PeculiarChangeling

Chapter 5 My experience with Hollywood studio sets extended to about half a day of snooping around, but I knew chaos when I saw it. It made sense, given what I knew. The director knew he was on a sinking ship, and what little passion he had was spent snorting down cadillacs in the bathroom. The star hated her management, the budget was in the toilet, and nobody was going to bother trying to patch the ship when it was steaming straight for an iceberg in a few months no matter how the films did. Two of the extras were sharing a cigarette on set, flagrantly ignoring posted signage about smoking outside. The smell of a dirty diaper wafted from one of the other youthlocks, though I couldn’t pin down which one, and whoever it might have been they didn’t much seem to care. Everyone was in a holding pattern, waiting around, killing time until they got cut for the day. Shelly paced at the front of the room, and I had to give her credit as the one professional on set. For all her anger, she had a job to do, and she did it–her steps moved through choreography, and I could see her lips move as she whispered lines to herself, walking through the next dance number in quiet rehearsal. “Crackerjacks and candy stripes, gummy bears and sweet delights,” she whispered, then stomped a pretty white shoe on the floor and spun, sending her costume dress twirling. Raising an arm and beaming at an invisible partner, she added, “Then he’ll take my hand…” Shuffling up to her, I got Shelly’s attention, waiting for her to stop her music-free dance before I asked, “Where’s Waters?” She caught the embers of anger in my frown, and her precocious smile vanished, replaced with hard rage. “It’s him?” “It’s him,” I confirmed. “You were right.” A spark caught behind her eyes, and in a matter of moments, righteous vindication turned to a blaze. Beneath her rosy makeup her face turned red, and she whirled and bellowed, voice half incoherent with rage, “WILLIAM!” Scurrying footsteps scrambled, and the beleaguered talent manager got onto set a moment later, his expression more frayed and weary than ever. “What?” “You bastard,” Shelly began, but I raised a hand, and she fell silent before her anger could turn to a tirade. “Three films,” I said simply, and the realization in his eyes was almost enough confirmation all on its own. He made a few leaps in logic and stammered out his reply. “Who is this?” “Nick Juliet,” Shelly explained. “Private eye.” Waters shook his head, stumbling over his words. “Shelly–I–I’m sorry. I couldn’t…I wasn’t allowed to say anything, it’s in my contract.” Anger derailing, Shelly shot a glance back my way. “What?” “You knew,” I continued, refusing to slow down. “You had three films left, then Shelly’s time as America’s Golden Girl would be gone. That’s not much time to cash in on a legacy, is it?” William Waters’ shoulders slumped, deflating like a blimp. Around us, a crowd was forming. Shelly’s screaming had attracted attention, and the confrontation was more dramatic than anything they’d filmed in years–we had all eyes on us. The cast, the crew, even Candace came out from the green room to see what was happening. “Here’s how I see it,” I continued, staring up at the tall, gangly manager. “You know Shelly hates those posters, she hates the marketing and the sponsorships you try and get her, but you’re hungry, and you know the butter and eggs are going to be off the table before much longer. You have to make your quick cash, now, because if you lose any time, your starlet’s going to be out of the public eye and nobody will pay the big bucks for her face.” William wouldn’t meet my eyes, though his downcast gaze still fell near me. Pathetically, he nodded. “Can you blame me?” he asked, weakly. “You have to make hay while the sun shines.” “That’s not all,” I continued, driving my verbal assault forward. “You’re getting a consistent cut right now, but if Shelly goes to dramas, your prospects are up in the air. Who knows if you’ll still be in the picture if she starts working for Candor Taurus? And, besides–if Shelly gets cast in a drama, if people start seeing her as the woman she is, it’ll make her appeal as an ad darling considerably weaker.” All eyes were on us, all watchers were hushed. Shelly contained her abject rage, but I knew the screaming would come soon, once I was finished. I let Waters speak, though I kept my glare burning through him, cutting past his defenses. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said, head trembling and shaking. “Do I?” I demanded. “You’ve got all the incentive in the world–if Shelly starts playing in dramas, your career is in jeopardy and you lose out on sponsorship revenue. If she stays here until the ship sinks, you’ve got one last paycheck before the golden goose dies.” “I’m not going to risk a sure thing on some half-cocked pipe dream!” Waters snapped, shocking me with his sudden energy. Looking me in the eye, he spoke bitterly. “I don’t know what Shelly told you, but there’s no manager in the country that could get her a job working for a dramatic production. This is it. I haven’t failed to get her new roles because I’m bad at management, it’s because it’s impossible. Shelly has a few months left, a few films, and I’m using that time to make sure she gets as much bread to retire on as possible, because I’ll be damned if I burn it trying to find some crock of gold that doesn’t exist!” My confidence wavered. “Impossible?” Shelly demanded, stepping in. “How can you say that? I had the role!” Waters stared at her, eyes wide, baffled. “What?” My understanding of the situation fractured. (He doesn’t know.) “I got the job,” Shelly snarled. “Candor Taurus wanted me, and then you threw out the casting letter.” “What?” Candor shot back. “Shelly, I–” “He doesn’t know,” I repeated out loud. “Shelly, he doesn’t know.” Eyes fell on me once more, and I took a breath, collecting my thoughts. “Your manager didn’t sabotage your career,” I said. “He just thinks you’re incompetent.” Waters shook his head. It was his turn to get angry, and he threw that frustration at me. “No I don’t! Shelly is a fabulous actress, but it doesn’t matter how good she is, nobody’s ever going to take her seriously as a leading lady when she looks like that.” “You son of a bitch.” I expected as much to come from Shelly, but the statement instead came from the side set. Candace stepped forward, looking almost as angry as her youthlocked co-star. William Waters whirled, eyes widening. “What? Did you come here to blow your wig at me too?” “The studio’s shutting down?” Candace demanded. “You knew that?” “Well–” he began, shaking his head. “Sure, muffin, but…it’s complicated. I signed an NDA before they told me. You can’t blame me for keeping quiet, we’d be out on our backsides if I’d let it slip, and–” “I don’t care that you didn’t tell me, you worthless crumb,” Candace interrupted, stepping up into his face. “You’re my agent.” “So?” “So where’s the fucking poster parade for me?” Candace roared. The studio fell silent for a moment, all eyes on the second-billing star. Beneath the rage I could feel her frustration, her sadness and grief, barely contained. “You’re going out and doing all this shit to keep Shelly afloat,” Candace continued, her eyes burning hot and wet. “Practically dragging her through marketing meetings and getting mockups you know she’s going to hate and running all across town to earn her a buck–and what the hell am I? Yesterday’s news?” Waters put his hands up in a weak defense, stepping back. “I’m only one guy, you dig? I can’t be everywhere at once, and I’ve gotta put my eggs in the right baskets!” “You just dropped me!” Candace screamed. “You and everyone else! I fought tooth and nail for this studio, I busted my ass for you and Shelly, and you’re both just willing to kick me out to the curb the moment it’s convenient for you!” “Candace,” Shelly said, her eyes sparkling with sadness. “I didn’t know either, I swear.” “Yeah?” Candace snarled. “And that’s why everyone’s talking about you flaunting off to go work with Candor Taurus? You think if you go dance off to Washington with your new friends, things would just be smooth sailing down here? Fat chance–you’d be abandoning us to sink, and none of you care.” She burst into tears, grief and anger finally overwhelming the actress. I could tell her upset was real–she’d taken it on the chin a few too many times, she’d grown up in an industry built on backstabbing and rumors, and despite playing roles for a living, she wasn’t faking this. That only gave me a flicker of guilt as I stepped up, raising my voice. I asked my question to Shelly, but pitched it at Candace. “What’s the film you got offered?” Candace’s confused grief turned on me, an expression so twisted up that it was hard to read. “What?” “It was supposed to be called, Mister Brown Goes to D.C.,” Shelly said, almost as confused as her co-star. “Okay,” I said. “Did you tell anyone that?” Shelly shot me a perplexed frown. “No, I–” She got it, and her emotions melted away into horror. In case anyone else in the gathered crowd of extras and stage hands hadn’t put it together, I shot my next question at Candace. “How’d you know that Shelly was going to Washington?” “I–” Candace began, spluttering. “Someone–I heard someone talking about it.” “Nobody on set knew,” I insisted, my voice flat and face expressionless as I spelled it out. “Nobody except Shelly, and whoever it was that took her job offer and tossed it in the trash.” Candace stared at me, tears marking rivers into her makeup. “I…” “You spent your whole career protecting Shelly,” I said. “You saw her as your actual sister, didn’t you? It must’ve come as a sucker punch when you found out she’d be leaving you behind, so you threw away the message and made sure to bury it.” “I–” Candace repeated, shaking her head. “She…she didn’t even tell me!” The room was perfectly silent, save for the near-inaudible buzz of the bright tungsten stage lights, until a choked whimper cut through the tension. I’d half expected Shelly to be the one to break into sobs, but it was Candace who lost control, crying incoherently in front of all of us. “Mr. Juliet,” Shelly whispered, her voice straining as she contained her feelings of betrayal. “I’ll send your check in the mail. I think we’re done here.” She spun on her heels, storming out of the studio. The slam of the side door echoed through the set as she left us, furious. I watched her go. She probably needed a friend–or, at least, a shoulder to cry on. Instead, I waddled to the clothing rack, retrieving my trench coat. Slinging it on my back, I slid my arms through and retrieved a candy cigarette from the pocket. The sugar melted over my tongue as I popped it between my lips, suckling as I shuffled to the front exit of the studio. Margaret wouldn’t be there to pick me up for a couple more hours, but I could catch the bus and make my way downtown. It was time for me to leave. The case was closed, and I needed a dame bringing me her troubles like I needed diaper rash. The End … Shelly Chapel Sues Former Co-Star In a stunning turn of events, famed youthlock actress, Shelly Chapel, has launched a legal battle against her former co-star, Candace Wick. According to her filing, Candace is being sued for intentional damage to Shelly’s career after concealing an offer to work on a new film with Candor Taurus. Evidence discovered by Private Investigator, Nick Juliet, played a crucial role in this suit. Testimony will be provided– Interesting. It seems our little detective has been doing quite well for himself. Maybe it’s time for me to let him know I’m in town. ... Written as a commission - and I had a lot of fun playing with the private eye gumshoe tropes in an ABDL context! https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

Chapter 17 “DANIEL…ASTER!” Catherine Glinse roared, turning the full fury of a washed-up gym coach with delusions of self-importance onto the young warlock in front of her. Swallowing as he looked out on the goopy blue mess he’d splattered around the head of the athletics compound, he tried to give his best sheepish smile. “Yes?” “I told you to throw Mana at Jen,” Glinse shot, wiping loose paint from her eyes. “Not to do…that!” “You said to try and get paint on her,” Daniel objected, raising his voice a little so that his excuse could be heard. “I got paint on her! I won!” “You–” the coach spluttered, shaking her head. “You won? This was a demonstration, you were supposed to show how Mana interacted with shielding spells!” Jen stepped up, wiping blue liquid off her glasses and replacing them as she interceded. “Ma’am, with all due respect, he did ask if his goal was just to get me with Mana, and–” “I didn’t ask you,” Glinse snapped. “Daniel Aster–when classes are done for the day, you’re going to return and get this floor clean with a toothbrush. Am I clear?” Daniel’s chest rose and fell as he bit back an angry retort. There would be no point in arguing with an authority figure like Glinse. The faculty was already against him, and the unfairness was the point. He could only hope to save face, or at least whatever tiny scraps of dignity hadn’t already been stripped away. “Yes ma’am.” Sticking out his chin, he asked, “May I return to my coven?” “Go.” Raising her whistle, the coach faced the assembly. “Dueling drills! Pair off with members of your coven and practice blocking Mana projectiles. Do I need to be more specific?” Nobody said a word. Spinning on his heels, he stormed back to his group, cheeks burning with embarrassment that had nothing to do with his heavily drooping diaper. He’d done exactly what he’d been instructed to do, and won the duel, and still managed to make a fool of himself in front of the class. And in front of Jen. It seemed obvious to him why she’d volunteered–he’d upset her, and she wanted to retaliate. He’d put too much stock in their brief friendship and assumed she wouldn’t hop on the ‘Daniel Sucks’ train, but once he’d pushed back against her friendship, she hadn’t clung on. As he waddled heavily back to the hexagonal court where his coven waited, he was met by a sympathetic smile from Cassie. “I’m sorry, Danny, that didn’t really seem fair.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes, hiding the hurt under sarcasm. “What else is new?” She frowned, glancing away. “Still, that detention sucks.” “I’ll deal.” He shook his head, facing the rest of the coven. “Dueling practice?” Stepping in and taking control of the situation, Asami said, “Mathilde and I went through this last year, so we can kind of take lead here.” Raising a hand, Cassie added, “I’m also kinda good at dueling. I don’t know much other voxavin stuff, but I’m able to do the mana parts.” Nodding, Asami took that into consideration. “Good to know. Dueling is kind of simple, at least if we’re doing basic drills–Glinse didn’t get to how it really worked, but it’s not hard to pick up. “Great,” Daniel said, letting his bitterness show. “Then maybe I won’t screw it up in front of everyone.” Asami took a breath and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Hazel stepped forward, walking right up to Daniel. “Hey–whatever’s got you in a pissy mood, it’s not our fault. Be crabby if you want, but don’t take it out on us.” “‘Whatever has me in a pissy mood’?” Daniel asked, throwing up his hands. “Did you miss the ‘I just got detention over some bullshit’?” “Yeah,” Hazel said, rolling her eyes. “And you’re not subtle, buddy. If it were just detention, you’d be getting all ‘righteous indignation’ on us right now. Instead you’re acting like a toddler who missed naptime, something else has you mad.” Eyebrows knitting, Daniel glared. “Drop the ‘baby’ jokes, Hazel.” “I would if they weren’t so apt,” Hazel shot back. “Girls,” Asami snapped, turning slightly pink after she said it. “Er–Hazel and Danny. Cut it out, we have drills to run.” “She started it,” Daniel mumbled, though after a moment of immediate regret the petulant comment made him blush more than being called out had. “Alright.” Shaking off the argument, Asami took control of the coven. “Stand about ten feet apart. Attackers near the Mana, defenders away from it.” Mathilde took the part of the attacker, rolling her chair over near the barrels and spinning to face Asami. All around them in the athletics compound, other covens were doing the same, pairing off for mock battles. “Basic combat is about trying to get around your opponent’s shield. You can dispel it, or you can get around it, but don’t worry too much about that right now.” Extending a wispy reed wand, she flicked it, muttering a magic word as the magical tool made a swish sound in the air. “To start with, we’re not going to try and do anything tricky–just hit your opponent square on.” “Ready?” Mathilde asked, raising her own wand, a chunky rod carved with shapes along its length. When Asami nodded, she lashed her hand out, sending a stream of goopy pink Mana that whipped forward. The clash was more impressive than Daniel had expected. Asami stepped back, swishing her wand like a conductor’s baton, and the first lash of Mana splashed sidelong against her shield, marking out the edges of the barrier with neon pink pigment. Asami dismissed that first shield and raised a second in time to deflect a pair of small blobs, barely more than paintball pellets, which splattered on her barrier. Grinning fiercely, Mathilde launched a third attack, raising up a half dozen wobbling orbs of the painty goo and then launching them one at a time, a flurry of blows that were staggered so that they couldn’t easily be deflected in a single wave. Asami caught the first, and then the second on a narrow shield, but the third hit with more force than Asami’s shield was prepared to take and it split, casting off more power. Already leaking energy, the shield took the fourth pellet before Asami could rebuild it, and though she tried, she didn’t have her defenses up in time. The fifth and sixth orbs struck her in the face and foot, knocking her down before the goo quickly hardened and sealed over her mouth and nose. Daniel’s eyes widened, and he rushed forward in a panic, his wand already out. “How do you make it turn liquid?” he called over his shoulder, reaching Asami’s side, calling up whatever power he could. Asami’s eyes widened and she looked at him, chest heaving as she– Pausing, Daniel looked down. “Eh…” She was breathing. She had Mana sealed over her mouth and nose, but she was still breathing. A moment later, Mathilde tapped the barrel and whispered a word, and the goop slipped from Asami’s face, freeing her to speak. “Mana’s breathable, even when it hardens,” Asami explained, smiling before turning to spit out a bit of paint-like sludge on the floor. “But thanks for worrying about me.” He exhaled in relief, offering her a hand up. “Sorry.” “It’s fine,” she replied, accepting his hand and standing upright. Addressing the whole group, she said, “Cassie with Hazel, Danny with Radha? Mathilde and I can help you if you’re struggling with anything. Remember–you’re just taking target practice here.” Walking to the side, Daniel took a spot on one end of the loose dueling area. “Have you done this before?” he asked, as she walked and took a position in front of one of the mana barrels opposite him. “Not really,” she said, shaking her head as she took a position opposite him. Her own wand was brass with gold inlays, a modern, minimalist style. “So…is Hazel right?” He pursed his lips, focus settling on a ward, taking a defensive stance before Radha could choose. “About what?” “That you’re not mad about the detention,” Radha clarified. “Or, I mean–you’re probably mad about the detention, but it’s something else that’s got you like, mad, mad, you know?” “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said, nodding to her as he stepped back. The ground was just barely springy, like a clay tennis court, and he had excellent traction. “Hit me.” “Right, right.” Waving her wand in a circle, she slowly levitated a ball of goop from the barrel behind her, took a breath, and then threw it forward. Daniel’s shield held out, paint splattering against it and onto the ground. “Not bad,” he said, “You threw it fast. If I wasn’t waiting to block you, you probably would have got me.” “Thanks.” She tried again, to similar results–her attacks were well aimed, but telegraphed heavily, and as long as Daniel kept up a barrier between himself and her, he didn’t have much to worry about. Stepping behind him, Asami looked Daniel up and down. “Your shield’s leaking a lot of power,” she said, “But it seems stable. See if you can be more efficient with it?” He nodded, dispelling the overwrought shield and trying again while Asami moved to correct something Rachel was doing. “It’s Jen,” Daniel explained. “The girl I was up against.” “Oh, is she one of the girls that’s been bullying you?” Radha asked, frowning. “I’m sorry.” “No, that’s not it.” Another attack came at him, but this time, his reduced-power shield wasn’t up to the task, and the pink blob pegged him in the chest, though other than making him slightly off balance, it didn’t cause too much of an issue. “She’s…actually been nice to me, until today.” “Something happened?” she asked. Reinforcing his shield, Daniel shrugged. “I…she kind of screwed me over this morning. She was trying to be helpful, but…the details don’t matter. I got mad, and kind of yelled at her, and now she hates me.” “She hates you?” Radha tilted her head, confused. “Oh–and want to swap? You hit me a couple times?” “Sure.” Daniel shrugged, shaking his head. “You saw how quick she was to volunteer?” “Yeah, but maybe she just didn’t want one of the trolls who were picking on you to get a chance to volunteer.” Radha twirled her brass wand, conjuring a shield. “Maybe.” Shuffling backwards, Daniel took a breath, whipped his wand, and lifted a few blobby projectiles from the barrel behind him. The orbs absolutely pissed away mana as they flew through the air, losing form as they traveled, as though he’d tried to throw a handful of water. Radha blinked, her face catching somewhere between secondhand embarrassment and a feeble attempt at polite indifference. “Goddammit,” Daniel grumbled, shaking his head and straightening his posture. “Okay, yeah, I suck at this. Obviously. Jen ran up, and made sure to raise a shield before I could, so that I’d have to attack her. That’s why I know she hates me, because she set me up to fail in front of everyone.” Radha paused, tilting her head. “Are you sure Jen knows you can’t attack?” “Yeah, she…” Daniel began with passion, but he quickly trailed off. “She was in the room when I took my test, she saw how I did.” Exhaling in a light snort of laughter, Radha said, “Daniel, you’re not the center of everyone’s attention. What makes you think she was watching?” It was a fair point, but he wasn’t quite ready to let go of his anger. “Alright, but still–I don’t buy that she was just volunteering to make sure nobody else could.” “Well–if you want to know why, you’ll just have to ask her.” Radha shrugged, realigning her wand with precision as she reinforced her shield. “Want to try again?” Daniel didn’t expect anything, but he tried, lashing out with another attack. This one went slightly better, but only because he grabbed more paint in the initial flurry: a few droplets survived long enough to splash against Radha’s shield. From the side, Mathilde noticed Daniel struggling. Asami was in the middle of a conversation with Rachel, so she approached, rolling between them. “Hey.” “Yeah, my attacks suck,” Daniel said. “I’m working on it.” “I was going to say, Radha’s shields look like they’re leaking a lot of power…but your attacks do need some work.” Glancing over her shoulder, she waved at Cassie, who was in the middle of getting a drink from a blue reusable water bottle. Raising her voice to be heard over the sound of dozens of witches taking dueling practice, she called, “Cassie–you said you know duels! Can you help Daniel with his spellcasting while I show Radha some pointers on her shields?” Nodding, Cassie hopped over, setting aside her water and walking up. “Absolutely.” Daniel felt a wave of annoyance wash over him–he didn’t need the rest of the coven to fuss over him–but quickly realized he was being ridiculous. He wanted to learn, didn’t he? And the other girls were clearly better at this than him, so why not learn? “I just can’t seem to keep any sort of form,” Daniel explained, shaking his head in frustration. “Like–I can conceptualize what I want them to do, but once they start to move, it just falls apart.” Cassie pursed her lips, looking Daniel up and down. “Can you show me?” Nodding, Daniel glanced around, ultimately facing down a strip of their voxavin court that was unoccupied. Whipping his wand, he demonstrated his technique, lashing out with another impotent splatter of goopy pink mana. Thoughtfully, Cassie said, “I see some issues with your form–I don’t know if it would cause this much trouble, but it might help.” Stepping forward, she touched his arm, turning his wrist slightly. “Keep your hand sideways, like this, so you can draw a line from your wrist to your thumb that’s pointed where you want the attack to strike.” Daniel made a mental note of that, adjusting the grip on his wand to compensate. Resting her hands on his shoulders, Cassie turned his body, rotating his posture. “Your shoulders should be straight, too–you’re just kind of standing normally right now. Some people prefer a broad stance, where they face their target square on, but I like to turn sideways–it presents a smaller target and I find it easier to line up.” “I have to turn my head pretty far to see this way,” he said, though he kept his shoulders straight, wand pointed off to his right, thumb pointed forward towards the target. “Try it square on and sidelong, see which is more comfortable for you,” Cassie suggested, turning his arm a little more. “Keep your elbows in, it’ll help with wand alignment, and you want to have your back straight and your posture–” Her hand touched his back, low enough that her fingers brushed over the rustling waistband of his diaper, covered up by his thin shirt. Cassie pulled her hand away as though she’d been shocked, turning pink. “I’m sorry, I–” Sighing, Daniel closed his eyes. “It’s fine. Just…don’t make a big deal out of it, please?” She blushed despite his request, but took a breath and tried to shake it off. “Well–er, see if that helps at all.” Turning, Daniel considered everything she’d said. Elbows in, wrist lined up, thumb pointed forward, shoulders lined up, back straight. Once again, he whipped his wand, lashing out with power, catapulting a ball of ink from the barrel. The improvement was just barely enough to be seen–it flew straighter, but still fell apart, dissolving as it blasted across the courtyard. “Okay, that’s…okay.” Cassie frowned. “Let’s try something else. How are you holding the balls together?” “A telekinesis spell,” Daniel replied, uncertain how else he’d be able to do it. “Am I missing something? Is there like…special magic that works on Mana to move it around?” “No…” Cassie began, rubbing at her chin in thought. “But…what sort of telekinesis spell? Tell me what it feels like.” “I guess, I’m…” Daniel paused, going through the motions in his head. “I’m creating a sort of scoop out of magic, and lifting up the orb, and then…wrapping it up in a magical shell to keep it in one piece while it flies through the air.” Cassie nodded knowingly. “Right–okay, I think I see why you’re struggling. Try using kinetomantic force instead, see if that works for you.” Daniel blinked, confused. “Is that not what I’m doing?” Frowning, Cassie tilted her head. “No?” “Kinetomantic force is the use of energy manipulation to move objects and alter their position,” Daniel said, quoting verbatim from his old primer. “I’m using force and energy manipulation to move the objects.” “Okay, but…” Cassie began. “I’m sorry, that’s…wrong. Who taught you that?” “Mary Spellman Teaches Telekinesis,” Daniel admitted. Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Huh?” “It’s a software program,” he explained. “Mom got it for our iMac.” Staring blankly, Cassie asked, “You taught yourself?” “No, I learned from the program.” Daniel pursed his lips. “What?” Glancing back at Mathilde and Radha, Cassie said, “Eh…we might need to go over some fundamentals.” ... Bleh. Life. This took longer to come out than I'd wanted. Glad to have something to post, though, and I'm hoping to be back in the saddle more properly soon. ❤️ Help buy me groceries plz? https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 4 There was a whiff of something foul in the air as I waddled back into the studio, and for once, it wasn’t coming from the seat of my diaper. The mood had never been light on set, but any Joe on the street could tell that things had gone especially sour since the screaming match. Nobody talked, except to exchange gruff comments about work; moving lights and getting cameras into place. Don Allan was walking in long, quick paces on set, snapping out instructions at his crew of youthlocked extras that seemed to have more to do with asserting authority than giving feedback to their performances. Uninterested in becoming his next target, I diverted my path back to the makeup room, cooking up an excuse in my head about needing to touch something up before we filmed. Instead of finding the makeup artist, however, I found Candace Wick, puffing on a cigarette and scowling hard at the poster that’d kicked up such a storm. “Aren’t you supposed to go outside to smoke?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. “I’m the star,” she replied, shaking her head and exhaling smoke out her nose. “I can do whatever I want.” Her gaze never went off the printed image of Shelly, precocious, adorable, diaper on full display, and her sour expression had nothing to do with the burning nicotine. “I’m not one to bump gums, but rumor is, Shelly thinks that your manager’s treating her like a cash register,” I said, prodding with a bit of information. I suspected Candace already knew her co-star’s opinions on William Waters, and sometimes giving a little information was the best way to get some in return. “Just pumping her for cash instead of focusing on her career.” “I swear, what I’d give for five minutes in a dark room with him,” Candace replied. “To give him a piece of my mind. You want to talk about ‘not focusing on a career’?” I waited for a long moment for Candace to answer her hypothetical question, but she trailed off. Hoping to keep the talk going, I nodded at the poster. “I’m guessing it’s not the first time he’s pulled something like this.” “We used to think Waters was a decent guy,” Candace said thoughtfully, taking a pull of her cigarette. A long stem of ash was forming, but she didn’t tap the end to knock it off, so it just grew, gray building up in a column. “When we did our first couple films together, we got paid a hundred bucks a week. We didn’t even get a bonus when a film got done, we just started filming something new. Pretty quick it became obvious that we were earning the studios big bucks, but he’s the one who went and got us a lawyer and fought for us to be paid more.” “Let me guess,” I probed. “Your higher rate means he got a higher rate, too?” “You said it,” she confirmed. “But that’s not the half of it. He kept Shelly’s image rights.” I tilted my head, glancing at the poster. “So how come he’s asking Shelly for permission?” Stepping forward, Candace stubbed out her cigarette on the poster, right on Shelly’s face, smearing ash and burning away the image so that it was just any generic girl. “Because I made him back off. It was a five year contract–when I was just getting into my teens, we were making dough hand over fist with ‘big sister and little sister’ films, and our contract was up for renewal. I told Waters I’d walk if he didn’t return image rights.” I whistled. “That’s a risk.” “Almost got fired for it,” Candace said, flicking her cigarette into the trash. “But we’re not just sisters on screen. Maybe we don’t share blood, but we’re family–we’re supposed to watch out for each other, in good times and bad.” Nodding, I glanced out the door. I could faintly hear Don Allan ranting and calling directions, but nobody had called for me. “When’s your next contract up? Maybe you can just tell William Waters to take a hike then.” Candace scoffed, checking her makeup in the mirror. “Hardly. There’s three years left before we’re up for renewal, and with the way things have been going lately, I’m not going to be spoiled for choice. Shelly could, maybe, but if we’re not a double act, I’m not pulling in the ticket sales. We’re with Waters, come hell or high water.” I paused. “The way things have been going lately?” “It’s hardly public, but it’s hardly a secret, either. Our budget’s gone out the window. Reused sets, smaller casts. We get a bonus based on how well the film sells–and that bonus has been pretty slim lately. You can read between the lines; we don’t hold the star power we used to.” Deciding herself ready to be seen, she stood up straight. “If we wanted to ditch Waters, we needed to do it while we were on an upswing, but we realized too late what a snake he was. All he’s after is Shelly’s money.” Turning, she left me alone in the makeup room, pausing for just a moment in the doorway. “You want my advice?” I shrugged. “I’d definitely take it.” “Get a job doing something else. I hear they’re always looking for postal workers.” She left me alone, standing there with my thoughts. I wanted to mull things over a bit, but already, ideas were starting to percolate in my head, and a feeling had formed in my gut that had nothing to do with all the candy cigarettes I’d been sucking my way through. Hitching up my costume britches, I waddled out of the makeup room, pausing as I felt my diaper squelch between my thighs. I couldn’t hear Don Allan yelling, suggesting I had a moment to spare. It seemed unwise to get back to set only to leak onto my costume. Making up my mind, I detoured one last time, squelching my way to the restrooms on set. One perk of working at a place that hired youthlocks on the regular–the bathroom had a changing table, and even a couple stepstools for the youthlocks who worked in the studio. I preferred to get my assistant’s help when I could, but being a gumshoe meant I had to operate as a lone agent, a man who could stand as an island and deal with his own affairs. Toddling up the step stool, I got to work changing my own diaper. It was a pretty simple affair–pants down, diaper off, wipes, powder. A new-looking box shaped a bit like a newspaper dispenser sat by the changing table and gave out diapers for a nickel, and though I still didn’t trust disposables to hold up like a trusty cloth diaper and rubber cover, I couldn’t argue the convenience. And, as I worked through the effort of changing my bottom, I had time to think. I recalled my viewing of Shelly’s latest film, just the day before. The theater had been dead empty, with nary a filmgoer to watch it. A few more elements clicked into place. Shelly and Candace would be a high expense for the studio, but they were also the pillar that the films were based on. If Shelly started headlining in new titles, making a name for herself as a star beyond Don Allan’s reach, her rates would go up. With the studio already struggling to stay in the black, a more-expensive Shelly threatened to tank them completely. It wasn’t William Waters that would have suffered if Shelly accepted her role with a different studio. Sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the changing table, I began to tug up my pants, when I heard a snort from the stall. Hopping down, I glanced under the stall door, noting a pair of familiar, gleaming patent leather shoes. Don Allan was taking another break, it seemed. That presented an opportunity. I could have played it cool, but my instincts told me I was right, and I was done with the charade. Besides–I could see that, despite being in the stall, Don’s pants were up. I wanted him vulnerable, but I wasn’t trying to catch him with his boxers down. Pulling a safety pin from my pocket, I reached up, slid it under the latch, and yanked open the stall door. My intrusion was met with a satisfying tableau as I got to watch Don Allan hastily wipe white powder off his hand, alarmed at the sudden intrusion. “Mister Allan,” I said, raising an eyebrow at him. “We need to have a conversation.” Flabbergasted, the director stared at me, finally stammering, “You’re one of the extras, aren’t you?” I had to admit to a certain thrill of satisfaction at seeing the usually belligerent director so off guard. Pressing his discomfort, I commented, “I’d ask if you have a prescription, but I think we both know the answer to that already and I’m more curious how you’re paying for it when the studio’s barely keeping the lights on.” Don Allan’s jaw dropped, and paranoia sparked in his eyes as he took a step away, the back of his legs bumping against the toilet. Perfect. I always liked my suspects a little paranoid–it made it easy to push their buttons. “I’m not here to star in your film, Mister Allan,” I explained. “I’m here because some people have concerns on set about how you’re treating them.” His face flashed with realization. “Shelly hired you, didn’t she?” I considered keeping that fact a secret, but my gut told me I’d get more information by divulging that truth, so I nodded. “Yes sir, and I know what you’ve been doing.” He shook his head, shuddering slightly. “Look–she’s getting paid for every film we’re doing. I have a contract that keeps me from telling her anything else. If you’re mad, talk to the studio execs, they’re the ones who said we had to keep things hush-hush.” I kept my face a mask as he spoke, pretending I could dig his meaning. I had been preparing to demand a confession from him, to ask for him to admit he’d thrown away Shelly’s messages and ruined her chances at getting cast in a new film, but now I just let him talk. “How long have you known?” Shoulders slumping, Don Allan shook his head. “I got told the news about two months ago. We’re fully funded for three more films before they shut us down, then this lot’s being demolished to make room for a new parking lot.” His words gave me something to chew on. “So it doesn’t even matter if these films do well? You’re going belly up no matter what.” He nodded, blushing slightly. Sitting down on the toilet seat, he rested his head in his hands. “Truth be told, I’m glad Shelly knows. It means I don’t have to be there when Waters breaks it to her.” That hit me like a ton of bricks. “William Waters knows?” “Of course he does, he’s her manager,” Don Allan replied, shaking his head slowly. “He’s signed the same confidentiality papers as me, though.” “So,” I said, pressing on. “What happens to Shelly once your three films are up?” Don shrugged. “She stops being a household name, I suppose. Maybe she finds work somewhere else. Whatever it is, our studio’s not going to be a part of it.” My brow furrowed. Don wasn’t the culprit after all, but William Waters suddenly had new light cast on him. Shelly’s name was about to become small change, and when her films went, her brand deals would go with them. Shaking my head, I gave Don Allan a withering look. “This conversation stays between you and me, and maybe you don’t have to deal with Shelly walking before you get your last paycheck.” He nodded quickly. “Lips are sealed.” Turning on my heels, I set my brow and waddled to the door. It was time for Shelly to learn the truth. ... Thank you for reading! I've got a new ebook out, a compilation of my short stories and ABDL fiction! It's 43,000 words and contains several pieces never previously available outside of my subscription platforms https://peculiar-changeling.itch.io/indulgence-an-abdl-fiction-collection

Chapter 16 Daniel couldn’t decide if the teacher that stood before the amassed collection of girls was intimidating or ridiculous. On one hand, she stood with confidence and swagger, exuding a sense of superiority that spread over the class. On the other, she projected that superiority over a sea of witches in pointed hats who were explicitly there to learn–it wasn’t very impressive that Catherline Glinse was better than them. Of course, mucking up the equation was the fact that Catherine Glinse might be plotting to destroy the whole school, or at least do something horrible there. Daniel hadn’t ruled her out as the primary suspect, not when she had too many fingers pointed in her direction. For now, though, he just needed to keep up with the class. If he flunked out, he wouldn’t be able to accuse anyone of anything. “How many of you know how to play Voxavin?” Catherine Glinse demanded, casting out a stern look that verged on being a glare. Realizing he was one of only a tiny handful of students not raising their hands, Daniel moved to correct that, lifting his arm in a white lie. Sure, he didn’t know the exact rules, but he could fake it, and he didn’t want to show his ignorance. Behind him, he heard giggles. Glancing over his shoulder, he flushed, seeing a familiar face leering at him. The bully from the library stood with some girls Daniel didn’t recognize–her coven–and she wore a sickening smirk. She waved with her fingers at him, pointing down at the hem of his skirt. Daniel’s blush deepened as he got the message–when he raised his hand, it lifted his skirt and exposed the bottom of his drooping, damp diaper. Deliberately turning to ignore the bully, he tugged down at the hem of his skirt, hiding his embarrassment as best he could. (What did Glinse just ask?) he thought, trying to catch up with her speech. (It was…right. Who knew how to play?) “Wrong,” their coach snapped, continuing her tirade–if she’d noticed the light giggling disruption, she didn’t react. “Maybe you know the rules, but you don’t know how to play. Voxavin is not something you can learn by watching, and it’s not something you can learn by play-acting as children. It is, fundamentally, the most potent expression of teamwork you will ever experience.” (If she was going to call everyone wrong, why ask?) Daniel thought, his embarrassment dying as he found a source of condescension within himself. Unable to help himself, he whispered, “Was she like this last year, too?” “Word for word,” Asami confirmed. Rolling his eyes, Daniel returned his focus to the lecture. “Today we’ll be going over the fundamentals of the game, but know this–a quick, lone wand and a few fast spells will not win you the day. No individual is more powerful than a team.” Nodding sagely, Catherine extended her hand up to the sky, a long, slender wand clutched in it. “So, as we cover this, remember that these are only the basics, the mechanics, and that the Voxavin Duel is only a small piece of your team’s greater strategy.” Her speech continued, but Daniel’s focus was broken once again as he heard a pointed whisper behind him, loud enough that it was most likely meant for his ears. “Did he piss himself again?” “Maybe he just didn’t notice he needed a diaper change,” another girl whispered back, though at that point, ‘whispered’ was barely appropriate to describe the brazen conversation going on, and the conversation between two girls spread to the rest of the bully’s coven. “He wet himself? I didn’t see.” “Let’s see if he’ll raise his hand again…” Daniel shot his best withering glare over his shoulder, but that only produced more laughter. “And that’s why–” Catherine Glinse cut herself off mid-speech, finally rounding her focus on the gaggle of giggling girls near the back. “Is there something I’ve missed, ladies?” The giggles fell silent, and the bully’s coven stood quietly at attention. Daniel returned his focus to the speech, trying to keep his cool. “That’s better,” Glinse said, her jaw set. “As I was saying, we need to cover the fundamentals of voxavin dueling. For this, I will need a volunteer.” (Volunteer, or target?) Daniel thought, glancing around. As he’d suspected, nobody wanted to go up and become the subject of Catherine’s object lesson. As he watched, looking out to see what naive fool might raise their hand, he felt a sudden burst of wind. His skirt flipped up, exposing his diaper, and the witch’s hat on his head flew into the air like it’d been pulled with a string. Blushing, Daniel tried to jump at the hat and push down his skirt at the same time, to middling effect–he only concealed a couple inches his sagging diaper, and failed completely to grab the hat, which blew to the side and landed by one of the red barrels in the courtyard a moment later. A burst of giggles erupted behind him, but the true purpose of the prank became clear a second later when Glinse’s gaze fell on him. Daniel froze, arm extended energetically towards the sky, his mistake dawning on him. “Mister Aster,” she announced, so that the rest of the auditorium’s eyes fell on him, still clutching his bunched up skirt, drawing attention to the sodden, yellowed diaper beneath. “So kind of you to volunteer.” More giggles burst behind Daniel, and he shot a glare over his shoulder at the bully. The girls of her coven had begun whispering again–proper whispering, that he couldn’t hear–but the bully herself just leered at him, triumphant and gloating over her perfectly executed prank. As he glowered, she mouthed, ‘Have fun,’ nodding slightly towards Glinse. Daniel had already suspected that ‘volunteering’ was just another word for ‘being targeted by the teacher for humiliation’, and the bully’s smirk just confirmed it. Straightening his skirt, Daniel stalked over to where his hat had fluttered to the ground, snatched it up, then made his way to the front of the assembly, ignoring the snickers and amused smiles that now seemed to radiate from every single girl in the hall, at least according to his peripheral vision and imagination. “The most basic part of Voxavin is the duel,” Glinse explained, carrying on as though she hadn’t noticed the hazing ritual going on in her gymnasium. “It is a test of fine control, accuracy, and power. Some of you may believe that you can win purely through skill alone–this is not true, but skill can influence your success immeasurably.” Daniel stepped up in front of Glinse, and she looked down on him. She was taller than Daniel by half a foot–one of the tallest people in the room, in fact–and looked down on him without pity. He cleared his throat. Even if he’d been put up to this, he wouldn’t act petty in front of a crowd. “What do I do?” “I assume you know how to raise a barrier ward?” she inquired. “It’s a rather elemental part of the entrance exams.” Daniel flushed, recalling his rather pathetic performance in the exams, but nodded. He could, even if it wouldn’t be particularly efficient. “Good.” Pointing, Catherine directed him to a space about ten feet away. Now that he was at the front, Daniel could see that the space had been marked out on the ground in a long, wide strip, almost like the lanes used in fencing. Both ends had one of the red-marked barrels, and Catherine was pointing him towards one end. “Stand there.” Obeying, Daniel walked to where he’d been instructed and turned to face Catherine, acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake worthy of mockery. Smirking, Catherine walked to the other end of the lane and stepped back into a power stance, legs sinking low. Twirling her slender wand between her fingers, she said, “Begin.” Lightning fast, she launched power towards him. Daniel had an image in his mind of what duels looked like: Warlocks blasting power at one another, fire and ice and evocations of pure energy, whipped back and forth with the speed and power of a tempest. Despite the environment, he half expected a ball of explosive force to launch from the coach’s wand into his shield. Instead, a barrel behind her burst open, and from within, a tidal wave of viscous blue goop flew into the air. Following Glinse’s command, the paint-like sludge whipped towards Daniel’s shield, shaping into a trio of orbs the size of beach balls mid-flight. Daniel yelped in surprise, but it was too late. All three spheres curved around his barrier, slamming into him from either side, and heavy, sticky sludge pasted into him, coating his arms and uniform. “Hey, what the–” he began, losing his balance. The sludge had moved like water while in the air, but wherever it touched him, it thickened like a glue trap. His arms were pinned to his side, and as he struggled to move them free, he spun and stumbled from the sudden topheavy weight around his torso, falling onto the ground away from the watching crowd. Naturally, he stuck where he landed, trapped on his back like a beetle, only able to squirm and flail his legs and shout. Daniel groaned as he heard laughter from the watching witches. By kicking his legs, he’d given the entire student body an upskirt view of his diaper. The humiliation of being used as a training dummy by Glinse was already enough to make him blush, but as he wriggled and tried to roll to at least turn his body away and hide his wet padding, he burned with humiliation and anger. “And that,” Catherine Glinse announced, turning to face the class. “Is how you defeat an opponent in Voxavin. Mana flows like water when you use evocation upon it, but when you strike your target it will stick, limiting their mobility. When your opponent is unable to move or cast spells, they are marked as out, and your team scores one point in that round.” With a flick of her wand, the ‘Mana’ goo turned liquid again, rushing off Daniel and freeing him to move again. Sitting up, he flicked his hands, trying to get the excess slurry off himself–it didn’t stick to his clothes, leaving behind no stains or marks, but it still clung to his skin in droplets, and he felt rivulets of it run down his back. “Remember, however, that you do not need to fully eliminate an opponent in order to gain advantage. For example, if you are facing a duelist and don’t have enough Mana to both eliminate their ability to cast spells and to move, you can go for a disabling strike. Daniel, if you would please stand.” Knowing what was coming, he got to his feet, but even before he was fully upright, he felt off-balance. His diaper felt heavier, weighed down and waterlogged, and he wobbled, thighs spread and legs splayed– (Oh, you’re kidding me,) Daniel realized, revelation striking him. The dispersed Mana hadn’t just poured off him, it’d poured down him, and though it didn’t stick to his skin, it was still liquid. Distracted by the new weight drooping around his waist, he almost forgot what was coming, and his attempt to throw out a shield came far too late. He failed–of course–and could do nothing to prevent another goopy assault, this time splashing against his feet, trapping his legs in a permanent spread. “Can you move?” she asked. “No,” Daniel said, looking down. His arms were free this time–fortunately–but he couldn’t raise his feet. “Obviously.” “Precisely,” Glinse said, facing the students again. “However, you are still able to cast spells–to the extent that you’re capable, at least.” More laughter rang out at her quip, and Daniel’s face felt feverish with shame. Glinse continued, oblivious or uncaring of how her comments were reflecting on Daniel. “In certain circumstances, it would be best to simply flee, leaving you unable to participate in the match until the end of the round.” With another flick of her wand, his feet were freed, but he hadn’t expected her to release him so quickly. Weighed down and surprised, Daniel fell, landing with a loud squelch like a sponge being thrown against a brick wall. More laughter. This wasn’t a gym class, it was a slapstick comedy show, with Daniel as the unwitting victim. Turning to the student body once again, Catherine Glinse announced, “I need a second volunteer for this next–” “Me! Pick me!” Surprised at the ease of reply, Glinse pointed to the girl whose hand was stuck straight up in the air, bouncing to get her attention. “Alright, you. What’s your name?” “I’m Jen.” (Oh, you’re kidding me.) Daniel pursed his lips as he watched her come up to the front, releasing a barely contained sigh. Already he was the subject of far too much attention and now she was going to, again, just make things worse. “Alright, Daniel and Jen, face off against one another.” Daniel noticed an absence. Glinse hadn’t asked Jen if she knew how to raise a barrier ward. Unlike himself, Jen was assumed to be competent. “If you would, please–one of you raise a barrier, while the other attempts to strike you with Mana, as I demonstrated.” (Interesting,) he thought. (She’ll demonstrate how to attack on an unsuspecting student, but she won’t show off how to defend. Is she afraid of being hit?) More to the point, though, he wouldn’t let Glinse–or the bully, or Jen, or anyone–beat him. The coach had brought Daniel up so that he could be made into a display. Glinse had to know how he’d scored on the entrance exams, and that he’d not be able to do much more than splat Jen’s ward with a bit of paint. His fine control was just too poor, and if he tried to win the duel, he’d just demonstrate his incompetence. However, she’d forgotten something: Daniel’s fine control might have been lacking, but he had power. Now that he had time, and wasn’t off guard or surprised against a much more experienced opponent, he could raise a shield with enough strength to block a speeding locomotive. This was his shot to win, to show he was competent, to cancel out the humiliations that’d come before. Raising his wand, Daniel concentrated as best he could, thinking of the shield he could raise. His balance was wobbly, and he was distracted by the weight of his mana-swollen diaper pressed against his thighs, but he didn’t need to move to cast a spell. Taking a long, deep breath, he called up his power. Unlike the test, this didn’t have to be a precise, efficient amount of force, so he could make the shield as strong as he wanted, and– And Jen already had a barrier conjured, a quick construct of radiating energy that shimmered in the air like heat off a campfire. She’d beaten him to the punch, and now he’d have to take the offensive. She’d set him up, just like Glinse. (Eh tu, Jen?) Already, he had an image in his head of how this was going to go: He’d attempt to levitate a ball and fail, or he’d fling it pathetically and it would bounce off Jen’s shield, or he’d otherwise prove himself incompetent. Even if he could focus well enough to make a discreet ball of Mana float in the air, he knew already that he’d never be able to aim it around a shield. Turning, he glanced back at one of the large barrels behind him, full of colored goo. The Mana in this one was tinted green–apparently there was some kind of color coding system–but it otherwise seemed to be the same as the blue sludge he’d been hit with. “Any day now, Mister Aster,” Glinse said, tapping her wand on her wrist. “My goal is to immobilize my opponent, right?” he asked, looking back at Glinse. “Right,” she explained. “Or, to try.” “Okay.” He thought for a moment longer, staring at the barrels of mana. (I don’t need fine control, just power) Daniel thought, grinning slightly as he made his plan to win the simplistic duel. (Let’s see if they’re expecting this.) Turning, he faced Jen at her end of the dueling lane. She held her shield up with a determined look and a slow spiral of her wand. She was uncharacteristically silent–perhaps struggling to concentrate on the spell, perhaps just having nothing to say to him. Growing determined, Daniel whipped out his wand, focused, and lanced all the power he could out and past his opponent. Energy surged into the far barrel, directly behind Jen, and paint-like Mana splashed out of it as though he’d dropped Mentos into a bottle of Diet Coke. Immediately, his matched opponent was taken out, hit with goop that congealed into an inescapable ooze on contact. “Yeah!” Daniel cheered, pumping his fist at the success of his ploy. The attack was poorly aimed, and a horrible waste of both strength and Mana, but none of that mattered. The barrel was only a couple feet behind Jen, and the goop splattered out with such force that even with most of it spraying aimlessly into the air, she was still splattered heavily from the back. Heavy, sticky sludge knocked her to the ground, and excess Mana also sloshed out into the front row of watching girls, the seats off to the side…and onto Catherine Glinse. Jen had mostly been hit from the back, but the collateral damage of Daniel’s reckless depth charge had splattered her from the front, spraying her down with blue goo from head to toe while the students watched on in near-total silence. It took the coach three tries to get enough movement in her wrist to dispel the Mana, rendering it all to liquid that fell off both her and Jen in sheets. As it dribbled off her face, Daniel could see that beneath the blue, her face had turned completely purple with rage. (Oh.) He swallowed, realizing that he’d made a mistake. (Oh no.) ... 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Chapter 3 “Shelly–Shelly. Shelly!” William Waters called, trying to cut in over the near-incoherent rage fuming out of his diminutive star. “Hold it, dollface–this is going to get us all the bread, I don’t see–” “I told you,” Shelly screamed, storming forward, jabbing a finger up at him. Even on her tippy toes, she couldn’t really get in his face, so she clambered onto one of the makeup chairs, using the extra elevation to glare pure murder at eye level with her manager. “I told you I’m not putting my face on any goddamned diaper ads!” “It’s just a drawing of your mug,” William protested, putting the poster off to the side and raising his other hand defensively. “You don’t even need to pose–just sign the checks! It’s easy dough!” Shelly’s rage managed to burn red even through the layers of perfect makeup on her face, and she inhaled sharply, readying her tirade. “And that’s all I am to you, huh? A pretty face and a name on the check.” “Woah, woah.” Setting the poster to the side, William left it face up, so that Shelly’s adorable printed visage and the poofing, perfect diaper were fully on display. “You’ve got me all wrong, kitten. It’s like it’s always been–I’m just looking out for you!” “You’re just looking out for your thirty percent commission,” Shelly barked. “You don’t want to put in the work, you don’t care about my career, you’d throw my whole future in the trash just to get your goddamn cut!” The manager’s eyes widened further and he stepped back, utterly baffled. “Shelly, it’s–” “What’s got her diapers in a twist?” I’d been so focused on watching the argument play out that I hadn’t noticed Don Allan until he announced his presence with the quip. All eyes fell on the director, a cloud of cigarette smell wafting into the makeup room after him. William Waters shook his head. “Just talking business with the star.” Glancing sidelong at the poster, Don Allan rolled his eyes. “Well, try to keep the crying down–we’re trying to work here. We’re calling action in fifteen minutes–be sure to change her diaper, I can’t have my star throwing another tantrum once the cameras roll.” He turned and sauntered away, leaving Shelly to sputter furiously. Tears welled in her eyes, and after taking in a few breaths, trying to summon another round of rage, she whirled and, after awkwardly stepping down from the chair, waddled out of the makeup room and rushed out of sight. Running both hands through his hair, William exhaled through his nose. “Jeez, I was just trying to make a dame a dollar, didn’t want to go on a trip for biscuits.” I waited a few moments so it wouldn’t be too obvious that I was hurrying after the star of the show, but it seemed that nobody cared much about the random extra who’d been brought along for the day. Hopping down from my chair, I waddled in the direction I’d seen Shelly go, towards the nearest exit, past racks of set lights on tall steel stands on one side and more doors leading to the green room and cast lounge. Half jogging to catch up, I almost walked into the legs of a tall, slender broad. “Woah,” I said, half stumbling back, but she reached out and caught my arm, stabilizing me. “You okay there?” she asked, as I tried to get a look at her face. In half-silhouette on the dark end of the studio, it took me a few moments to recognize Shelly’s costar, Candace Wick, an actress with as many credits as Shelly and twice as many inches of height. “I’m fine,” I said, leaning to look past her, towards the exit door. She crouched down to get to eye level with me, smiling broadly. “You’re the new youthlock, right? One of the extras?” I nodded, and her expression turned just a hair more professional. She was still squatting down like she was talking with a toddler, but at least Candace had stopped giving me the doe-eyes that dames typically reserve for cute animals and children. Speaking quietly, as though the question were only for my ears, Candace asked, “I heard some yelling, is Shelly alright? She’s been getting into it with her manager, and…did you see which way she went?” If I told her the truth, she’d go talk to Shelly, and I’d miss my chance for a heart-to-heart. Shrugging, I reached into my pocket, producing my pack of candy cigarettes. “I split when the music started,” I explained. “Just stepping out for a smoke.” She pursed her lips, nodding and standing to her full height. Everyone seemed tall to me, but she was especially so, a feature that’d contrasted her well with Shelly as Candace grew up. I stepped around the actress, walking to the exit. I pressed the door lever with my elbow and slipped a candy stick between my lips in one motion, stepping into the brisk cement exterior of the Hollywood lot. Shelly stood just to the side, and raised a hand to her mouth, but wasn’t quick enough to cover the pacifier suckled between her lips. I pretended not to notice as she palmed it and lowered it to the side–a dame was due her privacy, or at least her illusion of it. Taking out the pack in my pocket, I offered her one of my candy cigarettes, the candy stick bobbing between my lips as I slid another one up for her to take. “Help yourself,” I offered. “No tobacco–real smokes are too bitter for me, I just like the sugar rush.” She eyed the candy but shook her head; I could tell it wasn’t the oral fixation she was interested in. “Suit yourself,” I replied, pocketing the candy. To break the ice, I added, “Don Allan’s an ass. Asking if you needed a change? What a pill.” She pressed her lips into a line, glancing away. “He’s not wrong,” she admitted, quietly. “Damn him, he always knows, even when I can’t tell myself.” “Wouldn’t be a director for this long if he didn’t have an eye for detail,” I pointed out. Taking the cigarette from my lips for a moment, I rolled it between my fingers, licking a bit of sugar residue off my thumb. Chuckling to myself, I added, “Margeret says these things are going to kill me–I’m up to a pack a day, but I’m not much for coffee and I need the buzz, you know?” Nodding, she looked down, fumbling with the pacifier concealed in her hand. “We’ve all got our own vices,” she replied, finally revealing the soother as she popped it back between her lips. I stood there in silence with her for a long beat, waiting as she relaxed against the wall. I was starting to build a hunch into a proper theory, but I wasn’t about to start making accusations just yet. Shelly had a bone to pick with her manager. Clearly there was no love lost between her and William, and you didn’t settle into a screaming match like the one I’d witnessed without having gone through the whole song and dance a few times before. My gut told me that Shelly was looking for a reason to fire him, and that the missing job offer was just an excuse–if she’d been offered the role at all. If I was correct, then she’d brought me on just to rubber stamp the dismissal, to give her cause so she could get out of her contract. I was a professional. If that’s what she wanted, I wouldn’t give it to her, but I wouldn’t start throwing accusations around without a good reason, either. “So,” I began, after a long moment of quiet. “You’ve got something you want to say?” Shelly moved the pacifier to the corner of her mouth, mumbling over it. “He’s such an ass.” “Mhmm,” I replied, sucking on the end of the cigarette, which had already dissolved down to a stub. “But it’s not just him, is it?” She looked at me, eyes still tinged with red from the shouting match. “You saw the poster.” I nodded, non-committal. “That’s how he sees me.” She looked away, staring out at the Hollywood lot. “That’s how they all see me. I’m not a woman to them–I’m not even a six-year-old, I’m a toddler who can remember her lines.” I nodded. “It’s the twentieth century, you’d think everyone would know what a youthlock is, but I still get people stopping me on the street and asking if I’m lost.” “No.” She shot me a look–not mad, but bitter. Jealous, even. “They don’t just see a kid, they see the girl on screen. You’ve got people who know who you are, who treat you like an adult, but what do I get?” “They treat you like an actress,” I suggested. “I’m sure all big stars get pampered a bit.” “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” she asked, scoffing, spitting the pacifier into her hand so she could speak more directly. “When I started acting, Candace and I looked the same age. Sisters–hell, we played twins and people bought it. We grew up on set together, we’re costars. I got to see her live the life I wanted, to get respect, to be treated as an adult. By the time she was ten she had more respect on set than I did. We’ve had the same crew for a dog’s age–same director, same manager, same talent. They all know I’m an adult, but you’d never see Allan calling her outbursts a tantrum.” She turned her back to me, and fell quiet for long enough that I thought she might be done. I stayed silent, just in case. “That’s what this is about,” she explained, in a whisper so faint I almost lost it in the wind. “If I get up there on screen in a proper film… a real role, you know, not this treacle.” She looked down in disgust at her girly, poofy lace dress and overdone curls. “They’ll see who I really am.” Looking her over, I asked, “You’d still be playing a kid, wouldn’t you? Even in a drama.” “For now,” she said, looking back at me. “But we’re real people. There’s youthlocks out there in the world. How come we never see us on the screen? They have us play children, sure, but have you ever seen one of us in a film, playing an adult?” I thought about it, but I couldn’t. “That’s what I want, Nick.” She looked back at me, and the look in her eyes showed me a mature determination that proved her womanhood, no matter how many frills and diapers she was dressed in. “I’m going to be a star, and I’m going to play adults like you or me. Even if I have to fight for it. Once my ticket comes in, we’ll all be given a little more respect.” I stood there in stunned silence. I could have intuited a lot of this, but I’d missed it–and it threw a wrench into my theory. Shelly wasn’t bitter with her manager, she was bitter with the limits that being Youthlocked put on her career. Replacing William wouldn’t change what society permitted her to be. More importantly to me, I could see the conflict brewing. William could only sell diaper ads with Shelly’s face so long as she played the cherubic child. She was right–it was in his financial interest to keep her out of dramas, and to keep her firmly in the camp of childish roles. Nodding back at the door, I said, “Want to get back in there?” She looked down at the pacifier in her hand. A soother, one she’d have to give up to be seen as a real woman, even though it was just a harmless bit of rubber and plastic. She slipped the pacifier into the folds of her dress, making it vanish, and put on a smile like I’d seen some people put on a new suit. She was cheerful again, even playful. Ready to be Shelly The Precocious Child for the cameras. She was damned good. Even knowing it was there, I couldn’t see the sadness behind her eyes. ... I hope you're enjoying! Support the author & get early access, exclusive content, and discounts on commissions! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thank you! I'm really enjoying writing more of them ❤️ I'm so glad to hear that - they really took on a life of their own, so I knew I had to give them more time to shine. Chapter Two - "Chapter One" Melody lounged on her bean bag chair, laptop open in front of her as she pecked away at the next chapter. Don’t forget FRIES. All consent should be: Freely given - It should go without saying that coercion is not consent Revocable - Everyone involved is free to change their minds at any time Informed - All parties should know what they’re signing up for Enthusiastic - ‘I guess so’ isn’t consent! Specific - This is like Informed! You need to know what you’re agreeing to, or you can’t really agree to it Pursing her lips, she skimmed over the text, then tabbed back. Revocable - Everyone involved is free to change their minds at any time, and you shouldn’t make assumptions about future behavior based on current behavior. Someone might be interested in trying something once, but that doesn’t mean they want to keep doing it in the future Nodding, she looked over the paragraph one more time. It was good. Great, even. Basic, maybe, but that was the point. Screenshotting the half page, the tabbed over to Flutter–she refused to call it Z–and dropped the image with a caption. ‘Working on my book! Everything a beginner needs to know about safe, healthy kink and BDSM - I’m just trying to make the community a better place ❤️ ❤️ <3’ Posting the preview, Melody smiled and returned to the document, beginning to write the next paragraph, before a notification interrupted her flow. She glanced over at Skip, who had taken a spot on Melody’s bed to edit, then clicked on the notification. ‘New activity in the following document - Sex Book placeholder title’ Pulling up the correct section in the shared doc, she scrolled down to Skip’s commentary. When using restraints–be they rope, cuffs, or leather–always make sure you provide a degree of mobility. Make sure to leave enough space so that circulation and blood flow aren’t cut off. Suggestion: Make sure to leave enough space to fit two fingers beneath the restraint, so that circulation and blood flow aren’t cut off. Glancing up, Melody asked, “Two fingers?” She hadn’t written that–and Skip wasn’t supposed to know about BDSM beyond the most cliche tropes. “Yeah.” Skip kept their eyes on their own laptop while they spoke. “‘Enough space’ is pretty vague, I wasn’t sure if that meant like…’as long as my fingers don’t turn blue’ or ‘it should hang loose around my wrist’, so I looked it up and two fingers seems to be a good test.” “Right.” Nodding, Melody accepted the suggestion. “Though if you’re confused, you can just ask me and I’ll fix it.” “Sure.” Skip pursed their lips, returning their focus to the document. Melody shifted for a moment, then went back and undid the correction. Her finger hovered over the trackpad of her laptop for a moment, hesitating, then she shook her head and cleared her throat. “It’s just, I want to make sure we’re being clear.” Skip raised an eyebrow. “That’s why I suggested we change it.” “Okay, but I know the ‘two fingers’ thing, and I didn’t put it in there on purpose,” Melody explained, setting aside her computer and shifting to stand by the bed. “Give me your hand.” The corner of their mouth tweaking up in a skeptical half-smile, Skip offered their hand, palm facing forward. Melody raised her own, pressing their fingers together, emphasizing the difference–Skip was just bigger than Melody, and their hands were no exception. “Your pinkie’s almost as big as my thumb,” Melody pointed out. “So, if we’re trying to be clear, what’s ‘two fingers’? Yours? Or mine?” Skip pulled their hand back and glanced away. “Sure. So what do we put instead?” “You need a feel for it, it’s hard to just say,” Melody explained, shaking her head. “Never mind, I’ll rewrite it.” Scooting forward, Skip shook their head. “No, you said that’s why you needed me. To take vibes and put them into words. So let’s figure this out–how much pressure is too much?” Raising one hand, they squeezed their own wrist for demonstration, barely wrapping two fingers all the way around. “Like, this? Looser?” Melody rolled her eyes. “If you’re squeezing down on the skin, that’s too tight. Your hand isn’t big enough.” A thought struck her, and she got to her feet, crossing the room towards her closet as she said, “Hold on.” Skip waited, puffing out their cheeks and sighing as they waited. Melody's closet held a menagerie of debauchery. An entire shelf was given over to toys–vibrators, dildos, plugs. Impact play implements were categorized by type, and a plastic bin held lube, condoms, and dental dams with enough of a supply to outlast the apocalypse. She lingered lovingly over her collection for a moment before reaching to a hook on the wall, taking down a length of rope from her array of restraints. Walking back, she held up the coiled rope for Skip to see. “I’d like to show you, okay?” Skip extended their wrists without argument. “If you say so.” “Alright, then take off your hoodie.” Melody said, nodding to their baggy sleeves. “Those are going to get in the way.” Hesitating for a moment, Skip tugged at the wrist of one sleeve before simply pulling them back, bunching the fabric around their elbows. “This is fine.” “Are you sure that’s comfortable?” Melody asked, eyeing the clump of wadded cotton riding up to their shoulders. Skip shrugged. “It’s cool.” Nodding, Melody lifted the rope, doubling it over itself before wrapping the coil around their wrist. “Okay, do you feel that?” “It’s soft,” Skip commented, sounding surprised. “I expected it to chafe more.” “It’s silk,” Melody replied, holding the rope in place, pinching it with her finger to keep out any slack. “I don’t skimp. But do you feel how you have room to rotate your wrist without it digging in anywhere?” Skip followed her suggestion, turning their wrist. “Okay, I get it. It’s snug, but there’s no squeezing pressure.” “Exactly,” Melody said, moving to secure the rope in place with a quick bowline knot. Her fingers moved deftly, lacing the rope around itself and pulling it snug, and when she had it tied she automatically slid two fingers beneath the rope cuff, testing the gap between rope and skin. Skip didn’t comment. “I feel like I could slip out of this,” Skip said, using their free hand to fidget with the rope cuff. “If I pulled hard, made a fist, and pressed my thumb to my palm. Or I could just untie it with my teeth.” “Probably,” Melody conceded, taking Skip’s fidgeting hand away and moving to bind a second coil of rope around it. “No bondage is going to be foolproof–and that’s a good thing. We’re not trying to make you actually helpless. What if I had a heart attack or something in the middle of the scene?” “Okay.” Skip nodded thoughtfully as Melody tied their wrists together, leaving a length of rope between both hands so that it worked like a pair of handcuffs. “So it’s not a problem if I can escape-artist Houdini my way free?” “No. And,” Melody said, reaching over to tap on her nightstand, “always keep something sharp on hand to cut the rope in emergencies. How does that feel?” Skip extended their hands, testing the restriction, pulling the rope taut to see how far they could spread their hands. “I think I can describe this.” Raising their wrists to inspect the knots, their gaze narrowed thoughtfully, though their reaction seemed purely academic. “What do you think about a visual aid?” Nodding quickly, Melody reached for her phone. “That's a great idea.” Pulling back their hands slightly, Skip added, “I don't want to be the model.” Keeping the camera lowered, Melody nodded. “Can I just use this as a placeholder, and we'll get someone and do a photoshoot once the book is done?” Considering for a moment, Skip nodded, extending their hands to show off the rope work. Melody snapped a couple pictures, then put a finger beneath the rope and pulled, snapping a couple more, getting different angles of her handiwork. While she did, Skip pulled at the bits of rope they could reach, toying idly with the fibers. “We should make sure to write about how it won’t really be foolproof, too–I think a lot of people won’t know that, I expected it to be more…binding.” Smirking and unable to help herself, Melody reached forward, taking the rope that hung between Skip’s wrists and pulling sharply forward. Skip’s hands followed the rope, the restraint acting as an extremely effective lead, so that greater size and strength were completely canceled out. The surprise helped, too, but more than anything, it was the rope cuffs that did their job, demonstrating that ‘escapable’ did not mean ‘ineffective’. “It’s not about permanence, it’s about control,” Melody began, her smirk spreading into a full grin. “Get it?” “Yeah, I get it,” Skip shot, shaking their head and lifting their wrists. “Take these off, okay?” Melody nodded, the thrill going out of her a bit as she moved to deftly undo both knots, leaving the rope to fall into Skip’s lap. “Did that help?” “It helped,” Skip said, rubbing their wrists, though their skin showed no redness or signs of discomfort. Pulling their sleeves back down, they added, “I get it.” “Cool.” Melody picked up the rope and coiled it in her hands. Skip glanced back at their laptop, then shook their head and yawned. “I’m getting pretty tired–it’s almost eleven, I should probably get some sleep.” Halfway to putting the rope back, Melody looked over her shoulder and widened her eyes by a fraction. “Oh? I feel like we were making good progress.” “Yeah, but I know when sleep calls,” Skip explained, shaking their head. “I don’t want to be dead on my feet at work tonight, we’ve been getting hammered lately and I’m barely keeping up as it is.” “Right, okay,” Melody said, checking her phone. “I should probably get working, anyway, it’s about to be peak delivery time.” Closing up their laptop, Skip blinked heavily a few times, emphasizing how hard the fatigue had suddenly hit them. “It’s a good start, though,” they offered, as they shuffled to the door. “Once we get it done, I'm thinking it's going to be a big hit.” “Yeah,” Melody agreed absently. As Skip left, Melody couldn't shake the feeling that she'd done something wrong. She shrugged it off. She hadn't said anything inappropriate, Skip was emotionally bulletproof, and even if both of those statements were wrong, it wasn't her job to babysit anyone's feelings. If Skip wanted to raise an issue, they could. In the meantime, Melody had work to do. Checking her phone, she was distracted from work by a couple notifications. Her preview had a few replies, and she scrolled down, reading them. ‘Can’t wait!’ ‘Looks cool!’ ‘P U S S Y I N B I O’ ‘Melody, who the fuck are you to tell people how to do healthy kink? If you want to make the community a better place, delete your account.’ Melody stared at the last one, rereading the words twice more before she turned off her phone screen and shook her head. Deliveries could wait, she wanted to get more writing done first. ... Great news! The audiobook for The Baby Bet was fully funded, and is now starting production! In the meantime, if you want to support my writing (and jump ahead to early access chapters of this story,) you can do so here: (All my writing is funded by supporters like you!) https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

This is a light sequel to The Baby Bet - New protagonists, same world, set shortly after the end of that book. If you haven't read The Baby Bet, this story should stand alone just fine on its own, but if you want to read things in order, you can find the complete, fully edited, 100% done version on my Ream! (Where it can be read for free without a subscription!) https://reamstories.com/page/loqrfhtkkv/story/lpist7becw Melody’s chest moved slowly, and Skip could feel her warm breath puffing against their skin. They locked eyes with her, jaw set in determination. “Are you comfortable?” Melody’s question felt like a joke, or an insult. Skip’s arms were pulled behind their back, wrists bound together, pulling on their shoulders. Their ankles were no better, thin white cuffs keeping them in place. Of course they weren’t comfortable. “Yes,” Skip promised, nodding. “I’m fine.” Melody’s delicate fingers traced over Skip’s shoulder, idly taunting them with her freedom of movement. They were paralyzed, barely able to shift their wrists or adjust their stance. A smile spread across Melody’s lips. “Good. Remember, you can end this at any time.” Skip nodded, though their breath was shallow and quick. Burying their nerves, they shook their head. “I’m not stupid.” “Alright.” Melody smirked, letting the moment of anticipation build. Only after several seconds of dominant eye contact did she reach down down and pick up the toy they’d chosen, holding it up so that Skip could clearly see when she clicked it on. “Then let’s begin.” … Three days earlier Skip stood at their workbench, frowning in concentration as they worked at their task. They held a sheet of transfer paper in hand, printed with the logo of a local bank, and carefully aligned the image with a plain white mug. Each mug cost a quarter, and the ink and transfer paper couldn’t have been more than five cents. By combining the two, they’d be left with a product they were being paid eleven dollars for. Some might call it the transformative power of labor, or an example of modern day alchemy. Skip thought of it as an illustration, demonstrating how stupid people could be when it came to labels. With the label properly aligned, they lifted the mug, sliding it into a sleeve on the applicator machine. With the pull of a lever, the machine tightened around the label, pressing it down and applying heat. In five minutes, they’d have a printed mug. It was the last mug of the batch–they needed one hundred done, and they’d completed ninety nine. A few other printing machines sat idle, but they wouldn’t overproduce–it only cost the company thirty cents, practically nothing, but they wouldn’t give away an eleven dollar mug for free. While they had a moment, they meandered to the break room, nodding along to the podcast playing in their ear; a summary of a video game cheating scandal. Their job provided little in the way of intellectual stimulation, but it paid the bills, and they couldn’t complain about the difficulty. Nabbing a coke from the vending machine, they checked their messages, using every minute of the five they had to spare. As they returned to the printing room, however, they bumped into their boss. Frederick was about their height, though that’s where their similarities ended; he kept a full beard and a clean-shaven head, and his crisp polo shirts always contrasted with Skip’s loose work hoodies. “What’re you working on right now?” he asked, glancing between Skip and the coke in their hand. They had to tune out the podcast a bit to listen to him, but they could multitask. “Finishing up the mugs for Freedom Banking,” they replied. “Just waiting on the printers right now.” He nodded. “Once you’ve got that done, you can go ahead and clock out–there’s not much left to do tonight.” Skip nodded, doing a little mental math. “Sure thing.” Returning to the print room, they pulled the lever back to its starting position and took the final mug out. It was warm to the touch, but they held it by the handle and lifted it into the light, inspecting the print. They’d aligned the decal perfectly, and there hadn’t been any print defects. Checking over their shoulder, Skip chucked the mug into the garbage bin, smiling slightly as it shattered. Reaching for another blank, they began the process again. Finishing up the last mug of the set, they stacked it with the order, then began cleaning their workstation. After checking in with Frederick one more time, they hit the bathroom, taking their time with handwashing and navel-gazing before taking their satchel from their locker and clocking out. Their car was a piece of junk, but it had been a sweet deal. The hot pink paint had deep key scratches along both sides, a relic left by the previous owner’s girlfriend that had saved Skip a huge sum off the total. It ran fine, which was the important thing, and they’d never had to worry about anyone trying to break in. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon as they started her up, but they’d have the sunrise to their back most of the way as they drove home. The rest of the world came to life as their day came to an end, and that’s how they liked it. The early signs of rush hour traffic were already building on the northbound side of the highway, stifled drivers crammed in slow moving lanes, but Skip was driving south, heading home, cruising freely while society ground to a halt. At home, they parked in the back. The house shared by their friend group had two garage bays, and Skip chipped in extra towards the mortgage for the privilege of parking there. Shouldering their satchel, they wandered in through the back door. Grace was preparing coffee in the kitchen, and looked up with a smile. “Morning, Skip.” She was–as expected–still in her pajamas, a footed kitten sleeper with crotch snaps to access her diaper. She wasn’t incontinent, but if there was one rule their friend circle agreed to above all else, it was that they’d never judge. At least, not out loud. “Morning,” Skip replied, doffing their hoodie and nodding to the coffee pot. “Is there extra?” “Before bed?” Grace asked, raising an eyebrow as she poured coffee into an oversized baby bottle. That bottle had been designated as the one for coffee, and it was rare to see Grace in the morning without it anymore. “Sure, help yourself.” “I’m staying up late,” Skip replied, moving to take the brew. “Do you know if Melody’s up yet?” “I heard movement a minute ago, she’ll probably be down here sooner or later.” Screwing on the lid, Grace began suckling her coffee. “How was work?” “Not easy, but we got it done,” Skip lied, topping off their own mug. It had nothing on it, just a plain white mug, but it was theirs nonetheless–they’d smuggled it home after their first day at work. The two of them moved around each other in comfortable silence while Grace made breakfast and Skip made dinner, one still waking up and the other tired from work. By the time Melody made her eventual trek down the stairs, Skip was halfway through a dinner of frozen pizza and Grace had finished her eggs. “You up to talk about the book?” Skip asked, sliding a mug of coffee across the table. Melody didn’t have her own special mug: She used whichever one was available, including, occasionally, Skip’s–though never Grace’s. “I’ve thought about it. I still want to see how it goes at first, but I’m willing to give it a shot.” Draining half the cup in one gulp, Melody nodded. “Give me a minute, then yeah.” “Book?” Grace asked, rinsing her plate off in the sink. “A sex book,” Melody clarified. “Sort of a ‘Here’s how you don’t suck on a first date’ primer.” Raising an eyebrow, Grace’s gaze fell on Skip, and they felt it as their willingness to talk retreated. Grace didn’t pry, she knew the score and knew Skip well enough not to press. For Melody, though, Grace had no such reservations. “What happened to ‘They make new college boys every year’?” “Well that’s the thing, they tend to kinda suck,” Melody replied. “Best case, they know how to put on a condom, but if I wanted fifteen seconds of enthusiastic hip thrusting, I’d watch a Tiktok dance reel.” While they spoke, the front door opened. At that time of day, it was odd enough for everyone to pause, and Grace even stepped to the side of the kitchen, glancing across the length of the house to see who’d come in. “Good morning, Brains,” she called. “Did you sleep over at Connor’s?” “Mmm,” he replied, shuffling in and nodding at the empty coffee pot. His eyes were a little red from lack of sleep, deep bags under them, and Skip got the sense that while he might have spent the night, there hadn’t been much sleeping. “I’ll start a fresh pot, I finished it off,” Skip offered, knowing Brains would shoot them down. “I’ve got it,” Brains replied, leaning in over the coffee grinder to adjust it to his exacting specifications. He’d drink anyone’s coffee, but if it was time to make a new pot, he’d do it ‘correctly’. “Well, good luck with the project,” Grace said, resuming the conversation. “Be sure to collect lots of field data.” “That’s why Skip’s helping,” Melody explained, gulping down the rest of the coffee, her expression brightening. That got a positively perplexed glance from Grace, who could no longer keep her curiosity at bay. “Change your mind about being on the sex train?” Grace asked, trying to keep it casual. Even Brains glanced over his shoulder, though his expression suggested he was trying to mentally catch up with the conversation more than anything. “Oh yeah, one hundred percent,” Skip deadpanned, pushing the conversation as far away from sincerity as possible. “That’s everything I’m about now, just a bunch of dicks and vaginas, all the time. I just love jamming cylinders into orifices.” Coffee shot from Grace’s nose and she stepped to the sink, wiping her face with a washcloth. “Okay,” she snorted, dabbing away coffee from her mouth. “But seriously–how’s that work?” “Melody needed an unbiased perspective,” Skip explained, perfectly hiding their discomfort with a casual smile. They’d already been so-so about the book project, and this was only cementing their gut instinct that agreeing to help had been a bad idea. Still, for now, they’d play the part–they could always back out later. “Someone who’s out of the loop and can provide the input of someone who’s not already familiar with the stuff we’re writing about. The plan is, she’ll write the stuff, then I’ll go through and read it and point out where I’m having trouble following, or where it needs more context, which parts make sense, all that.” “Right, okay, sure.” Up to speed, Brains chimed in. “Sex book?” “Sex book,” Melody confirmed. “Okay, why a book?” Brains asked. “How much stuff are you covering? ‘Book’ implies it’ll be pretty long.” “We’re going to start and see how far it takes us,” Melody summarized, “But I at least want to cover BDSM One Oh One. Safe words, how to tie people up without cutting off their circulation, making sure your partner is enthusiastically consenting with whatever you want to do that night. Probably a basic rundown of toys, too–you would not believe how many cis guys are surprised you can use a vibrator on their dicks.” Brains raised his eyebrows in shock. “You can use a vibrator on a dick?” Grace blushed sympathetically, and Melody made an exasperated sound. “Brains–yes, you can–” A grin spread across his face before she could finish, and Skip smirked. Brains could be oblivious, but he wasn’t that naive. He’d been yanking their chains. “You’re the worst,” Melody said, shaking her head, though she smiled. “I swear, sometimes I think you’re awful at lying, then you drop something like that.” “I try,” he said, smiling with satisfaction as he returned to his percolation quest. Stretching, Grace put her dishes in the dishwasher and straightened. “Are you two sure this is a good idea?” Skip’s slight smile faded. “What do you mean?” “Well, a book’s a lot of work,” Grace began, speaking slowly with a tone that suggested she was picking her words carefully. “Publishing is hard. I’ve made a few websites for authors, and–most of them don’t really go anywhere.” “I know what I’m doing,” Melody said. “I’m not just going to toss it on Amazon and cross my fingers, I’ve got a plan.” “Okay, but…” Grace began, pursing her lips. “Skip. Come on–you make faces during kissy scenes in movies.” “No I don’t,” Skip shot back automatically, brow furrowing in annoyance. Brains didn’t quite smirk, but he did add, “You do, it’s like when Pearce feeds Grace broccoli.” “He doesn’t know how to cook it–Whatever. My point is,” Grace continued, shaking off the tangent. “It seems like a bad fit. You shouldn’t do a ton of work that’s going to make you really uncomfortable, just to try and make money with…well, self publishing.” “It’s not going to make me uncomfortable,” Skip insisted. “Skip, come on.” Grace leaned over the table, making eye contact with them. “I know you.” Skip returned her earnest gaze with a thin smile. “I’ll keep your advice in mind.” The idea of backing out suddenly seemed a lot less desirable–it was one thing to walk away, but another to give up. How bad could it be? ... The Kickstarter for The Baby Bet AUDIOBOOK only has four days to go! I'd *love* to hit the stretch goal to adapt Gamer Pants into audio, and it's also a great opportunity to nab your copy at the cheapest price it'll ever be available for! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/peculiarchangeling/the-baby-bet-coming-to-audio

This story is complete! It's been edited, polished, had continuity errors and foreshadowing patched and repaired, and generally had the whole narrative gussied up. For the sake of posterity and for anyone who wants to compare, I'm leaving the 'original' version up, which was written chapter-by-chapter and posted as I got them done. To read the complete version, you can view the entire thing (for free, without an account,) on my Ream page: https://reamstories.com/page/loqrfhtkkv/story/lpist7becw (I'll also be distributing an ebook version eventually, but I need to set up a platform for that.) As a reminder, I'm also still running a Kickstarter for the Audiobook adaptation! There's just five days to go, so if you want to help us hit our stretch goal and claim your copy of the book, (and help support future projects like this,) please consider donating! It's just 15$ for a copy, the same that you'd pay for an Audiobook on Audible or other major platforms. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/peculiarchangeling/the-baby-bet-coming-to-audio

Chapter Fifteen Daniel fumed to himself, letting his thundercloud of frustration carry him through the halls of the university. Nobody stopped him, and nobody got in his way–he got a few looks, but his foul mood kept away any further bullying. He was going to have to deal with those girls again–they’d caught the scent of weakness on him. He’d almost had them off his back, almost clear of the trouble. Everyone knew the best way to shed a bully was to stand your ground and show you didn’t care, and he’d been so close to that goal…and then Jen had gone and shoved her nose in where it didn’t belong. Even if she had good intentions, she’d just set him up for weeks of further harassment. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself, though he couldn’t have said who the word was directed at–Jen, for stoking his bullying problem, or himself, for putting himself in that position to begin with. Storming past the great hall where students had begun to find seats for lunch, he paused. He was starving, more than ready for a meal. He could look for his coven and try to sit with them, get a bite, vent to some of the girls who'd been friendly, but instead he continued past. Putting the whole school behind him, he ducked down a side hall in the direction of his dorm room. He only went halfway down the hall, instead turning to knock on a very particular door. His gesture was met with giggles. “You know, the knocking doesn't really help with anything,” Ismella pointed out. “What are you going to do, walk in on me while I'm changing?” Daniel shrugged, pursing his lips. “It's the principle of the matter–and for the record, this is my second time coming to visit you.” Ismella didn't respond for a couple seconds. “Thanks.” “Can I come in?” He asked, gesturing to the door. “Or are you not decent?” “That’s mean.” “But you just–” “Only ghosts get to make ghost jokes.” She waited just long enough to make Daniel think he might have genuinely upset her before giggling again. “Come in, dummy.” He pushed open the door to the defunct classroom, pulling up a chair and leaning back. “How have you been?” “Hell if I know. Ghost memory, remember?” Daniel thumped the palm of his hand against his forehead–she couldn't sort her long term memories, of course she wouldn't be able to answer that. “Right. Sorry, I just…never know what to say when I'm small talking.” “So…skip the small talk.” Her voice didn't sound like it was coming from a specific point, but Daniel still got the sense that she'd leaned herself against the desk at the front of the room. Daniel almost cut straight to asking about the mysterious voice he heard, but his mouth started running before he knew why he wanted to say it. “I'm so fucking sick of people treating me like I'm incompetent.” He blinked, catching up with his own words, but once he got up to speed he kept going. “Like, I know I'm not the best at fine control, but I'm not helpless, I'm not some baby bird that needs its mommy just to eat.” Realizing the setup he'd put down, he waited for the inevitable “baby” joke, but none came. Ismella waited for a moment, and when he didn't continue, she asked, “What happened?” “I was in the library with Jen,” he explained. “Do you remember her? Glasses, big blue eyes, always has that scarf–she was with me when I overheard the voice.” “I still haven't been able to remember that,” Ismella admitted. “Sorry–I did try, though, I promise.” “Eh, it's alright,” Daniel said, leaning back a bit further in the chair, pushing the front legs off the ground so he could recline. “It doesn't matter. We'd been trying to get into the restricted section, but after we gave up and I left, these other girls started giving me shit.” “Oh, yeah. Bullies suck–and, don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of an easy target.” “I know, and that's…whatever. I don't care. But I was handling it, until Jen decided to intervene, and just–you know how bullies work, right? Stand up to them, they leave you alone, but now it looks like I have to run crying to someone else for help every time I'm in trouble.” “What did she do?” Ismella asked, voice seeming closer than it had a moment before. “She just…kinda got in their faces, told them to leave me alone,” Daniel explained, shrugging. “It's not how she did it, it's that she did it.” He felt a slight tingle on his shoulder, like a gentle touch. “I'm sure she was just trying to help.” “Yeah, well, that's the thing. I didn't need her help, I didn't want her help, but she just assumed I couldn't take care of myself.” He shrugged his shoulder, brushing off her phantom touch. “I don't need her to fight my battles. I don't need my coven to act like I can't hack it, either. Everyone at this school either thinks I'm useless, or they hate me, or both.” The room fell silent, and the pins-and-needles contact faded. “I don't think you're useless.” He couldn't help but smile. “Hey, you don't know any tricks for getting into the restricted section of the library, do you?” “I'm a third year,” Ismella explained, managing to sound like she was shrugging. “Or…I was. I didn't need any tricks.” Daniel snorted. “That tracks with my luck.” “Hmm?” “I have a third year friend’,” Daniel explained, “But you’re the one person in the school who’s probably least able to help me get into the library.” “Oh…yeah. I'm sorry I can't help more.” She'd fallen quiet, or perhaps moved to be distant, it was hard to tell. “It's okay, it's not your fault,” Daniel assured her, sitting forward. “Just…” He glanced down, frowning. His watch read 12:46, well over halfway through his lunch period. “Oh, hell,” he said, getting to his feet. So much for having plenty of time. “I'm going to be late.” “What's your next class?” “P.E.,” he replied. “‘Voxavin Practice’, I guess, so I’ll be learning what that is.” Excited, Ismella quickly asked, “You’ve never seen Voxavin?” “I mean, I’m aware of it, but I never watched much sports,” Daniel began. “It’s like, group dueling, kind of, right?” “I mean, if rugby is group wrestling, sure,” she said. “It's–it’s the best. If you see Penny, tell her I said hi, okay?” Daniel nodded, shifting from foot to foot. “I will, but I really need to go. See you soon?” “Please,” she replied. “It…gets boring here.” He nodded, rushing to the door. “Oh, Daniel,” Ismella added, interrupting him before he could leave. Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, “Yeah?” “I can see your diaper under your skirt, you, um…might want to do something about that.” Blushing, Daniel pulled down at the hem of his garment, trying not to direct his frustration at Ismella. “Thanks…” Hurrying out the door, he looked left and right, trying to make a quick decision. He was starving, he needed a change, and his next class was coming up fast. There wasn't time to deal with all three, he'd have to skip a meal, skip a diaper change, or be late to class. He was already on thin ice with the faculty, and his stomach was growling furiously at the mere idea of skipping a meal, so… Grumbling, he turned left, speedwalking towards the great hall. He needed lunch. Besides–he was wet, but it's not like he'd soaked the thing to capacity. There was barely any smell, and unless someone got a good look at the wetness indicator stripe, he doubted they'd notice. (Right?) Checking that the coast was clear, he walked out of the side hall and pushed open the double doors, rushing inside. Meals worked on a conveyor system, plates of food floating down a current of power across the long bench tables that cut across the dining hall. Hopping up the nearest available spot where he could reach without leaning over someone, Daniel snagged a plate with a couple slices of pizza. He folded the first in half, eating it in a handful of bites, mindful of the moments slipping by. While he hurried through the meal, he heard another set of doors fly open and glanced over. Cassandra rushed in, mirroring Daniel’s own haste, scooping up an available sandwich and devouring it in huge, hungry bites. The two of them made eye contact, sharing a brief moment of acknowledgement before returning to their respective face-stuffing. With six minutes to spare, he tossed down the empty plate, just in time for Cassie to rush past him to the door. Jogging to follow, he kept a hand on his plain pointed hat so that it wouldn’t blow away as he asked, “Do you know the way?” She shrugged. “Sorta?” They ran down the hall together, puffing for breath. “Well at least we'll both be late together,” he said, struggling to keep up–he wanted to blame his speed on having shorter legs than Cassie, and the heavy diaper chafing and rubbing between his thighs didn't help, but mostly he just wasn't much of a cardio person. Or a weight lifting person. Or a stretching person. Or a– He just wasn't an active person, really. Daniel managed to keep up with Cassie as they jogged down the austere university halls, weaving through other girls who were on their way to their own classes. They made it, barely. The marble hallway split out into a wide V, with open archways instead of walls separating them from the university’s athletics complex. On the other side of the open archways were bleacher-style stairs that went down, offering both seating and a walking path to get down to a lower level, punctuated by ramps every forty feet or so. Seven hexagonal sections were arranged below, each roughly the size of a pair of tennis courts set side-to-side, marked with chalk lines in a labyrinthian pattern. Each hexagon would be a Voxavin court, though with no barriers between them, it seemed that they would have a lot of interference from adjacent games. Each court had also been prepared with several large barrels marked with red hazard symbols, which made Daniel think of every arcade game ever, half-expecting that the barrels would explode at a glance. Fourteen sets of girls waited in the hexagons–separated into two teams in each–and a quick glance told Daniel that these were all covens. Six girls were in each team, save for one cluster off to the far left, where four familiar faces were waiting for the rest of their coven to arrive. Hopping down the stairs two at a time, he scrambled alongside Cassie to catch up with their group before the bell struck one. “What were you two doing?” Hazel asked, as the final pair of their coven ran into their hex, panting and wheezing as they caught their breaths. “Lost track of time,” Cassie panted. “Got sidetracked,” Daniel confirmed. “You two move fast,” Manju added, snickering. Mathilde groaned, but Daniel just rolled his eyes, blowing off the comment. “We weren’t doing things together, we just ran into each other because we were both late to getting food,” he explained, glancing at Cassie, who wore a rather pronounced blush. “Right?” Nodding, Cassandra added, “Yeah, I just forgot some books and then when I went back to get them I kinda spaced. We weren’t–yeah.” “Oh, hey, sorry,” Manju said quickly. “I was just–I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.” Cassie shrugged, looking over to the end of the athletics compound, where a tall, slightly overweight woman wearing a light top and yoga pants under her uniform skirt stepped up. “It’s fine.” “Shh, class is starting,” Asami added, turning to fully face their teacher. Catherine Glinse cleared her throat, reaching up to tap her wand–a simple wooden thing that’d been painted with the school’s colors–to her throat, before beginning to speak words that were conveyed to every student's ears with volume and clarity. “Welcome to Voxavin,” she announced. “The most important class of your life.” ... Taxes ended up being a big problem this year, with a major bill being sent my way that totally wiped out my savings. If you're able to pitch in a little support, I'd very much appreciate it. Whether it's subscribing for a couple dollars on SubStar or Ream, or getting yourself a custom story commission, any extra financial aid would be massively helpful. Subscribe and get early access: https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl Commissions: https://forms.gle/K5Eu8FT922pEBfBN9

Chapter Five Vivian rarely had reason to ponder just how ominous her home looked from the ground. When at the height of her power, she always came in from the sky, soaring with the wind. That showed off the fortress in all its majesty, buried in the side of a mountain, but didn’t give her the same sense of perspective. Trudging up the switchback road from below, she saw how the craggy towers looked almost like a lower jaw set against the sky. Even ignoring the obvious problems of attacking a fortified structure set well above, and the reputation she had cultivated, it was no wonder she rarely had to deal with intruders–her home looked positively unsettling. They entered through the side door, rather than the impressive drawbridge, and the Wizard quickly set about putting her to bed–feeding her a simple meal of porridge, taking her out of her soggy diaper and dirty clothes to bathe her, cleaning dirt and grime from many days of work and travel off her fair skin–she cringed as she saw her skin now had calluses forming on fingertips and a few light bruises where she’d bumped into things while working. Her hair, dirty and greasy from all the work, finally fell in long dark locks once again as it was washed out, and she began to feel a little more like herself…until the Wizard taped her into a thicker nighttime diaper and zipped up the pajamas she couldn’t take off, reminding her of her new position before locking her into her binding cage–that is, her crib. She couldn’t even complain. The past few days had involved miles upon miles of hiking and a full day of brutal manual labor. Her body had been fatigued in a way she could scarcely remember; she didn’t feel the sting of a long day of masochistic torture and injury, but rather, the bone-deep ache of having worked with her hands. A part of her wanted to fuss, to stay up and keep herself awake just to show that she didn’t need a bedtime, but the sleepy part of her won. Only minutes after the Wizard turned out her lights and left her for the evening, she began to snore. … Vivian flushed as she read the instructions that the Wizard had presented to her. After their morning rituals had gone by–changed into a fresh daytime diaper, fed a breakfast of porridge, dressed in a onesie, skirt, and apron–he’d shown her this, and told her to read it. “You can’t be serious,” she said, eyes widening. That comment had earned her ten minutes standing with her fingers laced behind her head and her nose in the corner of her bedroom. The Wizard didn’t punish her harshly, but he wouldn’t let her break the rules without consequence, and ‘No Back Talk’ sat proudly at the top of the list. Once her time out had ended, though, she returned to the list. “Sir, I–” she began, trying to think how to phrase her objection without it being back talk. “I can’t possibly complete all this in one day. Is it a test of some kind? To see how I’ll handle an impossible challenge?” The wizard smiled ever so slightly, nodding in approval. He bore a smirk that made him look both younger and older, somehow–emphasizing both his wisdom and a slight sense of youthful energy and amusement. Vivian still guessed he was somewhere in his fifties, but just then, he could have convinced her she was decades off in either direction. “Very well phrased, but I will not share that intent with you, not yet.” “B–” Vivian almost said ‘But’, however she caught herself before earning another ten minutes in time out. “Yes, sir.” The chore chart he’d presented was simply ridiculous. The amount of work presented could not be done by one woman without magic–laundry, sweeping, dusting, with room numbers and specifications listed next to dozens of check boxes. It seemed as though he expected her to get every guest room and all the quarters in the fortress clean in a single day. “I do have one more instruction for you,” the Wizard added. “But think of it as an aid, not a punishment.” That made Vivian wary. “Why would I think of it as a punishment?” “There’s a song,” the Wizard explained, ignoring her question completely. “A working song, if you will. Sing it, and it’ll give you motivation.” Vivian rolled her eyes. “Okay, what’s the song?” The Wizard raised a bushy eyebrow at her. “What’s the song, sir?” He nodded appreciatively, then stood a little straighter, singing a clean, smooth melody. “It’s time for me to clean up, clean up, clean up, I’ve made such a mess, a mess, a mess, It’s time for me to clean up, clean up, clean up, I’ll have to do my best, my best, my best.” Vivian stared in shock. She knew this song–she was fairly certain anyone who’d grown up this side of the Rorchian Plains knew that song. It was typically used to get toddlers to get to pitch in. Glowering at the indignity, Vivian balled her hands into loose fists, trying to keep her anger from becoming too obvious. (Soon, Imperionus will come,) she thought, (And I’ll wipe this smug look off your face.) Aloud, she only said, “I don’t need a song to motivate me.” The wizard raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ve instructed you to sing it, Vivian.” Glaring into his impassive eyes, she shot back, “You’ve instructed me to clean, and I’ll do that, and nothing else.” Reaching out, she snatched the parchment chore chart from his hands, stalking out into the hallway. The Wizard didn’t stop her. She’d half expected to find herself with her nose in the corner yet again, but that didn’t scare her; she had half a mind to simply refuse the task and let him put her in time out all day. She was doing what he wanted, he could go cry about it if she didn’t do it in the precise way he wanted. Glancing at the list, she read her first task–sweep the guest room in the north tower. Fuming, she waddled to the closet where the Wizard had made her organize her cleaning supplies and snatched a broom, anger driving her as she went up the stairs. The Wizard waited for her in the guest room, leaning against the desk. “You know the rules, Vivian,” he warned. “Follow my instructions.” “I’m sweeping, aren’t I?” she asked, attacking the floor with straw bristles. It was surprisingly dusty up in the tower, as she rarely came up here, but that hardly mattered since she never had need of the guest room. “Do it properly,” he continued. “This is your final warning.” “Alright, fine.” Vivian whirled on him. “What will it be, ten more minutes in the corner?” Shaking his head slowly, the Wizard snapped his fingers, and Vivian felt power seize her. Her arms moved, holding the broom, brushing it gently from side to side, but she hadn’t told her body to move. She initially sought out the compulsion, searching her own mind, but the Wizard hadn’t breached Vivian’s thoughts. Instead, he’d borrowed strands over her own power, and as she moved helplessly across the room, she felt the threads of magic pulling at her arm. The Wizard had made Vivian into his puppet. Her movements weren’t delicate–though her arms moved smoothly, it was the result of being tugged along, a slight delay. She tried to fight, but her muscles had gone limp, so that the only thing holding her up were the strands of magic leashed around her torso. She could still move her eyes freely–darting her gaze over to the Wizard, she saw his hands moving gently, rocking side to side, controlling invisible marionette handles to guide her through her chores. “What is this?” she snapped. “Let me go!” “You wouldn’t do your chores the way I requested,” the Wizard instructed mildly, forcing Vivian to kneel and sweep up a little corner of dust. “So, I’ll help show you the correct way. Oh, and of course…” As he paraded her from one side of the room to the other, he began to sing. “It’s time for me to clean up, clean up, clean up…” “Ugh,” Vivian groaned, trying to shut out the song. She couldn’t block her ears–her hands were being puppeteered to wipe dust off the room’s desk–and though she tried to hum to block out his singing, she couldn’t stop his voice from echoing in her mind. Attempts to break free of his control were equally fruitless and frustrating. Her limbs were slack, deadened by his magic, and she couldn’t trace the spell’s origin well enough to disrupt its power. It wasn’t that he’d, once again, defeated her. She could accept being beaten. It was the sheer effortlessness of his display, the proof that he could control her with barely an eyeblink of effort, that made her fume. Stuck under his control, she cleaned, slower than if she’d been in charge of her own faculties. Vivian swept the room, dusted the furniture, bundled up the bedsheets to wash. As ‘she’ finished up in the room, though, she felt her belly gurgle slightly, and her eyes widened. She wasn’t allowed to hold it, and she realized too late that her face had given her away. She could try and hold it anyways, but already the Wizard humiliated her–if he caught her fighting to keep her diapers clean, he’d make things worse. Her cheeks turned pink as she weighed her options, but before she could make a choice, the Wizard made one for her. Still softly singing the song, he dropped the strings on her torso and arms, spreading her knees, guiding Vivian into a low squat. “I’ve made such a mess, a mess, a mess…” he sang, smirking down at her. Glaring up, face burning red, Vivian had no choice but to do as she was told. Working with the pressure she’d felt, and with the pose she’d been dropped into, she puffed up her cheeks and pushed, packing the seat of her diaper full while the Wizard watched her, fully aware of what she was doing. “Vivian,” the Wizard instructed, smiling. “Stand up and turn around. I need to check you.” “I can’t–” she began, but her body lifted of its own accord, so that her feet came off the ground and she twirled around, dangling from the magical threads. Stepping up, the wizard gave the seat of her diaper a squeeze, pressing the muck into her skin just for a moment. Her blush deepened to burning hatred, and she struggled to conjure a biting insult that would draw the Wizard into anger. “Good girl,” he announced, before she could think. “You didn’t even try to hide your accident, and you let me check you immediately! I think that deserves a reward–let’s get you changed.” What remained of her resistance melted under his shameful praise, and under the subtle warning–if she complained, she might not get that promised change. Feeling pathetic and particularly small, she nodded, letting the Wizard waddle her down the stairs to her nursery. She’d already grown distressingly used to the process, having her mushy diaper changed up by the Wizard who controlled her life–the indignity was as fresh as ever as he wiped her clean, but she no longer felt surprised or put off by the cold of the wet cloth or the routine of powdering her and taping her into a fresh diaper. This was just…what she did now. She couldn’t change her circumstances, but she could at least alter how they affected her. “I’ll sing the song,” she mumbled, as the wizard puppeteered her into a sitting position. “What was that?” the Wizard asked, turning slightly as though to hear better. “I’ll sing the stupid song,” she snapped. “Just–let me do it myself.” He nodded, and with a snap of his fingers, she felt her body return to her own control. Sucking in a breath, Vivian calmed herself, then began to sing as she got to her feet. “It’s time for me to clean up, clean up, clean–ah!” Gasping, she felt a wave of pleasure roll over her–subtle but pervasive, stimulation that spread up from between her legs. It caught her off guard, and she stumbled. Shooting a glance back at the Wizard, who just raised an eyebrow at her. “I told you it would be encouraging,” he pointed out. Flushing, Vivian resumed the song. “I’ve made such a–ah–mess, a mess, a mess.” The pleasure that rolled over her was energizing. Teasing, as well, and even a hint frustrating, but it felt fundamentally good. It wasn’t exactly an encouragement, like the Wizard had said–it was a distraction, to keep her mind occupied with something immensely more enjoyable than sweeping. As she stood there, the bliss spreading from between her thighs faded, and she frowned, even as she mumbled the next line, “It’s time for me to clean up, clean up, clean up…” “Well,” the Wizard commented, noting her frustrated expression, “It will only work if you get to work.” Nodding, she snatched up her chore chart and scurried off to work, and the song’s power flared to life within her. (Gods damn it all,) she thought, flushed with pleasure as she began dusting furniture, the words of the song spilling out of her mouth. “I’ll have to do my best, my best, my best.” (I should have listened to him immediately. I hate that I should have listened to him immediately.) It was more than just an on/off switch, too. As she worked, she found that if she was quicker, if she didn’t linger, the pleasure would grow more intense–never enough to paralyze her or overwhelm her senses, but just enough to push her further forward, driven to act. She might not have been the most precise or detailed, but she had an entire room clean in less than twenty minutes, floors swept, sheets stripped, furniture dusted. Ready to move to the next job, she faced her parchment chore chart, marking off the room so that she could– Bliss burst to life in her, pleasure that truly did overwhelm Vivian. She dropped to her knees, gasping as the magic swelled to life, and with a shameless moan, she squirted into the front of her diaper, staining the wetness indicator strips. Her legs wobbled, and her singing caught in her breath. The pleasure stopped in an instant. Letting out a quiet whimper of disappointment, Vivian resumed again, starting the single verse from the beginning. “It’s time for me to clean up…” The sensations returned, and she got to her feet. She understood: So long as she worked and sang, the music would keep her excited. When she finished a task, that’s when she’d get her real reward. So, she sang, until the words of the song blurred in her mind into background noise. So long as she kept doing her chores, she’d remain in bliss, and when she struck off a room from her chart, she’d sink to her knees and moan in delight. “It’s time for me to clean up, clean up, clean up, I’ve made such a mess, a mess, a mess, It’s time for me to clean up, clean up, clean up, I’ll have to do my best, my best, my best.” She fussed through lunch, not because she was being spoon-fed steamed vegetables while imprisoned in a high chair, but because she couldn’t do her chores while eating, and she wanted to get back to work right away. As soon as the Wizard allowed, she returned, cleaning fervently. Vivian barely noticed that her chart was complete until she struck off the final task and went to look for her next room, only to find that she’d done it all. As the pleasure trailed off, she kept mouthing along to the song, but the expected joy didn’t come. Flushed, she sought out the wizard, eyes downcast as she found him cooking something up in the kitchens. “Sir,” she said, approaching behind him. “Yes?” he asked, glancing up from his stew. Eyes falling on her, he set down the ladle and turned to face her. “Hold on.” She stood in place obediently as he stepped up, lifted her apron and skirt, and tested the front of her diaper with a gentle press of his hand. “You’re soaked. Let’s get you changed.” Most of the saturation hadn’t come from peeing, but that didn’t change the fact that he was right–she’d squirted into her diaper often enough to saturate it to capacity. Still, she felt the need to ask, “Is there anything else I can do? I finished my chore chart.” “That’s enough for the day,” he replied, leading her by the hand out of the kitchen. “You did a good job, Vivian–and just this morning you were complaining that you couldn’t get it all done!” “I mean…” Vivian began. “I’d do more, if there’s something I could do!” “No.” He shook his head. “That would leave you tired and cranky–trust me to take care of you, Vivian.” She whined, but obeyed, waddling behind the Wizard back to her nursery. Part of her wanted to rage, to demand he give her another chore, but she had learned through repetition that complaining wouldn’t get her what she wanted. She wouldn’t capitulate completely, though–throughout her change, she kept her arms crossed over her chest and her lip out in a pout, making it clear that she wasn’t happy. She didn’t argue or fight, and she let the Wizard undo the snaps on her onesie and wipe her clean, but until she got what she wanted, she wouldn’t be nice about it either. As he taped her new diaper up, though, the Wizard smiled mischievously. “You’re learning,” he said, proudly. “I can tell you’re upset, but I didn’t get one word of complaint out of you.” Vivian still said nothing, eyeing him warily. “So…” he said, thoughtfully. “I suppose, if you really want to, you could clean the master bathroom–but that’s it for the night, alright?” A broad smile came unbidden to her face, breaking her sour expression, and Vivian nodded. “Thank you, Sir!” He smiled back at her, bowing his head in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome, Vivian.” ... Taxes ended up being a big problem this year, with a major bill being sent my way that totally wiped out my savings. If you're able to pitch in a little support, I'd very much appreciate it. Whether it's subscribing for a couple dollars on SubStar or Ream, or getting yourself a custom story commission, any extra financial aid would be massively helpful. Subscribe and get early access: https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl Commissions: https://forms.gle/K5Eu8FT922pEBfBN9

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I don't mind bullying my characters, but that would just not be nice 😭

Chapter 14 Daniel and Jen sat together at the library, leaned over their shared notebook as they hatched their plot. “Why can’t we just request the book we want?” Daniel suggested, pushing her scarf off his notebook–the blue-green garment was awkwardly long, and had picked up a couple off color burns during potions class until Professor Saito made Jen put it away, but those were already fading as strips of spell-o-tape undid the damage. He felt the need to whisper, though every table at the library was enchanted with a bubble of silence–so long as you sat at a table, your voice wouldn’t carry beyond that table. “Explain that we want to know the history of the school, and that the history book we want is in the restricted section.” “Well the books are probably in the restricted section for a reason,” Jen pointed out, shaking her head. “If it’s there it’s not just going to be, like, ‘oh here’s basic history’, it’ll have information that’s dangerous or classified or something. I don’t know. But besides–what if the person we heard is a librarian? If they realize you’re asking for books about it, they might put it together that you overheard them in the hall.” That second point had a lot of merit, and Daniel nodded, shifting uncomfortably on the bench seat. They had another half an hour before lunch, and he wanted to get this over with before then; the sooner the better. “Hmm.” Frowning, he asked, “Can we ask about a different book and just grab what we really want while we’re in?” “They don’t let freshmen in at all,” Jen replied. “If we request a specific book, they’d bring us that book.” “Huh.” Fidgeting, Daniel pursed his lips, trying to think of a better question, a better way in. “Alright. What if we just…sneak in?” She adjusted her glasses, pushing them a little closer to her eyes, lost in thought for a moment. “I dunno–I assume they have some kind of enchantment to keep people out who don’t belong.” “They wouldn’t set up spells that’d hurt people,” Daniel pointed out. “What if someone got lost or just made a wrong turn? Or maybe they don’t bother, because they don’t think anyone will try. I really wouldn’t be surprised if the only security they have is a sign saying, ‘Please Don’t Enter’.” Jen shrugged. “Well, if you think it’ll work, I guess it can’t hurt to try? But one of us should keep a lookout, in case the librarian comes around and sees us…y’know. Trying to break in and steal their books. That would be bad.” “Yeah, I’ve heard librarians get mad when you rob them. Especially this librarian,” Daniel replied, smirking. “Trust me, it’ll be fine. Sometimes it’s just better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Jen paused, raising an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that the mindset that landed you in, y’know,” in a stage whisper, she added, “Diapers?” He blushed, fidgeting as he looked around, though of course nobody could overhear them. “Jen, when you say it like that, it makes it worse, not better.” “Oh, sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Still–aren’t you a little worried about the consequences if we get caught? I don’t want to get expelled on our first day.” “I’m maybe a little worried, but they’re not going to expel us, and besides–I’m more worried about the consequences if we don’t do anything,” he explained. “The school could be in real trouble.” (And someone could figure out the problem and solve it before me.) “But what about the librarian?” she asked, looking over her shoulder, as though expecting to see the creature looming over them and listening in. “I’m pretty sure the stuff they say about the librarian is a myth,” Daniel replied, shrugging as he leaned back a bit. “Like–it doesn’t even make sense, why would it need that many eyes?” “Well…if you say so.” Jen pursed her lips. “But I’m still going to keep an eye out for it.” “Sure,” Daniel said, “But, like, if you see it, that’s kind of too late, isn’t it?” She shrugged. “I guess. Should we try and get in before lunch? No time like the present?” “Sure–but if it doesn't work, we can put it off. I don't want to skip lunch, I'm starving.” Daniel pushed to his feet, knees shaking a little as he stood upright, looking around. More than just being big, the Alphabeta library was dense. Fifteen-foot tall bookshelves were placed near each other with barely enough room for two people to walk past, though at a touch or a word, the shelves would rearrange themselves, shifting the books up high down to a reachable level. The shelves were kept so tight and snug because they didn’t need to take up more space–the intent was for students to go in, ask for the books they needed, and then leave to read at one of the many ample chairs or tables made available for them. That, and their impossibly large collection was magically managed by something immortal, if stories were to be believed. Bookshelves fluttered around the two of them as they navigated through the library towards the south end, farthest from the entrance. Daniel fidgeted as he walked, nervously toying with the hem of his skirt and shifting his weight as they moved. “What’s got you all shifty?” Jen whispered, glancing over at him, curiosity shining through her full moon spectacles. “I–” Daniel started, glancing away. He replied in a hushed tone, since they no longer had the privacy of a bubble of silence. “I have to pee.” “Oooh,” Jen said, nodding sagely. “Well–I mean, you’ll have to go eventually. And, well, it can’t be as bad as the first time.” He looked down. His magically modified miniskirt was at least long enough to properly keep his diaper from peeking out, though he still felt like six extra inches of fabric left him uncomfortably exposed. “I guess…” he said, frowning. “I was hoping I could just hold it.” Jen snorted, then covered her mouth with her hands. “Sorry. Erm–forever?” “No, just til I take a shower in the evening,” he explained, taking a breath. “And yes, I’m not above peeing in the shower.” That got another giggle, one that Jen didn’t apologize for. “Can I point something out that you probably don’t want to hear?” Sighing, Daniel leaned back, nodding. “Fine, sure.” “The potty dance is way more obvious than if you just used your diaper,” Jen pointed out. “Like–if you don’t want people to remember what you’re wearing, just…go.” Blushing, Daniel looked around. The library wasn’t crowded, but it was busy–plenty of girls were reading or wandering the shelves, asking for particular titles so they could cram in some study time before lunch. He caught a few girls looking his way, and while he doubted all of them were intentionally staring at him to puzzle out his funny walk, he couldn’t pretend that Jen was entirely wrong. “I’m not just going to…go,” Daniel said finally. “You do you,” Jen replied with a shrug. “You know, we might be able to just get an older student to help–is there anyone in your coven you trust?” “I like them, but I barely know them still, and they’re all first or second years,” Daniel replied, shaking his head. Looking down, he checked his cheap plastic digital watch–he still had twenty minutes before lunch, and forty minutes after that before his next class. “How about you?” “Eh, we’ve got one third year but I don’t really like her,” Jen admitted. “She talks too much, you know?” “Not really,” Daniel said, trailing off as they got to the end of the public section. The restricted part of the library was blocked off by tinted glass blocks that distorted light, so that the space didn’t feel dark or closed off, but wouldn’t allow anyone to peek inside, either. A few open archways allowed students to pass through, and just as Daniel suspected, there were no locked doors, no barricades, just signs posted explaining that only third-year students could enter the restricted section of the library. Glancing around, Daniel sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the constant annoyance of his bursting bladder. Nobody was looking their way, and this deep into the library, there weren’t many students just wandering around. Walking to the side, to an archway with an obstructed line of sight, he said, “Here goes nothing.” Stepping forward, he hesitated, frowned, and stepped back. He’d forgotten something, and… “Eh, right,” he told himself, turning around. He needed to get into the restricted section. Walking into the archway, he hesitated, frowned, and stepped back. He’d forgotten something, and… “Eh, ri…wait.” Pausing, he glanced at Jen, then pointed. “Walk in there, okay?” She nodded, walking towards the archway, but as she passed the threshold she got a confused look on her face and turned around, wandering back out. Daniel got it. “There’s a compulsion charm on the entrance,” he said. “You walk in, and forget why you came in to begin with.” “It was a good idea.” Jen sounded like she was trying to console him, though Daniel wasn’t bothered by being wrong. “Let me try something,” he said, closing his eyes and focusing. He threw his willpower into a single thought, concentrating on the compulsion, demanding that his body walk forward. He passed through the entrance and stopped. Memories began to flee from his thoughts, like trying to hold sand cupped in numb fingers, and though he managed to take another step, he couldn’t make it beyond that. Dazed, he wandered back out, only remembering what his goal had been after a couple seconds. “I wonder if it can be tricked,” he began, scratching his chin. “Maybe if your goal isn’t to get inside, then…” He trailed off, finally noticing what he should have realized seconds earlier. The pressure on his bladder had vanished–he no longer had to pee. He was peeing. A blush spread up his face as he felt it, warmth spreading across the front of his diaper and down between his legs. He’d been so caught up fighting the compulsion that he’d forgotten to fight his own body, and now there wouldn’t be any holding it–at least not until he got back to his dorm. “Okay,” he said, trying to keep the waver out of his voice. “Bad idea, we should try something else. I need to run and go hit my room before lunch, but did you want to eat together?” Jen nodded, staring at the restricted section gate a little longer. “Sure–I’ll meet you there? I actually need to get a couple books while I’m already here.” “Cool.” Smiling, glad to have a proper friend, Daniel turned to hurry back down the main walkway. He had plenty of time, and even if he was late to lunch, it didn’t really matter, but he still wanted to get changed as quickly as possible. He could feel the warm diaper squelch between his thighs with every step, and was aware of how it sagged lower than normal, threatening to be seen beneath his miniskirt if he moved too much or caused the fabric to flap. The sooner he was fresh, the bett– A girl about his height bumped into his shoulder walking the other way, and Daniel stumbled back, catching himself on a bookshelf. Turning on him as though he’d personally insulted her, the girl snapped, “Watch where you’re going, Spark.” Daniel stared at her, brow furrowing. He’d seen her at the entrance exams, or if not her, then a near twin, which put her in the same year as him. She wore a scowl beneath a perfectly fitted hat with a short, tapered point, and had amassed a gaggle of girls behind her, all of whom had apparently accepted her as their leader. And here she was, looking for some way to assert her dominance. “Hold it.” Shaking his head, Daniel stood upright and forced out an eye roll. “I’ve seen this bit before, but your performance was a bit stilted, and, let’s be real. If you want to pretend you walked into me by accident, we’d have to assume that anyone here cares.” He felt pretty proud of his little speech, especially as he saw anger rise in the girl’s face. He’d taken the wind out of her sails, which was all he wanted to do. Turning to leave– The girl stepped in front of him. She wasn’t done with the conversation. “What’s the hurry, Spark? Off to change your diapers?” He tried to keep his face blank, to continue projecting an aloof charisma, but he couldn’t stifle his response completely. The girl grinned, like a shark tasting blood. “Holy shit, he is.” Wrinkling her nose, she added, “I thought it stank over here.” “It doesn’t even smell like anything,” Daniel shot, before he could regain the good sense to keep his mouth shut. That got a burst of giggles from the bully and her cronies. Daniel’s brow furrowed, glaring at her, then he moved to walk past her again. She stepped bodily in front of him, blocking the path. “What?” Daniel snapped, raising his voice. “You’re not going to let me through? Oooh, I can’t muscle my way through, it’s seven on one, you’re so cool.” “Nobody else is stopping you,” she replied, shaking her head. “It’s just me.” “Yeah, well,” Daniel said, uncertain if he could even shove past her if he tried–she wasn’t that well built, but then, neither was he. “I’m not here to get into playground fights.” “No,” she sneered back at him. “The playground’s a bit too mature for you, isn’t it? Pretty sure you belong in the playpen.” Daniel raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, I’m sure this is very fun for you, but I’m just at this school to get an education. I’m not looking to get into a pissing contest.” Grinning like she’d just been given a surprise gift, the bully shot, “Sure, of course–” “Yeah, yeah, pissing contest, diapers, you’re very funny,” Daniel cut in, stealing the wind from her sails before she could get the quip out. “Look. Are you going to just stand in my way until we’re both late for class? Because, I’ll be honest–that’s a terrible trade for you. Seven people wasting their time to slightly inconvenience one?” He stared her down. He didn’t fear this girl. Unlike Rachel, she held no power over him, and even if she could probably beat him up–physically or magically, it made no difference–he didn’t think that was likely. As long as he didn’t show them any weakness, he would win. “Danny?” Jen called, footsteps echoing in the otherwise-silent library as she hurried up to the scene. “What’s going on?” (Not helpful,) Daniel thought, turning to glance at her. “Nothing, Jen. I’m fine.” Defensiveness flaring in her face, Jen turned to the lead bully. “Just leave him alone, okay? He didn’t do anything to any of you.” That got a few titters from the gaggle of petty witches, and Daniel found himself blushing again. Balling his hands into fists, he added, “Jen–” “Fine, whatever,” the leader sneered, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, it stinks over here anyway–have fun with your babysitter, Danny.” She turned, leading the group away. A few girls made a show of pinching their noses, though it felt a bit forced. “I’m sorry,” Jen said, watching them go. Daniel’s brow furrowed, though he tried to keep his glare from falling directly on Jen. “Yeah.” She paused, catching the anger in his tone. “Hey, Danny, don’t let them get to you, I know it sucks but they’re just–” “Don’t call me Danny,” Daniel insisted, wheeling on her. “And I had it, I told you I was fine. They were about to walk away. Now I’m going to have to deal with them riding my ass everywhere I go.” Jen’s eyes widened, looking huge behind her full-moon spectacles. “I was just trying to help.” “Yeah, well, try harder next time,” Daniel snapped. “Or maybe just don’t try.” Setting his shoulders, he turned to stomp away. “Dan–” Jen started, calling after him. “Daniel, wait!” He stopped, shooting one last look back her way, biting his tongue to hold back the more poisonous of the quips flashing through his mind. In the moment, he wanted to lash out, to hurt her–but he kept that impulse at bay. Making eye contact, he settled on, “I’ll see you at potions class.” And, without another word, without giving her an opportunity to reply and draw out the poison building in his thoughts, he turned and walked away. ... Comments and feedback are always appreciated! Every time you reply to an author's story, a Little gets their diaper! If you want to support me financially, you can also do that! This feeds the author-to-diaper pipeline much more directly. https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Cereal. Milk. Spoon. Cassius didn’t want to admit to himself that a bowl of Frooty Swirls would be the highlight of his day off, but he couldn’t think of what else would top it. His slim selection of friends were busy, or lived on the internet, accessible only through his phone, so his free time would be used to run errands and binge re-runs. At least the cereal was crunchy and sweet. He checked his phone, scrolling social media as he chewed the froot-flavored cereal. Someone had posted a picture from an ABDL meetup, showing three diapered butts arranged in a row, with a caption about how awesome their week had been. He felt the impulse to leave a reply, but had no idea what to say. Jealousy overwhelmed his feelings, and Cassius knew that if he tried to respond, he’d just come off as lonely, so he scrolled away. It didn’t help. Someone else was talking about how nice their Mommy was. Another user was bragging about both his Littles. Everyone had friends, or partners, or just someone. Everyone except Cassius. He had his Frooty Swirls. He’d gone to a few meetups and munches, but social anxiety had left him paralyzed and quiet throughout–he’d barely said a word, and doubted that anyone liked him or wanted him to return. Sure, they’d all been attending the ABDL meetup, same as him, but…he was different. He didn’t have what they had, they made it seem so natural. Pursing his lips, he set aside his phone, focusing on the cereal. The Frooty Swirls had been the same since the late 80s, and just tasting them always got him in a Little headspace. It was the only thing that felt like a socially acceptable way to regress–indulging in fake sweeteners that reminded him of his childhood. Reading the back of the cereal box, he skimmed the fluffy text explaining a game. ‘I’ve lost all my frooty magic! Can you find all six froots and make a wish?’ Choosing to engage, he scanned the box, looking for the cereal shapes. Oranges were in the corner, lemons were behind the nutrition information, berries–they never did say what kind of berry it was supposed to be–were hidden on a fake tree. Limes he found right behind the mascot, cherries were underneath a word search, and finally, he found apples right inside the Frooty Swirls logo at the top of the box. He’d won. It was childishly simple, but that was kind of the point–this was his singular chance to regress every day. And, hey, the box said that if he won, he could make a wish. (I wish…I wish I didn’t just have interests that a handful of people online could relate to.) (I wish I was normal.) … Cassius steered his way through the grocery store’s bread aisle, lost in his phone as he got the shopping out of the way. He made it all the way to the end of the aisle before realizing he hadn’t added anything to his cart since the dairy section. He’d done it again, losing himself in internet jealousy. Frowning, he pocketed his phone, resolving not to go onto social media anymore until he was done with his errands. Turning around, he pointed his cart towards… He hesitated. A couple stood in front of him, two men in their thirties, walking down the aisle in Cassius’s direction. They were holding hands, which was cute, but not what made him stop and stare. One of the men was wearing a pair of shortalls with a snug baby blue shirt beneath. He wasn’t sucking on a pacifier or anything, but his whole demeanor just seemed Little, and Cassius couldn’t help but glance down around his waist. The crotch of his shortalls seemed to be a bit puffy, but that might have just been– “Excuse me?” the more mature of the two asked. Cassius froze–he’d been caught staring, trying to size up whether the man in shortalls was wearing a diaper. “I–uh–” he stammered, searching for an excuse. “Can you reach that for us? ‘Bare Bread’, right next to the whole grain.” He stepped back and pointed, nodding with his head towards his partner. “This one’s picky, he’ll only eat the crustless kind.” Blinking, Cassius caught up to the situation. Both men were on the shorter side, while Cassius always loomed in every conversation. “Oh, sure.” Nodding, he grabbed the crustless bread from the top shelf, passing it to the man. “Here.” “Say ‘Thank you’,” the man said, nudging his shortall-clad partner. “Thank you,” the one in shortalls said, blushing and looking down at his feet. Cassius stood there, stunned, as the two men left him to resume their shopping routine. (Are they…did I just…) he thought. He would have bet anything that they were ABDL, or at least in a daddy dom/little boy relationship, but…they were so brazen about it. Then again, maybe it only stood out to Cassius because their dynamic was already on his mind. Shaking his head, he resumed his shopping, filling up his cart. He had just managed to shake off the feelings of uncertain jealousy and surprise when he got to the checkout aisle, and then it snapped back in full force. On a spinning rack, right next to the candy, were pacifiers. His heart began to flutter, looking around as though he’d been caught in something, but nobody paid him any mind. He looked at the pacifiers again–they weren’t labeled as ‘for adults’ or anything, but some of them seemed too big for any baby. Looking away, his eyes fell on the magazine rack, and his anxiety spiked further. A celebrity was pictured on the cover of a tabloid magazine, some candid paparazzi photo, and her midsection had been highlighted by a red circle. Next to it, photoshopped to show off bare skin, the magazine depicted her in a bunny-print diaper. Cassius stared, eyes widening, until the cashier cleared his throat. “Sir?” He looked up. The line in front of him had cleared–(how long had I been staring?)–and it was his turn to check out. Stepping forward and setting his groceries onto the checkout conveyor, he tried to put it out of his mind. … Flipping through the magazine options at the auto center, Cassius was relieved to find that they were all normal. Hot rod cars, sports gossip, the kind of thing he’d expect from a magazine rack–no diaper wearing mechanics just springing out at him from nowhere. Just his same old auto shop, where he’d been coming for tune-ups and oil changes since he earned his permit as a pimply teen. Taking a seat by the coffee maker, he settled in to wait. The oil change wouldn’t be long, but he actually liked the short break it offered him–a chance to just kick up his feet and do nothing for a bit. He patted himself on the back for how effective his self-imposed social media break was already proving to be. This relative relaxation lasted for only a few moments, until he heard a distinct ratta-tatta-ratta-tatta clicking sound roll up right outside the auto shop. Glancing over his shoulder, he identified the noise in a heartbeat–a tomboyish woman about his age was half standing on a bicycle, playing cards jammed between the spokes to produce the overt rattle. The rider wore elastic shorts and a Transformers T-shirt with a matching backpack, her outfit capped off–literally–with a baseball cap turned backwards on her head. Frowning, Cassius watched the woman hop off her bike and walk it in through the auto shop’s doors. Getting the attention of the man behind the desk, the cyclist said, “My front tire keeps losing air, Mister B–you think you can take a look at it? I think I’ve got a leak.” Mr. Burnett, a man in his fifties who’d worked at the shop for as long as Cassius had been driving, smirked at the new customer. “Two, by the looks of it.” Eyes widening, Cassius darted his gaze down, spotting two rather distinct crescent-moon shaped wet marks on the newcomer’s elastic shorts. The woman blushed slightly, but seemed more flustered than upset, muttering, “Aw, dangit…” Chuckling, Mr. Burnett nodded to the side. “Go and get yourself cleaned up in the bathroom, I’ll get that tire checked out.” Cassius realized he was blushing more deeply than the customer whose… whose diaper had leaked. Ripping his gaze away, he fumbled for a distraction, reaching for the TV remote by the coffee maker. He hoped to just give himself something to focus on so that he wouldn’t stare at the obviously diapered man who’d just rode in on his bicycle. Blinking for a moment, the old tube TV hummed, then began to display some reality show garbage. A dating show, just the sort of gameshow pablum he needed. Cassius almost sighed in relief, until he saw a woman waddle onto screen, clad in little save for a onesie and the diaper obviously poking out from beneath it. Face turning bright red, he stammered, looking around to see if anyone else in the waiting room had reacted to the absurd images on screen. “I–is anyone else seeing this?” A woman sitting next a few chairs down glanced up from a quiet conversation with her husband, then rolled her eyes at the screen. “Ugh,” she said, shaking her head. “I know–it’s like they don’t know how to write shows anymore, it’s all reality sex appeal crap.” (What?) Flicking off the TV, Cassius got to his feet, walking to the desk. “Is–is my car ready?” Mr. Burnett glanced over his shoulder, through the window into the garage, and then turned back and nodded. “Looks like it’s being parked just now. You’re all paid up, so you’re ready to go.” “Great,” Cassius said. “I think I need to get some air.” Behind him, the woman he’d spoken to stood, whispering to her husband, just loud enough that Cassius overheard. “Sweetie, you’re messy–did you remember to pack the diaper bag?” Looking over his shoulder, Cassius saw the woman’s husband flush and shake his head. Feeling like he might explode from awkward confusion, it was all Cassius could do not to break into a run as he fled the auto shop. … Cassius couldn’t deny the truth any longer as he wandered into the department store, confronted immediately with the spring fashion displays. Some of it was expected–Bikinis, various styles of shorts and tops and trendy drop waist dresses, but right next to it were onesies, shortalls, and rompers in adult sizes. Not plain ones, either–the sizing made it clear these were for adults, yet the design had an overtly juvenile streak. ABDL clothing in everything but name. Even modern, chic adult diapers sat stacked in packages, ready for customers–their trendiness was underlined by the fact that several models were displayed on posters wearing them. He couldn’t begin to guess how this had happened, but he couldn’t argue with the spring sale section in front of him. His interests were…normal. And he couldn’t help himself. Picking out a onesie with a slightly retro-style print on the front, he glanced about, as though someone might see him and catch him in the act of buying clothing that was there for him to buy. Hunching his shoulders and slipping off to the changing area, he found the first open room, ducked inside, and fumbled with opening the snaps on the onesie. It felt like every other experience he’d ever had in a changing room: awkward. Still, as he got out of his shorts and shirt and into the new garment, it also felt right. He was just trying something on. A popular, maybe even a slightly boring bit of fashion. Stepping out, he looked at himself in the mirror. The onesie was cute on him. And it fit, too–he didn’t have to worry about it not being long enough for his tall frame, he could see it on him. Maybe a bit baggy between the legs, but all in all, he couldn’t help but grin as he saw it. Then a woman walked by and all his newfound confidence vanished, shrinking away. He blushed, crossing his arms over his chest, looking to the door of his changing room so he could retreat as quickly as possible. Noting his suddenly demure posture, the woman stepped back. She was about his age, and well over a foot shorter than him, but she carried her posture with confidence and quiet empathy as she raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Hey–no need to be embarrassed, tall guys can be little too.” “I…” Cassius began, his blush still plastered firmly on his face. “It’s…” “I know, fashion magazines always find the smallest guy they can,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you can’t let that shape how you think about yourself–you look cute in that onesie, and you don’t need to be four feet tall on your tip-toes to pull it off.” Eyes widening, Cassius couldn’t quite handle the rush of emotions that flooded him. “I–you think I’m cute?” She smiled, a tiny giggle escaping her, but it wasn’t condescending. “Though–it’d fit better with the proper bottoms, those onesies really need something to pad them out around the waist.” Looking back at himself in the mirror, Cassius blinked a few times–his vision had begun to blur. “Can I ask you a question?” “Sure thing,” she said. “You don’t think it’s weird?” She shook her head, smiling. “Not at all, sweetheart. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it? Tall littles, short bigs–even boring people who don’t want a dynamic. I don’t think I’d ever want to be someone’s little girl, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the appeal.” Shrugging, she nodded to the onesie on his body again. “You should get that.” “Yeah? Does it make me look good?” he asked, turning to glance at himself in the mirror again. “It makes you look happy,” she replied. Nodding, he mumbled a thank you, shocked and overjoyed as he stepped back into the changing room. His fingers fumbled as the crotch snaps as he undressed, returning to his old clothes. The old clothes. (I don’t have to hide,) he realized, holding his old shirt in his hands. (I can just be…me.) Pulling it over his head, he grabbed the onesie, rushing out of the changing room. There was just one more opportunity he couldn’t wait for–he’d been waiting too long already. He searched around the store, looking from side to side as he left the changing room. He passed a package of diapers in his size and snagged them on the way, but that wasn’t his real goal. (I just casually picked up a pack of diapers, in public,) he realized, shocked, but he had little time to think about it as he found the woman he’d been looking for, putting back a blouse on the rack she’d gotten it from. “Hey,” he said, approaching, raising a nervous hand, stammering over his words. “I know we just talked, but–hi. I’m Cassius.” She looked up at him and smiled, glancing down to the purchases in his hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassius,” she replied, looking back up to his face. “I’m Tilly.” “I was just–well, I wondered if you…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well…this is dumb, we barely talked, but–” Grinning, Tilly let his stammering fizzle out and nodded. “A coffee date would be lovely,” she confirmed, cutting through his uncertainty. “Or you can get juice, if you’re too little to have caffeine.” A smile spread across his face, and Cassius bubbled with more excitement than he could ever remember feeling since adolescence. “Just one condition, though,” Tilly added, cutting into his glee just slightly. Cassius nodded. “Of course, what is it?” Her eyes lowered to the package of diapers under his arm, the onesie still folded over them. “Be sure you dress your best, okay?” The End ... Thank you for reading! This story was written as a commission by one of my lovely supporters. 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Chapter Thirteen “How’d it go for you?” Jen asked, leaning against the hallway wall. Daniel jumped–he hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting for him, and her sudden hello shocked him. “Gah! Eh–sorry, you surprised me.” “Oh, sorry! I–sorry, didn’t mean to startle,” she spluttered, shaking her head a couple times. She’d broken her glasses at some point since Daniel had last seen her, and a little strip of tape wrapped around the center. Daniel squinted, making out a slight bit of movement beneath the semi-transparent adhesive strip. “Enchanted tape?” “Spell-o-fix,” she nodded. “I’m not great with fixing spells, so I just keep a roll with me whenever. Great for tears in clothes, too!” “Smart.” Daniel glanced over his shoulder. His coven all had different classes to get to and had broken up when the class had ended, but he’d been tempted to walk with one of them until their paths were forced to split by class schedules. Remembering finally that Jen had asked a question, he added, “I…I actually kind of like my group.” “And that’s a surprise?” Jen asked. They began walking down the hall together, continuing to chat. “Mine were super nice–Candice brought cookies!” “Well–statistically speaking, most of the girls at this school don’t like me, and of the two I was on speaking terms with, one hated me,” Daniel pointed out. “I was worried I’d end up with five Rachels, and that would’ve been a–” “Daniel,” Jen blurted, cutting him off. “Um. You were saying about–uh…crap. Sorry.” Daniel raised an eyebrow at her, noticing too late the discomfort on her face. “Oh.” “You were saying?” Rachel asked, looming over Daniel’s other shoulder. Daniel’s eyes widened as he turned and saw his prefect. He stopped in the hall, shrinking away from her looming presence. “Eh…” “Go on, Danny,” Rachel prompted. “Finish the sentence. ‘Ending up with five Rachels would have been a…’, what?” He cringed away, and Rachel’s smile seemed to spread in direct correlation with his awkwardness and fear. “It would’ve been a…learning experience?” he suggested. Her smile fell, brow furrowing. “Really, you think I’m that dumb?” Raising her voice, Rachel added, “Come on, diaper boy, use your words.” “I…” he started, before steeling himself and standing up a little straighter. He was armed with information he hadn’t known before, and he refused to be bullied. “You’re a bitch, and a nitch, and you’re obviously just mad that a warlock can waltz in here and get twice your score on every test you’ve taken. Seriously–you think I got in here on a fluke? Even if I did, at least my coven hasn’t started looking for loopholes to transfer me out.” Daniel felt pretty good about the monologue. It was all true, which meant it would sink in with far more weight than any snide comments he could’ve made the day before. Rachel reacted as though she’d been slapped. Which is to say, she showed a flash of pain, followed by fury and a desire for vengeance. Daniel no longer felt pretty good about the monologue. “Oh yeah? You want to talk about rejection?” Rachel asked, raising her voice. “I’m not the one who volunteered to shit his diapers just so he’d get to learn his ABCs and fundamental forces!” A crowd had begun to form–girls who heard the shouting and stopped to watch. Daniel swallowed. “Yeah, you’ve got petty authority,” he snapped. “Why don’t you just wave it around so everyone can see? That’ll definitely make up for the fact that your career’s dead in the water as soon as there’s no school forcing girls to be in a coven with you.” Her anger flashed hotter, and Daniel realized with concern that she had at some point taken out her wand, long red ribbon trailing to the floor. “Do I need to remind you about the chat we had before orientation?” she asked. “Hmm? Do you need my help, diaper boy?” Daniel knew she’d do it–she’d make him use his diaper again, for the crowd of watching girls. Still, he couldn’t just back down and submit either, not here, in front of everyone. Another quip rose up to his tongue, an attempt to win the argument with words. “Danny,” Jen interrupted, stepping forward and touching his arm, “we’re going to be late for class, and I’m not showing up to Potions without my lab partner.” She didn’t look at Rachel, but her words were loud enough for the amassed crowd to hear and carried a clear message: She was offering an out, a way to de-escalate. Daniel still wanted to pick a fight, but Jen had offered him a lifeline. A way to not lose, and all he’d have to do was accept not winning. “Get going, spark,” Rachel growled. “Have fun with your babysitter.” (Screw this.) Daniel turned, walking away with fists balled in anger. “Come on,” he said to Jen. A few paces later, under his breath, he added, “We aren’t lab partners, you know.” Jen hissed her response so that only he could hear. “Uh, well, we will be–unless you want to go explain that to Rachel.” “Oh.” Daniel nodded, following along. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome, now don’t prod the bear,” Jen shot. “It’s like you wanted her to get mad.” Daniel checked over his shoulder, feeling a touch paranoid, but Rachel was far behind them, storming the other way. “I don’t want her mad, I just…I can’t just sit there and take it when she decides to make me her whipping boy, you know?” “I guess that makes sense,” Jen said, “But…aren’t you worried about what she’ll do?” Drawing his lips into a line, Daniel nodded. “I mean…yes, obviously. She’s the one who thought of…” He stopped in the hallway, a light popping above his head as an idea came to him. Jen winced away, shielding her eyes. “Er–sorry,” a student off to the side of the hall flicked her wand, and the light vanished. Daniel blinked, shook his head, and kept walking. “I mean…” he began. “She’s a petty bully. She’s only picking on me because I’m the person she has permission to pick on. If I don’t argue, she’d still come up with excuses to get mad.” Jen snorted. “I can’t imagine trying to work under her. Can you? ‘You turned in your TPS report five minutes late, I’m revoking company bathroom privileges!’” (Perfect setup,) Daniel thought, wondering if Jen had the same idea as him. Raising his voice a little more, so that his voice would carry without it sounding like shouting, he said, “You know–it seems like Rachel’s a bit too fascinated with all this baby diaper crap. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was some projection going on there, too.” Covering her mouth, Jen turned bright pink. “No way!” “Yes way,” Daniel said, acutely aware that they weren’t the only students walking down the hall, and that their conversation would be carried to quite a few eavesdropping witches. He knew the power of a good rumor. “Honestly–if it were just diapers, that’s a random prank, but she keeps bringing it up. You don’t just randomly decide to keep playing the ‘Diaper’ note for no reason–unless it’s because you secretly want someone else to do it back to you. I’d bet you your wand that Rachel wants to sniff dirty diaper butts and is just using me to project her gross fantasy.” He didn’t turn to look at the other students, but he heard more ‘snirk’s and short chuckles behind him. Jen giggled, looking like steam might come out her ears if she had to listen to any more of his theorizing. “That’s–do you really think so?” “She made a special window scene in the prefect dorms that permanently displays…erm…” he blushed. His rumor-mongering involved sharing a few humiliations that had otherwise remained private, but he was already in too deep to back out. So, continuing in a stage whisper, he leaned in. “She made an image to look at my butt in a diaper all the time.” Technically, she’d made the window display that image in his room, but he didn’t have to admit that part. Anyone who overheard the comment would assume Rachel had put the window in her own room, if they believed him at all. They both burst into giggles, and Daniel decided to stop there. He didn’t want to over-egg the pudding and make it obvious what he was doing–he just needed to spread a few nasty rumors about Rachel’s private interests. It might not help his reputation–his popularity would have been in the toilet, except that Rachel didn’t allow him anywhere near a toilet–but he could drag Rachel down to his level. They wouldn’t forget he was the school’s diaper boy, but with a little selective pressure here and there, they might begin to think of Rachel as the school’s diaper girl as well. “By the way,” Jen said, as they turned into the potion lab, “I tried to look up a little bit about…erm…the stuff from the other day. With the person. In the room. You know?” “You could be a little less precise, I don’t know if that covers every encounter we’ve had since we’ve met.” Despite his snark, Daniel nodded. “But yes, I know.” “There’s a few history books about the school,” Jen continued. “But–” “Take your seats,” Professor Saito called from the front of the room. The potions lab looked like many a chemistry class from any number of Mundane schools, though instead of glass flasks, six-inch cast iron cauldrons sat on stands over bunsen burners, and instead of neatly labeled chemicals, they had out plastic baggies full of feathers, glittering dust, and strangely shimmering essences. “Oh, right, we should do this,” Jen began, straightening and adopting a smile. Rather than explain, she turned and walked towards the front of the classroom. Daniel didn’t immediately follow, but she turned back and grabbed his wrist, towing him with her. He stumbled and caught up, going with Jen right up to their teacher. “Professor Saito?” The professor, with the silver patchwork of marks along her face, looked none too pleased, though Daniel couldn’t identify what had upset her. Maybe she just didn’t like being asked questions. “Yes, Jennifer?” “Can Danny be my lab partner? He’s…” The professor inhaled sharply, glaring down at the two of them, and Jen trailed to a stop under her withering gaze. “Answer me this question,” she said, raising an eyebrow. When she didn’t ask a question, Daniel nodded. “Go on?” “What,” Professor Saito snapped, her voice strict and harsh, “is the most important rule of brewing?” “Erm…” Jen said, confused. “I…keep a clean work station?” Their teacher began to shake her head, but Daniel jumped in before she could split them apart. “Don’t free brew!” he interjected. “Never free brew, or we’ll get hurt.” The faintest silver line curled up at the edge of the potion master’s lips, and she nodded. “That’s correct. I suppose you can be a good influence on her, Mister Aster. Now, go take your seats.” “Awesome!” Clasping her hands together in a gesture almost like a clap, Jen grinned and nodded, scurrying to find an open work station. “Okay, so it’s–” “Jen?” Daniel interrupted, shaking his head and touching her arm to stop her. “Can you not call me ‘Danny’?” “Oh,” she said, blinking. “Why?” “Well…my mom calls me Danny,” Daniel admitted, blushing. “It feels…I don’t know. I don’t like it.” “Sure, Daniel. Or ‘Dan’? I could call you Dan, I guess…” She raised her eyebrows and blurted out, “Ooh, Niel! Niel is a cool name!” “Just ‘Daniel’ is fine,” Daniel chuckled. “Thanks.” “Okay then, Just Daniel,” Jen snickered. Next to them, Professor Saito cleared her throat. “This is all very touching, but can you please go sit down?” “Right, sorry,” Daniel and Jen both said in near unison, turning. “What were you saying before?” Daniel asked, as they started to walk. “When I interrupted you?” “Oh, yeah,” Jen said, picking up her pace. “It’s just hard to find anything that deep, you know?” “Uh…what?” Daniel tilted his head, confused, struggling to keep up both literally and verbally with his new lab partner. Jogging after her, he asked, “Deep?” “About the school. Because, you know, ‘These kids don’t know what power, blah blah, this place is built on something,’” Jen explained. “But as far as I can find, we’re just built in a big block of ice. That’s it. No ley lines, no fancy magical wellsprings, just frozen water.” Daniel shrugged. “Technically, I think she said, ‘These fools have no idea what they’ve built, if they knew they wouldn’t have let these children toy around with such power.’” Jen gave him a funny look. “You remember it that well?” “I mean…yeah, it was pretty important.” Looking out at the ingredients and tools set on the potion bench, he began to mentally categorize them. “So…reading was a dead end, then?” “Only in the main library,” Jen clarified. “But it’s not the only place with books–it seemed like there was more to the school’s history, it’s just not publicly available. Plans, blueprints, all that kind of stuff.” Daniel nodded, half paying attention, putting together the puzzle as he replied. “And where can we find that stuff?” “We’ll need a teacher’s pass,” Jen explained. “Uh-huh…” (It’s… We’re brewing a deadspell tonic.) He smiled, picking up one of the shimmering packets, identifying the contents as merflakes–a prime ingredient in potions that would deaden magic and make untamed spells safe. “Daniel,” Jen interrupted. “Are you listening?” He looked at her, nodding. “Yes, I just…sorry. Got sidetracked, I wanted to know what our class would be about.” “Distracted by classwork.” Jen stared, her eyes large and pretty behind her glasses, which had almost completely repaired themselves in the ten minutes since they’d bumped into each other. “You know you’re a bit weird, Just Daniel Aster?” “I won’t contest that,” he replied. “So–why do we need a teacher’s pass?” “To get more books,” Jen explained, leaning in conspiratorially. “We need to get into the restricted section of the library.” ... Between Ream and SubscribeStar, I've managed to get my income to about 75% of where it was before ABDL content was deleted off P*treon and I had to move platforms. 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Chapter Three Fern leaned against the sink, exhausted and yet buzzing with nervous energy. The tingling aftereffects of her enema still sent the occasional shiver up her spine, and warmth still radiated from the brutal spanking she’d received. Aurelia had devastated her, and yet, she wanted more. The woman–it didn’t feel right to think of Aurelia as just, Aurelia, her name felt too casual, and thinking of her as ‘the landlady’ didn’t feel quite right either–had called this a punishment, and it was. Fern ached, but all the same, she thrilled. Aurelia walked back in, stepping behind Fern, standing over her. They made eye contact in the mirror. Fern, makeup and snot still streaking her face from the spanking, eyes red and full of need, hair frizzy and tangled from being groped and grabbed. Aurelia, clean and perfect, somehow remaining aloof from the grime. She didn’t look like she’d expended any effort at all when she devastated Fern’s body, again and again. “You’re doing well,” Aurelia said, reaching past Fern towards the sink. She picked up a washcloth, dampening it with warm, clean water, and began to wipe gently at Fern’s face. It didn’t take long–a few gentle strokes of the cloth, to wipe away the sweat and makeup, leaving Fern refreshed. Then, picking up the cup, she filled it with water, raising it to Fern’s lips, guiding the girl to drink. Cool, refreshing water ran down her throat, giving her strength to keep going. It felt impossible that such torment and such tenderness could come from the same woman, and yet, if anything, the former only enhanced the latter–in that moment, Aurelia dominated Fern’s world, the source of all her pain and all her gentle, soothing comfort. Once Fern’s care was complete, Aurelia stepped away. Turning, she pointed again to the stool on the floor. “Bend down.” Fern’s eyes widened, and she started to say, “B–” She caught herself before she could finish the word and land herself in further trouble. Dropping to her knees, she bent over the stool, planting her palms on the cool bathroom tile and taking deep breaths to prepare. “The first one was a warm up,” Aurelia explained, “To clean you out. Are you ready for your real enema?” (Real?) Fern’s eyes widened and she squirmed, butt wriggling, giving the woman above her a show. She couldn’t see the bag as it filled up, but she heard the water run, rushing into the bag, and it seemed to stretch on for far too long. (How much is she filling it?) Fern thought, squirming in her panic. When Aurelia told her to hold still, she held still, allowing the nozzle to press deep inside her body. An involuntary moan escaped her lips, and her cheeks burned as she found pleasure in the shame. “The same rules apply,” Aurelia added, as the water began to flow. “Once you’re full, you will hold it for fifteen minutes before releasing.” Fern nodded, taking deep breaths. She didn’t know if she could make it, not really, but she had to try. As more warm water rushed inside her, though, filling her, swelling her belly, a second moan escaped her lips, and she felt moisture dribble down her thighs. The enema hose hadn’t leaked, the wetness came from in front, her pussy dripping with arousal. She heard a sound behind her, a wordless noise of approval from Aurelia’s throat, and her pleasure only deepened. When the interminable flow of warmth stopped, Aurelia gave her a few moments to catch her breath, then removed the nozzle. Fern struggled, holding herself closed, knees shaking as she withstood the water sloshing around. Fingers closed around her hair, and Aurelia towed Fern to her feet, turning her body to face the mirror once more. From a few steps back, Fern could see her own naked body clearly, belly distended from the water, nipples standing hard on her chest, forced to stand upright by Aurelia’s tight grip. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Aurelia asked. Fern nodded, feeling pressure on her hair as she did so. “You enjoy feeling desperate? Struggling for control of yourself?” As Fern nodded a second time, Aurelia’s hands drifted over her, two fingers pinching her nipples, while two more slid down between her legs, teasing her clit with delicate pressure. Even distracted by the enema, struggling to stand upright and keep her bowels in control, Fern gasped. “Please!” “Please, what?” Aurelia asked, teasing faster, pinching and twisting little circles on Fern’s hard nipples, the pleasure threatening Fern’s control over the enema sloshing inside her. “Do you really think you deserve a reward?” Fern shook her head, realizing she would be denied no matter what she said and not wanting to get herself in further trouble. “N-no, I–oh!” “Good,” Aurelia whispered with deep intensity, fingers working faster, rubbing against Fern’s clit. “You’re right, you don’t. You only get this because I want it.” In only seconds, Fern exploded with ecstasy, knees trembling as she squirted into Aurelia’s fingers, sex dribbling down her thighs. She had to struggle to contain the enema, whole body trembling with effort, but that only made the pleasure more intense, fighting with everything she had to experience the bliss and ward off the humiliation in one moment. She moaned without restraint, leaning against the sink for support, chest heaving as she rode it out. Aurelia’s hands retreated, giving one last pinch to Fern’s tender bottom before she stepped away. “Fifteen more minutes,” she said. “Your time only starts once you get in the corner.” Fern caught her breath a moment longer, nodding to show that she’d heard. It was a struggle to move–every step made her feel like she might explode, losing control of the enema inside her, but she made it, pressing her face into the corner. Despite the increased volume of the enema, Fern found that the character of her holding hadn’t become as insurmountable as she’d expected. The encouragement and praise had bolstered her, and her body had already grown more accustomed to the struggles and discomfort she put it through. While the cramps were worse than ever, and she could feel the added weight in pounds sloshing inside her, she could persist. Fern laced her fingers behind her head, took deep, slow breaths, and challenged herself to make it. Even then, a tiny part of her wanted to fail–to see if Aurelia would follow through with her threat to start from the beginning. That terrified her, and excited her, but she felt that it wouldn’t be right. It had been a threat, not an offer, and she wouldn’t abuse the system in such a way. She would be good for Aurelia, she would do as she was told. She thought she heard Aurelia leave, but she didn’t cheat or break. She obeyed, keeping her hands in place, until the woman returned. Finally, she heard Aurelia call to her. “Your time is up. You can relieve yourself, then come to me.” It was a struggle to get on the toilet in time–she’d managed to brace herself in position, but shuffling three steps and sitting down nearly broke her control. Finally, though, the cramps vanished, leaving her feeling empty and exhausted. When she wandered into the master bedroom, dazed but ready for more, she found a white pad spread out on the floor, long enough for her to lay down. A single diaper sat next to the pad, with wipes, powder, and baby oil next to it, all arranged with an obvious purpose. Fern didn’t question, and she didn’t need instructions. She dropped to her knees and then to her hands, crawling forward towards the mat. Laying down, she turned, facing up at Aurelia’s tender smile. “You’re learning,” she praised, smiling as she knelt by Fern. The wet wipes were slightly warm to the touch, prepared for this, and she ran them across Fern’s skin with a delicate tenderness, wiping away any residue from the enema, any sweat from her many punishments, any grime. “Lift,” she instructed, and Fern raised her body so that the wipes could reach beneath her, cleaning her tender, bruised bottom. Fern’s legs trembled slightly from holding herself up, but she waited obediently while Aurelia picked up the diaper, unfolded it, and ran a finger along the inner leg guard to straighten it properly before sliding it beneath the girl on the changing mat. Fern expected the diaper to be taped up then, but Aurelia instead squirted baby oil into her hand, rubbing it across her palms and then massaging it into Fern’s thighs. Expecting this to go the same way as the cleaning, Fern relaxed, until she felt the slick touch of Aurelia’s fingers run over her clit. She gasped, eyes widening, looking up at Aurelia with craving. She didn’t understand why the pain and discomforts had turned her on so thoroughly, but the agonizing spanking and cramp-inducing enemas had left her quivering for this woman’s touch. Aurelia matched her gaze, smirking with her eyes, basking in the power she held. Parting her lips, she instructed quietly, “Beg.” “Please,” Fern began, the words tumbling out of her mouth as Aurelia stroked her clit faster, slender fingers tracing circles around her. Needing the satisfaction, she babbled, “Let me–make me–I want to–” Aurelia slowed down, letting the excitement fade, disapproval hiding behind her eyes. Sinking deeper into submission, Fern realized what she had to say. “I want to be good,” she promised, and the words felt true as she said them. “I want you to teach me my lesson, I want to be put in my place–thank you for punishing me, and please don’t let me forget–aah, ah–” She gasped, words stolen from her throat as a delicate finger plunged inside her, feeling Fern from the inside while her clit burned with sensation. Fern couldn’t think any longer, she could only succumb to the passions that welled up within her, moaning in bliss as she squirted once again, pushed into the most intense orgasm of her life. Collapsing against the changing mat, Fern panted for air, body tingling with sweat and euphoria. Aurelia, smiling, reached for the baby powder, continuing as though this had all been a routine part of her diaper change. Fern’s diaper was already damp when Aurelia pressed it against her, holding it snug and arranging the tapes. It smelled of sex, and the slight damp squish against her pussy told her new things about herself. She didn’t want this to be her last orgasm in diapers. Reaching up and cradling Fern’s face in her hand, Aurelia whispered, “You did well.” Nodding, delirious, Fern asked, “Is that it?” “Oh, you sweet, darling little thing.” Aurelia smiled, both predatory and caring. “Absolutely not.” Taking Fern’s hand, she pulled the girl into a sitting position. Fern stared up at her, feeling the difference in their stature as Aurelia towered above her. “Follow me.” Aurelia turned on her heels, walking towards the door to the hallway. Fern began to stand, but she shot a look over her shoulder and shook her head. “Hands and knees.” Not questioning, not complaining, Fern crawled after her, shuffling on the hardwood floor. The motion emphasized her diaper, causing her padded bottom to wave in the air as she moved, telling her that she belonged like this. It was a humiliating display, parading her utter lack of dignity in contrast to Aurelia’s refined maturity, and as a blush burned on her face, Fern tried to push her bottom in the air higher, to sashay a little more, to show how much she had earned her position here. Helpless and wonderfully defeated, she crawled after her matron as they went out into the hallway and down to the left, towards…Fern’s room. “You may have noticed the mounting points on your bed,” Aurelia explained, leading the girl to her room. “I had no specific intent to do this until I caught you sneaking about, but it seems appropriate, now.” Pushing open the door, she revealed Fern’s bed–Fern’s crib. Her bed had been affixed with tall wooden bars that fenced it in, turning the place she slept into a juvenile cage. One side was open, swung out like a door, and Aurelia pointed. Obedient, Fern crawled in, laying down on her mattress. The blankets reminded her how tired she was, how much she’d gone through. When Aurelia swung the crib’s side panel shut and latched it–locked it, with an obvious, chunky padlock–Fern didn’t mind. She curled up, diaper rustling between her hips. “Rest,” Aurelia instructed, and Fern needed no further prompting before drifting off to sleep. She dozed comfortably–maybe for thirty minutes, maybe for a few hours. When she awoke, it was to the sound of giggling girls, echoing from somewhere else in the house. Aurelia’s nieces were home. Fern sat up sharply. There was a distinct pressure on her bladder, reminding her of the water she’d drank, of the fact that she hadn’t peed since before all this began, even when she released her enemas. Now the locked bars of her crib were a problem, and she reached up, shaking them. “Aurelia?” she called out. To her surprise, the door opened almost immediately, and the tall, powerful woman entered, looking down on Fern. “Yes, sweet thing?” she inquired, moving to the side of the crib. “Do you need something?” “I need to pee,” Fern explained. After her nap, little things like ‘deep humiliation’ felt more important to her. Still, she felt the need to add, “Please, ma’am.” “You saved yourself there,” Aurelia commented. “And, of course, you’re welcome to go.” Fern started to smile, before noticing that Aurelia hadn’t unlocked the crib. “Um…” “What?” Aurelia asked, tilting her head with mock innocence. “Go ahead, use your diaper.” Flushing, Fern shook her head. “I…I can hold it.” “Alright then.” Moving to unlock the crib, Aurelia added, “You will come downstairs and apologize to the girls now.” “What?” Fern squeaked, eyes widening. Aurelia froze, staring harshly at her. With quiet intensity, she said, “I am going to assume you were asking me to repeat myself because you didn’t hear, and that you haven’t chosen this moment to begin sassing me. You will come downstairs and apologize to the girls now.” Burning bright red, looking down at her naked, diapered body, Fern stammered, “Bu–I–” Watching her, Aurelia waited to see what words Fern could concoct. She took a breath, rephrasing her objection. “I don’t know what to say to them.” “You will apologize for spying on their private time,” Aurelia explained. “And promise you will not try to invade their personal lives again. This is not optional, Fern, you violated their trust far more than my own.” Nodding, feeling genuine shame, Fern asked, “May I please dress myself first?” Agreeing to that with a nod, Aurelia unlocked the crib, but said, “Wait here.” She left, returning only a moment later with Fern’s scrubs. Not her underwear–just the shirt and pants. She passed them to Fern, who dressed herself as quickly as she could. It was a paltry uniform. Her nipples brushed against the fabric of the top, the bumps just barely visible if you looked hard enough, and the stretchy pants bulged obviously around the diaper. She would just have to hope it would be discreet enough to get her through the apology. Standing, she watched Aurelia nervously. “Is it obvious?” Aurelia actually laughed, her voice rich and golden, as though she’d been told the funniest thing in the world. “Start moving–and you may walk, if you’d like.” Bright red, Fern walked to the door, acutely aware of every crinkle, every whiff of baby powder, every waddling step. Her anxiety only had time to build as she walked downstairs, wishing her bladder wasn’t full to bursting, making her squirm and whimper as she got to the living room and entrance hall of the home. (Maybe they won’t notice,) she thought as she stopped at the base of the stairs, getting the attention of the two girls. Shifting her weight from foot to foot to resist the ache in her bladder, Fern faced them. They looked back at her, curious as to why she’d come down. Leah spoke up first. “Hiya, Fern–are you okay?” “I…” Fern began, aware of Aurelia at the top of the landing behind her, watching this whole thing. She felt the need to pee burn inside her, and the slight damp in her diaper only made things worse–it felt as though she’d been holding it for ages and was now sitting on a toilet. Her body wanted to go, it felt natural to go, and she could barely convince it to resist. “Carolyn, Leah, I need to…apologize…” Confused, they approached from across the living room. Carolyn frowned. “For what?” “Erm…” Blushing, praying that her potty dance wasn’t as visible as it felt, Fern said, “Two nights ago, I…well, I was home, and you didn’t know, and I overheard something.” Raising an eyebrow, Leah tilted her head to one side. “What do you mean?” “Well–you were with your aunt.” (God, I just need to say it.) Burning with shame, she tried to get the apology over with. “And…well I heard you with her.” “I don’t understand,” Leah insisted, “Can you be more specific?” (How much more specific do you want me to be?) “I heard you both…and, well…” She didn’t notice Aurelia behind her until the woman was only a step away–she’d been totally silent coming down the stairs, but now, as she stepped up to Fern, Aurelia made herself known. Reaching down casually, she pulled down the waistband of Fern’s scrub pants, revealing her puffy diaper and giving the seat a squeeze. “Good job, Fern!” Aurelia praised. “Your diaper’s still dry!” Fern went numb, eyes widening in humiliation as both girls burst into fits of giggles. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she could only stand there as they laughed, and as Aurelia reached her hand to the front, pressing her fingers into the crotch of the diaper, testing– “Oh, I spoke too soon,” Aurelia corrected. “That’s alright, that’s why you’re wearing it.” Shocked, Fern realized that she’d lost control–her bladder had stopped resisting, and she now flooded the diaper in front of the giggling girls, with Aurelia’s hand there to feel the rush of pee that saturated her padding. Blush deepening, Fern also realized how much the woman’s touch turned her on, even now. As the stream trickled to an end and the girls managed to stifle their laughter, Carolyn pushed the other girl’s shoulder in a playful way. “You’re mean, Leah!” she taunted, adding in a mock imitation, “‘Can you be more specific?’” “I–” Fern began. “You–you knew?” “Of course,” Leah snickered. “Mommy told us once she realized you’d been spying. She says you took your punishment really well, too!” Dazed, Fern almost stumbled, but Aurelia’s arms kept her upright. They’d known all along, she’d never had a chance of hiding, and yet… “Girls,” Aurelia interrupted. “Do you want to help Mommy change Fern’s diaper?” Both of them nodded, both dutiful and excited, and each took one of Fern’s hands, spinning her and pulling her right back up the stairs. One question broke through the noise of confusion in Fern’s mind. “‘Mommy’?” she asked, baffled, stumbling to keep up. Every step squelched her freshly soggy diaper against her, building her arousal a little more. “Isn’t she your aunt?” Smirking, the girls shared a look. Leah offered the explanation. “That’s just what we tell boring people. You didn’t think we were actually related, did you?” “She’s our Mommy, we’re her Little Girls, none of us are legally family,” Carolyn added, filling in the practical details. “We promise to follow her rules, and she takes care of us!” Dazed, Fern waddled after the girls, and soon found herself back on the changing pad, both of them fussing over her. “It’s her first diaper change,” Leah pointed out excitedly, peeling the tapes away. “Don’t be selfish, make sure she’s all clean,” Carolyn replied, pulling two wipes from the box. “It’s about her, not just us.” “I know, but–it’s so special!” Fern didn’t know if her blush could get more intense. Neither girl commanded any authority, they lacked the dominant power of their Mommy, but that didn’t make it any better–it just made Fern feel like their doll, a plaything to be cooed over. Carolyn used wipes while Leah got the baby oil out, though she only gave Fern one mischievous teasing touch before rubbing it in properly. “So?” she asked. “What did you tell Mommy?” Fern frowned. “What did I tell her about what?” Both girls stopped, looking at her. Carolyn spoke first. “Well…are you going to be our new baby sister?” It took Fern’s brain a few seconds to catch up, to understand what was being implied by that. To have what the girls had–all the time, not just for this one punishment. To feel this again. To be a part of what they had. Aurelia stepped into the bedroom, smiling down at her. “You took your punishment very well,” she explained. “If you don’t want to continue, you can put your grown up panties back on, I’ll let you stay until you can find a new apartment. I’ll be sad to see you go, but it’s your decision.” Eyes huge, Fern asked, “But if I do?” “Then, you can be mine. We’ll forgive you for your naughtiness–at least, if you think you’ve earned that forgiveness.” All three women watched Fern, who lay on the floor on top of a half-soaked diaper, naked, bottom bruised, exhilarated. “I…” she began, reeling with the options. Kneeling beside her, Aurelia rested a hand on her arm. “It’s your choice, Fern.” “I want…” Fern continued, shuddering with the thought. “May I please finish my punishment?” Aurelia’s smile broadened. “And what would you like the rest of your punishment to be, baby girl?” Cheeks burning on her face and her bottom, Fern looked down at her naked body, too ashamed to say it. “It’s okay,” Leah promised, squeezing one of her hands. “We ask Mommy for more punishment too–you don’t have to be embarrassed.” “She asks for more punishment,” Carolyn corrected, but her expression softened and she took Fern’s other hand, so that both girls were holding her. “But we know what it’s like.” “Then…” Fern began, humiliation and arousal fighting for dominance in her mind. “I’d like another spanking please, Mommy. Can you use one of the toys in your closet this time?” Standing, Aurelia walked to the bed and sat, making her lap open. “Yes you may. Bring her over here, please, girls–and then you both pick out your favorite toy, so your new baby sister can feel them.” With glee, the girls lifted Fern to her feet, practically carrying her to Aurelia. Fern found herself pushed over her lap, and felt a hand rest on her already-beaten ass while the girls went off to fetch spanking tools. “Are you ready?” Aurelia asked, softly, almost a whisper. Fern swallowed, taking stock of herself. Naked, exposed, and more excited than she’d ever been in her life. Looking over her shoulder, up at the woman who’d come to dominate her, she nodded. “Yes, Mommy, I am.” The End ... That's this story wrapped up - I had a ton of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! If you want to support stories like these, consider donating a couple dollars a month on Ream or SubscribeStar - you get early access, and I get grocery money which allows me to write! 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Chapter Two Fern withered under Aurelia’s glare, and despite being fully clothed, she felt utterly naked. She’d been caught, exposed. Sneaking through her landlady’s private things. It didn’t occur to her that she’d found anything incriminating, that she could accuse Aurelia of anything–in Fern’s mind, her half-formed fantasies may as well have been projected in front of the gorgeous woman before her, and she couldn’t form thoughts beyond her own mortification at being caught. “Aurelia,” Fern began, stammering. “I–I was–” “You were just rooting through my private things,” Aurelia declared, walking forward. She was taller than Fern by half a foot, and her emerald green eyes saw right through Fern’s weak protests. “I let you into my home, I gave you my trust, and you repaid that by spying on me and my girls?” (She knows.) Fern’s throat went dry, and the thought of lying didn’t even cross her mind. She nodded meekly, looking down to avoid the woman’s steely gaze. “Pack your things,” Aurelia whispered, her face only a few inches from Fern’s, her voice quiet and hard, barely concealing her anger. “If you cannot respect me, you are not welcome in my home.” Panic rising, Fern shook her head, stepping back to escape from the woman’s intensity. “No, I–I promise, I wasn’t–I just needed to see!” She couldn’t end up out on the street–she had enough money to get a hotel for a while, and maybe she could find some fleabox apartment to stay in, but… But she didn’t want to leave. “You saw,” Aurelia snapped. “I hope it was worth it.” Fern shook her head again, trying one last time. “Please, Aurelia, I just…when I saw you with your nieces, I…I had to know more. I couldn’t help myself, but I promise it will never happen again, I won’t say a word, I…” Feeling small, she whispered, “I’m begging you.” To her surprise, Aurelia’s face softened by just a degree. Almost smiling, she took a step forward, backing Fern up against the shelf of diapers. “You know, you remind me of my girls.” Fern’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” “I mean,” Aurelia said, setting her jaw, “that you need someone to teach you a lesson about how to behave properly.” She loomed over Fern, and Fern’s whole body trembled, staring up into Aurelia’s implacable eyes. “If you want to stay,” Aurelia told her, making her words slow and precise so that she could not be misunderstood. “I will need to believe you have learned your lesson, and that you will not break my trust again. You will need me to punish you. Am I understood?” Heart pounding, taking shallow breaths, Fern nodded. “You can ask to stop,” Aurelia continued. “At any time. If you say ‘Red’, I will immediately stop, and your punishment will be over–but if you do so, I expect you to be gone before the end of the day.” Fern nodded again, flushing with fear and anticipation, confusion and anxiety blurring with eagerness she didn’t fully understand. “So, you’re going to take your punishment?” Aurelia concluded. Fern nodded a third time, but that wasn’t good enough. “Be good for me, use your words.” Feeling like she was gasping for air, Fern let the answer tumble out of her mouth, excitement and terror blending as she saw all the implements around her. “I want you to punish me.” Aurelia smiled, showing teeth. “Good. Remove your scrubs, I want to see you.” Hands shaking, Fern never looked away from the woman’s eyes as she worked the buttons of her scrub shirt, letting it fall off her slender shoulders and to the ground. Her pants came next, tugging the waistband over her hips, stretching the elastic past her toned ass until gravity took over and they fell to the floor, exposing bare, athletic legs. Stepping out of the clothes, Fern began to cross her arms over her chest, but Aurelia caught her wrists. “No,” Aurelia warned, sounding pleased as she inspected Fern’s body. “Don’t hide yourself from me.” Lowering her hands to her side, Fern felt butterflies flutter in her chest as Aurelia reached down, undoing her sports bra, revealing firm breasts as the garment fell away. Smirking down at her, Aurelia then moved to Fern’s last layer of clothing, her panties–Fern had chosen a lace pair, pink and delicate, and it wasn’t until this moment that she understood why. She’d wanted this woman to see them. She wanted this woman to take them from her. Aurelia complied, hooking her thumbs into the panties and slowly pulling them down, until they hung around Fern’s ankles, leaving her totally nude in the room full of sex toys. The older woman turned towards her bedroom, strolling with purpose that indicated she expected Fern to follow without question. Fern complied, stepping completely out of her panties, feeling more exposed than ever as she moved into the bedroom proper. Pointing at a spot in the center of the room, Aurelia instructed, “Stand with your hands behind your head. Do not move.” Nodding, Fern stepped up and did as ordered, legs pressed together, frozen in place by the command. “Spread your legs,” Aurelia chided, and Fern obeyed, sinking lower as she pushed her feet apart. Strutting a slow circle around her, Aurelia’s eyes drank in every bit of Fern’s body, from her pert breasts to her smooth, perfect thighs. She reached out, pulling a lock of dark hair over Fern’s shoulder, then squeezing her cheek just to make the girl blush. “You’re beautiful,” Aurelia commented, so confident that it seemed less like a compliment and more like a statement of fact. Stepping behind Fern once again, she ran a fingernail up the girl’s back, starting from her waist and tracing up the small of her back, sending shivers down Fern’s spine. Fern gasped as Aurelia reached up, laced her fingers through Fern’s dark hair and pulled tight, yanking her back in a possessive grip. Lips only inches away from Fern’s ear, Aurelia purred, “I am going to enjoy punishing you.” Wincing and whimpering at the pain in her scalp, Fern found herself unable to respond before Aurelia pulled her to the side, leading her by the hair to the foot of the bed. She yelped, but didn’t even consider asking Aurelia to stop. Using her thick hair as a leash, Aurelia sat on the bed and pulled Fern over her lap, so that her head faced the foot of the bed. She finally let go, but only so that she could take Fern’s slender wrists in her own powerful hand, pinning Fern’s arms to the small of her back so that she could not move or wriggle away. Fern knew what came next. She’d seen it–the gorgeous woman’s hand on the tight, aching bottoms of the girls. And now, she– SMACK! Aurelia’s hand came down on Fern’s bare skin, and she yelped, gasping at the sudden stinging pain. SMACK! A second identical hit came down on her other cheek, leaving identical tenderness behind. She kicked her legs and whimpered. Ten more smacks on each side–each with the same stinging fire and intensity, each making her gasp in paint. It hurt, enough to steal all her focus, so that she could think only about the pain shooting up from her tender cheeks. Pausing for a moment, Aurelia rested her hand on Fern’s bottom, fingernails tracing tiny circles over the tender skin. “There,” she said. Fern sighed in relief. That wasn’t so bad after all, she– “Now you’re warmed up,” Aurelia continued. “And I can start the spanking properly.” Her eyes had time to widen just a fraction before Aurelia drew back and brought her hand down, and Fern realized only then that she’d been holding back. Fire shot up from her ass and she cried out, tears welling up in her eyes. More strikes came down, lightning bolts of pain that didn’t hold back, and Fern began to kick and squirm, body acting involuntarily as she tried to get free of the hold. She couldn’t–Aurelia’s grip was ice and iron, and no amount of squirming could get her off the woman’s lap. Tears began to roll down her face, just as she’d seen on Leah, and she began to beg, though her thoughts were so muddled by pain that she couldn’t form proper words. Babbling, Fern survived the spanking, lasting until Aurelia finally stopped the rain of blows. Even without the assault, her ass was on fire, bright red pain and heat radiating from her, and when a gentle hand rested over her skin, they felt cold and hot all at once. Whimpering, Fern buried her face in the bed, body limp as Aurelia let go of her arms. “Alright,” Aurelia said, calmly, as though instructing a child. “I want you to hold on to the blankets.” Confused but obedient, Fern pulled her arms in front of her, grabbing on. “If you fall off my lap,” Aurelia warned, reaching out to her night stand, though Fern couldn’t see what she picked up. “Or squirm so that I have to stop, we will start over from the beginning. Do you understand?” It took a moment for Fern to follow, to realize what she was being told. (We’re not done.) Swallowing, she grabbed a little tighter onto the blankets, and for Aurelia’s part, she seized Fern’s hair, pulling tight so that Fern was forced to arch her back. WHACK! Fern cried out as something hard struck her–not Aurelia’s hand, but a solid object. Her mind flashed with the array of spanking implements she’d seen, but Aurelia hadn’t brought those with her. She’d taken something from her– WHACK! (It’s her hairbrush,) Fern realized, and that was her last cogent thought before the spanking accelerated to a fever pitch. No more stinging, the new impacts thudded into the meat of her ass, bruising force that never struck in the same place twice, raining down heavy blows that shook her to her core. Fern began to sob, tears flowing freely, the strands of hair not clutched in Aurelia’s grip sticking to her skin as she wailed. At some point Aurelia discarded the hairbrush, reaching down instead for her slipper, a tool that was somehow worse–it flexed, giving it a whip-snap crack with every impact, faster and more brutal than even the brush. She could have ended it. Aurelia gave her that option, but even as Fern reminded herself of the possibility in a fleeting moment of lucidity, she shook it away. Blows rained down until her throat ran dry and her face was streaked with lines from makeup, snot and tears dripping down her nose and chin. The spanking, finally, stopped, and she felt Aurelia’s cool touch against the skin of her back. Fern cried a little longer, breathing heavily, endorphins rushing through her body. She hurt, and yet she felt energized all at the same time, on a terrible precipice, teetering between being able to continue or falling apart completely. “I’m proud of you,” Aurelia whispered. “Shh, little girl. Come here.” Gentle hands guided Fern upright, into a sitting position. Though her bottom ached, burned, stung, felt every miserable pain she could imagine, the soft blankets felt good on her skin, and Aurelia’s touch melted away her worries. She trembled, and Aurelia pulled her into a hug, holding her close. “You’re a good girl,” she praised. “Such a good girl. I didn’t know if you could take it, but you did, so well.” Fern felt a wash of pleasure, goosebumps raising on her skin at the words, body prickling to life. Aurelia’s hug shifted, hands pulling away, and before Fern understood what was happening, she felt fingers against her nipples, brushing and squeezing. Unable to help herself, Fern moaned, pleasure bubbling to the surface at Aurelia’s touch. In just a few seconds, she’d become more turned on than she could remember, just from the gentle, firm, slightly sadistic touch of Aurelia’s fingers on her breasts. Pinching her nipples with one hand, Aurelia’s fingers drifted down, brushing Fern’s sex. She was dripping wet, arousal washing down her thighs, and the parts of her that might have objected were beaten down and too weak to complain. She’d taken her punishment–this was her reward, she’d earned it, and Aurelia’s touch made her moan– “That’s enough,” Aurelia interjected, pulling her hand away, leaving Fern so frustrated she wanted to scream. “Follow me.” Fern was left gasping and exasperated, denied pleasure boiling inside her. Aurelia got to her feet, waiting just a moment for the girl to follow, acting as though she hadn’t just toyed with Fern like her body was remote-controlled. Gathering her senses, Fern scrambled up and after the woman, aware of every motion by how it caused her butt to ache. A stool sat in the luxurious bathroom, waiting for her. First, though, Aurelia passed her a tall glass of water. “Drink. I won’t have you dehydrated from crying.” Fern drank the whole cup in a single long motion. Aurelia’s care energized her, the cool water easing her dry dry throat, and she sighed in relief. When she finished, Aurelia pointed at the stool. “Bend over, and wait.” Fern obeyed, dropping to her knees to do so, kneeling in front of the stool and then bending over so that her body rested atop it, propped up without needing to rely on her arms. The pose left her bottom in the air once more, exposed. Aurelia left her there, returning to the closet of toys, and Fern felt a spike of panic, imagining another spanking, only this time with the canes and paddles she’d seen arranged on that shelf. Little flashes of her nursing experience came to her–it was just blunt tissue damage, bruising. No matter how much it hurt, she wasn’t maimed or permanently injured. She’d likely be left stinging for days, wincing every time she sat, but she hadn’t been hurt in a way that wouldn’t heal, and it was unlikely that even a paddle or cane would cause that sort of damage, not in Aurelia’s careful hands. The idea of another spanking filled her with nervous energy–could she make it through that? Knowing that her body wasn’t in danger, only her pain tolerance and willpower? She wanted to know, and was terrified to try, but she wasn’t going to get another spanking. When Aurelia returned, Fern finally realized why they’d come to the bathroom. The matron stepped around Fern so that the girl could see what she carried: a rubber enema kit and a lengthy hose, the bag larger than the one she’d used on the girls the night before. “We’re going to fill you up,” she warned. “And you will hold it, for fifteen minutes, before you can release. If you let go too soon, we will start over from the beginning.” Fern nodded. “If I can’t hold it, I get another enema,” she confirmed, saying it to herself as much as to Aurelia. “No,” she snapped, crouching to look Fern in the eyes. “We start over from the beginning.” Fern swallowed, fear welling in her eyes as she watched the older woman set to work. Soap and warm water poured into the enema bag until it was half full, which she hung from a shower rod, keeping the nozzle closed for the time being. Turning to move behind Fern, she knelt, searching with the tip of the nozzle. It found its opening, and without any warm up, pushed inside her, filling her up with the length of hard plastic. Fern gasped, and when Aurelia turned the nozzle and released the water, she gasped again. Warmth flowed into her–not hot enough to be a discomfort on its own, but enough that she couldn’t ignore it. She could feel her belly swelling, feel the water stretch her, cramps beginning to assault her as the soapy liquid sloshed inside. Aurelia didn’t do half measures. Seemingly determined to break the girl, she let the water flow until every drop had drained inside the target of her punishment. Fern whimpered, struggling to keep her bowels in check, to keep the enema inside. Cold cramps ran up her body, discomfort from the overfilling, and as the slick nozzle pulled free of her, she almost felt herself lose control then and there. She didn’t–she kept her body in check, though she trembled as she did so. “Get up,” Aurelia told her, unsympathetic to Fern’s discomfort. “Now.” Fern winced as she did so, a hand moving to her belly as the water sloshed inside her. “The corner.” Aurelia pointed. “I want your nose in it until I tell you your time’s up. Remember the consequences for failure, little girl.” Waddling to obey, Fern planted her nose in the cool corner, hands drifting behind her, down to her aching cheeks, wanting to rub away– A hand swatted her tender backside and she yelped, pulling her hands away. “You know better than that,” Aurelia warned. “I–” Fern began to protest, but she was shut down immediately. “Don’t pretend you didn’t watch every second of it. You can’t hide from me. Now, hands behind your head.” Meekly, Fern obeyed, feeling pathetic and small, helpless and in pain, and hopelessly, completely turned on. Aurelia left her there. Fern could hear the woman’s footsteps as she walked out of the bathroom, though the door remained open. At any moment, the older woman could look in and see Fern there, shaking, struggling with the cramps that her soapy enema racked her with, but Fern could not see back, she could only see her own eyes reflected in the smooth, glassy tile wall. She couldn’t deny anything, not to herself, and not to Aurelia, either: She had wanted this. She had craved this. When she saw what was done to the girls, she’d imagined herself in their place, and knew she had to find out what it felt like. Sure, she had the practical motivation–to make it through her punishment and keep her home–but that barely factored into her thoughts anymore. And now, she did, and while she fought to contain the enema that swelled her belly, she found herself dripping, so turned on that she could have climaxed in seconds had she free reign of her body. Even then, she was tempted to reach down and finger herself, but the fear of Aurelia’s watchful eyes froze her and kept her obedient. Seconds dripped by, heartbeats, where she could do nothing except stew in her humiliation, her aches, her stinging pains, and her arousal. She had taken more than she imagined, and yet she wanted more. She wanted– “Is something wrong?” Aurelia asked, behind her, coming from nowhere. Fern squeaked and shook her head. “N-no ma’am!” “Your legs are shaking,” Aurelia explained, stepping forward, grabbing Fern’s ass cheeks with both hands and squeezing. “It’s as though you’re struggling.” Fern whimpered, pain shooting back to life at the woman’s touch, terrified at the thought of losing control. “P-please…” Laughter like silver bells rang in Fern’s ears, and Aurelia whispered, “Your time is up. You can empty yourself and clean up, then I have so much more to do to you.” ... The final chapter of this story is already up in early access for my subscribers! Plus a buncha other early access and exclusive content! Your support helps me write ❤️ https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl/ https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

The title perhaps contains a clue or two

Chapter One Fern stood before the rich mahogany door, hand trembling as she willed herself to move. (I’m just going to look. There’s no harm in looking, right?) She rolled her eyes at herself–there was plenty of harm in looking. If her landlady caught her, Fern might find herself homeless within the hour. She didn’t expect Aurelia to be forgiving of a tenant snooping around her bedroom. Fern had found herself a good place–the shared house was practically a mansion, even if she shared it with three other women, and the rent was comfortably within her price range. She was only a ten minute jog from her new job, and her new housemates were friendly and polite. It would be the height of stupidity to risk all that for mere curiosity, and yet… … Two nights earlier “Ah-AH!” Fern jumped, alarmed by the sound. She hadn’t heard anyone come home, but at some point during her midday nap, someone had come in, and they were…screaming? Heart racing, Fern crept to her bedroom door with quick, silent strides. She was still wearing her scrubs from work, she hadn’t taken them off before crashing into her nap. Her socks on the hardwood floor didn’t make a sound, and she held her breath. Could it be a home invader? She heard a loud SMACK! and a second yelp of pain in a different register. Then a voice, loud, stern, and familiar. “I don’t want to hear it–this is what you get when you don’t listen.” Aurelia’s voice, there was no mistaking it. Fern’s landlady, the matron of the house. As confident as she was rich, Fern had never heard the woman sound uncertain about anything, but now her words carried notes of diamond, hard and unbreakable. “Please, I told Leah we shouldn’t, but,” Carolyn’s voice echoed through the house, muted by several walls but no less distinct. “I just–” SMACK! “You are responsible for your own choices, young lady!” Fern built a mental picture as she crept into the hallway, towards the door on the opposite end of the wing. Aurelia had two nieces, Leah and Carolyn, and they’d done something to upset their aunt, something that had pushed Aurelia to hurt them. (Did I rent a room from a monster?) As the smacks and cries of pain continued, Fern stepped up to the door, crouching, peering through the old-style keyhole. It only offered limited flashes of the room beyond, but she saw enough. Two round, pert butts were pointed towards her, raised in the air, displaying bright pink stripes that criss crossed over light olive skin. Heart pounding her chest, Fern could only watch. … Shaking away the memory, Fern grabbed the handle of the bedroom door and threw it open, unable to fight her curiosity any longer. She half expected to find some array of punishment devices laying around the room, but Aurelia’s bedroom seemed remarkably normal…or, at least, normal for someone with her income. A bed against one wall, a private master bath, plenty of space, a shelf stacked with well-loved books. If Fern hadn’t seen what she’d seen, she never would have suspected the truth. Only her spying told her where to look, spotting two pairs of scuff marks on the hardwood floor, pointed towards… She swallowed, eyes raising up to the bookshelf. Walking forward as though in a trance, captivated by the need to see for herself what lay beyond it, she looked over the shelf, skimming titles until she found the unique choice amongst them. Histoire d’O. The title was the only French novel, but more than that, the subject matter couldn’t be a coincidence. Hand drifting up, Fern pulled on the book with a finger. It leaned forward slightly, then the bookshelf swung away from her, revealing the secret room hidden within. … Peering through the door, Fern held her breath, straining to see. Aurelia brought down a cane onto the exposed asses of the girls. By shifting her view, Fern could see that the girls had been stripped and made to bend over, heads down so that their long brown hair dangled almost onto the floorboards, touching their toes, leaving their bare butts completely vulnerable. Aurelia stalked from side to side, striking the two girls without mercy. With every impact, Fern’s heart slammed in her chest, anticipation building. Though horrified, she couldn’t look away, needing to see every mark, every crack of the switch. She craved it. Finally, Aurelia stepped back, her voice as steady and dominant as ever. “That’s enough. Standing.” Both girls stood together, adopting similar postures, their shaking legs shoulder-width apart and their naked bodies facing their aunt. Leah moved to rub at her cheeks, to soothe the soreness, but that only earned her a crack of the switch across her knuckles. Fern caught the flash of a smirk on Carolyn’s lips, the girl’s brown eyes sparkling for just a moment before her expression returned to quiet submission. “We’ve learned our lesson,” Carolyn promised. “We shouldn’t have stayed out–” She froze, swallowing, reacting to an expression on Aurelia’s face that Fern couldn’t see. “Your lesson,” Aurelia explained, snapping her cane in her hand for emphasis, “is not over. I don’t know when Fern will be home tonight, but tomorrow night, she’s been scheduled for a double shift. We’ll have the house all to ourselves, and then we’ll see if you’ve really learned your lesson. Do you understand?” Whimpering, both girls nodded, eyes down, refusing to so much as look at their aunt. Fern swallowed, and she felt immediately that she had to know more. … Stepping forward in a daze, Fern looked at the treasures arranged in the hidden room. It was more than she’d ever imagined. Some of the implements she’d seen before, when–last night–she’d arranged to have her shift covered and snuck home to witness the girls’ promised punishment. Fern had been unable to resist the allure, the need to know, and so she’d made her way back to her peephole, silent as a mouse, to watch the punishment. Two leather benches took up the center of the room. Fern could visualize the images from the previous evening that were now burned into her memory. The outline of two girls bent over them, butts in the air, hands and ankles cuffed in place so that they could not escape their torment. Arranged so that they were opposite each other, the girls gave Fern a perfect peep show. She could see Leah’s face, her narrow brown eyes burning red, tears streaking her makeup, while Carolyn’s exposed ass demonstrated why–bruises mark the skin, a canvas for an artist who worked with paddles and floggers. They’d each been allowed a little slack in the cuffs holding one wrist, so that they could reach out, holding each other’s hands for comfort throughout the torment–their only source of respite as Aurelia struck them, again and again. One shelf was taken up purely by implements meant for spankings. A half-dozen slender canes, some willowy and flexible, others thick and hard. A rain of blows left a dozen parallel stripes of pain on Carolyn’s skin, and each mark is matched by a desperate, high yelp. In contrast, a thick, small leather tool sat all alone, one end weighed down by lead shot. Bruising impacts fell, heavy thuds that forced Leah’s body into the bench. She whimpered and begged in a throaty, desperate voice, but her aunt showed not an ounce of mercy. Heart fluttering as she looks away from the spanking tools, Fern stepped up to a tall steel stand. Two clear plastic bags hung from the top, long hoses dangling below, with valves to control water flow. Still restrained, both girls were helpless as Aurelia stalked around them, holding a pair of identical nozzles that dangled from matching enema bags. The bags sagged on the stand, full of sudsy water, so much that Fern didn’t believe it could all possibly fit inside the petite girls. “Let’s see if you can do better than last time,” she taunted, stopping behind Carolyn and plunging the tip of one nozzle deep inside. Carolyn inhaled sharply, gasping as the enema hose filled her up. Leah took it better, biting her lip and closing her eyes to brace for the penetration. They both held their bodies tight and tense. Their freshly bruising bottoms quivered, knowing that this would only be the start. “One quart each,” Aurelia said, and Fern realized only then that the girls, with their heads low and eyes downcast, couldn’t see how full the bags were. “But–” Leah began. “Shut up!” Carolyn snapped, before the other niece could get them into further trouble. Aurelia smirked and laughed. “You should listen to her, unless you both want to try the full three quarts.” “But that’s–” Leah repeated, eyes widening as she realized her mistake. Carolyn shook her head, butt wiggling slightly in the air, but she couldn’t stop the words after they’d already been said. Aurelia only smirked. “Two quarts it is. Do you want to go for three?” Both girls fell silent. Nodding, Aurelia reached up and released the nozzles. The water lines began to lower, sloshing into the girls, who whimpered as they were filled up with painful, dribbling slowness. She left the girls there, leaving for just a moment. “You brat!” Carolyn snapped, while they had a moment of semi-privacy. “I’m sorry,” Leah whimpered in response, helpless squeaks of discomfort escaping her throat as the enema filled her more and more. “I–I couldn’t help it!” Before they could say anything further, Aurelia returned with a large pitcher, making good on her threat by topping off the enema bags. “If this doesn’t help you learn,” Aurelia mused, grinning wickedly as she watched the two girls squirm and squeak, wriggling their bruised bottoms in the air as water poured into them drip by drip. “We may have to try a more enduring lesson. I wonder–would daily spankings for a week keep you both in line? Or daily enemas?” Both girls whimpered, shaking their heads. “Of course,” Aurelia said, as though they’d answered her. “It should be both! So remember–that’s what will happen if you fuck up again–and that’s if I choose to be merciful.” Back in the present, mind still half lost in the memory, Fern’s eyes fell on the rear-most shelf, and her breath fell still. Upon that shelf, in styles ranging from plain white to decorated and juvenile, were dozens–hundreds, even–of stacked adult diapers. Whimpering as they returned from the privacy of the bathroom after being allowed to release their enemas, the girls laid down, squirming but silent, onto a pair of pads on the bed. Fern’s peephole could just barely see that far to the side, letting her watch as Aurelia wrapped the squirming girls up in their diapers. “Let’s see if you’ll still stay out late wearing these,” Aurelia warned. “Or do you think nobody will notice your puffy bottoms if you go dancing in your miniskirts while wearing your diapers?” Fern moved towards the thick, puffy garments in a trance, reaching out to touch the object of her obsession,, to feel the slight plastic crinkle beneath her trembling fingertips. Near the end of the stack, a pair of handcuffs had been left out away from its home with the other restraints, sitting on one of the diapers. The contrast between the two–a juvenile object of comfort and a hard, sharp tool of bondage–left her feeling dizzy. Her gaze fell over the pair of glimmering steel handcuffs, polished to a mirror shine. She saw herself in the restraints, her own dark eyes enormous puddles of desperate need, her nut-brown skin flushed, sweat beading on her forehead. She felt as though she’d been running for miles, heart beating fast, but instead of fatigue, she wanted something, wanted to– Fern’s eyes widened further as she saw another face reflected in the cuffs, and she spun, yelping in alarm. Aurelia stood in the closet doorway, looking like a Greek goddess of vengeance. Arms on her hips, standing tall, the older woman glared fire down at the trembling Fern. “What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?” ... Written as a commission Two more chapters of this story are on their way soon! If you want to support the creation of stories like this, please consider subscribing or getting a commission. (Or both! One perk of subscription is that you get discounts on commissions!) 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Chapter 12 Daniel could distantly feel himself taking deep, steady breaths, but his mind was lost in the arcane arcade space his coven had built. The girls of his coven loomed around him, working together like a team–and, of course, they were a team. Daniel was in theory also a part of that team, but he didn’t feel like he belonged with them; he belonged below them. Hazel leaned in over the console with an intense expression, almost a glare, tapping away at a few buttons so quickly that the clicks ran together into white noise. Asami, whose controls were lowered so she could reach them while sitting, was in an almost zen-like state, moving joystick and buttons together in a fluid motion. Mathilde, though, sat at a lower set of controls that she could reach comfortably from her chair, watching the screens, only occasionally pushing a button. At first, Daniel thought she might be uncertain, even hesitant, but after more thought, he understood–she wasn’t uncertain, she was patient. She waited, watched, only doing what was needed in the moment it had to be done. All the magic happened around him, and Daniel could control none of it. He was surrounded by power–his power, mostly–but the flow went past him. He’d imagined himself as a console, and that was reinforced by how he felt. Though he couldn’t see the ‘game’ displayed on the screens, he understood the flow by the inputs passing through him. It didn’t resemble anything he’d ever played at the arcade–if anything, it was more based on Daniel’s childhood imagination of what arcade games could be if they’d been built for whole friend groups…and if Daniel had ever managed to bring along four whole friends. After a moment longer, hearing a few choice sound cues, Daniel realized it didn’t just resemble his imagined game, it was his imagined game–a clean ripoff of Star Trek, though rebranded because he’d never understood how licensing worked, with each girl playing a different role amongst the officers. It didn’t even take long to figure out who was who: Asami, the ‘Mind’, was obviously the captain, delivering orders through rapid button inputs to the rest of the ship as it battled an armada of Hangons. Mathilde, Spirit, was the first officer, the Spock–or, based on Daniel’s preferences, the Riker. Hazel, Aqueus, would be the communications officer, with an earpiece the size of a chicken egg, Radha would be the Aether and the Chief Medical Officer, and that left Cassie as the Earth Engineer, dealing with exploding crystals and all manner of mayhem as they tried to go past warp eleven. Daniel was the Computer–not just in the literal sense, but the show character, too. When Asami barked orders through button combos, he relayed those orders as text displays and icons on the other players’ screens. Cassie could fuel up the engines and push them to faster speeds, but Daniel was the one who had to display the ship’s status for the rest of the crew to understand. Daniel felt a pang of jealousy–he wanted to play the game he’d imagined, to take a role amongst the team. Instead, as they issued orders and handled their respective places amongst the ship, he could only pass the electrical signals between their displays and facilitate their fun. He was an object for them to use, a tool to get what they wanted, but the magic in his very soul was no longer his to control. Daniel shuddered. Magic had been a part of him for so long that he couldn’t imagine its absence. It was a sixth sense, a part of his soul, the music in his thoughts–and though it hadn’t exactly left him, he had no control. Though his body sat in the center of the circle, free save for a few hands resting gently on him, his mind felt trapped. The urge to sit up, to run, to wave his arms around just to express his freedom weighed on him, but if he did that, he’d draw the scorn of his classmates and the ire of his teacher, so he waited a little longer. “Did you see that?” Cassie asked, reaching forward to tap the side of the monitor in front of her. “See what?” Asami asked. “He’s fast,” Radha interjected, looking between the display and the buttons to remember where her controls were. “I’m having trouble keeping up.” “It looked like a glitch,” Cassie explained, pointing at the display. “I don’t know. I just don’t want another feedback situation.” Mathilde nodded. “I saw it too. Daniel, are you okay?” Daniel had no words to respond. He’d conceptualized himself in such a way that he had no voice, but he thought about how he felt, willing the girls to hear. (I can’t move. There’s all this power, and I can’t even touch it. I can’t breathe.) “Stress response,” Mathilde declared a moment later, pulling her hands back from the controls. “Everyone stop.” The mental image broke, and Daniel’s senses fully came into his body once again, giving a brief flash of a ‘Game Over’ screen that lingered in his vision for several seconds. Taking a deep breath, he felt the control of his magic–his power–return to him, and just to reassure himself, he snapped a spark between his fingers. “Take a few deep breaths,” Mathilde instructed. “Don’t worry. You’re fine–I had a panic attack my first time, too.” The other girls withdrew their hands one by one, though Cassie’s fingers rested on his shoulder a moment longer than the others, and she asked, “Are you okay?” “It was like…” Daniel started, trying to put his thoughts into words. “I don’t know. Bad. Like if you strung up my arms and legs with puppet strings, and each of you had the handle for a different limb. I wasn’t just unable to act, I was acting without any control over it.” “That’s what the Familiar does,” Radha pointed out. “You kinda just get used to it.” “If it’s scary, you don’t have to be our Familiar,” Cassie added, looking around. Her hand was still on his back. “Right?” Hazel’s gaze was centered on Daniel, hard and focused, though she didn’t say a word. He avoided her glare, “We can’t force anyone to take a particular role,” Asami said. “If nobody wants to be the Familiar, we just take turns. That’s pretty common, actually, it’s…not the most popular position.” “Well if we take turns, he’d still have to do it sometimes,” Radha added. “But that’s cruel,” Cassie objected. “I don’t want to make anyone do something that scares them like that.” “He’ll get used to it.” Radha shook her head. “Everyone does.” Cassie shook her head in return. “And if he doesn’t?” “Unless we’re giving special treatment to him because he’s not even a witch, he should do it,” Radha declared, scooting back a little, breaking the circle and all it symbolized. “And if we are giving him special treatment–” “Everyone, shut up,” Hazel snapped, finally. Not loud, not sharp, but exasperated and firm. The coven shut up, though less out of obedience than surprise, and she continued. “Daniel, were you actually panicking?” He wasn’t sure he understood the question, but Mathilde cut in and answered for him. “I know what it looks like when a Familiar is feeling stressed. That was stress.” “But was he just running his brain too hard, overloading himself?” Hazel asked. “Exhausting his brain, stress from a mental load? Because, I’m not super experienced in this, but I sat in a coven with my mom a couple times. Correct me if I’m wrong here–was Daniel not fast?” “Hazel, you were ‘Fast’. Daniel wasn’t fast, he was more like…you know that saying, right? About the difference between being fast and being fast?” That got her five blank stares, so she clarified as best she could. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.” “So Daniel was slow,” Radha said. “But skilled.” “But, if he gets scared and panics when he’s the Familiar, we still shouldn’t make him do it,” Cassie pointed out. “Okay, he’s good, but that shouldn’t matter.” “He’s not good,” Mathilde corrected. “When we work with Blackburn, she’s better, but…not that much better. And she’s the teacher. Daniel is great.” “She says she’s better as the Mind than the Familiar,” Asami pointed out. “So she’s not like, the best Familiar in the world.” “Still. He’s never even sat in a coven before today, let alone as a Familiar.” “And he shouldn’t have to, if it’s scary–” “We’ll take turns, but he’s not skipping his turn.” Daniel twitched his shoulder, but it was Hazel that spoke up before he could snap. “Shut up,” she said again. “Seriously–what is wrong with all of you?” Again, she got their attention, though this time there was a retort as well. Asami said, “Hazel, just because you’re crabby–” “Stop talking about Daniel like he’s not here,” Hazel snapped. “He was our Familiar for a minute, but he’s not actually a silent box that we need to control. You know he’s got a mouth, right? And, if memory serves, he knows how to use it, too, right, Daniel?” Daniel was speechless for a moment longer, but Hazel’s speech had its intended function. She bought him a moment of space, and the attention of the coven, where he could figure out how he actually felt. He took a breath and said, “Look, I just need to say one thing.” “Whatever you want to tell us,” Cassie promised him, patting his shoulder in an attempt at reassurance. All it accomplished was to remind him that he was still the center of their attention, all five girls studying him, still undecided on how he should be treated. He had to break that barrier between them, to join the circle instead of being surrounded by it. “I don’t want to fulfill any stereotypes about my gender, or just be a pig in general,” Daniel declared, pulling away from Cassie’s touch. “But, come on, Hazel, if that wasn’t a setup for a dirty joke, I don’t know what is. Like–seriously. ‘I have a mouth and I know how to use it?’ Is that bait or what?” Five girls laughed, and Daniel breathed a bit easier. They weren’t looking at him like a thing to be protected anymore, and for once, his peers were laughing at something he’d said, rather than the underwear he’d been forced to wear. Daniel continued. “And, okay, on the Familiar thing: It was stressful. I don’t like how it felt, I kinda wanted to scream, I very much wanted to run around and flail my arms like a maniac. But–” he spoke quickly, interrupting before anyone could interject. “But, like…you said I’m good. So I’ll do it.” He didn’t totally like what he was saying, but he loathed their pity. He would rather agree to be their Familiar for the whole year than to be told he was too soft, too weak, too frightened for the role. Besides, Blackburn had made it clear–he would be expected to hack it, to be as good as anyone else, he couldn’t demand special treatment. “Okay,” Asami said. “Are you sure?” “Taking turns,” Daniel continued. “Like Radha said. Not because I don’t want to Familiar, but because I think I’m better at being the Mind, and besides–I want to practice the other parts. I’m not going to be a Familiar when I graduate, anyways.” That settled the matter. Nobody could object or tell him he was being unreasonable to ask that they share the load. “Okay, Hazel, you were right,” Manju said, giggling before she could finish her joke. “He does know how to use his mouth.” Daniel threw up his hands, but he was grinning. “Oh, for–‘Insert cunnilingus joke here’, are you happy?” More laughter, and they all sat back, a little more relaxed than they had been before. Noting a gap between Cassie and Hazel, Daniel scooched to the side, so that he wasn’t surrounded anymore, becoming just a part of the circle once again. A member of the team. “We all did all the parts,” Asami added. “I think, do we want to talk about how we felt about each of them, until the group exercise is done?” Grinning, Radha put on a truly atrocious southern accent. “Dammit, Hazel, I’m a doctor, not a backup Aether point! But seriously, you leaned on me a bit hard in that last one–I know our roles are similar, but that’s something to work on.” They laughed, and the conversation moved on to group discussion, jumping right in without further preamble. What they were weak on, what were their strengths, where everyone felt the most comfortable and what they felt they could improve on. It wasn’t a lesson, exactly, none of them were teachers or experts. Instead, it was peer review–six people, all sharing what they’d felt and observed. Technical acumen could come later, and a professional, experienced hand, could teach them specifics, but that didn’t matter yet, because this wasn’t about the mechanical parts of spellcasting. This was teambuilding, and Daniel knew, sitting amongst them, that he was included in the team. ... I'm opening up commissions again - you can find my prices and all the details here: https://forms.gle/5wuhPegg8WyZxNRh6 Also, if you're subscribed to my All Access tier on Ream or SubStar, you get 20% off commissions! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 11 All throughout the lecture hall, the girls were sitting in circles on the floor, one person in the middle, taking turns channeling power. It felt less like magic and more like a team building exercise–and, really, it felt even less like that and more like a game for toddlers. Duck Duck Goose, but someone sat in the middle. Guess the Leader without any guessing. Daniel resisted the urge to make any sarcastic quips about kiddie games, but the jokes still came to mind. He kept his mouth shut, because if Daniel started making quips about how babyish the exercise felt, the retorts would be fast, obvious, and draw far more attention to the diaper he’d been required to wear. Better to keep silent and avoid reprisal. And, besides, he had work to do. This was why he was here, after all, to learn magic. He began as the top left point on the pentacle–the point representing ‘Earth’. Mathilde sat to his left, Hazel to his right, and Asami sat right in the center of the circle, legs crossed on the ground. In practice, there was no need for them to literally sit in a pentacle formation to do their magic, but this helped everyone remember their roles and reinforced the positions they were attempting to fulfill. Daniel, as Earth, was the most tangible, physical point in their coven, the shaper of all things solid. “How do we start?” Cassie asked. Asami spoke up. “I’ve done this before, so you can just follow my instructions. Scoot closer, though.” They all did so, moving close enough in that they could reach out and touch one another. “Okay, put one hand on the shoulder of the wom–the person next to you, and one hand on me, then follow my lead.” She shut her eyes, as all the girls reached out their hands. Mathilde’s hand rested on Daniel’s shoulder, a gentle touch. Daniel didn’t know if he should take her instruction to ‘follow her lead’ literally, so he watched for a moment, waiting to see that the other girls had actually closed their eyes. Once they did, though, he still watched for a moment longer. Hazel’s face was tight with concentration, and Cassie’s looked uncertain, eyelids fluttering like she was tempted to look around and see if she was doing everything correctly. Radha, meanwhile, wore a smirk, like she’d thought of something funny she couldn’t wait to share. Mathilde and Asami, though, looked relaxed. Since they were the most experienced amongst the group, Daniel tried to mimic them, clearing out his mind. Reaching out, he laid hands on Cassie, to his left, and on Asami. He shut his eyes, pushed aside worries, and allowed his magical sensitivity to extend to the space around him. Gently touching of hands, a close, cozy circle, the closed eyes and silent halls, it all facilitated their mental bonds. With practice, Daniel knew that covens could link minds with one another like second nature, but for now, they had to prime their brains and bodies to prepare. Though the goal was different, the intent had much in common with Rachel’s own mental manipulation the day before: Creating parity between headspace and arcane goals. He felt the pull a moment later–Asami’s mind touching his own. He didn’t allow her in, exactly, his thoughts were his own, but he met the connection and matched it. A mental handshake, rather than a mental hug; he was reticent to open himself too much to strangers. Through her, in a moment, he felt the others. Asami formed a mental basin, from which rivers flowed in and out, pooling their connections. They had no spells to cast, but they shared energy regardless. Daniel struggled with the specifics of his own cornerstone. He was Earth, his role was to give their magic solid shape, an outline. However, though he tried, the rivers that flowed between them still spilled out, sloshing over their banks and beds. The connections were strong, but without an equally strong boundary to hem it all in, much of the finer details were lost. (It’s my first time doing this,) he reminded himself. (It’s fine if I make a few mistakes.) He thought he could almost hear the thoughts of the other girls, but it was shrouded, too, muffled by the babbling power flowing between them. All he got was a vague impression–Cassie’s anxiety, Hazel’s tightly focused efforts. Enough that they could coordinate their efforts, not enough to invade privacy. After a few minutes of this, Asami let the connection fade, streams of power drying up, and Daniel opened his eyes. “So, that’s pretty much what it’s like,” she said. “Mathilde, do you want to be our next Familiar?” Mathilde smiled and nodded, and everyone shifted one seat to the left, while Mathilde rolled to the center of their circle, and once again they all shared their touch. Taking the point of Aether, Daniel expected his role to be different, but the fundamental shape of their coven to be the same. However, as Mathilde made her mental connection, Daniel found himself not connected by a stream, but by a current of wind. There was no dribbling connection flowing directly. Instead, the power he shared was picked up like a paper airplane, carried on currents to a whirling centerpiece–not so violent as a tornado or a hurricane, more like a gentle updraft. With Mathilde as their Familiar, he had no carte-blanche connection to the other girls’ thoughts or feelings. The power drifted away from him as needed, and came back as needed, little packets that were insulated from one another. The only thoughts he received were ones deliberately sent, asking for more power or less, focused requests to help shape their mental landscape more precisely. And his own job was to ensure that the packets were handled correctly–zipping to the right people, at the right times. It was now Asami’s job to keep the power from being lost, she’d taken the job of Earth, and she did so reliably. Daniel, however, struggled to keep things on course in his own way. Some magic went to the wrong people, or arrived at the wrong times–too much to one witch, too little to another. In his effort to keep the connections consistent, he caused the mental wind to billow and gust, only to lose it all. (Dammit,) he thought, annoyed with himself. (This shouldn’t be hard, we’re not even moving much power. What’s wrong with me?) Only a second later, the connection dropped, severed completely in an instant. Daniel blinked a couple times, surprised by the sudden absence of magic, and looked around. “What happened?” Mathilde looked away for a moment, then only said, “Some things were said a little too loudly, that I assume we’d rather keep private.” Everyone glanced around in confusion, except Daniel, who just widened his eyes. Mathilde must have heard his thought, his self depreciation, and rather than let that mote of personal criticism be announced to the group, she’d ended the exercise. And, because Daniel hadn’t thought to look around in mock confusion, he’d made it obvious who had led to the early completion. Since it was already obvious that Daniel was the one she’d done this for, he mumbled, “Thanks.” He assumed everyone else was wondering, ‘What did Daniel think about?’, but nobody asked, and Mathilde’s expression made him believe his secret was safe with her. “Hazel, you’re next,” Mathilde said, as she moved to take her spot in the pentacle once more. And, once again, things were different. Hazel was no current, no gentle breeze. Hazel’s mind called up the image of thick metallic cable, electricity coursing through it at blinding speeds. The power wasn’t necessarily greater than the previous two, but she threw it around with reckless abandon. It was Daniel’s job to be the Aqueus, the flow of the power, and in this role he failed utterly. He struggled to understand the distinction between this and his previous job, and within moments, surges of crackling power were coursing around, his inexperience and Hazel’s aggressive speed playing off each other in the worst way. And then he heard a thought, more crystalline and exact than anything he’d heard up to that point. (So what was Daniel thinking that was so embarrassing?) He could not identify the voice, the speaker, only the words, and it seemed to be a careless message. Hazel didn’t have Mathilde’s experience, and wasn’t holding anything back. Their thoughts were a PA system. (Hazel, you need to control thought flow better. Our thoughts are spilling.) (No I don’t, we’re a team, we’re supposed to know each other.) (She’s got a point.) (Still, we’re just now learning–that’s unfair to put on him.) And, because trying not to think about something was impossible, Daniel’s mind slipped. (I can’t–fuck shit think about something else elephants elephants elephants–) Trying to shield his thoughts through a barrage of mindless noise, Daniel lost even the tiny bit of control he’d had over his role. Feedback began to build in their magic. (It’s got to be one of the diaper things.) (Probably true.) (If I were him, I’d have quit the instant they made me wear that. Is he shameless or does he like it?) (Maybe he just really wants to learn?) (Yeah, no, he’s doing this for kicks.) (Who would like this?) Daniel tried to pull away, but an arc of electric shock struck his mind, and his hand felt almost magnetized to her arm. He winced. They’d built up power too fast, and to retreat was painful. Mind racing, he couldn’t do a thing to prevent the thoughts that flashed to the forefront of his mind. Rachel, leering over him, as she dealt out her humiliations. The sense of pathetic smallness he’d felt when she first put him in a diaper, and the deeper, greater shame when she’d forced him to use it. The window she’d put in his room, a constant display of his ineptitude, his incompetence, his– (Enough.) The mental connection broke. Daniel felt a tiny static burst, but the overwhelming power didn’t course through him. Eyes snapping open, he saw Mathilde wince a little, and could sense the burst of power seeping out into the ground around them. He heard footsteps behind their bubble and looked out to see Blackburn, a few steps away, pulling out her wand. Before Blackburn could act, though, Mathilde smiled and shook her head. “Sorry, Professor,” she said. “We got a little out of hand there, but I brought it back into control.” “Very well.” Blackburn looked at them for a cold, thoughtful moment, and Daniel was certain he felt her gaze land on him for longer than any of the others. “If you know what went wrong, remember that, and find new roles for those who couldn’t handle it.” Daniel was glad his next thoughts weren’t projected to the whole group. (So far we haven’t found anything I can handle.) It was, to his surprise, Hazel that spoke up when the teacher had left. “So, your prefect is Rachel?” “Yeah,” Daniel said. “She’s…” “She’s such an ass,” Hazel finished. “She’s mine, too. Pretty sure someone shoved coal up her ass and she’s trying to turn it into diamonds.” “I heard about her,” Radha added. “She got in a shouting match with a second year while I was getting settled in. I don’t know what about, but–I didn’t know faces could get that red just from yelling.” “You’re…not wrong,” Daniel said. “She hated me before she knew the first thing about me, and she literally said she wants to make my life hell. What’s her deal?” “She’s just mad because she knows she’s barely scraping by, and it makes her self conscious,” Asami explained, adding in a whisper. “She’s nearly flunked out of two classes. Had to take extra studies to stay enrolled.” Daniel frowned, confused. “What? I mean, I haven’t seen her test scores or anything, but she’s good. She’s got control like you wouldn’t believe, she’s fast–what’s her problem?” “Oh, she’s a Nitch,” Mathilde said. “The right term is, ‘Bitch’,” Hazel supplied, producing a giggle from Radha. “No, but seriously,” Mathilde continued. “A Niche Witch. ‘Nitch’. She’s good enough at a few things that she can scrape by, but her coven is…a disaster. Rumor says, she’s the reason Blackburn won’t let people trade coven members, because people kept trying to get rid of her.” Asami shook her head. “That’s just a rumor, the rule’s always been around.” “Still, if it’s a rumor, gotta be based in something,” Radha said. “Should we keep going?” “You’re on deck,” Hazel replied. Radha’s practice passed quickly–her mental landscape was rather like Asami’s, and yet rather different. Magic still flowed like water, but instead of streams and lakes, her passages and basins were colorful plastic slides and swimming pools, and the water poured rapidly around. Slower than Hazel, faster than Asami, it struck a balance between the two girls. What stood out to Daniel was not Radha at all, but his own performance. As the point of Spirit, he was meant to supply the concept of the magic. Since they weren’t casting spells, this part was easy–he could have given it any concept that he wanted, but that ended up being so broad that he couldn’t even imagine what to make it into. He didn’t fail, exactly, but nor did he really try. That left only one other student to take the center before Daniel would be up. Cassie hadn’t said much so far, and Daniel had little idea what to expect when she walked to the center of the group, sat cross legged, and extended her own mind to the rest of them. Daniel expected some new metaphor for the exchange of power, but instead, he found that the first thing he saw in the space was…Cassie. She didn’t represent herself as a metaphor at all. Instead, Cassie stood in front of him, though her uniform had been replaced with a flowing blue dress, and she stood in a garden, surrounded by warmth, life, and growing things. Daniel saw no direct transfer of power, but then he saw that it wasn’t just Cassie in the mental landscape–the other girls were there too. Not as the people he recognized, though. Radha was a squirrel, darting across the garden, carrying acorns which she deposited in a pile at Cassie’s feet. Asami had the form of a fox, prowling around, keeping everything in line, while Mathilde looked like a robin out of a Disney movie. Hazel was, perhaps inevitably, a prickly hedgehog. The whole group, all the woodland creatures, were rushing to her and from her, bringing little things from the garden, or taking them away, while she hummed a little tune. Daniel’s nose twitched, and he reached up, pawing at his face for a moment, pulling a floppy ear over his eyes. It took him a moment to realize what he’d appeared as, glancing back to eye his cotton ball tail. (I’m a bunny rabbit?) he groaned to himself. (Ugh–I guess that’s better than a skunk.) He’d taken the role of Mind, and here, he felt most confident. The practical part of spellcasting, not working with concepts, but with form. He scurried up to Cassie, and she knelt, brushing a hand between his ears and petting back his fur before handing him a handful of seeds that’d been brought in by Mathilde. Daniel understood immediately what Mathilde was conceptualizing–the loose idea of a light spell. Not something difficult, not something they’d actually cast, but it was a spell he knew and could work with. Hopping away, he pictured what he wanted in his mind, bringing forth a concept conceptualized–of course–as a long, pointy carrot. For all the cartoon juvenility of the mindscape, here, Daniel the Fluffy Bunny Rabbit felt most confident, most at ease. He might not be good at the other points, but when it came to the Mind, the knowledge of how spellcasting worked, he felt he had a handle on things. His job didn’t require working with gut feeling or judgment, and it didn’t ask him to control power in precise ways–it was, almost completely, a mental game of taking memorized information from his head and using that information to give the ideas form and shape. This was where he belonged, and he knew it. Above and beyond the here and now, more than just in their training, this is the role that warlocks belonged in. There was power here, and this was the place he could use it. A warlock, with all the speed and power that implied, could take this power and do incredible things with it. His early assumptions had been wrong–the witches in a coven weren’t simply batteries that charged up their spells. They did far more, providing structure, relieving the mental load of spellcasting and allowing magic to have greater precision. The warlock leading a coven wouldn’t have to worry about using too much or too little power, the Aether point handled that. Nor did he have to worry about losing energy, that was controlled by Earth. Spirit and Mind reinforced the mental and literal structure of the magic, and Aqueus kept it all moving, flowing, so that the warlock would have all this ready at his fingertips. Maybe this would be a different course to the top. Maybe he didn’t even need to go to a warlock school. Daniel didn’t need to perfect everything after all–as a warlock leading a coven, he would have the girls to compensate for his weaknesses. They would give him everything he needed to achieve mastery, to let him demonstrate the power he had within him. Plus, occasionally, Cassie would scratch him between the ears. The mental connection finally faded, and Cassie sighed happily. Of all the groupings so far, this one had worked the best, and there were smiles all around when it ended. “You’re up, Daniel,” Asami said. Daniel felt it a bit unnecessary, but he wanted to do it regardless, just to see what the role felt like. A mental understanding was good, even if it wasn’t where he belonged. So, moving to the center of the group, Daniel sat down, letting all the girls reach out and rest their hands on him. It was more physical contact than he could remember having since…he wasn’t sure, but he tried not to let that bother him, donning the mental role of the coven’s familiar. Daniel extended his mind. To make the proper mental connections he had to go one at a time, slowly unfolding the arms of their pentacle, and it wasn’t until he’d touched every girl that he realized the form his own mental landscape had taken. He was neither a pool, nor a garden, nor even a gardener. He was not the only human, surrounded by a group of abstract representations of his peers. Daniel had projected himself as some kind of machine, not a computer even, but a modular, five-way arcade cabinet. Every other member of the coven stood around him, human, fully formed, speaking plainly, talking to each other about what they wanted to do, and Daniel was the only one without a voice. He immediately felt the claustrophobia–in his mind, he was unable to move, except for how the girls moved him. They had all the controls, after all, the buttons to push and the joysticks to move to get the results they wanted. He was a game for them, or a toy. And, as Blackburn had made clear, he was helpless. He hadn’t realized how helpless, either, until he was here, projecting the mental image into the world, with zero control over the magic. The only choice he had was to keep the coven’s connection alive, or to end it. But, a moment later, he realized something else. His goal as the coven’s Familiar was to carry magic between them–thoughts, energy, willpower. In his first moments, he’d been waiting for that to begin. As with his other roles, the work would show up, and he’d start handling it as best he could. Ten seconds passed in the mental space, where the girls played his mental arcade and input elaborate button combinations. Only then did he realize it’d already begun, and he hadn’t even noticed. He’d been succeeding, and he hadn’t even noticed. Sure, the mental construct was uncomfortable, even claustrophobic, but above all else it was effortless. Even trying to take notice, Daniel barely registered the effort it took to move it, and the thought process was reflexive, second nature. Even being the Mind had been work, but this? This was child’s play. ... I just finished doing a ton of work setting up an archive and library in my Discord Server. Even if you're not subscribed to my SubStar or Ream, the public stories archive is still available, meaning it's a great way to read the literally hundreds of stories and chapters I've got posted there https://discord.gg/FvyTkRu

I just need to highlight this and make sure it gets the recognition it deserves, because holy crud, this is wonderful.

You could say it was a bit of a "Meta" Moore situation 🤭 It just seemed like it fit!

Chapter 2 “Animal Wafers in my Stew–” I rolled my eyes slightly as I watched the picture show, leaning back against Margeret’s chest and popping a candy cigarette between my lips. There was a distinct difference between the Shelly I’d met the day before and the Shelly on screen. The actress in my office had been adorable, certainly, but she’d had a certain dignity to her that distinguished the woman from the child her body resembled. Her outfit, though pink and cute, had been refined, professional. On-screen Shelly, though? She’d fallen from a tree and hit every adorable branch on the way down. Her hair had curls whose flouncing ignored gravity, and her blush stood out even on the grainy film. It wasn’t just the makeup that made her stand out, though: The dame had pipes. Three feet tall and singing her little youthlocked heart out, she somehow managed to blend the talent that came with decades of singing experience and a genuine youthful energy, never making her role seem artificial. She sounded perfect, and between her wardrobe and her fluid dancing, you’d never know there was a diaper nestled beneath her puffy bloomers if you didn’t know what to look for. Even knowing her, having met her in person and seen her real self, I would’ve sworn that the girl on screen was just a precocious child with a prodigious singing voice. It made me wonder what else an actress could lie about. We’d hit a matinee screening. Margeret had come with me, posing as my mother so I could get free admission. I normally sat on her lap so I could see over the heads of anyone in front of us, but today the effort wasn’t really needed; the theater was practically empty. Still, a few inches of extra elevation afforded a better view. I watched the film with a careful eye. Silly songs and dance performances weren’t much my speed, but I wanted to get into Shelly’s head, into the world she lived in. Her costar wandered into the scene–Candice Wick, a woman in her early twenties who towered above her diminutive costar. They were playing cousins, I was reasonably sure, though these two had been paired off together in dozens of films over the years, and their relationship always felt like an afterthought. Twins, back in the early days when they’d looked the same age, then big sister and little sister, then adult and child siblings, as the age gap grew more and more pronounced. They had chemistry on screen, the sort of familiar banter you’d expect from a double act who’d been working together for more than a decade. The whole piece was too syrupy for my taste–I had a sweet tooth, but Shelly’s films were pure anodyne, cotton candy celluloid. Not exactly my tempo, but I couldn’t deny the craftsmanship and acting chops on display. And that smile–when Shelly flashed her grin to the camera, perfectly cutesy, innocent and adorable–I knew why she’d become the face of a media empire. The film ended on an expected note–the poor orphan girl got adopted into her cousin’s family, the day was saved, the mayor got re-elected, everyone lived happily ever after. Margaret and I left the theater in the early afternoon, holding hands in case anyone started asking questions about our alleged ‘mother-son’ relationship. “It’s about time to get to set,” I commented, checking my watch. “Mind dropping me off?” Margeret nodded, still smiling at the end of the film. She held my hand a little tighter than was strictly necessary as we crossed the street to the car, another indication of her chipper attitude. I knew she didn’t think anything of it, but when Margeret got in one of her happy moods, she had a habit of mothering me a bit too much. Trying to gently steer her back into a business mindset, I added, “You notice anything about that last film?” “What?” she asked, glancing down at me as she opened the rear door of her car, helping me inside. The car was in my name, and strictly speaking I had a license, but it was easier to just let her drive–unless I felt like being pulled over a few times per drive so that a cop could ask why I’d taken daddy’s car for a joyride. “Oh, no, what was it? The film seemed perfectly sweet to me.” “The film did, sure,” I replied. “It’s the audience–or the lack of one. The film came out this week, you’d expect more of a crowd.” “It is a matinee,” she pointed out. “Lots of folks are at work.” “Sure,” I said. “But still–we were the only two there, and we only went because we were being paid.” “Mmmm,” Margaret said, starting up the Chrysler. I caught the skepticism in her tone–I’d said something only partly true. I reconsidered my summary. Just because the film was too cloying for me, didn’t mean it didn’t have an audience. I shrugged. “Alright, well, I only went because I’m being paid.” She nodded, and we puttered onto the road, right into the heart of Hollywood. Within an hour, I was on set, standing beneath the hard gaze of a man who took his job far too seriously. “Places,” the director snapped into his megaphone. “Places, people–I swear to god, if this is the best we’ve got, I’m going to go out and hire some actual seven year olds to take your spots.” (He’s a real charmer,) I thought, though I put a little extra pep in my step as I moved into the desk chair that’d been assigned to me. The director, Don Allan, glared over his megaphone at the eight of us, all ‘extras’ who’d been hired to fill out a classroom scene with Shelly. He was in his forties, with a combover that did little to hide his prominent bald spot and a constant glare on his expression, as though someone in the room had whispered an insult and he was trying to figure out who’d said it. This was our third run through the blocking rehearsal so far, and I was beginning to worry that we’d never get out of the practice. I was only pretending to be an actor–yes, I’m aware of the irony–and I still needed to find time to ask a few questions. “Alright,” Don Allan insisted. “Let’s do it again. Shelly’s going to raise her hand, and–listen–and then you’ll turn…and…look.” The eight of us mimed looking over our shoulders to the back of the classroom set, our collective gaze falling onto an empty desk–Shelly was in makeup, and she didn’t need to be here for this part. “No!” he snapped. “You’re not turning to watch a performance–you’re turning to see who asked the question! This is simple, people, what are you not understanding?” Tossing his megaphone to the side, he pinched the ridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “I’m going to have a smoke. When I get back, I expect to see some goddamned whimsy in here.” He stalked out. Only half the set looked convincing–he didn’t have to slam a door to leave, he just walked through the open space where the cameras would be placed when it came time to roll, past a table of snacks and out to the exterior door. That left me sitting inside half a room with seven extras who all knew Shelly better than I did. “Is this typical behavior?” I asked under my breath, trying to match the cadence of a new actor looking for gossip. “I heard things were rough on Don Allan’s sets, but woof–this guy needs to unwind a couple degrees.” The actors–my costars, really–were a couple seconds behind me in relaxing, waiting until after an audible slam echoed through the set, a door being closed with a firmly unnecessary amount of force. One of the extras reached into his prop desk, taking out a pack of smokes and a strip of matches. Offering one to the woman next to him, he lit them both up, the pair of pint-size actors sharing the smoke break together. “He gets pretty evil when we’re behind schedule and overbudget,” another extra prompted. I glanced back her way–she looked to be about eight, though she certainly didn’t sound it. She didn’t quite have the perpetual adorability of Shelly, a little too much world-weariness visible in her eyes, which is probably why she was filling a classroom desk rather than headlining. “Which, if you’re new here, that’s pretty much every day.” I pursed my lips. Sitting back in my own desk, I put up my feet on the empty chair in front of me, mimicking the relaxed posture of the other extras. “You think that’s why Shelly’s trying to get on other films? Rumor has it, she’s trying to get in with some bigshot drama director.” The man who’d taken out the smokes snorted. “The golden girl? No, she gets the princess treatment. Everyone knows where the checks are coming from–it might not be her name on the studio, but we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Chapel.” Nodding along, I considered that. It tracked with what I knew, though it also painted a question mark on the director’s back. Who would benefit the most from Shelly’s inability to find other work? The studio that made bank off her name, of course. The woman who’d been given a cigarette, one of the older-looking youthlocks in the room, stubbed out her Lucky Strike with about half of it left, tucking the remainder behind her ear and pushing to her feet. “I need to powder my nose,” she commented, though a slight lingering odor betrayed her euphemism a bit. After a long beat, I asked, “You think Candor Taurus really wanted to hire her? I mean, that’s a role to kill for, if I–” A loud scoff interrupted my question, and I turned to see Don walking onto set, a scowl on his face. “That’s a crock,” he snarled. “She’s not working for Candor Taurus, or anyone–our studio’s all she needs.” I put up my hands defensively and shook my head. “Just asking about a rumor.” “Rumors,” he spat, saying the word like a curse. “Where’s Barbara?” “Went to change,” another extra supplied. Don swore, then waved a hand at the whole group. “I can’t get you into better shape than this–go get into makeup, I want to be rolling in thirty minutes.” Nobody had to tell these actors twice–in moments, the set emptied out like someone had yelled ‘Coppers’ at a speakeasy. I was the last one out, giving Don Allan a passing glance as I waddled towards the makeup rooms. He looked tense, more so than he’d been before his smoke break. My comment about Shelly working for other studios had rattled him. Sliding my gaze smoothly past the director, I waltzed through the rest of the studio, trying to look like I belonged. It was in some ways easier than normal–I didn’t look like a kid to the people around me, just another extra, and so I didn’t have any adults… I didn’t have any non-youthlocks trying to get in my way. Bobbing my head, I shook out the thoughts buzzing around in there and returned my focus to the job. I took a second to inspect the mail cubby by the makeup rooms, but it didn’t offer much in the way of clues. A half dozen notes were set in labeled shelves, but there were no guards keeping an eye out to keep the messages private or to ensure the wrong person didn’t walk off with them. Had someone noticed a letter for Shelly sitting out in the open, there’d be nothing stopping them from swiping it before anyone was the wiser. Walking through the door into the makeup room, I found myself blinking away at the sheer illumination in the place–every mirror had half a dozen lightbulbs around it, and there were more on the ceiling, with a few more mood lamps scattered about to boot. Makeup artists were apparently allergic to shadow, and my eyes watered a little as they adjusted to the stiflingly bright room. Once my eyes had adjusted, I clambered up into one of the makeup chairs to await my turn. It was similar to the kind barbers used, with a foot pump at the base to raise and lower it and a swivel so the makeup artist could rotate her subjects around. A couple other extras had arrived before me and were in their own chairs–though, I noticed, only a couple had arrived. Most had apparently scattered to steal a quick break before they were required on set. One makeup artist was assigned to us extras, applying thick layers of foundation that wouldn’t run from sweat or come off too easily while filming. Shelly had her own team, three technicians primping and polishing her appearance to a perfect shine, highlighting the contrast between her importance and our own. Sitting in the chair, she straddled the line between her reality and her persona–the miniature professional woman and the doe eyed darling tot. The makeup team had her almost done, but it was missing something–the sparkle in her eyes, the energetic posture, the acting that turned her wardrobe from a costume into a character. Her outfit might have been On-Screen Shelly, but her mind still reflected the world-weary woman I knew lay beneath the clothing. She made brief eye contact with me when I got in the chair, but didn’t give me so much as a nod of recognition, keeping our real relationship a secret. I was just another extra. My feet dangled off the chair while I waited, pondering what I knew to pass the time. This job had left me plenty of time to think, but not much to think about so far, just a few loose motivations and a blank spot where my evidence should be. That all changed as the door opened, and a skinny man in a slightly oversized suit came bustling in, a three foot poster folded awkwardly under his arm. “Shelly!” he called, tripping over himself as he pulled one of the posters out. “I’ve got something to show you.” I could tell by Shelly’s look that she knew this man well, and that she wasn’t pleased to see him. That pegged him as her manager, William Waters. As I saw the poster in his arms, I got an idea of why. It was a painted version of Shelly’s likeness from behind, though with her head turned so that we could clearly see the precocious grin on her face. The real subject, though, was the disposable diaper hanging around her waist, sticking out with more poof than even the frilliest bloomers. There was a slogan printed beneath: ‘Coddles - Protecting even the brightest smiles.’ He held it up for Shelly to see. “I just got out of a meeting with the marketing director at Beverly-Mark, they’re ready to start printing these in magazines and–” Over the course of a second, I saw Shelly’s face flicker through all a dame’s most dangerous emotions–surprise, confusion, and then, finally, rage. I was wrong. Her world-weary, professional act melted away in front of my eyes. Shelly’s true self came out, face contorting in anger, and then came the screaming. ... The kickstarter for "The Baby Bet" Audiobook is fully funded! That means we're going forward with production! If you're interested in securing a copy of the audiobook, it's 15$ - less than it'll be when it goes up on retail - and if we can hit our first stretch goal, we'll also be adapting and including the trilogy of "Gamer Pants" short stories as a bonus! www.kickstarter.com/projects/peculiarchangeling/the-baby-bet-coming-to-audio