PeculiarChangeling

That seems to be a common 'Weakness' amongst us

What you read is my section, but I've gone in and added all the links so you can read the other half of the story from Zoey's perspective, written by Koneko, and see the amazing art from Hof and Flashy!

To celebrate her first year of HRT, Zoey decides to hit the clubs and party it up - and she can't resist the temptation to do so in diapers. Meanwhile, Dianne is on the lookout for someone to care for - And when they find each other, sparks fly. This story contains exhibitionism, praise, public diaper use, and chastity. ... I wrote this story as part of a collaboration with three other wonderful creators - Ko, HofBondage, and FlashyFlesh! Here's all the links to their various collaborative sections! Koneko's Half of the Story, written from Zoey's Perspective Ko created the original story concept and a lot of the outlining, and also wrote the other half of this story, told from the Baby's perspective. I wrote the section below - The PoV of the dominant, Dianne! HofBondage and FlashyFlesh both did illustrations of several points in the story - They're so freakin' hot and wonderful, so go check them out! The images attached are just previews, you have to go to their page to see the whole thing. HofBondage's First Illustration - Dianne introduces herself FlashyFlesh's First Illustration - Their first dance FlashyFlesh's Second Illustration - Explaining the rules HofBondage's Second Illustration - Play Time on the Potty ... Dianne didn’t believe in luck. Everything in her life happened for a reason. The energy she put out into the world? It came right back to her. When life presented opportunities, she always did her best to take them while thanking life for the favor. This philosophy had treated her well. Though she tried to remain humble, she’d had success in all her affairs, and that success bred confidence–as well as the ability to watch for further opportunity. And tonight she certainly saw opportunity. The club, “The Dream Mode”, wasn’t one she frequented often, but it could occasionally be a good spot for opportunity seeking, and she was friends with several people on the staff. The weekend DJ had been in her sorority, she’d seen the bartender at a few dungeon events, and many patrons were in Dianne’s sphere of friends, ranging from close colleagues to besties. She’d felt the call to the bar that night and, trusting her instincts, sought out the place and ordered herself a little cocktail to enjoy while watching the dancers. And, as she’d suspected, life had given her an opportunity tonight in the form of a precious young girl with more enthusiasm than sense. Dianne noticed the girl as soon as she entered the bar, dressed up like a goth princess. Her clothes’ style screamed ‘You can’t tell me what to do’, but the color and her hair suggested a softer, cuter side, and the collar all but announced the antithesis–please tell me what to do. Even so, Dianne didn’t make a move yet. She watched. There were other candidates that night, other possibilities that life may be pulling her towards. As the girl began to dance, though, Dianne knew that this goth princess was the one she’d come for. As she jumped and spun and gyrated, the girl’s tripp skirt raised, showing off–to Dianne’s delight–the unmistakable outline of a diaper, and the unmistakable print of a Bunny Hop at that. The girl was a Little, and that all but demanded Dianne’s intervention before she left the bar without a mistress to care for her. She began their interaction with a subtle nod. A suggestion, of sorts, ordering the girl a drink. Without a name, Dianne decided to simply think of her as the Baby, until she learned otherwise. And maybe, even after she learned otherwise, she’d still think of the Baby as such. After receiving Dianne’s message, the Baby glanced back her way and smiled. She looked pleased and, perhaps, a little shy–but not so shy that she melted away and fled. Instead, she flounced past Dianne on her way back to the floor, wiggling her crinkling bottom as she passed. It was as though the Baby wanted Dianne to notice, so it was just as well that Dianne had. And if she was that confident in herself, Dianne really needed to provide for her a strong, guiding hand. Stalking across the dance floor, Dianne approached the girl, who had begun dancing with reckless abandon, her eyes closed. Choosing a bold first encounter, she stepped in and looped a finger through the loop in the girl’s collar, pulling her a half step forward–not so forcefully that it’d hurt, just enough to jolt her. Beaming with dominant energy, she sent her parting shot over. “Hello there, little girl. You sure are enjoying yourself tonight.” “H-hello yourself,” the girl replied. Dianne’s heart leapt, this baby was adorable. Her attempt to sound confident rendered her down to a toddler, claiming she hadn’t gotten into the cookie jar without wiping the crumbs off her face. Pulling her finger away, Dianne began to dance, reaching out to the baby’s hips and resting her hands on the poor girl’s diaper. “Dance with me,” she said, not a request, a statement. She could call it, ‘Manifesting the world she wanted to see’, or she could just call it control, but the effect was the same. The baby nodded and obeyed, blushing brightly all the while. Hands placed firmly over the baby’s diaper, with only a thin skirt between her and the crinkly padding, they danced. It wasn’t the right music for a slow dance with a lot of touching, but Dianne moved their bodies in a rhythm of her choosing, moving her hands up and down the baby, engaging in close contact. She moved with an almost protective aura. She’d staked her claim on this little girl, and now they danced together, with Dianne warding off anyone who might come close in subtle ways, placing her body so that she was the baby’s whole world, her sole focus and the object of her attention. When the time was right, in a lull between songs, Dianne moved behind the baby and wrapped her arm around the girl. She ran her hand up the girl’s thigh, finally pressing her palm into the front of the girl’s thick diapers. Leaning in to whisper in the baby’s ear, she stated, “Show me you’re a good little girl. Wet your diaper.” She didn’t say it in a condescending or mean way, but just as a statement–if the baby was good, her diaper would be wet. The baby glanced back at her, anxious but pliable, biting her lip. “What’s the matter? Did you not hear me?” Dianne asked, dropping her voice even lower. “Do I need to speak louder, sweetheart, so everyone can hear? Good girls wet their diapers.” Shutting her eyes, the girl did what was only natural. She proved to Dianne that she was good, and obedient, and more than willing to obey. The warmth spread quickly as the baby followed instructions, flooding the padding thoroughly, urine wicking into the absorbent padding and making the diaper sag ever so slightly. She’d stopped dancing. It was adorable. The baby was so focused on obeying, on being good, that she’d forgotten everything around her. To remind the girl of where she was, Dianne pressed her hand into the squelching diaper, giving it a squeeze. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” she purred. To Dianne’s delight, the girl squeaked in submission. Truly, the universe had given her a precious gift today, even if the baby tried to hide it and tamp down on any other little sounds. “Tsk,” she warned, reaching down for the girl’s purse. The girl resisted, but Dianne gave her a light swat to the thigh and she melted back into obedience. Going through the contents of the purse, she made a mental catalog–the baby had really come prepared. “Enough pretending you’re big,” she stated, listing out what she saw as she came across it. “Miss Dianne wants to see what you have–powder, wipes, lotion, spare diapers. You’re a smart girl, right, you remembered to bring a change, and–ah, there it is.” Before the baby could ask what she’d found, Dianne produced the baby’s pacifier and plopped it into the girl’s lips. She reached up, to cover the pacifier and remove it, but a firmer swat to her thigh and a dominant glance was enough to demolish the girl’s resistance. “No no, sweetie, you keep that in. Nurse your paci, little girl, and Miss Dianne will take care of everything else.” To emphasize what ‘everything else’ meant, she gave the baby’s diaper another squeeze. “Don’t worry–nobody will know you’re a baby, they’ll just think you’re on molly.” The girl nodded meekly. Putty in the hands of a strong woman, Dianne wanted to swaddle her up and protect her from the whims of the universe. “Tell me your name,” she said. “Zoey,” the girl mumbled, over her pacifier. “Little Baby Zoey,” Dianne purred, letting the name float across her tongue. Running her fingers down the back of Zoey’s diaper, she decided to try something. This baby needed to be cared for, and Dianne had just the thing. “You flooded your diapers–we need to step aside to make sure you don’t leak.” If Zoey even noticed the other dancers anymore, Dianne suspected it was only barely. Moving her hand from the diaper to Zoey’s hand, Dianne walked off the stage and, as expected, felt no resistance. Baby Zoey followed with complete deference, off to a shady corner of the nightclub where no lights shone. It wouldn’t be private, but it’d be private enough. Sliding the purse off Zoey’s shoulder, Dianne set it on the table by their side, turning the girl so that she faced the dance floor. “All you need to do is stand there and look pretty,” she promised. The baby let out a squeak, the universal language version of, ‘I’m a helpless little girl,’ and Dianne proceeded with her plan. “If you keep using your diaper–which a good little girl will do–you’re going to leak,” she explained, as her hands worked under Zoey’s skirt, feeling up her sodden diaper. With a sharp fingernail, she pierced the plastic shell of Zoey’s diaper, tearing a long slit from the front to the back. Zoey squeaked again, and Dianne whispered, “Shh, just hold still.” Three more parallel slits into Zoey’s diaper created open channels, enough for fluids to easily drain. Now came the fun part, as she reached into Zoey’s purse–her diaper bag, really–and produced another diaper, unfolding it discreetly behind Zoey’s back. In the dark corner, most onlookers would assume Dianne was just feeling her up, at least at a glance. Sure, there were some obvious tells that something more was going on, but Dianne was counting on the fact that, in a crowded nightclub, most eyes would be on the gyrating asses and dancing hotties on the floor, not the quietly meeping baby in the corner. Sliding the diaper up beneath Zoey’s skirts, Dianne worked by sense of touch to wrap it around her waist. Zoey continued making little helpless squeaking sounds over her pacifier, but Dianne’s touch remained gentle as she smoothed out the crinkling plastic shell, pressing the diaper into Zoey, and smoothing out the tapes so that they stuck securely. While she was doing so, she felt a bulge in the front of Zoey’s diaper. That settled one thing she’d been curious about, though she wouldn’t bring it up until Zoey did. “Good girl,” she whispered from behind, into Zoey’s ear. “Now you don’t have to worry about leaks at all!” Baby Zoey nodded meekly. Obediently. Such a good baby. “You need to drink more water,” Dianne instructed. “Then come back to me. I want to dance again.” Adorably, Zoe’s doubly-diapered waddle and choice of bottoms worked together to make her diaper poke out as she left, visible with every step beneath her flapping skirt. She was precious, with the sort of innocence that made Dianne’s heart melt. While she was gone, Dianne steadied herself. She couldn’t get carried away, and wouldn’t push this girl too far. If the girl was that naive to how obvious her diaper was–and it really didn’t seem like she was choosing exhibitionism–then she truly needed a protector to shield that innocence. Though, at the same time–the girl had chosen to come to a bar wearing a diaper, purely for her own gratification. She wasn’t that kind of innocent, and Dianne felt no compunctions about making Zoey helpless along that vector. When Zoey returned, Dianne’s heart melted by another degree as she saw Zoey had brought back a sippy cup. Admittedly, it had lewd stickers and the bar logo printed on the side, and it probably came out for the Kandy Kid ravers fairly often, but in Zoey’s hands it just screamed, ‘I’m a little baby.’ “That’s cute,” she said, nodding at the cup with an amused smile. “The bartender could tell you’re still a little baby.” Zoey responded by making a face, arguing her maturity in the most childish way possible. "Nuh uh, it was a joke an I…ummm…I though’ she knew…" Dianne’s smile widened, though she wondered if Zoey’s slurring was a toddlerish aspect, or a sign that she’d had more than water in the past moment. “You should have a seat, little Zoey, and drink your water. Take care of your body. Okay?” Nodding to a box to the side, the sort of wide low rectangle that could be dragged out and used as a raised dancing or performing platform, she helped Zoey move to sit on it. "Thanou… I shoudn…" The girl pulled out her pacifier, holding it in her hand as she confirmed Dianne’s suspicion. "I shouldn't have gotten more shots…you were right about the water. " Heart swelling, Dianne’s instincts kicked in. This girl needed a Mommy, not just a Mommy Dom. “Zoey, that’s not what you were supposed to do. You want to be a good girl, and that’s not what good girls do. How is your head feeling?” Zoey bit her lip, avoiding eye contact and staring at her lap. "It's fine, well… a little spinny, but not bad... and I do want I be a good girl, I was just being dumb and not thinking. I'm sorry Miss." “You’re not dumb.” This girl… Dianne took a breath, resisting the urge to drag Zoey into a hug. “You just need a grown up to help take care of you. This is your first night out as a little girl, isn’t it?” A little squeak escaped Zoey’s lips, and for a half second, Dianne worried she’d said something wrong. After catching herself, though, Zoey continued. "Well, I've been out padded before, but never to the club. Actually this is my first time at the club in over a year… I'm kind of here to celebrate something." A few thoughts all rose to the surface in Dianne’s mind. Rather than speak her theory aloud, though, she put her hands on Zoey’s and let the baby explain for herself in her own time. “Oh? I’m afraid I don’t have a present for you, but I’m sure whatever the occasion is, it’s very special.” "Honestly, all the fun and attention is far more than I could've asked for from anyone… that being said…" Zoey closed her eyes and took a breath, like she was about to jump of a cliff. "... the thing is… I'm a trans woman. I started HRT a year ago." (This baby!) Dianne’s hands tightened over Zoey’s. “Oh, you sweet little thing. Thank you for telling me, but that doesn’t change anything to me.” Worried that she might be coming on too strong, too protective, she added a quip. “Then again, that explains why you’re such a baby–you’re only one!” Zoey’s eyes watered, but she took the branch of humor and kept herself together. "Hmph! I'm four. I'm practically a big girl even." She stuck out her tongue, and Dianne was almost surprised that she didn’t add in a raspberry. “Uh-huh.” Playing along, Dianne lifted the sippy cup, prodding the sipper in between Zoey’s lips “Well, birthday girl, I want you to have a nice time, but since you’re a little tipsy, we need to make sure you’re okay first, okay?” Zoey nodded obediently. "Yes ma'am." When she spoke, the water she’d been sipping on dribbled down her chin, further reinforcing Dianne’s vision of her as all-but helpless. For some reason, the baby giggled, dribbling even more water, and a furtive glance downward suggested why. Reaching down, Dianne gave the baby’s diaper another squeeze. “We’re going to sit here for a little while until your head stops spinning.” Zoey opened her mouth, but Dianne shook her head and pushed the sippy cup back between her lips. “Shh, just listen. I need you to listen, so you can be good.” Zoey nodded. Good girl. Dianne clasped Zoey’s hands tightly. “If I say you’re going to do something, and you don’t feel safe, you’re going to tell me. If I ask if you’re okay, you’re going to tell me. I can’t protect you if I don’t know how you’re feeling.” Again, Zoey nodded, suckling intently on her water. “If I ask, and you’re okay, you can just say, ‘Green’. Just that one word and I’ll know you’re okay.” Dianne waited for a nod before continuing. “If you’re uncertain, and want to talk, you say, ‘Yellow’. Swallow, then say it back to me.” Zoey obeyed, swallowed her water, and said, “Yellow.” “And if you say, ‘Red’, we stop immediately and get you safe and comfortable. Say it.” “Red.” Zoey put her cup back, letting the water trickle into her mouth again. “We don’t joke about safe words. I’m not going to do anything that’ll get you in trouble, but if you’re unsure, you’ll tell me immediately.” She was moving things too fast, and she knew it–but the universe had given her this precious baby to protect, and she wouldn’t let the moment pass her by. “Now tell me, little Zoey, what’s your favorite song to dance to?” The girl hesitated for a moment, and Dianne worried she’d gone too far, but it quickly became clear she’d just taken Zoey by surprise with the change of topics. Of course, Zoey couldn’t know what Dianne was thinking, so that shouldn’t have been a surprise. After a moment of thought, Zoey said, "Um... Emo Girl? But not MJK's version…” Smirking, she showed off a bit of the fiery passion and opinionated personality Dianne loved to see. “That isn't emo to me. Paige Six got it right." Dianne grinned. "Okay, now you need someone to check your diaper for me while I go request your song–you’re probably close to needing a change, right?" Glancing around, she spotted another acquaintance, someone she knew was kink friendly and up for anything. Gesturing with her head, she suggested, “What about him?” Zoey shook her head. "Y-yellow…" Swallowing, Dianne tried not to berate herself. She’d already gone and pushed Zoey too far, and it had been luck that she’d used her safe words–no, Zoey was a smart girl. It wasn’t luck, she just knew how to assert her boundaries. "Is it a problem with him, or with someone checking your diaper?" Zoey shook her head, briefly uncommunicative, but her eyes told the story. She glanced to the bartender, Amy, and Dianne knew what she wanted from that look. "Oh, would you like the nice lady who gave you your sippy cup to do it? It would be very brave of you to go and ask her.” She smiled, reassuringly. Amy was just as reliable, maybe even moreso, and if it was what made Zoey comfortable it was the perfect choice. Zoey smiled, and Dianne helped her up, smirking at the girl’s pronounced waddle from the thick, sodden diapers that her skirt failed to hide. Giving Zoey a pat and a squeeze on her padding, she added, “You should thank her for the sippy cup, as well.” While Zoey went to get checked, Dianne made her way through the crowd over to the DJ. Throwing up a wave with her thumb and pinkie extended in a waggle, she greeted her. “Hey, Mels! How’ve you been?” With an earphone pressed against one ear, Mels responded with a thumbs up, bobbing her head and keeping the music going. She’d always been more of a doer than a talker. “Can you take a request for me, as a favor? Emo Girl by Paige Six!” Another thumbs up and a nod, and Mels returned to her DJ work. Grinning, Dianne found her way back to Zoey, meeting her by the dancing platform they’d been standing by. Zoey returned a moment later, with a full sippy cup and an adorable blush. “What did the nice lady say?” Dianne asked. “That…I could last a little longer,” Zoey replied, raising her cup to take a sip. “We should fix that,” Dianne suggested. “But first, I want you to show me what a good dancer you are, okay?” Zoey hesitated, and again, Dianne wondered if she’d gone too fast with her. Before she could retract her suggestion, though, Zoey nodded. “Okay.” “Where’s your pacifier?” Dianne asked. Zoey retrieved it from her purse, and Dianne plopped it between her lips. Then, she bent slightly, pulling on the handle of the raised dance platform. It wasn’t that heavy, and she could drag it easily towards the center of the dance floor. She hadn’t, strictly, gotten permission to use it, but confidence was the only ticket she needed. They weren’t forbidden or anything, and everyone was already dancing–what difference would it make if Zoey was dancing a little higher, for everyone to see? “Just be good for me,” Dianne said. “I want to watch you dance, okay?” Zoey nodded again, as Dianne got the platform far enough out that people were stepping aside to let her through. Taking Zoey’s hand, she squeezed it reassuringly, helping the tipsy baby up just as a few opening chords started to play. The music began: “She’s got studded belts–” and Zoey’s face lit up with excitement. Needing no further encouragement, she began to dance. The girl lit up the room, and not just because a spotlight whirled to point at her. Her smile was infectious, her enthusiasm infinite, and when she danced, twirling so that her skirt spun, it filled Dianne with pure joy. It didn’t matter that Zoey’s diaper was acutely visible, between her raised platform, her skirt spinning high, and the severe puff and sag of the diaper. Most people in the bar were kink friendly, and even those who weren’t just didn’t care. It was impossible to look at Zoey, dancing her heart out and smiling the biggest, most exuberant smile in the world, and care what was sagging under that skirt. As the song reached its final chorus, Zoey looked down at Dianne, hesitant, looking for something. Dianne knew what, and she gave her permission. She mouthed the word: ‘Push.’ Zoey glanced past her, eyeing something. Dianne glanced back, and saw it was a mirror; Zoey was watching herself as she obeyed. The little girl bent her knees slightly, still wiggling her butt in time with the music, but soon even that motion was lost as she turned her attention to being a good girl. She bit down on her pacifier, held her breath, and Dianne’s heart melted. This girl was simply too precious for this world, too adorable. Even though the mess could only be inferred; Zoey’s diaper was already so thick and sagging that there wasn’t much in the way of a visible bulge, it was clear what she was doing by her face and her pose, and by the subtle crinkle as she bottomed out her diapers. Gaze darting around for reassurance, Zoey caught Dianne’s eyes, breathing rapidly. The last notes of the song were running out, and Dianne beamed at her, reaching up to help her down. Even with Dianne’s hand, Zoey still stumbled, falling onto a seated position on the platform. She gasped and turned pink as she fell onto the weight of her packed diaper, and Dianne finally got a whiff of what she’d done. Wrinkling her nose ever so slightly, Dianne pulled her into a hug and helped Zoey away from the center of the dance floor, while someone else climbed up to take their turn as the center of attention. “Shh,” she whispered into Zoey’s ear. “You’re such a good girl. You were wonderful up there, the most adorable little thing I’ve ever seen, and the best little baby anyone could ask for.” Reaching down, she slipped a hand under Zoey’s skirt, squeezing the seat of her diaper ever so slightly. Zoey looked down, avoiding Dianne’s gaze, so Dianne touched her chin and moved her head up until they locked eyes again. Zoey’s expression was huge and helpless, little and in dire need of reassurance…and maybe something more. “Your diaper is ready for a change,” Dianne said. “There’s a bathroom in the corner with a lock. Would you like me to change you?” Zoey squeaked out a little, “Yes, please,” over her pacifier, though her focus was less on the words and more on Dianne’s face. Smiling warmly, Dianne said, “There’s my stinky little girl. Let’s go.” Leading Zoey by the hand, Dianne pulled her to the restroom. A unisex sign on the door indicated it was for general use, though in practice Dianne thought it was used as a private room for sex as often as it was for its intended purpose–certainly, Zoey wouldn’t be using the toilet any time soon. Pulling her inside, Dianne locked the door. Reaching down, she took Zoey’s skirt, kneeling so she could pull it all the way down off the baby’s body, revealing her sagging, smelly diaper. Kneeling in front of Zoey, Dianne looked up at her. “You really ruined your diaper, baby,” she commented. “Just like you’re supposed to.” As Zoey squeaked in response, Dianne stood, took her hands, and gently forced her back towards the toilet. It was a cheap, old thing, with exposed copper pipes that ran halfway up the wall. Definitely a retrofit, and little effort had been made for aesthetics. Dianne pushed Zoey down onto the toilet seat, forcing the baby’s weight into her loaded diaper, then pulled her hands up to the pipes. Twisting the skirt into a rope, Dianne wrapped it around the pipes and around Zoey’s wrists, tying a secure knot. It was by no means perfect, but it didn’t cut off circulation, and it’d keep her hands there so long as she didn’t try to wriggle free, and good girls wouldn’t try to wriggle free. Once she was restrained, Dianne reached down, rubbing against the front of Zoey’s diaper. She could feel how hard the girl was, and Zoey wriggled on the toilet seat to truly experience how full her diaper had become. Hesitating, Dianne took a risk. “Show mommy how much you love your smelly diapers, okay?” She didn’t want to go too far, but calling herself ‘Mommy’ just felt right. Zoey seemed to agree with the label, because she didn’t object, she simply thrusted into Dianne’s hand, moaning into her pacifier as she tried to get every ounce of sensation through her layers of sodden, decimated diaper. After a moment, Dianne pulled her hand away. She didn’t want Zoey’s fun to end just yet. Instead, she reached up, unbuttoning her blouse till it hung loose over her chest. Reaching down, she took Zoey’s pacifier out of her lips, moved to sit on Zoey’s lap so that her breasts were at Zoey’s eye level, and pulled herself free of her bra. She didn’t need to say anything. Zoey’s mouth moved instinctively to Dianne’s nipple, and she began to suckle, still wriggling and grinding as she did so. It was Dianne’s turn to moan, and to reach down beneath her own pants, slipping fingers to fondle herself while adorable, helpless, smelly little Zoey gasped and suckled her tits. Dianne barely needed to do anything for herself, simply being over Zoey in this situation brought her nearly to the edge, and she showed little restraint as she brought herself to climax. “Yes,” she moaned, as Zoey sucked hard on her breasts. “Exactly like that, baby, just–yes–” It was Dianne’s turn to make herself wet, though not as thoroughly as Zoey had. Squirting into her panties, it just barely soaked through to her jeans, not enough to be particularly noticeable unless someone was looking for it. Zoey continued to wriggle in helpless frustration, trying and failing to get enough sensation to achieve her own climax. Dianne took a breath for a moment, then pulled away. “Zoey, I want you to wait here,” she said. “Don’t spit out your pacifier, and don’t untie your hands. If you do, I’ll know.” Zoey looked up at her, eyes huge, pleading, as though to ask, ‘Why don’t I get to cum?’, but Dianne only smiled coyly. “Trust me,” she said. “I’ll only be gone a minute. Safe words?” Zoey mumbled, “Green,” over her pacifier, and Zoey bent over to kiss her on the forehead. Then she stood up straight, waved, and left the bathroom, flipping over the ‘out of order’ sign on the door to discourage anyone from stepping in. Of course, there wasn’t anything stopping anyone from opening the door, and that was a bit of the fun. In the few minutes while Dianne was gone, anyone could wander in and find Zoey stuck, right over the toilet, in her filthy diaper. She was only gone for a minute. There was a sex shop two doors down and open late, and she acquired what she needed with little hassle. She got back, made her way across the bar floor and pushed open the door to the bathroom. After being gone for several minutes, the shock of the smell hit her hard as she stepped in, partly because it contrasted with the fresh air outside, partly because Zoey had been given time to stew and really stink up the room. Zoey was wriggling on the toilet seat, smushing into her diaper and whimpering when Dianne walked in. Spotting her, she mumbled through her pacifier, “Mommy?” “Mhmm,” Dianne said. “Let’s get your diaper changed, little girl.” “But–” Zoey started, but Dianne shook her head. “No buts, except yours, in a fresh diaper,” Dianne said, setting down her shopping bag and crossing to begin cleaning up Zoey. It was a bit tricky, doing it while Zoey stayed seated and tied up, but Dianne made it work. Undoing the tapes, she pinched her nose and made a face, mostly for show. “You really did a number on your diaper,” she commented, producing baby wipes from Zoey’s purse and slowly, methodically, began to clean the girl up. Zoey continued to squirm, but over time, the cold wipes began to combat her erection, and her princess parts grew smaller and more pliable. Exactly what Dianne wanted. Reaching into her purse, she produced her purchase–a stainless steel chastity cage. She made sure Zoey could see it, and waited for a moment to give her a chance to use a safe word. When Zoey didn’t respond, Dianne opened up the cage, and began fitting it around her parts. “This is my good little girl insurance,” Dianne explained, sliding the cage into place. “I want you to wear your diapers and use them like a good baby all week, and if you do, I’ll unlock you and let you cum. Okay?” Zoey nodded enthusiastically, eyes huge and excited. “You’ll get my permission before every change, okay?” Dianne asked, as she slid the locking mechanism into place. Zoey nodded again, and with a little click, she locked the cage on. Reaching for a fresh diaper from Zoey’s purse, she added, “And I don’t want you to even think about using the potty. You’re a baby, you’re supposed to use your diapers. Okay?” She made sure to emphasize that she was asking–some things still required more than a statement of fact. “O…okay, mommy,” Zoey nodded. Zoey had brought along powder as well, so Dianne applied a thin layer before wrapping up the fresh diaper and taping it into place. “Good girl.” Reaching down, she wadded up Zoey’s old diaper so that nothing could smush out, then moved it into Zoey’s purse. “I don’t want to make the staff here deal with your stinky accidents, so this goes in your diaper bag.” That didn’t need an ‘Okay?’ at the end. Zoey would be good on that account. Zoey nodded again, squirming in her fresh diaper. Reaching up, Dianne finally untied Zoey’s skirt from around the pipe, freeing her hands. “Let’s take you home, baby girl. Did you have a nice time?” “Mhmm,” Zoey said. “Thanks, Mommy.” Dianne’s heart swelled. Fate had truly given her a gift tonight. ... Support from readers like you is what makes it possible for me to tell stories like this one - And you get access to all my writing early, downloadable copies of all the stories, and exclusive fiction! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Wrote this for OmoPurrr, the artist behind several of my recent captions! ... The rustle of wrapping paper was loud enough, it almost cut through the crinkle of Nat’s diaper. That made her feel a little better–As long as they didn’t hear, Daddy’s friends wouldn’t be able to tell that her skirt hid not panties, but the bottom of her baby blue onesie and a thick, bulging diaper. The stale pee smell from her several accidents was mild enough to be hidden by the smoke from her recently-blown-out birthday candles, but no amount of smoke would hide her soon-to-be-blown-out diaper’s seat. Suspicion danced in Nat’s head. She suspected that Daddy had pulled a mean trick, done something to her to undermine her potty training. Hiding laxatives in her birthday cake, maybe? But…he’d let her pick out which slice she wanted, so maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe she really was just struggling. Regardless, though, the gurgling in her tummy wasn’t about to let up. She could have asked to be excused and gone up to her bedroom, where she’d at least be able to go poopy in private. She’d be leaving her own birthday party, though, and if she did, she’d also be leaving her birthday presents behind. So, she unwrapped–she wanted to get all her presents open before she went upstairs. Kneeling on the floor, she held package after package in her lap, ripping the pretty paper free to reveal the gifts within. Daddy’s friends had all gotten her nice things–a new dress, a book, a video game she was excited to play. But Daddy’s gift, the largest package sitting on the coffee table, came last. Nat scooched closer to the table to take it. It was big big, large enough that she could just barely have laid on top of it if she curled up into a ball. Maybe it was some kind of IKEA furniture, or a whole wardrobe of new clothes? Her stomach gurgled loudly enough for Daddy to hear, but he only smiled knowingly and nodded for Nat to open the gift. Removing the bow from on top, she ripped open the paper, but that only revealed a thoroughly taped cardboard box. Pulling all the paper free, she ran her hands along the side, finding a weak point in the tape. A gentle tug didn’t rip the cardboard open, though, so she shifted her position, getting to her feet and squatting down for leverage– Brrgpgbttt– Her eyes widened, but Nat had no time to reverse her mistake. She’d moved into the pose her body understood as, ‘Potty position’, and her already gurgling bowels gave in to impulse. Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked to Daddy, trying to find the words to ask for rescue. All his friends were there, all watching, and she was frozen. “What is it, baby?” Daddy asked. (I need a potty,) she thought, desperation and humiliation jumbling her vocabulary into soup. (I need privacy, I need–I’m going–) “P-poopy!” Her hands clapped over her mouth, but she’d blurted out too much already, and below her skirt, she continued to blort out a tidal wave. The seat of her diaper swelled, and little sounds were enough to signal to the room what was happening beneath her skirt, even if she hadn’t just announced it. At least Daddy’s friends were good natured. Nobody laughed, nobody pointed at her and called her a smelly, helpless baby, they just smirked and continued talking about whatever grown up things were going on in their lives. Daddy kept his gaze on her, though, until her body finished bottoming out her diaper, sagging the seat of her padding so severely that it strained the buttons on her onesie. She whimpered, and the wrinkled noses of the nearby grown ups…Daddy’s friends, I’m a grown up too…told her they could smell her accident just as clearly as she could. “I…” she started. “Finish opening your present, baby girl,” Daddy suggested. Looking down, Nat pulled on the cardboard again, finally ripping up the tape, but the momentum sent her back, and she fell, going from squatting to sitting with a loud, squelchy squish. Her blush rose to a crimson peak as she felt her accident spread out beneath her, muck smushing beneath her weight, and a hint of pleasure crept up beneath all the humiliation. There was a reason she asked Daddy to keep her in diapers, after all. They felt good. And, sitting up to inspect her prize, she saw why the box was so big: It was full to the brim of fresh, puffy pink bunny diapers. She couldn’t count them all up quickly, but there were enough to fill up her wardrobe and still have diapers to spare–enough to keep her permanently pampered for a month or more–and if Daddy was stingy with changes, it’d likely end up being more. Speaking of changes, she needed one. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said, looking at him, ignoring the patronizing smirks of his friends. “Let me get a picture,” Daddy replied, raising his phone. “Hold up your present so the camera can see?” Nat obeyed, lifting one of her diapers from the box, holding it up. It’s not like she could pretend anymore, the whole room had just watched her make pushies without even a hint of control. “Say, ‘Poopy’,” Daddy instructed, coaxing her to smile. “P-poopy,” Nat stammered, blush ratcheting up another step when she heard the camera click. “Um–can I put one on now, please, Daddy?” Daddy tilted his head. “I know you’re excited to play with your new presents,” he mused, “But I did tell you I wouldn’t have time to change you until the party was over, right?” “But…” Nat gave him her best adorable, helpless eyes. “Please, daddy? Please may I have one of my new diapers?” He smiled, and Nat had a moment of uncertainty, realizing there was more amusement behind that smile than there should have been. What was Daddy planning? “Alright,” Daddy said, pushing to his feet. “Lay down.” “Right here?” she squeaked, looking around the room. Sure, Daddy’s friends were barely giving her more than an occasional smirk–to them, this was purely an excuse to catch up with other adults, Nat’s situation was just a bit of background noise–but for them to see her get a dirty diaper change? “But–” “Do you want your new diaper or not?” Daddy asked. Helpless, knowing it would be worse if she refused after begging, Nat nodded and laid back on the floor, between her pile of presents and her huge box of brand new diapers. Daddy knelt and took the new bunny diaper from her hands. Nat realized then that he didn’t have any of his changing supplies, but he’d already started–flipping up her skirt, undoing the her onesie so that her abused diaper flopped out, no longer restrained by struggling snaps. Instead of going to untape her old diaper, though, Daddy just slid the fresh one beneath her, squaring it under the smelly, saggy one she already had on. “But–” Nat began again. “Mhmm,” Daddy said. “That’s right, your butt is getting a fresh diaper, just like you asked. You understood you weren’t getting a change, but since you wanted to play in a new diaper so badly, I decided this compromise would be okay.” Nat had no capability to get any redder, but she squirmed as he used the edge of his thumbnail to rip a few tears down the front of her diaper, all the way down to the seat, so future accidents wouldn’t simply leak out the side. Folding her fresh birthday diaper up, he pressed it into her, snug and tight, so that all the contents of her dirty diaper squelched into her. Wriggling and kicking her legs in pleasure and protest, Nat fussed until he was done taping the new diaper on, sealing her in double layers, a state she knew she’d be in until she’d fully soaked both of them. He pulled on the onesie, stretching the elastic to make the buttons reach each other, and as he snapped them in place, each one pulled her diaper against her, squelching the soggy parts out to the side. The onesie no longer did anything to held her dignity, it only emphasized and enhanced the obvious, stinky, bulging diapers beneath, and it held everything so tight against her that she couldn’t help but notice the squelch every time she moved. Then his hands moved to her skirt. “I don’t want you leaking on this,” he said, pulling it down and away. Nat was too embarrassed to argue, even as her last bit of dignity was taken from her. Everyone could already smell her diapers, and her them crinkle and squish, so why did it matter if they could see the bulge and the sag as well? “Come here,” Daddy instructed, pulling her to her feet. Leading her by the hand, he walked back to the couch, sat, and patted his hand on his leg, just over his knee. “Here?” Nat asked, eyes widening. “You don’t want a birthday bouncy ride?” Daddy asked. She glanced to her sides–Daddy’s friends really didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t see her as a peer, a fellow adult, someone for whom this treatment would be humiliating. They saw her as she was–a pamper packing little baby, whose antics need only be enjoyed with a smile. So she crawled onto Daddy’s leg, sitting the weight of her packed pampers right onto his knee. Pushing up with his foot, Daddy started the movement. Bounce. She felt the results of her accident squish into her. Padding, dry and wet, squishy and crinkly, all grinding up into her. Bounce. A little faster. A little more emphasis on the mass of the poopy mess she’d poured into her pampers. Bounce. She rocked her hips back, adding her own momentum to the ride. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. She opened her mouth, thinking she might moan, but Daddy moved her hand for her, guiding her thumb into her mouth. Automatically, she began to suck, saturating her finger with drool while she rocked in time with her bouncy ride. Bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce Nat loved this. She loved the feel of her diapers, how they slid and squelched against her, how they smelled, how they confirmed her status. She loved that she could do this, that nobody expected anything more of her, that Daddy had made her into a pamper packing little baby so thoroughly that she had nothing to hide. She loved the ride, she loved the sensations it shot through her, she loved her Daddy. Pleasure and burning need built in her, the kind of deep enjoyment she only got from a full diaper and her Daddy’s attention. Bounce bounce bounce boun– She gasped, and after less than a minute of her ride, threw her arms around Daddy and squeezed him in a tight hug. He kept his leg moving, bouncing her up and down, so she could enjoy her ride. Pleasure coursed through her as she added more fluids to the padding, pulses of bliss squirting out in a rush. She heard one of the grown ups make a comment about her, something praising how cute she was when she was tuckered out, but Nat had eyes only for her Daddy and tuned everything else out. He looked down at her, returning the hug, stroking her hair as the end of her orgasm trailed off. “Happy birthday, Nat.” ... If you like my writing and want to throw a couple dollars my way to help me continue to create, I'd be very grateful! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

That's pretty optimistic if we're talking about everything included in my little VR universe - What I'm writing requires some way to directly interface with the brain, since there's no other way to simulate tactile sensations like touch and smell, and for narrative reasons I found it to be more fun without having to wear bulky glasses. Augmented reality clothing is a lot more possible, but I think it'll remain fairly niche simply because of comfort - wearing VR goggles simply isn't something a lot of people will want to do for long stretches without a very good reason! Buuut, there's always other ways to enjoy the experience of filling up your diapers - It just requires a shower and some cleanup after.

Chapter 27: A Realization in Three Courses Breakfast time. Grace sat on a kitchen stool, waiting patiently for Pearce to finish serving her breakfast, waiting to see if his lesson had sunk in. He’d dressed her plainly enough–onesie, pants, diaper. Practical and straightforward, to the point that the onesie didn’t even have any screen printed slogans or childish designs. Grace didn’t know how to take that. The bet was still on, clearly, but he hadn’t tried to tease or push any humiliating buttons, he’d just followed the rules. On the one hand, the straightforward outfit and prompt meal was a good sign–it meant he’d at least learned a bit about responsibility. On the other, she struggled to interpret his tactics. This was too weak and easy to make her quit, not after she’d proven she could stick it out for weeks. This couldn’t be an attempt to win the bet. That left one possibility–he thought she was still mad, and this was his way of apologizing. Let her have it easy for a couple days, let the bet lie low so she could calm down. His interpretation was wrong, she didn’t need kid gloves, but it was reassuring that he’d chosen to be kind. “What’s on the menu?” she asked, as he passed her a bottle of fresh coffee. “Toaster waffles,” he replied, leaning back against the counter and waiting for the toaster to get finished. “Nice,” she said, unsure what else to add to the brief conversation. The air between them felt awkward and she wanted to chat to fill the space, but couldn’t think of what to say. The toaster did its typical jumpscare, popping loudly and without warning to indicate its contents were cooked, and Pearce slid the waffles out onto a plate. Butter and maple syrup got slathered on the breakfast, and he set it all down in front of Grace. Dividing everything up with a fork, he scooped up a bite, raising it for Grace without a word. She hesitated. Normally, he’d have something to say here–maybe a classic, ‘Here comes the airplane/train/automobile’, or something teasy, ‘This will help you grow up to be a big, strong adult!’, or a joke, ‘Open wide for Daddy Bezos!’. Now, he just held out the fork. “Uh,” she said, before just opening her mouth and taking the bite. While she chewed, Pearce prepared the next bite, moving efficiently to get the meal over with. Grace got it. He was task oriented. “Have a lot of work on your plate today?” she asked between bites. “Playing catch-up,” he confirmed. Well, he was staying on task and handling his duties. She couldn’t complain about that. Taking the next bite, she worked her way through breakfast, stopping for the occasional sip of coffee. He responded to questions and occasionally spoke, but otherwise stayed quiet and got the job done. Grace didn’t try to prod too much for conversation, though–if he had things to do, she didn’t want to slow him down. When she finished up the syrupy meal, he put the dishes away, refilled another bottle with plain water, and set it on the kitchen table in front of her. That done, he popped two more waffles into the toaster. Finally, he gave the front of her jeans a tentative squeeze to determine how wet she was, and shrugged. “You’re all good,” he said. “Fed, don’t need a change, you’ve got something to drink.” “Thanks,” she said, caught off guard by how quick and non-invasive the check had been. “You’re sure I don’t need a change?” He stopped, eyeing her. “That’s awfully close to asking for one, Grace. Please don’t do anything that’ll get you a time out.” (Right.) He was watching out for her, trying to straddle the line between obeying the rules and protecting her from unfair consequences. He didn’t want her to get in trouble for something that wasn’t her fault, not for a second time in as many days. She half-smiled, but couldn’t quite bring herself to fully appreciate his gesture. “Thanks for the warning.” “No problem.” Leaning against the counter, Pearce checked his phone, waiting on the toaster. Grace still didn’t get up, at least not right away. The meal felt incomplete, somehow. Noticing her continued presence, Pearce directed a look up at her. “You want some coffee?” “Oh…yeah, sure,” she said, glancing at her water. Maybe that’s what was missing–coffee–but she somehow doubted it. Draining the rest of the pot into a new mug, he gave it to her. The lack of attention couldn’t be blamed totally on how busy he was, not if he was scrolling through apps while waiting on his own breakfast. So, it was down to her first guess–that he just didn’t want to try and push her or be condescending if she still held on to any residual anger over his mistakes the day before. A twang of guilt hit her. If he thought she was still mad, she had probably been a little too harsh on him, pushed too hard for the ‘obey the rules’ mindset. With time, though, things would settle back into the way they had been. She just needed to make it clear that she’d gotten over it, that an occasional quip would be fine, she wouldn’t take it the wrong way–as long as he kept on top of his responsibilities and didn’t abandon her again. Improving and showing that he’d listened would be a better apology than any words could be. (It’s not that I miss being teased,) she told herself. (It’s just that I don’t want him to feel like he shouldn’t talk to me. That’s all.) For the time being, she had her own work to do, but she’d try and get him to ease up soon. … Lunch time. Same clothes, same stool, fresh diaper. Macaroni bubbled on the stovetop, powdered cheese sauce at the ready. All of Grace’s physical needs were either taken care of, or would be tended too imminently. Pearce was on his phone. “Anything important going on?” she asked, trying to get him to engage. “Not really,” he said. “Just taking a break to check some stuff.” “Gotcha.” Grace drummed her fingers on the table, thinking what to say, trying not to be too overt. Ultimately, she decided not to say anything. If she wanted to get Pearce to lighten up, she didn’t need words, just a few well placed actions. The timer for the macaroni beeped, and with a little bit of work–draining, mixing, stirring, and dumping into two bowls–Pearce had it ready to eat. Pearce set aside his own food for a moment, raised the mac n cheese spoon, and held it there. Again no quip, no commentary, just a spoonful of food hovering in front of her lips. Grace didn’t open up. (Let’s see what he thinks of this.) After a few seconds, Pearce lowered the spoon. “What’s wrong?” “It’s too hot,” she said, feigning protest. “It’s going to burn my mouth.” She almost added, ‘Can you blow on it for me?’, but decided that’d be too on the nose. He’d get the idea, he wasn’t stupid. “Okay,” Pearce said, setting the spoon down in the bowl. Sliding it off to the side, he walked around the table, sat down, and started working on his own food. His first bite had him puffing a bit, and after that he blew on his own spoon, cooling off the fresh pasta just a bit, but Grace didn’t get that treatment. “Hey,” she said. “What happened to my lunch?” He looked up at her flatly, speaking in an, ‘isn’t-it-obvious?’ deadpan. “It’s cooling down. I’ll feed it to you in a minute.” She frowned to one side. “You always feed me first.” “Mhmm,” he said. “Well. Not today, yours is too hot.” He blew on another spoonful, chewing slowly. (Yours is just as hot as mine,) she fumed, (But when you eat it, you do something about it.) Still, this offered an opportunity. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Grace stuck out her lower lip a little, framing her face in a very clear pout. A childish response to being told her lunch would come five minutes later. She just hoped it was childish enough that Pearce would take the bait and engage a little. He had eyes only for his macaroni. He didn’t even look at her. “Pearce,” she said. “I’m–I’m hungie.” The affectation she threw on was a last minute addition. Maybe it was too much, but he wasn’t acknowledging her, she needed to do something. He sighed, setting down his spoon. “Okay, fine. You can eat first” Standing up, he walked around to her bowl, scooping it up. She expected a loaded spoon, a long puff of air from Pearce’s mouth to cool it off, and maybe, if she was lucky, the extra step would get him back to his usual self and he’d even throw in a joke before helping her eat it. Instead, he opened the fridge door and searched around until he found a tub of sour cream. Tossing a dollop onto the noodles, he stirred it in and gave a tentative taste. “There,” he said. “That’s cool enough.” Raising the spoon, he held it in front of her mouth. Grace paused, going slightly cross-eyed as she looked at the food. She couldn’t really complain again, not without coming up with something new, and that would give her game away. “I don’t like sour cream,” she said. Pearce shrugged. “It’s food. You said you were ‘hungie’. Do you want this, or do you want to wait for something else to cook?” Grace slumped back a little, though the stool didn’t leave much room for a dramatic recline. This was a fight she wouldn’t be winning with her current tactics. She opened her mouth, sullenly accepting the mac n cheese without another word. She’d try again later. … Dinner time. Same Grace. Same Pearce. New plan. Being coy wasn’t working, and she wasn’t about to try patience. If Grace wanted the old Pearce back–or, at least, some of the old Pearce, with more of his new discipline–she needed to be direct. So, while her babysitter took a formerly-frozen pizza out of the oven and slid it onto a cutting board, she said, “Can we talk about yesterday?” He looked back at her, nodding. “Sure. What about it?” “I just…” she paused, trying to decide which direction to take the conversation. “I appreciate that you’re doing a lot to follow the rules and take care of me today,” she said, “but I feel like you’re trying so hard to be perfect that it’s making you stressed.” “It’s not,” he said, returning his attention to the pizza. “I made a checklist on my phone, there’s an app with reminders. I’m not stressed about it at all, I’m getting everything done.” “Oh,” Grace re-evaluated the time he’d spent on his phone. He hadn’t been ignoring her, he’d been thorough. “Okay. That’s good.” Rolling a pizza cutter across their dinner, he divided it up into eight even pieces and moved half onto a plate, then cut the remaining half into much smaller squares. Grace tried again. “You just seem really reserved today, and I’d hate for you to be so worried about all your responsibilities that you can’t relax at all.” He paused for a moment, then finished his last cut and set aside the pizza cutter. “That’s the point, isn’t it?” She frowned. “What?” Turning to look at her, Pearce said, “I’m not supposed to relax. I’m babysitting. I can’t let my guard down, or I’ll miss something, and the baby will get hurt. You wanted to prove that I relax too much, that I’m not responsible enough to handle anything important, and now you’re asking me to be careless.” “Pearce, that’s not what I’m saying.” She stared at him, trying to communicate what she wanted without finding the words she needed. He looked her squarely in the eyes. “Then what are you saying?” (I want you to smile, and laugh, and tell me I’m being a good baby again,) she thought. There were things she couldn’t be direct about, not even to herself. She shoved that thought away and shook her head. “Never mind. Do you want to watch a movie or something tonight?” “No thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve been working all day, I want to do something fun.” (Oh.) (He–) (Oh.) Grace blinked, trying not to let the hurt register. Pearce no longer categorized ‘Spending time with Grace’ as ‘Something fun.’ That’s why he’d been distant. Not because he was stressed, not because he was busy, not because he was placating her mood. Because, however much he’d deserved a bit of education, Grace’s lesson the day before had changed his outlook on her completely. Pearce misread her face. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be checking on you every hour or so. You’re not going to be totally ignored and left to fend for yourself.” “Right.” Grace fumbled for words, speaking almost as an afterthought as she processed what Pearce was communicating. “Not ignored. That’s good.” He kept his promise. After dinner was over, he checked on her. Poking his head in her door, squeezing her diaper just enough to determine she didn’t yet need a change, refilling her bottle as needed. And not a single thing above and beyond that. He barely spoke to her, moving quickly and efficiently to get back to…whatever else it was he was doing on his own. Grace didn’t feel ignored that night. She felt alone. ... For the remainder of The Baby Bet, I'll be posting three chapters a month - Of course, you can still jump ahead if you go read on Patreon instead! All my early access subscribers are on Chapter 30, plus my full access subscribers get to read, 'The Baby Book,' a bit of mean, unfair-ending magical transformation fiction I posted recently just for them! Financial support is never demanded, (in fact, you're welcome to skip these post-chapter blurbs too, nobody's making you read this ) but it's always appreciated and helps enable me to write as much as I do, as well as I do! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

You'd been grounded. Grounded. For a month. Like some kind of fussy kid who talked back to mom. And, well...that description isn't exactly wrong, except that you were old enough to rent a car and you'd talked back to Mommy. And unlike 'Mom', Mommy had no problem playing her punishments dirty. You couldn't go out, not for anything fun. You could go to work, and come home, and that was it. The parental controls she put on the wifi, that was another matter. You could text, you could call, but the internet was a tool only accessible through her laptop, and only with her supervision. Even the TV was blocked; Mommy had changed her Netflix password. The real punishment was the chastity - she'd locked you up on day one, and outside of carefully supervised cleanup times, you'd have to say a long goodbye to your naughty bits. Worst of all, though, was Mommy's solution to make sure you were obedient when she wasn't there to watch you. The honor system wouldn't cut it. Mommy wanted to know for a fact that you didn't leave the house while she was away. She'd floated the idea of a shock collar, but found it too restrictive - what if there was a fire? An accident? No, she needed something better. Her solution made you wish she'd gone with the shock collar. It was simple, really - When Mommy needed to out on the weekends or in the evening, to run errands, or to spend time with her friends, or just because she felt like it, she'd take you to the bathroom, lay you down, and flood your bottom with a double-dose of fleet enemas. Then, once your bottom was well and truly full, she taped a diaper snugly around your hips. Then, to truly prevent all tampering, she put on the locking cover. You couldn't hold it, and you certainly couldn't make it to the potty. If you left the house, even a little, everyone in smelling range would clock your mush tush in an instant. But, that was the point - You weren't supposed to leave the house. You'd been grounded. ... Threw this together on a whim - I hope you enjoyed! Support the creator.

Thank you! I've got more episodes in the works coming soon ^^

Art by @34qucker You can support the creation of these captions (and get early access to all my stuff) here: www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling And you can support the artist here! www.patreon.com/34Qucker

Chapter 26: Sort-Of Forgiveness Grace whimpered–she couldn’t deal with the cramps anymore. Bad timing and Pearce’s betrayal had worked against her, and with hours yet to go in her absurd, unfair time out, she gave up control. She told herself that’s what she was doing–giving up, not losing. Despite her attire of late, she was no baby, she could control herself, these were simply exceptional circumstances and the smart, correct decision was to not fight it. Still, going right there, she felt pretty stupid–she really, truly couldn’t do a thing to hold it, and anyone who walked by would know it. There were no universes in which Grace would deliberately fill up her diaper, not when she wouldn’t be changed out of it for hours. The muck spilled out into waiting, utterly sodden padding, a diaper so abused that it didn’t so much as absorb anything as it just held the mess in place, spreading out over the time out stool. At least Melody was out for the night and Brains had gone upstairs. If Pearce stayed in his room, maybe nobody would notice, at least not until her time out was over. She’d be able to avoid the humiliation until the very end, and then get it over with in one quick burst. Unless… Footsteps tapped down the staircase. (I had to think it,) she realized, annoyed by her own self-dooming mental prophecy. (Just please be Brains, I don’t want to hear from him right now.) Fighting the temptation to look away from the corner, Grace instead cast her gaze up, a slight grunt escaping through her lips as she tried to at least finish. Getting caught in a messy diaper would be bad enough, getting caught actively packing it full filled her with a sense of heady humiliation that made her want to scream and surrender. “Hey, Grace.” (Of course. It’s him.) She wasn’t sure if Pearce recognized she was still in the midst of blowing out her diaper’s seat, but she refused to acknowledge his presence. Not a nod, not a shake, not a sound. “I need to apologize.” A slight creak of the floorboards and light thump told Grace that he’d sat down behind her. “I…oh, geez. You’d been holding it a while, huh?” She caught the slight nasal quality of his words, and then heard a little shhh-shhh-shhh as he scooted a couple feet back over the hardwood floors. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t, she’d… (Is this a trick? He’s baiting me into more punishment?) That didn’t seem like something Pearce would do, but she didn’t think he’d give her five hours of time out, either. Just in case, she pressed her lips together tightly and resolved not to even think about responding. Of course, that meant she had to breathe through her nose. She wriggled uncomfortably, noting that–at least–the pressure on her bowels had abated now that she’d cleared them out. “I broke several rules, and left you in an uncomfortable position,” he said. “For that, I’m sorry.” Grace shut her eyes. (He seems sincere enough.) “I’m not letting you out of time out.” He said that flatly–nipping any hope in the bud, before she could start to wonder. “If I let you skip punishment, that sets a bad precedent.” (So why even tell me this?) Grace fumed. (It just seems like you wanted to stop feeling guilty, without doing anything to fix it.) “But I promise I’m going to try and honor the rules better. I won’t screw up again.” He paused, then added, “There’s no rule saying you can’t have dinner while in time out. Do you want food?” After a stunned pause, Grace nodded. “Ok. I’m going to go make you some dinner. I’ll be right back.” Her silent contemplation had a new character to it. Her physical condition had grown markedly more uncomfortable, but mentally, she felt a lot better. Pearce’s apology rang true, if a bit too little and far too late to save her day. He came back around a few minutes later, and she saw the edges of his hands and a towel as he wiped up the puddle she’d made. She’d no doubt make another one before her timeout was over, but the gesture made her feel a little better. When he returned with a bottle to drink from, her mood elevated a little more. At least she wouldn’t be in time out on an empty stomach. She now had a better way of telling time, too–she knew how long chicken nuggets took to cook, give or take, and she could hear the oven beep when it got up to temperature. That helped her get a sense of how long she waited, before he brought over a plate of nuggets with a side cup of honey mustard. It wasn’t the most appetizing; having to eat while getting the occasional whiff from the seat of her diaper, but she managed, opening wide for him to put each nugget in her mouth. He didn’t say much, just dipping each nugget, plopping it between her lips, and waiting for her to chew and swallow before repeating the process. Once she’d eaten, he wiped off her face, took the plate, and went to go do the dishes. As an additional concession to the sheer length of time she’d be stuck there, Pearce put the TV on too–nothing special, just Netflix autoplaying some cooking show or another, but the sounds of gentle British concern and string instruments helped mark the passage of time. (It’s about fifty minutes per episode, and I’ve already been here over an hour, so…just four episodes. That’s not bad.) It beat having to sit with her thoughts. Every hour or so–that is, roughly around when the credits music rolled on the TV–Pearce refreshed her bottle, as well as replacing the towel under her time out stool so that her inevitable and regular leaks wouldn’t soak into the hardwood. Her bottom seriously began to itch by the time the second episode ended, but she knew it wouldn’t be much longer, she could handle the waiting. Brains occasionally walked past, but didn’t engage. Melody, luckily, steered clear and didn’t come home at all. Finally, long after all sunlight had stopped filtering through the windows and she found herself seriously chafing between her cheeks, Pearce tapped on her shoulder. “Time out’s over. It’s bedtime.” “Oh, thank fuck,” she said, leaning back. She immediately fell, not having realized her feet were asleep, and it took a steadying hand from Pearce to pull her upright. “Thanks.” “Diaper change, then bath, then bed,” Pearce continued. “We’re not counting this as going past bedtime, since it was a time out situation.” “...right,” Grace said. “Okay.” She hadn’t expected him to go straight into rules clarification, but it was nice to have it confirmed that she wouldn’t be in more trouble. “Long day,” he said. “I’ve got more work to do once you’re asleep.” She felt a tiny twinge of guilt. Maybe she should have woken him up after all…but then again, he seemed to have learned his lesson. If he stuck to his promise and followed the rules going forward, then it’d be worth it: He’d have, finally, learned. Meanwhile, if he didn’t learn, he was hopeless, and she had nothing to feel guilty over anyways. Either way, she dismissed the concern. Pearce changed her in the bathroom, where a pre-drawn bath waited for her. Her utterly demolished diaper got discarded, he wiped up the worst of the muck, and transferred her into the tub, mostly focused on getting his work done as quickly as possible. Her thighs felt hot where the diaper rash had set in, particularly vulnerable to the temperature of the water, but it felt good to get clean, to wash the thin residue of pee and muck off her skin that baby wipes alone hadn’t removed. “Did you get your thing with your client worked out?” Grace asked, while he rubbed shampoo into her hair. He didn’t take as long as she’d liked, the duration of his hands working on her scalp couldn’t have been more than ten seconds before he started rinsing it out, but she still leaned into the moment of contact. “They haven’t fired me,” he responded. “Arms up.” She raised her arms so he could get suds and a washcloth under them, scrubbing her down efficiently. The cloth on her skin felt nice–just abrasive enough to make her feel clean. Half to his comment, half to the contact, she said, “That’s good.” If he understood her double meaning, he didn’t acknowledge it, moving efficiently on without looking her in the eyes. “Mhmm. Well, you’re all clean.” Reaching over, he pulled the plug. “Up, and we’ll get you in your PJs.” Grace idly wondered what was coming for her, as he ran the towel over her body and got her dried off. Would he get back at her, slightly, with something particularly embarrassing or uncomfortable? He’d made her sleep in that waddle onesie before, and she’d fussed plenty about it. Or he might go easy and just dress her up all cutesy. She didn’t ask, not wanting to tempt him one way or the other while he got her in her nighttime diaper. Pearce rubbed in cream on her rash that felt pasty and chalky but eased the discomfort, and powder over it made her skin feel cool and nice. He sat her up, left for a moment, and returned with a T-shirt. No bottoms, no frills, just a T-shirt. “Arms,” he said, guiding her into the shirt. She obeyed, looking down, expecting something humiliating to be printed on the front. ‘Princess Potty Pants’, maybe, or maybe something more on the nose, like just, ‘Diaper Baby’. It was just a plain blue T-shirt, one that came down a little past her waist. “Is this it?” Grace asked. “I thought it would be warm enough tonight, but if you think your legs will get cold I can find some bottoms for you,” Pearce suggested. “No, that’s fine,” she conceded. “It’s just, plain, is all.” “I thought you’d be happy about that.” Pearce helped her to stand. “Alright, though, seriously. Bedtime.” She nodded. “Sure.” Turning, she started walking to her room, waiting for Pearce to follow. He did, checking his phone on the way, only giving Grace a fraction of his attention. She got under her covers, and he looked her over briefly. “Alright,” he said. “You’re set. Good–” “Wait,” Grace said. He stopped. “What?” “I…” she hesitated. She wanted to ask him something. Anything. Keep his attention for a while. He’d, strictly speaking, done everything necessary to put her to bed, but she wanted something else. “Can I get a bottle of water?” Pearce nodded. “Sure. I’ll go get that.” He left her there, alone with her thoughts for a fleeting moment. Even though he’d taken care of her, given her comforts he hadn’t needed to, this felt…wrong. He hadn’t teased, or put her through the ringer. It had to be his way of apologizing–he’d messed up, now he was giving her an easy time to compensate. Maybe she had been too hard on him. Maybe she hadn’t. Either way, he definitely felt guilty enough. Too guilty, even. When he returned with her bottle, she accepted it, then caught his attention one more time. “Hey, Pearce,” she said, before he could leave the room. “What?” he asked, looking back at her with an expression that seemed…flat. Not quite bored, but like he wasn’t totally in the room with her either. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up.” She felt insincere saying it–she was liking the results, after all–but walking things back a step seemed like the high road to take. “I didn’t mean to ruin your work or make things this stressful for you.” He looked at her for a moment, gaze distant. (Why does he need to think about his reply this much?) Grace wondered. (He has to believe me. I’m really apologizing, mostly.) After an eternity that lasted a good ten seconds, he said, “It’s okay, Grace.” She exhaled, relieved. He wasn’t mad. “I know you weren’t trying to be cruel.” He shrugged, turning to leave, flicking off her lights as he went. “You just wanted to win.” Shutting the door, he left Grace alone without room to respond. She didn’t get much sleep that night. ... We're starting to get into the home stretch, so for the foreseeable future - until it's done - I'm going to be posting at least two chapters of this story a month, sometimes three. We're up to Chapter 29 over in early access! So if you can't help yourself and want to jump ahead (or if you just want to help support the creation of this story and others like it) you can find me over here: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

(Not a story, but I didn't know where else to put this - sorry!) Yoooo I'm doing a podcast! Come listen to "The Diaper Change"! Inspired by @TheUsualBet and shows like Gąme Chąnger, "The Diaper Change" is an 18+ AB/DL Comedy and Improv Gameshow featuring a rotating list of guests *and* games that change more often than my diapers! Episode One, "Uh, I think it's actually", is a totally original and not-at-all ripped off trivia game about correcting people, featuring @Personalias, @JuiceBox, and Big Red as the contestants! https://share.transistor.fm/s/2426e17f Episode Two, "Business Baby", has the Starlings onboard - @Sophie ♥, Chloe, and @Lyra Silver, all pitching absurd product concepts to sell to ABDLs and Littles! https://share.transistor.fm/s/b2f521eb And, Last but possibly most, Episode Three, "Tell Me About Yourself", features @Personalias, @bbykimmy, and @Lyra Silver all just trying to figure out what game it is they're actually playing! Little do they realize... They all have something in common. https://share.transistor.fm/s/4282fa14 These are pilots, so there's still a few hiccups I'm working through - feedback is massively appreciated as I get this show off the ground!

Part 2 Sweating, panting, Cody ran. His heart pounded in his chest like a ritual drum and his legs burned, but he had to keep going. The dragon would be on him in seconds if he stopped. He would finish this, or he’d fall victim to–(shudder)–a pep talk. Say what you will about him–Vorath was an excellent personal trainer. He knew how to keep Cody motivated, how to keep him working–he never overworked Cody, he simply pushed him to his limit, exercising his body without breaking him. And the fact he was a dragon about three times as tall and fifty times the size of Cody meant he could always just tell him to get back to his exercise and Cody would feel the urge to comply. The running wasn’t so bad. He didn’t mind the lack of other clothes, either; bare skin shed heat better than any shirt he could imagine. Doing squats, now that left Cody drained like nothing else, and glad that he was allowed a fresh diaper with plenty of powder before every day of exercise, lest things start to chafe. Leg lifts, lunges, it all gave Cody the impression that his thighs were going to be important, though he wasn’t yet certain why. Still, for the day, he was done–a bit sweaty, a bit soggy, but at the point where the workout had energized him rather than exhausting him. If things went the way they had the past few days, Vorath would have him change into a fresh diaper, then resume work on… Cody wasn’t sure. Some kind of dragon related thing, certainly, but the specifics eluded him. He’d worked out that they were in an old dragon rider fortress or something, but dragon riders were ancient enough to be stuff of legend. Besides that, Cody could not imagine a world where Vorath decided to make Cody his master. The idea that he would be riding on Vorath’s back, dominant and in charge, just didn’t seem plausible. Still, Vorath was building a ritual circle for something. As he walked through the impressively weathered arch separating the practice yard from the inner hall, Cody stretched out his arms and acknowledged his… His captor? Vorath hadn’t really given him the option of leaving, but Cody also hadn’t asked. His savior? Cody had been offered up as a sacrifice. Instead, Vorath had offered shelter. His lover? They’d certainly shared an intimate moment, but that didn’t seem to encompass things either. There really only seemed one word that encompassed it properly. His dragon. Nothing else covered the range of emotions Vorath called up–awe, passion, fear, courage, desire. All rolled into one. Vorath sat where, in a human hall, a throne might have gone, head raised, eyes looking back and forth over the ritual circle they’d been building the past few days. It had taken up most of the dragon’s attention, anything that wasn’t given to laying affection on Cody, and now he seemed fully preoccupied with the construct. “I’m done with my routine,” Cody said, getting his attention. “Should I change and wash up now?” Vorath finally looked up, examining Cody for a moment with sharp, intelligent eyes. His mouth quirked up at a corner and he said, “No, remain as you are. I’ve got something I need from below.” Cody hesitated for a moment, his stride catching. It wasn’t unusual to be sent to retrieve things from the archives beneath the fortress, but Vorath hadn’t denied him the opportunity to change out of his wet diaper before. Something had changed. “Alright,” Cody said hesitantly. “What is it?” “An amulet of Peridot,” Vorath explained, “a ring of opal, and a cord as brilliant as gold.” “Right,” Cody said, taking mental notes. Raising an eyebrow, he added, “Amulet, crown, cord. That’s all?” “That’s all you need to bring,” Vorath confirmed, blinking slowly. The dragon didn’t nod, Cody had learned–even a slight motion of his head could be intimidating–instead, he simply blinked in affirmation, a gesture that symbolized peace and agreement. Cody knew Vorath well enough to know the dragon was hiding meaning behind his careful word choice and quiet gesture, but he also knew asking wouldn’t help much. Once Vorath gave an answer, that was final. So, he turned, walking to the door on the edge of the chamber that led to the archives below. Had Vorath not initiated him quite so thoroughly, demonstrating through intimacy that he had much greater desires than for a mere manservant, Cody might have thought he’d been brought here purely to run deliveries. There was a great library of treasure downstairs–old books written in forgotten languages, artifacts, ritual equipment–but the staircase was barely wide enough for a normal man to get through. Vorath simply couldn’t fit, and shy of ripping out the entire great hall floor to dig a hole, there was no way for him to access the cache below. Cody, though, had no trouble squelching down the stone spiral staircase, fetching whatever his dragon demanded. The amulet he found easily enough on the first shelf, right by the stairs. Inlaid with silvery filigree and marked down with a lot of runes, the amulet itself was dominated by its stone–a peridot the size of his fist, set into a gold ring that held it in place, carved with so many facets it seemed to shine like a star. For the other two objects, he had to look longer–the opal ring he found hanging on a stand near the back, so thin, flat, and smooth he couldn’t imagine how it had been crafted by mortal hands. A metal disc on the end was the only adornment, held on a ring. When he found the cord a minute later, he would have sworn it was gold, save that the fifty-foot length moved as supplely as a rope made of silk. Supplies in hand, Cody hesitated before going up the stairs. What was this all for? The opal ring looked like it could almost be a crown–perhaps it was a circlet? Something that one of the dragon masters of old might have worn? More and more, it seemed like Vorath had a ritual binding in mind, but again, Cody couldn’t imagine that making sense. Vorath was in charge. All this preparation couldn’t have been done just so the dragon could roll over and show his belly, could it? Walking back up the staircase, Cody tried to picture himself riding Vorath as a master, as a dragon rider of old–telling the dragon where to go. He just couldn’t see it, even trying to visualize the idea in his head just didn’t work. He reached the top of the stairs, though, and… “Uh…” he stammered. “Vorath?” Laid out in the center of the grand hall was, unmistakable, a diaper. A match for Cody’s, but with far more decoration, wetness indicators that glowed faintly and tapes of silk. It’d also been made with a tail hole in the back, something Cody certainly wouldn’t need. And, the most obvious difference–the diaper was so large that Cody could have slept on it like a mattress. “Yes, my little human?” Vorath purred, circling around the ritual circle they’d been building the past couple weeks. “What’s going on?” Cody asked. “Binding,” Vorath explained, finally sitting after his third circuit of the space. “Bonding. Becoming. Do you have what I asked for?” Cody nodded, hurrying to carry it over to his dragon. The cord, the ring, the amulet. “Is that…a diaper for you?” Vorath confirmed with a subtle blink of his eyes. Staring at the diaper, at the wide stone circle in the middle of the chamber, at the runes and sigils and golden little artifacts they’d spread out, Cody swallowed. “Am I…supposed to be your master?” Saying the words, he knew he hated it. Maybe it was most people’s fantasy to dominate a dragon and be a champion of the world, but it just felt wrong. He had no desire to be the one in control with Vorath. A little puff of smoke escaped the dragon’s nostrils. Vorath rose up onto all fours, spreading his wings, showing off all his splendor and might, but lowering his neck so that his eyes were inches from Cody’s. “Do I seem ready to submit to a mortal like yourself?” he asked, nostrils flaring. “Even one who smells as satisfying as yourself? Cody shook his head, stepping back, feeling his bladder release slightly in fear. He could never forget who he was talking to, even if Vorath had never taken action to harm him. Vorath smirked–the dragon could smell when Cody used his diaper, even if it was already wet. “Enter the center of our circle, my mortal, and I will tell you what you will do.” Nodding, Cody stepped back obediently, taking shuffling reverse steps until he stood in the middle of the circle, and of the great hall where dragon riders had ruled a millenia prior. His legs bumped against the side of the large dragon diaper, and he nearly tripped. He still held the artifacts he’d been sent to retrieve, though his hands felt slack and he was almost surprised he hadn’t dropped them. “The amulet,” Vorath instructed, stepping forward. “Place it around my neck.” It didn’t seem like the chain would be long enough, but when Cody tried, it extended, changing itself for its wearer, so that the peridot pendant hung around the base of Vorath’s long neck. It pulled against the dragon, gemstone nestling amongst his scales, giving off a faint aura and presence as the dragon accepted the magical relic. “There,” Vorath said, eyes closed in satisfaction. “Now, Cody, set the other relics down, lay back, and do not flinch away.” Cody obeyed, dropping the opal ring and the golden rope. Then, he laid down on his back, onto the soft, rustling diaper on the ground–more than a garment, it was large enough to serve as a changing pad for him. The crinkling material was cold on his naked, sweat-dried skin, but Vorath stepped over him, breath heavy and warm, the dragon’s face filling Cody’s vision. Lowering his head, opening his jaws, Vorath extended his long, forked tongue, running it up the length of Cody’s body. It wasn’t rough or sloppy; it felt more sensual, like a lover’s hand across his thighs, over his diaper, and up his chest. Exhaling nervously, aware he’d started to grow erect in his diaper, Cody asked, “Is that part of the ritual?” “No,” Vorath admitted, a puff of smoke escaping his mouth. “But I adore how you taste.” “I think you don’t realize how scary that sounds,” Cody chuckled. Vorath grinned, showing all his teeth. “No, mortal. I do.” Cody swallowed, and then felt something he’d never experienced before–a tugging sensation as his diaper was untaped and pulled away. He looked down, startled to see his diaper remove itself from his hips, a faint green glow around it. The gemstone on Vorath’s amulet had the same colorful aura–it gave him the power to move objects, to finally change Cody’s diaper personally, instead of simply instructing Cody to do it himself. As the diaper pulled away, Vorath lowered his face, tongue flicking out to taste Cody’s thighs, his bare skin, his sweat. Cody whimpered, but obeyed his instructions–he’d been told not to flinch, so he held still, taking deep breaths as his dragon’s delicate tongue ran across his body. Vorath didn’t seem to mind tasting stale pee or sweat, or perhaps it was better to say he enjoyed it. Regardless, he certainly enjoyed the little sounds of helpless pleasure that escaped Cody’s lips. “All mine,” Vorath purred, taking one last taste of the tip of Cody’s flesh. Then, his amulet began to glow more brightly as he called something to him. Another diaper, a fresh one. Styled in the same patterns as the massive diaper Cody was laying on, but human sized, and without the tail hole. Cody lifted his bottom without being told, and the diaper slid under him. Vorath didn’t tape it up right away, though. Instead, he turned, touching the opal ring with his nose. On contact, it lifted in the air, floating towards Cody’s head. (A crown,) Cody knew. (Just like I thought, it’s–wait.) The opal shimmered and pulled open, as though on an invisible hinge, and instead of moving onto his brow, the ring instead moved towards his neck, molding itself to the contours of his skin. It closed itself without so much as a click, and Cody knew it wouldn’t come off–not without Vorath’s magic. He could feel the ring against his throat–just tight enough that when he breathed heavily, it made its presence known, but the smooth opal didn’t dig into his skin or cause discomfort. Reflected in the gem facing of Vorath’s amulet, Cody saw himself in shades of green. The object was clearly a collar, he could tell now–looking at himself, he was very clearly, obviously, owned. And the metal disc that dangled from the front now had an inscription–‘Cody.’ He hadn’t just been collared, he’d been given a tag. “All mine,” Vorath repeated, smirking at Cody’s expression. Cody felt like he was melting–he hadn’t expected this, but the signals in his brain were all telling him it was the right thing, the needed thing, the place he wanted to be. Now, underneath Vorath or on top of him, he’d be designated for what he was–Not the master in the relationship at all, but the one who was mastered. With that, the diaper folded itself up between his thighs, over his cock–it seemed to stretch slightly to accommodate his hardness–and taped itself shut. Cody glanced down in time to see the tapes meld into the diaper, vanishing, sealing it shut. “Don’t worry, Cody,” Vorath purred. “Your diaper is enchanted–I can clean you with a thought, or remove it for a change when I feel like.” Cody started to smile. “That doesn’t mean I will,” Vorath added. “At least, not until I’ve had a chance to savor your smells and make you beg.” His smile broadened, and Cody found himself nodding–a gesture that made his collar tag jingle slightly. “Now,” Vorath said. “My human–I have one more task for you.” Stepping back, Vorath moved, circling, turning his massive body so he could lay down. He rolled, exposing his belly, and the following instruction didn’t need to be said–Vorath expected Cody to diaper him. But, it wasn’t like Cody had imagined. Vorath wasn’t rolling over in an act of submission or weakness, this was arrogance. The dragon felt safe exposing his belly to Cody, because Cody was no threat–how could something Vorath owned pose him any danger? Crouching, Cody took the corner of the diaper, pulling it over towards Vorath’s hindquarters and folding it out. The dragon lifted himself, snaked his tail through the hole in the diaper’s seat, then bumped Cody in the back. Caught off guard, Cody tripped forward, stepping on the diaper, landing between Vorath’s legs. He found his naked chest in contact with a warm, scaly thigh. Their touch almost seemed to be an embrace. Vorath purred, and Cody didn’t move away for a moment. “That’s enough, finish your work,” Vorath finally instructed, after a long moment of close contact. Reluctantly obedient, Cody pulled away. He had to walk around Vorath’s powerful legs to get to the sides of the diaper and fold them up, but he managed, wrapping the garment around his master’s hips. “Once I tape it shut,” Cody asked, “will I have to do some kind of magic to clean it?” “No,” Vorath said. “I’m master for both of us–I will clean myself when I desire.” Cody nodded, taping the diaper closed. As with his own diaper, the tapes faded into the print, sealing the absorbent garment closed around Vorath. He felt a slight shift in the air, a change in his emotions, like the gods had quietly enforced an indelible contract he’d forgotten about signing. This wasn’t just magic over diaper changes and telekinesis, the bond went deeper. He could feel Vorath inside him, like their emotions were separated only by a gossamer thin sheet, closer than mere words could describe. Cody hoped it could manifest more. “All,” Vorath said, rolling onto all fours so he could stand over Cody, “mine.” Cody looked up at him. “All yours,” he repeated. Quietly, he looked back at the circle. He hadn’t even noticed the golden relics glowing, the runes shifting and sparkling–all his thoughts had been for Vorath. His eyes drifted to the coil of golden rope on the ground. “What was that for?” he asked. “We didn’t use it.” “It’s not for the ritual.” Vorath smiled down at him. With deep meaning and purpose behind the words, and all the implied weight the dragon could impart, he said, “It’s for a saddle.” ... Written as a commission! Interested in getting discounts on a commission, early access to my writing, all that goodness? Subscribe to my Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

It's okay if the construct is leaky, so is Sam. If there was a more fitting term, I'd use it - Hypersensitive ejaculation? Uncontrollable ejaculation? But most people wouldn't know what I was referring to!

Part two will be out here before too long So there's more to cum. I'm glad you're enjoying the concept, I really liked where this one ended up! Our poor little Sammy is so sensitive, even the best cage in the world is only going to get him so far. I don't think Ms. 'Craves Attention' Timberly will be very interested in sharing, unfortunately. 😏

Contains: Premature Ejaculation, Humiliation, Pull-ups ... Timberly Swinn, 27 F Happy for fun, would love something deeper. Sex positive, unless you’re a fuckin’ creep. I’m interested in technology and writing on the human psyche. I like board game nights with friends when we want to keep things low key. For a high energy date I’ll teach you how to play pickleball–I’d say, ‘Loser buys drinks afterwards’, but I don’t need free drinks. I’m not going to quit my career for you, don’t even ask. Looking for a sweet, sensitive guy who isn’t terrified of emotional vulnerability. Sam scanned the dating app profile, hesitated, then looked at her picture again. She was chubby and tan and didn’t appear to be more than five foot even–only an inch shorter than himself–with a short pixie cut. She radiated confidence in her selfies; attractive, self assured, and her bio got his interest. (Sure, why not?) He sent her a message. … It took two weeks of chatting before Sam could work up the courage to ask Timberly out for coffee. She countered with dinner and drinks at a local club, and he fumbled typing his response so badly he sent ‘Y3<s’ by mistake. She just…got him. They’d quickly moved off the dating app and onto a little chat app she’d recommended, and whenever he heard its notification jingle he felt his heart flutter. Timberly was funny, successful, and confident in her attractiveness–Sam thought he was just a little funny, and not in the ‘good at telling jokes’ way. He worked as an underpaid stage hand and lived out of his parents’ basement because there was nowhere else he could afford rent. What did she want out of him? He kept expecting her to drop him, to move on to someone better. In fact, he found himself almost pushing for it–he didn’t try to hide the fact he was dirt poor or put on a persona of success. Timberly didn’t mind. She insisted she was interested in who he was as a person, not the lack of a comma in his bank account. So, anxious about being underwhelming but willing to give it a try, he’d put on a shirt that properly buttoned and tan pants, walked forty minutes to the bar she’d recommended, arrived twenty minutes early, and sat on a bench outside waiting for– “Sam?” He hadn’t heard Timberly’s voice before, but he recognized her from her photos in an instant–though she hadn’t been wearing a vest over a crisp white shirt that gave her a look of strength and solid poise. Sam momentarily worried his jaw would hit the floor and his tongue would roll out like a red carpet, but he managed to come up with a reply instead. “Timberly,” he nodded his head, looking her up and down and answering all at once. “I–I feel underdressed.” “Don’t worry, I think you look just right,” she said, nodding at the restaurant door. “I’ve got us a table–and, please, you can just call me Tim.” She led him in, ordered drinks for them when the waiter came around, and let the conversation slip into talking. Sam knew he was doomed, then–he was head over heels for her. She knew what she wanted, and she was getting it. They talked about work–he had fairly little to offer to that conversation–but her ambition made him want to go run a marathon or climb a mountain or something, just any activity to match her intensity. They talked about growing up–there, he had more in common, they’d both been to charter schools and he had stories to swap. “You’re cute,” she said, after placing their dinner orders. “I–” He spluttered. The direct complement had short circuited his thoughts, and his cheeks started to burn. (Oh god, you’re blowing this. Just…breathe.) “Thank you, you look fantastic.” “Thank you,” she said, the corners of her eyes crinkling when she smiled. “But that’s not all I meant. Did you know your ears wiggle when you get excited?” “They do? I didn’t…” focusing on the sensation, he realized she was right–his ears were wiggling. “I didn’t know that.” “I read people for a living. Spotting little tells in people is my business–and it can tell you a lot about a person, too, besides just which muscles are connected to which feelings in their head.” She shrugged, her body language indicating that she found the quirk endearing. “Do you know what you want to do with your life?” she asked, pivoting the conversation so quickly it gave him whiplash. “I guess…I’d really like to be in a band,” he said, knowing it sounded lame. Tim sat back, reaching into her purse to take out her phone. “A band, huh?” “Sure, it’s kind of the fantasy, isn’t it?” And it was true, it’d been Sam’s fantasy…when he was twelve. Now, he just gave that answer because he didn’t know what else to say. “Up on stage, popular…” Eyes off him completely, Tim said, “I guess so. You don’t strike me as the ‘popular’ type.” Sam winced. “Ouch.” Her gaze returned to him, and softened a little. “Oh–I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I was thinking, though…is popularity chasing really your thing? That’s what you think will bring you fulfillment?” He shrugged. “I don’t…I don’t know, really. It sounds cool? But when I think about all the work that’d go into that…I don’t know. It sounds exhausting. I’d really just like to be comfortable, I think–to have friends and people I care about, to have enough free time where I can have fun, to work a job that feels like it helps people.” She set down her phone on the table and smiled. “That’s more like the Sam I know. You’ll do just fine.” “Hmm?” “I just mean, I’m enjoying this,” she said. The waiter finally stopped by, but she just asked for more water and waved him away. “I like you, Sam.” “Thanks.” Trying to find a way to fill the space and respond, he asked, “What about you? I know you like your job, but is there anything else you’re looking for in life?” She grinned. “Oh–I crave attention.” … The night went great. Better than great–they talked for hours. His crush deepend, and at the end, she drove him home. He had to awkwardly admit they were driving back to his parent’s place, but she didn’t mind; he got into her BMW and rode with her. What he wanted was to go back to her place, to hit it off in a big way, but that could wait. The night had gone well, and Tim seemed happy–he didn’t mind patience, in theory. Unfortunately, he had a tough time convincing his body of that–during the back half of the drive home, Tim had to shift the way he sat three times to hide the unfortunate erection that’d cropped up. It just wouldn’t go away, even as he kept trying to shift the conversation towards serious topics–for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words, Timberly simply made him horny. Parking on the curb, Tim walked around to get his door, let him out, and took his hand. “I had a really nice time tonight,” he said. “Me too,” she replied. “I’d like to take you out again.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Please! And–” She leaned in to kiss him, and– (Oh god, oh god–) Sam’s cheeks caught fire and he found himself unable to stifle a moan that carried into Timberly’s lips.Without warning, he found himself spurting into his boxers right there on the street, mingling embarrassment and bliss. Tim pulled back. “Was the kiss that goo–Sam?” He couldn’t help but breathe rapidly, trying to keep his face placid, unable to totally resist the sensitive shocks of bliss currently dribbling out of him. “Um…um–” Sam looked down, stupidly, shocked to see it’d soaked through. He’d stained his pants with the unexpected orgasm, right there at the end of the date, and Tim’s gaze followed his. “f**k–” he started, blush rising, before turning and sprinting into his home. He simply could not face Tim for another second. … Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp chirp! Sam didn’t answer his phone until the fifth chirp. He couldn’t bear to read the rejection message Tim had inevitably sent. Things had been going well, she’d liked him, and then he’d just blown it. (Ugh, no pun intended.) Finally, though, he had to face the music. Checking his messages… ‘Hey, Sam, I had a really nice time tonight. Don’t be embarrassed about the accident at the end–it’s not your fault.’ ‘I’d still like to go out with you again, I really didn’t mind.’ ‘How does lunch on Tuesday sound?’ ‘I knew someone in college with a similar problem. I didn’t think less of you, I was just surprised is all.’ ‘Are you okay, Sam?’ Eyes widening, he responded to the most important part first. ‘Tuesday–lunch. Yes please!’ … Things went great again, until they didn’t. Sam hadn’t experienced another bout of early ecstasy since their date, so he wrote it up as coincidence. Over excitement after a long dry spell and a wonderful night. Just to make sure, he even rubbed one out the night before. It didn’t help. They had great food, great conversation, and this time he didn’t even have the dignity of going out to the car–she reached across the table to hold his hand, gave it a squeeze, said how lovely he was looking that afternoon, and– (Oh god.) He was just glad they’d sat in a booth instead of a high top, it gave him a modicum of privacy as his cock twitched and he came in front of Timberly for the second time. “Oh, Sam–are you–” she started. He felt he had to nod, wanting to melt into nonexistence. She let him breathe, twenty seconds passing, before she said, “Hey, don’t worry about it. You can’t help it, so what’s the problem?” “Right…” he said, looking down. His jeans were stained yet again, the faint smell of cum wafting out of the booth. But when Tim smiled at him…he didn’t mind so much. … Their third date was the real breaking point. A movie at the mall, then dinner. That was the plan. But then Zoe Kravitz came on screen, and– (f**k–) Tim gave his hand a gentle squeeze, whispering under the sound of the action on screen. “Shh–it’s okay, Sammy.” That only made his blush deepen. After the film, standing in a nook by the theater exit, he tried to explain. “I swear–this was never a problem, this never happens–” “I don’t care,” Tim promised. “I’m not judging you, Sam, it’s just little accidents that happen. Some boys are like that. But…if it’s going to keep happening, you might need to do something about that.” Looking down, she gestured to the dark stain on the front of his jeans. It looked for all the world like he’d peed his pants. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess…I could just wear a condom all the time?” She thought about it, then shook her head and took his hand–just that touch made him shudder for a moment, though thankfully he didn’t humiliate himself in front of her again. “I have another idea.” He didn’t know what she was talking about until they were deep in the mall’s retail outlet, coming up on the juvenile potty training aisle, and– He dug in his heels. “Woah! I’m not going to wear–” he dropped his voice into a low stage whisper, “diapers!” “I’m not thinking about diapers,” she said, doing nothing to match his volume shift. “Pull-ups. They make them up to your waist size, and they’ll do the trick, right?” “I, but–” he started, feeling exceptionally small–and not just in a physical sense, remembering his slim waist. “Sam,” Tim said, looking him in the eye. “Nobody except you or I will know, and it’s better than having to change your pants every time we hold hands. I’ll buy them, and a new pair of pants so we can finish our date. Just wear the pull-ups, ok, sweetie?” She wouldn’t stand for self-consciousness. He knew that, and he didn’t want to argue about the details of his diaper needs in the store when he knew he’d lose. Trying to match Timberly’s own assuredness, he nodded. “Sure.” She picked up the nearest pack, one decorated with Disney princesses, and nodded. “Ok. Let’s go find some pants, get checked out, and then we’ll find a bathroom for you to change.” … Sam hated that the pullups worked, but, well…they worked. He found himself dealing with his ‘Boy accidents’ more and more around Tim, but at least they were contained now, and all it cost was a pink waistband and the shared knowledge that he had puffy absorbent princess prints for underwear. They continued to date, weeks stretching into months, until the relationship had proper labels attached. “Boyfriend and girlfriend”. Quaint, but when Tim had declared that the terms were appropriate…he’d needed a fresh pull-up. He got to meet Tim’s friends–meeting up for game night, he was reasonably sure none of them noticed when he tensed up after Timberly laughed at one of his jokes. He had to change his pull-ups in the bathroom–twice–but had a great night otherwise. They even had sex–sort of. He lasted until she had her shirt off, but she was more than content to let Sam use his mouth and fingers to make her happy, kneeling at the foot of her bed and spending half an hour giving her the pleasure he could get in two seconds. And she never judged him. Not once. If anything, Timberly liked that she could make him pulse with pleasure just by giving him a smooch on the cheek or a squeeze of the hand. She smiled when he got flustered, said he reminded her of a kid on the playground, blushing over incredibly mild PDA. And it was mild, too. She could just stroke his hair and leave him moaning, and a deep-throated kiss was better than any marathon session he could imagine. If she really wanted, Tim could snuggle up to him on her couch during a movie, wrap her hands around his waist, and leave him quivering and drooling from pleasure. The third time she got him a pack of fresh pull-ups, she referred to them as his ‘happy pants’, and he wasn’t sure he could argue. The weird thing, though–it was just Timberly. He didn’t deal with it at work, he didn’t deal with it at home, only when he was out with her. Something about that touch, or her words, or just something made him utterly unable to control himself. He started to like it, and he was pretty sure he loved Tim, too. Four months into their relationship, she dropped two bombshells on his head. “Do you want to move in with me?” she asked, followed by, “And–your accidents are getting worse. I really think we need to get you a chastity cage.” ... Tried something new with this one, incorporating some elements I don't often use! Let me know what you think. ^^ Part two, the conclusion of their story, will be out soon! If you want to support creative endeavors like this one and get access to more content like it, you can do so here: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

If you're wondering how she poops so much, and other science facts (La la la) Repeat to yourself it's just some smut, I should really just relax! The first thing to come to mind was the Potty Monster, and everything else went downhill from there into Extreme Silliness. Good, cuz you're gonna get more! And thank you so much, I really appreciate this sort of praise!

The title of this post kinda says it all, but here's extra details and a link! https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/Submission "Submission" is a compilation of AB/DL Erotica stories centered around power exchange - handing over control of even our most basic dignities to another. This compilation contains four standalone short stories, one series of three shorts that can each be read alone, one three-chapter series, and one five-chapter series, all unified by the themes of power exchange, dominance and submission, rules, punishment. All stories, (though not all segments within a larger series,) feature messy diapers prominently. Of the fifteen segments, nine were previously only available on Patreon, and in total there is forty thousand words of fiction. Price is 6.99 USD Stories included: 'The Locker', a roleplay of a highschool bullying scene 'Baby Sat', a three-part series about role reversal during a weekend play session 'Coddle Camping', a coddling/cuckolding piece The 'Beatrice' trilogy, three shorts about Beatrice and her mistress, Martha, whom she obeys unquestioningly 'Diaper Check, Please', in which any diaper check that finds a clean diaper results in a spanking 'A Weekend at Sir's', an intense BDSM story about a long weekend at a new dominant's house And, 'Daddy and Baby', a sweet, light Daddy Dom/Baby Boy story Cover art by HofBondage, used with permission. https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/Submission

Boom. Glass and brick shoots out from the side of the Central City Research Institute, showering the surrounding yard with debris, hitting nearby skyscrapers and busting out further windows with the aftershock. Outside, civilians scream and run, scattering in all directions, fleeing in terror from the smoke that billows from the institute’s rapid unscheduled exit. A coiled metal hose shoots out, four claws at the end slamming down over the nearest fire hydrant. Water sprays, and is then consumed, pumping into the hose at an incredible pace. Another hose launches out and stabs into dirt, a point of leverage. From within, the creature releases a sloshy, sucking bellow, and drags itself out. Forty feet tall, with a dozen such hoses extending from its base, it’s made of steel and pristine white porcelain. Without legs or wheels, it can only drag itself forward with the hoses, leaving deep furrows in the ground behind it where its weight tears up dirt and pavement alike. Resembling nothing more than an enormous mechanized toilet, the creature rampages free out into the streets of Central City. Most people run. One man, tie flapping in the wind, is caught by the hoses. The mecha’s lid opens, and he’s thrown inside, screaming until it slams shut, flushes, and he’s lost beneath. Only two people aren’t fleeing. One–a girl named Kelly–has stopped, confused, staring at the other. She frowns, uncertain what she’s looking at. The other is a young woman, dressed in a business casual top and loose skirt, half-moon glasses hiding bright blue eyes. She’s crouched by the sidewalk, knees spread, face screwed up and cheeks puffed out as she pushes. Noticing she has an audience, she puffs and grunts, “Do you–mind?” “Um…” Kelly says, distracted as another flushing bellow echoes a hundred feet away. “What are you doing?” The crouching woman shoots her a glare. “Pooping myself, what does it look like?” Kelly stammers a moment longer, then her attention is stolen. A hundred feet away, the mecha seizes a car and flings it with no particular aim–it skips and skids over the pavement, bouncing off a parked bus, and careens straight towards her. She can only stare, a deer caught in the headlights, until– Wham! A blur of pink interjects itself between her and the car. The vehicle stops, bouncing off like the tide against rocks. Standing where the car just hit, wielding a baby rattle with a head as large as a basketball and shield reminiscent of a pacifier guard, stands the woman–her glasses are gone, and her hair has billowed out into long pigtails, but he recognizes her anyways. She’s suckling a pacifier that matches her shield, and her clothes have vanished, replaced by a pink top and a skirt barely four inches long, doing nothing to hide the drooping diaper between her legs. “Who are you?” Kelly asks. Her eyes glow as she responds, floating slowly up from the ground with every word. Though she has a pacifier in her mouth, it makes her voice no less clear. “With the might in my Moonbeam Rattle, and the power of my Baby’s Guard, I am Starlight Boom-Boom–Champion of Earth!” She drops back down, stretching out her arms. “You should run.” “Did you–are you–” Kelly stammers. “Why’d you poop your pants?” “I had to fight,” Starlight replies, simply, before turning and lunging at the mechanized toilet. Rotating, the monster points one of its many hoses at Starlight, blasting her with a jet of water powerful enough to cut through steel beams. Starlight raises her shield, deflecting the blow, but the force of the aqua jet throws her back into a nearby hot dog stand and she collapses through it. She stands up, bloodied but–no, wait. She stands up, covered in ketchup but ready to get back into the fight. Kelly stares. The street has cleared, but she can’t help but watch as the poopy-pampered superheroine goes to battle with the colossal commode. She slips under its next water jet, dodges around a swipe, and yells out a shrill battle cry: “Massive Rattle Blow!” She brings her toy down on its porcelain body, sending a spiderweb of cracks across its body before jumping up and grabbing the toilet tank cover. She flips it over and dives inside, seizing the unfortunate businessman who’s sodden but still breathing. Setting him off on the sidewalk, she runs back towards the fray. Uninterested in her, the toilet drags itself forward, seizing another fire hydrant and pumping water away from the city, into itself. As it does, the hydration seals the cracks that Starlight just opened, healing from the damage she inflicted. Starlight leaps at it again, but this time, the monster is ready–a hose arm lashes out, seizes her immediately, and pounds her into the ground repeatedly, flinging her back and forth like a ragdoll. Her rattle goes flying, and she’s ultimately tossed aside, slumping against a nearby wall. “Starlight!” Kelly calls, running towards the , but before she can make it ten steps, Starlight is standing again, knees wavering. Kelly hesitates, stride catching, wondering aloud, “What is she…doing…oh.” With a blrrttch that echoes across the open city street, Starlight Boom-Boom fulfills her namesake, her diaper expanding to the size of a swollen beach ball beneath her absurdly short miniskirt. The mass stains her padding a deep brown and it falls with a fwump, drooping to the tops of her knees, but something in the act seems to energize her. She stands taller, if bow-legged, and extends her hand. Kelly catches the shucka-shucka sound and ducks as the rattle whizzes over her head, flying into Starlight’s hand. Reinvigorated, the heroine charges at the mecha again, moving so fast that she leaves blurred air and a faint green puff of smell behind her. “Lightning Potty Strike!” Expecting the fight to turn, Kelly watches, but it seems futile–every blow that Starlight rains down, the monster seems able to effortlessly heal, soaking up water from the city’s many fire hydrants. It continues wailing at her, jets of icy water and flailing hoses trying to swipe at the heroine, but though its many attacks miss, it just doesn’t seem to care–it continues dragging itself across Main Street, moving with purpose, tossing cars and ripping up hydrants in its wake. So, Kelly does something the heroine can’t–she turns and runs towards the Central City Research Institute. The smoke has mostly cleared by the time she picks her way through the broken wall. Inside is chaos–shards of broken toilets are everywhere, and shelves of toilet paper, tissues, and even golf balls have been strewn aside, making the space a tripping hazard to navigate. Beneath one of those racks, a man coughs, reaching out weakly. “Help…” Kelly runs to him. She’s not imbued with any super strength, and loading up her panties won’t help her do any heroic feats, but with a bit of grunting she lifts the shelf. “What is that thing?” “Forgive us,” the scientist stammers, crawling out on hands and knees. His faint German accent seems faded by time in the US, but still comes through ever so slightly. “We…we knew not the forces with which we meddled.” “I don’t understand,” Kelly says. “Why did you make this… thing?” “We were blinded by ambition,” he whispers hoarsely, fumbling to pick up his glasses from the ground. “We desired only to create the world’s most advanced toilet, but we pushed the limits of morality and science alike. Our hubris was our downfall–we taught it to fix itself, and to flush, but never morality.” Fearing at his words, Kelly asks, “What is it? What is it?” He swallows. “It’s the Potty Monster.” Grabbing him by the shoulders, Kelly demands, “Do you know what it wants?” Eyes huge behind thick glass, he can only speak the answer in a whisper, “Water.” Kelly understands. “The treatment plant–it’s going for the treatment plant?” “You must stop it,” he says, nodding quickly. “If it gets there, it’ll be unstoppable!” Kelly turns, running out into the street to warn Starlight, but she’s met quickly with a streak of pink and brown, soaring through the air and crashing into the dirt next to her. Starlight stands up, wiping away drool from her chin and under her pacifier guard, mumbling, “Meaniehead caught me napping–won’t happen again.” “It’s trying to get to the water treatment plant!” Kelly warns. “It’s using water to heal,” Starlight adds. “I can’t let that happen!” “What are you going to do?” Starlight turns pink. “Um…Could you not watch for this part? There’s not much left in the tank, but…erm…” Kelly nods, politely averting her gaze, though she can’t avert her sense of smell or turn off her ears. Starlight’s grunts of effort are obvious, trying to get out every last bit of muck, and the blrrrch and blorts rumbling in her diaper are hardly subtle. When Kelly looks back, the abused garment is so full and heavy it’s well past her knees, and Starlight’s steps squelch like she’s waddling through waist deep mud, but her stride seems to only have gotten quicker. Lunging forward into the air, she dives at the Potty Monster once again, crossing a full city block in a single smelly bound. Huffing and puffing, Kelly runs to the side of the street, unable to keep up with the super. After half a block, she gives up, resting her hands on her knees. “Too… much… running.” Two blocks down, Starlight brings her rattle down, swiping away. Where she hits, porcelain cracks and chips, shards scattering into the street, but water surges out of those cracks and heals them as quickly as she can deal damage. And, though she’s stronger and more agile, Starlight is weighed down, dragging her swollen diaper behind her. She evades, blocks, and parries the hoses and claws lashing out at her, readying for an almighty attack. “Ultimate! Tantrum! Forever!” Discarding her shield, she takes the rattle in both hands, raises it, and prepares to bring it down, but the intelligence behind the Potty Monster gets wise–lashing out from behind her where she can’t quickly see or react, and instead of going for an arm or a leg it grabs her by the diaper. Starlight swallows. “Oh, no–” Wham! The Potty Monster flings her down, so hard it leaves a crater in the pavement. Before she can stand, it strikes her again, knocking her against a brick wall, then seizes her by the leg and flips its seat up. Swinging her rattle wildly, she tries to bat away the claw holding her, but it grabs her with half a dozen more, rips under her skirt, and with a loud, splorchy, fwump, her diaper falls off and lands inside the toilet. The seat slams shut, and with a floosh, Starlight’s power is flushed away. Her outfit bursts into light, and her weapons vanish. Now harmless, the woman is tossed aside, thrown into a row of hedges out in front of a cafe. She stands, staggering, trying to fight again, but her strength is gone, and even when she balls up her face and tries to push, nothing comes out. “Starlight!” Kelly calls, pedaling furiously on a borrowed bike to catch up to the . “Are you okay?” Starlight looks at her, terrified and helpless. “I can’t–it changed my diaper! I can’t fight!” Ditching the bike, Kelly runs up to her. “Can’t you go again? Just…go on yourself, like before?” Shaking her head, Starlight lifts her skirt to show that her stained panties have returned. “I’m…empty. Can’t keep going.” “Gotcha.” Kelly looks around. “Then…is there someone else? We can’t let the Potty Monster reach the treatment plant.” “There’s…” Starlight hesitates. “Er, there’s one way.” Kelly nods. “What? Do you need something?” Reaching into her blouse pocket, Starlight hands Kelly a chocolate bar wrapped in aluminum foil. “Eat this. The whole thing.” “Okay,” Kelly says, acting on impulse–there was no time to question. Chomping down on the bar, she chews and swallows. “What was that?” “Laxative,” Starlight explains, producing a small pacifier clip from her purse. “Clip this to your shirt.” “L–laxative?” Kelly says with a start, blinking. Starlight just shakes her head. “Hurry.” Kelly pins on the clip, nodding. “And?” “Congratulations, you’re a temporary member of the Boom Boom force,” Starlight explains. “Pick a name, and then…squat down.” “Oh,” Kelly says, realizing. She feels her tummy gurgle, the laxatives already working their way down in her system. “Um…name. Name… how about just ‘Mega’? That’s got a classic feel to it.” “Alright.” Starlight pats her on the head, in something between a gesture of affection and a knighting. “I pronounce you Mega Boom-Boom.” Blinking and shaking her head, Kelly starts to say, “Wait, I get the last name too? But–” Before she can finish her thought, the laxatives kick in, and she feels her panties suddenly swell with an impossible tidal wave of mush. And, in that same moment, she changes. Her hair doubles in length, braiding itself into pigtails, and her outfit vanishes–fabric transmuting in seconds from pants and a t-shirt to a billowy, heavily laced green dress that only comes down slightly further than Starlight’s skirt, white frills keeping the hem line poofy. And, of course, her panties changed too, thickening, becoming absorbent, becoming protective enough to deal with the sudden catastrophe between her legs. The expanding mess pours out of her, bloating her diaper until it’s at least as impressive as Starlight’s had been; a mud bath taped around her waist. Above all, though, she suddenly felt strong. Powerful, surging with adrenaline like she’d never experienced. “Do I get a weapon?” she asked, noting her empty hands. “Pick one,” Starlight says. “Name it, and it’ll come to you.” “Okay,” Kelly says, the mudslide into her diaper ceasing. Turning, she says, “I already know what I want.” With that, she dashes forward, kicking off the pavement so hard it left a pothole. Crossing a city block in a single bound, leaving a stink trail in her wake, Kelly–Mega Boom-Boom–soars at the back of the Potty Monster, hand outstretched. It was only a block away from the treatment plant now–too close. “My weapon is–” she calls out, grabbing the top of the tank, “A plunger! In her hands, a plastic and rubber tool as long as she is tall, with a plunging head two feet wide, appears. Suddenly full of terror, the Potty Monster shrieks, hoses lunging at Mega, but she bats them away, wielding the plunger like a polearm. One hose manages to whack her on the butt and she tumbles forward, landing on the seat, but with a thrust she sticks the plunger head to the toilet seat and–with a handhold to grab onto–she flips back into the air. And, coming to her as naturally as breathing, she identifies the names of her attacks in the same breath that she unleashes them. “Suction Love Strike!” she calls, using the leverage to pry the lid open, though the Potty Monster fights her. Whipping around and grabbing the open lid with a free hand, she keeps it open, raises her plunger, and thrusts it down into the Potty Monster’s open bowl. “You’ve gone far enough!” The monster shrieks and sloshes, water backing up suddenly as her plunger seals the hole, preventing any water flow. Its hoses try to spray her, but they fizzle out without pressure and hiss harmlessly at her, water trickling from the nozzles. “Mega Plunge Forever!” Squatting so low her diaper touches the rim, Mega Boom-Boom ensures her plunger isn’t going anywhere, then lunges up, driving her fist into the porcelain of the Potty Monster. It cracks thunderously, and this time, though it shrieks and tries to bat her away, nothing heals the wounds. Raising up her free hand, a hairbrush large enough to serve a pizza on appears, a secondary weapon for which only one move could be possible: “ONE THOUSAND SPANKS JUSTICE!” Bringing down the flat of the brush, she unleashes an infinity of lightning attacks. Blow after blow, raining down spanks against porcelain that can no longer repair itself. In desperation, the Potty Monster drags itself towards the water treatment plant entrance, but Mega stops it once and for all. Jumping up, she hits the handle, and with a floosh, water floods into the bowl, and with nowhere else to go, starts spilling over the top. Drained of its power and energy, the Potty Monster shrieks, shudders, and stops. With a final, almighty blow, Mega Boom-Boom leaps up, brings her messy, diapered butt down in a finisher move, and blasts the potty into porcelain powder. In the debris, all that’s left is a small terminal and an array of wiggling hoses, disconnected from the monster’s body. Mega picks up the terminal, turning it over in her hands. ‘Property of Central City Research Institute’, it read, written on the side in white marker. ‘Proprietary–if found, return to Doctor Stein Von Kindchen.’ She looks around. Overhead, news helicopters have their cameras directed at her, and from the surrounding buildings, civilians come out to see if the coast is clear. Diaper on full display, stained and smushy, Mega Boom-Boom blushes. From the side of the street, though, Starlight limps towards her. “You did it.” “I did,” Mega says. “My face–I don’t look any different, even if my clothes–” “Don’t worry,” Starlight promises, stepping up and squeezing her hand. “Nobody will recognize you. I can help you change, that’ll return you to normal.” Mega smiles, a bit of Kelly shining through. “Thanks.” Nodding to the terminal, Starlight asks, “Doctor Stein von Kindchen? Who’s that?” Looking down, Mega Boom-Boom crushes the terminal in her hands, destroying the research once and for all. “Just someone who needs to work on his Potty Training.” ... I hope you had fun with this creative indulgence in tropey, shlocky, stinky fun! If you want to support my writing and get early access, bonus content, and my gratitude, you can do so here! Or if you'd rather do SubscribeStar instead of Patreon - the services are the same, so it's down to platform preference - click here!

@littlebopeeper Actually has it pretty right - These are Von Neumann machines, but they're not *smart*. What we don't know is whether or not they'll find a way to adapt, (they did manage to make new replication machines, at least!) - But that's a different story!

I wrote this story originally a couple years ago, but apparently never posted it here - I genuinely don't know why. Regardless, I was recently commissioned to write a sequel, so I'm rectifying that problem and posting both the original and the new story! The Drone Legions - Induction “Tell me, doctor,” Madame Arianna said, standing on a balcony. Two thousand feet up, she could survey her whole factorium from her elevated perch. “How go the preparations?” Doctor Connors looked up from his clipboard. “The first round of assimilation has gone well. Our drones are ready to begin spreading out and claiming more candidates.” She tapped her sharp nails on the ledge, not looking back. Connors didn’t know if she could tell what he was thinking, the terror that always felt completely reasonable in her presence, but he kept it off his face. “Good, good. It is on schedule, then?” “Eh… yes,” he said, wincing. “Mostly. There’s been a slight delay with the dropships. Setting them up to go to other Federation planets without clearance was a trick.” Madame Arianna whirled, fury in her expression. “What?” “We’re only behind by forty minutes!” Connors squeaked, holding up his clipboard defensively. “And our takeover of this sector won’t be delayed at all!” She glared, and he thought for a moment that Arianna might be contemplating killing him right then and there. She couldn’t, though. The assimilation factories were his design, from the ground up. Sure, the apprentice that Arianna has assigned to work with him could likely run the machines, but they were only an apprentice. They couldn’t have built them from the ground up. “Show me,” she said, lowly. “Ma’am?” “A tour,” she insisted. “I want to see the machines that will bring about my conquest.” “O-of course.” Bowing, he gestured towards the elevator. “Right this way, your supreme excellence.” There was no arguing with Madame Arianna. She ruled with an iron fist, and nobody who dared question her had ever gotten away with it unscathed. Leading her, they walked into the elevator, surveying their steel yards at work as they descended. Drop ships, the size of city blocks, were being welded together, each holding room for an attack team and an assimilation factory, each ready to be sent to another planet. The Federation hadn’t seen war in a hundred years. They were unprepared for ground forces, especially not ground forces that would self replicate. Once their assault began, Madame Arianna’s conquest would be swift and decisive. Those who knelt would be allowed to serve her. Those who fought, well… That’s what the factories were for. The elevator shuddered as it touched down on the factory floor, letting them out with a hiss of hydraulics. The factory floor was abuzz, drones forcing random civilians into the line. It didn’t matter who they were before, by the end they would be loyal soldiers for Arianna’s army. “It starts here,” he said, gesturing towards the civilians being shoved in. As soon as they stepped onto the belt, a needle jabbed in their neck, and the people dropped. “With a powerful, fast acting muscle relaxer. Once it’s been injected, their bodies become unresponsive for roughly an hour, ensuring that they can’t tamper with the rest of the process.” “But they’re fully aware?” Arianna asked. “Of course. As you requested, the whole process is as uncomfortable and humiliating for the drones as possible. Those who resist will be in a perpetual state of degradation once they’ve been conditioned,” Doctor Connors assured her. He walked along, pointing to the next stage. Large mechanical claws adjusted the victims, lining them up neatly, so that a laser could scan them and then begin systematically burning its way up their bodies, leaving clean, naked skin behind. “The laser renders them hairless and naked,” Connors explained, checking his clipboard and walking to the next step. As they moved through the factory floor, the drones all barely acknowledged them. They would respond to commands, but were otherwise incapable of independent actions. Discussion had been had about designing them to acknowledge Arianna and salute as she passed, but those ideas were discarded for fear of software issues in combat. Having the drones stop to salute in the middle of a battle would be potentially devastating, after all. While they walked, Arianna seemed to be inspecting Connors more than the machines, looking him up and down. “And these are calibrated to work with anyone, yes?” “The machine doesn’t care who’s put in, ma’am.” Doctor Connors confirmed. “Body type, sexual characteristics, it can work with any of them and create a loyal soldier drone. If we see here, now, we get the first stage of modifications…” He gestured at the belt, where groggy subjects were trying to escape, but barely even able to move their arms. As they tried, servos sat them upright, and metal bands were locked around each subject’s neck, wrists, and ankles. Once properly cuffed and collared, they were lifted up, and the first humiliation was put into place. For those with penises, tight metal cages were latched around them and welded shut. They were designed with stimulating toys that would constantly tease, but never give release. Subjects with vaginas were given a similar treatment, only with a self sterilizing implant that would tease and torture just as much without any sort of release. “All subjects are scanned, and have an appropriately torturous locking mechanism applied that fits them,” Doctor Connors added. Following this came plugs, forced in with lube. Each was hollow, but had a wax seal to prevent any accidents on the line, and there was no flared base to prevent removal under any circumstances. Given a few minutes, the wax seal would melt, but by then the drone would be wrapped in a snug diaper. “To ensure they can’t control even their baser urges,” he added. “Of course.” They kept walking. One particular subject, a young man, was looking side to side and struggling mightily, but he was helpless under the control of the mechanical arms and the drugs. Doctor Connors watched as he was lifted up, given another scan, and then had his mouth pulled open so that a hollow gag could be inserted. I almost feel sorry for them, he thought, but it wasn’t like Connors had much of a choice. If he didn’t build these factories for Arianna, she would have done worse to him. As mechanical arms reached down to wrap the victims in thick, white diapers - designed to only need changing once every three days, to minimize downtime and increase humiliation - Arianna asked, “Tell me about the enhancements.” “Well, all of them will be encased in a latex-alloy bodysuit,” Connors explained. “It’s resistant to most firearms, cut proof, and shock proof. It’s also uncomfortably hot and sweaty, and it traps odors like nobody’s business. I tried wearing a glove made of the stuff and had to take it off in five minutes. An hour wearing the suit, with a full diaper and no chance at a shower, the odor’s going to be unbearable.” “But their mind won’t be intact,” Arianna pointed out. “Given that they’ll be under my control.” “Well, the part of their mind that controls their limbs will be under the commander’s control,” Connors hedged. “They’ll still be fully aware of their surroundings, and able to feel everything being done to them. It makes me shudder, a little.” “Good,” the Madame declared. “Let that be a warning to my enemies, then.” Connors hesitated. Guilt twinged at his consciousness, wondering if he’d done the right thing, and he had to jog to catch up to Arianna as she walked alongside, inspecting the now-diapered subjects as heavy, elastic materials were pulled over their bodies, starting at the leg cuffs and snapping tight to each drone’s skin, covering their puffy diapers and creating a bulge. The latex came up to their necks, stopping at the collars, so that everything except the drones’ hands, feet, and heads were covered. Next came… the helmets. Connors had designed them, of course. They would display a disorienting pattern of feedback into the subjects vision and hearing, completely demolishing their ability to employ rational control over their body, and then begin the process of reprogramming them. The drones would be completely blind and deaf, their motions dictated not by their brains, but by computers embedded in the helmets. The only opening on the helmet was for the mouth, so that a feeding tube could be inserted to keep the drone hydrated and fed. Combat robots were more efficient in battle, but they couldn’t live off the land or be fed organic materials, and they weren’t half so terrifying. A robot trying to kill you was something to fight against. A drone trying to subsume your thoughts and encase you in a torture made of latex and diapers was something to surrender to. The gloves and boots were perfunctory, practical things. They got put on, and then the drones were all dumped into a pile where they would wait as their brains were reprogrammed and their diapers were filled for the first time. By the time the muscle relaxers wore off, there would be no chance of escape or recovery for anyone who’d gone through the belt. “It’s good,” Arianna declared. “I’m impressed.” “Thank you, your magnificence,” Doctor Connors said. “And it’s all your own design,” she added. “But… your apprentice knows how it all works, yes?” “Well, of course. I taught him so that he could lead the factories on another planet,” Doctor Connors frowned. “Why?” “I was only thinking…” Madame Arianna tapped her chin. “That you’ve seemed hesitant, these past weeks. Nervous.” “I’m fully committed to the plan, ma’am. To the empire,” Connors said, taking a step back. “Not only that, though. These machines, they’re your inventions. Your glory, in a way. Not my own work.” She leveled her steely gaze on Connors. “I don’t like to share, Doctor.” He took another step away. “What… what are you saying?” “That you’re no use to me, not any longer.” Madame Arianna smirking. “Not as anything more than a pathetic, useless-” “Take her now,” Connors snapped. She blinked. “Huh?” Three drones in the immediate vicinity jumped on Arianna, tackling her to the ground. A quadruple dose of the muscle relaxer got shot into her neck, rendering her body totally limp, totally helpless. Connors squatted down, smirking. “You stupid little bitch, you thought I wouldn’t program them to follow me above you? I slipped it into the programming. You wanted them to follow you, or to follow their base programming if you got taken out, but I outsmarted you. Now you’re going to be a little, pants-shitting, helpless thing, and I’ll- Huh? Buh…” He fell to the ground limply, as a needle pricked his neck. It didn’t make sense. One of the drones had incapacitated him, same as Arianna, but he hadn’t told her to. It had no instructions, except… Except to follow it’s base programming, to find and assimilate drones. Oh no. No, no, no, no- The drones dragged him and Arianna towards the front of the assembly line, dumping them onto the belt with the other captives. Despite already being drugged, the servos hit them with another dose, and Connors felt his body go even more slack. No. There’s got to be a way out of this, he thought, as the belt carried him forward into the first scan. The laser started working its way up his body, removing layers of his clothing and rendering hair to ash. In the corner of his vision, he could see Madame Arianna behind him, glaring daggers his way, but she was as helpless, naked, and hairless as him. If they don’t have a leader, they won’t accept surrender, Connors realized. They’ll assimilate everyone. They can’t not. He’d made the perfect self replicating system, after all. Autonomous invasion forces that would conquer planets and send out more, larger, invasion forces. The collar, designed to choke just a little bit, latched tightly around his neck, and the chafing wrist and ankle cuffs were locked down. He could hear Arianna whimpering, terror setting into her for possibly the first time in her life, but he’d accepted his fate. There was nothing to do except try to deal with the discomfort. As he considered this, a steel cage was clamped tightly around him, squeezing his member and then immediately beginning to buzz, stroke, and tease. Despite his circumstances, his terror, he felt himself try to grow hard, strain painfully in the steel, fall limp, and then repeat the process. Next, he was picked up by cold, steel hands. The plug was rested against his back door, pressure applied, and then he winced as it was shoved inside him. Why did I make it that large? Just to be painful? … Stupid question. The diaper came next, though he was already having trouble focusing on it, between painful attempts at an erection and the uncomfortable fullness in his bottom from a plug that would never be removed. Still, thick padding was folded between his thighs, taped down with industrial-grade adhesive, and he was dropped back in place. Being gagged wasn’t so bad. He didn’t fight as the arms opened his mouth and forced in the hollow feeding gag, letting it rest between his teeth, waiting for the next step. One thing he hadn’t considered as a designer was that the latex being pulled over his body would be coming straight out of a formation vat. It was hot to the touch, like it’d been laying out in the sun, making him sweat as soon as the tight material was snapped over his body. As a torture feature, he’d probably have left it in even if he’d known, but the surprise was the first thing that made him whimper. There wouldn’t be any cooling down or getting better, not when his body heat was radiating into the suit. Then, finally, came the helmet, and Connors said goodbye to being the renowned doctor and scientist he’d been up until that moment. He was just one of the legion of diaper drones. The Drone Legions - Invasion Heat and fumes wafted from the autofactory complex, matched by the sound of whirring servos and bubbling pre-formation latex armor. Thousands had already gone through, and millions more would be next. The drone sentries guarding the line were an ominous warning of what would happen to the people fed into the machine. “Oh god…” Julie whimpered, forced to step up to the edge of the conveyer belt. “Oh god, oh god–” “It’ll be okay,” Kate promised. “Watch out for a moment to run–these things don’t seem too smart. And even if we can’t, someone will rescue us.” Behind her, Sarah made a choking sound. “Are they all wearing diapers?” The bulging puffiness between the legs and around the waist of each drone stood out–Kate had thought it might be some kind of battery, but now that she had it pointed out to her, she couldn’t un-see the silhouette of a diaper beneath the black latex. They were penned in by hundreds of figures, all in shiny skintight suits and diapers and helmets, and in a moment the three friends would be in the same boat. As space opened up, Julie was prodded forward onto the conveyor belt, and she gave Kate an excellent view of what would happen next: A needle on an arm pricked her in the neck and she fell limp, falling onto the belt helplessly. Her eyes still moved, and her chest still rose and fell with breath–she’d been paralyzed. (It’ll be okay,) Kate told herself. She’d already tried to run once, but the pain of being shocked by the drone’s weapons was enough to convince her not to run again. Stepping forward, she felt the needle, and heard Sarah’s whimper behind her. Kate fell forward, getting an excellent view ahead as her friend was rotated, had her legs spread, and ultimately fell victim to a dozen careful lasers went to work. They first cut away her clothing, scraps of charred fabric falling off in clumps, then went to work with a more delicate setting, burning away her hair one follicle at a time with a hundred thousand tiny blasts of focused heat, accompanied by quiet energy pulses that combined into white noise. Unable to turn her head or look away, Kate stared forward, up between Julie’s legs. She felt like she should avert her gaze and give her friend privacy, but she couldn’t so much as close her eyes, only stare as her friend was rendered hairless and smooth between her legs. A moment later she felt the lasers start to work on her own body. It stung, not quite hot enough to permanently scar her, but like she’d left the water in her shower all the way up and couldn’t reach down to turn it off–bad across her whole body, but particularly squirm-inducing as it cut away the hair over her sex. She’d never gone in for laser hair removal, never gotten a tattoo, and winced when she got her shots at the doctor–this made all those problems pale in comparison, and her throat let out an involuntary whimper. A fan blew away the remnants of her formerly luxurious head of hair, now a pile of char, and she felt the cool breeze on her own nether regions. She was as exposed to Sarah as Julie was to her, though indignity was the least of her worries at the moment. Metal collars and cuffs lifted Julie, Kate, and Sarah in turn, locking their bodies out spread-eagle, and with an emotionless whirr, another metal implement pushed up between their legs. Kate could not look down and watch, but she felt something like silicone push up into her sex, deep enough that she’d have moaned if she could move, and then felt steel snap in place over her. She couldn’t see any locking mechanism on Julie, just a pair of bead welds. The dildo inside her was permanent, and–it started to buzz. The second penetration came from behind, a barely-lubricated plug that forced her bottom open, heavy and solid, pulling inside her and resting there, enhancing the unwanted sexual desire that’d been forced upon her. Violated in front and back, she expected that the buzzing would rise, forcing her to orgasm, but there was no such relief–as soon as her body started to respond to sensations inside her, the imposition stopped, denying her relief. And then, before she could catch her breath, it began again. The diaper pushed up between her legs felt too thick, too wide, almost unreal–but she could see Julie’s, which looked like it could absorb an ocean with room to spare. She understood what it meant with an uncomfortable flash of insight, one that came just as the vibrator inside her pussy died again, leaving her on the frustrating edge of orgasm. (They won’t change these unless they have to.) Still dangling by neck and hand cuffs, her feet were released, and latex, hot like it’d been left out on the pavement on a summer day, began to slide its way up her body, forming tight against her skin, making her start to sweat and wish she could squirm. There was no relief, no chance of a cool breeze to waft through the factory, and even the sweat that began to pour into the latex didn’t help, only making things wet and stifling. It came up over her diaper, over her naked chest, and finally up to her neck. She noted two small tubes for air flow, and when she sniffed, she got a vague scent of medicated plastic. It was hard to think while being constantly edge, constantly left breathless and in a state of pure sexual torture, but she got the meaning. (My diaper. The only air flowing out of my suit comes from…my diaper.) She’d be breathing in anything she put out. Finally, a claw pulled her mouth open, making room for a deep gag that went to the back of her throat. Even if she had control over her body, her ability to make sounds beyond whimpers was stolen. She could see Julie in front of her, similarly gagged, and then a helmet came down, covering her head. (Please,) she thought. (Let it be over, let it be–) Lights began to flash, and sounds, in a chaotic, disorienting pattern. Her mind–already fragile from the heat, the sweat, the claustrophobia and the sexual agony of being edged by a perfect machine–broke. Drone #58008-PFLS came off the assembly line, falling into a heap with other drones. They would be left there until the chemicals wore off, until their brain was fully reprogrammed, and until their diapers were full. Then they’d be sent out to war, and to bring back new humans to be made into pliable, obedient soldiers. … Drone #58008-PFLS stepped forward into a new space, though their own personal torment remained roughly the same. Five steps forward, turn. They couldn’t properly tell where they were, not with a helmet sealing away their senses. Lights flashing in their eyes and white noise pumping into their brain had bypassed all their motor controls, anyways–some computer integrated into the helmet dictated their motions, leaving their limited remaining brainspace to do little except whimper and wonder. Scanning. Their head turned, slightly, so that the cameras on their helmet could get a look at the area–they didn’t even get to see any sort of video feed, the gesture was exclusively to benefit the computer that controlled their movements. The space felt vaguely familiar. They could tell they stood on carpet, and they’d walked up three flights of stairs to get there. Sometimes, their latex suit felt a little hotter, other times, it felt more stifling, though the sweat and body heat inside was never less than sweltering. Some of the heat came from the constant effort–they were rarely left idle, more often being sent to gather others, humans who would soon be given the same treatment. More heat came from their midsection, though, the foul muck stewing in their diaper and the constant, mind-crushing depravation coming inside their permanently filled pussy. They stepped forward helplessly, feeling their body get right to the edge, right up to the brink. A different kind of heat, the kind that promised crashing endorphins and incredible pleasure, rose up inside them–only for the vibrator to die completely, killing that ecstasy in the crib. Turn, open door. In the past…days? Weeks? Months? Since they’d been sealed into this suit, they’d been given diaper changes only sparingly, and the plug holding their bottom wide open, keeping them feeling permanently full, also ensured that it took little more than minutes before the diaper was radiating stink right up their suit into their helmet once again. Food came in bland paste forced through their gag, and water went right to the back of their throat, denying even that slight refreshment. They couldn’t remember what an orgasm felt like anymore, only that it was satisfaction like nothing else. Satisfaction they wanted so desperately to feel again, something to distract from the heavy bulk and mush between their legs–though they had no way of telling time, it seemed from the weight that they had to be in the worst point, halfway between changes. Too long to feel anything like clean, but with no hope of a reprieve for days. Inhaling deeply, Drone #58008-PFLS realized they’d started struggling–fighting with someone. Their latex armor and enhanced reflexes made the combat trivial, but it meant they had to breathe more heavily, all but panting, senses overwhelmed by the earthy, mind-numbing stench they’d poured into their suit, the only thing that could cut through the pure, thought-shattering frustration rippling up from their vibrator. (I…) they thought. They couldn’t quite remember their name, but they knew that they were a person. “I” was their last bastion of personal identity. (Want…) They still had desires, too. Weak, feeble, humiliating desires. They no longer had the capacity to want freedom, even a reprieve from the heat, the sticky, sweaty stink, or the captivity. They just wanted the bliss of an orgasm, if only… Their bowels shifted, something they felt as an extra weight on the plug. An indication they’d be filling their diapers further in just a moment, adding to the weight between their legs. Whoever they’d been fighting had fallen still. They’d won. All they had to do was drag the victim out, and… They could feel the victim’s hands, even through latex, as they tugged the unconscious body towards the door. They had on two rings, and a little notch on the back of their palm, and… (Friend?) They thought, unable to articulate anything more complex. They knew that hand. They knew the person attached to the hand, too, or they had known them, back when they had thoughts more complex than base desire and smell. The person they’d just knocked out, the person they’d doomed to an identical life of orgasm torture and filthy diapers and a complete lack of autonomy, had been their best friend. As they shuddered, riding to the verge of another denied round of pleasure, they tried–and failed–to think. (Why?) (I must…I want…I’m gonna…) They realized what they’d forgotten. As a machine made only to experience frustration and ruin diapers, it wasn’t that they couldn’t orgasm–it was that they’d misremembered what an orgasm was. Need grew inside them, as the vibrator brought them to the razor edge of climax. Their thoughts were always weak, but the lightheaded need of being edged this close rendered their brain as mushy as their diaper, totally vacant of thought. Then the vibrator cut out, but there was no denied pleasure this time–Moaning, they felt the muck spill out into the seat of their diaper. This had to be it. The reason they were kept from holding it was so that they’d experience the pleasure more often, the bliss and pure release of pushing solid, putrid mush into their pants. They couldn’t properly make sounds of pleasure, not with their mouth held open, but a guttural moan still escaped into their throat as the warm, soft mass forced its way into their diaper, spreading between their cheeks and adding further warmth and disgust to their personal environment of stink and satisfaction. It was, simply, a release. The highlight of their time in their latex prison; pressure relaxing inside them, sensory input beyond frustration. What more could anyone ask for in the world beyond the sheer bliss of using their diaper? Drone #58008-PFLS’s friend would be joining them in this, soon, and then they’d get to learn the truth: This was the real pleasure. They just had to wait until the next time they filled their diaper to experience it again. As their climax tapered off, a little fart rumbled into the diaper, a final addition to the smell growing thick and overpowering in their helmet. They could hardly wait until next time. … The dark smoke trails of landing dropships littered a new sky, a new planet. Another target in the galaxy, another ripe colonization target for the drone’s interstellar conquest. Forces tried to fight back, humans on the ground. They’d heard what happened to other planets, and they refused to let it happen to them. They’d had a scant few years to prepare for combat, but they did their best, and could only hope their countermeasures would be enough. Jo made a silent gesture to her companions, a small cluster of survivors, coaxing them forward. She’d kept them safe so far, on the quest for a safe house, some kind of refuge. Three others held back. Emmerich had a hesitant scowl on their face, and Ian outright refused to leave the safety of their hiding spot for the danger of a run across the courtyard. Arlynn, at least, raised up slightly and scanned for danger. “I promise we won’t go to a factory.” Jo whispered, standing up straight to inspire the others. “I’ll show the way, just follow m–” A taser blast hit her, and she fell prone. Drones swarmed in from all around, only distinguishable by the faint serial numbers printed on their helmets. The survivors scrambled away, taking cover, but they were surrounded. Their capture was inevitable. Drone #58008-PFLS stepped forward and grabbed Jo’s prone form, dragging her free. “We have to get her!” Emmerich called, looking at the others. “If they get her to a factory…” But Drone #58008-PFLS wasn’t taking her to a factory. Instead, right there in the courtyard, they tore the seat of Jo’s pants away, raised an oblong plug as thick around as their wrist, and forced it into Jo’s waiting exposed ass hole. Jo cried out, but the discomfort of the enormous plug inside her quickly turned to fear, shock, and pain as a black sort of ooze spread out from the plug. Nanomachines. The drone legion had made improvements of their own. In seconds, her clothes were burned away, along with her hair, leaving her girldick exposed for just a fraction of a second before it was covered by buzzing nanites, sealing her into the same orgasm torture as the other drones, just with a higher-tech veneer–which, in turn, was encased by black, shiny ferrofluid spreading over her whole body. She began to whimper on the ground, overwhelmed by the sudden erotic torture overwhelming her, the heat, the burning, the naked shame of it all. She had one moment to acknowledge her failure, helplessly looking to her friends for relief, then the suit spread its way up her neck, over her mouth, her nose, and finally over her eyes. Already, brain-crushing hypnotic patterns and sounds flashed in her eyes, erasing her thoughts, shutting out the ability to act independently. As a finishing touch, the space between her legs and over her crotch swelled, as nanites foamed into an efficient, hyper-absorbent diaper. And, as it finished puffing out, the plug opened her bottom, taking away her last ounce of control–hot, solid mush spilled out of her into the diaper, flooding her suit with putrid fumes. By the time the suit had encased her head and the diaper finished swelling, she was no longer Jo. They were Drone #40962-PFTB. Accepting a trio of plugs from the nearest drone, they began marching towards their former friends, helpless to disobey the commands. They stepped over the slight barricade, seizing Emmerich’s collar. “But–” Emmerich whimpered, but they couldn’t escape the drone’s iron grip. “Jo, you can’t–” Forcing them to the ground, Drone #40962-PFTB inserted the transformation plug into Emmerich. It spread quickly, penetrating them and covering them, destroying their clothes, taking away their identity. Their other former friends tried to run, but they were surrounded, with no escape. Ian managed to make it two steps, but was downed by a taser blast, left sprawling and helpless on the ground. Arlynn didn’t even make it that far–Drone #40962-PFTB caught his leg before he could make it two steps. The trip sent him sprawling, and in a second, the plug was forced inside him, eliciting a cry of discomfort and shock. Arlynn couldn’t recognize what was happening to him, but he could watch as Ian met the same fate a moment later. Ian had a small metal cage wrapping around his cock and began to pulse, sending him into spasms before the black ooze covered everything, and Arlynn felt himself penetrated by a similar device, a dildo filling his sex and sending him into torturously intense spasms of pleasure. Jo had been right–they wouldn’t be going to any factory. She made sure of that personally, and before two minutes had passed, four more recruits were added to the drone legions. … The scene was the same across every populated planet in the galaxy. Drones stood, idle, aimless and with no more worlds to conquer. Occasionally, one would moan loud enough that it could be heard through their helmets, not that there were any people around to hear it. The only other sound was the occasional rumble and squelch of a swelling diaper, as a drone experienced its next-best-thing to pleasure. Drone #58008-PFLS spent most of their time squatting out in a courtyard. In as much as she could like anything, she enjoyed it–the weather rarely made her latex unbearably hot, and she’d ended up near a feeding and diaper changing station. Her needs were cared for, allowing her to devote all her attention to the utter bliss that came when she poured muck into her diaper, and to savoring the heady smell that built up in her helmet between rarer and rarer changes. If she could have been asked what she wanted to be done to her, she’d have had no response. Nothing she could imagine would be any better. The universe was at peace. ... I you have a couple bucks to spare and like the content I write, please consider donating a couple bucks over on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 25: Conflict Pearce spun in place, head spinning with everything he had to do. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up big time. It was four in the afternoon, on a work day–and sure, he freelanced from home, but that didn’t mean he could just ignore his job all day without consequence. Waiting anxiously for his phone to charge, he booted up his desktop, wondering if he had time to go make a pot of coffee and take an aspirin for the headache that was starting to pound a hole in his– “Pearce,” Grace demanded, standing by his door. “I need a change.” And she did–her diaper had been utterly decimated; flooded so thoroughly that the tapes were struggling to hang on and all the padding had clumped and fallen to the bottom of the diaper. It was a miracle she hadn’t– “I’ve already leaked twice,” she added, emphasizing the depth of his failure. (Oh.) “I’ll get to that soon,” Pearce said. If she leaked again, it’d cost him fifty bucks–a price worth paying to get his day back on track, to recover from the death spiral he’d flown into by losing eight hours. It was one thing to talk to Grace about being chill, about skipping jobs if they didn’t spark joy, but he’d screwed up badly with a client he actually liked, and he had to do damage control before they decided not to renew his contracts. He hated doing the mental math on what took priority. He’d already screwed up enough as the babysitter, already let Grace down hard, and he was actively choosing to let her down more. That made him sick, but Grace’s petulance was making it easier to stomach–the more she irritated him, the less he cared. “Did you eat?” he asked, as his phone chirped to life. “I made myself food, yes,” she said. “But that was around lunchtime–I still need dinner.” (Okay. I need to–fuck. Eight missed calls. I need to listen to these messages, return the calls, reply to the texts, check my email, see if that build got uploaded–dammit, I said I’d give feedback today. So feedback. And Grace needs a change, and dinner, and I need to figure out when I’m going to redo the meeting from today, and–shit, she probably needs a drink, too, and she’s not dressed, and…I need to listen to these messages.) “Pearce–” Grace snapped. “Look at me.” He looked at her, frowned, and looked away. “Pearce,” Grace insisted, demanding his attention. “What?” he snapped, wheeling on her. “Grace, I have five thousand things to do, no time to do it, and none of our shit takes priority right now. You need to leak? Go leak.” “Are you giving up?” she demanded. He ran his hands through his hair, exasperation growing by the second. “No, I’m not–Grace, are you fucking kidding me?” Grace’s face registered shock, and he hesitated. He hadn’t meant to be that harsh, but it wasn’t half so harsh as the crueler thoughts rolling around in the back of his head. He simply could not believe that Grace had left him out to dry, and though he buried his worst impulses, he couldn’t contain his rant completely. “You seriously fucked over my entire day so you could get leverage for the bet?” he continued. “You’re that petty? It’s a game. I haven’t tried to screw any of your work stuff up or mess with your jobs, I’ve made sure you have space and time to work, and, what? You were just waiting to get the right leverage on me so you could fuck me over?” He knew he was yelling, he knew Skip could probably hear him if they hadn’t left for work already, but he didn’t care. “You did screw my work.” Grace didn’t need volume to convey her anger, every word had an icy edge. “You were supposed to be the one to wake us up. You had one job.” “I have like fifty jobs! I’m doing everything!” Pearce shot back. “So I screwed up one thing. Sure. Whatever.” “Whatever? No.” Grace glowered, refusing to give him an inch of empathy. “You don’t get to be in charge and then ‘Whatever’ everything away when you screw up. You either need to own up and take care of your responsibilities, or admit that you can’t actually do this and tell me you’re done. Only two options.” Her words hit him like a warning shot, an indicator that if he didn’t back down immediately, she’d go for his throat. He didn’t care about what she wanted him to do. “Grace,” Pearce shot back at her. “I know you want to be the center of attention, but I have so much work to do, and you cannot be up my ass about this right now!” “No, we’re going to talk.” Her gaze was steel as she attacked him again, more insistent. “Are you going to give up?” (Shut the fuck up and leave me–) “How many things did I miss?” Pearce demanded. “Eight.” Grace began counting on her fingers, loading up her verbal cannons for the finishing strike. “Two leaks, bedtime, wake up, bathtime, breakfast, lunch, and I haven’t had a single thing to drink today I didn’t get myself. Four hundred dollars. Pay up, or give up.” There it was. Her ultimatum–he could take the verbal torpedo head on, or he could sink. Preparing to take it on the chin, he readied his return salvo. “You got out of your crib on your own, made yourself two meals, got yourself drinks, and you just told me you needed a diaper change.” Her eyes narrowed. “So?” “So,” he attacked, ready to blast her confidence out of the water. “You want me to play the game, respect the bet? Fine.” Swiping his wallet off the desk, he fished in it for cash–of course he didn’t have enough. Instead, he scooped up his phone, sending a digital payment to Grace–four hundred dollars. Twenty hours of his life, labeled ‘Penalty Beer Money’. “I’m paid up,” he announced, dropping his bomb. “You broke five rules, that’s five hours in time out. Go away, sit down, shut up, and leave me alone.” Grace’s eyes widened, her face drawing tight as she balled her hands. “You aren’t serious–” “Completely.” He felt a sting of satisfaction, and couldn’t help but add, “Are you going to give up?” When her face fell from shock to sadness and she backed away, all that vindication washed away, and he felt only shame. … Grace genuinely could not believe him. Pearce. Fucking Pearce. He’d left her alone, skipped out on his responsibilities, and he apparently had the gall to throw it right back in her face that she didn’t waste her entire day sitting in her crib, waiting for him to demonstrate basic life skills. She stared at the corner of the wall, wriggling uncomfortably. Her leaky, swollen diaper wasn’t getting any more comfortable, and she couldn’t even get Pearce in further trouble by going again–she’d just be making puddles on the floor. Her stomach cramps hadn’t gone away, either, and sitting in a low stool that effectively left her in a constant crouch didn’t do much for her control. (Five hours. It’ll be bedtime by then.) Grace wouldn’t have any trouble holding it for five hours, but she’d already been holding it all day. She couldn’t remember going yesterday, either–after she and Pearce had started talking, she didn’t want to kill the mood by stinking up the room and forcing him to change her; she doubted either of them could rebound back to sexy from ‘cleaning up her poopy bottom.’ Now she was stuck fighting cramps. For five hours. She blamed Pearce for this, but she blamed herself, too. This could all have been avoided if she’d just… (Woken Pearce up?) (No.) (I should have set an alarm on my own phone.) The stupid thing had been to let her guard down, to assume that just because Pearce was fun to hang out with, and fun in bed, that she could rely on him. She’d lowered her guard, fully relaxed, and been punished in response. And maybe–maybe–she could admit that refusing to step in and wake him up had been an overreaction, but she wasn’t in charge of him. They were just…she wasn’t sure. Friends with benefits sounded wrong. She squirmed again. Her bottom was starting to itch from the prolonged time in a saturated diaper. If she’d been a real baby, she would have probably just bawled her head off when she woke up stuck in her crib, not snuck around and stayed quiet. (Now I’m making excuses for him.) She couldn’t check the time. She couldn’t do anything, except squirm, pout, and reflect. (Is this why time out’s are a popular punishment? So kids will think about what they did wrong?) (Not that it works when I didn’t do anything wrong.) (Goddammit, how long has it been?) (Brains gets home at around six, usually. Seven at the latest. It was like five PM when I got stuck here, so...it hasn’t even been an hour.) (Should I just pee? I feel like I should just pee. I can’t hold it for five hours.) (Oh god I hope time is passing faster than it feels like. It feels like it’s only been a few minutes.) (How the hell could he do this to me when he’s the one at fault?) More than the boredom itself, or the discomfort, it was the injustice that ate at her. He’d failed her, and then when she confronted him about it he found an excuse to abandon her again. Paying lip service to the rules of the bet didn’t justify this, he just wanted to eliminate an inconvenience by any means necessary. Her stomach gurgled and cramped again, painful fullness rearing its head. A reminder that she’d been holding it for almost two days, and that she wouldn’t be able to keep it held much longer–certainly not while she had to sit in a near crouch. She had to choose between physical discomfort or humiliation, and even if she chose the former, she didn’t know if her body would comply. (Fuck.) … Brains returned home late, only to find himself confronted by a smell, like someone had just squatted down and gone right onto the floor in the living room. He saw Grace on her time out chair, in a flooded diaper, sitting over a puddle of urine. That explained the smell, then. If Melody was there, she could’ve probably gleaned a lot more from Grace’s body language, Brains could largely only intuit the fact that she was upset from the facts–if he were in a wet diaper stuck in time out, he’d be upset too. “Time out?” he asked, before quickly catching himself. “Sorry–don’t answer that.” He didn’t want to get her in trouble. “I’ll go ask Pearce what happened.” He took his phone out while navigating upstairs, taking the time to text Melody, ‘You on a date tonight?’ ‘Yeah, what’s up?’ ‘Grace is in time out. Peed on the floor. Might be awkward to bring someone home to.’ ‘Noted, thanks.’ Heading upstairs, he briefly considered Not Getting Involved. Instead, he knocked on Pearce’s door. “Grace?” Pearce called through the door. “If you got out of time out–” “Brains,” he corrected. Pearce opened up. “What’s up?” “Grace leaked onto the floor,” Brains said. “What did she do?” “What didn’t she do?” Pearce replied. “I…don’t know,” Brains said. “I’ve been gone all day.” “Sorry.” Stepping back, Pearce let Brains into his bedroom. It looked more chaotic than usual. “She broke like five rules today.” “Oh, damn,” Brains said. “Why?” Pearce seemed to be thinking about his words for a long moment. “I broke eight.” “Oh, damn.” Doing the math, he said, “Four hundred bucks. Can you afford that?” “Sorta. If I don’t lose this client that I ghosted for like eight hours.” “Hold up.” Brains shook his head. “I need you to explain what happened.” Pearce explained, starting with the morning–he’d forgotten his phone, missed his alarm, and Grace had woken up sometime that morning well after their day was supposed to begin…then she’d refused to wake him up in turn. “Five hours, though,” Brains said, finally. “That’s…Pearce, that’s a lot.” “I know,” Pearce shrugged. “But, like…if she’s going to insist I do the whole thing, I can’t really back out, can I?” “Honestly?” Brains said. “You shouldn’t. She deserves it.” Pearce stopped to look flatly at Brains. “That’s unusually harsh.” “You messed up by accident,” he replied. “She let you sleep on purpose. Intention matters. If anything, she should be apologizing to you.” Sighing, Pearce looked back at his computer, then at Brains. “She’s still mad.” “That doesn’t mean she didn’t purposefully hurt you.” Pearce shrugged. “You’re right.” “I am?” Brains said, almost surprised at saying something insightful. “You are, but I’m going to ignore you anyways,” Pearce said. “It all comes back to the bet–I’d been thinking of it as rules, but it’s more than that. Grace really has the emotional regulation skills of a toddler, and I shouldn’t have been expecting her to handle an adult relationship.” That surprised Brains less–he was used to that. “Then what are you going to do? Let her out of time out?” “No,” Pearce said. “She made her diaper, she can sit in it. But I’m the adult here, the one in charge. I just need to start following the rules.” ... The good times couldn't last forever, could they? 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Art by Omopurr!

Chapter 24: Coming Down “Fuck, yes–yes–” “Don’t stop–” “Oh god–” … “I…” “What was that?” “Hmm?” “I couldn’t hear you. You were mumbling.” “I didn’t say anything.” “Okay.” … “Scoot closer.” “Can’t get enough of me, hmm?” “I’m cold and you’re sharing the blankets, casanova.” “If it gets any cozier, I’m going to fall asleep.” “As long as we don’t doze for too long…” … Grace dreamed of a warm embrace, sunshine wrapped around her body, comfort and care. She awoke to an empty bed. She’d fallen asleep with Pearce, that much she’d remembered–after a long night together, breaking occasionally to eat, to bathe, to change, they’d dozed in her bed, nestled against each other. That feeling of being wanted had carried her off to sleep, wishing her earthly needs away. Now a laser beam of sunlight was blasting her in the eyes, forcing her to wince awake, an indication that the morning was growing long. She’d overslept, and she had work to do. “Pearce?” Rolling upright, she looked around. Pearce hadn’t put up the crib bars, so no awkward climbing was required to stand up. She felt emotionally hungover; there was no blinding headache or physical pain, but she felt fatigued, drained. Abandoned? Her phone was on the ground by the crib, and she knelt to grab it, pressing the on button to check the time. It didn’t take long to recognize that the phone was dead, or that it wasn’t hers, but Pearce’s. Hers was on the nightstand a few feet away, and she’d remembered to plug it in even through the haze of cuddling. Past ten in the morning. (Goddamnit,) she thought. (Pearce was supposed to wake me up.) Worse–she had a phone meeting she was supposed to take half an hour ago. She’d missed it completely. Heart rate spiking, Grace quickly texted the client apologizing for her tardiness and asking if they could reschedule. She told herself not to catastrophize–it was just a phone call, it probably didn’t matter too much, she wouldn’t lose work over this–but in the space between reaching out and getting a response, it was hard to feel anything except anxiety. By the rules of the bet, she was probably supposed to crawl back into her crib and wait–maybe she could shout from the other room until he woke up, but Skip would be home by then, and asleep, and she didn’t want to wake them up after a long shift. Besides–she had more important things to be doing. So, dropping Pearce’s phone back onto her bed, she waddled out of her room. Her diaper squished slightly–she was fairly sure she could remember wetting it in the night, waking up for a moment to relieve the pressure on her bladder before dozing off again. Since Pearce hadn’t properly put her in pajamas, she just had on a T-shirt over it. Opening her door, she looked at the entrance to Pearce’s room. His door was shut, and she could hear gentle snores from the other side. (I should wake him up,) she thought. Then she considered why he was snoring in his room–he’d left her side at some point in the night to go back to his bed, without a thought in the world for her. No alarm, no text, he’d just left. Her phone buzzed–a response from the client she’d accidentally blown off. ‘I’ll see if there’s a time I can reschedule to, we’re on a pretty tight deadline but I might be able to shift things around.’ (Translation: They already hired someone else. Stupid. I should have set my own alarm.) She looked back at Pearce’s door again. (He can sleep.) Mentally, she racked up the rules he’d broken–no bathtime, no bedtime, no waking up on time, no breakfast. She could probably get away with making her diaper leak before he woke up too. He was in for a hefty bill. It might be enough to finally make him balk, to give up, and then she wouldn’t even have to worry about her punishments for getting out of the crib. And, besides–she had other reasons to believe that she was safe from punishment. Toddling downstairs, she made a beeline to the coffee pot–still half full, Brains or someone must have left it percolating before leaving for work. The house was still and empty, she was the only one there, the only one awake. Smirking to herself, Grace poured a cup of coffee into a mug. If Pearce wasn’t going to enforce the rules, why should she obey them? That was just another tally against him, more proof he was going to lose the bet. He’d just left her, anyways. She wasn’t going to keep the song and dance going, drinking from a bottle when she had to fix the drink herself. Sipping it, the coffee tasted cold and bitter. Even a run through the microwave and a healthy helping of cream and sugar didn’t fix it, the drink offered her no satisfaction. It just felt…off. (Brains probably used the wrong setting,) she told herself, setting aside the mug and pouring herself a glass of water instead. That, at least, just tasted like water. From there, she got to work. Real, on her own time, work. Sitting at the desk in her room, she buckled down, focusing on the project she most wanted to get out of the way. Since there was no call that morning, no chance to set client expectations, her intended work for the day wasn’t available. She didn’t like switching on the fly, but the poorly conceived blockchain metaverse nightmare wouldn’t take care of itself, and it was something to do. Pearce’s advice to ditch the project completely echoed in the back of her head, but then his snores drifted in through the wall they shared and chased away all her other thoughts of him. Eventually, she checked the time. (It’s past noon. Is he seriously still asleep?) Her diaper had filled to the point of full saturation, and if she wanted to avoid leaking she’d have to start doing some sort of yoga poses to ensure things trickled into the few dry bits of fluff. Rather than do that, she squelched to the bathroom, squatted in the tub, and let her diaper leak onto the porcelain. (And that’s another penalty for Pearce,) she thought, grabbing a towel off the rack. She thought about stripping out of the diaper, but changed her mind. It was better proof of Pearce’s failings if she kept it on. When he woke up and saw the state he was in, it’d be clear: (Look how badly you failed.) She could have woken him up then–it’s not like there was a penalty for double leaking. He probably had work of his own he could be doing, things he was missing. Grace waddled precariously past his door and into her room. Throwing the towel over her chair she sat back down and got to work. Loading up her work, she stared at the screen, eyes glazing over. (What am I doing?) She remembered Pearce’s arms around her. Even calling it just ‘friends with benefits’, they’d shared something last night. She probably owed him the courtesy of a wake-up knock, if not because they were friends, then at least because she no longer stood to gain–she was out of penalties to amass for him, unless he slept so late that he missed her bathtime as well. She checked her phone. Nothing from the client she’d burned, no indication that they were going to reschedule. (He couldn’t even set a stupid alarm,) she told herself. (He thinks he can be responsible, and he can’t even set an alarm. I can’t afford to lose this client–) she had to cut herself off, because it wasn’t true. She wanted the money, but she could muddle through without, she’d just be thin on cash for a while. (I wanted this client a lot. He could have just set an alarm.) Something deeper niggled at her. A little cold, bitter feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she’d swallowed an ice cube made of vinegar. That wasn’t true either. Grace remembered falling asleep with warmth and comfort next to her, with… There was only one word she could think of. She’d fallen asleep with her caregiver next to her, and woken up alone, and neglected. She didn’t care about the client, not really. She didn’t care about an hour of extra sleep. She just wanted to know that Pearce would be there for her when she needed him, but she’d woken up alone. Putting him out of her thoughts, Grace dove furiously into her work, blocking out everything else. She could code in her sleep, she could do design with her eyes closed, it just had to occupy her thoughts. Work. Problem solve. As long as she had something she could fix, something to create, she didn’t have to think about her feelings. A couple hours later, she had to drag herself away to the bathroom again, to repeat her stunt of leaking into the tub. Sighing, she got to her feet, waddling out, stretching out her hands as she bumped right into Skip. They came out of their bedroom with headphones on, and she was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she only stepped out of the way at the last second. “Woah,” she said, stumbling and grabbing the wall for support. “Morning,” Skip said, pulling an ear bud out to say hi. “How are…is that what you were wearing last night?” “It is,” Grace said. Skip looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her particularly heavy diaper. “Did Pearce put you in the same clothes? Or–where is Pearce?” “He’s still asleep,” Grace said, in a tone meant to convey, ‘Can you believe this guy?’ Skip blinked. “It’s four in the afternoon.” Grace nodded. “Yeah.” “You didn’t wake him up?” Skip asked, looking at her like she had two heads. “Not my job,” Grace replied. “He wanted to be the babysitter so much, I’m not going to do that work for him.” Pushing past her, Skip pounded on Pearce’s door. “Hey! Wake up!” The snoring stopped. Pearce’s footsteps approached the door, and he opened it, bleary-eyed and confused. “Skip?” he said, blinking at them. “You’re home early. Or…” He looked around. Even sleep-drunk, he recognized something was wrong pretty quickly. Maybe what tipped him off was that she'd gotten out of her crib, or the light filtering in through the hallway window, but his eyes widened. “You slept all afternoon,” Grace said. “No,” he said, though it was hard to deny. “I–my alarm never went off.” “Your phone was in my room,” Grace said. He stared, uncomprehending. She recognized the panic, the ‘oh shit I missed so much’ look that she’d felt earlier that same day. He summarized the feeling shortly. “Fuck.” ... Toss a few dollars in my diaper fund and get early access to all my writing, exclusive content, and discounts on commissions! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

The Rules for Tabitha: If Tabitha is in a permission window, she may use the potty. Otherwise, she may not. If a permission window ends and she hasn’t used the potty, and Tabitha is not in front of a stranger, she must pee immediately. If she is in front of a stranger, she must seek privacy and immediately pee her pants. Tabitha must wear a diaper to bed, since she won’t know when to wake up to pee. That’s it. Those are the rules. The app: if (windowtimer == 0) { current_timer = pottytimer; pottytimer = random_range_minutes(15, 30); } if (pottytimer == 0) { play (ringtone_pottypants); current_timer = windowtimer; windowtimer = random_range_minutes(120, 480); } draw string (current_timer); It’d been simple enough to program–a randomized timer, a simple UI, and a notification sound. Anita had put it together in twenty minutes; the hardest part was installing it on Tabitha’s phone. Permission windows would last between fifteen and thirty minutes, and appear every two to eight hours–simple. Tabitha had gone along with it, too, despite all the potential pitfalls–she was confident that she’d win out against her girlfriend, and get back on top. Cocky, even–’Just you wait, in a week you’ll be the one in potty pants’. There were no tricks, no ‘gotchas’ built in. If Tabitha checked her phone regularly, watching for permission windows, making it to the potty would be trivial–but without a notification chime to signal the start of a window, only the end, she’d need to be constantly vigilant. A window could pop up at any time, and she desperately wanted to avoid missing them. If she went the whole week without a single accident–not counting the mandatory bedwetting–Anita would have to wear diapers for a month. If, however, Tabitha at least managed to keep it under three total daytime accidents, they’d call the bet a wash. For every accident beyond the third, though, Tabitha would be the household baby for two days longer. “You’re ready, potty pants?” Anita giggled, grinning at her girlfriend. “I’m going to keep my pants perfectly dry, thank you very much,” Tabitha retorted, sticking out her tongue. “The potty pants here is you, just you wait.” “Mhmm,” Anita gloated. “I’m not the one practicing her potty training.” As an act of defiance, she’d worn pale white jeans, so that any accident would stand out starkly. She wouldn’t be losing, after all. She’d put timers on her phone to remind her to check for permission windows, and her drive to win would see her through the week. They’d deliberately started on a Sunday–So that their bet would start and end on the weekend. Anita wanted to see Tabitha’s first scrambles to get to the bathroom, her desperate rush when she realized she only had a couple minutes standing between her and a soggy bottom. She got her first thrill of pleasure a couple hours later. Halfway through making lunch together, maneuvering around each other in the kitchen, one of Tabitha’s reminders beeped. Anita watched with a smirk as her girlfriend checked her phone, canceled the timer, and swiped over to the potty app. “–fuck,” Tabitha blurted, all but dropping her phone onto the counter and tearing across the kitchen, eyes huge. The bathroom was only about fifteen feet away, but Tabitha crossed it in less than a second, trying to fumble the door open and strip out of her pants at the same time. Anita burst out giggling, watching her girlfriend half stumble into the bathroom. Tabitha didn’t even shut the door, throwing herself onto the toilet instead, the sound of splashing water sending Anita into laughing fits. Not ten seconds later, she heard the pleasant chime notification she’d chosen, indicating how narrow the margin had been between success and pants-ruining disaster. Tabitha sulked out of the bathroom a minute later, blushing profusely. “Not funny.” “Aww, did you dribble into your panties?” Anita teased. “Maybe you should just start wearing diapers right away.” “The app cheated!” Tabitha fumed. “You programmed it wrong. “I did no such thing. How regular are your reminders?” Anita asked. “Every fifteen minutes,” Tabitha replied. “So there’s no way I can miss a window.” “There is, though,” Anita pointed out. “If you get the shortest possible window right after your reminder goes off–you’ll never see the window until it’s too late.” “Ugh,” Tabitha groaned, resetting her phone timer to give her alerts every twelve minutes. Anita giggled all the way through the afternoon. Tabitha had two more potty trips, and though neither of them were so dramatic as the first, she still enjoyed watching her girlfriend’s eyes widen in alarm before the inevitable rush to go. “What?” Tabitha demanded, after catching Anita’s nearly-permanent smirk yet again. “The timer,” Anita explained. “It’s just like one of those potty training watches. Y’know, the ones they make for toddlers.” “Ugh,” Tabitha said. “I am so looking forward to seeing your face when you lose.” Anita strongly doubted that would happen, so she just smirked. She knew Tabitha, and could guess how long Tabitha’s focus would last. And–maybe, if she were pressed, Anita would admit to cheating a bit. At the very least, she put a thumb on the scale when she picked out a long movie and turned up the volume. It didn’t quite drown out Tabitha’s phone alarm, but it came close–and, more than once, Tabitha missed her personal reminders. What she didn’t miss, near the end of the film, was the chime that cut through the on-screen hero’s stirring monologue. Tabitha blinked, looking down at her phone. An ignored timer languished, and the notification on screen read, ‘POTTY TIME.’ Her mouth opened, slack-jawed. “Uh–” “Oh noooo,” Anita said, feigning shock. “You didn’t make it!” Cheeks flushing, Tabitha started to stand, but Anita grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down onto their old thrift-store couch. “Oh no, you’re going right here–and you’re doing the cleanup, too. Just be glad I scotch-guarded your side of the couch.” “But–” Tabitha started. Anita shook her head. “You know the rules.” Balling her hands into embarrassed fists, Tabitha shut her eyes and kept her promise. A brilliant yellow stain flowered on the crotch of her jeans, quickly spreading down her thighs, pooling around her butt. The water resistant spray held up admirably, so that more urine ran down her white jeans onto the floor than got on the couch cushions, though it’d still need a round of cleanup to get it back to good. “Awww,” Anita cooed, reaching over to pause the film. “It’s alright, potty pants–you just didn’t make it in time!” “I–” Tabitha stammered. “This isn’t fair.” “Well, you get to wet yourself two more times before you’re in real trouble,” Anita warned. “And there’s only six days left–so I’m sure you’ll be fine, right?” Getting to her feet, the shocking yellow all the more visible around her butt, Tabitha stamped her foot in petulant annoyance. “Yes.” Neither of them believed it. And especially not when the weekday rolled around. Tabitha hadn’t been completely dumb about things–she worked at a tiny cell phone repair store that typically had her in front and a coworker working the front counter, and on the off occasions where she had to man reception, it wasn’t for long. She typically had schematics and instructions open on her phone anyways, and rushing off to the bathroom wouldn’t get in the way. She got through work just fine, with nary an accident in sight. But the commute–that caused a problem. Her drive to work had gotten lucky; even with a lengthy stint in traffic, she never had a potty window open up. The drive home, though, went differently. She checked her notifications before she left and ensured no potty window opened up, but what she couldn’t account for was the rush hour traffic on the way home, turning a fifteen minute drive into a thirty minute slog. Parking behind Anita’s motorcycle, she took out her phone and– (Fifty seconds?!) Scrambling, she threw open the car door and ran down the sidewalk to their home, grabbing the handle, reaching to her pocket for– Her keys were still in her car; she’d forgotten to take them out of the ignition in her mad dash. With thirty five seconds to go, she ran back to her car, but the driver's door was locked. She’d need the spare key, which was inside, and– She had no time for that, and she knew it. Running back to the front door, she tried the handle, desperately, then ran to the window. Both locked. Panic rising, she looked around–nobody was outside in their neighborhood, at least not that she could see, except a dog walker a block and a half down moving away from her. At a loss for what else to do, she hooked the waistband of her pants with her thumbs, jerked down, and squatted next to the door, barely saving herself the embarrassment of wet pants before she heard the chime. As she watered the flowers, she heard a knock on the window, and looked up to see Anita smirking down at her. Voice muffled by the glass, her girlfriend called out, “That still counts as an accident!” If Tabitha hadn’t been so mortified, she might have argued, but all she could muster up the strength for was a meek nod. Two days in, and she only had one accident left before she’d start accruing diaper time. And, just to rub things in, when they watched TV that evening Anita made her sit on the floor–”In case of little baby accidents”. Tuesday was better. She was diligent–she never missed a window, always caught it right away, and even loitered after work a bit to ensure she wouldn’t hit rush hour traffic again, hitting up the grocery store near the shop to kill time. What she failed to account for was not that she’d miss a window, but that one simply wouldn’t appear–by the time she got home, it’d been six hours since she’d had a window to pee, and her bladder was full to bursting. Anita misread her expression when she walked inside, taking the desperation on Tabitha’s face as embarrassment. “Aww,” she cooed. “Did you have an accident at work?” Tabitha shook her head, thighs pressed together, shifting her weight. “No, it’s just…whatever.” It was her subtle dance that tipped Anita off. “Oh, you can’t hold it much longer, can you?” Cheeks puffing up in indignation, Tabitha nodded. “Yes. You set the maximum time for too long.” “You can’t even hold it for eight hours?” Anita asked. Tabitha shook her head. “Um…it’s only been six, I just had too much to drink.” Anita snorted, walking over to greet her with a hug and a kiss. “Well, I promise not to play any waterfall noises to make your situation worse.” Shifting in her partner’s embrace, Tabitha smiled and hugged back, arms wrapped around each other. “Thanks.” “But I never said anything about tickling,” Anita said. It was too late for Tabitha to escape, Anita already had her. Hands sliding up, her fingers tickled beneath Tabitha’s armpits, her touch just gentle enough to be excruciatingly tickly, pulling giggles from deep within Tabitha’s soul. She fussed and stomped her feet, but it did nothing to keep her bladder in check, control bursting at Anita’s touch. Her pants flooded, and for the third time in as many days, she peed somewhere far, far away from the potty. That’s when Anita proposed the deal–while Tabitha was still blushing and humiliated, hot pee freshly staining her trousers. “You know,” she said, “since you’ve clearly failed your potty training, you can just be a potty pants for the rest of the week. I’ll even change your diapers for you, and then you can just pee whenever the timer tells you, or when you need to, and you won’t even have to do any laundry.” It was said so matter-of-factly, so evenly, that Tabitha just nodded. She’d lost the bet, she could see that, it would be better to cut her losses and admit defeat. If she kept this up, she’d have four more days of wet pants, and at least that many days in diapers after the fact. She missed the hidden meaning in Anita’s words. From the tone, Tabitha assumed that they were calling the bet off, but Anita had never said those words, never made that promise. Every accident would still add to Tabitha’s time in diapers, per their promise to each other, whether she peed in her jeans or went full-time potty pants and peed in diapers. Too humiliated to think straight, Tabitha said, “Okay–that’s…that’s okay. I’ll wear diapers.” In her head, she was agreeing to four days padded, give or take, but those weren’t the rules she’d agreed to–the rules were a simple algorithm, and they didn’t care if Tabitha peed into her pants or a diaper. All that mattered was whether she made it into the potty or not. Anita just smiled, and led her upstairs, before sealing her girlfriend into diapers for weeks. ... This story features my favorite pair of switchy diaper girls, who've appeared in several other stories of mine - Including an exclusive over on Patreon. If you like pants wetting and power play like this, "The Holding Challenge" features these two girls in a battle for dominance - whoever keeps their pants dry the longest gets to be the Big for a week. Subscribers can read it over on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/posts/holding-patreon-52901536 Or on SubscribeStar! https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

I can't think of other examples in my own writing... for now! I might do something else with it, though, it's very fun as a blushy idea. (If I have used this idea before, it'd have been in a commission and I can't remember it!) Come to think of it, a story with hand-me-down diapers could be... 😈 Good. There is a short twitter smut I recall that hit this topic, though! (Not written by me!)