a biohazardous weapon and our diapers prevent access to it. Each cell in this prison houses fifty men. Yes, you read right. Fifty. 50. We’re just thrown together like chattel. This is to maximize space and further desensitize and institutionalize us by stripping us of our own innate sense of personal space. How do they make sure we behave in such conditions instead of just rioting and dog piling on them all at once? I’ll get to that in a bit. The diapers make such living conditions more sanitary, according to the Warden. He loves to point that out. We’re doing good for the environment and that helps us give back to the communities and country we damaged and teaches us the importance of thinking how our actions impact others instead of just being selfish and thinking only of ourselves. Toilets in such large cells are not sanitary and they are not safe. Toilets provide inmates with parts for weapons. It is a dangerous risk. Diapers we can not remove are much safer for the guards. The forced incontinence reinforces the fact that we are not in control of our lives at all. Big Daddy Government now says when we get clean diapers and no longer have to stew in our own bodily fluids. The real reason those sadistic bastards force us into incontinence and diapers is just because they can. The government hates us gangsters and wants revenge. We were the government. We ran the country and spat on their laws. We made our own laws. We were free and rich and they hate us for it so they humiliate us at any and every chance they get. What is more painful and demoralizing than stripping a man of his ability to relieve and control his most intimate bodily functions? It is the biggest indignation and violation of our human rights. It gives them ultimate control over us.

Those diapers are super adorable! The LFB Fantasy is one of my top favorite diapers. but the circus prints are soo cute and perfectly babyish!

That looks really good. I could imagine a Grown Up version of the drink with a lil splash of vodka.

I hear wearing a diaper on Friday the 13th wards off bad luck!

I like the print from what I've seen. It's nice to have more "grown up/ big kid" type prints to choose from in addition to the wide variety of baby prints already available. I haven't seen the diaper fully unfolded or what the front/ back looks like (maybe those pictures exist already and I just haven't seen 'em). I'll wait to hear more about them. 🙂 Cloth backed or plastic? How do they compare to the diapers already on the market? Performance, fit, absorbency, tapes, and cost. A lot of things to discover.

Alas I don't have graphic design skills, I just wanted to say if you end up using a site like Fiver to please be careful since there seems to be an uptick in scammers the last few months on those kind of sites. (Not saying all those sites are bad or that everyone on them is a scammer, but that there seem to have been more scammers popping up and ripping people off so if anyone uses those sites to maybe be a little more cautious than usual).

Glad you found a solution that works for you! It's nice there is such a wide variety of incontinence products available and with a wide range of abosrbencies! Each person has their own individual needs and preferences, and with so many products available it can take some time and patience to find what works best.

Are you sure you didn't find a lost cat? 😉

That sign is definitely part of the bad decision making. And the drugs. Plenty of drugs were involved in that.

Why do I feel like this incident ended with a trip to the ER, a very interesting X-ray, and afterwards behind closed doors a doctor telling their fellow colleagues "So you won't believe where this idiot shoved a spoon..." Also, copious amounts of illegal narcotis may or may not have been involved in the bad decision making.

It's been a while. I've had some major writer's block with this story but it's back on track! Also, apparently there actually exists a Furry Krewe in New Orleanse for Mardi Gras, and that is totally awesome! The furry krewe depicted here in this story are 1000% fictitious, completely made up and not related in any way whatsoever to the real furry krewe. “Zoey. I changed my mind. Let’s go. I don’t wanna see a parade.” His voice was flat and firm, betraying none of the fear or vulnerability he felt. This was dangerous. He hated dense crowds. There was nowhere safe to move. To turn around and go back meant pushing against the flow of tightly packed bodies. Sam had been fine until the crowd suddenly got too dense. The other parades he had seen were old. The well established krewes had well known routes with special reserved seats for people with disabilities. He always made sure to get there well ahead of time before the last minute rush. This parade they stumbled into by surprise at the last minute. Panic twisted in his gut and shone bright in his blue eyes. The change in him immediately caught Zoey’s attention. The press and squeeze of bodies jostled him and knocked him off balance. Zoey stepped up close behind him. Her arms wrapped around his tiny waist and pulled him to her chest. She used her own body to shield and protect him. Her muscles tensed when people bumped into her. The impact knocked them off balance; they stumbled away like they’d walked into a wall. She never lost her balance; all the bumps and jostles that would have sent Sam tumbling to the pavement were mere annoyances for her. She was as immovable as a rock. All fear and tension immediately drained from him the moment her arms encased him. Safe. He felt safe. He wasn’t sure what to make of such a raw emotional reaction. It was primal, felt deep in his bones. It was not a logical reaction; just pure instinct. Somewhere deep inside he knew she would protect him. His brain could make no sense of it. They were barely more than strangers. And she was an annoying perverted jerk. She was also pretty and there was certainly physical attraction between them. He felt the sparks every time their eyes met. In every tease and every touch. He knew she felt the same. It was the reason she was such a persistent pest. Love at first sight. Soul mates. Destined lovers. More romantic drivel and soppy bullshit only naive, gullible morons swallowed. Sam knew all too well how the real world worked. Sometimes, things just made no sense because humans were weird and stupid. Like why some people enjoyed diapers and chose to be padded. There were a variety of reasons that made no sense to the cynical, normal world: everything from sexual stimulation of thick soft padding encasing and rubbing against their genitals to the psychological comfort of feeling safe and secure by having their most intimate parts swaddled and protected in thick padding. He sometimes wondered if it was maladjusted reactions to some deep-seated childhood traumas? Hell if he knew. His thin little pink pullup felt so good, so right on him. So natural. Like being in Zoey’s arms. He belonged there, just like he belonged in diapers. Zoey was taller and slightly bigger than Sam. He fit into her arms like two perfect puzzle pieces, so natural like it was proof they were meant to be. He suppressed the urge to make a disgusted gagging sound at the cheesy, sentimental bilge. “Hey. You okay?” Her voice sounded like it came from far away, underwater. He didn’t respond except to go slack, knees buckling. His crutches almost slipped from his limp grip. The weight of his petite body leaned on her for support. Zoey caught Sam easily. To her, he felt like a toddler. So light. So tiny and fragile. She could manhandle him so easily, could accidentally hurt him if she wasn’t careful. A tongue rough like a dog’s rasped over his baby soft cheek and yanked him out of his thoughts. He yelped in surprise, making her giggle. “Did…did you just …lick me?” An impish grin spread across her face. “Got you out of your head, didn’t it? You were disassociating or something. I feared you were gonna have a panic attack or faint.” “But licking? That’s gross! It’s unhygienic!” “If you’re mad at me, then I know you’re okay.” “Not okay! You licked me! Who does that? Are you a dog?” Sam tilted his head back, trying to intimidate her for all he was worth and willing her to feel an ounce of shame. “Yes. Kinda sorta. More wolf than dog, but since dogs descended from wolves I guess the answer would be in the ballpark of yes. Maybe. There’s human in there too. It’s complicated. You know, a few decades ago this cryptozoologist dude came to New Orleans and did some DNA testing stuff with werewolf fur. There was a tiny bit of human and a dash of wolf but the results were mostly inconclusive.” His plump doll lips twisted into a sneer. “Of course. It was probably all made up for a stupid TV show.” The venom in his voice caught Zoey off guard. He wasn’t just playing along with her earlier silliness. He sounded so frustrated and annoyed by something he claimed not to believe in. Part of him- his subconscious perhaps- believed it. But he was in denial. “You really don’t believe in any of it, do you, Sammy-baby?” To Sam, she sounded so sad for a wild moment that he wanted to believe just for her sake, to make her happy. The heat from her body around him kept the February chill away and made him toasty warm. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Desperate to change the subject, he was suddenly aware of his surroundings again. Her bigger body shielded him from the press of a riotous crowd. The parade had already started. “Hey! Look!” He pointed in an attempt to distract her. “Sammy-” “No! Look! The parade!” His voice grew more insistent. With a sigh, Zoey relented. Music filled the air, a fusion of jazz and hip hop. Sam had been so lost in his head he completely tuned out the raucous world around him. People in animal costumes danced around colorful, glittery floats to hype up the crowd and toss out iconic Mardi Gras throws: beaded necklaces and plastic doubloon coins with the krewe’s emblem on one side and this year’s parade theme on the other. Some krewes had special signature throws unique to that krewe. Like the Krewe of Muses threw hand decorated shoes to a lucky few parade goers. The Krewe of Zulu were infamous for their decorated coconuts. Tucks Krewe threw toilet paper and small plungers. This krewe’s signature throw were small plushies that looked like each of the parade animal costumes. “Oh, fluffies! Those are fluffies! I’ve heard of them online but I’ve never seen them before.” Zoey said. Sam giggled. “Furries. The word is furry.” A sly glint entered his eyes as he looked up at her. “Are you one of them? Since you insist you’re a wolf and all.” “No. I’m not a fluffy. Furry. I’m a genuine werewolf. Lycanthrope if you wanna be all sciency about it.” “So you only wear your fursuit on the full moon?” “The werewolf thing doesn’t work like that. I literally turn into a wolfish creature. My body morphs. Whenever I want. Not every shifter can do that, you know. Change whenever they want. Most can only shift on the full moon.” “That’s a yes then.” “No. I’m not a human who prances around in a costume playing pretend.” “Sounds the same to me.” Oh how the tables had turned. Sam relished it. “They’re nothing alike at all.” Confusion filled her voice. Zoey didn’t realize he was teasing her. “I get it. You’re jealous. You want to be in the parade.” “Not jealous. I’m the real deal. Werewolves and furries are nothing alike.” “Sure. If you say so.” His tone was that of an adult indulging a particularly petulant child. A blue owl danced on top of a sparkly float covered in multicolored flowers, shaking their tail feathers to the music. Throws soared through the air, glinting in the weak afternoon sun. All around Sam, hands reached up to snatch the trinkets before they fell into his reach zone. Some purple and yellow necklaces landed on the pavement near him, untouched. He could stretch out a crutch and drag them to him- “Oh, cher. No no. Don’t do that. Bad luck to pick ‘em up off the ground. Leave ‘em there and let the devil take ‘em.” A tall, round man next to them spoke up. He had way too much glitter in his moustache and a plastic tiara in his hair. He looked down at Sam and Zoey, saw they had no throws then took off half a dozen bead necklaces from the multitudes around his own neck and put them on Sam. “There ya go, cher. Now you’re ready.” He winked and turned his attention back to the parade before either one could thank him. One of the dancers, a hot pink wolf, saw what the tall man in the tiara did. She also saw the little pink wolf plushy on Sam’s bag. She came over and handed another little pink wolf plushy directly to Sam. Sam’s face flushed red at all the attention. He was too embarrassed to speak. “Thank you so much. My girlfriend is just very shy but I know she loves it.” Zoey took the offered plushy for him. He wanted to kill her. The pink wolf patted him on the head like he was an adorable little girl. The action coupled with his pink pullup made him feel so small and vulnerable. He leaned further into Zoey and watched the pink wolf prance back to her fellow furries. Some of them also dressed as babies in comical bonnets, bibs, and diapers over their fursuits. He recognized them as babyfurs. His cheeks flushed pink at this in your face connection to ABDL. To everyone else, the babyfurs were just having silly fun in the spirit of Carnival. “That’s so cute! Now your little stuffie has a friend!” Zoey made the pink wolf plushy kiss Sam on the cheek. “And they’re both gonna bite you for being so annoying.” Sam took the plushy and put it inside his purple bag. He leaned on Zoey, using her for balance. The plastic cuffs at the top of his forearm crutches kept them from slipping off his arms. The babyfurs danced closer. They waved around cheap, generic adult pull ups. The white briefs were decorated in glittery Mardi Gras colors. Sam knew from firsthand experience those kind of pull ups leaked even after a small wetting. “Hey, want a free diaper?” Zoey asked loudly. Before he could reply, she was hooting and shouting at the passing babyfurs. “Hey! She wants a diaper! This girl here!” “No. HE does NOT.” Sam growled out. She took the joke too far again. He was not comfortable with this at all. His face flamed hot. He wanted to say more, to protest louder and let her know he didn’t like it, but the words stuck in his throat. He felt like he was trapped in a waking dream, just a passenger frozen in his seat and she was the mad conductor chugging the crazy train along at full speed. Being called a girl didn’t bother him. But diapers being tossed about like confetti was too surreal, something you only read about in a tacky online diaper story. A hand grabbed the hem of his jean skirt like Zoey was going to yank his skirt up, leggings down, and flash his pink pull up to the world. “Zoey! Don’t you dare!” Panic made his voice high and shrill.

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If only schools in Japan were like they are depicted in anime. 😂 Sensei is totes cool with a student jumping up in the middle of class, brandishing a huge sword or other weapon, and jumping out of a window to go fight a monster, right? And all the girls wear short uniform skirts and flash their panties all the time or their shirts pop open to expose their bras and boobs. 🤣 If not, then everything from Bleach to Rosario Vampire has lied to me. 🤣 You do make a very good point about despite cultural differences (and there are so many between East and West, like Japan and America) at the end of the day, people are all people and despite the differences we're still the same in many ways. Kids in Japan (and Korea I've heard) go to after-school schools called cram schools for extra studying and preperation for very important tests (the results of which will determine things like which universities etc a person would be accepted into if google is correct). I do like how you explored different ways of Eddie and crew handling their diapers in school.

Hope you get to enjoy the football game! There's been several days worth of rain my way, a bit of flash flooding a few towns over too. Hope that doesn't happen in your area!

I drink this much coffee in the mornings:

Oh yikes. I'm so sorry and I hope it does not cost that much!

I'm very glad you enjoy my stories! It's one of the reasons I write, I love sharing my stories with people. This story is going to be a little bit different than my usual works. This first part is a lot of set up to explain the circumstances of both the world of the story and give the main character some context. I'm trying to paint a picture of the main chracter- he's a guy who has done some very heinous things, yet he refuses to accept responsibility for his actions and decisions. The rough draft is several chapters ahead. I just need to find time to sit and edit them so they're ready for posting. I'm hoping this weekend, maybe Friday or Saturday. Diaper prison is definitely a nice diaper fantasy trope! It's a lot of fun, and a number of authors have had some very entertaining and inventive takes on it! I've always wanted to play around with it, and after watching a few documentaries on a special prison this story idea was born. I haven't read all the diapered prison stories out there, so I can't say if my take is new or different, but I do hope it is entertaining. I can say I have not read any diapered prison story that has the same structure or events as mine. (If there is one out there similiar, I haven't read it but the old saying is there is nothing new under the sun so who knows lol!)

That's a good start to the day! Wet diaper, but dry bed= the diaper did it's job. Good diaper! 😁 Doctor appointments are no fun, but I hope your good day contitues into a good visit and good news from the doc!

My go-to day diapers are Sunkiss Masterpiece in pink from Amazon or Northshore Megamax plastic backed. Both are thick, absorbent diapers but that means a longer time between changes for me. For the summer when it's hot and I'm going to be outside, or if I want discretion, I use a cloth backed disposable diaper. My go-to were Rearz' Active Air but with all the tariff things going on, I'm looking around for a new cloth backed diaper. I think there is a cloth backed Megamax? I might give that a go. Or I'll just be stuck in bulky, crinkly plastic even when I don't want all the bulk and noise (even if it means more frequent diaper changes).