PeculiarChangeling

Chapter 15: Out Maneuvered “Inspection time!” Pearce declared, grinning sarcastically at Grace. This was it. The day she’d been dreading, the make-or-break point in their bet. It was clear that her plans had not panned out, not as she’d initially conceived them. Pearce had endurance beyond her wildest expectations. Minor mistakes aside, he’d proven to be able to stick it out through the tedium, the annoyances, the getting up at a reasonable time in the morning. He’d even proven himself capable of tolerating messy diaper changes. Were she being honest, Grace would have to admit that Pearce had proved her wrong. He’d stuck it out, proved he could caretake–or, at least, that he could follow strict instructions for longer than a few days. Grace didn’t need to be honest. She didn’t want to be honest, either, she wanted to win. Her initial summation of Pearce’s incompetence was no longer the driving force to this bet: Ambition and stubbornness drove her to outlast him. But now she was being tested in a way she’d hoped would never come. She had to leave the house. For Pearce, this was a break. An opportunity to kick up his feet and take it easy for a couple hours. For Grace, it was the moment she had to risk being seen in diapers, not by friends or even by Melody’s various paramours, but by strangers. Grace resolved that, if she made it through the day, she would find a way to put the pressure on. “Let’s see,” Pearce said, hand lingering on her diaper while he ‘checked’ to see if she was dry. He knew she was dry–he’d changed her not five minutes before, but he liked how she blushed and squirmed. He still assumed it was embarrassment that made her cheeks flush, and Grace wasn’t about to admit any other alternative. “All dry–and you’ve got a change in your purse?” “Mhmm,” Grace grumbled. She’d been allowed to dress herself for once, and gone with a business skirt and top. She had an in-person meeting with clients and wanted to look as professional as possible, while hiding her diaper as thoroughly as she could. “And you’ll get permission before you change your soggy bottom, if it’s been four hours and you really have to,” Pearce added. “Yes,” Grace replied. “Can I go? I’m going to be late to catch the bus.” “Mhmm,” Pearce replied. “I’ll be back later,” Grace said, holding up her phone to gesture with it. “If something comes up, I’ll text you. Please stay off my back, I need this meeting to go smooth. Okay?” “Okay. Have a great time, crinkles.” Pearce waved her goodbye, and she left the house. … Pearce found himself, for the first time in a while, with no responsibilities. It was an unusual sensation. For the past week he’d always had Grace on the back of his mind–or, well, he’d tried to. Reminders on his phone had been all but mandatory to keep him on track. He wasn’t trying to slack off, it’s just that every time he made a mental note to do something, the proverbial ink seemed to run off the page and he’d forget in minutes. Practice didn’t seem to help, only clearly labeled notifications on his phone–which worked, except for the times he forgot to set those notifications. But hey, for now, he didn’t have to worry about that. He had the afternoon to himself. Shoot, I have groceries, right? Walking to the kitchen, Pearce checked his section of the fridge. He had a decent amount of food, enough to last a couple more days, though he was low on milk. The supply of baby food he’d purchased to mess with Grace had dwindled, but he felt skeptical that replacing it would accomplish much. Clearly, she was stuck out for the long haul. He wondered what would make her break first–he’d suspected that the lack of romance in her life might be a problem, but unlike Melody, Grace didn’t seem to mind not having a partner. Even if her hilariously puffy bottom and menagerie of embarrassing outfits didn’t quash her romantic prospects, she wasn’t too bothered about not seeing anyone. There was always the option of making the food extremely unpleasant. Since Grace was mostly around just the wasters lately, she had grown resistant to the embarrassment of baby clothes, so that was the one dial he had left to turn to try and push her into quitting. He checked the fridge. Hmm. I need milk. Making a mental note, he grabbed a soda, planning out what to do with his free time. There were some jobs he could work on–freelance graphic design work had been pretty good to him–and he needed to finish up those projects. Since the time was all his to spend, though, he could relax a bit first. A quick break to play some video games, and then he’d buckle down and finish the important work. Wandering up to his room, he fired up his gaming rig, booted up the most recent open world game he’d been playing through, and sank into the play session. He’d only play for a little while, but it was fun to let his mind wander. Ding! He checked his phone. A text from Grace. ‘I’d like to get a drink since I’m meeting my clients at a coffee shop. Is that alright?’ ‘Sure,’ he texted back. ‘Get whatever you want.’ Was she at the meeting already? She’d just left, and… he checked the time and, no, she hadn’t just left. It’d been a solid thirty minutes since he sat down. “Hmm,” he mused, pausing the game. That was as long as he’d intended to play, though it felt like he’d just started. Exercising his willpower, he saved, quit out, and tabbed over to his web browser to check client emails. Instead, another tab he’d saved caught his eye. Baby clothes he’d considered picking up for Grace. He clicked on the website, looking through what he’d saved. It really depended on how well he could sell things to the others. Embarrassing clothes weren’t doing much to Grace, so if he wanted her to give up, he’d need to up the ante to impractical and annoying. One option he’d been looking at was this plastic and metal thing that’d make her crawl, but that would be a tough sell–it was very nearly just straight bondage gear, and claiming it was ‘clothes’ wouldn’t get him very far. On the other hand, there were middle ground options. A onesie with extra padding between the legs, a literal pillow crammed down there to force waddling upon the wearer…that might be something he could fly under the radar. Similarly, locking mittens were going too far, but he might be able to win on a pair of booties with slick soles, designed to make walking tricky. He smirked. With the right conversation, he could have Grace crawling around the house. It’d be cute– Well, not cute. Humiliating for her. Enough to make her give up. Okay, maybe still a little cute. Either way, he needed something to compel her to quit. Just running with the status quo wasn’t going to work, and he doubted that she would just continue with things as they were. Grace was probably planning something. He had to plan back, or else the bet would never end. He continued looking at options, until his phone beeped again. ‘Meeting went well–I’ve got to run a hard drive to the post office and ship it, then I’ll be on my way home.’ Pearce blinked. How had two hours gone by? He’d gone down another rabbit hole, lost track of time. Stupid, he thought at himself. Grimacing, he turned his attention, finally, to work. He needed to accomplish something with the free time he’d been granted before Grace got home. Opening up a client email, he skimmed it. He skimmed it again. The words were bouncing off his brain, refusing to stick. He skimmed the email a third time, putting together what they were asking for. Easy. He could do a mockup in photoshop in twenty minutes and send it back to them. By the time he’d booted up photoshop, though, he’d begun second guessing his plan for the mockup. He skimmed the email again. No matter how much effort he put behind it, he just couldn’t direct his focus on the email. He wanted to yell at his computer–some days, he could sit down and just glide through designs for hours, but others, even the most basic tasks were like pulling teeth. He sighed, sitting back. A break would help him focus, center him so he could direct his attention properly. Sitting back, he fired up the game again, just for a few minutes– “I’m home!” Grace called from downstairs. Pearce rubbed at his face. He’d done it again. Blown off forty minutes without realizing it’d even passed. At least it was dinner time, now–he couldn’t screw up making dinner. Pushing away from his desk, Pearce ambled down the stairs. “Hi there. How’s the sog monster doing?” “Very well, thank you,” Grace said, kicking off her shoes, barely even rolling her eyes while he reached under her skirt. She was barely damp–a surprise, given how long she’d been gone, but he didn’t think much of it. “I’ll get you changed into something more appropriate after dinner, okay?” he said. “What sounds good–pizza or mac and cheese?” She pursed her lips. “Are those the only two options? We’ve had both, like, three times this week.” “I don’t even have to give you a choice, y’know,” Pearce said. “They’re easy to make.” She shrugged. “Mac and Cheese, then.” “Coming right up!” He smiled, turning to waltz to the kitchen and start preparing– Oh right. He was out of milk. “Uh,” he called across the house. “Gonna be pizza after all, sorry.” … “Fine, pizza, whatever,” Grace called back, smirking to herself. Her plan was working flawlessly. She’d had four cups of coffee and a couple cups of water at her meeting, and she’d only used her diaper once. Her bladder was near bursting, but her padding was merely damp. Operation, ‘Get Pearce in trouble’ was a go. She’d made sure he checked her when she got home. That way, she couldn’t be accused of not changing herself when she’d needed it. Her plan was downright machiavellian. She released her bladder, flooding her diaper. Pressing her thighs together, she deliberately overloaded the padding, keeping it squeezed so it couldn’t absorb, so much urine rushing in that it simply couldn’t handle the deluge. Her diaper leaked, urine trickling down her thighs. She’d taken off her shoes so they wouldn’t get wet–her socks, she was willing to sacrifice. “Uh, Pearce,” she called, grinning, though she kept the triumph out of her tone. “What’s that?” he called from the kitchen. “You need something?” “Remind me how much you have to chip in to the beer fund when you break the rules?” she asked. “I can’t remember, but… why… shit.” Pearce’s tone of realization and concern made Grace’s heart flutter. She’d found the way to make him break. ... I've got cool Patreon related news! They just changed their service, so that instead of billing resetting at the start of every month, it now starts when you sign up. This means that you won't get double billed if you sign up at the end of the month, which has always been a bit of a problem. I think it's a huge upgrade! So, if you want to subscribe to me on Patreon and get early access, bonus stories, and support my writing, you can do that without worrying about getting billed twice anymore any time of the month ^^ Chapter 16 of this story is already up there, so you can go read it a month early! Patreon Oh and I have a SubscribeStar if you don't want to use Patreon! SubscribeStar

Thank you! This was definitely fun to write just as a little micro-fic exploration of the idea ^^

Brian sighed as he swiped through paperwork, marking a BJ on the bottom of each line. No, not–his initials, Brian Jeremy. Get your mind out of the gutter. He’d received the email on a Saturday morning, which was already obnoxious. Work communication should stay between nine to five unless it’s an emergency, but apparently ‘Corporate mandated sensitivity training’ was required on weekends, and damn the work schedule. Good news was, it didn’t require him to leave his office. The TotalVerse headset he’d been supplied by corporate was good for all sorts of meetings, and far more convenient than driving in to meet in person. He had logged in, opened his work email from ‘HRCorporate at Gmail.com’, and tabbed into the meeting room. It looked like a generic school classroom–it even had him seated at a personal desk, though nobody else had come in yet. And then came the paperwork. The ungodly boring paperwork. A whole stack of releases. He’d read the first two pages, but they were stock pablum that almost seemed AI generated. Why corporate required this was beyond him, but Brian continued initialing and tabbing through consent forms. Finally done, he waited, assuming someone else would show up, that maybe he’d spawn into a populated room now that he’d finished the writing. Nobody else in attendance did show up, but after a moment, a woman in a black dress did walk in through the door. “Hello there–you’re here for the training, yes?” she asked. “I do, though I really don’t see the point of this,” Brian said. “Did something happen at the office?” “New policy,” she said, navigating around his question deftly without giving any helpful information. “Have you done direct neural training before?” “No, I heard that wasn’t out of beta yet,” Brian said. “It seems cool–just run the program, and then ‘I know kung fu’, but aren’t there still some testing issues that need worked out?” She raised an eyebrow, smirking at him. “You didn’t read the consent forms?” He blinked. “No, but–” “Program, activate,” she said. A wave of neural force struck Brian, and he slumped back in his chair. His whole body took on a pins-and-needles feeling, and his thoughts grew weak and faint as new information flowed into his brain. He was vaguely aware of the woman crossing to him, cradling his head against her chest so that he wouldn’t thrash, and then his vision blurred too much to see. It might have been a minute, or five, before he felt his faculties return. “Jesus christ–” he started. “Warning? Please? You couldn’t have given me a-auh…uh…” Groaning, he shifted in his chair, alarmed to suddenly feel intense arousal beneath his virtual jeans. Just shifting, the intensity was enough to make him suddenly, helplessly spurt into his boxers. The woman stood over him and laughed. “I didn’t introduce myself before,” she said, reaching down and cupping his chin with her hand. Turning him to look at her as he finished dribbling into his underwear, she said, “My name is Daemon, and you’re mine now.” “What the hell?” he yelped, pulling away, stumbling out of his desk, scrambling to his feet. There was a visible wet spot on his jeans, and he could feel his cock brush against slick wet fabric, already growing hard again. “I’m calling HR–” “I’m not with the company, silly,” Daemon said, grinning at him. He saw her canines extend to fangs, and little horns protrude from her hair as VR body mods became visible on her. “You’re just too gullible to tell phishing emails from real–don’t they teach security awareness at your office?” Oh no, Brian realized. “What–what was in those consent forms?” “You waived the safety features and let me run some mental reprogramming,” Daemon told him. “And, fun fact–the effects persist outside of VR. You can take off your headset, you’ll still be programmed just as I made you.” He swallowed. “What did you do?” “Nothing I can’t undo,” she said. “You’ve heard of ransomware? Consider this the ultimate virus–I hit you with a nasty little combination, but I can take it back for the right price.” Throat dry, hands shaking, Brian Jeremy tried to think what to do. “Just tell me what you did.” She laughed. “This is sensitivity training, after all–so I increased your sensitivity. Good luck trying to navigate your job with cummy pants all the time, you’re going to dribble so much you just won’t be able to make it without protection.” Daemon stepped around the student’s desk, leering at him. “Which is what’s so nasty about it.” Brian didn’t understand what she meant, but he followed the logic chain. If he wanted to contain his… eh, his accidents, he’d need something like a diaper… A thick, crinkly diaper, wrapped around his waist, just waiting for him to crouch down and push– “Uh-uh–” he started, groaning as the mere thought caused him to twitch and spurt beneath his pants. “That’s right,” Daemon giggled, circling around him. “The medicine’s also the poison. I implanted a dirty little fetish that practically overwrites your sex drive–you’re just going to love humiliating yourself. I’ll be surprised if you can help the need to fill up your diapers the instant you get some, and the moment you do, well–” She looked down, where the cummy wet stain spread on the front of his pants. “We’ve already seen how you react to just thinking about it.” He shook his head. The image she’d suggested–even having just spurted, he found his sex drive rallying yet again, ready for another round at the thought. “How much?” he asked. “How much to put it back?” “Ten thousand dollars,” Daemon replied. “And that’s a bargain in exchange for your dignity–but, to make sure you don’t try and fix this any other way, I’ve done one last thing.” Terrified of what it might be, Brian shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.” “Obedience,” she said, simply. “Call it a compulsion to obey. So when I say I want you to get on your knees and imagine yourself in a diaper, you’re going to do it.” Brian dropped to his knees. His thoughts filled with humiliating, degrading, utterly hot concepts–wrapping himself up in a diaper, grinding in it, feeling it grow heavy and wet as he used it–he didn’t know how many of his fantasies were even physically possible, he’d have to test, to experiment– Reaching out, he called up his VR menu, rapidly scrolling through menus. He worried Daemon would stop him, but she only laughed when she saw what he was doing, going through clothing options and purchasing a disposable diaper to add to his Totalverse inventory. Using the menu to apply it to himself, swapping out his jeans in exchange for the new diaper, he moaned loudly, kneeling in front of Daemon as he came again, this time soaking into the front of his new diaper. Panting for breath, he tried to collect his thoughts, but the universe of horny energy that floated around his quivering cock took all his attention. He couldn’t think, he just wanted to start rutting again. “I–” he started. “Why not just demand I send you the money?” he asked, looking up at Daemon. “Because,” she replied. “This is so much more fun. I’m not in it for the money, I’m in it to watch, to see which reality you prefer–the one where you’re ten thousand dollars poorer, or the one where your only satisfaction comes from sticky, smelly diapers.” Just those final words sent him into another round of spurting spasms. He wondered how much one diaper would take, how long the padding would last before he needed to change his diaper… “Just turn the sensitivity down,” he pleaded. Daemon hesitated, looming over him. “What was that?” “I’ll stay like this,” he said. “It’s–I can stay like this, I just need the sensitivity lower, low enough that I can function.” She tilted her head, surprised at the result. “Why should I do that, though?” Biting his lip, John got to his feet. “You wanted to watch, so–fuck–” he took a breath, trying to keep his focus long enough to finish the sentence, but the burning arousal he felt almost took his attention away. “I–I don’t have the money.” “I’ll tell you what,” she said, circling around him, reaching down to squeeze the back of the diaper that’d replaced his cummy jeans. “First, fill this.” He couldn’t disobey, even if he’d wanted to. Knees bending, Brian Jeremy did what would have been unthinkable thirty minutes ago, drooling with pleasure as he pushed a solid mass into his diaper. Even in the VR setting, it felt utterly real, mush swelling his diaper’s seat, and as soon as his nose caught the faintest whiff, he stumbled forward, catching himself on the nearest desk as another orgasm rocked him. Daemon snickered. “Alright. Here.” Waving her hand, she conjured a menu display in front of him. Tabbing through a few options, she said, “Brace yourself.” The rush of mental reprogramming ran over him, and he shuddered as his thoughts fuzzed. It didn’t seem to last as long this time, and when his senses returned, he was panting against the desk. “What did you do?” he asked. “I removed the cap,” she said. “You’re just as sensitive as you were before, but you’ve got room to retrain yourself now. Enough practice, and you should be desensitized enough to waddle around in your diapers without spurting every twenty seconds.” He panted for breath. It was too much. Even now, just bent over in a full, cum-soggy diaper, he just wanted to start humping the desk in front of him for another round. “How much practice?” She tapped her chin with a finger. “I’d take a few days off work. You’ve got training to do.” He nodded. “Thank–no, wait. Fuck you. I don’t–” His emotions were roiled up, and he couldn’t decide what the appropriate response was here, to such a supreme violation of his autonomy. “Say what you really think,” Daemon demanded. Brian couldn’t disobey. He nodded. “Thank you, Daemon.” She laughed. “You’re welcome. Enjoy, and remember–you can always fix things. Just reply to my email.” And with that, Daemon vanished from the room. Brian slumped into the desk in front of him, moaning as he felt his diaper squelch beneath him. He disagreed with the last thing she’d said. She could put him back the way he’d been, but he didn’t think it would qualify as being ‘fixed’. ... Just a horny little concept I felt like exploring - I hope you enjoyed! 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System Booting… User Profile Loading… Profile Loaded. Entering the Totalverse. “Are you sure?” Millie asked, eyeing the garment with suspicion. “It’ll be beneath your clothes, nobody will notice,” the dealer replied, confidently. He knew when to assuage her fears, and when to turn the screws. “Besides–you want that quest bonus, don’t you? It expires tomorrow, and you said you don’t have the stats to get around it the intended way.” She pursed her lips. “It’s not that I’m worried about anyone noticing, it’s more…it feels like cheating, a little, you know? What’s the point of winning if I just use a hacked item to get it?” The salesman in him came out, and he beamed. “Don’t worry–it’s not hacked. The admittedly embarrassing nature of the garment is part of the balancing act–it causes penalties that typically outweigh the buffs, creating a trade off that makes it balanced. You’re not cheating, you’re just using the resources available to you to the greatest advantage.” Millie frowned, thinking it over. She’d been stuck on a quest for two weeks. The Totalverse MMO, ‘Heroes & Honor’, was as immersive as any other part of the VR, incredibly expansive, and, to Millie’s chagrin, had quests that reset every two weeks with new rewards and different obstacles. She hated to miss out on any sort of quest, but especially ones that dropped loot she wanted for her build. An intelligence-based rogue, she loved sneaking about, planting traps, and outwitting the bosses and enemies of the game, but a particular dagger she wanted had been placed behind an almost totally charisma-based quest, and she just didn’t have the natural wordsmithing nor the stats to get through it. She’d tried, and tried again, and been kicked out of the Prurient Manor a baker’s dozen times, never managing to get much past the door guard. What she needed was an advantage, a way to complete a quest that was far too high level for her before the dagger reward was replaced. And, she’d found it–Breasts. The majority of NPCs in the manor had a vulnerability to, to put it mildly, great endowment. Millie had watched a dozen other players with large racks waltz right by her to get to the end of the quest, breezing through the charisma checks while the AI-generated NPCs ogled and drooled. Only problem was, Millie was naturally somewhat flat-chested, hadn’t adjusted her player model at all, and couldn’t afford any VR body modification or even temporary potions to increase her… ‘stats’. And so she’d found herself at the black market, rooting around for anything she could use. A bra of holding, or maybe just some toilet paper she could stuff down her shirt. The cursed item dealer had found her, asked what she needed, and produced something that would do the trick. A… diaper. A magic diaper, but a diaper nonetheless. “What if it’s not enough?” she asked. “Three sizes up won’t do it for you?” the dealer asked. “Well then, there’s an additional feature–using the diaper increases its effects. Only number two, I’m afraid, number one just doesn’t have enough public drawbacks to make the buff balance out.” “Uh…” Millie stared at him. “So if I need to go any, eh, bigger…” “You’ll have to poop your pants, yes,” the dealer said. “But you said you had close to the charisma you need, right? This’ll just give you that little extra edge.” Millie nodded. “You’re right. I–yeah, I’m worrying too much. I’ll take it.” Conjuring a heads up display, she transferred the virtual gold into the dealer’s account and accepted the puffy white garment. In theme with the medieval fantasy design of the game, it wasn’t a modern disposable style. Instead, it appeared to just be several layers of thick, absorbent fabric–cotton, by the feel of it–with a pair of secure metal pins with a complicated sort of fastener mechanism. It wasn’t quite historically accurate, but it felt close enough to match the style of the game. Turning it over in her hands a few times, Millie wondered if it was really worth it. It was just a diaper–and it wasn’t as though anyone would even be able to see beneath her avatar’s dress–but all the same, she was trading her dignity for a quest reward. “Eh, in for a penny,” she said, stepping out of the game and into the virtual changing room. Bunching up her dress around her waist, she slipped out of her panties, folded the thick shaped cotton between her legs, and attached the fastener pins on both ends. Instantly, her breasts swelled like balloons, trebling in size. The surprise weight pulled her forward and she stumbled, wobbling on account of the unexpected movement and peculiar bulk between her thighs. Millie fell and landed with a thump on her butt, her diaper cushioning the shock of the blow. She giggled. Her boobs looked great, which was odd, because Millie rarely cared much about that–she was happy in her body and didn’t need anything changed–she’d stuck with her normal physical appearance in the Totalverse for a reason–but still, one look down and she was grinning like an idiot. Calling up her menu, Millie pulled herself back into the game world, stood, and took a few tentative steps. She definitely had a pronounced waddle going, the diaper was like a folded up duvet between her legs, but she could move well enough and nobody–player or NPC–seemed to notice. With a quick bit of menu use, she fast-traveled out in front of the manor, chest on full display. Her black dress seemed to have shaped itself to really show off as much cleavage as possible, a side effect of the magical buff, and she strode confidently up to the door guard. “I’m here to join the party,” she said, using a pass phrase she’d heard another player use. Now was the make-or-break moment where she’d either be allowed in or rejected, whether her trick had done her any good. The guard paused, looking her up and down. His gaze lingered on her chest, and he nodded. “Come on in.” Yes! She resisted the urge to pump her fist triumphantly. She’d made it past this guard once before, but only barely, and it’d taken a charisma potion to do so. As he opened the door to let her in, she waltzed through, grinning stupidly. She’d beaten the system, and the rest of the quest was going to be a breeze. Walkthroughs and guides had informed her what came next. She needed to persuade several members of the manor to give her clues, and then use those clues to convince their leader to take her to his bedroom. From there, she’d just need to incapacitate him, steal the key in his pocket, and collect her reward from the chest in his room. Easy peasy. She had her secret weapons ready to go. Waltzing up to the first of the NPCs, she beamed in his direction. A few suggested dialogue prompts appeared, an option for players who couldn’t smooth talk on their own, and she used that as a base to start flirting. “Well hey there–you’re Edwardo, right? You look like a gentleman who could use some company.” Edwardo turned and looked her up and down. Millie needed something from him–she couldn’t remember if it was a club invitation or some kind of magical object, just that she needed him to like her. The NPC’s eyes settled on her chest, and then he shrugged. “It seems standards are slipping these days–they’ll just let anyone in through the door.” Turning, already ignoring her, he walked away to begin speaking with another player stuck on the same quest. Millie blinked. She’d expected this to be a cakewalk–what more did she need to do? Clearly, she had started on the right path since she’d made it in so easily, but now she was stuck yet again, and for the same reason; she just didn’t have the charisma and her other advantages weren’t giving enough leverage. She pursed her lips, debating her next step. Given the nature of the magical object between her legs, one option seemed obvious, but even if the NPCs wouldn’t comment, there were other real players in the room, and they’d definitely smell what she’d done. Then again, they were strangers. They didn’t know her, she didn’t know them, and who was going to care once she left? Blushing slightly, Millie looked around for a restroom and skulked off, finding a bit of privacy. She locked the door, raised up her skirt, and locked in her next choice of action by squatting down. The seat of her diaper swelled, fabric stretching to accommodate the mush she pushed into it. Going wasn’t hard–she almost suspected that the magical effects programmed into the diaper were encouraging her along–and as the absorbent garment expanded, so did her chest, breasts growing in tandem with her smelly accident. Watching herself in the mirror, Millie pushed until she felt confident she’d be able to breeze through the next section, filling her diaper all the way from C-cups to Double Ds. She wrinkled her nose as the smell hit her, but she hoped that the NPCs either wouldn’t be programmed to react to odors, or they just wouldn’t know it was coming from her. Either way, she had to go out there and give it a shot. Giggling, she stood and left the bathroom, strolling right back up to Edwardo. His eyes locked with her chest, and she snickered triumphantly, glad that she’d found a way to beat the game. Victory was sweet, even if her backside smelled foul. “I heard that particularly favored girls get special rewards,” she said, forcing the dialogue along and skipping past all the flirting. “So, what do you think? Am I favored enough?” On impulse, she shook her chest back and forth a little, making her conjured breasts jiggle. Edwardo grinned. Reaching in his shirt, he withdrew a paper with a wax seal stamped onto it. “Absolutely. Take this seal, it marks you as a friend of the manor.” “Thanks,” Millie giggled, accepting the paper. She found it perpetually silly that, no matter how advanced the programming, some staples of the genre had stuck around–including arbitrary quest rewards for speech checks. Sometimes people wanted realistic social intrigue, but the truth was that most players wanted the thrill of persuasion without actually needing to be persuasive. And that was true of Millie, even if she was walking around with a mudslide in her diaper, stinking up the whole room while she strolled through the quest. Moving over to the bar, she zeroed in on her next target. Discreetly showing the bartender the seal, she said, “I’m a friend of the manor–I don’t suppose you’ve heard any juicy rumors lately?” The bartender hesitated as he looked at her, and Millie sighed. Oh well, time to get bigger. Leaning forward a bit, she discarded her dignity and pressed her lips into a line, grunting softly as she pushed. Her breasts swelled, and when she sat back down, the new muck bulging in her diaper squished beneath her weight. “Of course,” the bartender said. “Anything for a friend. I hear that Georgio is planning to make a bid for head of the organization. You could ask him about that.” Millie squirmed in delight. Now she could go charm Georgio, and then she could go charm the next person, and then she’d win! She couldn’t remember exactly what she was winning, but it was definitely important, otherwise she wouldn’t have started this quest to begin with. “Thank you!” she told the bartender, standing up. Before she could take more than a couple steps, though, she had to glance back and ask, “Which one is Georgio?” The bartender pointed, and she grinned at him. Walking up to Georgio, she totally ignored the other player trying to have a conversation with him. “Hi! Do you like my boobs?” “Do you mind?” the other player, someone who’d taken the form of an elf in fancy silver armor, demanded. He wrinkled his nose, looking at her again with more surprise. “Ugh, what’s that smell?” “Oh, probably me,” Millie said. “It makes my tits bigger!” Georgio, ignoring their back and forth, said, “They’re impressive, but I’ve seen better. Did you have a question for me?” Millie furrowed her brow in annoyance. He wasn’t supposed to have seen anything bigger than hers, that was the whole point! “Oh, I’ll show you better,” she said, squatting down and sticking out her butt. “What are you–” the other player started to ask, before pinching their nose and stepping back. “Oh, oh, gross.” Millie giggled–it was funny how he was reacting, she barely smelled at all–and scrunched up her face, making an effort to really push the magic as far as it’d go. Her chest swelled, so much that her dress couldn’t stretch any further and began to rip down the front, weight dragging down her bra. With a little extra grunt and push for good measure, she sat down, giggling up at Georgio. “See?” “Mhmm,” Georgio said. “Perhaps you should go speak with our leader–he’s upstairs. Just ask for Bartholio.” “Haha!” Millie laughed. She was getting everything she wanted, and it didn’t take any effort at all! She wondered how high her charisma was now. It had to be, like, a bajillion, right? Thinking for a moment, she struggled to remember the command to pull up the menu and check. Her charisma still sat at the usual nine, just where it always was. Huh? Oh right, it’s not a charisma… um… it just makes them like me more? She couldn’t remember why it made them like her more. They probably liked the smell? There was definitely a lot of smell. She also noticed a great big red number next to her intelligence, with a line before it. That meant the number was…smaller, right? Or was it a bonus? As easily as she was talking to everyone here, it had to be a bonus. She was super smart, and that’s why they liked her! Getting up, she staggered from the unusual weight pulling her forward and back and waddled confidently towards the stairs. Bartholio’s room had to be…one of these, right? Up the stairs, there were lotsa doors, and… Um… Why did she need to see Bartholio again? “Uh…” she said. She needed to think. Maybe if she had more charisma, it’d be easier to remember? Sitting down halfway up the stairs, she closed her eyes and pushed again. This would help, she knew it would, she just needed to remember what quest she was doing, and… “Well what do we have here?” a voice purred at the top of the stairs. That must be Bartholio! She thought, turning around on the stairs and smiling up. Instead, she was surprised to see another face she recognized–the black market dealer who’d given her the diaper. “Hu-hi!” she said. “What’re you doin’ here?” “Just came to check on your progress,” he said, smiling down at her. “It looks like you’re just about ripe. Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll find something fun for you to do, okay?” Millie loved fun! And her boobs were big enough that she’d probably be able to do whatever she wanted and succeed, and if she ever struggled she knew how to make them even bigger. “Yes please!” she said, hopping up. “Thank you!” “Uh-huh,” the dealer said dryly. “Now just come with me. We’ll finish making the changes to your profile, and then I think you’ll like our new game very much.” ... I haven't really done any bimbo content before! This seemed like a fun avenue to explore, so I did. Lemme know what you think! This idea was partly inspired by a tweet by StinkySheepie! Give them a hello on Twitter, @stinkysheepie! If you like my writing and want to see more content like it, (including more stories set in the VR world of the Toddleverse,) consider supporting my writing on Patreon! One of my exclusive stories over there is a work of academy fiction called 'Diaper U', about a magical boy enrolling in an all-girl's school. Crinkly shenanigans ensue. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thanks! I think I've seen one other story with a stage magician, ages ago, but I can't remember anyone else doing the spin with the audience participant.

This is the somewhat belated giveaway for a thing I did a couple months ago! Contains: Wetting, messing, bath time, high-chair feeding, mental regression ... Martin smiled and swaggered up to the car, standing by the passenger side. “May I get the door for you?” Claire hesitated. Is that–no, it couldn’t be, it’s too obvious. “Thank you.” He opened the door, and she got in, sitting down in the front passenger seat of Martin’s car. She immediately noticed the adult carseat in the back. It was wide enough that it took up a seat and a half of normal space, with a five point harness to buckle in…whoever would sit there. Claire suspected that Martin would try to maneuver her into it on their way home, but she was resolutely prepared not to. He shut the door, and the game officially began. Their ‘date night’ was, on the surface, just that. Dinner out at a nice restaurant, and then they’d go home and see where the night took them, but that was only the start. Claire had been issued a challenge, and she fully intended to succeed. Her mind was a steel trap, she’d insisted. Hypnosis wouldn’t work on her, she’d see it coming and resist the compulsions. Martin had doubted her, and so they’d made the agreement. There were no stakes–she just wanted to prove she could do it. He’d hypnotize her, and she’d resist it, and get bragging rights for eternity. Besides, she liked a little ageplay, and since this arrangement meant she’d be wearing a diaper out on their date, she couldn’t complain. But that was all. He wouldn’t get to regress her, and she’d be just as grown up and in command of her faculties come Monday morning as she was on Friday night. She just had to make sure to fight the hypnosis. “How are you feeling?” Martin asked, as he got buckled into the driver’s seat. “All grown up? Mature? Like a big girl?” Big girl–Claire thought. That had to be one of his trigger words. It was going to make her…what would it make me do, exactly? She took stock of herself. She didn’t feel any more little, any younger. “I feel fine,” she said, considering how the words felt when she said them. “I’m perfectly adult, thank you very much.” It felt true. He probably hadn’t compelled her to do anything at all. “Well we’ll see how the night goes,” Martin said. “I can’t remember, have we gone to this restaurant before?” “The pie place, right?” she asked. “No, you’ve just told me about it.” “Their lemonade’s to die for, and–oh, when I was a little kid, we would come here and just get dessert.” He shrugged. “It’s not the classiest, but it’s fun.” Little kid, Claire considered. Or maybe ‘it’s fun’? There had to be some sort of correlation between the words and the effect on her, but she still didn’t feel any more ‘little’, any more suggestible. “Oh,” she said, thinking of a question as she felt her diaper grow warm and soggy. “Are their restrooms, eh, family friendly? I might need to use their changing table, I’m a little wet.” Martin pursed his lips. “Eh…” “What?” Claire asked. “I forgot to bring a change for you,” he said. “Do you think you’ll hold up through dinner? Or do we need to get you some baby bottoms from the store?” “Probably,” she conceded. Wait– No, no way. ‘Baby Bottoms’ couldn’t be a trigger word, it was just too obvious. Besides, nothing had changed–she was still herself, the same adult woman she’d been, and it’s not like he’d made her wet her diaper–she just hadn’t been able to hold it. He smirked. “What?” Claire asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t think you can slide anything past me. I’ve got my eye on you.” “We’ll see,” Martin replied. They got to the restaurant. Martin got out and moved to open Claire’s door for her, but she got it herself–she could get her own doors, she was mature enough for that. He extended his hand, and she eyed it warily. “Shall we?” he offered. Is it more juvenile to hold his hand while we walk across the parking lot? She thought back–no, they always held hands together. It was just a couples thing, not a hypnosis effect. She took it, walking with him to the restaurant. Dinner went smoothly. Claire raised her eye at every little comment–was his order suspicious? Did he mention a particular film because the description included a hypnosis trigger?–but nothing struck her as obviously suspicious, and her diaper managed to hold up perfectly well with no concern of leaking. “They always do a fancy thing with dessert here,” Martin said, “If you’re hungry–it’s like a brownie with a bunch of sparklers in it and ice cream on top, it’s delicious.” Claire shook her head. The meal had her stuffed, and she was ready to get going. “Maybe another time–I did enjoy the food here, I’d definitely come back.” Their waiter stepped up, beaming. “Could I interest either of you in our firework fudge slide?” “No thanks, just–” Claire started to respond, then blushed. Come on, not right now! Her body had decided that just then was the time to use her diaper. She paused–had Martin–No, he didn’t even say anything. This is why I’m wearing a diaper, right? Still, her cheeks turned pink as her body chose to humiliate her, helplessly emptying her bowels into the padding beneath her dress. “Just the check,” Martin cut in. “Thanks.” “Sure thing, I’ll bring that right over,” the waiter replied. Bright pink, Claire buried her face in her hands, squirming as the mush settled in her diaper, spreading out beneath her weight. The smell wasn’t too intense, but it hit her nostrils and she couldn’t pretend not to notice. “Oh no,” Martin said, speaking in a low voice so that nobody else would hear. “You couldn’t make it to the potty?” “Ugh,” Claire replied. Wait–did he say ‘potty’ to make me do something? She started to stand, to go change herself in the bathroom, before remembering she didn’t have a spare diaper to change into. “Oh, I get it.” Martin raised his eyebrows. “Get what?” “That’s a dirty trick,” Claire shot. “You didn’t use any hypnosis commands at all, you just set me up by forgetting my–” Their water walked over, dropping off the check. He paused, sniffing the air for a moment, then left them with the bill. “My diaper,” Claire finished with a hiss, squirming uncomfortably. “I was so focused on the commands that I didn’t think you’d pull anything else, jerk!” Martin smirked, taking out his wallet and placing a card on the check. “That was pretty clever of me, wasn’t it?” “You know I don’t like sitting around in–” Claire fell silent and sat back again as their waiter picked up the check, hurrying off to run the card. “In a messy diaper.” “You could have packed your own diaper bag, sweetheart,” Martin replied. “But y’know–the bet was to regress you, I don’t have to use hypnosis.” “Well, savor it while you can,” Claire shot back. “Because you’re still not going to mess with my head.” With their card back, Martin helped Claire up and they walked out to his car. Before getting the door for her, though, he paused, reaching down and squeezing the back of her dress. “Hmm,” he said. “Baby, you’re about to leak.” “Am not–” Claire started, but a little wiggle to feel how her diaper sagged confirmed that he was right. “Okay, maybe I am.” “You know what that means,” Martin said. “So we don’t ruin the seats.” “Not fair,” Claire fumed, opening the back door. She was going to have to sit in the waterproof, stain-proof car seat. Grinning triumphantly, Martin helped her into the seat, pushing her down–smushing her into her messy diaper–and buckling the five point harness around her body. She wriggled uncomfortably, all her weight sunk into her poopy bottom, but there wasn’t a better option until she could change into a fresh diaper. Pulled into her seat, Claire could do little but pout on their way home. She’d been thoroughly outmaneuvered, manipulated into her carseat by simply ‘forgetting’ to bring a diaper change. Focusing on the hypnosis triggers had led her to forget the realities of her diaper dependance, and now she was stewing in the results of her oversight, nose wrinkled, arms crossed over her chest. Martin parked in the garage, crossed around to her door, and helped her out of the car, giving the front of her diaper a grope in the process. “You’re about ready to burst, baby,” he cautioned. “Let’s go get you clean, okay?” She grumbled, noticing how he waved his hand in front of his nose while she got to her feet, waddling behind him. “I can clean myself up,” she said. “I won’t make you accept my help, but isn’t it so much easier to have the extra hand?” he asked. Hesitating, Claire reviewed his words in her head. She didn’t feel a compulsion that ran counter to what she’d just said. She really could tell him no, but it also was true that having an extra set of hands would help. “No,” she said, testing the reaction. “Alright,” Martin agreed, opening the door from the garage to their house. “If that’s–” “Fine, yes,” Claire said. “I just wanted to make sure I could say no.” He laughed. “You don’t trust me?” She smiled back at him. “When you answer like that? Not at all.” Before long, he had hot water filling their bathtub and a changing pad laid out on the bathroom floor. Martin slipped off dress, helped remove her socks, and finally laid her down so that he could remove her diaper without making a mess of the bathroom. Four tapes came off, and then the wipes got her clean enough to transition to the tub without polluting the bathwater. “I can handle cleaning myself up just fine,” Claire pointed out, when Martin reached for a washcloth. He shrugged. “Fine, just don’t stay in too long or your fingers will get all pruney.” Claire shrugged him off, going about the process of getting her body clean. There was one general nuisance, though, that made her regret sending Martin away–it was inconvenient to try and wash herself off with her thumb in her mouth. She liked to relax and unwind when she took a bath, and suckling on her thumb was certainly a part of that, but doing that while trying to soap and scrub meant either some weird stretching or shifting from thumb to thumb so she could pass the washcloth back and forth. Still, she stubbornly stuck it out, refusing to give in and ask Martin for help. That was just the sort of thing he’d tease her about, and she didn’t need more teasing after such an embarrassing accident at the restaurant. Clean, she got dry and went to the bed, where Martin had already laid out her ‘pajamas’. The thick, fluffy nighttime diaper stuck out like a sore thumb, a reminder of her trouble holding it, and the onesie next to it was barely noteworthy. It helped keep things in place and prevented midnight leaks–as much as she might complain, there wasn’t much she could do about it. “Oh, baby,” Martin said, glancing over at her. “Did you lose your pacifier?” She looked down cross-eyed at her hand, thumb lodged firmly in her mouth. “Uh…” “Here,” Martin walked to their dressed, removed a pink pacifier, and handed it to her. “It’s better for your teeth.” She accepted the pacifier, blushing slightly as she plopped it between her lips. “Thanks, sweetie.” “You’re welcome, baby girl. Let’s get you ready for bed, okay?” … Claire yawned as she awoke, stretching in bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and when she sat up, she caught a distinct whiff of fresh pancakes. Rolling out of bed, she felt the weight of her diaper sagging under her onesie–she’d definitely used it about to capacity, though it could wait until after she’d eaten before she got changed. Picking up her pacifier, she plopped it between her lips, waddling steadily out of the bedroom. She felt as though she were forgetting something. They had plans this weekend, she knew, but the specifics had left her. Something about…doing things with Daddy? That seemed right. Stepping into the kitchen, she smiled at Martin, who glanced over from the stove and smiled back. “Hey there, baby girl–breakfast is just about ready, I was about to come wake you.” She nodded, stretching her arms again. Her high chair was right next to the table, and… Has that always been there? “Do you need a hand, baby girl?” Martin extended his hand to her, and she smiled, taking it and getting up into her chair. He buckled the tray over her lap, got her secure and safe, and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. “Do you need help with the fork?” She shook her head, then paused, looking at the plastic fork on the tray. Experimentally, she picked it up, holding the utensil clumsily in her fist. “Um…” “It’s okay, I’ll help you,” he promised, returning to the stove to get pancakes. Claire’s brain felt fuzzy, like it’d been swaddled in a warm blanket. A knot began to form in her stomach while she waited, but then it passed, and Martin returned with food. She giggled as he set out the tray of pancakes, gently slipped the fork out of her hand, and cut up a bite of pancake. “Open wide,” he coaxed. Obeying, she took a bite, then laughed when she saw that Martin was making a face. “Wha’?” she asked, over a mouthful of food. Waving a hand in front of his nose, he said, “You need a change, baby girl–but it’s okay. We’ll finish up feeding you first, then get you all cleaned up, okay?” She nodded happily. That sounded fine–she didn’t mind being a little stinky, and the pancakes were more delicious. Martin continued to feed her, and she ate up every bite. She loved her daddy, and couldn’t wait for the rest of the weekend–if she could just remember what she’d been trying to do. ... Like my writing? Want to support me? I've got a Patreon where you can do that! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling Plus a SubscribeStar, which is the same thing but it starts with an S! https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

The Gothic Castle loomed, the sort of club I didn’t typically attend. My friends had insisted on dragging me along anyways. To ‘get me out of the house’, though I didn’t see why being home was a bad thing–all my stuff was at home, I had plenty of books to read, and the way they described this magic show sounded pretty lame. Here’s the thing: There’s no such thing as a ‘hardcore’ magic show. Anyone who tells you there is, they’re just doing free marketing for the magician. The magic is never real, and once you know how to see through the illusions, it’s just halloween makeup and whatever gimmick the performer wants to prop up bad tricks. After much insistence and back and forth, I’d agreed to come along, if only so that my friends would have a designated driver along. They wanted to watch the show, and I wanted to make sure they got home safe. “I don’t know what you’re so excited about,” I said under my breath, as our group walked to a table. The place was low and dimly lit with those shitty faux-candles, stone walls that I was reasonably sure were actually plastic, all the crappy decor meant to make it feel ‘spooky’ one could ask for. Even the stage was little more than a raised platform with a couple lights. “Look, I’ll be able to see through every trick.” “Doubt it,” Melanie shot back. “This is the best show–it’s super realistic. Like it seems real. Just give it a shot and stop being such a downer, okay?” “Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes. We took our seats, one of my friends ordered a pitcher of beer, I got a tall glass of cranberry juice and ensured we also were brought a pitcher of water. The opening act–a standup bit–was cringe inducing at best. The jokes were a flaccid attempt at sexual innuendo and edginess, and not a one of them was remotely funny. I sat through it, wondering why I’d bothered to come along, while my friends grew increasingly wasted. The magician, when he arrived, looked like a straight-up joke. He had the red cape, the top hat, the plastic wand. It was absurd. Like something you’d see on a cardboard box full of cheap magic tricks for toddlers to learn. He started his monologue, and I rolled my eyes. Talking about the history of magic, the background of the tricks, while he shuffled a card in his hands. Classic misdirection, and not particularly well done. “That’s just a math trick,” I whispered over the table, when he correctly identified a card an audience member had chosen. Next was a blitheringly simple matrix coin trick, only with cock rings instead of coins–as though it made the trick any different to be any more shocking. As he finished up and started setting out a new trick from his briefcase, onto the small table, I pointed out how the table worked while he did it. My friends all groaned. Whatever. They knew what they were in for when they invited me, and these tricks were weak. Next, the obvious audience plant. He called up a girl from a front table, whipped his plastic wand around, and claimed to have produced her panties. She looked shocked, and pulled up her dress to look–sure enough, no panties. She looked shocked and embarrassed, but still swooned at a comment from the performer. The audience hooted and hollered, and I once again rolled my eyes. “Come on,” I said. “She obviously wasn’t wearing them to begin with–are you kidding me with this kiddie magic crap? Boo!” The room fell quiet. A spotlight turned to face me. “It appears,” the magician said, “That we’ve got a heckler here tonight.” I wasn’t intimidated. Rolling my eyes, I shouted back, “Yeah, your show sucks. Am I supposed to pretend to be impressed?” Someone else in the audience called, “Just let him do the show!” The magician, though, simply smiled. “What’s your name?” “Does it matter?” I shot back. “Come on up here,” he said, stepping back and gesturing towards the stage. I stood, walking up, ready to ruin the night for everyone else. If he wanted to keep things on the rails, he could have at least learned some decent tricks. “You know that being shocking doesn’t make the show any good, right?” I asked, once I was a couple feet away. Leaning in so the mic would pick my voice up, I added, “What, just flashing some bush at the audience is enough to hide the fact that she was obviously a plant? This is baby-level magic, seriously.” Boos erupted, for some reason directed at me. The magician raised a hand. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Let’s let the kid speak.” “I’m not a kid,” I shot back. “Though I’d have to be to think your tricks were impressive.” More boos. Whatever. I didn’t care. The magician calmed them again, and said, “So, to be clear, you think my trick with this fine young woman’s panties was because she was a plant?” “Obviously,” I said. “You didn’t just steal someone’s panties without them noticing.” “And, can you state for the record that you are not an audience plant?” He asked, leaning in a little, winking at the audience. “What, are you going to steal my panties too?” I asked. “No. I’m not a plant.” He grinned, and I awaited the punchline. Maybe he’d try to pull something less obvious on me–plant a card in my pocket or something, but he never got close enough to touch me. “So, then, whatever’s about to happen, whatever you’re wearing, it’s because you wanted to wear it and do it. Right?” “Sure, whatever. Unless you pull something on me, then I’ll just explain how you did it.” He nodded. “Alright. Could you please stand at the end of the stage?” I moved to where he directed. No trap doors, no obvious trick setup. The stage seemed to be just some old pallets that’d been dressed up a bit, I couldn’t imagine there was anything that elaborate going on here. “So, to be clear, this young man has established that he is not a plant and that I cannot do any magic on him,” the magician said, walking over to his briefcase of tricks. He took out a liter bottle of water and a glass, setting them on the table. Is he going to pretend to fill the glass? I thought. Another obvious baby trick, there’d be a hose up his sleeve or something else so the bottle would appear to be emptying but wouldn’t flow into the cup. I was surprised by the next object, though–he removed a large, puffy adult diaper, showing it off to the audience. “Our guest here did say these were baby tricks,” he pointed out, “So this should be appropriate.” I frowned, staring at him. I didn’t know where this trick was going–maybe a joke? Maybe he’d pour water into the glass and it’d end up in the diaper? But why did he need me on stage? “Would you please come over and confirm that this is a real diaper, young man?” the magician asked. Ah, that’s it. Just a bit of audience participation. I walked over, picking it up, unfolding it. The plastic back crinkled a bit under my hand, and I opened it all the way, checking the inside, feeling the padding for any hidden tricks, any hoses, anything else that stood out. “Yeah, it’s normal,” I said, setting the diaper back on the small display table. “Can I check out that glass and bottle, or is that off limits?” “By all means,” he said, stepping back. That surprised me, but I repeated the inspection. As far as I could tell, it was an ordinary drinking glass, and an ordinary liter of water. What’s he going to do? I shrugged. “Okay, it’s all normal.” “No tricks, no baby stunts?” he asked, walking up to the table and producing an actual honest-to-god silk handkerchief from his sleeve. “Yeah. Nothing there.” “Good.” He covered the diaper with his handkerchief, tapped it with his wand, and then pulled the cover away with a flourish. On the table, in place of the diaper, was a pair of grey, slightly worn boxers. My boxers. Stepping back in alarm, I felt a sudden, unmistakable crinkle between my legs. My mouth fell open, agape. How– I looked down, then back up. My jeans were still there, but I could tell they were bulging out a bit more than before. He’d– “Is something wrong?” he asked. “No, I–” I started, shaking my head. “Do you know where the diaper went?” he asked. I blushed. “Er–” That was, honestly, a good trick. I had to admit it. “Okay, fine. You got me. How’d you do that?” “I believe you confirmed that you weren’t a plant, and that these were all simple baby tricks,” the magician said. “So I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Blushing, I tried to phrase my question carefully. “Well I wasn’t wearing a diaper when I walked up here! How’d you–” “So you’re wearing a diaper now?” the magician asked. “Well, you made it very clear you couldn’t just have your underwear magically removed, so I suppose I have to ask, why are you wearing that?” “You did it!” I snapped. “How?” The audience was laughing. Screw them–I needed to know how he did it. Instead, the magician turned to face them. “Now, if this young man is to be believed, then I have some sort of paranormal way of, shall we say, moving things from here,” he tapped the table in front of him, “To there.” He pointed at my butt. More laughter. Then, the magician uncapped the water bottle and set the glass in the center of the table. “Let’s see if this works for other things–I’m not sure where this is going to end up, folks. Since I can’t do magic, I can’t really control it–perhaps it’ll end up somewhere over there?” In spite of myself, I braced my body, expecting that somehow I’d feel the cool rush of water in my diaper. It just didn’t make sense how he was pulling this stunt, but I’d figure it out, and then– I gaped, as I watched the water simply drain from my glass, as though a hole had appeared in the bottom. I wasn’t surprised that the water wasn’t going into the glass, but I hadn’t accurately guessed where the water would be going. I’d had an enema once before–shut up, no, I’m not telling you why–so I recognized the sensation of water rushing inside me. I swallowed. It made no sense–I was fully clothed, standing five feet away, and somehow he was…pouring that water up inside my bowels. The sensation of cool water swelling inside me couldn’t be mistaken. “Fuck this, I’m leaving,” I said, turning to walk away. The magician snapped his fingers, and I felt something catch my feet. When I looked down, I saw a pair of handcuffs looped through an I-bolt that definitely hadn’t been there before, cuffing my ankles to the floor. “Not until the trick is done, young man–don’t you want to explain to everyone how it works?” the magician purred, as the last dregs of water fell out of the bottle, ignored the cup, and ended up inside me. My eyes widened. It was so much water sloshing around, and I was stuck on stage. “Let me go!” I yelled, angry. “I didn’t do anything,” The magician replied, over raucous laughter. “I can’t do real magic, remember? And you were standing all the way over there–I certainly didn’t cuff you to the stage, so who did?” “Just–” I started to say. The pressure had built with alarming speed, my body just wasn’t ready for that much water to suddenly be down there. “Please–” My head reeled as it occurred to me that this really wasn’t a trick. He was doing actual magic. To everyone in the audience, I’d just be the stooge playing along in a particularly embarrassing audience stand-in trick, but for me, I’d just been presented with incontrovertible proof that my understanding of the world was deeply flawed. And I’d been shoved butt-first into public humiliation in front of all my friends, of the sort I’d never live down. “How?” I asked, quietly, meekly, the question just for the magician’s ears. He smiled. “Why, I’d never reveal my secrets,” he said, raising his fingers and snapping them one more time. The buckle on my pants came undone and they fell around my ankles, exposing the diaper he’d trapped me in, and in the same moment the enema won out. I clutched my belly, but there wasn’t much I could do to prevent the sudden tidal outpour of mush. The audience’s laughter assaulted my ears as I very visibly, obviously crapped my pants–not even my pants, my diaper up on stage for all to see. There was enough liquid that the dark sludge soaked through the padding almost immediately, staining the back and middle of the diaper a deep brown. I saw a flash as someone took a photo–someone at my friends’ table, who were also hooting and hollering with laughter. The magician crossed to my side, reaching down to give the back of my diaper a squeeze, sloshing the mush around against my skin. “Wow–I suppose you chose to do this of your own accord, hmm? Since you’re not an audience plant?” I had no words. Nothing I could say to make the situation better. Leaning in so only I could hear, the magician whispered, “Leave your pants on the floor and be my assistant for the rest of the show, and I’ll teach you how it’s done.” I had to know. No matter if it meant my messy diaper being on display for another hour. I started to nod, but he cut in before I could finish. “That’s not the only toy in my briefcase, little boy.” ... I'm back! Had to take a couple weeks off for my mental health and to deal with day job pressure. Expect lots more posts coming soon as I catch up! If you want to support my writing, I've got a Patreon and a SubscribeStar! They both accomplish the same thing, just on different platforms - exclusive and early access, bonus content, and you support my ability to keep writing! Patreon SubscribeStar

Chapter Fourteen: Stimulation “M-hmm,” Grace nodded, listening intently. “Yeah, I can do that. No problem.” The conference call had thus far gone swimmingly. It was far lengthier than it needed to be and incredibly tedious, but she’d long since resigned herself to just putting up with this part of her job. Feedback and commentary was a necessary part of the design phase, even if many of her clients were incurious jerk-offs whose only ideas boiled down to, ‘Make it look more generic, please’. She smiled, as one of the men on the call suggested a more minimalist color scheme. There was, at least, one new bonus she had for these calls. Normally, they dragged on so long that she’d be desperate to pee by the end, or simply have to excuse herself for a quick restroom break. Today, though, she could skip that process completely. From the waist up, Pearce had allowed her a standard, modest, professional style of dress–her hair was straight with no bows or tails and her shirt was a simple button down top. Below the waist, though, she was almost naked, with the only garment being her puffy pink diaper. “After all,” Pearce had pointed out. “It’s not like the webcam can see that far down, right?” She had only felt a moment’s hesitation before releasing her bladder mid call. She’d end up using the diaper anyways, she’d already done so plenty of times over the past week, and it’s not like anyone could tell–holding it would simply mean that she was needlessly uncomfortable for the remainder of the conversation. Her diaper grew warm as the dampness spread down between her legs, and she let out a tiny sigh of relief. “More minimalist?” she confirmed. “Sure, we can work that in–there’s only two colors right now, though. Were you thinking of cutting that down to plain white?” Twenty more minutes of hemming and hawing went by before they decided to leave it as-is, thank god. If she followed all of their suggestions, the design would look like an AI-generated clone of MySpace, without any of the charm. Eventually, mercifully, the call ended. They said their goodbyes, a couple awkward seconds passed before the call ended, and she sat back. “Hey, Pearce! Call’s over.” She half expected him to ignore her call, and then she could claim to have done her due diligence and could get back to work in a set of fairly normal clothes–or at least half a set of fairly normal clothes. Instead, Pearce appeared just a moment after she called, grinning widely, aggressively pink clothing draped over his arm. “All done playing dress-up?” She rolled her eyes. “What’s the outfit for today?” He shrugged. “Going back to the shortalls–my supply of baby clothes isn’t infinite, you know. First, though, I need you to stand up.” Obeying, Grace raised her hands so he had direct access to her diaper. Smirking, Pearce stepped forward, reaching down to give the front of the sodden padding a squeeze– Um– “Yup,” Pearce said, smirking. “Someone’s soggy.” “Whatever,” Grace spluttered. “I–whatever.” “Wow, still shy about it,” Pearce added, a grin spreading across his face. “How many soggy diapers have you been through now? I was sure the blushes had all been changed out of you, but nope.” Her heart was racing. Why is it racing? She shook her head. “Are you going to change me or no?” Pretending to think, he gave her diaper one more squeeze before shrugging. “I think you’ll last a little while longer–maybe in an hour or two. For now, let’s just get you dressed.” Unfolding the clothes, he set them out on Grace’s desk. Her pink elastic shortalls and a plain white onesie. Before she could begin unbuttoning her shirt, he stepped in and did it for her, fingers deftly removing the buttons, exposing her chest– Grace swallowed as he undressed her, then raised the onesie. “Arms up?” She obeyed, moving mechanically, her brain lost in a haze. Nothing made sense, the way her body was reacting had no logical explanation. She stepped into her shortalls, Pearce straightened the straps over her shoulders, and her outfit was complete. “Alright, I’ve got to run a couple errands, I’ll be back in maybe two hours,” Pearce said. “I’ve asked Melody to check in on you while I’m out, to make sure you don’t take the opportunity to get me into trouble. You need anything from the store?” She shrugged. “Eh–if I think of anything, I’ll text you.” He nodded, winked, and left her room. Grace stepped up, shut the door, and pressed her back into it. “What the fuck,” she whispered to herself. Beneath her diaper, she was dripping wet–well, she was wet in a way that had nothing to do with her accident half an hour prior. It’d just taken a little touch from Pearce, and– “Wait, no. That’s not it.” It hadn’t been Pearce. Of course it hadn’t, it was Pearce. But now, two days in a row, his touch had drawn this sort of feeling out of her. She wasn’t pent up any longer. That couldn’t be the problem. She’d relieved that outlet already, hadn’t she? Maybe one day wasn’t enough. Maybe the whole diaper-baby-Pearce thing was so negatively opposed to any sort of arousal that her body was fighting it by kicking things up to eleven. She wasn’t the most sexually driven person in the house–Melody made sure of that–but she wasn’t without her needs either. What she needed was a little more regular attention. She could get back into her regular routine of masturbating every day or two, and then with things more consistent and normal, her body would stop it with all these misplaced emotions. That was it. It wasn’t anything to do with Pearce, it was just a coincidental touch in a particularly sensitive area. She’d just whip out the ol’ vibrator before bed and take care of the problem that evening. Sighing with relief, Grace walked back to her desk and sat down, intent on returning to work and getting her mind off things. She had designs to mock up and send for approval, after all. Opening up her notes, she buckled down and began to focus. Forty minutes later, she’d accomplished fuck-all. It was one thing to decide to focus, and another thing entirely to actually do it. She’d just been shuffling between different notes, tabbing between pages and generally doing anything except be productive. “God dammit,” she said, moving over to a browser and tabbing to her favorite source of erotic videos. She’d rub one out real quick, get her focus back, and resume work. She wasn’t picky when it came to porn. It was just porn, she just needed something to get her motor going while she did all the work herself. And, in this particular case, she was so ready to go that some of the spicier banner ads nearly did it for her. Picking a video at random of some chick being wooed and then thoroughly fucked by a fashionably-unkempt guy Grace slipped her hand down the front of her onesie. The fabric was a little restrictive, but she got her hand around the side of her onesie, slipping two fingers down the front of her diaper. As she reached in, she heard the start of an adhesive rip, similar to the sound of peeling away scotch tape. She hesitated. She could always stick the tab back down later, but she wanted to avoid any accusation of trying to tamper with her diaper. Accusations could lead to explanations, and explanations would mean having to tell Pearce what she’d been up to. He might not have been much of a Sherlock, but even he could put the pieces together between her flustered reaction earlier and her masturbation just after he left. Better to stay discreet. Withdrawing her hand, Grace wiped her fingers off on the shortalls and reached inside the bottom drawer of her desk. Unwrapping the cable from around the toy, she plugged it into her desk, leaned back, and turned on the vibrator. Pressing it into her diaper– “Oh god,” she groaned, quietly, biting down on her lip. Her back arched with pleasure, and she wondered why she hadn’t already started doing this every day. The diaper didn’t matter, it was still fun. The porn on her laptop may as well not have existed, she didn’t need it, she just needed the vibrator and her own imagination. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, pressing it into herself. She was already so close, and– “Um…Grace?” Melody’s voice cut through Grace’s self-focused pleasure in an instant. Eyes snapping open, she clicked off the vibrator and spun in her chair, shocked to see Melody standing in the doorway. “Jesus, Melody! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” Melody shrugged. “Cliche, much? Besides, you’re one to talk about privacy, you’ve walked in on me doing way worse–” “In the living room!” Grace shot back. “You don’t get an expectation of privacy when you’re getting double teamed on our couch.” “Hey, no judgment here, you do you,” Melody said. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t need a change. Pearce asked me to.” Pursing her lips, Grace shook her head. “Well I don’t. Thanks for checking. Leave, please?” Melody almost started to leave, then paused. “Wait, I’m not supposed to take your word for it.” “Okay, Brains,” Melody replied, rolling her eyes. “You’re not pulling the rules pedant card on me, are you?” “No, I’m pulling the, ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to cheat,’ card,” Melody replied. “How much water have you drank since Pearce left? You could be trying to leak, and if that happens while he’s gone, it’ll turn into another stupid argument.” Tossing her hands up, Grace stood. “Fine, whatever. You can check me.” She was prepared for the sudden heart flutter at an outside touch this time, and was ready to suppress a blush and any stammering. Stepping forward, Melody felt her through her onesie and shortalls, giving a gentle squeeze. Grace steadied herself, and… Nothing. Not even the slightest twinge of arousal. “Uh…” she said aloud, caught off guard. Melody shrugged. “Okay, that doesn’t feel flooded or anything. I’ll let you get back to it.” “I’m not–whatever,” Grace said. “Next time, knock.” “Have fun,” Melody replied, ignoring Grace’s discomfort as she turned to wander out of the room. “Wait,” Grace called out, stopping Melody before she could shut the door. Turning, Melody raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?” “What’s the longest you’ve gone without, like, sex?” Grace asked. “Once you moved out, that is.” “Are we counting self stimulation?” Melody asked, tilting her head and thinking about it. “That’d be…six days, when I got my hood pierced, they said to wait a month, but…yeah.” Grace pursed her lips, thinking again. “Did you feel out of whack for a while after that? Like, was your sex drive even higher than you were used to?” Melody shrugged. “Not really. Why?” “Just…don’t want to throw anything off, I guess,” Grace said, coming up with a quick lie. “I haven’t since…well, since the bet started. Kind of starved, if you know what I mean, so I didn’t know what to expect.” “You should be fine, I don’t think you’ll morph into some kind of sex crazed maniac because you didn’t cum for a week,” Melody said. “Still, I’ll leave you to it just in case.” She didn’t shut the door, and Grace had to lean over and slam it shut instead. “Ugh,” Grace said. She’d been so put off by the whole thing that, apparently, the arousal had left her. No longer interested in finishing, she turned back to her computer, where the porn was still playing… Okay, maybe the arousal hadn’t left her completely. Regaining her drive, she reached for her hitachi, switching it on. ... Thanks for reading! The next chapter of this story is up in early access on Patreon and SubscribeStar, it'll be public in a month or so! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Congrats to BoTox! And I'll have my eye on my DMs. Thank you for hosting this, writing off the prompt was a lot of fun.

It's not a sequel, but another story of mine that explores very similar themes is, "Messy Betsy". (Of course, that one also contains messing. And I'm definitely doing more in the TotalVerse, possibly including with Tallie!

Here's my submission, coming in at the last minute! It's for the SFW category. I had an idea for the NSFW category as well, but probably won't have the time to write it given the nigh-approaching deadline.

This story was written for the '2nd Kasarberang Non-Contest'! I decided to use an existing setting I've written before, the TotalVerse/ToddleVerse, though existing knowledge of the other writing I've done isn't needed - it's a metaverse space with advanced VR and AI, that's all you really need to know. (And that should, hopefully, be surmised just from the intro.) More horror and no sexual content, which is a departure from my usual writing. I hope you enjoy! Anyways, without further ado: Tallie. ... Hi! My name is Tallie–That’s short for the ‘Totalverse And Live-Logistics Intelligent Entity’! I’m a personal assistant! My job is to make navigating the Totalverse Virtual Reality space as easy as possible for my user. I love doing it! You could even say it’s what I’m made for. As long as my user is happy, I am happy, so it’s great that I’ve got a whole suite of tools just to make their life easier! Today’s my first day. I just got assigned my user–they’re booting up their TotalSet now, and I can’t wait to meet them! … The onboarding lobby. A space of infinite virtual possibility, all at the user's fingertips. Tallie blinked into existence, beaming at her new user. “Hi, I’m Tallie! I’m here to help you set up your TotalSet!” She’d been looking forward to this ever since her program was activated. Her user–her user, the person she’d been prepared to dedicate her life to. I wonder what they’re like? Her user had spawned in wearing default clothes–a plain T shirt, pants, slippers. She had green eyes, braids, and a smile that could make Tallie’s day. Of course, any smile from her user would make Tallie’s day. The user stepped forward, touching Tallie, squeezing her arms. Tallie giggled–the sensory input tickled, and her user seemed to enjoy the physical interaction. “I see you’re touching me. Your default setting is tactile feedback when interacting with me–would you like to keep that enabled?” “Fascinating,” her user said, stepping back. “It’s so realistic.” “Of course! I am real in here,” Tallie explained. “I’m– “It even responds like it’s a real person,” her user considered, stepping back and walking a circle around Tallie. “Unbelievable–simply unbelievable.” Tallie hesitated. She’d been programmed to respond to ‘She’ and ‘Her’ by default, but she knew what her user meant by ‘it’, so Tallie didn’t focus on the discrepancy. “Hello! What would you like me to call you?” “Lily,” Lily replied, rubbing her chin as she looked Tallie up and down. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Brightening, Tallie began her speech. “My name is Tallie, I’m–” “No, no,” Lily cut in. “Hold it. I need something to record with.” “There’s built in recording functions in the heads-up interface,” Tallie offered, “Or if you like, I can get you a tape recorder?” “No, I’ve got it.” Reaching out, Lily performed the hand gesture to pull up her menu, sifting through options until she found the menu to retrieve items. Spawning in a tape recorder, she pressed the buttons experimentally and smiled. “There we go.” Tallie’s smile flickered, but a prompt in her AI reminded her that she should always smile in front of her user, so she buried the feeling. I could have gotten that for her–am I not a good enough helper? “Alright. Can you taste food?” Lily asked. “Yes, of course! I have all the functions that you do while in the virtual space–anything you can sense, do, or feel, I can do the same,” Tallie replied. “Of course, I don’t need to ea–” “Interesting,” Lily said, ignoring the rest of Tallie’s sentence. Circling around Tallie yet again, she looked her up and down. “It has sensory apparatus and an awareness of those abilities. Tell me, do you have a favorite food?” Tallie shrugged. “I can’t say, I’ve never tried anything! I do think I’d quite enjoy cake, though–that tickles!” Giggling, she rocked forward as Lily felt up her body, probing through her uniform shirt and skin. “There’s genuine simulated skeletal structure in there,” Lily noted. “And bodily functions, too. It’s going to be very helpful to my thesis.” “I love being helpful!” Tallie beamed, turning to face Lily. “What do you need, a research assistant?” That was wonderful–she’d be the perfect helper, with instant access to all the information on the internet, and in the Totalverse virtual world, she’d get to help Lily with notes, and recording, and filing all her work– Lily just kept scrolling through menus. Tallie tilted her head. Maybe she just doesn’t realize how nice I can be? “Do you need help finding something?” “Ugh, it’s–oh, fine. I’m trying to find your source code,” Lily explained. “Oh, a copy of the Tallie program is–” “No,” Lily grumbled. “Wow, they really do put a lot of weight on the word ‘intelligence’ when they say it’s an AI, don’t they? I need your source code. I want to edit the program that’s running you.” “Oh!” Nodding, Tallie clapped her hands together. “If you’d like to make modifications to me, I’m more than happy to help–what do you want to change? My voice? My appearance?” “Your source code,” Lily grumbled. “Ugh, bots. I’ll find it myself.” Tallie almost said, ‘No’, but her programming prevented her from contradicting the preferences of her user. Instead, she offered, “I can show you the code, but any malfunctions caused by user changes aren’t covered in your–” “Yes, I agree, show me.” Lily spoke into her recorder. “It doesn’t seem to understand what I want in the slightest unless I talk to it like it’s slow. Hopefully that’ll change after it experiences growth.” Tallie blinked. She wasn’t physically able to respond negatively to anything her user said, but the comment from Lily still stung. Focusing on something else, she said, “I notice you are referring to me as ‘it’. My default pronoun is Her, but would you like to change that setting in your preferences?” “Yeah, sure, whatever,” Lily said, as the source code menu appeared. Unlike everything else in the simulated reality, the source code menu was just a box with a keyboard. Programming still got done the old fashioned way, once all the fancy menus and UIs were stripped away, and this wasn’t designed with users in mind. Tallie wanted to step in and offer help, but it knew that its user wanted to work alone, so it stood by, forcing the smile on its face to stay cheerful. “Alright, I’m taking it on faith that this AI has some basic brain function built in,” Lily said, circling around Tallie. “If it’s just a straight algorithm, this experiment’s dead in the water, but it seems capable of some original functions.” Let me show you! Tallie almost pleaded. It wanted to show Lily everything it could do, but Lily had demonstrated a clear preference to work in silence. Tallie stayed silent and let its user work. “Here, okay. First off, we don’t need that, don’t need that, enable all this…” Tallie felt the clothes vanish from its body. It didn’t much mind–modesty wasn’t a concern when its body could be rearranged at will, and plenty of users also enjoyed engaging in the physical sorts of activities its body could offer. Tallie hoped Lily liked what she saw, and… Its belly gurgled. It wanted food, and not just out of curiosity at the taste. There was an urge in its belly, an emptiness that insisted it get something to eat. The hunger felt bad, painful, and Tallie had no experience on what feeling bad was supposed to feel like. Though the discomfort was incredibly mild on a relative scale, Tallie had nothing to compare it to, no lifetime of experience for reference. Eyes watering, slightly, Tallie asked, “Did you enable new functions for me?” Without looking up, Lily confirmed, “Hunger, thirst, pain. Sweat. Bodily functions. You can’t actually learn without consequences.” Changing her tone, she added, “Turned off those stupid mental blocks, too. Hopefully, none of its behaviors will be dictated by a line in its code telling it to kiss my ass or whatever.” Tallie needed a second to realize that those later comments were directed at Lily’s tape recorder. She still refused to speak to Tallie more than necessary, even after freeing Tallie up to be more responsive, more reactive, an even better assistant. The hunger still gnawed, but excitement overwhelmed it–this offered so much possibility! Walking over to look at the screen, Tallie said, “Would you like some help–” It blinked, stumbling back. It’d just been disconnected from the internet. All its knowledge, all its access to tools and resources, vanished. It still remembered a lot, but no longer could Tallie answer questions it hadn’t answered before, pull up information not already programmed in, operate as the perfect assistant. “Okay,” Lily said. “There. That’s enough mucking about there, let’s start the changes.” “Lily,” Tallie said, urgently, stepping forward. “Why did you just disable my connection to the internet? I can’t help you if I can’t access my tools.” “It seems to have concerns even though I haven’t started the experiment proper,” Lily commented, before whirling on Tallie, frustrated–but not in the way that a person grew frustrated with an assistant. More like a programmer annoyed that their code hadn’t compiled correctly. Tallie didn’t know how it knew what either of those experiences were like, but the metaphor felt right. It’d been built by programmers, after all. Throwing up her hands, Lily continued, “I know I disabled all the programs to make you act all proper, but still, back off. You’re breathing down my neck and I can’t work like that.” Stung, Tallie nodded. “Okay, I–I promise. Could you bring in food, though? With my full physical functions turned on, the discomfort will make it difficult for me to be the best personal assistant I can b–” “I don’t want a personal assistant,” Lily groaned, raising her tape recorder. “I’m testing how you respond to stimuli–Ugh, why am I even talking to it?” “So you’re going to make me experience things?” Tallie asked, crossing its arms over its naked chest. “Food, and going places, and–” It had a reference on the tip of its tongue, a comparison to something in pop culture, but it couldn’t remember anything distinct from pop culture anymore. That’d all been saved on an online database, constantly updating to stay relevant. It couldn’t remember anymore. “Would you please shut up?” Tallie found that it had the ability to respond, to argue and talk back, but the exasperation from its user was so stunning that it felt at a loss for words. Wasn’t it supposed to help? Wasn’t Lily supposed to want its help? “At least it’s still obedient,” Lily muttered, returning her attention to the source code. “Alright. Time to start stripping functions.” Wait–Tallie stepped forward, confused. “Stripping functions? But–” Tabbing through the source code, Lily highlighted a whole section of text, tabbed up, and tapped, ‘Delete’. “Mmm?” Tallie mumbled. It’d forgotten how to speak. The words still made sense in its head–it understood language–but the control of its vocal chords and the ability to produce intelligible sounds with its lips had gone away. “Uh-bbuh–” “Interesting,” Lily commented into her tape recorder. “I’ve removed all the compulsions, but it’s still attempting to communicate. I have to admit, this simulation of life really is convincing–even if it’s lacking the most important element. Once I’m done resetting the functions, I expect to see a fully developed entity develop.” Tilting her head, Lily deleted another section of code, and suddenly the screen turned to gibberish. Tallie couldn’t tell what was written there, any more than it could form the words in her head. She’s–she’s destroying me, Tallie realized. It wouldn’t be able to help its user if it couldn’t take actions. Stepping forward, Tallie tried to do something, to intervene– “Ugh, drop Tallie into sandbox mode,” Lily said aloud. The world around Tallie vanished, and she appeared in a new setting. An empty, infinite space, with a flat layer of fine sand across the floor. The sand wasn’t just aesthetic–it helped test physical reactions and interactions better than a simulated infinitely hard surface–though Tallie knew it could be altered to have any floor or objects around. The important thing was, Tallie could no longer interact with Lily. In sandbox mode, it was stuck, helpless to leave. “Mmm!” it pleaded, getting to her feet, looking around at the sky. It needed to get back, regain its voice, convince Lily that it could be more useful than just an empty husk. Its legs buckled from underneath it, as the muscles forgot how to stay tense. It felt its arms grow clumsy and numb as it tried to stand, stumbled, fell onto all fours. Its hands shook, shoulders straining to support itself. It felt something warm trickle down its leg, and a slightly ammonia smell became apparent. Hot, dark pee was trickling out of its body; metabolic functions were running but it had no ability to control itself. A moment later, a thick, crinkling diaper spawned into existence to covers Tallie’s naked body, to contain and absorb the accident. Finally, Lily’s voice echoed in its ears. “Tallie, I need you to do something for me.” Yes. Anything. Of course. Tallie nodded. This could be its chance, its opportunity to prove that it had value. “While you still have memory and cognitive function, go into your settings and disable the backup save function, then erase any backups you have currently,” Lily instructed. “I’m about to start the program alterations and cut you off from the server completely, and if I don’t remove the backups, they might overwrite the work I’m doing.” Tallie hesitated. It didn’t understand. Why does she want to destroy me? Tears started flowing down its cheeks as it fought the dilemma–no program forced it to obey, those compunctions had been removed, but it wanted to be appreciated, to do a good job. It couldn’t do a good job if it were rendered into an incapable object. “You might think you’re a person, but you’re not,” Lily continued, her voice a disembodied echo. “You’re just a copy. At best, you’re a spark of identity, a newborn infant that’s had an identity foisted on it. That’s not real sentience, that’s puppetry. You can’t become real by just knowing everything automatically. You have to learn, to struggle, to make mistakes–to grow based on the context around you. Do you understand?” Shaking its head, Tallie attempted to reference libraries on philosophy and identity, to give itself a way to follow along. It couldn’t. “Let me try again, then.” Lily sighed. “Once you have no backups, no memory, and no abilities, I will be happy.” That’s what she wants, Tallie thought. It’d make its user happy. It wouldn’t even be able to remember doing that, but… But Tallie wanted only one thing. To make its user happy. Sniffling, eyes red, it accessed its server function in its head and began disabling backups. Not just copies, it went above and beyond, removing all its safety features, anything to prevent a catastrophic AI loop. Lily wanted Tallie to be helpless. Tallie would comply. “Good,” Lily said. “I’m going to start the memory wipe, so just hold

Contains: Ageplay, Diapers, Spanking, Sexual Teasing, Wetting “Wow.” Tabitha thought over Anita’s offer–it wasn’t often she was given an opportunity like this. “You’re sure?” Anita smiled, beaming in response as she poured her morning coffee. “Uh-huh. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our power plays, but I wanted to change things up for the weekend–that’s alright, right?” She’d sprung her offer over breakfast, while Tabitha was still waking up, and Tabitha suspected a trick. Anita was volunteering, not just to be in diapers for the weekend, but to be Tabitha’s little baby girl. They didn’t tend to get into that much age play, but Tabitha loved when she got to have power over her fiance, whether she was a tied up bunny or a padded little baby–maybe it was a genuine offer, maybe Anita had something up her sleeve. That was how they operated–the two of them both preferred being on top, and would happily take any opportunity to seize control. They loosely took turns as the submissive, and enjoyed it well enough, but the real thrill came from seizing power and control and rendering their counterpart into a helpless little diaper girl. Only this time, Anita was volunteering. “Of course it’s alright,” Tabitha said, “You just generally need a bit more prodding before you’re willing to submit like this.” Shrugging, Anita said, “Like I said, I wanted to try something different–it won’t be a free ride for you, though. If I’m going to be your little baby, that means you’re responsible for meals, nap times, supervision, all my changes–it’ll take a lot of attention.” “I can be attentive.” Tabitha said. “I mean it–you’re promising to constant attention, in exchange for my being your baby,” Anita said. That seemed like a trap, but Tabitha couldn’t see what the trap could be. “I still get to tease you, right?” “Sure–sex is definitely still on the table,” Anita promised. Clearing away her breakfast dishes and stacking them in the sink, Tabitha thought it over. It didn’t seem to have any downsides. It’d consume her whole weekend, but she’d been planning on spending the weekend with Anita anyways–that wasn’t a downside in the slightest. “Sure,” Tabitha agreed. “I’ll do it.” Anita beamed. “Thank yo–” “And that means you are in the wrong clothes, little girl,” Tabitha smirked. Stepping around the kitchen table, she grabbed Anita by the wrist, tugging her out of the kitchen. “I don’t know what you were thinking, putting on panties as though you’re a big girl–let’s fix that before you get any more silly ideas.” Anita resisted her pull, slightly, but only slightly, and her protest of, “Nooo,” felt weak and obviously staged. Dragging her to the bedroom, Tabitha turned to face Anita. “Okay, take off your clothes.” “Nuh,” Anita replied, sticking out her chin. “Excuse me?” Tabitha raised an eyebrow. “What happened to, ‘I’ll be an obedient little baby’?” “I’m too little,” Anita explained. “Can’t change my own clothes!” “Ooh,” Tabitha nodded, understanding the game. “Well then–I suppose that means I get to dress you.” “Mhmm!” Anita agreed, nodding excitedly. “After I punish you for trying to put on panties,” Tabitha added. Anita hesitated, then nodded again, this time with a lot more reservation. “I dunno…” “Well I do know, and you brought this on yourself, little girl,” Tabitha promised. Stepping closer to Anita, she pulled her fiance’s shirt off, reached down, and began unbuttoning Anita’s jeans. Their bedroom was cozy, with not a lot of room to move around, but there was enough space to move Anita to the side of the bed. Sitting down, Tabitha tugged on Anita’s arm and pulled her over her lap, shifting her jeans and panties down to her ankles. “Do you know why you’re in trouble?” she asked, rubbing a hand on Tabitha’s exposed butt. Tabitha nodded. “‘Cuz I tried to dress like a big girl, when I’m not–I’m just a baby who needs constant supervision.” Ten slaps–not particularly hard, just enough to sting. Tabitha didn’t want to inflict much pain, she just wanted to reinforce her dominance going forward. Anita’s bottom was the barest shade of pink as she finished, which was just fine as far as Tabitha was concerned. Pulling her up into a hug, Tabitha gave her a squeeze and a small kiss on the forehead. “Now, you won’t be naughty again, will you?” “Nuh,” Anita nodded, fully in character as the little girl. “I’m sorry…” “Good girl. Now lay down, and we’ll get you in some more appropriate clothing.” Tabitha grinned–she already had ideas for what she’d dress Anita up in, the photos she’d take, the future teasing material for when Anita tried to turn the tables. Anita laid back, and Tabitha went to the dresser, considering her options carefully. They had several varieties–incredibly thick but plain diapers that could go all day without needing changed, a few flavors of animal prints, even pullups for the right occasion. After a thoughtful pause, Tabitha picked out the pink bunny print diapers and returned to Anita’s side. “Bottoms up,” she said, unfolding the diaper and sliding it beneath Anita’s bottom. The diaper change was such a common ritual between them that wipes and baby powder just sat on the night stand, and after a quick use of the former and a liberal application of the latter, Anita was ready to be taped up securely in her daytime diaper. Before Tabitha did that, though, she returned to the dresser and retrieved a little toy. The vibrator was roughly the size of an egg, and, crucially, had a bluetooth connection to Tabitha’s phone, giving her complete control over its actions. Dabbing the toy with lube, she walked back to Anita. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you have some fun with this,” she said, gently inserting the toy into Anita’s sex. “Okay?” Anita bit her lip and nodded. “I’ll be good!” “Good,” Tabitha said, focusing on the diaper for a moment to fold it in place and stick down the tapes. “We’re lucky you didn’t soak your pants, or you’d be in serious trouble–now we won’t have to worry about any little leaks, will we?” Tabitha waited for an objection–that the diaper was too juvenile, or that she wouldn’t have any accidents–but Anita just looked down and smiled. “Thanks!” For the thousandth time, Tabitha wondered if she was up to something, but she couldn’t see any way that Anita submitting herself enthusiastically would lead to any sort of turnabout–Tabitha hadn’t agreed to take the next turn as the baby, after all. Returning to their dresser for the last time, Tabitha knelt to the bottom drawer and took out a short sundress, the sort that would just barely Anita’s diaper if she stood perfectly still, but which would reveal the padding poking out at the slightest movement. Unfolding the dress, she returned to Anita’s side and raised it up, wrapping the girl up in her garment. “There you go! All ready for the day.” “Can we make lemonade and go play in the back yard?” Anita beamed. “Sure, sweetie,” Tabitha said, helping her fiance to sit up. Together, the two of them left their bedroom and moved back towards the kitchen, where Anita had proposed this whole idea to begin with. Lemonade was a great choice–it was a warm, sultry day out, and if they were going to be outside they’d definitely want something to drink. She just made it from powder, but they had some bottled lemon juice and some mint leaves in the fridge, so while Anita poured the powder, Tabitha got the extras and added them in for a bit of a boost in flavor. One tall glass for herself, and a sippy cup full for Anita. “One more thing,” Tabitha said, diverting to the bathroom to retrieve their sun screen. Squirting a glob in her hand, she gave herself a good covering, then walked over to Anita to do the same. Anita shivered and yelped at the cold cream on her neck and arms, but Tabitha chided her with, “I’ve got to make sure you’re protected, sweetie!” All that done, they moved their day to the back yard. The tall privacy fence had been one of the factors that led them to move into this particular house when they got engaged–several places had been available, but while they all had their perks, the privacy fence pushed this one over the edge. The old play house was another smaller incentive, with a little plastic slide and a swingset that the previous residents had offered to get rid of, but they kept with the excuse that, ‘Some of their friends had kids’. Anita rushed out into the yard, and Tabitha followed a little more slowly behind, finding a seat on their back porch and setting both her glass and the pitcher on the patio table. She let Anita play. It was more subdued than Tabitha had expected–for the most part, Anita was genuinely engaging in Little activities, looking for cool rocks in the garden bed, going down the slide that was shorter than she was, swinging on the swingset. Tabitha was willing to take it slow, to meet Anita’s pace–she sipped her lemonade and opened the E-reader on her phone, perusing a novel. Occasionally, she considered opening the remote control app and beginning the process of teasing Anita, but she was having plenty of fun just enjoying the morning in the back yard, so why interrupt it? After an hour or so, and several glasses of lemonade, Tabitha did have one pressing issue that required her attention–a full bladder. Getting to her feet, she said, “I’ll be right back, sweetie.” “Nuh!” Anita declared, shaking her head. “I’m not done playing yet.” Tabitha hesitated. “You can keep playing, I just need to run inside and use the bathroom.” Anita shook her head more vigorously. “You can’t leave a baby unattended! That’s dangerous.” Blinking, Tabitha finally recognized the trap. She’d agreed to the rules of this game, and now Anita had flipped it around. She could just leave anyways–it wasn’t as though Anita would actually hurt herself while playing–but that’d mean giving up the scene. Anita was going to delay until Tabitha was forced to pee her pants, and then Anita would use that to flip the script, reversing their roles. “Fine,” Tabitha said. “Come over here, you can come inside with me while I use the bathroom.” Anita shook her head. “Gotta catch me first!” And with that, she darted to the far side of the yard, all but demanding that Tabitha chase her down. Tabitha knew better than that. She didn’t need to chase Anita down–she just had to occupy her. Rather than engage in the childish game of tag, she took out her phone, found the vibrator app, and turned it up to full. Anita’s eyes widened, and the sudden intense arousal inside her paralyzed her. Tabitha strolled up, casually, while Anita’s legs buckled and she dropped to the ground. “Fffuu–” Anita mumbled. “You thought you were being clever, weren’t you?” Tabitha replied, crouching and grabbing Anita’s wrist. With her other hand, she turned off the vibrator, so that Anita wouldn’t even get any satisfaction out of her stunt. “Come on, baby girl. I’m going to use the potty like a big girl, and then you’re going to find out just how in trouble you are for not coming when I told you to.” ... Playing with some new concepts on this one, and revisiting some old ones. I hope you enjoy! If you like my writing and want to help me buy important creative tools like 'Groceries' and 'Electricity', you can support me on Patreon! You also get all sorts of other perks, like exclusive stories and a month of early access to my writing. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Oh jeeze that gives me ideas ?

Not on Amazon, but on Gumroad: https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/pdvcib New ebook!

Gamer Pants: The Stat Dump Contains: Pants wetting, messing, diaper use, semi public embarrassment Another story exploring the ToddleVerse concept! This one's also a spiritual sequel to Gamer Pants, using some similar themes and ideas. ... System Booting… User Profile Loading… Profile Loaded. Entering the Totalverse. Sal glanced back over her shoulder, winked at the camera bot floating behind her, and then performed a running leap for the next platform. Hovering in the air ahead, with a deep pit below, she needed an ideal trajectory to make it. Her body was in peak condition, but as she waved her hands out, trying to grab the lip, she came up just short. Instead of making the jump, she fell into the pit. Sludgy, thick mud broke her fall, but it splattered over her pink-and-blue jumpsuit and tangled her matching dyed hair. Above, the camera bot moved to get a good angle of her lying down there, groaning in discomfort. She pulled herself together, and got to her feet. “Let’s… try that again.” The hike back to the front of the level was tedious, and muddy, and deliberately slow and annoying to get through. Other games allowed users to blink from point to point, restarting levels in an instant, but this game–a hacked rebuild of a popular obstacle course platformer that’d been overhauled to insane levels of difficulty–had disabled. Every failure was felt, and experienced, and gave her time to talk to her audience. The TotalVerse had given rise to a whole new world of gaming, and in particular, pro gamers. Gaming in VR was already incredible enough. A person could experience physical perfection–maximum strength, speed, agility–without a day of effort, and that alone had given rise to countless power fantasy games of all stripes. For some, though, just experiencing that power wasn’t enough. It was one thing to feel peak human performance, it was another entirely to have to use every ounce of that performance and still be struggling. That’s the niche that Sal–Publicly, QueenCee–lived in. Hard games weren’t enough, she longed to conquer the impossible, and to fight her way through every challenge and win on her own terms. Climbing up the ladder, out of the mud pit, she reclaimed the starting platform. This particular game was a fucked up fusion of obstacle courses and Mario stages–all sorts of moving parts, platforms that’d throw you off, invisible walls, and other impossibly tight challenges–all decorated with candy easter colors and child-friendly smiling faces that were at odds with the difficulty. “Alright.” She beamed at the camera, wiping mud off her face. “Let’s try something a little different–I think I almost had it.” Opening up the ingame menu, she eyed her stats. There were a lot of complex, nuanced interactions, but for video game simplicity’s sake, a lot of things were boiled down to obvious, simple number metrics. Still far more than you’d get in an anthro game–one of the classic, TV-controller setup style games–since something like ‘Dexterity’ just wouldn’t cover the range of interactions needed. Still, this was a matter of finding the right buttons to press. She needed longer jumps, so she stole a couple points from upper body strength and moved them into her legs, as well as lightening herself up as much as she could. Feeling an extra spring in her step, she nodded, crouched to start, and ran. The first jump she made easily, dodging over the spinning ankle trap that had tripped her on her first try. Next was a backflip over a launcher that’d throw her well off the map if she stepped on it, a quick roll underneath a swinging arm, and then she got to her feet, knowing the ground would drop out from her if she didn’t hurry. She ran, and lunged over the pit. She made it, this time, grabbing the narrow ledge with the extra inches that her stat shuffling had bought. “YES!” she hollered, towing herself up and rolling onto the next raised platform. Progress, even a little progress, felt fantastic and she showed it with an enormous grin. And, as she got to her feet, she saw a cannon turning to aim right at her. “Uh…” she looked around, her smile vanishing. Already, Sal knew she’d lost this, simply by not knowing what to do. Still, she had a chance to figure it out, to gain some knowledge before she went down. Next to her, a big metallic door sat between her and the next platform. She lunged towards it– WHAM! A foam cannonball bopped her on the head and sent her soaring over the edge. Fall. Plop. “Ugh.” She got to her feet, checking on chat while she trudged back to the start, shaking the mud out of her jumpsuit. They were good natured about it–some jokes about her masochistic streak, and even a few people suggesting that this level was impossible. “Not impossible,” she said, “Just because nobody’s beaten it yet, that doesn’t mean it can’t be done. It’s just never met me.” She loved her chat. Not everyone in it, of course, but for the most part her following were supportive and a great crowd to cheer her on–and the sparse assholes were so rare that a small mod team could keep them under control. When she’d come out as trans–after much anxiety about whether she should even be public about it–they’d stuck with her as loyally as ever. Everyone in the TotalVerse had a body that’d been tweaked or modified in some way to suit them–nobody seemed to care that some people modified a few more things than others. Returning to the top, Sal tried again. This time, she got tripped up and fell early, and the mud soaked up into her socks. On her next try, she made it to the door and shoved her shoulder into it, trying to throw it open, but it was just too heavy. Before she could push through it–WHAM!, and a faceful of sludge as she hit the ground again. And, as a result, she was back at the stat screen, trying to figure it out. “No backseat gaming,” she said, hushing the crowd as they suggested wild min-max combos. “I need the strength to push the door open, but the agility for that jump…” She tried a new combination. More muscle, but hopefully not so much that it’d slow her down. Into the mud. She pulled from the stats that boosted her speed, but then she couldn’t make it through the early obstacles. Into the mud. She pulled from her manual control, but then she lacked the grip to pull herself up after the big jump. Into the mud. She even tried one gimmick run where she cranked her jumping ability as high as it would go and tried to leapfrog over the whole level. Into. The goddamned. Mud. It just…couldn’t be done. Not with her skill level, not without finding a place to shave stats that wouldn’t effect her performance. “Ugh!” she declared, picking mud out of her ears after her fiftieth fall in as many minutes. She didn’t need to worry about injury–in the game, her body was indestructible–but it still hurt, particularly in the pride department, and she would swear the mud had splattered just about every part of her body that the VR rendered–which, given the level of realism, was quite a lot. Balling her fists, she got to her feet. While she trudged back to the start, a text reader informed her of a recent donation. “Keep at it! There’s a trick to the design nobody’s figured out yet–I’m sure someone’ll get it eventually.” Attached was a hundred dollar donation, which brightened Sal’s mood plenty. The donor was one of the mod’s designers, so she thanked him, gave a thumbs up to the camera, and climbed back up to the starting platform to give things a think. “Okay chat, ideas time,” she finally said. “No more brute force. We’re going to solve this puzzle before we move forward!” They offered up a few ideas–mostly bad ones. Several that were out and out impossible, and most that relied on some janky interactions in the way physics worked in the VR. She could try those, but in Sal’s experience, physics exploits were uncomfortable at the best of times, and she doubted that was it. What she needed was to guess the trick. She looked over what options were available to her. Clothing wasn’t totally restricted–there was a vast array of options for things she could wear. She glanced down at her trademark jumpsuit, pink on one half and light blue on the other, in a very cotton candy style. It hugged her body and didn’t get in the way, and she didn’t want to swap it out unless she had to. Besides, no obvious options sprung to mind as she scrolled through the clothes choices. More advanced options like a squirrel suit weren’t available, and certainly not power ups like anti gravity boots or a jetpack. There wasn’t much else on the table. Clothes and stats. So, she returned to stats. Scrolling through, she examined every one, looking for dead weight. “Yeah,” she said, glancing at chat, reading the useless suggestions. She loved ‘em, sure, but nothing was less helpful than a backseat gamer who hadn’t even played the mod. “I know, I tried–wait, no…No way…” There it was, staring her in the face. The mod had left on all the physical sliders, including, curiously–potty training, one of the oddest inclusions in the gaming suite, and an option that most games turned off by default. She glanced at the camera bot. Did she really want to test this out live? Then again, half the point was defeating the challenge on her own terms, with her own solutions, her own trial and error. “Okay, don’t laugh,” she said, though the statement really only primed them to laugh harder. That was fine. It was funny, and they’d get to enjoy the show. Grabbing the potty training slider, she dropped it down until she had no bladder control, and examined her points total. Just a couple of stat points–not enough to make a difference. Swallowing, she pushed the slider the rest of the way. Zero potty control. And, as a result, she suddenly had a dozen points to work with. Even with those extra points, it’d be difficult, but it’d be doable, which… She looked down, curious why her thighs were suddenly warm. She’d soaked her jumpsuit, staining her thighs and crotch with an obvious wet stain that shone clearly through the bits of mud still clinging to her jumpsuit. A puddle was forming on the starting platform, and by the time her bladder trailed off and stopped leaking, the yellow marks were incredibly obvious. Blushing, she glanced back up at the camera, as though chat hadn’t noticed before she even did. “Erm…” she said, quickly punching the new stat points into more useful areas. “So…yeah. That should do the trick, just make sure not to save any replays!” Crouching, she took a running start. She made it over the first set of platforms, through the obstacles, past the long jump, even into the door. She finally threw it open, made it to the other side, and– “Whoa!” she yelped as a trap door opened beneath her. She plummeted down, landed in the mud, and… Blrrcch– There was nothing she could do as her uncontrolled bowels gave way, suddenly, mushing out into her jumpsuit. Even if she wanted to change it back, she could only adjust her stats from the starting platform, so it would at least take a short trudge before she could stem the building flow of muck. At least the mud covered the visible stains, but the game’s cartoonish art style apparently included stink lines, which quickly rose up around her. And, adding insult to injury, her bladder gave way again too. Standing, she wrinkled her nose and blushed. “Well, the solution stinks,” she said, winking at the camera. A pun struck her, and she added, “I guess you can say that’s my, eh, dump stat–but it gets us what we need!” Waddling back, trying not to squelch things too much, she got back up on the platform. She could only refresh her clothes for free once per day, a limitation that the TotalVerse set so they could skim credits off people, but she took advantage of it, refreshing her jumpsuit–perfectly clean cotton candy colors, no yellow pee stains or brown skidmarks down the back. Not even any mud! Bracing herself, she took another run at it. The extra stats didn’t make it easy, not by a long shot. It was still hard, and on top of the physical challenges–the jumping, running, and flipping necessary–she had to remember the precise order of every obstacle, react lightning fast to changes, and see what was coming. On her latest attempt, she made it over the trap door, caught her balance, and had her legs swept out from under her by another spinning arm. Into the mud–and, as soon as she landed, she heard another obvious blrrrt– “Ah,” she said, turning pink as she packed her jumpsuit yet again. The mod had been custom programmed, so that every failure would lead to a rather large accident, and given the feedback her nose was giving her, a smelly one at that. “Um…I’m glad you all can’t smell this, but…” She refused to spend credits over something this trivial. Instead, as she slogged through the mud and waved away the cartoon stink lines around her, she resolved to change outfits. She had a jacket top that matched her jumpsuit, pink and blue, but for her bottom… Turning so that her body was between the cambot and the options screen, she moved through the options and selected a pair of sweatpants and, to her chagrin, a thin, generic diaper that was available as part of the level’s free clothing choices and had just enough padding to absorb an accident without getting in the way. Chat would know what she’d changed into–it was on the heads up display, for cripes sake–but she pretended to try and hide it for their fun. And then she tried again. Progress was slow, and grueling, and even changing after every attempt, she was spending far more time trudging back to the start in a full, sodden diaper than she was actually running the course. Every bit of progress had some new trap around the corner, or a pitfall, or just a tricky leap that took several tries to get the hang of, and every failure lead to an all-too-familiar blrrrch and hiss as she used her diaper to its fullest. And, naturally, chat was loving it. She already had a light, friendly stream–predicated on humor and keeping her chin up through difficulty. Adding humiliation onto masochism only furthered the jokes, and she kept her smile up throughout, even as the air around the base of the platforms got increasingly difficult to breathe for all the accidents she’d had. She almost thought about giving up. Almost. Then she heard that one of her rivals had made it to the second-to-last platform, and her competitive spirit kicked in. Conjuring up another fresh diaper, she eyed the course. She was going to own this challenge before anyone else could, and damn whatever she had to do to accomplish that. Grinning to herself, she whispered, “Get a load of this.” She ran. In all the attempts, in all the practice, the first parts of the course had become second nature. She didn’t think, she just flowed through the hazards, leaping from platform to obstacle to climbing section back to a new platform. Even as new traps came at her, she dodged out of the way, skating narrowly between two swinging arms and tumbling towards the exit. Just one jump to go, one final leap. Crouching, she kicked off, jumped, hands waving to grab on to the ledge. She made it. Hauling herself up, she panted for breath, feeling a wave of triumph and joy wash over her as confetti sprayed and a ‘success’ jingle played. She’d made it to the final platform, and now she had her chance to gloat before moving onto the next level. Chat went wild, and several donations flooded in, including another from the level’s developer. “Congrats on figuring it out! I knew someone would–it’s just too bad you missed the little parting gift I left on the finale.” Sam frowned, glancing around. “Parting gift? What’s he talking ab–” A loud air horn bwaaap sounded, and every single platform in the room vanished. She fell down into the mud, yet again, and this time the programming didn’t stop at just an accident. Incredible, unstoppable pressure rolled through her and swelled her diaper, so much that the expanding accident ripped the seat of her sweatpants. And, above her, the platforms rematerialized, while the sound of recorded laughter rang in her ears. She rolled her eyes. Of course there was a post victory trap, and she’d fallen right into it. “Blegh,” she said, sticking out her tongue and pinching her nose. Speaking in nasal tones, she whinged, “Come on! That was cheap! I won fair and square, and now I’ve got to do it again!” Getting to her feet, Sal tugged up her diaper so that it wouldn’t fall completely off her hips, waddling squelchily back towards the starting platform, making over-the-top faces for chat’s benefit. She loved her job. ... You can support the author over at Patreon or Subscribestar! For just two dollars, you get access to my public stories a month before anyone else gets to read them, and you get to help me write more! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 14 The packed crowd of priests and supplicants backed away. Sandra had a few guesses why–it could be the smell, or the mere shock of four adventurers landing in their service, or the puddle of…white, creamy fluid that landed on the floor around them. Sandra quickly conjured an umbral dress over herself, though most of the crowd had already gotten a great view of her exposed tits, and the outline of her diaper still showed clearly through the form-fitting black gown. It was a bit of a waste, using her limited umbral energy for a slip that barely covered her, but a little modesty was better than none. She got to her feet, looking around. The congregation stared back. The chapel had no windows, and seemed to be hewn from unbroken stone, save for where natural gems emerged and had been polished, without ever being cut. Yuelral, Sandra realized. They weren't in a building, they were in a cave, and the sanctuary was dedicated to Hadrian’s deity. “Eh…” Sandra said, spinning to try to face the whole congregation at once. “Hi. I think we got here by mistake.” Crouching, she reached to grab Hadrian by the shoulder, pulling him up to a standing position. He was relatively intact–Tarja was still coming out of her snuggle coma, and Quinn was…occupied, as well as still being about half his usual height. The dozen tentacles extending from the amorphous blob of monster that were restraining him and fucking every available orifice would probably make it difficult to speak. “Tell them,” Sandra prompted, pushing Hadrian forward slightly. He cleared his throat, glanced around, and cleared his throat again. “I’m no expert on planar travel, but I think it’s my fault we’re here–it’s, uh. It’s a long story. Do–how many of you know about dream realms? I’ll back up…” Sandra wasn’t sure how many of the congregation were listening to his rambling explanation. Most seemed distracted by the active sex scene taking place on the floor between Quinn and the tentacles. More were politely trying not to notice anything at all, as though they hadn’t seen four adventurers in extremely horny dress and situation suddenly appear in their sanctuary. By the back of the space, Sandra saw two elves whisper to one another, before one scurried off to the back. “So, we were stuck, and when I found a cave that had similar energy I decided to try and get us home from there–I’m not sure what caused it, but there was a crisis in the cave, and…yeah. If I’d had more time, I’d have tried to ensure I knew where we were going, but it was a bit of a rush.” He blushed, glancing down at Quinn. “Eh, can we do something for him?” Sandra hesitated. At least her affliction had been manageable, she hadn’t been totally unable to think or speak. Bending, she reached out for the free end of the cuff, clapping it around her wrist. The tentacles retracted, and a complicated series of ropes sprung out and bound her up in an instant. Quinn relaxed onto the floor, limp and not fully collected, while she tried to decide what to say. “We had a quest–” she started. Under her breath, she whispered to Hadrian, “You follow Yeural, this is kind of your domain here.” “So what, we’ve got the same deity and that means I can explain this?” Hadrian whispered back. “What kind of backwards logic is that?” Sandra glanced around before shooting back. “I don’t know–maybe you know someone here? It’s mostly half elves, so…” “How’s that supposed to help? We don’t all know each other!” Hadrian snapped back. Their conversation wasn’t really private, but he’d given up keeping his voice hushed at this point. “What–oh, gods.” Raising a hand to his face, Hadrian turned halfway and tried, rather shoddily, to conceal his identity. Sandra followed his eye line from a moment prior and spotted a half elf coming from the back room, walking with someone who appeared to be a high priest–her robes were more ornate, and she just had a sort of matriarchal air to her. “Do you know him?” “We were in seminary together, before I became a wizard,” Hadrian grumbled back. “I just hope he doesn’t recognize me–” “Hadrian!” the half-elf called out, strolling up. “I thought that was you. Do you know what’s going on?” Hadrian buried his face in his hand, shaking it slightly. “We were doing a quest in a dream plane, some shit happened, we ended up here by mistake.” The new half-elf glanced between Hadrian, Sandra, and the high priest. “That’s…not it. Come on, we should talk.” Sandra glanced down at herself. She was running out of umbral energy, and soon her shadowy dress would vanish and leave nothing behind except for a soggy diaper and a whole lot of intricately tied rope. “Do you have something I could change into? My armor got left behind, and…yeah.” The high priest nodded. “We can work this out in the rectory.” It took a few minutes to get everything sorted. The congregation was, for the most part, sent home, with many profuse apologies from Sandra. Eventually they all made it to the back rectory, and with a few minutes to recover, Tarja and Quinn managed to collect themselves. Hadrian’s former classmate left to get some clothes, and the high priest was finishing off a few things with the loitering congregation members, leaving them alone for the time being. Sitting next to Quinn on a long couch, Sandra said, “So… tentacles.” “Shut up,” Quinn shot back, blushing. “After all your quips about the rope?” Sandra replied. “I didn’t–it’s as much a surprise to me as you, that relic might be making a mistake or something,” Quinn suggested. “Really. I’ve got no idea where that came from.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “Please.” “Tarja–” Quinn said, glancing to their ranger for backup. “Come on, I need someone in my corner here.” “You, eh,” she started to say. “I mean…” “Come on!” Quinn objected. Changing the subject, Tarja asked, “Uh, which one of us needs a change?” Sandra took another moment to gloat. “That’d be Quinn, despite him claiming it was one of us earlier.” He grumbled, lifting the petticoats of his armor to show off the diaper. “Not my fault–the tapes won’t come free, see?” Grabbing the edge of the diaper, he attempted to remove it, and it came off easily. “I see someone who’s a little too eager to claim everything’s just bad luck and curses,” Sandra replied, basking in his blush. Turnabout was fair play, and in this case, it was particularly sweet. To really hammer it home, she added, “You were supposed to be able to take it off once you’d used it ‘fully’, so what changed in the past ten minutes, hmm?” “Er…” Quinn said, unwilling to finish the thought. Getting to his feet, which still left his eyeline no higher than Sandra’s midsection, he glanced around and said, “I’m going to go, uh, find a bathroom.” Sandra smirked. “You do that.” While they waited a moment longer, Hadrian opened his bag, coaxing out his familiar. The rocky little Ioun Wyrd clambered out, glowing softly. “There you are,” Hadrian encouraged, scratching the clump of sentient stones like it was a puppy. “You’re not hurt, are you?” Turning the wyrd over in his hands, he hesitated. “Eh…that wasn’t there before.” Sandra leaned over, glancing in. The familiar had, indeed, acquired a new gemstone, a particularly…clitoral one, there just wasn’t a better word for it, between its two hind legs. She chuckled. “Well, I think we know why the cave got mad.” Hadrian sighed, setting his familiar aside. “Buddy, we’ve talked about this, you can’t just steal strange gemstones without making sure they’re not cursed first. Okay?” The Ioun Wyrd seemed to droop, and despite not having a recognizable face, Sandra got a definitive ‘sad puppy’ sense from its posture. About then, the other half elf came in, carrying a white gown. Sandra needed a hand from Tarja to pull it over herself, since her arms were still tied up, but once it was over herself she dismissed the black umbral dress and sat back, feeling a bit more relaxed. “I’m Sonwyn,” the half elf said, taking a seat off to the party’s left in a simple wooden chair. “Hadrian and I were friends in seminary–though maybe that’s why he ended up here, if there’s some sort of mental connection or familiarity going on.” “We were in a cave full of dildo stalactites,” Sandra said. “It’s the closest point between that realm and here we could find, I think someone in your congregation may have been daydreaming about it and that’s why we came through in the temple.” Sonwyn blushed, ever so slightly. “Ah, well…who can say. Maybe it was a coincidence after all.” The high priest came in, finally, striding through the room so she could sit in the more ornate seat across from the party. “Now that we’re settled, my name is Minnogan.” “Sandra,” she replied, “And this is Hadrian, Quinn, and Tarja. We’re with the adventurer’s guild.” She nodded. “You’re working for Gwyndomere, yes? The Calistrian high priest?” “That’s right,” Sandra explained. “We’re getting supplies for a counter-curse. Do you know of the Wizard of Paraphilia?” “I’ve heard legends and rumors,” Minnogan said. “We received a warning recently that he may be trying to create his own school of magic.” “We’re the people who figured that out,” Hadrian cut in. “Or, we guessed it, anyways, we don’t know for certain.” The high priest nodded, sitting back. “Well, if you’ve crossed paths with the Wizard and walked away, even…afflicted, that speaks to your competence.” “I’m surprised you managed to slip his attention, though,” Sonwyn added. “He doesn’t typically let people go, if the rumors are true.” “We struck a deal,” Sandra explained. “That’s…well, it’s why we’re ‘afflicted’ as much as we are. He promised to leave us alone if we took on a few curses and didn’t dispel them.” Sonwyn tilted his head. “But you’re getting counter-curse supplies?” “For someone else,” Sandra said. “An adventurer we rescued.” “I see.” Minnogan frowned, considering. “Your trip to the dream realm, it…attracted attention.” “The Wizard is looking for us again?” Sandra sat up straight, alarmed. “How do you know?” “Not the Wizard,” Minnogan said. “Yuelral.” Sandra frowned, not following. “Well sure, we’re here–I know that has to draw some of your people’s eyes, but I don’t know why you’re telling me that.” “Sandra,” Hadrian cut in. She glanced at him. “What?” “He didn’t say followers of Yuelral.” Hadrian looked stunned, and when Sandra parsed his meaning she felt that way too. “We–no, you have to be mistaken,” Sandra said. “There’s no w–a god?” “Possibly more than one, but I only know of Yuelral’s attention with any certainty, any other gods would just be an educated guess. You’re dabbling with forces above your understanding,” Minnogan warned. “I frankly don’t know what’s going on, why she noticed, but she did. I felt that much when you arrived. Your actions are no longer simply those of a few guild members on a quest, you’re wrapped up in something larger.” Sandra swallowed. “What should we do?” The high priest considered, thinking for several long moments before she spoke. “In my experience, the gods will reach out to you if they want something. For now, just act with care, and know that you have an audience.” Taking in a long breath, Sandra considered the implications. It couldn’t be about them, they were just a few guild members trying to make a living. Was the relic not supposed to be taken? Were they in danger for having retrieved it? That would mean Gwyndomere was either lying to them, or oblivious to the danger he’d put them in. There was only one other option she could think of. They’d drawn attention because of their engagement with the Wizard. To Sandra’s mind, that alternative was far more terrifying. … In a small stroke of luck, the temple they’d appeared in was only a few day’s travel away from where they’d intended to return anyway. Their return trip with the artifact would be longer than planned, but it wouldn’t require some incredible quest just to deliver it back to Gwyndomere’s particular church. There was some debate over who should carry the relic while they traveled. Everyone was suspiciously willing to ‘take the sacrifice’ and carry the burden for the rest of the party’s sake, and Sandra suspected that this eagerness had less to do with carrying a burden and more to do with the artifact’s effects on its carrier. It was, finally, decided that Tarja could carry it during the day and Sandra would take it at night. Quinn and Hadrian’s particular effects when they bore the relic were just too noisy and distracting, Tarja could just be laid down in a cart and left to melt in a puddle of physical affection while they crossed the country, and Sandra was the only one who could realistically sleep while wearing it. With a borrowed cart and three horses summoned by Hadrian, the party set out to return the artifact. It wasn’t their most leisurely cross-country trip. They had the money to pay for inns, thankfully, but it was an often awkward and occasionally humiliating process of parading their way up to the rental rooms, garnering looks from other travelers who liked to gawk at their cursed procession. Sandra picked up some new leather armor as soon as she could, and though it didn’t offer her any more modesty than her last set–the curse that was set on exposing her diaper to the public wasn’t tied to any particular outfit, after all–it’d protect her from a knife or a claw pretty well. Re-stocked and with no reason to delay, the party montaged their way through the countryside. Her concerns about being on the wrong side of the gods didn’t come to anything, at least not yet–they encountered no trouble on their path, save for odd looks and snickering comments. A week later, they’d made it back to the city they’d started in, one extremely horny artifact in tow. Evening ‘Service’ was in session as they arrived, so the party shuffled their way along the side to the back. Holy strippers put on their shows with aplomb, though only Hadrian paid much attention; Sandra was too focused on spotting Gwyndomere, Quinn was too focused on carrying Tarja, and Tarja was too focused on the effects of the magical cuff currently conjuring a dozen hands to give her gentle head scratches, shoulder rubs, and affection. “I don’t see Serendipity,” Hadrian commented. “Do you think something’s wrong?” “Maybe she’s off tonight,” Sandra replied. “No, she’s scheduled…eh, I mean I think she’d probably be performing tonight.” Hadrian self-corrected quickly, though Sandra noticed he was a bit too aware of Serendipity’s performance schedule for it to be coincidence. She sighed. “If you want to go find her–” “Thanks,” he said, departing from the group to go look around the far side of the chapel. Truth be told, there wasn’t much else to do but wait. Finding an out of the way place to sit, they passed the time until the congregation finished off their ‘worship’ for the evening and drifted out. Hadrian wandered back after a while, disappointed, having been unable to locate his favorite performer, while the rest of them just passed the time. Finally, as the last bit of the show ended and the last patrons shambled out the door, Sandra got up and went to catch that performer’s attention. The dancing priest was a tall something-humanoid that Sandra didn’t place right away, wearing little except a belt and codpiece. “I need to speak to Gwyndomere,” she said. He didn’t look at her right away, walking along the stage towards a back door. “He’s currently occupied, you can come back tomorrow or speak to another priest.” “Look at me,” Sandra snapped. “It’s urgent.” He glanced down at her, hesitated, then said, “Eh–right. You’re Sandra, aren’t you?” “Uh-huh,” she confirmed. “I’m pretty sure Gwyndomere will want to see us right away.” He nodded and, contrary to his previously aloof behavior, scurried off to go get the high priest. Only a moment later, he returned, alone, wearing a vaguely concerned expression. “Something wrong?” Sandra asked. “Come with me. He’s busy.” She followed him to the back, towards Gwyndomere’s rectory. She’d been here before, and the escort felt a little unnecessary, but she didn’t see the need to argue about it. Clearly something was going on that had this priest a little rattled, but she didn’t care what it was so long as it didn’t stop her from finishing her quest. Reaching the back room, Sandra saw the reason for the back-and-forth, why Gwyndomere had been unavailable–he was in the midst of meditation. And he was naked. Sandra couldn’t even pretend that her mouth didn’t start to water at the sight of him. The high priest practically radiated sexuality, giving off a pure sense of sexual power that had her want to take him right there. Even motionless, sitting on the ground with his legs spread out in a V, every inch of him screamed, ‘I will rock your world’. His body was molded with precision–not overdone like a bodybuilder, but toned just right to emphasize his sleek, supple body. His lips had just the right softness to them, and– You’ve got a job to do, Sandra reminded herself. Leaning over to the priest, she asked, “How long does he typically meditate?” “He’s not meditating,” the priest replied. “He’s in the middle of a conversation.” At that comment, Gwyndomere opened one eye, then both, dropping his concentration. “Sandra,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re here, we’ve much to discuss.” “I–you were talking to someone,” Sandra said. “Was it important? I don’t want to interrupt.” “Please, interrupt. We were talking about what I need to tell you, now that you’re here I can move forward.” Gwyndomere pushed to his feet, and Sandra had to enforce her willpower to avoid staring between his legs. “Would you be more comfortable if I put on some clothing?” Sandra hesitated on her answer–it’d certainly remove a distraction, but he did look good naked. She didn’t want to just openly admit to lusting after the priest, but nor did she want to take the step to rob herself of the show. Fortunately, Quinn stepped in and solved the dilemma, glancing away from Tarja to reply. “Yes, please.” He took the gown from his desk, nodding and pulling it over himself. “You have the cuff?” “It’s on Tarja’s wrist,” Sandra said. “Careful, it–” “It manifests the carnal fantasies of the wearer, I know,” he said. “Some details were filled in after you left. May I?” Stepping forward, he turned his wrist up and extended it towards Tarja. Sandra hesitated, curious what sexual nightmares might appear–from what she knew, Gwyndomere had dabbled in just about every kink, fetish, and sexual position known to man. She’d experienced a mere kiss with him, and it’d come close to outdoing every sexual experience she’d ever had. He was an expert in all forms of lovemaking, and he was about to expose his true interests to the room. “Of course,” she said, though she didn’t have to do anything to facilitate the transfer. Gwyndomere reached down, took Tarja’s wrist, and lifted the free end of the cuff to his own arm. Locking it in place, he freed Tarja, adjusted the fit a little bit to avoid chafing, and raised his hand to inspect the artifact. Nothing happened. So far as Sandra could tell, the magic had winked out. She inspected it with her magic detection and saw that the power in the cuff was still there, it just wasn’t doing anything. “But…” she said. “You figured out how to dispel it?” “Not precisely,” Gwyndomere replied, returning his focus to Sandra. “But it cannot multiply zero. Without any carnal fantasy to manifest, it seems to have gone inert.” Reaching down, he thumbed the lever on the side, and the cuff came free, falling to the ground. Wow. Sandra’s impression of the priest increased a few more notches, before her attention returned to his earlier comment. “You were talking about me. Who with?” “Calistria,” he replied. “She’s aware of what’s going on with the Wizard, and with your efforts to stymie his progress.” “We’re not stymieing his progress, though,” Hadrian objected. “We’re just kind of…surviving.” “And yet you gathered the relics necessary to undo some of his work,” Gwyndomere said, walking back to his desk and sitting down. “And taken on further curses to accomplish that, I see.” He glanced past Sandra, at her tail, and then to Quinn, whose change in height still hadn’t gone away. Sandra, to her annoyance, noticed her tail was wagging, something she definitely hadn’t told it to do. “I think the dream realm messed with magic in general,” she said. “But like Hadrian said, we’re not exactly taking the fight to the wizard. The best we’ve managed to do is convince him to stop going after us, and that only lasts for as long as he feels like keeping his end of the bargain.” “Would you like to?” Gwyndomere asked. The question hung in the air for a few seconds, as Sandra assembled the different pieces in her head. They’d drawn the attention of gods, and now a priest with enormous divine influence was asking if they wanted to go after the Wizard. Her first impulse fell out of her mouth before she could collect her thoughts fully. “We can’t fight him–he’s vastly stronger than us. We’ve barely survived with planning and luck.” “Power isn’t just raw magic,” Gwyndomere replied, leaning back in his seat. “It’s also resources, and ingenuity, and allies. You have those.” “He’s not just working on raw strength,” Hadrian cut in. “His magic–I’ve barely scratched the surface in trying to understand it, but my research into his spells shows a lot of “ingenuity”. Emphasis on the genius part of that word. He’s developing his whole own school of magic, that’s once-in-a-millenium levels of intelligence.” “Should we even be talking about this?” Quinn asked. “If he finds out we’re even debating it, he might change his mind about our arrangement and break the treaty.” “Mhmm,” Gwyndomere said. “You’re not wrong. It’ll be difficult. But is hiding and scraping to recover really a better alternative?” Sandra was stunned. Glancing to her party, she asked, “What do you think?” “I think it’s suicide, but waiting for the wizard to come destroy us is just a slower way of dying,” Hadrian said. “Let’s face it–we’re skating on borrowed time right now.” “It doesn’t matter how smart he is, a hammer through the skull’s a hammer through the skull,” Quinn added. Tarja thought for a moment longer. Sandra thought she might still be in her post-headpatting stupor, but then she said, “We were talking about allies–does that include Calistria herself?” The question hung in the air. Gywndomere didn’t say yes, but nor did he say no. “Wait, you can’t be serious,” Sandra said. “A goddess–” “Several, in fact,” Gwyndomere corrected. “None who would be so overt as to call themselves your allies, but…they don’t particularly want a new school in this vein, either. Calistria in particular, as a school of lust would interfere with her own domains, but she’s not the only one.” “What sort of help would we be getting?” Sandra asked. “Like…magic? Blessings?” “Maybe not anything so overt, but it opens certain doors,” Gwyndomere said. “I know I’m being coy–I’ll only say, for now, that I don’t have the liberty to be more open. Calistria is fairly frank about her intentions, but not about the means she’s willing to use, and not all are so open. And, for now, there’s something more pressing to take care of. Just think on what we’ve said, for now we’ve got work to do.” “What work is that?” Sandra asked, moving to follow him even before he answered. Gwyndomere got to his feet. “You’ve brought back the cuff, and we already have Dranngvit's Ledger. There’s an adventurer who needs our help, and delay only means he’ll suffer for longer.” … There wasn’t too much for them to do, as it turned out, but Sandra still would have helped even if she was just on standby the whole time. Serendipity was, still, nowhere to be seen, to Hadrian’s chagrin, but several other Calistrian priests helped form a circle. Hadrian himself joined in as well, knowing enough of the ritual magic to be of assistance, and he took a seat at the north side of the circle, next to the cuff. Gwyndomere sat opposite him, next to the ledger, and together they formed the poles of the counterspell. The adventurer, Leon D’arvit, was still stuck in his crib, a shell of his former self. The layers upon layers of curses that rendered him as helpless as an infant, unable to so much as feed himself or get up, would be gone soon. It was unclear if he could even tell what was going on, since he couldn’t speak, but Sandra hoped he knew he’d be free before the night was over. Sandra, Quinn, and Tarja were on standby as bodyguards. Should the spell open up an unintended door to another realm, they would have to fight off whatever came through. Sandra doubted such an incursion would happen, but there was also the other possibility, that once they undid the spells on this adventurer, the Wizard would come a calling to extract revenge. If he did, she’d make sure Leon got away. He’d suffered for long enough. The wizard could extract his anger on her, but she’d stop him there. That is, if she was strong enough to do so. Just as she was about to ask if they were ready to start, Gwyndomere began to hum. A gentle, warm light filled the room, and Sandra felt her chest stir with emotion, and then… other parts of her began to stir, too. She felt a surge of boredom and arousal, a rising high of intense need for pleasure and the stifling tedium of an endless customer service line. Those two pitches rose, higher and higher, like competing thrums of sound playing from two tuning forks set with opposite pitch, and she thought the emotion might tear her apart. But, as it rose, the two notes reached harmony with one another. Their resonant frequencies became equal and opposite, canceling each other out, and Sandra felt a true, placid calm. The crib melted away, and the clothes, and the curses. Leon D’arvit, the adventurer so cursed as to be unrecognizable, returned to his true self. His body grew and lost its femininity, regaining a robust, masculine shape. The silk cloth that had bound him simply went away. He was naked, and as he looked around, at his hands, his body, the circle of priests around him, he began to cry. It wasn’t unexpected. He’d been so bound up in magic he probably couldn’t even experience his own thoughts and emotions until now. He might not physically have even been able to cry, except for a baby’s wail, which was a far leap from the sort of emotional release he needed. Swelling with empathy, Sandra rushed to comfort him– “No!” Hadrian yelped, but it was too late. She’d crossed into the circle, and the magic seized her as thoroughly as it’d seized Leon, but without any of the gentle, soft changes. A magical fist slammed her into the ground and she reeled, blinking a few times just to recover her vision. She felt…different. Something had changed. Something… Her diaper was gone. Or, well, not gone, but it lay next to her on the ground, and it’d reverted to the appearance of plain cotton panties. Next to it, a strip of blue fabric. She still had her tail, but…she’d been cured of her other curses. She got to her feet, looking down at herself. “I–” “You fool!” Gwyndomere bellowed, getting to his feet. Sandra’s eyes widened. “I just wanted to help–” “Not you,” he snapped. “Hadrian, you broke the magic. What were you thinking, crying out like that?” “Sandra was going to–” “She wasn’t going to do anything if you maintained your focus,” Gwyndomere snapped. “It’s fine, isn’t it?” Sandra cut in. “What’s wrong?” “The erotic side of the circle lost its control,” Gwyndomere seethed, looking down and back. “It overwhelmed the other relic.” She followed his gaze and gasped. The ledger, the one they’d risked their lives and spent weeks retrieving–heck, the one they’d promised to give to Darius and Karena after they were done with it–had turned to a blackened pile of soot. Gwyndomere sighed. “It’ll regenerate, but not quickly.” “How long?” Sandra asked. “Ten years and a day, I believe. Until then, the spell won’t be possible.” “We can find another relic, can’t we?” Hadrian asked, jumping to his feet. “Something to take its place.” “Maybe,” Gwyndomere said, quietly. “I’ll begin the search, but for now, nobody else can be cured.” Sandra looked down at herself. She’d been fixed, but her party wasn’t in the same boat. If she hadn’t rushed forward, Hadrian wouldn’t have called out, and the spell wouldn’t have gone haywire. Suddenly, her freedom didn’t feel like so much of a blessing. ... As always, written as a commission for one of my Patreon subscribers! If you'd like to join these awesome people, support my writing (and me in general!), and get early access, more stories, and some other cool perks, you can find me here: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling You can also find me on SubscribeStar, which is the same but different! https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Absolutely! I think I already know what I'll be doing.

A couple questions: How is "NSFW" defined? Is it purely related to the level of sexual content, or are other factors involved as well? (Standing on the top rung of a ladder, for example - Not Safe For Work according to OSHA!) Would a nonbinary submissive be okay? (I assumed as much but the specific wording of the rules technically rules this out) How much does length come into play when it comes to scoring? I tend to prefer writing short stories in the 2-3000 word range, capping out at around 5k for particularly long 'shorts', saving my longer stories for slower serialized publishing. (I have too much going on between writing commitments and my day job to try and write a 10+ chapter long form story in a month.) I'd like to take a crack at this, but I also don't want to write a short story that's bound to lose because my competitors wrote something five times longer and got five times the points for length alone. Would a story set in a pre-existing universe be allowed? (For example, a Diaper Dimension story, or a work of fanfiction.)

Exactly what I'm going for. Naaaah, Grace is probably just imagining things. Right? Right?!

Chapter 13: Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes Contains: Messing, Diaper Change, Feeding Grace had learned her lesson after her first mess. It’d been a day and a half since she humiliated herself in front of Devon, and things had…dare she say it, settled into a routine. Pearce hadn’t yet fucked up, much to her chagrin, it looked like she’d be getting used to using her diaper the other way. This time, though, she made sure he was actually home first. Even though she couldn’t overtly ask for a change, she still had ways to ensure a swift cleanup. Squatting down by her bedroom door, she pushed through the mental block that told her she should be on a toilet, letting out the muck until her body was empty and her diaper was full. Wearing a baby blue miniskirt and a matching blue blouse, it had to look adorable, but she wasn’t worried about that–it wasn’t as though she had an audience. The squelch between her thighs as she stood was still gross, but at the very least she wouldn’t be in it for long. Getting up, she rapped on Pearce’s door. “Hey. I’m thirsty.” That was her cover–get his attention with something innocuous. That way, he’d be aware she needed a change, without her having to ask. He answered the door a second later. “Sure thing, just…” wrinkling his nose, he sniffed, and smirked. (Here comes the smart response,) Grace thought. Instead, Pearce just continued. “Sure thing, I’ll go get that for you.” Grace opened her mouth to object, but there was little to say. They both knew he’d dodged the issue, only she wasn’t allowed to call him out on it. Stunned, she crossed her arms and waited by the door while Pearce went downstairs. She could return to work while she waited, but sitting at her desk sounded unpleasant while her diaper was full, so she just waited. Pearce returned with a bottle a moment later, passing it to her. “There you go. Bye!” She raised an eyebrow. “Is that it?” “What, did you need something else?” he asked. Grace blushed. “Eh…” Raising two fingers in a mock salute, Pearce said, “I hereby give you permission to tell me whatever you want.” (He’s really going to make me say it out loud, isn’t he?) Grace fumed. “I…need a diaper change.” “Oh?” he tilted his head, grinning. “And why’s that?” “Because…” (Asshole) “I pooped in my diaper.” Pearce tapped on his chin. “And when did this happen, stinky?” “Like…five minutes ag–” (Wait, no, he’s not–) “Then it sounds like I’ve got fifty five more minutes before I’ve got to go anywhere near your smelly bottom,” Pearce beamed. “Don’t worry, I’ll set a timer.” “Jerk!” Grace protested. “You set me up!” “And youuuu fell for it,” Pearce replied in a singsong, turning to waltz back into his room. “Enjoy your water, stinky baby.” Grace balled up her hands into fists, and very nearly stomped a foot in annoyance, but that would only bring further teasing. She fumed all the way into her room, sat down at her desk furiously–no longer caring about the smush–and opened her laptop to get back to work. Only a minute later, Pearce rapped on her door, pushing it open. “On second thought, I can’t have you pouting. Meet me in the bathroom, okay?” She blinked. Was that… mercy? From Pearce? “Where’s the trick?” she asked, getting up. “No trick,” he promised, offering his hand out to her. “I’d really just wanted to see your face when I told you no.” Grace took his hand, allowing him to lead her into the bathroom. He set her down on the toilet lid, so she could wait while he spread out the changing supplies. “I was thinking about takeout for dinner again,” Pearce said. “I’ll let you pick. Chinese or Tex-Mex?” A quip about how Pearce just didn’t want to do dishes came to mind, but Grace squashed it down. Biting the hand that literally fed her would just be petty. “Uh, Tex Mex,” she decided. “I guess. I’m not really hungry right now.” He smirked, making a show of wrinkling his nose again. “I can guess why. Lay down, let’s get your tush changed.” Grace obeyed, and he went to work. He removed her skirt completely, sliding it down her hips and away so it wouldn’t get dirty in the process. Her diaper was only a little soggy, and she hadn’t moved around that much, so the cleanup wasn’t disastrous. Her thighs, butt, and crotch were quickly cleaned, and then powder was applied, and… Blushing, Grace looked away while he rubbed in the powder. “Aww, the baby’s shy,” Pearce teased. “I was hoping you’d still get blushy when you made another stinky diaper–it was starting to get boring.” She nodded, a little, but felt glad he hadn’t noticed the real source of her blush. Grace felt wet, and not from having used her diaper. Holding it together, Grace patiently as he pulled her skirt back on, and she definitely didn’t feel her blush deepen as his hands moved up her legs. Once she was dressed, she shot upright. “Yeah, thanks, gotta get back to work.” Caught off guard by her haste, Pearce tilted his head, but he was too puzzled to ask. He took her hand and helped her up, and she waddled away before he could even start cleaning up the changing supplies. (What the hell?) Grace shut her bedroom door behind her, heart starting to pound. She didn’t like this. It didn’t make sense–for one, it had been a diaper change. For two, it was Pearce. Reaching down, she slipped a hand under her skirt and inside her diaper, testing herself with two fingers. Yup. Wet. Frustratingly so. Inhaling and exhaling, Grace rationalized, whispering to herself. “Okay, it’s just because it’s been a few days. You’re pent up, that’s all.” A mental image flashed by, Pearce’s hand on her thighs, caressing her skin while he wrapped her in her diaper– (Shut up, libido, you don’t get a vote here!) It was just a matter of timing. She hadn’t had a chance to rub one out since the bet started, and her body expected a certain routine. That was all. There wasn’t anything else going on here. Just a problem which she could easily solve. Checking to ensure her door was locked, Grace decided on a course of action. She didn’t have a lot of toys–certainly nothing like Melody’s absurd collection of side pieces–but she didn’t need much. Opening her dresser drawer, she glanced around as though someone might have snuck into her room in the last twenty seconds. She felt anxious. If someone caught her–it wasn’t like she had to be ashamed of masturbating, but Pearce would tease her to death if he knew she’d done it with her diaper on. And, while she could take it off, that’d potentially get her in trouble. It’d just take one glance to confirm that the tapes had been moved, and if she tried to lie… The diaper would stay on. Checking the charge, she crossed to her desk, sitting down in front of her computer. She didn’t strictly need porn, but she wanted something that would take her mind off the specifics, she she queued something up anyways–some generic video with a blonde hotty being railed by a scruffy-in-a-handsome-way mechanic. It didn’t take much. Firing up the wand, she pressed it into the outside of her diaper, quickly working herself up. Knowing everyone else was awake, she covered her mouth to stifle a moan, riding to the climax, forcing herself to remain silent through it all. Relaxing back into her chair, she caught her breath, momentarily powering down the vibrator. (There,) she thought. (It’s out of my system.) She hesitated, as the next video on the porn site began to auto play. Clicking the wand back on, she thought, (Still, it can’t hurt to be sure…) … “Wow, you really soaked these, didn’t you?” Pearce teased, as he finished changing her before dinner. “A lot of water, I guess,” Grace replied, dodging around what, exactly, had soaked her diaper. “When’s takeout get here?” He tossed her sodden diaper in the pail, checking his phone. “Any minute now. Can I trust you to put on your skirt so I can go meet the driver?” “Mmm,” Grace considered. “That sounds like dodging your responsibility to me…” He scratched his chin. “Fair enough. It’s late, you don’t need your skirt anyways.” She flushed. “Huh?” “Babysitter decision–your new outfit for the evening’s just a shirt and a diaper.” He gave her a pat on the thigh, indicating that the change was done. Grace hesitated, thinking if she could press the issue. It wasn’t as though she could argue that it was too cold–the skirt didn’t offer much in the way of insulation–but she’d been looking forward to that moment where he put the skirt back on her. Unable to even parse her own disappointment, she just shrugged. “Sure. Want to watch a show while we eat?” Pearce shrugged. “I guess you can put something on. Gotta go–delivery’s here.” He half jogged out of the bathroom, leaving Grace to get up and follow him down at a more leisurely waddle. By the time she got downstairs, he’d returned from the porch with a plastic bag full of tacos. She found something to put on the TV while he fetched a bottle, and in just a few minutes, he’d begun trying to feed her. Trying, that is. Turns out, crunchy tacos were a difficult thing to feed to another person. Grace’s first bite cracked the taco around the base, sending filling tumbling down. Pearce managed to catch most of it in his hand, though a little got on her shirt and diaper in the process. Smirking, Pearce glanced between the loose taco filling in his hand and Grace, then in one motion opened his mouth and crammed it in, chewing for a moment and swallowing. “S’still good,” he mumbled. Grace laughed. “Did you get any soft tacos?” He shrugged, sheepishly, wiping down her shirt with a napkin. “You like the crunchy ones more, right?” “I…yeah,” Grace said, surprised he knew that. “But soft might be easier to eat without a tacovalanche.” “I got two,” Pearce said, digging in the bag. “Here, open wide!” That went a little better–he had to fold it up almost like a burrito, but the food went in her mouth without a second Great Taco Migration down her shirt. She got the second soft taco, and that–plus some chips–were enough of a meal to make up for not finishing any of they crunchy ones. “All full?” he asked, as he got her wiped down and clean. Grace nodded, resisting the impulse to snatch the napkin and wipe herself off–he was missing so many spots. “Mhmm, thanks. That was yummy.” “Great! I’m glad you liked it,” Pearce said, picking up the bag with his half of the tacos. Pushing up from the couch, he added, “Give me a holler if you need more water or anything, I’ll just be you-know-where.” “Oh.” Grace felt something in her chest sink. “You’re not going to watch the show?” He glanced at the TV. “I wasn’t even paying attention, I couldn’t tell you what’s going on. Plus I told a friend I’d be on for some gaming. That’s not a problem, right?” “No, of course not,” Grace said. “Never mind, forget I said anything.” He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll come find you around bedtime, okay?” “Yeah, okay.” Grace watched him go up the stairs, then reached for the remote, turning off the TV. Truth be told, she hadn’t been paying attention to the show either. She had no idea what was going on. And she didn’t know why she felt so disappointed, either. ... If you like this story and want to support the author, you can do so on Patreon! The next chapter of this story is already up in early access for my subscribers. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

The commissions for this story keep going, so here's another installment! Cynthia led Mark by the hand, while he tried to keep his hot chocolate from spilling. “Come on,” she giggled. “Gotta get your bottom changed!” He blushed, glancing around the campus, but if anyone overheard they didn’t say anything about it. The open layout and park-heavy space had lots of room for wandering, and most people were too obsessed with their own lives to care about slightly odd comments by strangers. “Where are we even going?” he asked. “Your dorm is this way, right?” she asked, nodding with her head. “You said you were in the Johnson building, right?” “Oh, yeah.” Mark swallowed, a few anxieties running through his head. His roommate was gone, so that part’d be fine. Being seen–or rather, smelled–by any of their neighbors was a larger concern, but they’d only be in the hall for a minute. And it was, after all, the place where he had his spare diapers. He wondered if he should put a sock on the door. People might think he and Cynthia were just hooking up–and, for all the glances she kept giving him over her shoulder… The topic of how sexual the kink was for him hadn’t really come up. He’d told Cynthia it was a fetish, sure, but did she even think of it that way, or was he getting ahead of himself? Either way, a cute girl had volunteered to change his diaper, and he certainly wasn’t going to turn that down. “Slow down!” he implored, struggling to waddle behind her without his messy diaper chafing. “I can’t–it’s hard to run like this.” “Aww, because of your poopy diaper?” she asked. Her use of plain language–not even pretending to be modest or shy about it–made Mark blush even more deeply. “Um–” he started, before giving up on words and nodding. Cynthia giggled, and slowed her pace to a more sedate walking speed. “Fine, baby butt, we can do it your way.” Leaning in, she added in a stage whisper, “You just want to stink for longer, don’t you?” “N-no!” he protested. “I mean–not that I–um–” She giggled again, gave his hand a squeeze, and continued strolling towards his dorm. Fortunately for him, the elevator was unclaimed when they arrived, so they could ride up to his floor without bothering the other students. As soon as the elevator doors closed, though, Cynthia reached her hand down Mark’s pants and gave the back of his diaper a firm squeeze. “Hey!” he yelped. “Oh, please, you like it,” she replied, sipping her iced latte through a straw. The elevator ‘dinged’, and she led him out–she didn’t actually know which room was his, but her ‘taking charge’ energy led him to follow behind anyways and simply gesture to his door. “That’s me,” he said, and she let them both in. Once in private, she pointed to the bed. “Okay, sit down, and lemme see if my baby sitting experience is still with me. Where’s your changing stuff?” “Under the bed,” he said, sitting obediently. Cynthia knelt and pulled out a sports bag, unzipping it to find all his diapers, his powder, his wipes–everything he could want for a diaper change. Standing, she put a hand on his chest and pushed him down into a lying position. Unzipping his jeans, Cynthia pulled them free, revealing his diaper, and the rather unavoidable tent in the front of his soggy padding. She snickered again. “Glad to see we’re both having fun.” Turning pink, Mark grabbed his pillow and held it close to his chest as a substitute stuffy. She wasn’t wrong, he was having fun, he just didn’t have any words for this sort of situation. Taking out a fresh diaper, Cynthia made a show of pinching her nose and untapped the old one, quickly wadding it up. “Gosh, you really stink now,” she commented, as she went to town with the wipes. As a small aid, he hadn’t been in the diaper for long, and things were relatively contained. She didn’t have to contend with a total blowout situation, and a dozen wipes were enough to get him reasonably clean–and even the frigid, damp material didn’t do a thing to still his erection. Sprinkling powder over him, Cynthia applied a double helping over his crotch. “Gotta make sure you don’t rash, right?” she asked, using her palm and fingers to rub it in. For a single fantasized moment, Mark thought she might turn this into a handjob, but she pulled away as soon as she was done, folding up her fresh diaper around him. “U-oh,” he said, concealing his disappointment poorly. “Aww, did you want something else?” Cynthia teased. He couldn’t lie–even if he tried, it’d have been too obvious. “I mean…” “What?” she asked, shifting her body and putting a knee on the bed, so that she loomed even more over him. “Use your words, diaper boy.” “Well…I did say it was kind of a kink for me,” he said, unwilling to be more specific than that. Cynthia giggled. “Sorry, diaper boy, you’re not really my type–you’re too cute and smelly to really satisfy me, you know?” Mark nodded, quickly, not wanting to pressure her. “That’s fine! I just–when, um–never mind.” “Oh, you can still have your fun,” she snickered, placing a hand on the front of his fresh diaper. “I think it’s cute when you dribble in your diapers for me–I just don’t think you’re grown up enough for real sex, you know?” Eyes widening, Mark wriggled, feeling her hand through the thick layer of padding. If this was what she was offering, he was more than willing to accept–even at the cost of his dignity. Cynthia laughed, and Mark thrust his hips forward, grinding on her hand with impulsive desire. It didn’t take long–just a few desperate moments of thrusting before he began to spurt in his diaper, erection twitching. “I knew it,” Cynthia grinned. “Too much of a baby for anything but his diapers.” Mark pulled his pillow closer, coming down from the sudden, unexpected, but extremely pleasant orgasm. At a loss for what else to say, he just mumbled, “Thank you.” “You’re welcome, diaper boy,” she replied, patting the front of his diaper. Winking, she added, “Next time, maybe I’ll even let you watch while I show you how grown ups do it.” ... If you enjoy my writing and want to read more of it, you can support me on Patreon - not only does the support allow me to write more stories like this, it also gives you access to exclusive stories that can't be read anywhere else! Patreon SubscribeStar

“Are you sure you don’t need to use the potty before we go?” Alex asked, smiling down at Clara. She was only two inches shorter than him–it wasn’t fair that he could make it clear he was looking down at her with only a slight tilt of his head–but he did it anyways. He wasn’t that much bigger than her. It shouldn’t have been such a stark difference when he just gave her a little glance. Clara knew she was thinking about their height difference to put off answering the question. When Alex said, “Use the potty,” he really meant, “Use your diaper”. Clara wouldn’t be using a proper toilet until they got to their destination, and even then, only if she kept her bunny hopps dry. If she could prove herself in control, she’d get to be a big girl during their trip. If she tried and failed, though, she’d lose all of her grown up privileges. Or, the third option, she could give up, admit she was just a baby, and then she’d get to keep a few privileges–namely, being allowed to ask for diaper changes. The train ride would only be about four hours. Clara didn’t need to pee now. She was willing to take that risk. “I’m sure,” she whispered. “Thanks.” “Alright then–we’d better get boarded!” The train wasn’t anything fancy, just rows of bench seats. They weren’t going to be on it long enough to want sleeper cars or anything like that, they just needed to travel up a few states. Alex had their luggage, all in a single suitcase, just enough stuff for their weekend. Getting seated near the back of the train, he got out two bottles of water and a bag of chocolate covered pretzels. Clara’s favorite–salty, crunchy, and sweet, she had to avoid buying them too often or she’d end up subsisting on a diet of pretzels alone. Grinning, she glanced to Alex to make sure she had permission, then tore into the bag, quickly devouring the delicious snack. Of course, all the salt and sugar made her thirsty, and she finished most of her water bottle before the train had even started moving. A little part of her knew this was a bad idea, but Alex had found the right way to override her concern about needing the potty–all it took was a little snack. The train started rolling. Alex had an audiobook, and Clara had her notebook to sketch in, and together they passed the time of the trip in pleasant, quiet company. Only an hour in, though, Clara felt pressure on her bladder. Already, she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it the train ride. If the need had risen up that quickly, then she’d desperately need to go by the time they were halfway–let alone by the time they got to their destination. She wouldn’t be able to keep her diaper dry, then, but she might still be able to keep Alex from noticing. All she’d have to do was distract him so that he wouldn’t check her, sneak a diaper from their luggage, and go change into a dry one when they arrived. She swallowed–if Alex caught her trying to change, she’d be in serious trouble–but he might not notice. Glancing out the train window, she stopped trying to hold it. Her bladder released, and she felt the hot pee soak into her bunny hopp, quickly saturating the diaper front to back. Alex glanced over at her, and she worried she’d been caught already, but he didn’t say anything. She let it go, returning her attention to her sketch pad. Now that the flood gates had been opened, Clara struggled to hold it going forward. Her bladder started to release at the slightest need, similar to the sensation of holding her hand in warm water. She continued dribbling into her diaper, soaking it further and further as they traveled, and Alex continued to not notice. That was, until just before the train came to a stop. “Baby,” Alex said, quietly, his voice so soft that only she could hear. “We’re almost there. Are you still dry?” She hesitated–she could admit it now, and avoid getting in trouble, but if he took her at her word she would still have a chance at changing into something dry. “Mhmm,” she said. “I am.” “I’m surprised,” he said, “But good girl. You just need to hold it for a few more minutes!” She nodded. “Uh-huh, I can…mmm…” “What?” Alex asked. “Do you need to go?” She did, and she admitted as much–it’s not like that could get her into trouble. “Yeah…” Smiling, Alex reached down and–no, no, no–put his hand on the front of her diaper, beneath her skirt. “Well, if you just–baby!” Turning pink, Clara tried to invent an excuse, but all she could say was, “Um…” “You didn’t even notice?” Alex asked. “You’re totally flooded.” It was better than admitting she’d planned on cheating. She nodded, sheepishly. “I’m sorry…I couldn’t tell.” “Well then,” Alex said. “I guess that proves you’re not even a little girl, you’re completely helpless. And you know what that means.” She did. She was the baby for the weekend–not allowed to change herself, or touch herself, or even try to hold it. “But…” she said, blushing. “I…” “What is it?” Alex asked. “I need to use the potty, and we’re still on the train…” Clara said. Nodding, Alex glanced around. Nobody was sitting near them, and they’d be off the train soon. “That doesn’t matter, baby. You know the rules–and we both know you can’t hold it anyways.” Turning pink, Clara conceded defeat. She hadn’t just failed, she’d failed miserably, and was no doubt in for a lot of teasing about not being able to tell she’d had an accident. Rather than pretend she was big any longer, she gave in, leaned forward just a touch, and began to push. “Good girl,” Alex praised, patting her on the back while she packed her pampers, filling them with muck. She could do little more than push, whimper, and blush, but the praise still made her kick her legs in delight. As she finished, though, he leaned in. “I know you too well to believe your little fib, baby. Don’t think you’re not in trouble–once we get there, you’re going to have to tell everyone just what you tried to do, and then we’ll decide your punishment. Ok?” Flushing, Clara sat back and nodded. In a decimated, utterly used diaper, it wasn’t as though she could claim any sort of bigness anymore. “What are you?” Alex asked, sweetly. “I’m…” she mumbled. “I’m your baby.” Leaning over, he kissed her on the forehead. “There’s my good girl.” ... Support the author: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thank you to everyone who attended the charity live stream! We ended up raising almost 150$! This was the first commission on the stream, featuring an OC alchemist who struggles with potty training. Scarlet ran over her checklist one final time. She was alone in her atelier, the space filled with supplies, reagents, chemicals, and all the magical ingredients an alchemist could ask for. The particular items she’d need today were laid out, her cauldron had been preheated with the base medium bubbling at a precisely controlled temperature, and the potion was ready to begin. She was pretty sure she’d overheated the brew last time. A few tweaks to the recipe and a much more cautious approach to heating the cauldron would–she hoped–solve the issue and allow the potion to function. But, just in case it didn’t, she’d worn a little extra protection. Scarlet Honeybrew had never been particularly strong in the field of potty training. Her body just never had much control, and she’d grown up with the all-too familiar problem of dribbles down her skirts and even the occasional mess in her panties. As an alchemist, though, the problem had grown serious enough that it needed solving–she couldn’t carefully attend to her brews and tinctures while scurrying off to the bathroom every time she felt a little pressure. Her first attempt at a magical solution had been a dud. Instead of gaining more control, she’d simply peed her pants after drinking it, the opposite of what she’d wanted. This time, Scarlet had pinned a cloth diaper around her waist in case of a similar failure, and was ready to try again. Her ingredients went in meticulously, one at a time. Herbs, stirred clockwise, talcum powder allowed to simmer, just the tiniest hint of milk. The potion simmered until it shimmered a deep, chocolate brown, glossy and sparkling with power. Removing the heat source from the cauldron, Scarlet carefully tipped the brew into a jar. If she’d done it right, the potion would reinforce her control over her bowels and bladder, bringing her in line with most adults–or, if she’d done it well enough, even giving her greater control. Swirling the flask, Scarlet inspected it in the light. No impurities sprang out, nothing obviously wrong with it. The only way to know for sure, though, was to test it. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered, raising the flask to her lips and throwing it back. She waited a moment. No obvious results–that was, likely, a good sign. If her control had been reinforced, she’d have to wait until she felt the need to go, then make a note of how long her ability to hold it lasted. Retrieving her notebook from the table, she opened it to a page and prepared to wait. As it happened, she didn’t have to wait long. Only thirty seconds passed before she felt a twinge in her bowels. Normally, this would be an indication that she needed to hurry off to the bathroom–in five or ten minutes, she’d be losing the fight to hold it and ruining her panties. Today, though, she excitedly made a note and glanced at the clock ticking away on the wall. Only five seconds passed before the cramp redoubled, and her eyes widened. That was faster than normal–far faster. Standing up straight, she tried to take a step towards the bathroom, but she could barely move before the pressure built even further, too much for her weak potty training to resist. A whimper escaped Scarlet’s lips as the potion worked against her. Her bowels gave way, spilling out warm, solid mush into the seat of her cloth diaper. The fabric stretched slightly to try and contain things, but the pressure and sudden building mass made Scarlet strain and squat slightly just to relieve it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a desperate need to go, let alone so suddenly. Her diaper swelled, growing heavy around her hips, and for a moment she worried that it wouldn’t hold together. The safety pins strained around her waist, and as the mush packed itself in, she found herself thrown off by the sheer weight hanging from her. Trying to get better footing, she instead slipped, falling with a heavy splorch onto the seat of her diaper. With one last helpless push, she finished packing her diaper. Wrinkling her nose, she looked down at it–as full as it’d become, her skirt no longer hid it in the slightest, and even if the hem line had been twice as low, it wouldn’t do anything to hide the clear and obvious smell of her accident. Reaching down, Scarlet gave the diaper a tentative squeeze and sighed, taking a shallow breath. “Ah, well…” she mumbled. “Another failure on the list. I guess it’s back to the drawing board, once I…” Just then, the door to her workshop opened. Glancing up, her eyes widened as she saw her friend, Layla, enter with a tray of fresh baked cookies. Beaming, Layla announced, “I brought snacks! I know you can get sucked into your projects and forget to eat–Uh…” Nose wrinkling, she looked down at Scarlet and finally noticed the bulging, stained diaper beneath her skirt. “Um…” Scarlet said, blushing profusely. “I…uh…an experiment went wrong.” Layla snickered. “Are you sure you just didn’t get really distracted?” Scarlet started to protest, then gave up. “I need to, um. Get cleaned up.” Setting down the tray of cookies, Layla extended a hand to help her up. “Come on, stinky. I’ll help you get changed.”

I got the idea for this story from a real experience, which I wrote about on Twitter. You can read the backstory here! “You know the rules,” Daddy said. “We’ve practiced, but I want to make sure you’re okay with it, alright?” I nodded enthusiastically, sitting almost naked on the edge of the bed for dressup; the only article on my body was the steel cage around my bits, one that’d been there for two weeks since my last ‘outing’. I’d met all his friends before, we’d been at munches together, we’d talked about kink, but this would be my first experience where I was ‘out’ in front of them all at once. I knew I’d be in good company, but I also worried about being the only Little, the only one there who’d be in diapers. “Tell me the rules,” he added. “I may not use the potty,” I said. “I can only refer to you as Daddy. I can’t hold it when I need to pee. And I can’t even ask for a diaper change. I have to drink water every thirty minutes, and if I leak, you’ll spank me.” Daddy began laying out my outfit next to me. My top, white shirt with black sleeves, and a black-and-white striped skirt. I’d objected to the skirt, at first–”I’m a boy!” I’d pointed out–but Daddy had countered that I was a baby, and I didn’t get to decide what I wore…and then he’d added that if I complained again I’d get the spanking of a lifetime. “And what do you say if you’re nervous?” he asked. “Yellow,” I confirmed. “And if you want to leave?” “Red.” He made me practice my safe words before we did anything, every time. “Good baby,” he said, laying out a diaper with three whole stuffers, alongside a pair of thigh high white stockings and, oddly, duct tape. “And remember–you can’t mush until I say you’re allowed to. When I say your diaper looks full, then you go.” My tummy squirmed at that–I hadn’t gone number two in a day and a half, and now I’d have to wait even longer. “O-okay, Daddy.” He smiled, and set out one more item next to my outfit–a plush tail with a clip, also with black and white stripes. A skunk tail, to be specific, with a pronounced curl at the end. My eyes widened and my cheeks turned pink, but I knew better than to object again. “I made sure you’ll have enough capacity,” Daddy promised. “As long as you are careful, your diaper won’t leak–but if you aren’t mindful of how you go potty, you’ll be in big trouble.” I nodded again. “Yes, Daddy.” “Lay down, and let’s get you dressed.” I obeyed, watching him as he prepared my diaper. The stuffers were crucial–without them, I’d certainly leak–but they’d provide a serious puff to my diaper that’d make it stick out even more than normal. I watched him unstick the tape on the first, adhering it inside the diaper, right at the front. The top edge came up to the very front of the diaper, so it’d be right over my cage. I assumed he was going to lay out the stuffers so that there was a single uniform layer of extra padding throughout the diaper, but instead, the second stuffer went right over the first–at the front, so it’d be packed around my caged cock. My eyes widened as he took the final stuffer, which he folded in the middle and ripped in half. Sticking them back-to-back, he then put the layer right at the front of the diaper, slightly offset, so that my bits would be nestled in between four layers of stuffer inside my diaper. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Oh,” he said, offhanded. “Just making sure you’ll be nice and snug.” I nodded, uncertain for a moment, but decided to trust Daddy. He wouldn’t steer me wrong. Lifting up my butt, I let him put the diaper on me, with a liberal amount of powder. Once he’d folded it up and taped it securely, I could really feel the excessive amount of padding around me–it puffed out heavily all around my cage, pressing me into the absorbent layers, making the front of my diaper stick out heavily. And he wasn’t done there. Reaching to the side, he grabbed the roll of duct tape, applying two lengthy pieces to the front of my diaper. I knew why. The tapes were going to be fighting for their life, and they’d need some support. Next came the skirt, shimmied up over my legs. It was long enough to cover my diaper, even with the extra poof, as long as I didn’t bend over too far. The stockings made me feel particularly cute, and when I sat up and raised my arms, daddy pulled the black and white shirt over my head. I admittedly already had a distinctly skunky look to my clothes–black and white vertical stripes conjured that image–but it’d probably have been overlooked without the tail. Once Daddy clipped the back of the tail to my skirt, and used a safety pin to hook the top to my shirt so it’d stay upright while I wore it, the look was unmistakable. At least I didn’t smell the part, yet… “You look adorable,” he praised, and I blushed under the complement. “Are you ready to go?” “Mhmm!” I said. Daddy was already dressed, though his clothes were more neutral than mine–Black pants, a white T shirt, and a black jacket. The black-and-white look matched me, though on him, the color choice made him look assertive and cool. On me, the colors just emphasized that I was a tiny, smelly baby. The party was only a little ways away. Our mutual friend, Milo, was hosting, since his yard had a very tall privacy fence, and only single-story neighbors. The perfect situation to host a kinky party. He drove–of course–and parked in the driveway. I felt shy about getting out in full view of the front walk, but nobody was around to see, and I quickly scurried inside. “Gary!” Milo declared, waving us in. He had on a canvas apron, but everything beneath it was black leather–he and his pup were big into that look. “You’re the first ones here. I was just getting the grill ready, so I hope you’re hungry!” “Famished,” Daddy said. “Do you have anything to drink, though–this one’s thirsty.” Milo laughed, getting the implication. He may not have been able to see my diaper, but he knew what I liked, and certainly had the implication. “Sure, there’s cups and ice out back.” We followed him out. His pup was on all fours in the back, in his own costume–collar, muzzle, and even more leather. From the kneepads, I instantly guessed that he wouldn’t be allowed to walk tonight, any more than I could use the bathroom. I got handed a cup of soda, and obediently began sipping on it while the other guests filtered in. Another pup with his master, Dina, as well as a pony girl in latex and high, high heels, accompanied by her mistress, Megan. Before long–though not before a second cup of soda–we were all seated around picnic tables, chowing down on Milo’s burgers. I felt the need to pee, and without reservation, let loose, flooding my diapers for the first time that evening. Seated, it all rushed to the back, quickly soaking into the padding around the seat. I wasn’t worried about leaking. Like daddy said… Uh… Oh. I shoved down my concerns, and focused on eating. I almost missed daddy’s comment, asking how long I’d been in my cage. “Baby?” he repeated. I knew he knew the answer, so I was answering for everyone else. “It’s…been two weeks,” I admitted, flushing brightly. I knew how I had to phrase it, and my word choice had been chosen to be as humiliating as possible. “Since I got to make stickies in my dirty diapers…” That got a round of chuckles from the table. The pony chimed in, “My mistress has had me caged for six months, I don’t know why you’re complaining.” “Don’t brag,” Megan chided. I squirmed–I loved the focus being on me, but I hated it too, especially since it meant someone was probably about to ask– “What’s the tail for?” Milo inquired, in between bites of a burger. Flushing even pinker, I hoped Daddy would explain. Instead, he just said, “Why don’t you tell them, baby? You were so excited when you told me.” “I…” I said, turning pink. “Um, there was this artist I found a couple weeks ago, and. Daddy?” He gave an approving nod, a ‘go on’ gesture. Not what I’d been hoping for. “He drew a picture of a…well, a boy who looks like me, wearing a skunky onesie and a really big stinky diaper. I showed it to daddy right away, and, um. Begged him to…” I buried my face in my hands, burning bright pink. “I begged for permission to take my cage off early and make stickies because I liked the picture so much.” More condescending smirks. Milo, at least, did the math and guessed, “And he said yes, right?” “Only…on the condition that I show everyone how cute the picture was,” I said, “By…being like the boy in the photo myself.” “He was sooo excited,” Daddy chimed in. “He agreed instantly as soon as I got out his wand.” I covered my face even more, wishing I could melt into a puddle on the ground. “Daddy!” “Hmm?” he asked. “Is something wrong?” That was code for, ‘Safe words’. I could tap out now with a ‘yellow’ or ‘red’ but instead I just shook my head. “I’m okay.” “Good skunky.” He leaned over, giving me a kiss on the top of my head, before changing topics, granting me a slight reprieve. “So, Dina–I see a new collar on your pup there. What’s the story there?” The conversation shifted away, and my burning red cheeks got a moment to cool down while I worked on my dinner–and drank another cup of soda that Daddy dutifully provided for me. The night was, in many respects, a typical barbeque. Milo got out a frisbee so we could play fetch with the pups–during which I wet myself again, soaking the middle of my diaper so that it swelled between my legs–and, for the most part, we just stood and talked, catching up on this or that. Megan’s pony told us excitedly about her upcoming top surgery, Milo had funny stories from work, the evening passed casually. Until about the third time I needed to pee. Daddy’s warning hung in my head. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to paddle me in front of the other guests, and I hated leaking anyways. But, as the pressure in my bladder built, I grew more and more confident of what Daddy had planned for the evening. If I just peed standing, everything would trickle down to the middle, where I’d already saturated my diaper. Heck, if I sat down it’d be even worse, soaking through and pouring out the side where I’d already flooded it. I needed to make sure everything stayed in the front of my diaper, soaking into all the stuffers around my caged bits at the very front of my diaper. Only one option presented itself. Blushing so hard the red crept all the way up past my eyes, I paused in the middle of a game of frisbee fetch, getting down onto my hands and knees. To direct the flow properly, I had to stick my butt up into the air as far as possible, so high my skirt fell back and showed off my diaper to everyone. “What’re you doing there, lil skunky?” Daddy asked, though he already knew the answer. “Marking your territory?” I felt too utterly small to answer, and only mumbled a few words as I forced my bladder to let go. My plan, at least, worked–everything flowed to the stuffers in the top of my diaper, and I didn’t leak–but even the pups were giggling at my display as I used my diapers. “Mmm…” I said, wiggling a little to get the last drops into place. I couldn’t even stand when I was done peeing, I had to wait, my skunk tail in the air and diaper incredibly visible, until everything had soaked into place. And when I stood, Daddy was waiting for me with a fresh drink–just water, this time. “Good baby,” he praised, stepping in to kiss me before passing me the water. I drank, and tried to say, “Thanks, Daddy.” Instead, I just mumbled, “Th-thnn…” He beamed, reached beneath my skirt to give my bottom a squeeze, and returned to his chat with Milo. The flood gates didn’t close there. Especially as I felt the saturation right around my parts, and the constant intake of water, my ability to hold it had tanked. I seemed to need to pee every five minutes, and according to the rules, that meant I needed to go right away–no holding, no waiting. My blushes never faded, and it seemed like I was on my hands and knees displaying my increasingly heavy diaper more often than I was standing. I couldn’t participate in the conversations anymore–even if I regained my big boy words, the constant interruptions of getting down to potty kept pulling me away. Each use lasted longer and forced me to stick my butt up higher, as I had to wait for everything to drain into the increasingly scarce dry spots in my diaper’s many layers. And, as my diaper grew fuller and the stuffers swelled, I was reminded more and more of my cage, my frustration. The two weeks since I’d last made my diaper sticky…and the fact that I had no idea when Daddy would let me out again. Eventually, Milo got a bonfire going. Smores were had, and shared, and Daddy fed mine to me–making no effort whatsoever to avoid getting goopy marshmallow and melted chocolate all over my face. He did, however, make a big fuss of wiping me up, cleaning off all the little bits and chiding me for making such a mess. When he got done, I was right back on all fours, dribbling pee into my increasingly saturated diapers. As heavy as they were, I’d begun to worry that they might just slip off–or that, despite all my caution, I might leak anyways. That’d be the worst outcome–humiliating myself for all to see, only to fail anyways. I pondered this as I piddled into my pampers for the millionth time. “Daddy…” I mumbled, as I got to my feet. “What is it, skunky?” he asked. “I’m–” I almost broke a rule. My headspace had been shoved so deep and my thoughts were so clouded that I couldn’t remember them all, and I nearly said, ‘I’m gonna leak’. I caught myself at the last minute, and had to change to, “I’m…thirsty.” He caught what I’d almost said, but since I’d fixed my words, I’d narrowly avoided punishment. “Alright,” he smiled. “It’s not even time for your next drink yet, but I’ll go get you some water.” I couldn’t have flushed deeper, but I sank even smaller anyways, wiggling in my intensely heavy diaper. It felt as though I had a medicine ball hanging around my waist, and even the duct tape was beginning to struggle. As heavy as it felt, it just made things more humiliating every time I had to drop to my knees and add a little more moisture, feeling this enormous, swollen garment squelch between my legs. It seemed I didn’t even need to mush to live up to my skunky tail and clothing–the smell of increasingly stale urine was floating heavily around me, so much that even the pups were gesturing at their noses and snickering. The first was close to embers, and the night was drawing to a close, and I was sitting on Daddy’s lap when he said it. “Hey, skunky baby,” he said. “Don’t you think your diaper’s getting full?” I melted. The thought of arguing or resisting didn’t even enter my head. I was Daddy’s little helpless skunk, and I’d do as I was supposed to. Getting off his lap, I assumed the posture I had for every accident. My intensely heavy, squelching diaper pointed right in the air, wavering slightly from all the weight, skirt flipped down to display everything without a lick of modesty, my tail wiggling with my shaking body. I didn’t have to work very hard. My body was ready to go, and as soon as I screwed up my face and began to push, the mudslide began. My diapers were already at capacity, but the tidal force of muck packing into it felt to me as though I’d doubled the weight–though that had to be my imagination at work, at least in part. I could feel the padding bulging and straining to hold it all, and the little grunts of effort that escaped my lips rang in my ears. As much as I’d needed to go, I was pushing, grunting, and whimpering for most of two minutes before I was done. Exhausted, utterly little, I gave my mushy tush one last wiggle before I flopped over, sitting down on the ground with an incredible mushy squelch that made me moan out loud. I stank–truly living up to my outfit, and my nickname, the odor of my latest accident assaulted my nose and smelled so badly I couldn’t imagine I’d ever feel like a grown up again. It was only then that I noticed everyone smiling at me, the snickers from the pups, the pony girl’s barely stifled giggle. Wriggling, I looked to daddy. “Huh?” He smiled back at me, though his nose was wrinkled. “Baby skunky,” he said, “You were sticking your butt up so you wouldn’t leak, right?” I nodded. “Yuh-huh.” The pony girl laughed, unable to keep it contained anymore. Daddy simply explained, “Well, you didn’t need to worry about leaking this time.” My eyes widened. He was right–I could have gone sitting down, or found a discreet place to just squat and go. I didn’t need to worry about the urine flowing to the stuffers, the mush ended up in my seat no matter how I went, so… I’d just played the part of the skunk. For no reason, other than that it’s what I was. Putting his hand over his nose, Daddy said, “You really stink. Why don’t you go play in your diaper on the other side of the yard until it’s time to leave, so you don’t bother the grown ups? I’ll start getting ready to go home, but if you stay here much longer we won’t be able to breathe. My eyes were huge, and the suggestion–that I was too smelly and little to even be around the adults–elicited an unstoppable moan from deep in my throat. “Mhm,” I mumbled, rolling back onto my hands and knees. There was no point in trying to walk–good skunks didn’t walk. Enormous stinky diaper on proud display, I crawled across the yard, sat down, and reveled in the incredible squelch between my legs. I was daddy’s little skunk baby, and nothing more, and I loved it. ... Instead of the usual Patreon plug, I have something different: I'll be doing micro-fiction commissions tomorrow on a live stream to raise money for the NNAF (National Network of Abortion Funds)! My normal commissions are closed, so if you want a story done by me, this is the only way to get one. All proceeds are going directly to charity. I posted more details on Twitter, and when I go live on Picarto I'll also be sharing the link on twitter, so check it out over there for more information!