PeculiarChangeling

Oooh, that'd be pretty cruel revenge! I can't take credit for the premise, that was all Salwatore's idea! But I'm very proud of my execution. Day 3 Nicole wouldn’t be tricked a third time. The only food she ate was takeout, she drank water from a reusable bottle she filled at work, and she locked her bedroom door. Vanessa wouldn’t have another shot at ‘pranking’ her, even if it meant painstaking vigilance until Nicole could find a new roommate and move out. And, in the morning, she felt a surge of triumph when it paid off. Upon waking, she reached down immediately, half paranoid, and felt dry blankets, dry sheets. No wet bed for her, she’d– Squish. Sitting up, she felt the dampness around her crotch, something warm and wet squelching over her privates, between her thighs. She yanked back the covers in alarm, shocked. She still had her pajama bottoms on, but beneath them, the waistband poking out clearly, was something she decidedly hadn’t dressed herself in when she went to bed. She pulled her bottoms down to be sure, and revealed, unmistakably, a diaper. Worse, she’d soaked it through, leaving only a fuzzy blue line down the middle, distorted by pale yellow pee. She stumbled out of bed, the weight of her abused diaper making it sag heavily against her thighs, almost putting her off balance. “H-how?” she blurted. It made no sense–Vanessa simply could not have done this. Even if she’d somehow picked Nicole’s lock and snuck inside, Nicole could not fathom a world in which she had her clothes removed, replaced with a diaper, and was redressed without waking up for even a moment. Waddling to leave her room, she almost tripped over the open package of diapers on her floor, kicking the plastic package and sending more of the garments across the room. Diapers scattered over her rug, eleven of them, all pillow thick and puffy, plain white save for a set of yellow wetness indicator stripes. Fumbling, she unlocked her door, threw it open, and yelped, “V!” Vanessa didn’t reply immediately. Nicole had to cross the hall and knock on her door, needing some kind of answer. “Vanessa!” she pleaded, pounding her fist repeatedly against the flimsy wood. “Come on, I need to talk to you!” The door flew open. Vanessa, in her own PJs, looked acutely cranky. “What? What did I ‘do to you’ now, Nicole? Do you have something else you want to blame me–is that a diaper?” “I didn’t put it on when I went to bed,” Nicole said, desperate for something to make sense. “Well I sure as shit didn’t,” Vanessa said. “So if you even think about blaming me–” “I don’t blame you,” Nicole said quickly. “I’m sorry, I–this doesn’t make sense. I think I’m losing my mind, and…V? What are you looking at?” Vanessa stared past Nicole, confusion plastered on her face. “Nic…why did you put that back up?” Nicole spun. Her potty training chart was back on the door, with rain clouds at night, half-clouds at day, and a loose sketch of herself in a puffy, safety-pinned diaper, like something out of an old Loony Tune. “I didn’t,” Nicole said. “I threw it away in a dumpster by work.” “Well I didn’t put it back,” Vanessa said. “I don’t even know how I could have.” They looked at each other, utterly perplexed. “Do you think…this could be like…a ghost?” Nicole asked. “A haunting or something?” “Ghosts aren’t real,” Vanessa said, though she only sounded half-convinced by her own argument. “Maybe this is some fucked up trick by the old tennant or the landlord or something. I…I don’t know.” Nicole took down the chart, staring at it with a mix of uncertainty and terror. “I…yesterday, I started dribbling and almost had accidents at work. I thought it was because you’d drugged me or something, I was so mad, but…” “We’ll figure something out,” Vanessa replied. “Here. Give me the chart.” Nicole passed it over, and Vanessa broke it in half, snapping the plastic board into two pieces in her hands. She then broke those into quarters, and eighths. “There, it’s broken. No way someone’s putting that back as is. And…let’s set up a camera in your room so nobody can sneak in, okay?” Nicole nodded, wiping her nose. She’d started sniffling. “Okay.” Fully in problem-solving mode now, Vanessa continued rattling off ideas. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll…one of my exes was pretty spooky, she might be able to do some sort of exorcism or whatever.” “I thought you said it wasn’t ghosts?” Nicole asked. “Well I don’t know!” Vanessa threw up her hands. “I’m covering all my bases here. And…I know you use tampons, but I’ve got some pads you can have. For any leaking today.” “Ugh,” Nicole said, shaking her head. “I hate pads, they just feel like I’m wearing a diaper.” Vanessa looked down at the sagging, sodden garment drooping between Nicole’s legs. “Really? Because that seems a little more intrusive to me.” Nicole blushed, and they made eye contact, before bursting out into shared giggles. “I’ll use the pads,” Nicole said. “And…thanks, V. I really appreciate it.” She didn’t need to add the, ‘I’m sorry I blamed you.’ It came implied. Vanessa just smiled in response. “Of course, Nicky. That’s what friends are for. I’m sure you’ll figure this out and we can get everything back to normal, okay?” Nicole didn’t know if she believed her, if she believed that ‘normal’ could be achieved when everything made so little sense. Her friend’s confidence made her want to believe, though, and she smiled, sniffled a little more, and nodded. “Okay.” ... My ability to write is supported by readers like you! Donations are never mandatory but always appreciated ❤️ https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

It'll be hard for these two, but they just might be at the point where they can concede to a little emotional honesty

Day 2 Tuesday morning brought the death of a friendship. Nicole could almost not process the sheer hurt and betrayal she felt, waking up to another wet bed. Yesterday’s prank by her once-friend had been too far, an incredible breach of trust, but something she could move past. But the fact that Vanessa had gone and done it twice, after being called out for it? If Vanessa thought this was funny, Nicole could not fathom what was going on in her ex-friend’s brain, and if it wasn’t intended as a joke… Getting up, Nicole peeled out of her wet pajama pants and stripped off her sheets. The wet stain on her bed had two rings now, one where last night’s accident had left a subtle watermark, another much more obvious one from the urine still actively soaking her mattress today. Nicole wouldn’t be demanding any cleanup or laundry from Vanessa this time. Their relationship no longer had room for asking anything of each other. She took a shower, allowing the hot water to bring her rage down to a simmer, so that she wouldn’t simply scream at Vanessa the moment she saw her. An absence of rage didn’t mean forgiveness, though. She couldn’t forgive this. Vanessa had drugged her, twice, or done something else to the same effect. Vanessa had overtly ignored Nicole’s requests, even knowing how upset it made her yesterday. With a bathrobe on and a towel on her hair, she walked back to her room, finally noticing that the potty training chart was back on her door. Yesterday’s doodles were still there, and today, new ones–another raincloud in the bedtime, identical to yesterday’s, and this time, a sort of, ‘partly cloudy’ design, with a sun half-hidden by clouds in the daytime. And, in the special column at the bottom, a doodle of Nicole, sitting on the ground, having a sobbing tantrum. Nicole immediately clocked it as Vanessa’s handiwork–she recognized her friend’s cutesy, chibi-style doodles. (She has the gall to do this to me, then label me the crybaby?) Nicole thought. She was about to walk to the kitchen, when Vanessa’s door opened. She stretched, yawned, looking utterly unconcerned. “Morning, Nicole–how did you sleep?” “Seriously?” Nicole snapped, wheeling on her. “Fucking seriously?” “Woah.” Vanessa put up her hands by her sides and took a step back. “Someone’s pissy.” (Was that a pun? Is she really behaving like this?) “Fuck you,” Nicole said. “You dug the chart out of the trash and–whatever, drugged me, made me wet the bed somehow, again, and you don’t even have anything to say for yourself?” Eyes widening, Vanessa shook her head. “I didn’t–Nicole, I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t do any of that.” “Then how did the chart get back on my stupid door, huh?” Nicole demanded, jabbing a finger at it. Her eyes were hot, her cheeks wet–none of this made sense, she just couldn’t understand how her best friend would do this to her. A wet bed by itself, that didn’t mean much, but the betrayal ate away at her. Vanessa looked at the chart, utterly confused. “Nicole, I…I didn’t put that there.” “Well then who did?” Nicole demanded. “Huh?” Stammering, Vanessa had no response. Nicole ripped the chart off the wall, then shoved past her, walking to the kitchen. “That’s what I thought.” Vanessa didn’t follow her–even if she had, it’s not like she could argue against the obvious. No third try, no repetition this time. Nicole kept the chart on hand, and took it with her when she left for work, jamming it into her purse as best she could–it stuck out, some, but just looked like a whiteboard at a glance. Getting off the bus a couple blocks from her office, she found a dumpster and tossed it in, wishing good riddance to the object that had started this all. She had texts waiting for her when she got to the office and finally checked her phone while she rode the elevator up. She had messages from Vanessa. ‘I’m so sorry, Nic–I really don’t know what’s going on. This wasn’t me.’ ‘I want to know what happened as much as you do.’ ‘Please just text me back so we can talk.’ Nicole almost gave in and replied, but before she could, she felt a sudden pressure in her bladder. Shockingly fast, and entirely out of the blue, she desperately needed to pee. With a choice between soaking her jeans or rushing, she chose to rush, lunging out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, blowing past the janitor waiting to get on. She got a few surprised glances from her coworkers, but made it to the bathroom. Fumbling with her jeans, she got the button undone, but felt a little spurt of pee escape her before she could pull them down, staining a tiny dark splotch on her white cotton panties. She clamped down on that, sat down on the toilet, and let loose. It took her only a few moments to be done. She hadn’t needed to pee a lot, she just needed to pee badly, and that was the final nail in the coffin. Whatever drugs or crap Vanessa had done to her, it hadn’t just made Nicole wet the bed, it’d screwed with her bladder. It had done serious, genuine harm to her body, harm that almost humiliated her in front of her coworkers. She ignored Vanessa’s text and muted the number. Vanessa didn’t deserve a response from her. The rest of her day was punctuated by similar flights to the restroom. Twice that morning, she had to stop in the middle of things to rush off to the potty. Worse, just before lunch, she couldn’t end a phone call in time and very nearly didn’t make it at all–her jeans were dropped around her ankles, but her panties were up when the flood gates opened, and she could only sit down and fight back sobs as she ruined the underwear for good. How could her best friend have done this to her? Vanessa, who rarely had the attention span to stick to a hobby for more than a couple days, had gone through all this effort to…what, prank her? Make Nicole feel like crap? It genuinely made no sense. and the more she thought about it, the more it hurt. Wadded up toilet paper helped dry them out, and an additional folded layer stuffed into the front drank up dribbles throughout the rest of the day, but every time she had to replace the pee-soaked toilet paper with a new wad, she felt another sting. Even the best toilet paper protection didn’t help her completely. By the end of the day, enough urine had soaked through even with her constant rushed to the toilet that a dark, damp spot was visible just below the zipper of her jeans. In most lights, it could be mistaken for a weird shadow, but Nicole knew. ... Support the author - y'know, me! - and get early access to all my writing :)

Day 1 “What the fuck?” Shock and fury battled for control of Nicole’s mind. First, she felt only a startled sense of confusion: (How?) And then the dawning, horrified realization: (Oh, that’s how.) And finally, anger at the betrayal: (How could she think this was funny?) Nicole had wet the bed, for the first time she could remember. There was no denying it–she’d soaked her pajama pants, her covers, her sheets, and she could even feel the soggy squelch coming up from her mattress. She simply wasn’t a bedwetter, but she also knew this was no fluke, no coincidence or bit of bad luck. This had to be her fault. Vanessa was a prankster sometimes, sure, but this was beyond the pale. So, she rushed across her room, stormed into the hall, and pounded a fist on her roommate/hall neighbor’s door. “V, what is wrong with you?” It took five seconds of furious knocking before she heard a confused, “I’m coming, Nicky, just gimme a sec…” Standing there, Nicole let her anger simmer until Vanessa opened the door, wearing only a T-shirt, rubbing at her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Launching into her tirade, Nicole chewed her best friend out with all the fervor she could muster. “Vanessa, this is way too far. Pranks are one thing, but–” She hesitated, catching Vanessa’s confused expression. V was looking down at the wet crotch of Nicole’s pajama pants, and she seemed uncertain. “Did you piss yourself?” “Of course I did, you did it!” Nicole snapped. “Sorry, I–” Vanessa hesitated, rubbing her eyes. “I’m still waking up here, Nicole. What are you talking about?” “You made me wet the bed,” Nicole explained, exasperated that she even needed to say it out loud. “What, did you sneak into my room and dip my hand in a bowl of water? Jesus, did you drug me with something?” Vanessa’s eyes widened, finally understanding the accusation being thrown at her. “Come on, I wouldn’t do that. Why would you think that?” “Because,” Nicole snapped, turning to rip the potty training off her door from where it’d been stuck with an adhesive strip. “Of this!” Tilting her head, Vanessa looked at the chart. It had the rain cloud doodle she’d made on the nighttime row, but she couldn’t remember making the sunny sky doodle in the daytime row, or the loose doodle of Nicole with a cartoony red ‘angry’ face in the star row on the bottom. “Uh…Nicole, I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.” Those words stung Nicole more than the betrayal. Vanessa hadn’t just hit her with a humiliating and frustrating prank, now she was trying to lie about it. “Fuck you,” Nicole snapped, getting up in Vanessa’s face. “This isn’t funny, and if you’re not even going to apologize–” “Easy, there,” Vanessa said, taking a step back, until her back bumped into her own door. “I’d apologize, if I had done anything wrong, but I’m telling you: This wasn’t something I did. Maybe you were just tired from the move and it’s a weird freak coincidence?” “I don’t wet the bed, not when I’m tired, not ever,” Nicole glowered, fuming. “I need to get ready for work.” She turned and stormed towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, and once inside, tossed the chart into the trash bin by the sink. Vanessa watched her go, confused, trying not to take the accusations personally. “You’re doing my laundry,” Nicole shot, before slamming the door. ... Did you know I admin a discord for sharing and reading ABDL fiction? You can join it here!

Thank you! There will be! The whole story is going to be posted over the next month or so ^^

If you'd like to read this story in ebook form, you can download a free copy of the ebook here: https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/PottyDraining The Potty Draining Chart Cover art by FlashyFlesh Day 0 The Potty Draining Chart - Day 0 “And just…like…that!” Vanessa announced, turning on the lamp by the couch, “We are, officially, moved in!” The bulb shed off slightly pink-tinged light, though at the push of a button, the whole room could be changed in tone to any hue on the rainbow. “That’s great, V,” Nicole said, turning to stretch her back. “Really appreciate you plugging in the lamps while I moved the furniture.” Vanessa put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “Excuse me! Good interior design is what makes a house into a home. Sure, maybe you did more heavy lifting, but I provided that je ne sais quoi that we needed.” Truth be told, Nicole agreed–now that everything was done, with the last easy chair moved in and all of Vanessa’s decorations complete, their shared rental house did feel like a place where they belonged. The move in process had been a drag, starting a couple weeks earlier with mattresses flopped on the floor, working evenings and weekends to drive over what they could in Vanessa’s tiny car and trading beer for use of a friend’s truck on weekends for the big stuff. But now they were done. They could relax, and take the night off. Except… “One more thing,” Nicole said, sipping wine out of her favorite cup–an old novelty mug that read, ‘Don’t Worry, Pea Happy’ with a trio of cartoon peas in a pod printed on it. “The junk box.” “Right, right.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. While moving in, they’d been left with little bits of random crap–stuff that they didn’t quite want to throw away, but nor did they need it around. Christmas decorations that’d been stored under the bathroom sink, old cables and adapters that probably didn’t go to anything, a box of home movies from the previous tenant that Nicole felt bad getting rid of. They had set aside a cardboard box, slowly filling it with crap until it was full to bursting. “We can stick it in the attic for now.” Stepping up to her, Nicole poked a finger into Vanessa’s chest. “You can set it in the attic for now. I’m done lifting boxes for the day–heck, I’m just about ready for bed.” “Fiiine,” Vanessa groaned, more in play than in serious discomfort. Sidestepping the couch, she crouched, hefted the box, and carried it from the living room down the back hall–on the right of the hall was her room, on the left Nicole’s, and at the end, their bathroom. Above, though, dangled a rope for attic access. Fumbling with the box, propping it up on her knee so she wouldn’t have to set it down, Vanessa half-hopped to grab the string and pulled it down. She stepped back as a wooden staircase flopped towards her, snapping into place so fast it almost bonked her head. “Jeez,” she said. “Okay, note to self, springs on this are broken.” Scooting up the creaky stairs one step at a time, she made her way into the crawlspace, an area just high enough for her to stand if she was right in the middle and stooped just a touch. She set down the box, glancing around. Half a dozen cases were already up here. They hadn’t needed any attic storage yet, so this was all from the last resident–a lot of junk, probably, but still, a trove of things to dig through. “Huh. More stuff up here than I expected,” she said. “Hey Nicole! Someone left a bunch of garbage up here!” “Sounds like a problem for tomorrow!” Nicole yelled back. “I’m done moving boxes!” “Sure, sure,” Vanessa said, setting down the jumbled junk she’d carried up. Curiosity overtook her, and she opened up the first box she saw, digging through it. It looked like stuff from someone’s kid–at the top, a highschool yearbook, but as she pulled it out, she saw beneath it journals, and then a diary with a heart shaped lock, and then a handmade scrapbook. Digging further, she found an old dry-erase potty training chart. This box held the history of someone’s life, which could be interesting, but the potty training chart was what spread a smirk across Vanessa’s face. It had two weeks listed on it, one over the other, with three columns for each calendar day. One row had a bed, another had a clock face, and one with a star symbol next to it. The first two, for tracking nighttime and daytime accidents, were pretty obvious. The third, though, Vanessa couldn’t guess the purpose, beyond maybe just special rewards. That’s when they caught her eye–the markers stuck to the side of the board by a magnet. Smirking mischievously, Vanessa took the chart with her when she left the attic, hopping down the old fold-out stairs and closing it up behind her. She glanced down the hall–Nicole was on the couch, not paying attention, so Vanessa uncapped the black marker and wrote in the name box at the top, in big, flowy letters, surrounded by sparkles and hearts. Nicole Then, with an artistic, cutesy flourish, she doodled a rain cloud in the top column for Monday, the one for tracking any accidents from the previous night’s sleep. A wet bed indicator if ever there was one. Finally, using the adhesive strip on the back of the chart, she stuck it to Nicole’s bedroom door. “Oh, Nicole,” she said in her sing-songiest voice. “I added one more decoration!” Nicole looked up, curious and prepared for a dumb joke. Getting up, she walked over, glancing at the chart on her door. “What’s that?” “A potty training chart, so you can stop having accidents!” Vanessa snickered. “I found it upstairs and thought it’d help you!” Nicole rolled her eyes. “I don’t have accidents.” “Are you sure? The chart says you wet the bed,” Vanessa said, pointing to the rain cloud. “Yeah, it says that for tonight, which hasn’t even happened yet!” Nicole shook her head. Snickering, Vanessa quipped, “Well then, maybe take an umbrella to bed, because the forecast is for a wet one!” “Very funny, Vanessa.” Nicole opened her door, and though her expression was deadpan, Vanessa knew she didn’t mind the joke. “I’m going to bed, I’ve got work in the morning.” “Don’t let the bed bugs drown,” Vanessa replied. Nicole shut the door in her face, and before long, Vanessa went to be too. The next morning, though, Vanessa woke up to a shout from her across-the-hall neighbor. Nicole, screaming, “What the f**k?” ... I wrote this as a commission for one of my Patreon subscribers! It's a complete 17,000 word novella, which I'll be posting over the next month or so! If you'd like to support stories like this or get discounts on a commission of your own, you can find me here: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 32: Confessional Grace stared at Pearce, her brain frozen in disbelief. (He–) “You don’t love me,” she said, unable to think of any other response besides the flat truth. He might love the parts of herself that she made available, but Pearce couldn’t love the whole of her. Not the parts that hung around his neck like a weight, not the parts that had him playing nanny and nursemaid instead of enjoying his day off. She saw the hurt in his expression when she rejected his confession, the barest flinch. He couldn’t love that, either. “I do,” he insisted anyway, despite all evidence to the contrary. “I love you.” A wracking pain shot up through Grace’s abdomen, and she clenched her jaw, groaning through it. Her hands tightened around the bottle of warm herbal tea, gripping it just to have an outlet for the tension building in her, but she powered through. The pain stole her opportunity to respond, because Pearce continued once it’d passed. “I don’t know if we can work together.” It was the first true thing to come out of his mouth since his confession. “But I can’t–you’re so important to me, Grace. I feel like I can’t even do this right but I’m here anyways, I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere while you need me.” Grace couldn’t tell if his eyes had taken on a wet shine, or if her vision had just blurred too much from the tears in her own eyes. “You’re here,” she said, “But–but you can’t even look at me. You can’t be around me.” Leaning back against the tub, Pearce took a deep, ragged breath. “That’s because I’m a fucking fool. We’re–we’re like two magnets, we’re bad for each other, but I can’t walk away from you, I can’t stop thinking of how much I’ve missed you this past week–I want to move on, and I can’t.” Grace finished the thought for him, taking shallow breaths to make it through another round of fruitless cramping. “Because you don’t love me.” “Because I do love you, and because we hurt each other,” Pearce corrected, looking at her. “I can’t be the person you want. I can’t be Mr. Perfect, I’m too screwed up in the head, I can’t focus, I’m zero good to anyone unless you hold my ass over a fire and tell me it’s urgent. If we tried to work this out, I would fuck up again, and you’d end up hating me again.” “I don’t hate you,” Grace whimpered, guilt striking at her heart. (How could he think that?) “I–ah–” Her body had found something to process, and her words faded into pain as liquid shame voided into her diaper. Wincing and whimpering, Grace took shallow breaths, nostrils flaring, trying to just make it through. “I wish I were a little dumber, a little more naive,” Pearce said slowly, thoughtfully, like he’d scripted these words out long in advance. It wasn’t an impulsive reply, it was something that’d run through his head countless times before this conversation. “Because then at least I’d be able to be selfish here, but I can’t. It doesn’t matter how I feel, it doesn’t matter what I want. I’d live with the pain, I’d do anything, but it wouldn’t be healthy, and if we tried to keep it going long enough, we’d blow up everything.” Grace’s own words sounded distant in her ears. She was slipping away from her body, retreating inward, to get away from the pain. “I hurt you that bad?” “Grace–fucking hell,” Pearce said, running his hands over his hair. “I overslept, and you stabbed me in the back to win the bet. What did you want me to feel?” “I–I didn’t–I wasn’t trying to make you pay that much…” Grace started to say, but her defense felt hollow even as she said it. “It’s not about the money.” Pearce shut his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to speak hard truth. “It’s that you cared more about the bet than you did about me. I can’t… I want to just get over it, to suck it up, but then you went and did this, you nearly put yourself in the hospital to win, and I don’t know how else to react. If you’re willing to do this to win, to prove I can’t be responsible, to be ‘right’, I don’t know how we could ever be together.” Grace’s throat felt hoarse and dry, but she couldn’t stop to get a drink now. Her world was collapsing, what help could a sip of tea offer her? “I don’t care about the bet,” Grace whispered, words ragged and weak. “I didn’t do this to win.” “Then why?” Pearce asked. “I know you weren’t just looking for some candy in my cupboard.” “Because,” Grace shot, volume raising, “You wouldn’t even look me in the eye, and I couldn’t think of anything else to make you spend thirty seconds in the same room with me!” Pearce fell silent, and Grace thought she saw a flash of guilt in his face, the same she felt in that moment. “Being around you,” she continued, “Doing diapers, and food, and bathtime, and all that other shit but without having you, it made me want to just curl up into a ball and stop existing. The only thing that felt worse than being around you was being alone.” “Then why didn’t you forfeit?” The question didn’t sound like a ‘Gotcha’, a trick to show she was lying–Pearce looked confused. He genuinely didn’t understand, but he wanted to. “I…” Grace started. “If I quit, if I walked away, you’d think I was giving up on us. I know what it’s like to…to feel abandoned. I couldn’t drop that sort of bombshell on you, because then I’d never…” Pearce’s eyes widened a little in half comprehension of what’d pushed her, why she’d behaved like such a complete and utter fool. “When you woke up, that morning,” Pearce said, realization dawning. “You weren’t just upset because you’d missed work.” “No!” The word came out as half a sob. “You left me, and–I was alone, and hurt, because you–” “I didn’t mean to,” Pearce said quickly, half in defense, half in apology. “I know. I’m not–I don’t have any right to be mad, but…” Weakly, she admitted, “I want to be selfish, too, but you’re right. We wouldn’t work. I’m stupid and I can’t get over myself and–and I hurt you because I was mad. If we tried to be together, I’d just keep taking from you, and you’d just start to hate me.” “Grace…” Pearce shook his head ever so slightly, almost unconsciously. “There’s nothing in the world you could ever do to make me hate you.” Grace shook her head in earnest, stopping only when a burst of pain made her lie still. “You say that, but it’s not true. It’d already started. You can say you’ll ‘always’ be here for me no matter what, but every safety net has a breaking point.” Taking a long breath, she put it as simply as she could. “It’s too late, I already asked for too much, it already broke everything. Maybe you don’t hate me, but you also know you can’t really love me, not while I’m this much of a weight dragging you down, but…” She trailed off. Grace wanted him to interrupt her again, to stop her before she got too candid, before she sealed off their relationship for good. “It’s like you said. I can be selfish, or I can accept the hurt, but it’s doomed either way. One way or another, I’m just going to wake up one day, needing you, and you won’t be there anymore.” That was it. The truth, unvarnished and painful but impossible to deny, and Grace had nothing else she could say that would fix it. Shutting her eyes, Grace laid back and let the pain overwhelm her. She couldn’t even cry, she felt too dehydrated. Warm rubber pressed against her lips, and Grace tasted bitter herbs and sweet honey running down her tongue. The tea wasn’t too hot, just warm enough to be relaxing without burning her weak throat. For all the agony she was in, emotional and physical, that bit of relief was nectar from the gods, and she drank it gratefully. Pearce’s hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her up ever so slightly, so she wasn’t lying flat on her back while she drank. Propped up, sniffling, she drank the tea and let her feelings stream down her face. Eventually, she drained the first bottle, but as it emptied, Pearce switched smoothly to the second. He didn’t press, he didn’t speak, but he sat there with her, propping her up, but he helped her hydrate, healing her hurt. Her body’s revolt continued, but in that moment, with Pearce there to hold her up, it felt a little easier to bear. The second bottle ultimately ran dry too, and Pearce pulled it away, but he didn’t leave. He stayed with her, kept his hand on her, silently supporting, his thumb moving in gentle circles through her hair. She felt his hand shift, and heard him inhale before speaking. Tensing, eyes still closed, Grace prepared her heart for the worst. “What did we expect would happen?” Pearce asked quietly. She expected more, but he left it at that for a long pause, letting the words marinate. “Of course we’d be a flaming disaster. We’re Wasters.” Grace opened her eyes just a crack, looking wordlessly up at him. He was smiling, in spite of everything. “You and me,” Pearce continued. “And the rest, all of us–we’re the fuckups that will never amount to anything. More disasters than people. Of course this was where our relationship would end up, we’re both too bad at being people for any other outcome.” Heart sinking, Grace saw the truth in his words. They’d been doomed from the start. “But you know what?” Pearce asked. “That coin’s got two sides. Yeah, we’re fucked up, we’re generally socially incompetent, we’re so in our own heads that we couldn’t navigate society with a GPS and a park ranger to guide us, but still–we’re Wasters. When was the last time we let ‘General Social Incompetence’ stop us from doing something?” Grace frowned, shifting up a little bit. “Pearce, what are you saying?” “We made a life for ourselves. Five grown adults sharing a house, not because we can’t make rent, but because we just wouldn’t want a life where we’re not together? It’s weird, it’s kind of hard because it’s not something anybody else really even wants to try, but that didn’t stop us.” He glanced to the side, then back down at her, looking Grace in the eyes for the first time in a week. “So why the hell are we giving up so easily?” Shaking her head, Grace tried to fight the sudden possibility of love, pushing it away with her best arguments. “Because I’ll hurt you again. Because we’re bad for each other, and it’ll explode, like you said.” “Maybe,” Pearce admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Grace, but I’m willing to muddle along, to keep on working until we get it right. The only relationships that are perfect are the ones that don’t last long enough to matter, everyone else has to work for their love if they want it to last. I want ours to matter, and I’m willing to do the work. As long as we both promise to do our best, it’s worth a little hurt along the way.” “But–” Grace started, shaking her head. She sat up, a little, and before the cramps could send her right back down, Pearce got an arm behind her and caught her. “I’m not worth that much work. I don’t even get why you’re here right now, it’s not like I can’t get myself water, you could have walked away once you got off the phone with poison control.” “You’ll heal.” Pearce shrugged. “But you’ll heal faster with a helping hand.” “But it’s not just today,” Grace continued, looking down, counting anxieties on her fingers. “Next time I freak out, next time I overreact, it’ll be just as bad–worse.” “Are you going to try and have a freakout overreaction?” Pearce asked. She shook her head. “No, but–” “Then we’ll apologize and try and do better next time.” Pearce put his hands on her shoulders, addressing her directly. “Grace, I don’t care how much work it takes. I don’t care how much effort, how much time, anything, all I care is that we’re in this together. There’s nothing not worth fixing.” Something was wrong with Grace’s eyes–Pearce had vanished, everything was so blurry she couldn’t see straight. Fresh tears streamed, falling down and making puddles on her shirt, and she felt a choking sob build, but these were fresh tears. Not from hurt, not from heartbreak, but from bittersweet relief. “I–I love you,” she babbled, reaching forward, searching half-blind for him. “I love–” Pearce took her, pulled her in close, met her lips with his. He held her there, in the perfect embrace on the floor of their shared bathroom. Her diaper was sagging, abused by the drugs she’d taken, and her shirt was damp from perspiration as her body tried to sweat it out. The cramps hadn’t gotten any better, and the wild shifting balance of fluids in her system had brought on a headache that would only get worse. Grace was as physically uncomfortable as she’d ever felt, and a mess, and a ball of nerves. Through their embrace, she could feel Pearce’s heart pounding at a thousand miles an hour and knew he was as anxious as she was, wracked by all the same emotions, if not all the physical discomfort. None of that mattered. They were in love. ... I want to take a moment, again, to thank my editor, who's helped make this story shine, and to all my supporters, who help me pay for my editor! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 21: A Rose Would Smell as Sweet Author's note: This chapter is one that I feel is important to the narrative of the story, but that I neglected to write chronologically. It's the 'Real' chapter 21, the chapter currently published as 21 will become 22 in the final publication, and so on and so forth. To those of you who need a refresher, this is one chapter before Grace kisses Pearce for the first time, but several chapters after they get high and fall asleep in the same bed together. Sorry for the out of order posting! We will resume chronological chapters next Friday - and hopefully there won't be any more late posting until the story is complete. ... Some traditions didn’t change. As the sun dipped down for the evening and smoke wafted out of their firepit, Brains lifted his glass in a toast. The Wasters, plus one, responded–Five high, glassy clinks and one plastic, sloshy, donk. Pearce had granted his approval for Grace to have beer, but the drinking vessel was non-negotiable, so she’d be sipping it through a rubber nipple. Given the company, he’d even allowed her a fairly discreet outfit–her onesie was plain and could pass for a T-shirt, and the shorts she wore hid the bulge of her diaper well. They were arranged in a rough pentagram around the fire pit in their shared backyard, in five disparate chairs they’d managed to scavenge from garage sales and straight up trash piracy. Melody had a bench instead of a seat, making room for her oft-rotating partners, but Grace had a comfy butterfly chair that sat a little lower and was immensely more cozy than the others. “You can thank Pearce for the beers,” Melody said, taking a sip from her bottle, snuggled up against her conquest for the night on a reclaimed patio bench. They’d indulged in the good stuff–that is, a few six packs of Yuengling, instead of a case of Hamms. Hardly premium, but a step up. “Yeah?” Melody’s date–some guy, Grace didn’t even know his name–said. “Thanks, Pearce, that’s awfully decent of you.” The five of them–all the Wasters, Pearce included–chuckled. When Melody’s date still looked confused, Pearce explained, “I lost a bet.” “Well, he is participating in a bet and had to chip into the beer fund as part of the terms,” Brains added, supplying all the unnecessary context anyone could ever not ask for. “Well, if it means I get free beer, I’m not going to complain. That why you’re drinking from a bottle, uh…don’t tell me, I know this…” Pressing his palm into his forehead as though trying to extract thoughts from his hand, he guessed, “Hope?” Lowering the beer-filled baby bottle from her lips, Grace decided on giving the short answer. “It’s Grace, but, yeah about the bottle.” “Grace, Hope,” he said, “I knew it was some Puritan thing. Let me guess, you’ve got like eight siblings, and they’re all, like, Peace, Chastity, Humility, whatever?” Pearce puffed out his cheeks and exhaled before taking a long sip of his beer in a here-we-go way, but Grace wasn’t going to take the slight. “It’s just Grace,” Grace said. “I’m an only kid, and my parents are atheist hippies.” She was lying, but Melody’s one night stand didn’t get to know her life history. It didn’t matter where she’d come from, what mattered was that she was Grace, now, and she’d found the right family for herself. “It’s not her birth name, anyways,” Brains added. “None of our names are.” (Thanks, Brains,) Grace thought. (Nobody asked.) Curiosity piqued, Melody’s date leaned forward. “Really?” “It started out as a joke, but it stuck around,” Brains said. “Nicknames, sort of.” He nodded. “You picked them yourself?” Brains shrugged. “Kinda sorta. More like…they found us in highschool, if that makes sense.” “Gotcha, so…Brains, came up with it in highschool, that’s easy–you’re some kind of genius.” He smirked. “Right? Straight A student, teacher’s pet, kind of a keener?” “Oh, no, it’s because I was an alleged smartass,” Brains explained, snorting. “My grades were ass, but I always knew the right question to absolutely infuriate my teachers.” “Nice, man, fight the system.” Leaning forward, Melody’s date offered him a fist bump. “I’d feel a lot better about it if I had been infuriating the teachers on purpose,” Brains admitted. “And heck, maybe my grades would have been better if I ever got answers to the questions I was asking.” The fistbump offer went unrequited, and after an awkward moment, he pulled it back, shifting focus. “Skipper, right? How’d you get that?” “Just Skip.” They’d been so quiet, it was easy to forget they were there, but Skip spoke up when their turn came around. (Here we go,) Grace thought. If it were just Brains, that would have been fine, but now that Skip had responded, the conversation was turning into a trend, and that trend was unlikely to die until they’d made the full circuit. Speaking with the tone of a camp counselor trying to keep everyone involved, Melody’s date asked, “So, how’d that come around? Were you a hopscotch enthusiast?” “It’s a bit unfair to say I got the nickname in highschool,” Skip explained. “Because I spent as little time in highschool as possible. I cut class so often, they had to open up special detention hours to fit me in. Rules, roles, people telling me when I can eat or go to the bathroom or just be a person–that kind of stuff makes my skin crawl.” “So, skipping class, just became ‘Skip’?” The date asked. Skip nodded, sipping their beer thoughtfully, and the date just continued down the line. “Okay, Pearce, Pearce…I’m not coming up with anything for Pearce.” “Hint, then,” Pearce said. “I changed the spelling, but it should be with an ‘I’. Pierce, like with a spear.” “Oh, okay.” Nodding, he thought for a moment. “Another class smartass? ‘Piercing wit’?” “Right word use, wrong direction,” Pearce said. “One of our teachers was fond of saying, ‘Nothing can pierce his skull’ every time I was just barely in earshot. I guess he thought I wasn’t good at paying attention or remembering information.” The date the obvious followup question: “Were you?” “Oh, absolutely, it took me three times hearing it to realize he was even talking about me,” Pearce said. “But hey–institutions, you know? I just wasn’t in an environment I could thrive in.” “Oh, I’ve heard about those,” he said. “Let me know if your environment’s got room to spare–I hear ‘thriving’ is nice.” Pearce laughed and shook his head. “I’ll let you know when I get mine, I’ve heard the same thing.” Chuckling, the intruder amongst their social circle faced Melody on their shared bench. “What about you, babe?” (Babe?) Grace thought, struggling to hide her eye roll. (They’ve known each other for like a day. Hell, they haven’t even fucked yet, and he’s calling her ‘Babe’?) “It’s embarrassing,” Melody said, egging him on, goading him to make her tell. “Oh, it can’t be that bad,” her date replied. “What, were you a glee club nerd?” Looking at her, Melody’s date kissed her forehead, getting obscenely mushy with the PDA around the bonfire. “No,” Melody said, giggling as he started to get handsy. “Come on, it’s silly–” “Oh no, not a glee club kid–you were in the band, huh?” He needled. Melody fully laughed as his motions reached a point between fondling and tickling, and she yelped, “Keith!” (Right, that’s his name,) Grace thought, finally interrupting the show. “She ratted out a bunch of cheerleaders who were smoking pot in the bathroom.” The giggling stopped, and Melody shot Grace a look that said, ‘Buzzkill’. “I didn’t care that they were smoking pot,” she clarified. “But they were a bunch of catty bitches who had to be taken down a peg.” “And that leads to ‘Melody’ because…?” her date asked, tilting his head. Interrupting again, Grace said, “Think old private eye, mobster type stuff. She ‘sang a song’ to the principal.” Melody furrowed her brow and opened her mouth, looking past her one-use lover with an expression that read, ‘What the hell, Grace?’, but her date kept his cool. “I guess that leaves you,” he said. “Grace. Not Hope, not Chastity, hippy parents, so…hmm.” “No,” Grace said, sitting back in her butterfly chair and suckling her beer petulantly. “Gonna make me guess? Okay…well, we could go literal, like Skip. Ballet dancer, cheerleader–but you don’t strike me as the cheerleader type. So, maybe it’s ironic. Super clumsy?” “No,” Grace repeated. “I’m not playing this game. I’m Grace, that’s my name, that’s all it needs to be.” “Come on,” the date pushed. “Everyone else shared.” Digging in her heels, Grace just said, “Good for them. Take no for an answer, Ken.” “Keith,” he corrected nonchalantly. “You were pretty comfortable sharing my history,” Melody pointed out. “When I’d said, ‘No’.” “You were playing hard to get,” Grace said. “I’m saying No. Highschool was shit, and I’m not loving the walk down memory lane, reminiscing about the worst times of our collective lives.” Raising his hands to placate her, the date said, “Okay, that’s cool–” “I’m sorry,” Melody said, sitting upright, interrupting him. “Did you say, ‘Playing hard to get?’ What are you, some horny jock trying to justify a boner on prom night?” “Weren’t you?” Grace asked. “Or was all the giggling and fake protests because you really, super didn’t want him to know the story?” “Grace…” Pearce said, glancing down at her. “I think maybe we should cool off–” “I’m fine,” Grace snapped at him. “I just don’t get why we’re dredging up old shit for mayfly man here.” The date–Ken, Keith, Grace didn’t give a fuck–raised his eyebrows. “Mayfly? What does she mean?” “I’d say, ‘Ask Melody tomorrow’, but it’ll be hard to do that after she deletes your number.” At his expression, she added, “Don’t take it personal, you’re not special.” “Grace!” Melody snapped. “Are you fucking serious right now?” “Grace,” Pearce added, not harsh, but more assertive. “Let’s go inside, okay?” “I’m fine,” Grace shot. “You don’t seem fine,” Brains threw in. Skip just took a drink–they had no commentary to add that would help. “Look,” Ken-Keith-Kyle-Whatever said, “I don’t mean to be the asshole here–I don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist, but if you’re going to be pissy–” “She’s not wearing panties,” Melody sneered. “Pissy is probably accurate, though. She’s crabby because she’s got this asinine bet, and instead of being a big girl and dealing with her own shit she’s making it our prob–” “This isn’t about the bet!” Grace yelled, sitting forward. “I just didn’t want to talk about this and your fuckdoll kept pushing, and–” A hand touched her shoulder. “Grace,” Pearce said, simply. “We’re going inside.” “No we’re not,” Grace snapped. “You’re not the boss of me, and–” “Grace,” Pearce repeated, firmly demanding her attention. “Do you want me to explain this out loud?” It took Grace a second to understand, but Melody wasn’t about to let it stay silent after things had escalated. “Make sure her diaper change takes a while, I want some fucking peace out here.” “Her–” The date started, eyebrows raising as he looked between them. “Diapers?” “I’d say, ‘Ask her’,” Melody grumbled, “But she’d probably just start yelling at us again.” “We’re going,” Pearce said, standing up. Grace wanted to object out of sheer stubbornness, but then she’d just be resigning herself to a time-out instead, so she begrudgingly stood from her butterfly chair. “Do you get it, now?” she shot at the date, unable to resist getting in the last parting shot. “‘Grace.’ Take a look at how tonight went, and take a fucking guess where that came from.” With that, she spun on her heels, following Pearce inside. “I’m completely dry,” she said, once the door was shut. “I really don’t need a change.” “You do,” Pearce said. “Grace–you’re not okay. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but staying out by the fire was just going to make things worse.” “I shouldn’t be the one leaving,” Grace grumbled, glaring out the window at Melody’s date. “He should, he’s the one who started this.” “Well,” Pearce said, refusing to rise to an argument. “I can’t make him go anywhere, but I can make you go upstairs. If you’re feeling better when we’re done, maybe we can go back out, but I will happily just rotate diapers all night if it keeps you from getting into a verbal self-harm session.” Grace reeled for a moment, surprised by Pearce’s words, almost disbelieving that he was just trying to keep her out of trouble. “But then you don’t get to hang out, either,” she pointed out, testing the waters. “That sucks for you.” He shrugged. “You come first.” Grace’s anger broke. She couldn’t maintain her fiery indignity, not removed from the source of her anger, not when Pearce was being this patient. Her shoulders slumped. “Fuck it, it’s too cold out for a fire anyways.” “Let’s just stay in, then,” Pearce said. “Okay?” “Okay.” Looking down at her bottle, she added, “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself; There was no ‘Verbal self harm’ or whatever.” “I believe you.” Pearce assured her. “You weren’t trying to, but you get impulsive when you’re mad. If things kept going the way they were going, you and Melody would be on pretty thin ice, and I don’t think you wanted that.” He was right, as much as Grace was loath to admit it. She would have to apologize to Melody, even if she doubted Melody would apologize for bringing another jackass sex toy around to their personal gathering of friends. Looking down at her bottle of beer, she asked, “It alright if I keep this?” “I’ve got something a little more herbal upstairs, if you prefer,” Pearce said. “Something to calm down, take the edge off?” Exhaling in something approaching the shadow of a laugh, Grace said, “Sure. Just remember you’re responsible for making sure I’m fed, and I get snacky.” Pearce laughed. “Okay–I promise snacks galore. Head upstairs, I’ll be right behind you?” Grace nodded, but hesitated after taking a step. “Hey, Pearce?” “Yeah?” he asked, looking back from his cupboard. She didn’t particularly like admitting when she was wrong, but she was able to compromise, just a little. “Thanks for looking out for me. I know I was kind of having a tantrum back there.” “Of course,” he replied, so casually it seemed like he really didn’t mind her behavior, or that she was dragging him away from their bonfire ritual. “It’s what a good babysitter would do.” ... I appreciate any and all support of my writing, and try to make it worth it for my supporters! I have several ongoing stories exclusive to my Patreon and Subscribestar, as well as giving my readers early access to all my writing. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 31: The End? Gurgle– (I’m such a fucking–) GURGLE– “Ow–dammit. Dammit.” GURGLE– (–fucking, fucking idiot.) Blrblrbl– Molten, putrid fluids poured out of her, into her fourth diaper of the hour, staining the seat a pale brown. She just lay there, on the bathroom floor, staying on her changing mat–why leave, when she’d just be right back on it in a minute? Her intent had been to take an intense dose of laxatives and purposefully induce repeated messy accidents, so that Pearce would have to change her every few minutes until he gave up. Technically, that had worked, but that was just the start. Grace hadn’t bothered to read the box, she’d just taken the laxative chocolate and committed to her plan. Four rectangles of slightly chalky almost-candy, swallowed in a few bites, because she didn’t want to risk chickening out and sulking for another week. She had to end the bet immediately–or, at least, that’d been her thought at the time. She’d been impulsive, and stupid, and not considered the side effects, not planned on how hard it would hit her. By the time she realized she’d made a mistake, it’d been far, far too late to back out. Now she had to lie on her back and try to decide which aspect of her situation made her more miserable. The pain, obviously, was a strong contender–she’d never felt cramps this bad in her life. Even before she started birth control, when her periods had been regular and painful, the cramps had never been this bad. Even compared to the worst day she could remember, it was a walk in the park compared to this. Her intestines felt like they wanted to come alive and strangle her, and since they were regretfully trapped inside her tummy, they’d chosen instead to self immolate in protest. Every few moments, she’d feel a spasm, and her body would uncontrollably release into her diaper, an act as painful as it was humiliating. She was thirsty, and sweaty, and overwhelmed by signals all over from a body in revolt. The only thing that could challenge the pain for the top spot in her personal hell was the deep, personal, and utterly consuming shame. She’d proven herself as thoughtless and selfish as Pearce probably assumed she was, and she’d pulled herself into a self destructive spiral. A whimpering, crying mess on the floor, in need of constant attention, constant care, constant disgusting diaper changes. If her point already hadn’t been proven, it would be now. She’d become the perfect burden, the kind nobody would care for. Pearce was going to hate her after this. And he’d be right to do so. Another cramp hit her, but her body was out of contents to drain, so nothing poured into her diaper–though the cramps did force tears down her cheeks. (Fuck. Fuck.) She wanted to get creative with her vulgarity, to at least come up with a cleverly phrased tirade, but she lacked the mental bandwidth for that. Too much of her brain was overtaken by one-note ideas and impulses; Hurts, and Cry, and Shame, and Push, and (I’m so fucking stupid.) “Grace?” Pearce pushed the door open, phone in one hand, and a bottle in the other. “I just talked to poison control. Good news is, you’re going to be OK.” (No I’m not,) Grace thought. Out loud, she asked, “How long?” “It’s…they weren’t sure.” Setting down his phone, Pearce rubbed at the back of his neck. “A few hours. Maybe, like…a day? We just have to wait it out, there’s not much else to be done. The guy said to make sure you get plenty of fluids and electrolytes, you’re going to get really dehydrated. And diaper rash is a concern.” Grace’s eyes widened and she sat up suddenly–a move she regretted as another cramp sent her right back down to the bathroom floor. “You told him?” she asked, sniffling. “About the bet?” “No.” Pearce knelt by her, nose wrinkling slightly as he got a whiff of her latest sloshy accident. “That was unprompted, but…I mean, the bet doesn’t help. Here.” He passed Grace the baby bottle, which had milky white fluid inside it. Grace eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this?” “Formula,” Pearce admitted, reaching into his pocket while he spoke. “It’s got electrolytes and calories, and you need something to keep up your strength. I have a delivery coming with more stuff for you, pedialyte and gatorade, but we needed something now, and I had this ready to go. Drink it.” “Pearce…” Grace started, wincing between words. “I don’t know–” “I do,” he responded confidently, taking out a little bottle of painkillers, shaking one into his hand. “I am responsible for making sure you’re fed, hydrated, and healthy. I say you need to drink your bottle, and swallow one of these. Instructions on the bottle say to only take three a day. I know you’ll probably want to take seventy two of them, but we’re sticking to the guidelines this time.” “I don’t–” Grace started, confused. “I wasn’t that stupid, I only took four.” Pearce stared at her blankly for a moment, incomprehension slowly dawning into shock. “Grace…the recommended dose is two squares, you ate four bars. There’s twelve squares in a bar.” Grace stared back, realizing just how fundamentally brainless she’d been. She hadn’t just been reckless and impulsive, she’d almost… It was a good thing she’d been working with ‘Gentle’ laxatives. Meekly, she accepted the pill, dry swallowed, and lifted the bottle to her lips. The cool, milky liquid down her throat helped quench her thirst and ease her discomfort, but it didn’t help her feel any less pathetic. Pearce had cut a bigger opening on the head so that it wouldn’t take fifty to get through a single bottle, but she still had to suckle like a newborn to get the refreshing fluids. Lying on the ground, sniffling and crying, she worked through the formula and helplessly ran through diaper after diaper: The consequences of her own actions had rendered her into more of a baby than all of Pearce’s teasing and tricks put together. She heard a tape rip, and looked down to see Pearce working on her diaper, a fresh one already ready to go. Lifting the bottle from her lips, Grace started to ask, “What’re yo–” Reaching over, he pushed it right back down, silencing her words. “Grace, I’m serious. You need fluids. Drink all of that, and when you’re done, that tea should be ready and you’re going to drink that too.” Grace wanted to protest, to argue. There was no point changing her diaper, not when she was cramping and voiding everything in her multiple times a minute, but Pearce wasn’t willing to listen. He took away her old diaper, wiped her clean, and squirted a dollop of anti-rash zinc cream into his hands, rubbing it in around her bottom and thighs. She cramped again, and though she couldn’t see and her senses down there had been numbed to the differences between cramps and squelches and pushing, she was pretty sure she got something on his hands. Shame coursed through her, and she watched for Pearce to flinch, to pull away in disgust, but he just reached for a baby wipe and kept working. Cream applied, he wrapped the new diaper between her thighs and taped it down. “There,” he said. “That should at least help a bit with the rashing. You finish that bottle, I’ll be right back.” She nodded and kept suckling, working to drain the formula–what else could she do? Pearce got to his feet, washed his hands in the sink, and left her there, alone with nothing but her thoughts and the soft whirr of the exhaust fan. He hadn’t given up, yet, but that was no surprise. Pearce wasn’t an asshole, and she required medical aid. Her plan had centered around exhausting him with full diapers, not a call to poison control and a price check on ambulance fees. That didn’t mean this could be counted as a success. She felt like a kid. Not a baby–well, a bit like a baby–but not really. Instead, the helplessness, the feeling of stupidity, the awareness of how badly she’d fucked up, how she was self-sabotaging and pushing everyone around her away… It made her feel like a fourteen year old, ear pressed against a door, eavesdropping for clues about punishment she already knew was coming. “It’s just a cry for attention. Obviously we need to stop the behavior, but you can’t let her have what she wants. When she acts out, you can’t coddle her, you need to show discipline.” “Where do you think she even got–” “It’s those friends of hers, I told you they were no good.” “Do you think she’ll be able to get her grades back up?” “Maybe, but you’re thinking too short term–what about when she’s grown up, when you aren’t there any more to keep her behavior in check? What if she thinks she’ll always have a safety net? You cannot respond to this sort of behavior with positive reinforcement.” “She’s never acted like this before.” “If I had a nickel for every time I’d heard that, I’d be able to count class sizes by nickels. She’s a teenager. It happens. But she won’t learn to stop behaving like this unless you teach her.” “Still…she’s always been such a good girl. Do we really need to be that harsh?” “I can tell you’re trying to do your best here, and I can see from her file that she’s stayed out of trouble until now. I suppose, given the circumstances, it might be alright to show a little grace.” She’d been stupid then. She was stupid now, too. She’d jumped without looking, without seeing how far it was to the bottom, and expected Pearce to be there to catch her. And Pearce, damn him, was there–ready to catch her, even though it meant he’d be crushed. If he’d just been a crummier person, this would have been easy. When he fucked up and abandoned her, she’d made sure the consequences fell squarely on his shoulders. Now, when she fucked up, he was taking it on himself, letting the consequences fall on his shoulders again. He was doing the work. Making phone calls, bringing food, ensuring her physical safety, and that was all. Like the previous week of emotionally distant diligence, only worse, because she knew what was coming. Pearce couldn’t take this any more. Burnout was inevitable, he already seemed exhausted every time they spoke. She could see it–he was struggling. She could see it in his slumped shoulders and defeated expressions: Every time he had to change her diaper, feed her, give her any kind of care, he had to fight to keep up the act. Grace knew the truth, because she knew how to read Pearce. His thoughts were incredibly obvious: (Is my distance enough to keep Grace from hurting me?) (Would it be so wrong if I just left her to fend for herself so I could go and focus on myself?) As soon as he thought she was safe, as soon as he didn’t have to worry that she’d literally shit herself to death, he’d say, ‘I’m forfeiting the bet, I can’t keep putting up with you anymore’. Maybe he’d put it better than that–find some tactful way to rephrase, ‘You’re a selfish, demanding burden whose recklessness and perfectionism are burning my life away from both ends,’ but he’d be thinking it, and she’d know what he really meant. She’d wanted him to forfeit, but not like this–her intent had been for him to get tired of responsibility, not for him to get tired of nannying a stupid, selfish, idiotic little girl who needed everyone else to clean up after her insecurities. Another cramp wracked her as she finished the bottle of formula, and her body’s spasm was timed to hit just as Pearce walked in, carrying two bottles of warm tea and a fluffy pillow tucked beneath his arm. “Hey,” he said, walking over to sit next to her, crossing his legs and getting down by her head. “Any help from the painkillers yet?” She shook her head–every cramp was as bad as the last. “Here, head up,” Pearce said, guiding the pillow to give her a little comfort. Once she’d rested her head on the cushion, he passed her one of the bottles of tea. “Drink this, too. It’s supposed to be an herbal calming thing that eases upset stomachs–I don’t know if it’ll do much here, but it can’t hurt to get you more fluids.” She took the bottle, watching him. He was glancing away, avoiding eye contact, lips moving slightly as he prepared what he was about to say. It was coming. She knew it, and her stomach dropped in a way that had nothing to do with the laxative overdose. “Grace,” Pearce said, voice trembling a little. “I…after tonight, I’m going to forfeit the bet. You win.” There it was. She’d gotten what she wanted, and what she feared the most. Swallowing, Pearce added, “I know you want it, bad, so there you go. I can’t have you hurting yourself like this, even if it was by accident. Nothing is worth this, nothing is worth pushing you to do this, so if it means you’re safe, if it means you won’t hurt anymore, you win. Your safety is all that matters.” Grace stared up at him, eyes widening. She’d already felt teary, but now her eyes felt wet for an entirely different reason–shock, not pain. He looked away again, lips twitching so much it looked like he was wrestling with the words he wanted to speak. “I–” Anxiety and fear struck her. The unknown of what he was about to say, how he’d let her down gently. Finally, he won the fight with his tongue and got it out. “Grace, I love you.” ... This is not the end! More is coming. My patrons and supporters have made this story possible, and continue to make it possible. Thank you so much for reading. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 30: Hurricane The following chapter features an instance of behavior comparable to an eating disorder, resulting in accidental self harm. This self-harm is not intentional and the results are not life threatening, and the parallels to ED are merely a coincidence and not the focus of this chapter, but it could still be upsetting to some readers. If you want to know precisely what happens so you can be better informed, feel free to message me asking for a spoiler and I will respond as promptly as I can. ... “I’m–I’m sorry, Daddy, I had…I had a accident!” “After I told you not to use your diapers that I put you in? What a bad girl–I think it’s time for your sp–” The door handle to Pearce’s room jiggled, and he threw his phone down, jolting straight up. Trying to act casual, he crossed a leg over his lap, clearing the pornographic images from his head, of the cute girl in a soggy diaper, showing off her lack of dignity to her daddy. If he crossed his eyes, the girl looked almost like Grace–even if Grace had better diction and infinitely better banter skills than whoever wrote that porn script. He shouldn’t even have been looking at that stuff, the surface level enjoyment wasn’t worth the deep sense of ache it left him with afterwards. Grace opened the door, and Pearce’s insides did backflips. She was wearing a plain T-shirt and her patented, ‘I really want to ask for a diaper change but I know I’m not supposed to’ expression. Her eyes avoided his, her lips were pressed into a line, embarrassment radiated from her whole being. He’d learned to recognize the meaning of that expression at a glance, because it had once offered prime time for teasing. Occasionally, she’d just be acutely soggy, but most of the time, she’d come to him wearing this embarrassed expression because she’d pooped in her diaper and wanted to be clear of it as quickly as possible. A week ago, this would have been the perfect time to fluster Grace. She was embarrassed about having used her diaper, despite it being a daily occurrence, and primed for further teasing because she needed Pearce to notice. Strictly speaking, her patented ‘change me’ expression was an attempt to skirt the rules, to ask without asking, but it involved such willing self humiliation and was a mild enough request that he didn’t mind. He would sometimes pretend to be completely unaware, which made her fuss and stomp and blush, or he could really draw out the check, making her wriggle and squeak as he squeezed the seat of her diaper, weighing how badly she needed a freshie. It felt silly to admit, but flustering Grace had become a highlight of his days, and diaper checks were an excellent tool to get that done. This all led to the less-fun part: Actually changing a messy diaper. He just hadn’t gotten over that, no matter how many times he had to do it, it was always just as gross as the first time, the only difference was the speed with which he got the nasty part over with. He’d do it, but if he had to pick one part of the bet to get rid of, it’d be the dirty diaper changes. A part of him wanted to get back to the teasing, the checks, the things that made Grace red-faced and fussy, but it was just like the porn: It might have been fun in the moment, but the long-term hurt wasn’t just worth it. Grace didn’t mean to hurt him, she just did, because her problems had to be pushed on everyone else. She was like a storm. Thrilling, wonderful, beautiful. A storm could bring life to the world around it, and energy, and even magic, but if Pearce tried to enjoy too much, he’d be swept away. “Hey,” Grace said, arms crossed over her belly, looking down at her toes. She looked shaky. (“Hey, baby, are you okay? You don’t look so good, how can I help?”) The response he wanted to give stuck in his throat. If he gave in, if he let himself be vulnerable, he’d just get hurt again. “Hey,” Pearce replied, noting that the anxiety and turmoil had at least killed his awkward boner. “Do you need a change?” She nodded. “Er…yeah.” Nodding, Pearce glanced back at his desktop, at the work he’d been doing. It could wait. Getting up, he said, “Okay, I’ll meet you in the bathroom.” She nodded, turning to waddle away, and for a second, it seemed like she winced. Even despite his attempts to shield himself from vulnerability, the ache struck again, bypassing all his emotional shelter. (Is my distance hurting Grace that much?) (Would it be so wrong if I left my defenses behind so I could go comfort her?) Never mind the potential fallout, never mind that he couldn’t regulate her emotions for her, never mind that she’d lash out like a hurt animal the next time he wasn’t perfect. He wanted to go wrap her up in a hug, kiss her, find out why she was shaking and make it better. Logic, though, told him the truth: He couldn’t. Last time he’d made himself vulnerable, she’d turned a mistake into a tempest. If he opened himself up again, he’d get hurt just the same every time, and enough injuries stacked one on top of the other only build resentment. He’d be trading his own comfort for Grace, and that would burn them both in the long run. It wouldn’t just mean the end of their relationship, it might mean the end of the Wasters entirely. If only he’d been a bit more like Brains, it would have been easy. Once Brains knew the logical, smart, correct choice of action, he could pursue it without hesitation. Pearce, on the other hand, knew himself. He was too impulsive and selfish to do the right thing every time, and even when he was committed to the right course of action, the pull of impulsivity called to him like a siren. Sighing, he walked out of his room, following Grace to the bathroom. He couldn’t provide for her emotional needs, but her diaper still needed changing. Wipes. Powder. A fresh diaper. A bin to dispose it all. The physical stuff, that was easy…if a bit nasty. Avoiding eye contact with Grace while he did it all, though, that took something out of him. He knew she was right there, his hands were touching her skin, he could hear her breathing and the gurgling of her tummy. He could just acknowledge her as something beyond an object in need of cleaning. He kept his mouth shut. She did, too. She’d figured out that he wasn’t interested in conversation. He wiped her thighs and skin free of muck, piling the wipes next to her old diaper. Messy changes always took about a billion wipes–if he could have, he’d have always timed them right before bathtime and used the shower to wash her off, but it rarely worked out that conveniently for him. Under his fingers, he could feel her tremble–she was shaking. (Just talk to her.) “I’m planning on making dinner in about two hours.” Sheepishly, looking for something to add, he appended, “Pasta.” “Okay,” she said. “I–mm.” Pulling her arms tighter around her body, she put on another pained expression. “Are you feeling okay?” Pearce asked, before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to care, but he couldn’t not. “Mmm…” Grace whimpered, before choosing to lie to him. “I’m fine.” She didn’t expect comfort, so she wouldn’t show vulnerability. He couldn’t blame her. Sliding a fresh diaper beneath her, Pearce dusted on powder and taped it up without further commentary. He had escaped the diaper change without making himself vulnerable, he’d call that a win. (“There. Now let’s see if you can keep this one clean for more than thirty seconds.”) He bit down the teasing comment and said, “You’re clean. Do you need a refill on your bottle, or are you good for now?” “I’m…for now, I’m okay.” She was definitely hiding her feelings. Physical or emotional, Pearce couldn’t quite tell, but he knew there was something up. Maybe she’d had another plan, another scheme and it’d fallen apart without him even noticing. Either way, he could wash his hands of the business. Wrapping up the diaper in a trash bag, he did just that, scrubbing his hands in the sink, before heading back to his room and dumping the diaper in Grace’s pail. Diaper changes had been hard, lately, and Grace hadn’t made that last one any easier, even if she didn’t actually fuss or cause any problems. Leaning over his desk, Pearce tried to get his focus back. What had he been doing? (Right. Porn, but there was work, too.) He stared at his computer, already knowing he was about to lose an hour to nothing–his focus was shattered, and there were no pressing work deadlines to drag him back in. He tried to fight it, pulling up a couple client emails to direct his thoughts, but he was too aware of his own failings in focus to think he’d be able to power through when he was feeling this emotionally hazy. The door handle to Pearce’s room jiggled. He looked over–Grace was in the doorway. She was wearing a plain T-shirt and her patented, ‘I really want to ask for a diaper change but I know I’m not supposed to’ expression. Pearce frowned. He’d literally just changed her. She couldn’t have needed to go again that quickly, unless this was a stunt–she’d only half gone, and waited, so she’d need two changes. And while it wasn’t wet, her diaper definitely had the telltale sag of a dirty accident. He could delay. Strictly speaking, he had most of an hour before he needed to actually change her, but he stood anyway. “Do you need a change?” She nodded. “Er…yeah.” This time, he caught her stiff diffidence, the anxiety in her words. This was definitely a stunt, unless she had food poisoning. “Did you go all the way?” he asked, deciding to rule out the possibility of a stunt then and there. She shrugged, then screwed up her face in…discomfort? Embarrassment? Regret? He couldn’t quite tell, and he just barely caught her whimpered words. “I’m sorry.” “We’ll get you cleaned up.” He tried not to sigh too heavily as he marched past her, to the bathroom. Grace waddled meekly behind. If he didn’t like changing dirty diapers, she hated wearing them just as much–he just had to deal with the ick for a few minutes, she had to wear it. Laying her out on the floor for the second time in ten minutes, Pearce pulled out the changing supplies from the cabinet. Wipes. Powder. A fresh diaper. A trash bag, for the old one. Her stomach gurgled as he untaped her diaper, an angry, rumbly sound. And, though he didn’t particularly feel like playing CSI, he noted that things looked…not great in her diaper. This was less a solid mess and more a swampy mudslide. Maybe it was food poisoning. Pearce frowned. He’d had all the same food as her. He wiped her up, and he couldn’t help but ask again. “Grace, are you sure you’re not feeling sick?” “I’m not s-sick,” she said, making a squeaking sound in the middle of the last word. She was straight up pale. Something was wrong. “I’m going to make you tea after this.” He compromised with himself as he spoke. “Okay? Something to settle your stomach.” Her face registered another mixed, muddled emotion. Not disappointment, but maybe regret? Pearce had a guess why. He’d started showing affection again. (Dammit.) Even if it was only for her physical needs, he just couldn’t help himself, he wanted to take care of her, and that little sliver of comfort stuck out like a sore thumb. He had unintentionally reminded them both of a past relationship that was too painful to resume. Wipe. Clean. Move on. Don’t allow any tender lingering touches, no physical affection, the words were bad enough. He’d already poked his head out of the shelter, and if he showed any more vulnerability, he might as well get in a pickup truck and go driving after the tornado. She was messing with him again, right? Grace was nothing if not tricky, she loved her ploys and her schemes. Making her diaper leak so he’d take a penalty, or pretending to fuss over food so he’d dote on her, or taking advantage when his phone died, letting Pearce sleep through four work appointments so he’d resign from the bet– (Don’t mistake the damage for the intent. She wasn’t thinking about the work stuff, she just didn’t care. Don’t get close.) A fresh layer of powder, a fresh diaper, a definitive nod. “You’re clean.” He washed his hands, dumped the diaper, washed his hands again, and went down to make that tea. If this was a stunt, it had to be one taking advantage of circumstance. She really did seem sick–sweaty, uncomfortable, and it looked less like she’d used her diaper on purpose and more like it’d saved her from ill-timed diarrhea. (She couldn’t have given herself food poisoning, right?) He knew her. He knew what she looked like when she felt low and he knew what she looked like when she was up to something. Now, she looked both ways at once, and he couldn’t parse the difference or reasoning behind either. Crouching to go through his section of the kitchen’s cupboards, he pushed aside the fiber he’d purchased for Grace’s food, the jars of baby food, and a few other nasty surprises he’d planned for her. A jar of Grandma’s Turkey Dinner paste just seemed too mean for Grace, even if he had wanted to see her fuss and squirm when he spoonfed her, so he’d stuck to only serving fruit pastes and apple sauce. He made a mental note to find someplace to donate the baby food, since he’d stopped bothering to serve it to Grace. Soup or pizza or just a microwave dinner didn’t take any mental effort and didn’t open him up to banter. It was the third time he’d made the mental note, but maybe he’d actually act on it someday. Reaching for the herbal tea in the back of his cupboard, he paused. Pearce didn’t pride himself on being observant, but his section of the cupboard seemed off. Like someone had rifled through it, looking around. (Grace? But why would…she…) “Oh,” he said aloud, looking around a little harder, hoping he was wrong. It wasn’t there. Praying that he was just being paranoid, he closed the cupboard and walked to the trash can. “Grace,” he said, quietly, “Please, tell me you didn’t…” But she had. Buried under a few things, but easy enough to fish out, was the wrapper of a chocolate bar. Flipping it around, he read the back. Directions for use: Take two squares orally. Do not use more than eight squares in a twenty-four hour period. Stop and talk to your doctor if constipation is not relieved after twenty four hours. The laxative chocolate bar was gone. There’d been forty-eight squares there when it was new, and he’d never used a single one. That meant, unless Grace had just hidden them away somewhere… “Pearce…” He’d been so caught up with his discovery, he hadn’t heard Grace waddle up behind him. Turning, he saw her–diaper drooping, arms crossed over her chest, eyes wet. She sniffed, and when she winced again, he knew why–he could hear the cramp hit her from across the room. Doubling forward, Grace’s body made a few undignified sounds, and she looked away from him. Grace had poisoned herself. Maybe to make him forfeit after getting tired of the changes, maybe just so he’d have to spend time in a room with her, hands on her body, but he didn’t care about her motivations. She was hurting. He would help.

Chapter 29: Slipping Author’s note: Haven’t done one of these in a while! I realized that I criminally neglected giving Grace a stuffie at any point, so she has one that she got early on from Pearce to be her a crib companion. Despite his needling and teasing her about it, Grace won’t admit to having named the hedgehog. Brains. “I’ll see you later, okay?” Connor said. “I’ll call you after this meeting.” Brains hovered on the porch, fingers interlaced with his–boyfriend? Partner? The guy he was dating? He still hadn’t asked if they’d gotten to the point of labels yet, even after a month, and he didn’t know when it would be appropriate to ask. Still, he waited. He blushed, but needed to ask something else. “Erm. I can kiss you, right?” His boy-part-dating-guy laughed. (He’s got such a nice laugh.) “You’ve got such a nice laugh.” “You don’t need to ask every time,” Connor said, leaning in to press his lips on Brains. As always, Brains’ brains deadlocked, freezing up when their bodies came together. He half expected his hair to stand straight up and smoke to start coming out his ears like a cartoon, but no hijinks played out around his head, and after a moment, they separated. “But,” Connor continued, “I think it’s cute that you still do.” “I love you,” Brains blurted, before he could catch himself. (Agh, no, no, it’s too soon–) Connor’s smile deepened. “I love you too, Barry.” It still felt strange that Connor used Brains’ real name and not his social group moniker, but he’d gotten used to it. And– (He just said it back! He said it back!) A stupid grin spreading on his face, Brains leaned in and kissed his love. They held the embrace until they both needed air. Not wanting their romantic gesture to get Connor in trouble, Brains whispered, “Are you going to be late for your meeting?” “You really are just constantly thoughtful, aren’t you?” Connor smiled so warmly Brains wondered if he should apply sunscreen. “You’re right, though, I should rush. Wonderful afternoon, can’t wait to see you again, I love you–text me?” “Mhmm,” Brains said, in a daze. “Bye…” “If your head’s still in the clouds in four hours, talk to your doctor,” Connor quipped, turning to scurry down the front sidewalk to his car. Floating dreamily, Brains turned, hovering into his home. The state of euphoria lasted about three seconds, then he saw Grace. She was on the couch. Alone, wearing only a onesie and her diaper. Surrounded by a slight pee smell–nothing unusual for her of late, of course. Aside from all the normal, though, he could sense she was upset. If he could sense she was upset, then something was definitely wrong. Her eyes were red, and she had a runny nose, though if she’d been crying she must have suddenly decided to wipe off her face and stop just before he walked inside. Regardless, she needed him, so he left his giddy headspace and sat down to help a friend–she needed it, and even if it was a bit of a bummer, he didn’t mind. “Something wrong?” he asked, taking up the opposite side of the couch from her. She glanced over at him. He could see the thought playing in her head–she was asking herself, ‘Is it worth it to explain this to Brains’. He got that expression a lot. “Sorry,” Brains clarified. “I know something’s wrong. I’d like to know what it is, and if there’s any way I can help.” “Can you do magic?” Grace asked. Though he expected her question was hypothetical, he answered, “No, sorry.” “Do you have a million dollars?” He shrugged and shook his head. “I’ve got some money in savings, but not like, that kind of money.” Grace crossed her arms. “If I said I needed to borrow a hundred bucks, right now, no questions asked, would you give it to me?” Reaching for his phone, Brains scrolled, looking for his banking app. “Let me check my balance–” “Hypothetical, Brains, I’m not asking for money,” she said. (She just did, twice, but…okay, sure.) “I’d give it to you, if I had it,” he said. “Uh-huh. And what if I didn’t pay it back, and said I needed to borrow more?” That seemed like a good enough time for a joke–something to lighten the mood a little and make her feel better. “I’d ask what drug dealer you pissed off.” Her expression flattened, and she looked away. (Ah, beans. Wrong time for a joke.) “I’d give it to you,” he said again. “And maybe ask if you were in trouble, if you needed something else.” “Okay. How many times?” Grace asked. “How many times could I ask for help before you decided I wasn’t worth the expense and gave up?” He actually did check his balance, then, doing a little math. “I guess, five. Then I’d have to find something else to help you, because, like…If I lend you money and can’t make rent, I’m not exactly making things better, I’m just digging a new hole.” “Brains,” Grace said, “You’re not getting it.” “Yeah,” he agreed, trying not to express too much annoyance at her refusal to be direct. “I’m not. You don’t actually need money, so what are you actually asking for?” “I’m making a point,” Grace said, exasperated–Brains could tell by the way she threw her hands in the air for a moment. “There’s a certain point where, if someone asks for too much, you stop giving.” “Yeah,” Brains said, “Because I’d be out of money. If a friend asks for help, you help them–until you can’t, at least.” “No, it’s–You know what? Never mind. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.” Brains knew she was lying, but also doubted he could get her to open up and admit the truth. Shrugging, he got up. “Okay, well... Let me know if you do need any money, okay? I can–” Grace shot him a look that communicated, ‘Seriously?’ about as well as any body language could, and he nodded. “Right. Sorry. Bye.” … Melody. “Muah,” Melody half said, breaking off from the kiss before leaning in for two more. Tilly was a dream, a delight to hang out with, and an excellent kisser–she’d been an excellent way to spend a Friday evening. Melody got two more quick pecks in before finally pulling away for good. “Fantastic night,” Tilly said, checking her lipstick in the mirror and making a little pinkie-thumb phone gesture. “Call me?” “Absolutely,” Melody promised, getting out of the car. Tilly had dropped her in the alleyway out back, and Melody blew kisses at her most recent paramour until Tilly turned the corner, at which point she took out her phone, pulled up Tilly’s contact info, and erased it, strolling cheerfully to the back door. No second dates. No attachments. Attachments brought complications, and she didn’t want to mess up her life. Then again, she’d started to blow through the eligible dating pool in town… but that would be a problem for future Melody. Tonight, she just wanted simple relaxation. Instead, walking into the kitchen, she found Pearce. “Hey,” she said, walking past him to get to the fridge. She wanted a beer and something for a late snack. “Hey,” Pearce said, looking up from the dishes he’d been scrubbing. “Grabbing a drink?” “Yeah,” she said, grabbing the bottom shelf crap they always purchased–it didn’t matter about the taste, it was sixteen bucks for a twenty four pack. “Grab me one too?” he asked. “Sure.” Popping two tabs, she passed him one and sipped the other, giving him a slight side eye. He noticed, unfortunately. “Don’t worry, Grace is asleep. I’m off the clock until morning.” “Not what I was thinking,” Melody replied, throwing back her drink. If they were going to talk about this, she’d want a second beer. Lowering the can, she added, just in case, “Your bet isn’t my problem.” He considered, flicking suds off his hands to pick up the can and take a sip. “Mind if I make it yours, just for a minute? I’m not asking you to care, I just want your opinion.” “Ugh,” Melody said, rolling her eyes. He shrugged, turning back to the dishes. “Fine, I won’t–” “No, no, it’s fine, you just had to be polite and thoughtful and actually ask so now I can’t feel righteously pissy about it–and I’d been looking forward to feeling righteously pissy about it.” Melody admitted, setting aside the can and opening the fridge again. “Yeah, of course I can listen. What’s up?” “It’s complicated.” Pearce stopped and wiped his hands off, abandoning the dishes for a moment. “You know the whole blowup a few days ago?” “On Monday, right?” Melody grabbed a takeout box, peering inside–fried chicken, and still good. Perfect. “Only kinda, I steered clear of that whole mess.” “I’ll summarize, I guess,” Pearce said, taking another sip of his beer. “So–ugh, okay. It’s like…so, she and I–” Melody smirked, dumping chicken onto a microwave safe plate and popping it in. (Get to it, you’re almost there.) “We…” Pearce started. “On Saturday, we fucked.” He looked at her, waiting for the glimmer of recognition or surprise. Melody just shrugged. “Took you two long enough.” He blinked, and his look of surprise was enough for Melody to no longer regret the conversation. “You knew?” “I mean, duh,” Melody said. “You’re like–how do I put this? You two are a couple magnets. The only states you can exist in are repelled as far apart as you can get, or stuck together grinding all your bits together. Anything else is unstable and just going to fall apart as soon as the pressure goes away.” Turning slightly pink, Pearce avoided answering, buying time with another swig of his beer. “So, anyways–I left, to go sleep in my bed, and I forgot my phone. I didn’t wake up on time.” Melody winced. “Grace isn’t exactly a fan of things not sticking to schedule. You apologized, right?” “I’m not done,” Pearce continued. “So she wakes up, and she noticed I’m asleep, and she just didn’t do anything. She left me sleeping until almost five in the evening.” Wincing harder, Melody took her chicken out of the microwave. “Ouch. That’s a pretty harsh reaction.” “Still not done,” Pearce continued. “Oh, hell.” “So when I am awake, and trying to figure out what I’m going to do after I lost a whole day, she just won’t get off my back, insisting that I broke a ton of rules, and I need to pay penalties for each of them.” He sighed, draining his drink. “It was like four hundred bucks.” Melody whistled, returning to the fridge one last time and taking out two more beers. Extending one to Pearce, she waited. He initially didn’t take it, so she added, “Hey, you filled up the beer fund–at least get your money’s worth. That’s messed up, buddy.” He accepted the can, popped the top, and let the foam drip over his fingers. “Still not done.” (Seriously?) She widened her eyes, waiting for him to continue. He obliged, using the can to gesture. “So–I was mad, right? I was pissed, and she was pissed, and she wouldn’t leave me alone, so I said she’d broken a bunch of rules and put her in time out.” “Uh-huh.” Melody nodded. “So that’s when Brains texted me. Okay. Is that everything?” “I guess.” Pearce sighed, leaning hard against the counter, looking like a balloon that’d started to deflate. “So what do you need the opinion on?” Melody asked, sitting down to her microwaved dinner. “We’re–we’re bad for each other, right?” Pearce asked. “She’s… she’s so focused on winning this stupid bet, she did that. I don’t know what to say, like, she had so many opportunities to make it better, and she kept taking the low road, and–fucking hell, am I crazy here? Is that not unreasonable to do?” “Oh, no, she’s definitely unreasonable,” Melody agreed. “I’d point out that you’re still competing, though–hard to call her out too much when you won’t just walk away.” “Sure, but like…” Pearce looked away, sighing for a moment. “Sorry, words. Trying to think how to say this. Yeah, I’m being selfish–I don’t want to prove her right. I give up, she’ll never let me hear the end of it, and…” “And you can’t give her the satisfaction after she fucked you?” Melody raised an eyebrow. “Metaphorically. Not literally. Though, if you haven’t tried a strap–” “That’s not it,” Pearce said. “I just, I thought she was starting to actually like me, you know? That we could be friends. Like you said, with the whole magnet thing, I thought we were starting to stick, and then it turns out that when it’s a decision between forcing me to lose this stupid bet and showing me a tiny shred of decency after a mistake, she’d rather win the bet.” Melody whistled, but didn’t respond right away, busy chewing. Pearce gave her a slightly pleading look, hoping for validation of his feelings, but she didn’t give in until she’d swallowed–not because she needed to think about her opinion, she just didn’t like talking with her mouth full. “So what’ve you been doing?” she asked. “Since Monday.” “Treading water,” he admitted. “Or, not treading, I’ve been doing my job like a champ. She’s not going to catch me on any more rule breaks, not ever–I can’t give her more excuses to stab me in the back. I’m keeping her at an arm's length, not getting close again, because otherwise it’s like trying to hug sandpaper.” “Right.” Melody frowned to one side. “Look, you want my advice? Forfeit. Give up, walk away, let her have her internal victory, and then once it’s over, I’ll tell her to stop talking about it. Only way to get this over is to rip the band aid off once and for all.” “I can’t do that,” Pearce said. “Even if she’s not saying it out loud, it won’t feel like walking away, it’ll feel like losing.” Shrugging, Melody said, “Okay, whatever. Keep wiping her ass, if you want. But you seem miserable right now. You’re trying to stay emotionally distant from a person you interact with like fifty times a day. That’s not going to change unless you change it. Attachment sucks, so just walk away.” Pearce sighed, set down his beer, and turned back to the dishes. “Thanks, Mels.” “Welcome,” she said. “Anytime.” … Skip “Yes, yes, yes–” Skip’s smile spread across their face, pleasure building into a total climactic explosion, vibration pulsing up from their fingertips as their favorite toy seemed to celebrate with them. The haptic controllers on their Nintendo switch really helped with immersion–and they’d just achieved a new highscore, to boot! Removing their earbuds, they– Sob. (Oh no.) Grace was crying, and they’d be an awful friend if they didn’t go talk to her and see what was wrong. Or, well. Skip knew what was wrong. They needed to go talk to her anyways, and ask, and be told some half-truths from their friend, otherwise Skip’s conscience would eat away at them for a whole lot longer than the evening. Aside from their conscience, though, it was the right thing to do–even if Grace wouldn’t learn much from the conversation. Maybe. And if not today, someday–she was thickheaded when it came to emotions, but enough repetition would get to her eventually, and until then, well… Skip would just keep trying. Rolling out of bed, they fumbled for their cell phone, turned on the flashlight, and walked to their door. With blackout curtains, it didn’t matter if it was the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday–it may as well have been pitch black midnight, without a flashlight, they couldn’t see a thing. Swinging their door open, they followed the sound of sobs downstairs to the couch, arms wrapped around a plush hedgehog the size of a particularly poofy pillow. She looked up at Skip’s entrance, wiping her eyes. “Sorry, I thought–I didn’t think you were home.” “I was just doing some reading,” Skip lied. (Why do I do that? She doesn’t care that I play video games.) “I’ll be quieter,” Grace sniffed. “Sorry.” “No, don’t apologize,” Skip assured her. Since Grace was laying across the couch on her back, there wasn’t any good place for them to sit, so they crossed their legs and plopped down next to her. “What’s wrong?” “It’s dumb,” Grace insisted, looking down at the hedgehog. Her expression turned just a touch embarrassed, and she tossed it to the side. It bounced off the coffee table, rolling onto the floor beside her. She winced, glanced at Skip as though to see if they’d notice, and sheepishly picked the plush back up and set it off to her side. “It’s not. You’re upset, you need to feel your feelings and process, otherwise you’re not going to feel any better,” Skip pointed out. “Just talk to me, okay?” “It’s Pearce. I messed it up, I messed it up bad, and–” swallowing, she said, “And now I can’t fix it back the way it was.” Pursing their lips, Skip said, “I don’t know if that’s true. What happened?” Staring at the ceiling, Grace took a few breaths before explaining. “He stopped caring. I asked for too much, and…” Tears started welling up. “He realized I’m too much, and…” Sobs, but good sobs. The sobs of processing, of finding herself and figuring out what she needed. Skip didn’t believe there was such a thing as bad crying, not unless you didn’t have anyone there with you to make things OK. Once the crying had lowered, Skip promised, “You’re not too much.” Grace took her plush and squeezed it tightly, pinning the hedgehog against her as though it might try and escape. “I am to him.” “Really?” Skip asked. “Has he said that?” “Basically.” Glancing at Skip, she opened her mouth, then looked away. “Can I tell you something stupid?” Skip shrugged. “You can tell me something, I don’t believe it will be stupid.” “I named the hedgehog,” Grace said, looking at the plushie on her chest. Smiling, Skip said, “That’s not stu–” “I named him John.” Skip blinked. “John. That’s Pearce’s–” “We don’t ever call him that,” Grace shot back. “He’s just Pearce, he’s only ‘John’ when he has to sign checks, so it’s not even really like I–” “Grace,” Skip said, reaching out to touch her arm. “You need to do something. You clearly care about him, and just waiting around isn’t helping.” “I tried!” Grace said. “I talked to him–twice. He shot me down. He’s not interested; as long as he has to keep being in charge of me, keep caring for me, he’s not going to be interested.” Skip frowned. “So quit.” “And make him think I don’t care?” Grace sat up, recoiling at the idea. “That I want him to stop?” (Stop…making you wear diapers?) Skip wondered. “I don’t know what you have to do, but like… come on. Either do something or walk away. You’re not going to be happy until this is over, not if you’re constantly having to rely on a guy you’re this hung up on.” Grace wiped her eyes and shook her head. “How can I make him stay with me when he won’t even stay for more than a conversation? Literally the only time he gives me attention is when he’s changing my diapers.” “I don’t know.” Skip stood. “I hope you can figure that out.” Looking up at them, a light flickered in Grace’s eyes, and she said, “Actually…I think I might have an idea.” ... Read ahead on Patreon, and help support the author at the same time! 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Chapter 28: Opinions Changed Grace had heard that time heals all things, but if that was the case, she didn’t have the patience for the cure. Pearce had taken her lesson to heart, finally acknowledging the responsibility it took to care for someone else. Over the past two days, he’d been meticulous, always early for meals, always getting her up on time, Johnny on the spot for diaper changes. He’d stopped pretending that he could casually laugh his way through this. Grace had proven her point. And she knew Pearce had learned something else, too: Dependence breeds resentment. He could talk a big game, say that he didn’t think of her as a burden, claim it’s all ‘Just part of life’, but as soon as he got hit with reality, his song had changed. He could enjoy Grace’s company, or he could dependably care for her needs, but he couldn’t do both. Grace just wished she wasn’t right all the time. There’d been no affection. Barely a joke. Diaper changes were done with all the intimacy of a janitor cleaning toilets. She wanted to scream at him: (If you hate me this much, just give up. Walk away from the bet. Stop treating me as a dependent so we can be friends again.) But Pearce was stubborn, and, unfortunately, he had more discipline than she’d given him credit for. He wouldn’t be forfeiting anytime soon. And if she forfeit, she’d be admitting something that she didn’t want Pearce to have any place in her life, be it reluctant caretaker or confidant and benefits-friend. She couldn’t wait on him, and she couldn’t walk away either, not if she wanted him back. There was only one tool left in her arsenal, one surefire way to get any man’s interest back. Her plan didn’t take much thought. She waited until they had the house to themselves: Skip was at work, Melody was on a date, Brains was–surprisingly–also on a date. (Good for him.) They had privacy. If she had full control, she’d dress up in something particularly sultry, but obviously it wouldn’t do much good to ask Pearce to change her clothes, he’d know something was up. She could make it work with just a T-shirt and diaper, though–it gave her room to work. Trying to talk to him just anywhere would be a no-go, however. She had to wait until she had his undivided attention, until he couldn’t simply walk away from what she had to say. Biding her time, she waited until he came into her room around eight in the evening. Setting a bottle of water on her desk, he leaned over and gave the front of her diaper a squeeze. He came to the conclusion she’d hoped for. “Seems like you need a change. Come on.” Taking her hand, he pulled her out of her desk chair. It was the closest skin contact they’d had lately–a good sign, or perhaps just an indication he didn’t care much about the act of touching either way. While he led her, she worked towards her goal. “Hey, Pearce?” Pausing in the bathroom doorway, he glanced back at her. “Yeah? What’s up?” She pulled down on the edge of her shirt ever-so-slightly and bit her lip while he led her inside the room and helped her onto the floor. She gave him her best ‘Cute and helpless’ eyes, too. Laying it on thick, maybe, but Pearce sometimes needed her to be direct. Trying to catch his gaze, she made her pitch. “I was wondering… do you want some company tonight?” He shrugged, taking a fresh diaper out of the bathroom cabinet, along with a new box of wipes. Fiddling with it, he got his nails under the plastic seal and peeled it open, never sparing her a second glance. “No thanks, I’ve still got some work to do once this is done.” Not an outright rejection, at least, though she didn’t like that her charms had to compete with a plastic sticker on a pack of butt wipes. Pushing to be more direct, she clarified. “I don’t just mean hanging out.” “I don’t want to watch a movie.” Still shutting her down indirectly, Pearce unfolded the new diaper, bending it over his knee to fluff it up a bit. With everything ready to go, then, he finally reached for her old, soggy diaper. (Don’t chicken out,) Grace thought, waiting until she was untaped and exposed, naked from the waist down. (See if he can say no to this.) “Let’s have some real fun tonight, okay?” Pulling off her shirt, she exposed her chest, watching carefully to see if Pearce’s gaze would move from her thighs to her breasts. Of course it did–he couldn’t resist the sight of a beautiful, naked girl exposing herself beneath him. She set the garment aside on the floor, scooting on her back towards him, to wrap her legs around him and– Pearce stood and stepped away from her, stepping around the bathroom so he could pick up her shirt. “Grace.” He lifted her top, crouching and holding it up, waiting for her to raise her arms. “You’re not supposed to change your outfit.” Grace recoiled as though struck. (Seriously?) She shook her head. “Pearce. I’m not here to argue about a crappy tee.” He didn’t lower the shirt. “Pearce,” Grace repeated. “You’re the one insisting we follow the rules to the letter.” Pearce glanced away for a moment, inhaling heavily through his nose–halfway to a sigh of frustration. “So if you want to talk, put this back on, because you’re not going to get what you want sitting in time out.” It was an attempt to protect her. It had to be. He wanted her, but he wanted to follow the rules. Hence his frustration–he didn’t like this any more than Grace, but he wanted to live up to her expectations. She could accept that, even as the thought sent a pulse of insecurity into her brain. Grace mimicked his breath–in through the nose, out through the mouth. Releasing her frustrations into the air, she complied with his instructions and raised her arms. Pearce pulled the shirt back over her head. Once ‘properly dressed’, she looked up at Pearce, demanding his attention with her eyes. She had to get to the point, to explain that she didn’t mind a little slack if it meant having Pearce back. Not the to-the-letter-but-not-the-spirit boring Pearce she’d had the past couple days, and not the lazy, inattentive slacker from before the bet, but her Pearce. The Pearce who went out of his way to make every outfit an event, even the repeats, fussing over her to get it perfect–perfectly humiliating, but perfect nonetheless. The Pearce who could go from silly to charming like a light switch flip, who made her laugh more than anyone else she could remember. The Pearce who sat her down and told her in no uncertain terms that he’d never stop caring for her no matter how much of a burden she represented. The Pearce who she had fallen in– (Just tell him what you’re offering,) Grace thought, as he knelt between her naked thighs for the second time. She took a breath. “So, we’d agreed that ‘Friends with benefits’ was the right term. Do you want to try out some of those benefits?” There it was, in plain terms. Even if Pearce had realized that casual time with Grace was too much of a burden, that his babysitting duties turned all their interactions into tedious chores, he couldn’t turn down an offer like that. No babysitting stuff, no chores, no burden, just an invitation to fuck. Pearce hesitated. He pursed his lips as he wiped down her skin–she knew him well enough to tell when he was using busywork as an excuse to think. (What’s taking him so long? There’s nothing to think about, just–just answer. Please.) Pearce tossed a wad of baby wipes in the trash, then spoke slowly, still constructing the sentence in his thoughts. “Grace.” She didn’t need to hear the rest. She knew a ‘No’ when it slapped her in the face. She could have kept her mouth shut, handled her own shit, never asked for anything that imposed. Instead, she’d tried to get Pearce to prioritize her, and she’d broken it all. “The last time we slept together,” Pearce continued, dusting down her front with powder, using the action as an excuse to avoid eye contact. “We broke a dozen rules between us, caused a bunch of problems for our jobs, and I cleared out my savings to pay for penalties with the bet.” “Well we won’t get that elaborate this time,” Grace grasped at straws, trying desperately to make her pitch work. “It doesn’t have to be a marathon session, we can just roll around a bit.” Pearce pursed his lips and set aside the bottle, finally looking at her for just long enough to point out the distinct lack of appeal in her offer. “So we’ll have abridged sex?” “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Grace fumbled for words. “Pearce–I want you.” Sighing, Pearce shook his head. “Do you? Really? Or do you want to be in charge of me?” Grace blinked, caught at a loss for words. He slid a diaper beneath her hips. Time was running out. “This bet cuts two ways.” Pearce said, barely adjusting the diaper before pushing each sticky tape down, sealing them down with four quick, sharp motions. “You wanted to be right? Prove I can’t be responsible? Look at me now. I’m being responsible. But don’t forget the other half. Whether or not you can give up control. Whether you can follow someone else’s judgment. For someone who’s supposedly being cared for, you’ve been making a lot of decisions.” Shaking her head, Grace tried to offer a defense. “I’m just–you weren’t doing what you’re supposed to!” “Sure.” He leaned away, turning to hide his face–nominally, so he could get up and wash his hands, but he hadn’t put away the wipes or the powder yet, and any other night, he’d do that before standing. “Whatever. Maybe I wasn’t, but I am now, and you’re still asking for more control. Deciding which rules we can handwave because it’s inconvenient for you, telling me what you want, not accepting ‘no’ for an answer.” Breath quavering, Grace sat forward, talking to his back. “Well…I… You never said no.” “I’m saying it right now.” His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, the only sound was water splashing over his fingers. “We tried the friends with benefits thing. It blew up and left us both in a shit position, and for as long as I’m supposed to be in charge of you, the problems that came up aren’t going to go away.” Grace nodded. Her face felt numb, blank, like she couldn’t summon the expressions she wanted. “I’m not mad at you, Grace.” Pearce turned off the water. “I just can’t juggle all these roles like you want me to, there’s not enough of me to go around.” “I get it,” Grace said, forcing her head to nod a few times. “It’s fine.” She’d asked for too much. She’d asked for care and affection at the same time, and one had strangled the other. “I need to finish this work,” Pearce insisted, drying off his hands on the towel. “Is there anything else you need from me?” Grace shook her head. He crouched, taking the powder and wipes off the floor so he could toss them in the cabinet. She got a glimpse of his eyes, just for a second. They’d gone red in the past few moments since he’d turned his back, shimmering ever so slightly in the light. She was out of ideas, out of plans. Pearce had turned her down completely. He’d already begun mourning the impossibility of their friendship when he accepted her as nothing but a list of chores. Now Grace could see his thoughts clearly: He’d given up. She’d been right all along. ... You know the pitch. Support is always appreciated. Thanks for being an awesome reader and coming along this story with me. More to come soon. ❤️ https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/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!