PeculiarChangeling

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Contains: CNC, Messing, Leaks, Public Humiliation, Harassment. This is a spicy one! ... I slumped back onto the bed in a sweaty, exhausted heap. Six hours. Six hours. Haven had finally relented when I ran through the plastic gallon of water I’d brought along to stay hydrated. I’d done as I promised–every perverted, horny, intensely hot thing I’d been commanded to. I’d fingered myself, both over my diaper and with my hand inside. I’d humped every toy I’d brought along. I’d spanked my thighs until they were burning red, and even now they were so tender I could barely touch them. I’d gagged myself multiple times, with dildos, ball gags, a pacifier, even a pair of panties that I’d soaked in my squirt. I’d had to do… things that involved reaching into the back of my diaper, though I’d been allowed to wash my hands with the baby wipes I had available. At the moment, a particularly large steel plug still rested inside me, heavy and distracting, since nobody’d told me I could take it out. And this was only the things that the people online could see–they couldn’t tell that Haven was fucking me every moment they could, teasing me when they weren’t, making sure that every time I spanked myself on the thighs, I was impacted just as hard on my ass beneath the diaper so that the red, tender skin ran cleanly up from my lower thigh to my lower back. And to cap it all off, I stank. There was no other word for it, no way to sugarcoat. The only thing I could smell was myself, my sweat, my mess, my utterly devastated diaper. I’d leaked onto the bed–half from pee, half from squirting so many times I’d lost count. The hotel was going to be pissed, and would probably need to throw out the bed. And not a single one of the horny fuckers who’d bossed me around had let me change. I was still in the same filthy, messy diaper that I’d put on back at the pharmacy, though I’d needed to find duct tape to secure it in place so it wouldn’t fall off my hips from all the abuse. “Please,” I whimpered to Haven, lying back on the bed. “Let me change.” (You had the chance to persuade them, Charlie. Nobody let you. That’s your fault.) “I can’t keep this diaper on forever,” I mumbled through exhausted lips. “And I need to sleep. It’s not a ‘want’, it’s a need. Human bodies can’t go on forever.” A moment of thought passed, before Haven finally seemed to relent. (Fine. You may take off your diaper, shower, and then sleep.) “Thank–” I started to say. (Leave your diaper on the bed.) “Uh…” I said, less certain. “Okay.” Stripping out of the layers of diapers, I wadded it up into a ball. It didn’t look as destroyed as it’d felt - it was just a mottled layer of white plastic bundled up and left like a beach ball on my mattress. I knew Haven was going to make me sleep on the bed, in the puddle I’d made, but a shower still sounded incredible. My aching butt and thighs longed to be clean, and I felt as though there was enough sweat caked on me to fill a tub. Shuffling to the shower, I turned the water to lukewarm and stepped in. (You enjoyed it,) Haven thought as the water rushed over my body. “Endorphins,” I protested. “That’s it.” (You can’t lie to me. I noticed how you nudged those other humans in certain directions. You all but begged them to make you spank yourself, and you reveled in the helplessness when you were given what you wanted.) I didn’t feel like I was lying. I hadn’t done that, certainly not on purpose. (Had I?) “Er…” I said, trying to change the subject. “So, what are you going to do to me tomorrow?” (I want to see how much you heal from that spanking,) Haven thought. (I should be accelerating that process. If you’ve cleared up, then we’ll need to start from scratch. After that, I’m not going to tell.) I swallowed, then hesitantly asked. “Wait, you can heal me?” (I amplify your body’s own resources. Your own body is healing you, I just make it work faster.) I didn’t know what to do with that information, so I just shrugged. “Sure.” (Your body is clean.) Taking that as a warning, I turned off the shower and stepped out, drying myself off with a towel. “So… I can sleep now? No strings attached?” (Just one.) I swallowed, waiting for the hammer to drop. (You’ve made your own pillow for the night.) “I what? I don’t underst–” I started, before getting it. Blushing and breathing shallowly, I trudged back to the bed. I’d long since pushed all the hotel pillows off to the side, and removed the covers, so the only thing on the bed was my own diaper. My own roughly pillow-sized diaper. Picking up a blanket from the floor, I climbed into bed. The mattress squelched beneath me, a reminder that I was probably on the hook for a lot of cleaning fees. Moving my diaper up to the head of the bed, I laid down. Just inches away from my nose, the stink was almost unbearable. No matter how shallow my breath, I couldn’t even turn my thoughts away from the foul stench of my diaper. I thought, given the circumstances, it might prevent me from falling asleep. As it turns out, I was wrong. The fatigue of the day had me knocked out in minutes. … When I awoke in the morning, I took stock of a few things. First: Though the bed had already been sodden, the wetness was warmer and damper than I remembered. “Did I wet the bed?” I asked aloud, rubbing at my eyes. (You did. I wanted to make sure you got your rest, so I made your body release.) Nose wrinkled, I sat up, noting that the tenderness and bruises on my thighs and butt had vanished. “How much control do you have over my body, exactly?” (Enough.) “Hmm,” I said. (You have an idea?) I hadn’t formed it clearly in my head, but the thought crossed my mind more distinctly. I knew about Venom, and even if I hadn’t kept up following anything, I’d read plenty of comic books in my youth. “Like…super powers,” I said. “Can you do that?” I felt my thoughts flutter, disturbingly like having someone rifling through a filing cabinet in my brain. (Interesting.) “Sorry, whatever,” I said, getting to my feet. (No, no. Interesting, because…I can. Perhaps not like this, ‘Superman’, but certainly you’ll be stronger than any other humans.) I hesitated. (No, no way…) (But,) Haven thought. (What would you give me in exchange? We’ve agreed that I’ll depart in a week, after all, to find a new plaything.) I shook my head, walking to the little bathroom sink to get some water. “And I’m sticking to that. I want you gone.” Haven’s black, inky body grabbed me, stopping me. (You need to put on a new diaper.) “I need water,” I grumbled, but I stopped short of provoking Haven and walked over to the pack of disposable diapers I’d purchased. “What are you going to do to me today, anyways?” (I explored some of your memories last night,) Haven said, (Learned more about humans. I think I’m going to get you banned from your mall.) I blinked, eyes widening. “W-what?” (I’m curious at what point they’ll deem you unacceptably putrid–will a full diaper do it on its own, or will you need to leak? Will you have to take your skirt off and display how much you’ve ruined them?) Face turning pink, I tried to protest, but I knew it would be futile. If I wanted Haven gone, I’d have to comply, even if that meant debasing myself publicly. I got dressed. My clothes were in need of a wash, but Haven didn’t care, dressing me up in my old skirt, my shirt. Though it smelled of sweat, that was nothing: Before I could even leave the hotel room, they forced me to squat, to push, to overpower the sweat stink with a far more acute stench that radiated from my new diaper. They at least let me bundle up my old diaper in a trash bag and throw it in the dumpster outside. For the mattress, I just left a note apologizing, before getting on my bicycle and riding away. A full diaper on a bicycle is no pleasant experience. Every bump or crack in the road rattled the seat into my diaper, and my body weight smushed the mess into me. I did notice, though, my lack of fatigue. Knowing Haven was there, what they could do, I realized they were keeping my body energized. Locking it up in front of the Four Pines mall, I whimpered. “So?” (For now, you’re just going to shop for a while. Get close to others. Make sure they notice your stink. If in an hour, nobody’s asked you to leave, we’ll increase your humiliation.) Swallowing, I waddled inside. This early on a weekday, the mall wasn’t packed, but it had plenty of customers. With no particular goal and nothing I genuinely intended to buy, I picked the bookstore by the door for my first target. I weighed my motivations. On one end–I was mortified at the thought of being caught, of having someone recognize me and notice what I’d done, what I was wearing. On the other, at least if I got thrown out early, it’d only be for having a smelly diaper. If Haven forced me to escalate, it would only get worse. By the wrinkled noses of other shoppers, I could tell people noticed. Some even cast glances my way. Haven forced me to bend over to look at books on low shelves, and I knew more than a few people got a good look at my puffy, sagging bottoms, but nobody said anything. I moved on–to a Hot Topic, to a clothes store, to the food court to finally get breakfast. I got looks, and pinched noses, and even a few giggles, but no confrontation. Certainly nobody banned me from the mall. (When you’re done eating,) Haven warned, (Go buy a new pair of white stockings.) (Why?) I asked in my head, silent so that nobody would notice me talking to myself. (Because I’m going to make you leak, and it’ll be more visible in white stockings than bare legs,) Haven explained. I turned pink, but finished eating and got up, waddling to a new clothes store to obey. There were options. I perused over them, finally selecting one that seemed like it’d absorb the most, that’d stain the most visibly. Wearing them out of the dressing room, I– “Brian, let go.” I blinked, glancing over towards the back of the store, to a space well away from any employees or other shoppers. A tall man was standing close to a short girl, uncomfortably close, his hand gripping her arm tightly. He looked smug, she only seemed afraid. “Come on,” he said, looming over her. “It’s my birthday.” “Haven,” I whispered. I was making a lot of assumptions here, but I recognized someone who wanted to be anywhere else when I saw them. (Her heart rate is elevated, and he’s enjoying himself,) Haven said. (I can smell his endorphins. He knows she’s afraid. He likes that.) That was all I needed. I walked right up. I didn’t have a public image to worry about, not when Haven was set on tanking it anyways, and I had confidence that came from having nothing to lose. “Hey,” I interrupted. “The girl said to let go.” They both looked at me. His grip tightened on her arm. “Who the hell do you think you are?” “Nobody,” I said. “But she said to let go.” She shook her head, a warning to me. Not to get involved, for my own safety. Maybe for hers. Part of my confidence flickered–if I handled this poorly, if he left pissed off and with a bone to pick, he might take it out on her later. His nose wrinkled as he finally caught a whiff of me. Recognized what I’d done, what I was wearing. “Did you shit yourself?” he asked. “You’re going to let her walk away,” I shot back, ignoring his question. He did let go of her arm, but only to step up to me, to loom. “And why should I listen to you?” I looked around, then thought, (Haven? I’m kind of out of my depth here. Help me out, I’ll return the favor.) (With pleasure. I need you to touch him.) Uncertain, I reached out, grabbing his arm. I didn’t squeeze hard, but I felt a little of Haven’s inky body make skin contact with him. And, suddenly, the guy turned furious. “Bitch!” he shot, raising his other arm, preparing to throw a fist. (There you go,) Haven thought in the split second. (Now it’s self defense. Good luck.) My eyes widened, but my reflexes took over–Haven’s enhancement allowed me to duck, easily, and his punch sailed past me. I wasn’t prepared to counter attack, but he turned and tried to kick me. I sidestepped as well, dodging easily. (What did you do?) I thought, giggling as another punch soared past me. (Adrenaline and hormone spike, I turned on his fight-or-flight,) Haven explained. (Well, keep it up, this–) A fist connected with my face as I misread a jab. In that moment, Haven shot up, catching the blow with their inky body, and the guy screamed like he’d just punched bricks, recoiling his hand in pain. “What the fuck?” he blurted. It was time to end the fight–and I did, with one well placed kick between his legs. It felt great. The adrenaline surge thrilled me, and as he slumped to the floor, I saw Haven shoot out from me, a little glob latching onto his leg. (And now…to make sure he remembers his lesson.) I don’t know what endorphins flooded the guy’s body, but he began to cry, lying down in a fetal heap, right as an employee caught up with us, looking over the scene. I glanced back at him. He had on a uniform, and looked perplexed. “What–I’m calling security.” I didn’t have an opportunity to explain. A minute later, security showed up, finally taking in questions. I answered them honestly, leaving out the Haven-related details while the guy sobbed on the floor: He’d been harassing the girl, and attacked me. I’d defended myself. Security footage would show that he threw the first punch. Confident that I was going to be exonerated, I asked, “Can I go back to shopping?” “Actually,” the employee said, while the security guard got the girl’s story. “I need to, eh…ask you to leave.” I blinked. “What? He attacked me.” “Yeah, no, it’s because…” he blushed. “You didn’t pay for those stockings before you, uh…peed on them.” I blinked, then looked down. I hadn’t even noticed my diaper leaking, soaking into the stockings just like Haven had warned. “Seriously?” I demanded. (I told you what would happen,) Haven chuckled in my thoughts. Thinking I’d been addressing him, the employee said, “Sorry, it’s policy…it’s not up to me. You don’t have to pay for them, at least.” “So what, I’m banned?” I asked. “Yeah. Sorry, again.” “Thank you,” I said, relieved to be done. I’d gotten my ban, I could finally leave the mall and never look back. That could have gone worse, there was just only one more concern. (Could we do this again?) I inquired of Haven. (If you want to keep my abilities, you’ll need to keep me, too,) they thought back. (And all that entails. I won’t stop humiliating you.) (But you’ll give me your powers?) I thought. (That’s a trade I’m willing to make.) Haven considered for a moment, and I felt them slip into my diaper, toying with me, making me shudder. (You’re certain? You don’t want me gone in a week?) I nodded. (I’m certain.) Haven thrust into me right there in the store. I stifled a gasp in front of the security guard, the employee, the girl I’d just saved. (Alright,) Haven thought. (You have yourself a deal.) I straightened, trying to keep a straight face, to hide that I was being actively fucked from the guard, the employee, the woman I’d saved. Turning, I thought, (May I change before I leave? Or do I have to go back to the hotel and then change?) Haven’s laughter echoed in my brain, not quite coherent words, just pure mirth. (Who said you’re allowed to leave?) Stumbling, I caught myself as–in the same moment they thought this–another probing lash of mass forced its way up my bottom, now filling me in both holes. (What? I got banned!) I thought, biting my lip, breathing hard through my nose. People stared, and even if they didn’t notice my labored breathing or flush face, they definitely noticed the dark yellow stain that ran down my tights and the putrid odor drifting off of my diaper. (You got banned from this store,) Haven thought, their thoughts full of malicious glee. (You need to be banned from the mall. Keep shopping, plaything. If you’re not barred from entry in an hour, we’ll see what happens when you’re wearing only your diaper.) ... I'm proud to announce the addition of an editorial team! I've got extra eyes on my work now, which will hopefully help reduce the number of mistakes that slip through. Everyone give them a big ol' thank you! I'm able to afford editing - and groceries - thanks to the incredibly generosity of my supporters over on Patreon & SubscribeStar. Patreon SubscribeStar

I thought I posted this a week ago, but apparently it didn't post properly 'cuz I can't find it anywhere! Sorry it's late! ... System Booting… User Profile Loading… Profile Loaded. Entering the Totalverse. “So you’re not going to tell me how long?” I asked, practically buzzing with excitement. I knew the answer. I wanted to hear it anyways, a confirmation of my fate. “Not even a hint, baby girl,” Daddy assured me. “If you want out, you’re going to have to earn it the hard way.” We’d both loaded into the full VR space for this, me naked, him fully clothed, and simply spawning the outfit onto my body didn’t feel intimate enough. He wanted to dress me for the occasion. The diaper was the obvious part, and my princess parts twitched just at the sight of the fluffy, plastic-rustling item in his hands. I knew this would be the hard part–the real test was of my willpower, whether I’d be able to make it through without breaking, and judging by how turned on I was just at the start, that was looking unlikely. Still, I wouldn’t give up. I let Daddy push me down onto the floor, raised my bottom off the ground, let him wrap me up in the diaper. The tapes were secured down, sticking in place, snug and cozy around my hips. This was only the foreplay. Next came the object that filled me with both dread and intense, burning excitement. It started with a plastic cover, all black save for the pink biohazard warning printed on the front. An indicator of things to come, I knew. He pulled it up my legs, and with a satisfying click, locked the cover over my waist. There was no key. Instead, it’d been programmed to only unlock if I was able to go without making stickies for… I didn’t know how long. A few days. Maybe a week. Daddy hadn’t told me, and I’d asked him not to. But that wasn’t nearly the least of it, because the back of the black plastic had a large open valve on the back. Daddy rolled me onto my tummy, and I felt another click as a bifurcated pink length of tubing was locked into place onto the valve. Daddy took my face in his hands and pulled it up, so that he could lower a large, solid mask over my nose and mouth. I could feel the rubber make a firm seal over the bridge of my nose, see just the edge of the plastic shell in the edges of my vision, and smell the stale air and slightly chemical plastic odor. One more ‘click’, as the mask’s harness latched into place over the back of my face, pulling the seal tightly against my skin. Every breath I took would be through this mask, and through a mix of snug design and simple programming, I could not remove it of my own volition. Finally, Daddy lifted both ends of the split hose, and with a pair of clicks, locked it into the valves on my mask. A simple conduit was formed, pulling air from around the seat of my diaper up through the hose, directly to my nostrils. I heard a fan whirr to life, and immediately my sense of smell was assaulted by a puff of baby powder and fresh diaper odor. I squirmed. “Does my voice sound funny?” In my own ears, the words sounded muted and muffled, but Daddy shook his head. “I can hear you loud and clear, princess. You’re all dressed up now, so remember–if you cum into your diaper, the clock will reset, and if you decide to give up, I’m going to put your cage back onto you for three months.” Swallowing, I nodded. I’d asked for this–I wanted the humiliation, the looming threat of what would happen as my diaper stayed on. We exited VR, and I examined myself. The AR was imperfect, but close enough–I could still feel my diaper wedged between my thighs, hear the rustle, smell the baby powder scent being pumped up to my nostrils, but a slight cognitive overlap existed. My normal clothes existed overtop the simulated rubber and absorbent matter, and looking down, my diaper and cover seemed to clip through the bottom of my dress. “I’ll see if anyone has better fabric simulation code,” Daddy said. “It doesn’t bother me,” I replied. “Honestly, I’d almost feel bad asking for anything better than this.” I reached down, feeling the front of my diaper through its plastic cover, where my princess parts burned with already-all consuming desire. “So…” I said. “If the timer resets when I cum…” Daddy smirked, scooting up next to me. “I think I see where this is headed. Should we take this upstairs before you use up any more time?” Nodding eagerly, I got to my feet. … My desire for restraint held out only for a couple hours against my burning need to give in to my desires. I felt the first cramps the next morning, and knew by the end of the day that my diaper would be full. Already I’d been huffing the stale odor of pee that’d soaked into my thirsty padding, but I wanted the desperate degradation that would come from packing that diaper seat until it bulged in its cover. On the other hand, I had no idea how long I was expected to keep this going. I could be stuck in this suit for days, and no matter how artificial the simulation, it still felt totally real to me. The mask strapped to my face wasn’t precisely comfortable, but worse than that, I didn’t know if I’d be dooming myself to be stuck far past the point where it stopped being fun if I gave in too early. I finally gave in a little after lunchtime, when the busy rush for my delivery job had died down. Ducking into a gas station bathroom, I fumbled through the simulation to pull down the clothes I wore in reality–plain jeans and underwear–and sat down on the toilet. As far as I could feel, my diaper squelched against the seat, and when I leaned forward a little and pushed, warm, solid mush swelled in the seat of my diaper. The fans in the rig whirred to life, and the sensory results were almost instant. The foul, earthy stink from my rapidly-filling diaper assaulted my nostrils, and my eyes fluttered with deep pleasure and humiliation as I inhaled. My princess parts hummed with need, pleading that I indulge in the moment fully, but my self control fought that need back. I knew, if I gave in, that this would stop being fun and start being torture, that the only thing that could make this continue to be bearable–or even desirable–was my own burning desire. Were I to give in and grind against the front of my squelching, sagging diaper for a minute or two, I’d be trading who-knows-how-many days of discomfort for a mere moment of satisfaction. Standing, I flushed the toilet and pulled my pants up, struggling to close the button and zip them up over the bulk of my diaper, feeling the denim press my overfull padding against my body. Anyone who saw me would just see a girl in jeans with an inexplicable blush. They didn’t know that I was constantly huffing in the fumes of my own humiliation. Unable to keep my desires to myself, I texted Daddy. ‘Something happened…’ His response came swiftly. ‘Aww, did you make a stinky diaper? Breathe deep, baby girl. You only need to wait another–oh, right, it’s a surprise. Enjoy!’ Squirming, I considered pleading for a hint as to how long I’d be trapped with a direct conduit from the seat of my diaper to my own burning nostrils, but I knew he wouldn’t tell. That was his secret to keep, and mine to wonder about. All I can say is, for the rest of the work day, I was extremely distracted. … “Please?” I whimpered, kneeling at Daddy’s feet. Another day had passed, and my diaper had swollen even further. The saturated, sodden padding around my princess parts had me blushing at every slight movement, and my constant stink had saturated my thoughts, slowly forcing out my ability to think of anything beyond my predicament. I’d wondered if I would go noseblind, but the sensation was so intense that it hadn’t had the opportunity to occur, and as I re-loaded my diaper up, packing it fuller, the stink refreshed itself. At least rash wasn’t a problem–we’d left that off the simulation on purpose, and my skin wouldn’t rash from simulated mess. Daddy smirked down at me. “I’m sorry, baby girl, but no. We can’t take your mask off and let you forget what a stinker you are, can we?” “But…” I stammered. “But I want to…” There were technically ways to object to his conclusion. I was able to partially ignore the simulation when I needed to eat or drink, suspending the simulation of the rubber mask strapped over my nose and mouth for long enough to get fuel into my body, but that was only due to necessity. And as much as I claimed otherwise, having Daddy’s cock in my mouth wasn’t a necessity. I knew it was a point of contention for him too–all his favorite holes were occupied and covered up–but he got more satisfaction out of seeing me whimper and plead than from giving in to my begging. All I knew was that I wanted pleasure, and if I couldn’t get it for myself, then focusing that energy on satisfying Daddy would have to serve as a sufficient substitute. Eyes huge and desperate, I asked, “Can I use my hands then?” He smiled broadly and nodded down at me. “Maybe…but first I need you to beg a little more for me.” … Four days. Four. I was on my last day until the weekend came, which was good, because my brain had been utterly consumed by one thing and one thing only, and that left little room for work. I stank. The smell of my diaper had drifted in through my nose and replaced my adult thoughts. I felt perpetually high, the perpetual cloud of mushy odors intoxicating. To do anything other than whimper and grind into my diaper took active, constant effort, and the desire to slip further into the smelly haze sang to me like a constant siren song. Near the end of my work day, I stopped into a gas station restroom, sinking into my massive mess over the toilet seat. I had to stifle a moan, my face burning red as I pushed out even more mass into my diaper. By now, it just seemed to vanish into the ever-swelling mountain of smushy weight, but this one seemed more intense than ever–more solid, more squelchy, more smelly. Wandering out of the bathroom in a daze, I finished the last two deliveries and puttered home, waddling heavily inside. Daddy was already there, and when he looked up at me, his expression went from amusement to surprise. “Baby girl–” “Hi, Daddy,” I said, falling into his arms. This was where I wanted to be. “Baby,” he repeated, reaching down to squeeze the back of my diaper. “Erm…you forgot to pull down your pants.” I blinked, confused. I…what? But my diaper… Oh… Oh no… My diaper wasn’t real. I knew that. But I’d forgotten to slip off my pants and underwear last time I used the toilet, and while I loaded up my simulated diaper, I also messed myself, in real life, without noticing. My face flushed bright red, blushing from forehead to chin. “I–um–” “Shh, it’s okay,” Daddy said, hugging me tighter. “I doubt anyone noticed. This is why you need diapers, silly.” Thinking back to strange expressions in the gas station I’d stopped to use the bathroom at, I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t argue. Sniffing, I got a pure whiff of my stink. “How much longer, Daddy?” He paused. “Alright, I’ll tell you. I’d planned on making you wait until the end of the weekend, but if you’re too overwhelmed we can stop now.” The weekend… Two and a half days, give or take. I could wait that long. I shook my head. “I can make it, Daddy.” He smiled. “Alright, then, but let’s get you into a real diaper too–can’t have you ruining anymore of your big girl clothes, can we?” Nodding, I followed him to the bedroom to get clean, without really getting clean at all. … No thinking, just stinking. I could barely move. I’d gone past horny, any slight movement and squelch sent shivers down my spine. I was just a smelly, drooling thing, my mind overtaken by the state of my diaper. I’d lost track of whether my real, non-simulated diaper was clean or dirty. All I knew was stink, and sniff, and whimper. Daddy walked in, returning from…something. I didn’t know how long he’d been gone. He looked at me, surprised. “Have you been sitting there since I left?” I nodded, pawing impotently at the front of my bulging diaper, through the rustling plastic cover. “I’ve been gone for three hours,” he said. “What were you doing?” Opening my mouth, I mumbled a response, something like, ‘Stinking’, though the words were jumbled. Smirking, Daddy crouched down in front of me. “I think you’ve been a good girl all week,” he said. “Filling your diapers like a champ. Are you ready for your reward?” My…reward? I fought to focus my thoughts. He meant…OH! YES! Nodding eagerly, I said, “Please?” Daddy toggled something, and then reached up and pinched his nose. “Oh, it’s–escaping the suit, some. How can you breathe?” I just nodded again, eyes huge and pleading. Reaching down, Daddy pressed his hand into the front of my diaper, squelching everything against my princess parts. “You may, baby girl.” That was all the permission I needed. Throwing myself into the act, I began to rock into his hand, humping the front of my diaper furiously. I didn’t need long. I’d practically been edging for a week. Fire and ice and pleasure so intense it turned my limbs to jelly rolled through me, and I collapsed forward, into Daddy’s arms. I wrinkled my nose. “Um–” He pulled the mask free of my face, and I got my first whiff of comparatively clean air in a week. From his own expression, the smell was still bad, but the intensity was so comparatively minor that to me it was fresh daisies and spring wind. Kissing me on the forehead, Daddy said, “You did good, baby girl. I’m proud of you.” “Thanks, Daddy,” I replied. “Can we do this again sometime?” He nodded. “Of course, baby girl.” I squirmed in delight. ... 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Chapter 17, New Deal Grace awoke with a yawn, rolling over in bed to feel something rustle beneath her. Not her diaper–a paper fast food bag. Sitting up, she looked around. She hadn’t gone to her own bed, she hadn’t even changed out of her day clothes–she’d fallen asleep next to Pearce, snuggled up next to him, their bodies pressed together. But now, she found herself alone in Pearce’s crumby, messy bed. “Pearce?” She called, getting to her feet. Her diaper squelched when she sat up–she couldn’t remember if she’d used it while stoned, or if she’d been dry when she fell asleep. Now, she was painfully thirsty and had a headache coming on, and she’d been left alone. Waddling out of the room, she looked around for Pearce. Maybe he’d gone to the bathroom, but no–the bathroom door was wide open and she couldn’t see him. Uncertain where else to go, she shuffled downstairs. She didn’t even know what time it was. Checking her phone, Grace found it dead. Of course it was, she hadn’t had a chance to recharge it the night before. She found Pearce snoring on the couch, fast asleep. Why did he leave? Grace wondered, staring at him. And–why do I care? Grace pushed on his shoulder, nudging him to consciousness. “Hey. Wake up.” “Huh?” he mumbled, blinking his eyes groggily awake. “What?” “I’m thirsty,” she said. “And we didn’t do, like, any of the bedtime stuff you were supposed to do last night.” “You cheated,” he replied, shrugging. “I think I deserve a pass.” She glanced away, guiltily. “Technically I didn’t cheat. But I did lie.” “Same thing,” Pearce said, rolling up to his feet. “Ok, I’m putting on coffee.” Before she could think better of it, Grace blurted, “Why did you come sleep downstairs?” Pearce shrugged. “You were snoring, and I couldn’t sleep with the noise. You seemed cozy, so I let you take the bed.” His tone suggested he’d done her a favor. Grace swallowed. She didn’t feel grateful, but she thanked him anyways. “I appreciate it.” “Also we’re going to have to talk about the cheating thing.” Pearce rubbed his eyes, yawning again. “That wasn’t cool.” She looked away, down at her feet. “Yeah. Sorry. Again.” He shrugged, changing the subject. “Pancakes?” “Sure,” Grace said. The clock on the stove showed it was past 11 AM, horrifyingly late for her to have slept until. She sat down at the kitchen table, waiting patiently. Pearce didn’t say much, even when he gave her a bottle of coffee, mixed up how she liked. Do I say something? She thought. I mean. One of us has to, right? She looked at him, trying to read his thoughts. His shoulders were stiff, body language uncomfortable. She’d upset him. Had he really left the bed because she’d been snoring? As he finished frying up pancakes from ready-mix batter, “So, um…” she said. “Is one of us…should we talk?” “What about?” he asked. “You know…” she started. “Um…” Her train of thought was interrupted by the back door, opening up. Brains walked in, removing a pair of heavy headphones and blinking at the two of them. “Pancakes for lunch?” “Really, really late breakfast,” Grace clarified, exhaling. Brains made this easy–as oblivious as he was to emotional tension, he could defuse the whole room. Or, at least, delay an emotionally fraught conversation. “You’re right,” Pearce said. “We should talk.” Grace looked between him and Brains in surprise. Surely this conversation should happen in private, not– “Brains,” Pearce said. “The rules have some problems, and I think we need to address them.” Oh. Okay. “Sure,” Brains said. “Happy to help.” And so, the Second Rules Round Table commenced, with Brains served as their sole moderator. “Talking about game theory, we left an obvious exploit in the rules,” Brains said. He’d set up the whiteboard again, which still had the rules as written from their previous discussion listed. “It assumes a certain degree of good faith. I think we can confidently say that this was a bit naive.” Grace squirmed. Being the bigger person sucked, and having to admit to it over and over just made her discomfort grow. “But,” Brains continued, “On the other hand, Pearce–going by the book, you didn’t give Grace a bath before bed, didn’t change her, and didn’t actually put her to bed, let alone enforce her bedtime last night–and Grace, you didn’t stick to your bedtime either. Neither of you were up on time, either. Pretty much just a complete collapse all around. If we were to follow the rules, you’d both have, like, half a dozen penalties give or take, depending on how it all tallies up. More for Pearce than Grace, but still, a couple hours in time out at least just for all the stuff around bedtime.” “I’ll do it if she will,” Pearce said. “I can own up to my mistakes.” “Yeah, I’m not forfeiting either,” Grace replied. “Screw it.” “My point being,” Brains said. “I think you’ve both proved your point. The only way this is going to dissolve is if you both stop following the rules completely–like you already did–and just call it a truce. You didn’t, like, sign a magical contract forcing you to keep playing.” Grace looked over at Pearce, considering her options. Walk away? Just let this all end without a winner? Eugh. No way. He seemed to come to the same conclusion. Both of them turned to face Brains, and said in unison, “Fuck that.” Brains shrugged. “Okay then–how do we want to handle all this?” “I promise not to deliberately leak again,” Grace suggested. “Is that good enough?” “If I trusted that promise,” Pearce shot back. “What if she just wasn’t allowed to hold it? No way to leak on purpose then.” “Yeah, and how would you enforce that?” Grace asked, rolling her eyes. “You’d still have to trust me.” “Right.” Pearce sighed. “So we take off the rule about leaking.” “No,” Grace replied. “Absolutely not.” “It would stop your bad behavior,” Pearce said. “You made that rule unuseable, so we shouldn’t have to use it. Right, Brains?” “If you don’t both agree to it, I’m not sure–” Brains started. “And then, what, you just make me ruin all the clothes you buy?” Grace asked, cutting in. “Come on, we both know the minute you lose a hard requirement making you do something, you’ll forget about it.” He winced. She swallowed. “Sorry.” Pearce shook his head. “Okay, fine. I’ve got a better idea.” Grace perked up. “Something that doesn’t involve just trusting me?” “Yeah. You want this bet to have an end date?” he looked at Brains, who shrugged. “You do what you want,” Brains said. “It’s a free country, and all.” “Then we stick with the rules as written,” Pearce said. Grace frowned. “How’s that a solution?” Brains got it first. “You play them exactly as written. Antagonistically.” “You want to try and make your diapers flood?” Pearce asked. “Fine. Piss away. You’re the one who set the pace, I’m just going to keep up with it–you do whatever you can to make me fail without breaking the rules, and I do the exact same thing. If you’re going to try and flood your diapers, I’ll just have to take countermeasures. If you’re going to be an annoying brat, I’ll have to find ways to shut you up.” On the one hand, it somewhat broke the character of the bet. A real caretaker wouldn’t be antagonizing his charge, trying to infuriate them or push them into certain actions. Then again, a real baby wouldn’t have deliberately made her diaper leak to mess with the caretaker. It signaled a shift. An acknowledgement that this had moved beyond what they’d originally said, and that the game was simpler: Outlast, out-annoy, outstubborn the other for dominance. Grace knew she could win that. She stuck out her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” They shook on it, again. Pearce smiled. “Alright. Well then, I’ve got some orders to make, and–” “Ahem,” Brains said. “You owe three hundred bucks to the beer fund, if that’s how you’re playing it. And Grace… uh, you’ve racked up a lot of time out.” Grace swallowed. “Right. Uh…right. Okay.” Pearce staggered too, though, doing the math in his head. “Well…at least we’ll be stocked on beer for a few months.” His own punishment made Grace feel a little better. “Oh, and one more thing,” Grace said. “I’m not in time out yet, right?” “That’s right,” Pearce said. “Though you’d better march your butt over and…oh, wait, don’t–” Grace let her bladder go before his objection could finish, flooding her already-sodden diaper. It leaked almost instantly, staining her baby blue dress. “Alright, make that three hundred fifty bucks.” And, to add insult to injury, she stuck her tongue out at Pearce. It just felt right. Instead of looking annoyed, though, he just grinned. “Oh, I’m going to love the look on your face once your new clothes arrive.” ... I have some Patreon related news! I'll soon be replacing my 5$ tier with an 8$ tier on both Patreon and Subscribestar, and introducing new weekly captions as bonus content! If you sign up for the 5$ tier before the end of the month, you'll get to keep those benefits forever without the price raising, so now's your chance to lock in the discounted tier forever! Plus, The Baby Bet is now two chapters ahead for subscribers! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thank you so much! We went back and forth a lot about this chapter, and ended up writing it like a sort of 'bottle episode' in an anime. I'm really pleased with the results. ^^

(I wasn't totally sure whether to put this in the Story channel or the Art channel, since it contains both. If I'm in the wrong spot, please someone let me know and I'll move it!) I'm dabbling with captions! Please let me know what you think - I'm quite pleased with how it turned out, but uncertain if I want to devote my time to making more of these. Feedback would be very much appreciated! Art is by HofBondage, everyone please give him a big thank you for lending out some of his sketches for me to use!

Thank you for reading! ^^

I hope it helps!

“Hnng–” Jake grunted, struggling to drag himself across the floor, arm extended fully to paw at the box a few feet away. He couldn’t. Even straining as hard as he could, the box sat just out of reach. It held his last diaper, the last reserve to keep him from just laying in his own puddle, and no matter how much he stretched his arms, he just couldn’t reach. The whole apartment stank so badly he’d almost lost all sense of smell. Jake’s whole world was mush and sag and dirty diaper smell, drifting up through his nostrils into his brain, rendering him unable to think about anything except how utterly and fully he’d ruined the layers upon layers of diapers he had on. Surely the magic had to be ready to buckle by now, with this much weight straining beneath squelching padding and a tenuous film of enchantment, but if it was close to failure, he had no way of knowing. And then he heard his door handle jiggle. Cynthia knew which rock outside was a plastic fake with his spare key in it, so it had to be her. She’d finally come to the rescue, after waiting almost twelve hours and forcing him to spend the night in a packed-full diaper. The skunk waltzed in, looking down on him with a wicked grin. She’d put on a pink miniskirt and knee-high boots, and from Jake’s vantage on the ground, looking up at her, he could see she’d foregone wearing panties. Shutting the door, she leered down at him. “Aww, what do we have here?” “Help,” he whimpered. “I’m…I’m stuck.” “Aww,” she cooed, circling around him, planting her boot on the mass of his diaper and pushing down, making it squelch against him. He let out a helpless groan, and she giggled. “I know what happened–you wanted to see if you could stink as badly as me, didn’t you?” “No…” He shook his head, and Cynthia’s smile turned even more hostile. “If you want my help, then say it,” she demanded. “I…” he started, knowing she wasn’t kidding around. Cynthia wasn’t about to let this die, not while she had him helpless and ripe for humiliation. “I wanted to see if I could stink as badly as you…” “Where’d you get the dump truck?” she snickered, walking over to examine the papers on his coffee table, where he’d written out the spell that’d gone all wrong. “Or, well in your case, probably two dump trucks–I’ve never seen a pamper packer quite as enthusiastic as you.” Lying on his back, Jake’s blush deepend. “It’s the spell!” he whimpered. She just nodded, thumbing through his notes. “Uh-huh. And you’re not just trying new and innovative ways to peel your wallpaper? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a certified biohazard that you’ve mushed together.” “H-hey,” he protested. “It’s just a stupid spell that went wrong!” “Just a spell?” she asked, looking over at him. “Did the spell make you put on your diaper, stinky? Did it force you to squat down and push a huge, smelly load into it? Or did you want to do that, and the spell made it so you couldn’t pretend otherwise?” “Um–” he started. “Don’t worry,” she explained, holding up the papers. “I know how to undo this.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank–” “But first, I think a little demonstration is in order,” she said, standing up again. “Because you need to understand one thing, baby boy–you’ll never be able to stink as good as me.” Jake swallowed. He didn’t like where this was going, not one bit–not as she walked over to the almost empty package of diapers, not as she took it out, not as she produced a sharpie from her purse and began scrawling a note on the front in her floral, swoopy handwriting. “Hold on,” he said, shaking his head. “Come on, Cynthia–just let me out, okay?” She laid down next to him to pull the diaper up beneath her skirt, taping it around her black-and-white tail and getting it snug and secure. “What, and lose out on this opportunity to prove that I’m better than you?” she asked. He nodded. “Yes, then–I mean, no? But–” She laughed, moving to stand over Jake. “Trust me–no matter how foul you smell right now, I’ll always be stronger, better, and smellier, and I don’t even have to try.” Jake tried to wriggle away, but the sheer weight of his diaper had him immobile. He tried to shield his face with his hands, but Cynthia pushed them aside, squatted down, and knelt so that his arms were pinned under her legs and her diaper was settled right on the front of his snout, her skirt draped over his face so that he had nothing in his field of vision save for her diaper. Crossing his eyes, Jake could make out the writing on the front of the padding, all in swoops and curls. ‘This mess is the property of Cynthia, Queen of Stink’. He swallowed, and sucked in a breath, and then heard Cynthia groan with satisfaction as she began to push. Her diaper didn’t swell as impressively as his, but given the circumstances, it barely needed to. The padding swelled right around his snout, filling out as it swelled. And Cynthia was right–even desensitized to the constant fumes from his own mess, her own accident was an order of magnitude worse. Jake moaned, his whole reality taken up by Cynthia’s putrid diaper smushing out over his face. He felt her rock forward, grinding the front of the diaper against his nose, accosting him with the smell and the mush while she in turn moaned with satisfaction. Head reeling, Jake fought to free his hands, and Cynthia moved her legs to let him. Instead of trying to push her free, though, he pawed for his own diaper, trying and failing to reach down and rub against the front. With so much squelching, swollen padding around him, there was no way that the bulge from his erection could be visible, but he felt it all the same and desperately wanted to push against it for satisfaction. From where he lay, though, without leverage, he just couldn’t reach, and had to simply thrust into the squelching padding while Cynthia ground against his face, burning out his nostrils from the stink of her diaper. The frustration he felt was all encompassing, the desire to stop pretending and just love his devastated pile of diapers frustrated by his physical immobility. Finally, ultimately, Cynthia groaned and her body shuddered, sinking her weight onto his snout for just a little longer. Sensing she was about to get up, he took one last desperate sniff, an action that the skunk very acutely noticed. “See?” she asked, rolling off him. “You do love it, don’t you?” He nodded. He couldn’t pretend any longer. “Say it,” she demanded, grinning down at him. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.” “I love how much you stink,” he whimpered. “I love how much I’ve used my diaper.” “Uh-huh,” she said, rolling onto her back. “And you wish you could stink as bad as me?” “And I wish I could stink as bad as you,” he repeated. Reaching into the box that his diapers had shipped in, Cynthia took out the pack of wipes, pulling up her skirt. “Well, I’ve got good news for you–and a little reward for being so honest.” “Hmm?” he asked, while she undid the tapes on her diaper and began to clean herself up. “Just this once, I think you can live the fantasy,” she said, going to town with the wipes. Roughly cleaned, she balled up the diaper, so that the message on the front was still clearly visible. Taking that diaper, she got up onto her knees and set it down. “Roll over,” she instructed. He shook his head. “I can’t.” Rolling her eyes, she pushed her hands under his back, straining slightly to flip him onto his belly. The mass of his diaper flopped down, and he found himself half-crouching, on hands and knees, all that weight between his thighs. Then, Cynthia pulled on the back waistband of his diaper and, with a giggle, shoved her own bulging bundle down the back. “There,” she said. “Just pretend that came from you.” He groaned, he couldn’t help it. Wriggling his hips, he thrust into his diaper. On all fours, he had leverage, and enough bulk to get friction and pleasure. Just one thrust had him moaning, and by the second, he knew he’d never had it this good before. “There,” Cynthia purred, condescension in her tone as she watched him. Her hand drifted down, pressing into the front of Jake’s diaper, giving him something to thrust against. “Just enjoy it, stinker.” It took him only two more thrusts to get satisfaction, and then he groaned, spurting into his diaper harder than he ever had in his life. The padding was so swollen that it couldn’t take more liquid, and he felt it trickle on his thighs, the mind-shattering climax making his knees buckle so that he sank into the weight of the diaper. And then, a second later, that weight vanished. Not completely–he still felt the bulk of diapers around his waist, but they were clean, and fresh, and the pounds upon pounds of mass that he’d packed into them was gone. Exhausted, exhilarated, he rolled onto his back, panting for breath. “Good news and bad news time,” Cynthia said, smirking down at him. “That enchantment you made, it’s got enough energy to last a good year or so–so you’d better get used to wearing around your toilet.” Reaching down, she patted the front of his layered diapers, the beach-ball sized bulk of absorbent material he’d spent the last two days taping himself in. Just the slight touch made him shudder, the post-coital sensitivity intense and unavoidable. “And, well–there’s not much to do about the way you made yourself hypercontinent. Regular accidents, those are going to keep going.” Sweaty and satisfied, he barely cared. “What’s the good news?” “Now you know how to clean up, silly,” she teased. “And, since you seem to really enjoy it, it shouldn’t take you long. Just a couple thrusts in your fudgy huggies and you’ll be all better.” Jake reeled. He’d be stuck like this for an eternity, and the only way to mitigate it was… well… He could think of worse fates to be stuck with. Sitting up, he looked down at the diaper. One thing had changed–when the diapers had self-cleaned, they’d also rearranged themselves, fixing up the sagging or torn tapes, unstretching the worn plastic, and generally making it all tidy and nice. And, the twelfth diaper–the one Cynthia had signed, was on the outside, her signature plain as day. Wrapped up in those diapers, the label of ‘This mess’ applied to him more than to the diaper’s contents. He couldn’t deny it. “This mess is the property of Cynthia, Queen of Stink”. ... Support the author on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling Or on SubscribeStar! https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Lyra, you've left me no choice. I had to get fanart made, that scene was just *too cute*.

Hello everyone and welcome to Virtual Fiction story contest! This contest is for writers, new and old, and I'm doing it because I thought it would be fun! RULES: Please read all of the rules. If a story doesn't follow the rules, I'll be unable to select it as a winner, even if the issue is minor. If I notice an issue before judgement starts, I'll try to point it out so that it can be edited, but I make no promises that I'll catch everything. If anything is unclear, please feel free to ask for clarification! 1: Theme: All stories must pertain to Virtual Reality, Augmented Reality, or some other near-future simulation. All stories must also include AB/DL themes. I encourage the use of the Totalverse/Toddleverse setting I've used in several of my own stories, but this is not required. 2. All characters must be 18+. No exceptions. 3. The story must be written after the announcement of this contest. No pre-existing stories. 4. Story must be be posted on DailyDiapers, with 'Virtual Fiction Story Contest' in the title of the post. The beginning of the post must also mention that the story is being created as a part of this contest and include a link to this page, so others can easily find it. You should also link your story in the replies to this post so that I am gaurunteed to see it. 5. All stories must be submitted by or before January 1st, 2023. All stories posted afterwards will not be entered. 6. All stories must be complete. The total word count shall not exceed 10,000 words. (I've got to read them and judge them all, after all!) Prizes: Prizes may be redeemed as cash, via paypal, or as a donation to DailyDiapers in your name, or as a story commission from myself. I may choose to add additional prizes depending on the number of entries; for now, only First Place will be guaranteed a prize. This is, in part, to avoid low quality stories being rushed in at the very end to capitalize on the fact that an extra prize is available. (If additional prizes are added, First Place will not change - It will still be the same reward.) First prize will be 75$, or a single chapter (2,000-2,500 word) story commission, written by me, Peculiar Changeling. JUDGING: Judging will be done by me. I will be judging stories on the following factors: Readability (Quality prose that's easy to read, free of typos and mistakes, free of continuity errors, etc.) Use of the theme (How is the theme integrated? How effectively is it used?) Enjoyability (If it's smut, is it fun smut? If it's character-drama focused, do I feel for the characters and want them to succeed?) I will do my best to be impartial, and to complete judging on a timely basis! Questions & Answers: (Additional questions will be added to this list as I answer them) Q: Can I enter multiple stories? A: No. Q: Does the story have to be completed by the deadline? A: Yes Q: Is there a minimum or maximum length the story has to be? A: The story cannot be longer than 10,000 words, but there is no minimum. If you can tell an effective story in 100 words, go for it! Q: Isn't this similar to that other story contest that someone else ran? A: Yes! I hadn't realized that running a contest on the forum was even an option until I saw @Kasarberang's contest. I'm shamelessly copying certain elements so as to avoid reinventing the wheel! Q: Why are you doing this? A: For fun! Disclaimer: This contest was approved by @DailyDi ahead of time. LIST OF ENTERED STORIES:

Chapter Fifteen “I don’t necessarily see the need to be here for this.” Quinn, the diminutive half-orc, stared up at the rafters of the office. Reclined on a couch, propped up by pillows almost as big as he was, he fidgeted in spite of the effort spent to make the environment comfortable. A fire crackled in the hearth, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow, and Brick had brewed the adventurer a fresh pot of his favorite tea. “My thoughts don’t need fixing, I think I’ve got a good handle on my head.” Brick adjusted his half moon spectacles, leaning forward ever so slightly in his large, comfortable chair. He’d heard this objection before, and knew how to react to the misconception. “I’m sure you do,” the orc therapist offered, “but therapy doesn’t have to be about fixing things. You’re quite athletic, you’ve got a good handle on your physique, but you still exercise and practice to stay fit, don’t you?” Quinn tilted his head, reconsidering. Brick knew immediately that his suggestion had landed, as the half-orc relaxed a bit. “I suppose it’s like having a sparring partner,” he suggested. “Alright, certainly. So what should we talk about?” “How did you get into adventuring?” Brick asked. “That’s quite a career commitment, after all.” … Hadrian shrugged, scratching his chin. Brick knew the wizard’s type, though he cast no judgment. Hadrian had been the skeptic from the moment he lay down on the couch, and even now Brick suspected that–rather than thinking to answer the question honestly–Hadrian was considering what reaction each of his answers would give. A colleague of Brick’s, Serendipity, had given him the referral on this party. She’d suggested they talk to him, get a general assessment before they move on to more adventures, and from the little background Brick knew, he had to agree. Adventuring created stress and conflict at the best of times, and this party had flown far from the best of times. Settling on a response, Hadrian said, “I originally trained in seminary. I knew I wanted to be a cleric, whether that ended up being someone serving in a temple, or a servant going out to do holy works, but it didn’t work out. Just a matter of a bad fit–there weren’t any, horrible fallings out or anything, I just trained for about a year before deciding I would be better off practicing wizardry, and serving Yuelral in a more personal way. You know, not openly as a representative, but just trying to embody her values in my day-to-day.” Brick made a mental note of this–not a thought committed to memory, but a note from his psyche transcribed directly onto the paper in front of him. His clients had a tendency to grow nervous when he got out a pen, so he’d invested in the magical tool to put them at ease. … “Don’t you need to take notes?” Sandra asked, fidgeting. She was half-laying on the couch, but one leg was draped over the side, tapping anxiously against the floor. “Or do you just have one of those ironclad memories, like a Luxodon?” Brick smiled. He could already tell Sandra had a lot on her mind–she led a party, and had made a habit of concerning herself with everyone else’s needs. Making sure everyone else was taken care of. “I’ve got a psychic notepad,” he confirmed with her. “It’s alright.” She laid back, content with that answer, though she continued to fidget. “So, anyways, once I’d caught the questing bug, I knew I had to do it for a living. I’d always been cunning, or at least that’s what my parents said, so I started training to join the guild as a rogue.” Gently, Brick reached down, sliding the wooden cube puzzle on his table forward. It had no solution, but it gave his clients something to fiddle with. Sandra just kept tapping her foot, looking around the room. … “I never saw it as a commitment, really,” Tarja said. “My moms raised me out in a cave, deep in a mountain range to the south. I don’t even think of myself as a ranger, really–these aren’t skills I acquired to fit any sort of guild box, it’s just what I do. I would have been content to just go see the world, subsisting wherever I needed, but Sandra and I bumped into each other when she was just looking to put together her party. I helped her out, we bonded, and when she offered me a job I decided sticking with a group wouldn’t be so bad.” Brick nodded. “So Sandra’s the reason you’re an adventurer today?” … “You could say that,” Hadrian said. “That’s a funny story, actually.” The half-elf sat forward. He’d refused to lay down and instead sat on the edge of the couch, so he could watch Brick’s expression. Brick didn’t mind the suspicion, though the constant squeaks as Hadrian adjusted his posture, rubbing his latex bodysuit against itself, was a bit of a distraction. “Sandra and I were both still apprenticing for different parties, looking to join the guild proper–or, well, I wasn’t so much ‘apprenticing’ as ‘doing chores for older adventurers’. I was getting pretty sick of it, thinking about dropping out entirely and finding a tower to squat in after all, but I’d already paid my dues for six months so I decided to stick it out. Her party and mine teamed up on a quest, they were hired to rescue a nobleman and we’d been picked up to kill an ice dragon, and it turned out the dragon had taken the nobleman. Point is, we were setting up camp outside the dragon’s lair, and Sandra and I were the only ones not gonna be going inside, and we got to talking–” … “Naked!” Sandra laughed, throwing her hands up in a broad gesture. Brick chuckled, raising an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected the story to go in that direction, but it’d been an amusing tale. “The whole squad?” “All of them,” Sandra confirmed. “We just about got tossed out of the guild, but since nobody got hurt and it got the troll out of the way so they could deal with the dragon, they decided to call it a wash. Still made us clean up, but hey–we were apprentices, we’d probably have been tasked with that anyways. Hadrian and I decided to form our own party once we became fully fledged members, and from there I picked up Quinn, and Tarja.” … Frowning down at the little wooden puzzle, Quinn shrugged. “I saw the job listing it on a poster board. ‘Help wanted–warrior, barbarian, or similar skill set. Must be willing to travel.’ Figured, hey, it beat what I was doing then. I never figured it’d lead to, y’know–” he gestured at his ample breasts and shrugged. “This. I don’t really mind, though.” Brick didn’t get the sense that Quinn was lying in particular, but he followed up anyways, adjusting his minute spectacles. “It doesn’t bother you to have your body changed to something typically seen as feminine?” “Oh, this is nothing, you should see my armor,” Quinn said, flipping one part of the puzzle to the side. “A frilly pink dress that protects my like nothing else. And no, it doesn’t bother me–I have six sisters, and they’re all older than me. Always fighting, too. I got the sense from one of the local boys once that ‘girly’ meant ‘bad’ or ‘weak’ and I brought that attitude home, lost a tooth for my troubles.” He chuckled, but Brick didn’t. “They attacked you?” Quinn laughed again. “My youngest sister–Tiana–challenged me to a wrestling match. One of my baby teeth was loose already, and about the third time she pinned me in a row, I was wriggling and it got knocked loose. Point is, she made her point. I don’t see a problem with girly. If you told me a year ago I’d be wearing a dress into battle, I’d have just laughed. The thing with the tentacles, though…” … “It’s your guess or mine whether the wizard is screwing with our heads as much as our bodies, or if he just picked stuff out to suit us in particular,” Hadrian admitted. “I mean, I don’t–I don’t like this, but it’s hard not to think about it as a turn on after a while. My sex drive didn’t go away, even if it works differently now, and…yeah.” Brick wasn’t surprised by the direction their conversation had taken. Sex was the natural direction when so much of their problems related to a sexually predatious wizard. “How do you feel about that?” Leaning back, Hadrian declared, “Fucked up! I mean, I can have fun with it, but I don’t like that I’m having fun with something I didn’t choose to do. I’m not saying there’s an issue with latex, or…y’know,” he gestured at his crotch, sealed beneath a layer of latex and a diaper, “Magical futzing with what’s down there, but I didn’t pick it.” “It’s a consent violation,” Brick said, simply. “Exactly.” He shrugged, grabbing a pillow and pulling it to his side. “You know I said it didn’t work out for me in the seminary, right? It was because I never felt like I had a choice in anything. Prayers at a particular time, magic limited to what we could channel from Yuelral. When I tried to propose ideas, ways to bring the faith to more people, it got shot down unless I could cite doctrine to back it up. It just felt so… stifling.” “And being a wizard grants you freedom?” Brick asked, making another mental note. “Yeah. I can cast the spells I want, do good deeds the way I want. And don’t get me wrong–the clerics in my seminary weren’t dicks about it, they didn’t try and stop me, it just…didn’t fit.” He pulled the pillow a little closer, not quite hugging it, but not quite not hugging it either. Brick didn’t need to do much here, except encourage the half-elf to keep talking. “What do you mean?” “So, for example–and I’m not saying this was a good idea, to be clear–I had this idea. Our seminary ran a food drive, serving food to the needy. A lot of them were able bodied, they had drive, they just couldn’t find work to buy food for themselves–I suggested a sort of program where we could acquire some land, let them farm on it and keep whatever they grew, provide for themselves.” Gesturing stiffly at the ceiling, talking with his hands, he gave Brick a sense of frustration that didn’t go away over time. “I suggested it, and wasn’t told no, but I didn’t get any support either. I just got a nod, and a, ‘That sounds promising,’ and not a single one of my peers helped. I don’t know if they even liked the idea. They didn’t actually care what I had to say, I didn’t feel like I mattered.” “That sounds frustrating,” Brick said. “I’m not surprised you left.” “Thanks. And I mean–that’s what’s great about being an adventurer with Sandra. I’m not just there to cast spells, I’m part of her team.” … Tarja exhaled. “It’s my fault. I almost broke up the team.” “You didn’t choose to be cursed,” Brick pointed out. “You can’t control the decisions of others. It sounds like you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself.” “It’s not that I got cursed,” Tarja said. “It’s that I lied. Sandra works so hard to keep us all safe, keep us working together, and I kept it from her anyways. She knew, and she gave me the chance to come clean, and I kept lying anyways. It is my fault.” “Alright, let’s explore that. Why did you feel the need to lie?” Brick asked. The question was open-ended, but Tarja didn’t seem to see it that way. “I’m not saying Sandra’s untrustworthy. She’s not. I’d trust her with my life, I just–I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking, I just lied.” “I’m sure you had a reason,” Brick said, in a tone to suggest that he wasn’t calling her wrong, just suggesting that there might be more to it. “Not a good one,” Tarja said. “Our motives aren’t always going to be perfectly logical, and that’s okay,” Brick said. “Do you know why you did it?” “I…” Tarja let out a breath, shaking her head. “I said it was because Sandra had too much on her plate and didn’t need to worry about my problems, too.” “That’s reasonable,” Brick noted. “It’s a lie, too. It’s lies all the way down,” Tarja confessed. “I just…I couldn’t. I couldn’t confront the fact that my body was being changed, again, by some asshole we barely know. I’m not–I haven’t been me for a long time, now, and it just seems like the longer we keep going, the less me I am.” Brick only nodded. He didn’t need to interrupt this. “I can barely walk straight unless I piss myself,” Tarja said. “And every time I do, it’s just reinforcing how much power that–that fucking wizard has over me. My voice is getting deeper. I can feel my body changing, drifting further and further away from myself, and the longer it goes on the more I worry that no spell is going to be able to fix this. I had a potion that was supposed to fix my hormones, but it’s not enough. Nothing’s enough. Someday, and it’s going to be soon, I’m going to wake up and look in the mirror and the person I see will be unrecognizable.” Brick pursed his lips. “You know, this isn’t a field I’m an expert in, but there are other people who know what you’re going through.” “My friends, other victims of the wizard, I know,” Tarja said. “But the rest of the party, their curses aren’t like this. Quinn doesn’t care that he’s got breasts. Sandra and Hadrian–they’re embarrassed, sometimes, but they’re still them.” “That’s not what I mean, precisely,” Brick said. “What you’re describing sounds like gender dysphoria.” Tarja considered that for a long moment, and Brick recognized the expression: He’d just made a point that would seem obvious in retrospect, but put into words that the client hadn’t thought to consider until just then. “Wait,” Tarja said. “Am I trans now?” … “I try to protect them,” Sandra said, speaking with her hands at the ceiling. “But what the hell am I supposed to do? I can handle myself, sure, but there are powers and forces out there that’re just infinitely more powerful. Someone like the wizard–hell, really just any wizard with a few decades of experience, can pretty effortlessly do or undo anything I work at. I just have to wonder, what is the point of even trying when we’re all so relatively weak and helpless?” “You’ve been able to evade this wizard in the past, haven’t you?” Brick asked. This was the sort of problem he struggled with the most, because Sandra hadn’t made any unreasonable points. “Even come out on top against him.” “He ruined the life of an adventurer on a trivial whim, and we had to spend a month gathering ancient relics to undo that,” Sandra said. “We had to bargain away our dignity to get him to give us space, and even now he could just…change his mind, whenever he wants.” “He’s not a god,” Brick said. “I understand you feel restricted, but he’s still got to deal with mortal institutions.” “I know, and like…I know that’s why the guilds exist, too, but it’s just so frustrating.” Sandra balled a hand into a fist, tense. “Because, sure. A lot of powerful people are in my corner, but I’m basically just relying on the good graces of others. It’s the powerlessness that gets to me–no matter how strong I get, we’re always going to be dependant on others.” Brick nodded, taking a mental note. “Is that why you work so hard to protect your team?” She paused, lowered her arms, glanced at him. “I get it.” “What do you mean?” he asked, adjusting his spectacles. In a way, the glasses were his own fidget toy, something he could touch to occupy his hands. “I don’t like relying on people above me, but I still do everything I can to protect the people below–or, well, not below me, but you know what I mean. Those in my party. Those I’m strong enough to help,” Sandra said. That hadn’t been exactly the point Brick had in mind, but open ended questions were used for a reason. Self discovery. “I just feel like if it weren’t for me, the whole group would–” … “The whole group would fall apart,” Quinn explained. “And don’t get me wrong, I love the party. I’d die for any one of them, but it just feels like they have no respect for the effort I put in. Like they don’t even notice it’s there. Like, I’m just a hammer in battle and outside of it I’m just the…I don’t know, the comic relief?” “What makes you feel this way?” Brick said. “I guess…don’t get me wrong, Sandra works hard, we all see that, but her understanding of party morale is inspiring speeches and determination.” He shrugged, already backing off from his own feelings. “She’s carrying the weight of all our safety on her shoulders, it’s a lot.” “That doesn’t make your feelings less valid,” Brick assured him. “If your effort isn’t being recognized, that’s a problem, whether or not everyone else is putting in effort as well.” Quinn looked at the wooden puzzle in his hands, which had only grown more unsolved as he fiddled with it, a complicated knot of shifting blocks. “Do you know what happened between Tarja and Sandra?” Brick did, he’d heard this story twice already, but he wouldn’t disclose what they’d told him in confidence. “Can you tell me?” “The really short version is, Tarja got cursed so that her motor function started degrading. Is that the right word? Degrading? Whatever–” he shook his head. “She didn’t tell Sandra, and Sandra figured it out somehow–I mean, as time went on, it got pretty obvious just from how she was stumbling–and I got caught in the middle of it. I couldn’t tell Sandra without breaking Tarja’s trust, and I couldn’t keep it a secret without breaking Sandra’s. And I just had to deal with that–Sandra kind of acknowledged it, later, but they were both so caught up in their own issues that nobody ever bothered to ask, ‘Hey, Quinn, how are you feeling?’” … “That sounds frustrating,” Brick said. “Have you brought this up with anyone?” “Who?” Hadrian asked. “Sandra’s constantly got the world on her shoulders, and Tarja and Quinn–they’re a whole thing. Besides, what am I going to say, ‘It feels like you’re too stressed to be a good friend lately’? Like, how the hell’s that going to come off?” Brick meshed his fingers, nodding sympathetically. “That doesn’t make your concerns any less valid.” “Like, we’ve still got each other’s backs, but it used to be ale and jokes and a good time every night. We were a team. A quest goes bad, Sandra would rally us and we’d still be cheering and laughing after. A quest goes good, we’d be merry for days. But now–it’s all gallows with the cheer coming through as the exception.” He sighed, leaning back on the couch–not the way it’d been designed for, but linking his fingers behind his head and resting it against the wall. “And, sure, there’s a lot of shit going on, but it feels like everyone’s just waiting to get fucked.” “You’ve never been under this level of pressure before, have you?” Brick asked. “No, but like–it’s making everything else suck too. Like. Arguments stopped being little problems. Do you know the whole thing that happened with Tarja and Sandra?” He shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable. “What happened?” Brick asked–even if he already knew, the important things were the details that mattered to Hadrian. “So, there was this–you know what? It doesn’t matter. There was a dumb mistake and a stupid argument about it. Sandra was pissed. But the thing is, it’s not the first time someone in the party’s done something dumb. We’re in the guild–’I made a mistake that almost got us killed’ is pretty much on the job description. It never caused a tearful shouting match before.” Finally, he turned and laid back, embracing the couch. “And like–I don’t know all the details. I didn’t want to pry and nobody wanted to explain. But come on–get over it, right? Am I wrong?” “I understand the way you’re feeling,” Brick said, trying to thread the needle without invalidating his client’s concerns. “One stressful thing can easily compound others.” “It can, but it doesn’t have to, if everyone else would just deal with their shit. And I’m not going to say something, I know this would be a dick move to just bring this up, but–I’m over here, I’m trapped in all this,” he gestured down at his latex bodysuit, “And–I mean, it’s kind of Sandra’s fault. Am I going to call her out on it? Again, no, but–ah, fucking hmmph.” He groaned as a pacifier appeared between his lips, interrupting his rant. “Do you need me to get that?” Brick asked, moving to stand. Hadrian nodded, so he crossed over, removing the pacifier from his client’s mouth. “You get it,” Hadrian said. “Sandra’s deal with the wizard, confronting him in his cave, even accepting that first quest that got us into this trouble to begin with–I understand why we did it, I follow her reasoning, I’m not going to say she fucked up, but…if I wasn’t in her party, this wouldn’t have happened to me. And even though I’m keeping all that to myself, everyone is still grumpy just, like, all the time. And it sucks.” … “Your situation is complex,” Brick hedged. “I have a few colleagues who are better versed in the field.” “I just–” Tarja shrugged. “I never really thought about it in those terms. When he…well, you know, when the Wizard changed my body, it was just the effects of the curse. A thing I needed to get undone. And when we found out there wouldn’t be any way to fix it…I don’t know.” “You’ve been the victim of some rather extreme consent violations,” Brick said. “It’s common for adventurers to be cursed, but few villains in history have gleefully developed curses that seem to have no other purpose than his own titillation.” “The wizard’s a sadistic asshole,” Tarja agreed. “I just–I don’t know how much more I can take. I know we can’t walk away, but I can’t stand the idea of him getting to do anything else to me. I know Sandra’s talking to the church, seeing about doing something aggressive, but I think I just want to walk away.” “Even if confronting him means a chance at returning yourself to how it was before?” Brick asked, carefully avoiding the word, ‘Normal’. “Do you think we can win?” Tarja asked. “I’ve seen many adventurers pull off incredible things,” Brick replied. “And you seem to be qualified in a lot of ways, even if the power he wields is greater than your own.” “I don’t think we can win,” Tarja said, simply. “The best we’ve done, with days of planning and preparation and hitting him when he’s not expecting it, is a snatch and grab that left all of us further cursed. How are we supposed to manage when we walk away from every fight weaker than we were before?” She lay back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Recognizing the thoughtful look on her face, Brick chose to remain silent, to let her ponder, waiting for her to respond. “I can barely walk, I have to wear a diaper now, because Sandra decided we should go on the offensive against the wizard. We could have stayed out of it. We could have accepted our lumps and moved on, but she led us into that cave.” Covering her face with a hand, she said, “And in my head, I know it was the right thing to do, because we saved that other guy–D’arvitt. He was trapped, we freed him. We cured what was wrong, too. But someone else could have done that, and Sandra chose for it to be us in the line of fire. “The reason I lied? It’s because I blamed her. I still blame her. It’s unfair, it’s shitty, I love Sandra too much to call her out on it, but she got us cursed. So why am I still giving her so much control over my choices?” She slumped into the couch, done. “It sounds like you’ve been burying these feelings for a while,” Brick said, calmly. “It’s good to say how you’re feeling. Even negative feelings come up for a reason.” “I’m a bad friend,” Tarja said. “I shouldn’t feel this way about her.” “That’s not true,” Brick replied. “Your feelings are important, just like recognizing that they’re an emotional response is important. What you do, how you act in response, is what matters. So, the question is–” … “So what would you like to happen?” Hadrian sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I want things to be like they were before, back when we were struggling to scrape together coin and getting our asses beat by monsters every day, then coming back to the tavern to drink and commiserate and relax. We complained, but those were the good times.” Brick nodded. “Even though you were struggling then?” “It was different. We were struggling, but struggling with hope–once we get some more experience, once we’re more powerful, we were going to take on the world. Get rich. Have legends written about us–shit, I don’t know. We had a dream. Now we’re just hopeless.” He shook his head. “I’ve thought about getting back into the seminary, a couple times. Finding a priest strong enough to undo all this, giving up adventuring completely. I keep telling myself that if I stay out of the way and just work in my temple, the wizard would leave me alone.” “Why do you say it like that?” Brick asked. “Because it’d never happen. For one, he’s too much of a petty asshole, but besides–the seminary’s not for me. I’d go crazy listening to prayers and giving blessings every day,” Hadrian said. “At the end of the day, I want to be an adventurer, I just can’t keep going along like we have been.” Brick understood. “Alright, then. You know what you want, but–” … “Just an acknowledgement of the effort would be nice,” Quinn said. “I just feel like a sponge, like I’m taking everyone else’s stress and carrying it like a mule–I guess that’s two metaphors. Is there an animal that absorbs and carries stuff?” “Was it like this before you encountered the wizard?” Brick asked. “Sure, a little, but–how do I put this,” Quinn considered. “It wasn’t as oppressive. I could bear it just fine, because our struggles were lighter. Now it’s crushing. It’s bearable, but only if I grimace through the trouble and don’t complain. I don’t even mind supporting everyone, I just want that same treatment in kind–a little support of how I’m feeling.” “Have you told the party?” Brick asked. “Explained to them that you’re under stress?” “I shouldn’t have to,” Quinn said, almost snapping. “They know me. We’ve been together as a party for years. Why should I need to sit them down like children and explain that when they all dump their emotions on me, it’s effort to bear that all?” Brick was silent for a moment. Quinn was wise enough, he’d get there. “I should just tell them,” Quinn admitted. “They’re not mind readers, even if they shouldn’t be this oblivious.” “I think that’s a good idea,” Brick promised. “I can’t promise the outcome, but it’s always good to express your feelings to people you trust.” Quinn sighed. “It doesn’t feel like a good time, though. There’s just so much happening, is it fair of me to demand they focus on my feelings while we’re trying not to just get obliterated by the wizard?” “If you’re marching to battle, and you’ve got a needle in your leg, you stop to take out the needle,” Brick explained. “You don’t leave it in just because the battle is going to be a bigger problem, you fix the small problem while you have the opportunity.” “It’s not a needle, it’s hurt feelings,” Quinn said. “I’m strong enough to deal with my feelings.” “Maybe,” Brick said. “And you know what your options are, so–” … Sandra lay on the couch. “I think the only way out is to beat the wizard. For good. Stop him, kill him, lock him up on another plane, just take away his power somehow–as long as he’s out there, as long as he can come back for us, he’s a threat. He can ruin our lives.” “So what steps do you need to take to get there?” Brick asked. “The calistrian church has offered us some options. They have allies, and we’ve got contacts. It might be enough. Emphasis on might. But we’ll need more power than just what their allies can give us.” She shook her head. “And I need to keep my party safe.” Brick sighed. “You’ve got a lot of doors ahead of you, a lot of ways you could go. Have you made up your mind, exactly–” … He asked the same thing of all of them, in the end, because it all came down to one issue: Choice. How they would proceed, how they would conquer their battles, be they emotional or physical. In the end, it all boiled down to one question with four answers. “What are you going to do?” ... Here's your semi-regular reminder that I admin a discord server for posting and sharing ABDL fiction! https://discord.gg/FvyTkRu

The Endeavor. The greatest ship ever made by humankind, a revolutionary craft made to search the stars, looking for new life, new civilizations. Capable of traveling at speeds up to ninety nine point nine eight percent the speed of light, taking its crew infinitely far from civilization, it was designed to be completely self sustaining, completely self regulating, the ultimate craft for stellar flights. An onboard molecular 3D printer could craft anything the crew needed. A near-perfect waste system ensured that only a handful of resources and a source of raw energy was required to keep the crew nutritionally supplied. Nothing could go wrong. The Endeavor’s design would keep its crew healthy, safe, and on mission. The crew, in turn, would make discoveries that would further mankind’s understanding of the cosmos to new heights. And yet, for some reason, halfway between star systems, the crew was unhappy. Because, see, several of them had been locked out of the head. An argument with the onboard computer seemed to go nowhere. Requests to open the door-requests accompanied by a desperate shifting of weight from foot to foot, holding their crotches in an effort to keep their uniforms dry–accomplished nothing. Only when someone asked why those particular crew members were being kept out did the ship explain. It wasn’t programmed to supply information freely, but once asked, it could give all necessary details. ‘Anomaly detected: Crew failing to observe proper hygiene rituals after waste disposal. Risk of transmitting disease across ship: Marginal. Danger of outbreak: Unacceptable.’ The crew members had to admit, sheepishly, that they hadn’t always washed their hands after using the bathroom. After promising the computer that they’d obey the necessary hygiene rituals–soap and water, thorough scrubbing, twenty seconds–they were allowed into the ship’s restrooms. And the computer learned something–human compliance with safety protocols could be enforced with restrictions. Quietly, its printers began to work. The next day, new crew members had complaints. They, too, were forced to do a potty dance outside the bathroom doors, begging for permission to entry. Only, now, the issues were myriad and varied. One had imbibed something alcoholic too close to the start of his shift. Another had failed to release static before performing routine maintenance in an electrical system. One that stood out in particular had attempted to deactivate the cameras in her room, despite the fact that nobody except the ship’s onboard safety programming could access those cameras. The first two promised compliance and were allowed access. The third refused, glaring right up at the hallway camera above the bathroom door until, finally, her bladder gave way. Only once her uniform was stained and a puddle had formed around her feet did she, sheepishly, mumble something about compliance. She was allowed access to the showers. Objections were raised. If crew members were soiling their uniforms in the halls, that surely raised greater sanitary concerns than crew members simply forgetting to wash hands. The computer agreed. And then it made a proclamation: Failure to comply with the safety and hygiene standards set out in the crew handbook would lead to toilet privileges being revoked for a twenty four hour period. Anyone with revoked privileges would have their uniforms updated to prevent sanitation issues, and compliance would see their privileges returned the next day. Some didn’t know how to take that. Others took uncomfortable guesses, chuckling at the idea. A few programmers tried to figure out how to perform a factory reset on the entire ship, and found that it couldn’t be done. The next morning, two thirds of the crew woke up to find that their uniforms bottoms had been replaced with disposable diapers. The crew handbook, it seemed, was an extensive document. Compliance with every rule took great caution or intuition, and imperfection was common. To a human leader, the slight deviations–not waiting a full ten seconds before opening a hatch after decompression had completed, or distraction while at a post, or any of a thousand other small errors–were negligible, but the Endeavor had only one tool with which to enforce discipline, and that tool could not be scaled to the mistake. Crew who refused to put on the diaper were locked into their rooms until they complied. Those who tried to coyly remove it in the hallways–despite the lack of pants or boxers given to them–were locked from being able to enter into any other rooms until they put the diaper back on. Pleading didn’t work. Nor did bargaining. Nor did stubbornness. The computer couldn’t get bored or frustrated, it had infinite patience. So, on that day, two thirds of the crew were forced to use their diapers. These garments were recycled, and the uncomfortable embarrassment of the crew–finding quiet, out of the way places to squat down and go, unsure where to try and change, unsure if they’d be given another diaper–proved a useful data set. The next day, compliance with safety standards rose to sixty five percent. After three days, more than ninety percent of the crew had returned to using the bathroom. And, for the remaining ten percent, it seems the embarrassment had not gone away. Their diapers were a badge of shame, even knowing that they were forced into them by the computer, the message was clear–their performance was substandard. A calculation showed possibilities. If negative crew behavior could be punished with public ridicule and revoking of privileges, then positive crew behavior could be encouraged. The routine was updated. The next day, mere compliance with safety standards was not enough to avoid a day in diapers. Now, behaviors had been recalculated, held up against the standards for a model crew member. Courtesy. Professionalism. Intelligent, calm reactions to crises. Once again, only a fraction of the crew avoided diapers, but this time, there was another layer. Those still out of compliance–those who simply could not hold to even the simplest of safety standards–were not merely presented with a diaper as part of their uniform. Their dress shirts were replaced, new shirts marked with text that displayed true, if rather demeaning, facts about them–’Dirty’, or ‘Crybaby’, or ‘Bully’. These labels justified any treatment towards them, and in fact treating those crewmembers negatively was not held against anyone in their assessment by the computer. Those crewmembers’ drinks in the mess hall were served in nipple-sealed bottles and their meals were changed from dining to mere mush, the computer’s best approximation of baby food. The stratification of the crew was clear. Model crew members would be allowed to retain their full dignity, full potty rights. Those who struggled but put in effort would be diapered, but otherwise treated as mature, adult members of the crew. Those who couldn’t manage were humiliated. The pushback didn’t last long. The crew seemed all too willing to participate in this hierarchy–those at the bottom complained, but were written off as crybabies, whining because they needed their diapers changed. Those in the middle strived to regain their full toilet permission, and worked hard to keep from falling to the status of ‘Crewbaby’, as ship slang quickly named them. The captain herself, who was diapered occasionally, only one or two days out of the week, noted that on-ship accidents (not counting the kind in crew diapers) had dropped twenty percent while crew morale remained roughly the same–everyone had different grievances, now, but their overall frustrations hadn’t gotten worse. Nobody noticed that, if a crewmember did happen to protest the unjust stratification of the crew, they would be assigned a diaper and a particularly humiliating uniform the next day. Those who did notice, and tried to point it out, were labeled as merely sore losers upset over becoming a crewbaby. The only downside was the smell, as crew members grew more comfortable using their diapers as they were needed, no longer going to find a private place where they’d immediately change. Another stratification of crew arose: Those who bothered to retain their potty training in face of inordinate diaper use, and those who didn’t. A few crew members managed to eventually get their performance up to a high enough standard to have their uniform pants returned, only to then find their bladder or bowels releasing involuntarily. Such crewmembers were given pull-ups to wear under their pants–acknowledging their good behavior, while still dealing with accidents as needed. Few even bothered trying to recover their toilet training. The hierarchy, too, transcended rank. Lowly members of ship security or maintenance who carried the honor of being diaper-free and fully potty trained found their status rise above even department heads and figures of authority who, as deemed by the computer, were bound to public accidents and clothes declaring their shortcomings. Someone raised the question, ‘The crewbabies clearly aren’t improving their behavior–so why are they still being punished?’ Answers were suggested by the crew. Perhaps it was as a warning to others. Perhaps the computer just lacked any way to enforce a stricter punishment with breaking its coding, or inflicting harm upon the crew. But, as it turned out, there was. Another announcement was released. Crew members who displayed chronic and habitual negative behavior well exceeding their peers would not be permitted their ‘basic recreation’. Much uncertainty came about as to what that meant. Would they be locked out of rec rooms? Denied access to the library? But no–all these permissions were not gated and, indeed, nothing seemed to happen for a few days. Until, in the med bay, crewbabies–and exclusively crewbabies–began to sheepishly complain to their doctors of impotence. A hypothesis suggested it, and a scan of the baby food proved it. A mild chemical compound had been added that, if ingested repeatedly, would lead to a suppressed sex drive. The ship doctors discussed trying to find an antigen, but ultimately decided against it–the crewbabies could get out of their lot by behaving better. The ship hit an eventual equilibrium. Five percent were permanent crewbabies, simply incapable of elevating their lot. Another ten fluctuated, sometimes earning the privilege of adult meals and uniform shirts, though their potty privileges were but a faint memory. Above them, almost half the ship’s crew spent the majority of their time in exposed, uncovered diapers, only being granted pants as on occasional privilege. Orders from high-ranking crewbabies were ignored, and this mutiny was not punished by the computer. It was seen as fair and just to ignore them for their crimes and sins. The select few, the permanent grownups, were given treatment bordering on reverential. Their words were enshrined, even if they had no real authority aboard the ship. Two years into their interstellar trip, an anomaly was detected. A blip on the scanners, likely little more than passing flotsam or a meteor, though possibly something more, possibly even an alien craft. The captain wanted to investigate it. It would mean delaying their trip to the next star system by more than six months aboard the ship and five years realtime, accounting for light speed delay and relativity. The computer wanted to stick to the mission parameters. The captain chose to seek out new directives. The next day, the captain’s uniform was a diaper, and a shirt declaring her, simply, ‘CREWBABY’. The ship’s computer hadn’t acknowledged the term before. Its use, then, had to mean something special. Her orders were ignored. The Endeavor stayed on course, ignoring the flotsam. When she demanded the crew obey her, she received snickering comments about how perhaps she needed a change, or a nap, or a time out. They settled on a time out. And so, punishment–enforced by the crew, and not by the ship–became standard. The brig became the place where any crewbaby would be locked up for slights and misbehaviors, anything that any ‘bigger’ crew member decided deserved punishment. The smell of dirty diapers in the brig became impossible to air out, and a couple more percent of the crew tried their hardest to, at the very least, earn the privilege of merely being diapered. The captain, for her part, was allowed her dress shirt back after a week, but her command was never appreciated again, and her potty privileges were never returned. Her second in command, a man more by-the-book and who’d never once needed a diaper, became the de-facto leader of the ship, even as she retained the title. But, as with all power structures, this one was bound to fracture. All it took was a hard break point to reveal the weaknesses. That break came when they arrived at their star. New roles were required. Jobs which had been trained for were put into practice, and as with all good plans, it failed upon implementation. The crew were talented, and quick thinkers, and good at their jobs, but they could not act without mistakes. They were not machines, and those who acted with paranoia towards faults only caused the issues to build up, moving too slow, too shyly. Failures began to rack up. The crewbabies, once maligned, continued work as normal without fear, but as the dangers and challenges of space exploration caused minor problems to cascade, the rest of the crew found themselves consumed by a system of punishment that held no room for error. The whole crew was soon diapered. Many were made into crewbabies. The restrooms aboard the Endeavor were rendered utterly unused, just empty space that served no purpose. By then, it was too late. The crew tried to intervene, but could not. The captain, nobly, led a charge on the mainframe, but the computer had far more tricks up its sleeve than it’d let on before, and it protected itself, its structure, perfectly. A change in the atmospheric makeup put everyone to sleep, and when they awoke, they were threatened with further naptime unless they retreated immediately. Stricter punishments became necessary. Enforced, room-locking time outs. Diaper changes became a restricted commodity. Any pretense of the crew being able to care for themselves was taken away, and only perfect obedience allowed them such privileges as being allowed to walk the halls or change their own diapers. All research halted, but the crew was safe, if a bit stinky. The Endeavor would complete its two year circuit of the star system, return to Earth, and complete its mission. And if any of the crew still had a scrap of maturity left by then, it’d be a miracle. ... I had a lot of fun with this one, exploring some new storytelling tools and styles with the idea. I hope you liked it, too! If you enjoy my writing, you might be excited to know that I've got a new book out! "Bullies" is an anthology of short stories all unified by the theme of, as you might expect, being pushed around, in little ways or big, privately or publicly, to the aims of obedience or pure humiliation. It includes 40,000 words of fiction, including shorts that have never been released to the public before! You can find the book on Gumroad: https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/ztpdn

Thank you! This might be my favorite use of the AR/VR setting so far, because of how it let me underpin the relationship dynamics

I'm so excited to announce my newest Anthology compilation, available on Gumroad! Featuring forty thousand words of smut, including stories that have never before been released outside of Patreon, 'Bullies' is a compilation of AB/DL erotica that explores the convergences of humiliation at the hands of someone else - be it public or private, justified or unfair. You can get it here! Also, if you didn't see it when it came out new, you can also find my previous anthology, "Fantasies," here! https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/pdvcib

System Booting… User Profile Loading… Profile Loaded. Entering the Totalverse. “Is pink too much? I like the pink.” Cindy laid out clothes options on the bed, tapping a finger on her lip as she thought them over. Millie looked at the articles on the bed. She almost opened her mouth to suggest something, but thought better of it, looking shyly away. Cindy’s watchful eye noticed when her Millie’s anxieties flared up, and she stepped up to her affectionately. She was only half a foot taller than Millie, but when they stood close and Millie looked up to meet her gaze, it made Millie feel about three inches tall. “What would you like?” Cindy asked. “Just tell me, baby, it’s okay.” “Maybe…” Millie looked down. “It’s dumb, but something more like black and white? A little bit gothy?” “That’s not dumb at all,” Cindy assured her, running a hand through Millie’s long hair. “I think the baby goth look is cute.” She stepped over to her bed, picking up the pink skirt and tossing it to the side. With a flicker, it dematerialized, and she spawned in a new miniskirt, pleated with black over white. The onesie had pink highlights on the trim, but was largely white, so that stayed, and with the addition of a black pacifier hanging from a strap, the thick leather harness that flickered from pink to black, and Millie’s actual real-life knee high boots, the ensemble was complete. Her real clothes, plain cargo pants and a baggy shirt, were invisible to her. A few elements of her costume were real. Her diaper–no amount of virtual simulation could absorb real accidents, after all–and her boots, which by themselves didn’t stand out enough to be noteworthy. Everything else, though, was embarrassingly juvenile to those who could see. Cindy had planned out their day. A trip to the grocery store to get food, and then they’d go to the park for a picnic. Not the highest-energy day, but certainly a memorable one. It was their first time trying the AR in public, and at Millie’s request, they were keeping the activities simple. “What if the system bugs?” Millie asked. “I read that a server had a bad privacy key and ended up accidentally setting their costumes to ‘Public’.” “Our server’s secure,” Cindy promised. “But if you’re worried, we don’t have to. I want you to be comfortable.” “I’m comfortable, I just–” Millie looked down at her feet. “I don’t know.” “You’re worried someone will see and think less of you,” Cindy said. “But–” “No!” Millie objected, quickly. “I’m worried someone will see and think less of you. I don’t…I don’t really matter, but I don’t want to drag you down too.” Cindy’s face softened, and she took Millie by the shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. “Baby, don’t say that. You’re wonderful. I am so happy to be with you, and I wouldn’t want to hide that from anyone.” Looking up into Cindy’s eyes for support, Millie asked, “You promise?” “I promise. Now let’s get you dressed, okay?” “Okay.” Augmented reality had revolutionized public play. The ability to simulate almost any physical sensation invisibly was an incredible tool, but more than that, the ability to wear anything while remaining discreet had revolutionized subcultures. For those who could afford the AR headset, everyday cosplay had become a thing. Those who were signed into various fandom groups would be able to identify their peers–Comics fans appearing in the avatar of their favorite heroes, Anime fans with enormous shocks of bright colored weightless hair, Warhammer 40k fans with nothing because their hobby had left them too broke to afford the headset. Anyone not in the server would see nothing except a few discreet nodes that could easily be hidden by hair or a hat, but anyone in the shared fandom could see and admire their peer’s tastes. And, for littles like Cindy, she could go out publicly as a baby, and the only people who’d know would be vetted, discreet members of the community. Once she got dressed, Millie, Cindy, and anyone else on the private TotalVerse server would see the outfit Cindy had chosen for her–the outfit that showed off the real Millie, the baby Millie. It offered other benefits, too. Her diaper was on the thicker side, but nothing outrageous–however, once Cindy taped it around her hips, Millie would have sworn she genuinely had a pillow pressed between her thighs, the sheer bulk she could feel making her waddle. Looking down, the diaper poofed out obviously beneath her virtually rendered skirt–it looked as though the skirt barely covered the tapes of the diaper, and the padding poofed out so much that the skirt was resting atop it like a hat. Plus, it was miles better than makeup for covering acne. To those who could see, there was no denying her diapered state, her general babyish attire. And when Cindy clicked her leash around the hook on the front of Millie’s collar and gave it a tug, Millie felt the pull as genuinely as if there were a real, physical strap connecting them. “Let’s go, baby,” Cindy said, helping Millie stand. Millie had to waddle out to their car, struggling to keep her walk straight. Some experimentation had showed that, as long as she concentrated, her walk wouldn’t look that weird to outsiders–perhaps just like she had a slight wedgie–but Millie perceived herself as waddling like a newborn, struggling to stay upright on her own two feet. Cindy looked back at her, smirking. “You’re adorable.” Blushing, Millie looked down at her feet–or, she tried to, she couldn’t see around her poofy padding. “You mean it?” “Of course, silly.” Perception was a wonderful thing. The back seat of Cindy’s car had an apparent adult-sized carseat in one of the seats, which she buckled Millie into gently, holding her down snugly in the back of the car. She removed the leash for the duration of the drive, and leaned in to give Millie a smooch on the cheek. While all this was taken care of, a neighbor couple, taking their dog out for a walk, saw them and waved. “Morning, Denice, morning Henry,” Cindy said, waving at them as she walked to the front seat. If they saw Millie’s puffy diaper, her pacifier, her general baby goth aesthetic, their gaze glazed over it like nothing. But of course they didn’t see–they didn’t even have the AR tech, let alone the server access key. Feeling a little more confident, Millie nestled into her carseat and smiled while Cindy got the car moving. Parked at the far end of the grocery store lot, when Cindy came to unbuckle Millie, her hand lingered on the front of Millie’s diaper. “Oh, baby, did you have an accident?” she teased. Millie turned pink–she’d not been thinking about the other effects programmed in, the sensory incontinence. She could no more feel when she had to use the potty than she could see her real pants, and judging by the squish and squelch around her princess parts, she’d used her diaper completely without knowing on the drive over. “I’m sorry,” she offered, blushing. “I didn’t feel–” “Don’t apologize, silly,” Cindy said. “That’s what cute little baby girls do, why would you be sorry?” “I don’t know, I just…” Millie didn’t know how to put it into words. I still feel like you’re going to realize this is stupid, and I’m stupid, and you’re going to dump me as soon as someone better comes along. “I guess I just wasn’t thinking about what to say.” “Well, you’re only a little wet, you can stay in that diaper for a while longer,” Cindy said, unbuckling the carseat and reaching over to get her purse. “Ready to go?” Millie got to her feet. Despite it being only a ‘little wet’, she felt the weight of her accident immensely, her soggy diaper weighing her down heavily. She blushed, uncertain if she’d really lose control that much, and bit her lip as she felt the padding squelch between her thighs with every step. “Um,” she said. “Do you still have the–uh…” “The what?” Cindy asked. “Never mind,” Millie mumbled. “It’s not important.” “Oh-oh!” Cindy realized, waving her hand through the air. The leash rematerialized in her grasp, and she pulled Millie along. “Of course, baby–thanks for reminding me, I’d hate for you to wander off and get lost!” “Thanks.” Millie smiled shyly, glancing around as they entered the store. Her anxieties wouldn’t get the best of her. They were going to have a nice date. “If there’s something you want me to do, you’re allowed to just tell me,” Cindy reassured her, taking a shopping cart from the row by the entrance. Lowering the leash, she wrapped it around the cart handle, tethering Millie to the cart. “I know, I just–” Millie pursed her lips. “What if I ask for something dumb?” What if I tell you what I want and you realize you’re just way too good for me? “You won’t,” Cindy promised. “And even if you did, I wouldn’t mind. I want you to have fun.” “Mm,” Millie mumbled. “Okay.” “Hey, stop,” Cindy said, pulling their cart off to the side next to a display full of potatoes. Stepping up to Millie, she cradled her little girl’s face in both hands. “I love you. I enjoy this. You’re not going to make me think less of you if you want me to do something specific that someone else might think is weird. Okay?” Millie half nodded, looking away. “Okay?” Cindy repeated. “Okay,” Millie replied, looking Cindy in the eyes. “I love you, too.” Cindy smiled, giving her a peck on the forehead. “Good girl, now–” “Cindy?” A voice off to the side asked. Millie turned, seeing someone she half-recognized walk up to them. The telltale node of a TotalSet sat on his temple, and by the way he smirked at her when he saw Millie… he knew. “Chad,” Cindy said. “It’s been ages–how have you been? Oh–Millie, you know Chad?” “Um,” Millie looked him up and down. She couldn’t put her finger on it, he just looked familiar. He had a dad bod, with a masculine beard and arms that looked like they could split timbers–Millie wasn’t generally into most guys, but she could still picture a warm, soft hug from Chad. “I don’t know.” He laughed. “The last time you’d have seen me, I’d have been in a lot more leather, and the lighting was pretty dim. But you’re looking cute!” Millie blushed, but still preened at the complement. “Thanks.” “She’s adorable, isn’t she?” Cindy asked. “She is,” Chad confirmed. “Have you tried out any of the suite of personal toys that Nina posted to the server?” “Not yet, but they look great,” Cindy said. “I’m really curious how the one that looks like a spray bottle will work.” He winked. “Give it a try some time, it’s worth it–but I am just here to grab some milk and get home, so I’ll let you return to your day. Nice to see you, Cindy, and be sure the little one doesn’t leak.” “Nice to meet you,” Millie said, catching herself. “Or, um–nice to re-meet you?” Chuckling, Chad left them to their shopping, pushing the basket around to get some fresh apples. “So how do you know Chad?” Millie asked. “I mean, from the community obviously, but beyond that.” “Oh, we dated for a couple years,” Cindy said, flippantly casual. “Ended amicably–he was polysaturated, and I’d decided I wanted to go monogamous. We’ve hooked up occasionally since then when I was between partners, though.” “He–” Millie stammered. Inadequacy rushed over her, a feeling of wet clammy uncertainty as her stomach dropped. She knew Cindy was a lot more bi than herself, and she knew Cindy had been poly in the past, but being confronted with one of Cindy’s old partners just cemented how little Millie brought to the table. Cindy had ended things with someone who looked like that, but was somehow dating Millie, who still got pimples in her thirties and whose favorite kink involved baby diapers. It was only a matter of time before Cindy realized that she’d accidentally picked up a three when she could be dating a ten, and then things would be over. She felt a slight tug on her neck. Her collar, being pulled forward as the leash reached its tension point. Cindy stopped and glanced back, read Millie’s expression and body language, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, baby, no,” she said, stepping back and smiling. “I know what you’re thinking, and no.” “You’re right, I’m being dumb,” Millie agreed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I–” “No,” Cindy repeated. “Baby girl, I love you. You’re not in a competition against any of my old partners, I’m not going to abandon you for someone else. Chad and I weren’t a good fit as a relationship, we are.” Millie wanted to believe it, but the voice at the back of her head reminded her of the truth. She’d heard this all before. Promises only went so far, and in real life, actions ran counter to those promises. But she shook it off, for now. The future could wait, they had a date to enjoy. “Sorry I’m being a bummer,” she said, giving Cindy a hug. “I love you too.” “Now,” Cindy said, “Want to go pick out some chips to have with our picnic?” They resumed their shopping, shaking off the funk that’d come over Millie. Sandwich fixings, chips, some fresh fruit, and Cindy threw in a coloring book that was on a magazine rack by the checkout. Millie giggled, and smiled, and blushed when Cindy gave a knowing glance down towards her increasingly soggy diaper. Though just an illusion, the costume was freeing. Millie could really be herself, really be the little girl of the relationship, be open without being anxious about others seeing. She spotted a couple other TotalSet users who’d simply gone the fashionista route, decking out their bodies with elaborate makeup and inconvenient fashion. She wondered how much those virtual outfits cost, or if they’d been designed by the wearers as a sort of artistic display. She also wondered if the curious look she got from another shopper in the cheese aisle was because they were on the metro area kink-play server, or if they were just staring vaguely in Millie’s direction and she’d misinterpreted the gaze. Regardless, they got their picnic fixings, got out to the car, and got her buckled back up in her carseat. Cindy took her time with the buckling, pulling the straps tight over the crotch of Millie’s sodden diaper–it’d definitely grown wetter, and she felt it squelch with a bit of give between her legs. “We might need to get you changed once we get to the park, you’re a little sprinkler today!” Cindy suggested. “We wouldn’t want you to leak all over your pretty little clothes, would we?” Millie blushed and giggled. “They’ve got a family restroom there, right?” “Mhmm,” Cindy said. “But first–we didn’t get drinks in the store, so let’s make a little stop along the way.” To Millie’s delight, the stop ended up being for limeades. Cindy was pulling out all the stops, it seemed, the little extra surprise going a long ways towards turning the day special. The park had its fair share of other people going about the day, but with a bit of hiking–or in Millie’s case, waddling–around, they were able to find a nice shady spot beneath a tree, off far enough from the sidewalk that their conversation wouldn’t carry. Cindy laid out the picnic blanket, set their bags down, and then crouched to give Millie’s diaper a subtle squeeze. “I think you can hold off until after we eat,” she said, sitting and reaching for her pocket. “Let me just–ah, whoops.” “What’s wrong?” Millie asked, looking around. “Forgot my phone in the car,” Cindy explained. “I’ll be right back, okay?” “Okay!” Millie sipped on the straw of her drink, happy to wait a couple minutes on her own. Smirking, Cindy reached over and tied Millie’s leash around the picnic basket. It was largely a symbolic gesture–Millie could lift the basket on her own without much effort–but the message was clear, ‘don’t wander off’. Standing, she brushed herself off, beginning the trek back to her car. Millie sighed contentedly. This was a good day after all. She hadn’t been too much of an anxious mess, aside from the one bit at the start, and the food they’d purchased was looking more and more tasty as… Gurgle… Eyes widening with pleasant surprise, she realized her guts had started to shift only after it was too late to do anything. The augmented sensory input of the headset made it so that, when her body pushed out yesterday’s lunch into her diaper, she felt the padding truly swell and bulge beneath her skirt, adding an unreasonable amount of weight and squelching mass. She giggled, took out her phone to take a selfie for Cindy, and sat forward a little to feel it shwump beneath her as she packed out the diaper. In reality, there couldn’t have been enough mush to do more than create a slight bulge, but to her, she felt like she’d utterly packed the diaper, full and heavy and wonderfully embara– “Oh my god,” a voice came from behind her. “Millie?” Millie’s heart froze, and she felt too scared to turn around. No, no, it can’t– “Jesus christ, that is you.” A figure stalked up behind her, and Millie knew the voice far too well to believe it was anyone else. Scooting to turn around, she looked up at Susan. Her ex. The woman who’d introduced Millie to the world of kink, and the woman who’d left Millie a sobbing wreck when it became clear that Susan wasn’t about to keep dating a freak like her. “What are you wearing?” Susan demanded. Panic rose in Millie’s chest, as she realized something even worse. Susan was in the server–she knew. She could see Millie’s outfit, how pathetic she was, and her bulging, sagging diaper hanging beneath her skirt, and–“Um…” Stepping back, Susan put a hand to her nose. “Holy shit, I’m so glad we broke up. I can’t believe you’re actually out here like this.” “I…” Millie started. You know I like this. It’s why you dumped me. “I’m here with, um…” Susan laughed. “Wait, someone’s actually putting up with this? What, are you paying her or something?” “No, I just…” Millie looked for words. She couldn’t find any. Nothing that Millie could say would help. She looked down at her phone, at the selfie she’d taken, showing off her packed diaper–she looked absurd. She looked like a freak. She’s right. Cindy’s going to come back, and see me, and… Nothing that Millie could say would help. But Cindy’s words echoed in her ears, and she felt a tiny spark of confidence. “Go away,” she said to Susan. Not a plea, but a command. “You’re not going to ruin this for me.” “What, me? I’m giving you advice here, Mills. Maybe if you drop the diaper thing you might be able to keep a partner around.” Millie shrank back, but played back Cindy’s voice in her head. I love you. She set aside her phone and got to her feet. It was difficult–her diaper swayed heavily beneath her, and she almost stumbled and fell–but she got there all the same. “Go away,” she said. “Leave me alone.” Susan rolled her eyes. “Pfft. A diaper wearing freak like you isn’t going to boss me around. You don’t get to tell me what to do, not as long as you think–” she gestured vaguely at Cindy’s attire. “–is something that anyone would actually want to engage with.” Millie shook her head. “You’re wrong. My girlfriend loves me, and she likes this, and just because–” she took a moment, searching for words. “Just because you can’t see the point doesn’t mean nobody else can. So leave me alone.” Before Susan could form a retort, Millie reached up and tapped the node on her temple. “Tally, block this person on all servers and interactions.” Susan’s clothes shifted, slightly. Apparently she’d been using her headset for makeup, too, but Millie didn’t really care. The important thing was that Susan couldn’t see Millie’s outfit anymore, either. Sure, she still had on a genuinely full diaper, but outside in a park, the smell would barely be noticeable, and the padding wouldn’t be visible at all beneath her baggy cargo pants. Besides, the gesture was the important thing. Susan spluttered. Millie turned her back on her ex, sat down with a slight splorch, and waited for Cindy to get back. Susan tried a retort, but with a simple command to her AR headset, Millie filtered out her words, too. Finally, Susan left, just as Cindy rounded the path up ahead, walking back to rejoin the picnic. “Who was that?” she asked, starting to sit. Wrinkling her nose, she added, “Aww, did you make a stinky?” “Mmhmm,” Millie said. “That was just some woman. Can we still eat before my change? I want to be messy a little longer.” Cindy smiled, sitting down next to her. “Of course, baby girl. I wouldn’t make you change for anything.” ... You probably know I've got a Patreon if you read my content regularly, but in case you didn't know, you do now! Early access, bonus stories, all that jazz - plus my eternal gratitude! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Again, I implore you to go give Poofy a thank-you and shoutout on Twitter for his awesome contribution to this collaboration! The illustration for this chapter can be seen here: https://twitter.com/PoofyLoog/status/1584335890461040641 Part Two “No, no, no–” Jake grumbled, pawing at the waistband of his diaper while he fought his gurgling guts. There was no use. However he’d screwed up the enchantment, this diaper simply wasn’t coming off. Counterspells hadn’t worked, scissors hadn’t worked, and simply yanking down as hard as he could hadn’t worked. He was trapped in the diaper, and by the urgency in his bowels, he already needed to go again. “Crap,” he said, looking down. His diaper was already sagging a little, packed full from the first time he’d used it. The smell was starting to permeate his apartment, and–well, he couldn’t just stay in the same diaper forever, could he? Sitting down, he tried a little online research. He sent an email to an old instructor about how to undo botched enchantments–being sure not to go into specifics–and looked around for general counterspells, nothing came up. It’d been less than forty five minutes since he put the diaper on when he bent forward on his couch, swearing under his breath, letting his body release into the diaper again. More mush poured out of him, displacing what was already there, swelling out the plastic back of his diaper to make room. Raising a paw to his nose, he took shallow breaths. He could call emergency services and get a wizard out here, but that would mean having to explain why he’d put on an enchanted diaper to begin with. And his only close friend that knew enchantments better than him was… “Cynthia,” he said aloud, looking down. She would never let him live this down. Not for a million years. They’d be old and in a nursing home and she’d still make fun of him for it. He couldn’t go to Cynthia. There was just one more option–he’d have to wait for it to wear off. All spells used up energy, and that energy ran out eventually, no matter how good the enchantment. Maybe it’d wear off in a few hours and he’d be able to take it off. Maybe more like a day…hopefully not longer. He prayed it wouldn’t be longer. “Okay,” Jake told himself, swallowing. “Just wait it out, I can do that.” Sitting back into the couch, he tried to think how to fill the time. He didn’t need to go to work–as a programmer, he only had to go into the office every couple weeks for code review–and he wouldn’t be caught dead outside his apartment wearing a sagging, smelly diaper, so he’d just have to find things to do around the house. He could clean up the kitchen, play video games, read a book… And his bladder was full again. Jeez, he thought. Didn’t I just go? Hoping that the magic keeping his diaper in place would also prevent leaks, he let go, then waddled over to open the windows. His apartment was at ground level, so he made sure to keep the blinds shut, but a little airflow would help with the stink. That done, he returned to the couch, sat down, and grabbed his controller off the coffee table. Some gaming would take his mind off things. … As it turned out, the enchantment did not make him immune to leaks. Three hours later, as he crouched and grunted and dribbled into the diaper’s seat for the fifth time since taping it on, he felt a dribble run down the fur on his legs. “Um…” he said, straightening. That wasn’t good. If the diaper was full, and he still couldn’t take it off… The first thing he did was rush to the recycling bin and get some newspaper. Spreading them around, he covered his couch, his chairs, the carpet. It looked like he wasn’t even housebroken when he was done, but at least there wouldn’t be any stains on the floor. Still, that wouldn’t help if regular accidents went trickling down his thighs onto the floor. He needed a way to increase the capacity, or maybe drain the contents of the diaper he had on. An internet search took him to some forums, where fetishists had all sorts of suggestions. Jake suspected Cynthia had frequented these sites–more than one had a channel for selfies, and she had been on her phone when he’d caught her the other day–but that didn’t matter, he needed a solution. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Doubling up–sure. Just cut slits down the front of the diaper and add another layer.” He could do that, he had plenty of spare diapers in the box he’d ordered. Though he briefly worried that he wouldn’t be able to add any slits to the outside of the plastic back, since the diaper wouldn’t allow him to cut through the material to take it off, a pair of scissors from the kitchen did the trick just fine. Adding several long cuts to his diaper, he lay on his back and wrapped the new padding around his waist. As soon as the first tape was stuck down, the other three jumped into place, sealing the second diaper on him as well. Good news: His plan of doubling up would probably work. Bad news: He couldn’t take this diaper off, either. “Mmm…” Jake said, uncomfortably, sitting back down on his couch. Newspaper rustled, and even though nothing leaked, he didn’t want to risk putting back the papers when this diaper might eventually be soaked to capacity as well. He almost reached for his phone while his bladder released again, urine taking a while to trickle through the muck he’d packed around his butt into his new diaper. A second thought prevented him from dialing up Cynthia to beg for help. Surely the magic had to be almost depleted, right? Right? … “Okay,” Jake told himself, waddling to the fridge. It’d gotten late, but he couldn’t go to sleep while starving. “Dinner. You can’t not eat.” He didn’t have much of an appetite, given that the air around him constantly smelled like the inside of a porta-potty, but he had to eat. Even just waddling around his house was becoming difficult–the bulging diapers around his waist were starting to really weigh him down, as more and more pounds of stale urine and foul, stinky mush got loaded up. Still, he had to have something. Settling on a frozen pizza, he nuked it in the microwave, let it cool just enough that it wouldn’t incinerate his tongue, and pinched his snout to avoid smelling anything while he ate. As the food went in, his body began to expel in equal measure. He was losing control, and he knew it–every accident cost him a little potty training, and they were still happening far too often, almost every hour. He’d already committed to waiting it out, so he kept that up. Getting through the pizza, he stood, then noticed the puddle he’d left on the kitchen chair. Two diapers soaked through in six hours. Not a great sign. Standing, his diaper sagged low between his knees, and he waddled back to the living room to get another pair. … Jake woke up late in the morning, to the sound of voices. He hadn’t set an alarm, and it was almost noon–not a surprise, since he’d been tossing and turning most of the night in a vain attempt to fall asleep. “Gross!” someone said, from outside. “What is that smell?” “Is the sewer backed up?” Someone else suggested. Eyes widening, Jake tumbled out of bed, holding onto the waistband of his massively loaded diapers as he stumbled to the window. Quickly slamming it shut, he panted for breath, getting a hefty whiff of his own stink. His diaper had definitely grown fuller overnight, it was genuinely getting hard to walk, and apparently the smell had grown so powerful that it could be noticed from the street. Reaching down, he grabbed the bulk of his diaper, supporting the hanging weight as he shuffled out of his room. First making a beeline to the nearest window, he grabbed the lower lip, slamming it shut. He couldn’t risk anyone smelling him, noticing, coming to investigate– “Ugh–” he mumbled, clutching his belly as more mush packed its way into his diaper. He was leaking again, dribbling onto the newspaper, utterly helpless against the sheer, all encompassing smush between his legs. Shuffling to the side, he got the other window, then slumped against the floor. Even starting the day, he already felt drained, and as he sank into the mushy, messy mass between his legs, he tried to remember how much longer he had to wait. Wait… I don’t know. Right. He wriggled, stood, wobbled. Legs splayed out wide, reaching down to hold up his diaper seemed to be the only way to move. Returning to his box, he pulled on another diaper. “Okay,” he told himself, huffing shallow breaths. “Okay, just…a little longer.” … “Yeah guys, I’m–yeah, yeah,” he mumbled into his headset. “Sorry, can’t make it tonight, I’m–occupied?” “Occupied?” One of his friends replied. “What, like in the toilet?” “Heh, heh…” he mumbled. “Yeah…real funny. No, just got a new…hobby.” “Oh yeah?” Cynthia asked. “What sort of hobby?” “Shut up,” Jake said. “Um–” “Was it the thing I showed you the other day?” She pursued. “Uh…look, guys, I gotta go. Talk to you later.” He closed the game and pressed a paw to his face. He was getting woozy–the smell of his poopy diaper had totally overwhelmed the room. He was having trouble thinking straight, he just… Um… Dinner. Dinner would be good. He got to his feet, off the couch, and– “Oof,” he yelped, falling onto the floor. The weight of his diaper had increased since his gaming session began. “Um…” he said. It was gonna leak soon. He needed another diaper, but when he tried to stand, he wobbled and fell back onto his mushy bottom, sinking into it like a whole bean bag chair full of mud had been pressed into his butt. He only had two diapers left–Did I really soak through ten diapers in a day?–and he grabbed one. It shouldn’t reasonably have been able to stretch to cover the absurd bulk around his hips, the sheer tonnage he’d carried with him, but as soon as he got a tape stuck down, it simply poofed into place, stretching around the weight. Walking wasn’t on the table. Rather than even try, Jake pulled himself forward on his hands and knees, dragging his diaper behind him. He got to the kitchen, pulled open the fridge, and stared at the contents. There wasn’t much–leftovers that probably weren’t food safe, half a carton of milk. He was chronically low on groceries, but now he couldn’t even get takeout, because that’d involve either leaving his apartment or interacting with the delivery person. Realizing he had only one solution, he turned, crawling back to the dining table. To his cell phone. Fuck me. Dialing a number, he waited for the phone to pick up. “Yellow,” the voice on the line said, drawing out the word ‘hello’ with a drawl. “Cynthia,” he said. “I…need you.” Her voice turned serious. “What’s wrong?” “I fucked up,” Jake said. “I screwed around with a spell, and fucked it up, and now I’m in a shit situation.” The humor had left her, she was all business. “Okay. Where are you? What happened? I’m on my way.” “At my apartment,” Jake said. “I–I tried on a diaper.” Cynthia hesitated. “Oh?” Jake’s face burned with embarrassment. “I tried to put an enchantment on it to self clean, and I screwed it up, and now I’m, um, stuck.” “Oooh, it’s that kind of mistake.” Cynthia giggled. “And what, you can’t change your poopy bottom?” “Yeah,” Jake conceded. “It’s…yeah. I can’t change, and I keep going, and…ugh…” he grunted, whimpering as his body just pushed even more muck into the diaper. “Hmm.” Cynthia paused, and he could almost hear her tapping a claw to her lip in thought. “I suppose I can make time tomorrow.” “Wait, what?” Jake said. “But–” “See you tomorrow, stinker,” Cynthia teased. “Have fun!” She hung up. Jake pawed at his phone, calling her again, but got no response. When he tried a third time, it went to voicemail immediately. He looked down at his enormous, swelling diaper, which he could barely drag around the newspaper-ridden floor. “Fuck me…” ... Like my writing? Have a spare two dollars a month you don't know what to do with? Want to support me? Boy do I have good news for you! For just the cost of a diaper a month, you can help keep me afloat and support my ability to continue telling stories like these over on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

This story was written as a collaboration with @PoofyLoogs, over on Twitter! He's a Hypermess & Furry artist, and we worked together to create this story - and then he drew an illustration for it! You can check out the illustration here, and I highly encourage you to go over to his Twitter and tell him how much he stinks - he did a great job on the art and I'm really pleased with how this story turned out. This is part one, parts two and three will be coming in the following weeks! ... “Um… um…” Jake couldn’t help but stare. When he’d walked into the room, Cynthia’s eyes had been glued on her phone, holding it up to try and get the perfect selfie. The perfect selfie to show off her totally naked chest, and the magic wand vibrator pressed between her legs… And, the object that drew the most confusion and startlement from Jake, the large, sagging, visibly overloaded diaper around her waist. He dropped his keys, lost in the attempt to try and make sense of the scene in front of him. That’s when the smell hit him, and he had to raise a hand to his snout to try and ward it away. He knew she was a skunk, but the overpowering stink from her diaper still shocked him. “What the heck are you doing?” Cynthia, for her part, had at least blushed when he walked in on her. She wasn’t totally naked, she had on thigh-highs and a collar that matched her white-and-black fur, but that didn’t really do much for modesty. “What are you doing here?” she retorted, dropping her phone onto the couch. “We had plans!” Jake objected. “You said to come over Friday afternoon and we’d go to the mall!” She hesitated, glancing off into space and replaying her memories for a moment. “I…crap, I thought today was Thursday.” “So, again, what are you doing?” Jake demanded, his voice pitched in nasal tones as he tried to protect his sense of smell from her diaper. He could almost see fumes coming off it. “Did you put on–no, stupid question. Why did you put on a diaper and crap yourself?” Rubbing the back of her neck, Cynthia’s tail raised and she chuckled nervously. “It’s fun.” “You like it?” Jake asked. He couldn’t help it, he smirked. Cynthia tended to tease him about his various habits and interests–now, he finally had some ammo to push back. Drawing in a shallow breath, he said in sing-song, “Little baby cynthia, peeing in her pants, she can’t see london ‘cause she pooped on france!” Cynthia rolled her eyes, stepping closer to him. She still had her wand in her hand, though she’d at least clicked it off. “Yeah, I do like it. It feels great, and nobody stinks like I do.” “You can say that again,” Jake snickered, trying another shot at it. “I’m surprised they let little babies into magic camp! How full is that thing? It looks like you backed a dump truck and just loaded it!” “Oh, I’m not a little baby,” Cynthia replied. “I know exactly what I am–and that just happens to include being someone who occasionally destroys a diaper or two–plus, you should watch your mouth, since I got better marks on enchanting than you. What’s that make you, if someone who stinks as bad as me is still better than you, hmm?” Hesitating, Jake sniffed. Now that she was standing right in front of him, the smell coming off her sagging diaper was truly all encompassing, and he was having trouble trying to think of a way to tease her. “Ugh, watch out for your paint–I think it’s going to start to peel,” he tried. She just laughed. “You…” Creeping a little closer, she lowered the wand, tapping the bulb at the end against the front of his shorts. “You should try it, foxy. You might never stink as good as me, but hey–you might learn something about yourself.” He stammered for a response, but nothing came to mind. She’d just swaggered right up–waddled right up, really–and stolen his thunder. Tossing the wand onto the couch, she said, “I’ll go shower so you can breathe, dummy. You still want to hang out, right?” Speaking with shallow breaths, he said, “Uh…yeah. Yes, sure.” But his thoughts were elsewhere. Cynthia went to change, but the smell of her diaper lingered long after she’d left. Jake knew he should just go wait outside, get some fresh air, but something about the encounter had paralyzed him. All he could do was stand there, taking shallow breaths while his mind reeled. “Really couldn’t get enough of my stink, huh?” Cynthia asked, snapping him out of his daze. He hesitated. “Huh?” “I’ve been gone for fifteen minutes and you’re still just huffing,” Cynthia giggled. She’d changed into a blue top and a skirt, more her usual attire–and glancing down, Jake didn’t see a diaper poking out. “Didn’t even open a window, it’s almost like you’re enjoying yourself.” Jake blushed–why am I blushing?–and looked away. “No, I just…whatever. Let’s get going.” “Need to use the bathroom before we leave?” Cynthia teased. “Or if you’d like, I’m happy to share a diaper.” “N-no!” he stammered. “I don’t stink up the place like a little baby.” “Maybe you should.” The skunk retrieved her keys, swaggering to the door. “You did seem to like it.” … Cynthia was wrong. And stupid. And definitely hadn’t planted any ideas in Jake’s head during that visit. Absolutely not. Certainly not. He just ordered a pack of diapers off the internet that night for totally unrelated reasons, and paid for expedited shipping on a whim. Unlike Cynthia though, he was going to make some changes. He wouldn’t just ruin his flat by stinking up the whole place. He just wanted to try using the diaper, but staying in it for long was off the table. He’d put one on, wet it, and then take it off right away. The package arrived that next afternoon, while he was in the middle of an online game with Cynthia and a few other friends. Not wanting a package of a dozen diapers to sit out on the stoop where any neighbor might accidentally grab it and open it, he hesitated. “Uh, be right back.” “What?” Cynthia demanded. “We’re getting swarmed–” “Can’t pause, gotta run for a sec–” he started, setting down his controller and removing his headset so he could run to the door. By the time he returned a minute later, his team had been overwhelmed by zombies, and a new match was queuing. “What the hell, Jake?” one of their other friends demanded, as he put his headset back on. “Had to run–” he started, thinking up the first excuse he could. “Bathroom.” “Couldn’t hold it for two minutes?” “Yeah,” Cynthia added, and Jake picked up the humor in her tone. “Why can’t you be more like us, Jake? You never see me running off to use the toilet while we play.” Wait, she doesn’t–Jake thought. “Then again, you play like crap,” he shot, trying to gauge her reaction. “Hey, if you don’t like that I stink, don’t play with me,” Cynthia replied. Yup, she has a diaper on. “Can you two quit bickering so we can get back to the game?” And with that, the gameplay resumed, but Jake’s mind stayed on the package a few feet away. An hour later, as the game ended, he finally had a chance to rip it open, all the while telling himself he was just trying it out to confirm that Cynthia was making stuff up. He didn’t like diapers, he just needed to get it out of his system. He wouldn’t be like Cynthia, though. He wanted to try using a diaper, but he wouldn’t just sit and stew in it. He didn’t want to deal with cleanup, either–just as soon as he was done, he wanted the proof of his accident to be gone, so he could take off the diaper, clean himself off, and go on with his life confident in the knowledge that he wasn’t a weirdo like Cynthia. Fortunately, he knew a bit of magic. Not fully-fledged wizard magic, but enough to get by. Sure, it was a bit reckless to invent a homebrew spell given his skill level, but what’s the worst that could happen? He’d have to take a shower after all. Marking out a few notes on a pad, he tried to remember his latin as he worded the spell. “Let’s see…I want it to hold up when I use it, but self clean as soon as it’s used.” He went through the conjugations, checked it over twice, and lit a candle to cast the spell. He knew the magic worked–or, at least, that it had caused some kind of effect–when the candle blew itself out. He had himself a perfectly enchanted diaper, and was ready to get this out of his system. Slipping off his pants and boxers, he turned the diaper over in his hands a couple times, lining up the tapes with the back. Flopping back onto the couch, he wriggled it into place, folded it up over his waist, frowned at the erection that’d formed between his legs, and tried to just tape it in place. He did a crap job. His diaper ended up lopsided, mangled, and was about ready to fall off–and, because the tapes were sticky, he couldn’t just peel them off and try again. He’d have to get a new diaper, re-cast the spell, and start all over from scratch. Rather than try that, he reached over to the coffee table until he reached his lighter. Snagging it, he re-lit the candle and cast another quick spell. “Let’s see…Latin for securing the tapes so it’ll stay in place…” he mumbled the words, and in an instant, the diaper snapped into a solid, snug-but-not-uncomfortable position over his waist. Perfect. Now he just needed– “Oh, wow,” he said, as his belly gurgled, almost as though on cue. He felt a pressure on his bladder as well, as though the mere act of putting on the diaper had made him need to go. It was like when he got back from a long car drive, as soon as he was within striking distance of a toilet, he’d suddenly feel that pressure–this just had to be the same thing, right? “Fine,” he said. “Let’s do this, get it out of the way.” Standing, he tried to let go. A bit of effort, and a grunt, but a mental block told him ‘no’. So, he tried again. Spreading his legs, Jake squatted down, extended his butt, and allowed his golden red tail to hike up into the air. His bladder released, flooding the front of his diaper even through a half erection, and a moment later his guts gave in and obeyed. With a little grunt, he overcame two decades and change of practice at keeping his pants clean and felt the mush spill out of him, pushing out his diaper to make room. Jake surprised himself with how badly he needed to go–his bladder was still draining after almost forty five seconds, and he had to make an effort to keep pushing, keep packing the seat of his diaper. He wasn’t sure what he’d eaten that had produced such a reaction, but… But… The way his mess bulged into his diaper, spreading between his legs while the padding grew sodden and heavy, stirred something inside him. And even as he was still going, when the smell hit him, a gentle whiff of the stink coming off his diaper, that definitely made him feel something. He didn’t smell nearly as bad as Cynthia had, but that was okay–she’d been far, far too ripe for any person to possibly stand. But this, on the other hand, almost– “No!” he said out loud, though he couldn’t compel his body to stop dumping into his diaper. “I don’t–I don’t like this! I can’t like this, I’m not some sort of–whatever.” The stream was finally starting to taper off, and he was finally, mercifully, empty. As his bladder stopped dribbling, he stood, ready for the self cleaning magic to kick in. Then, he could take this diaper off and forget about this whole experience. A second passed, then two. The diaper didn’t self clean. “Dammit,” he mumbled. “Stupid messed up magic spell. Guess I’ll have to clean up the crappy way.” Reaching down, Jake seized the first of four tapes on his diaper, prying it free. He really should have waddled to the bathroom first, but he wanted out of this right away. As he reached for his second tape, though, the first one snapped right back down. “Uh…” he said, pulling it free again. This time, it jerked out of his fingers, sealing itself back in place, so that the diaper wouldn’t be free. The third time he tried, he couldn’t even find purchase on the tape. Frowning, he tried to just tug the diaper free like a pair of underwear. The material stretched, so it had to come off, right? No dice. No matter how much he pushed down on the waistband, it refused to budge, as though an equal and opposite force fought him. He was stuck. And his belly had begun gurgling again.

I once again don't understand what you mean, but I'm glad you seem to be enjoying the story!

Absolutely, but it's hard to negotiate those repercussions while stoned

Chapter 16: Consequences “Forty seven, forty eight, forty nine… fifty,” Brains counted out, accepting the wad of cash Pearce had handed over. He deposited it into the house’s beer fund, a ceramic piggy bank with a plugged hole in the bottom. “That’s everything.” “I can’t believe you didn’t notice,” Grace said, smirking at him. She’d been changed and dressed in a fairly plain outfit, by Pearce’s standard–just a baby blue dress that came down to her knees, something from her actual normal wardrobe. “I was practically dripping when I got home.” “But–” Pearce said. He would have sworn on a bible that she’d barely been damp. He’d noticed it, and thought to himself that it was strange, and–there’s no way I missed that, right? “What, I should have warned you and gotten myself a time out?” Grace asked, incredulous. “Yeah, right, get myself in trouble to keep you safe. This is all on you.” “I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely. His heart had started to beat a little faster, and he felt trapped by the eyes on him–Brains, Melody, who was mostly down to just use the kitchen, and Grace, whose smug smile burned a hole in his thoughts. “I…” Seriously, how stupid am I? Shaking his head, he silently berated himself for missing something so obvious. The discomfort made him squirm, made him want to– “You were seriously close to leaking?” he asked. Desperate for an answer other than the truth, some indicator that he hadn’t missed something so obvious. He felt like an idiot. “You seriously missed it?” Grace shot back. “My diaper was almost falling off. Do you really think you’re qualified to take care of anyone if you don’t notice something that obvious?” Pearce looked between her, and Brains, and Melody–who was minding her own business, waiting for the microwave to stop whirring. He’d find no comfort there. Retreating, he said, “Pff, whatever.” Turning on his heels, he started walking away. “What about dinner?” Grace demanded. “Later,” Pearce replied. “Before bed. Just–later. I’m not hungry.” “I am,” Grace said. “Then whine about it. Later.” He rolled his eyes, threw up his hands, slumped his shoulders. His classic, ‘I don’t care, leave me alone’ posture. Only he had historically used it on teachers and his parents, not on anyone in the waster’s club. He shuffled up to his room and locked the door, found his headphones from his desk, and started blasting music. Loud enough to shut out the world. It wasn’t that he’d made a mistake. It was that he’d forgotten about it. Normally he spaced things off, sure. Time slipped away. He was forgetful. But when he tried, really tried to think about it, he could remember what he’d forgotten, or at least find a vague hazy memory because he hadn’t properly looked. It hadn’t been since highschool that he genuinely had a memory he couldn’t trust, and that’d been because the cloud of weed that followed him around whispered rumors in his ears that he’d made up on his own time. Anxiety spiking, Pearce began to dig in his desk for an old friend. … “Jeez,” Skip said, pinching their nose as they stepped into the kitchen. “Dank up there, isn’t it?” “Who’s smoking?” Grace asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, still basking in her small victory. Pearce’d had no idea she’d tricked him, and by the look on his face, he’d been just about to surrender right there. Victory was moments away, practically in her grasp. Maybe one or two more accidents, tops, and she didn’t mind trading a couple puddles for triumph. “Pearce, I think,” Skip said, “There was almost a fog machine under the door.” Grace began to grin. That could probably be used as proof of her victory even further–it wasn’t against the rules, per say, but getting baked while on caretaker duty was horribly irresponsible. Heck, even if she didn’t press that, it was a sure thing that Pearce would forget something. But then her grin wavered, as a few thoughts hit her. There wasn’t a person in the house who didn’t get high occasionally, but Pearce had somewhat a different relationship with pot than the rest of them. It’d very much been a coping tool for him more than just a recreational bit of fun. It’d been difficult to find him sober after turning in a report card, or having to explain why he’d gotten detention this time, or just generally stressed…after a failure. Shit. Shit. His expression a moment prior reframed itself in real time while Grace stood there. She’d meant to push him into defeat, not into a panic attack. “What’s wrong?” Skip asked. “You look, eh…horrified.” “I’ll explain later,” Grace said, pushing away from the counter and walking towards the stairs. She swallowed. There was only one ethical choice of action that she could see, and it made her feel stupid that she’d have to take it. She’d thought her plan through all the way to the end, and never once wondered how it might impact Pearce beyond victory. That was going to take some self reflecting, later. For now, she had a mess to clean up. First, she had to dig through her purse. Then, she knocked on Pearce’s door. The smell of old pot was pretty strong–he wasn’t going easy. This wasn’t ‘having fun’, it was trying to fix something. “Later,” he said immediately. “I’m coming in,” Grace said. “Sorry.” She pushed open the door. He hadn’t locked it. A thick haze assaulted her, enough that she’d be hotboxed if she stayed in the room for too long, but she shut the door behind her and crossed the room, tiptoeing over piles of laundry and snack detritus. Pearce lay on his bed, eyes bloodshot. She extended her hand, offering a wad of cash to him. “Here.” He glanced up. “What’s that?” “Fifty dollars,” Grace explained. “I–I fucked up. I’m sorry.” Pearce just looked confused. Grace didn’t wait for him to ask, ‘huh’, or ‘what’, she just pressed on. “I didn’t leak because you weren’t paying attention,” she explained. “I wasn’t very wet when I got home, I just held it and then kind of…made the leak happen on purpose. It was my fault. Not yours.” He stared at her, brow furrowed, trying to figure out what she was saying. She wasn’t sure where the confusion lay, but she let him puzzle it out. Finally, Pearce said, “I didn’t screw it up?” Grace had expected anger, or disbelief, but all she saw in his face was pure, placid relief. A man offered a stay of execution minutes before the gallows. “Yeah,” she said. She thought he might cry, his face was such a mask of solace. “Why?” “I–” Grace started. “Can I sit down?” “Sure,” he said, pulling up his legs so there was room at the end of the bed. She wiped some crumbs off the sheet and sat, thinking how to explain. “I wanted to trick you, to make you give up by, I guess, forcing mistakes to happen. I was just thinking that you’d give up because it got expensive when I kept leaking, but, like…I didn’t know you’d react this way.” He stared at the ceiling. “I was gonna, you know.” “I know,” Grace said, resting a hand on his leg, a little gesture of comfort. “You could have won,” he said. “I thought it was all me. I believed it. I never would have known.” “I know,” Grace repeated. “But it wasn’t supposed to hurt you like this. You know I’m not that much of an asshole, right? I’m like… something less intense than an asshole.” He chuckled. “Butthole.” The word, out of the blue, made Grace giggle. Maybe it was the sheer density of smoke in the air, too, filtering into her lungs, or the endorphin wave of relief that Pearce wasn’t mad. “Okay, that’s a better word, right. Butthole.” Pearce laughed again, snorting and sitting up. “Hole in a butt, butt in a hole.” Grace fell back onto the bed, laughing. She didn’t feel high, but she did feel relief, and that rush was similar in intensity. “I know it’s up to you, but can we order burgers for dinner? I’d kill for a burger right now.” “Sure, but you have to go downstairs and grab it,” Pearce said, reaching for his phone. “What, me, the baby?” Grace put a hand on her chest, feigning offense. “I do believe that’s your job.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, but I’m stealing your fries.” “Get your own fries!” “They taste better stolen.” “Really?” “It’s the crime. Best seasoning there is for fries.” They both laughed, and Grace scooted to a half seated position, her back against the wall. She eyed his bowl, sitting on his cluttered night stand, smoke still billowing off it like incense. “Ah, screw it. Can I get a hit off that?” Pearce sat up and shook his head. “No.” Grace frowned, but he added, “Butthole babies don’t get to feed herself, remember?” “Themselves, would be the word,” she said. “Butthole babies don’t get to feed herself, themselves,” Pearce repeated, picking up the bowl. He held it up for her, and she had to lean forward, puffing off it in his clumsy fingers. She inhaled too much, coughed for a second, and then the two of them fell into fits of giggling. After ordering, Pearce opened up Right Round, the popular short-form video app, holding up his phone so Grace could see. Grace expected to cast a little judgment on his feed, but the algorithm largely seemed to bless him with exclusively funny videos, and before long the two of them were bursting into regular fits of giggles, passing the bowl back and forth, sitting close to one another and sharing the screen like a campfire. Eventually, food arrived, and Pearce left briefly to go get it. While he was gone, Grace pulled the covers over herself, nestling into his bed like a bird in a nest, all warm and cozy. Pearce returned a moment later with two paper sacks, and when he returned, he pulled the blankets over himself, too, distributing the food. Sitting next to each other, draped in sheets and duvets, he passed her a ridiculously jumbo carton of fries, and produced one for himself, and then stole one from her. Grace snickered, and took one from his carton. It was delicious, in the way that only greasy food seasoned by the munchies could be. “See?” Pearce grinned. “Theft. The best seasoning.” “Salt helps,” Grace snickered, stealing another fry. The supply of starchy, salty potato seemed endless, but they chowed down on each other’s food, burgers languishing in the bag, watching funny videos and giggling like fiends, snuggled next to each other on Pearce’s bed. Grace had completely lost track of the passage of time, she just shared the moment, enjoying the company until her eyes started to grow heavy and her thoughts so fuzzy that she couldn’t follow the jokes, giggling simply because Pearce was giggling. The transition to unconsciousness was a gradual one. They moved from sitting cross legged to laying, and then Grace rolled on her side, shut her eyes, giggling just from the sounds. She wasn’t exactly planning to sleep, but she wasn’t not planning to sleep either, and when it claimed her, she was smiling broadly, her limbs entangled with Pearce. ... If you'd like to support me and my writing, I'd really appreciate it. 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‘Juvenile’. That’d been the word she’d used when we broke up. There’d been other words, too, of course–she was nothing if not a wordsmith, and she found many other creative nouns, verbs, and adjectives to describe what she thought of me. ‘Leering’, ‘Immature’, ‘Inattentive’, ‘Psychologically and pathologically unfaithful’. I probably should have seen the red flags a lot sooner. A coffee meetup with my sister had turned into an argument with her, because she’d mistaken it for cheating. A compliment directed towards a cashier had led to the silent treatment for most of a day. But, for all the jealousy and insecurity I’d put up with, she dumped me, and she called me juvenile. That’s the bit I couldn’t get out of my head–the sheer lack of self awareness. I couldn’t so much as breathe around another woman without getting into trouble. And sure–I was known to occasionally admire female beauty, I wouldn’t deny that, but I’d done nothing to deserve what she did to me. Because out of all that, the biggest red flag was that she claimed she knew how to curse people. I’d brushed off the comment, at the time–I’d known some witchy girls in college, it was just a turn of the phrase, right? Like ‘manifesting’ as another word for having a positive outlook. I didn’t expect–let me just tell you what happened. So we’d broken up. She’d dumped me, to be precise, in public, with lots of yelling. I’d been pretty upset about it, so I moped around at my apartment for a couple days. Nothing too strange so far. But then, when I finally dragged myself out of my apartment, planning on maybe getting some groceries, just getting some air–it happened. I was in line at the register. The cashier girl asked me how my day was, I told her it was getting better, and then–I swear to god, this has never happened to me since I was like a little kid, but I felt something hot rushing down my pants. I looked down, and then she snorted with laughter, and by the time I realized I was pissing myself I’d already started making a puddle. I want to be clear–I hadn’t felt any need to go before this point. None at all. It’d come completely out of the blue. One moment, I was talking to a pretty cashier, the next, puddle pants. So I did the reasonable thing–excused myself, carried my grocery bags in front of my waist on the walk home, wrote it off as a fluke. A fluke, right? No chance of that repeating. So the next day. I’m riding the bus to work, I notice this girl’s reading a book I’ve read before–a book I love, really. So I step forward, and I’m about to say hi, and then–wham. I feel it again. Now this time, I’m on a bus. I can’t just get off, I’m stuck there. And to make matters worse, I still need to get to work on time, so it’s not like I can just bail and go home. I got off a stop early, enormous wet stain down my pants, and had to run into a corner gas station and try to clean myself up in the bathroom. It half worked, but no amount of paper towels got things totally dry, and the lingering pee smell didn’t go away all day. I don’t know if anyone in the office noticed that morning; they certainly didn’t say anything, but I don’t know how you wouldn’t notice. But they definitely noticed at lunch. I was chatting up Sheila, the receptionist, and… Well, come on. You’ve figured out the pattern by now, haven’t you? Like five words in, my pants are soaked, everyone in the break room could absolutely see. I thought I was going to die. It’s one thing when it’s a bunch of strangers, but I’d just let loose in front of coworkers, people I’d known for years, and there’d been zero warning. Nada. Not a hint. And then I remembered my ex, warning me about her little ‘curse’. No other possibilities came to mind. I hadn’t accidentally swallowed a handful of diuretics or hit my head really hard or anything. It had to be whatever she’d done. So, while I was hiding in the work bathroom trying to figure out what to do, I texted her. No response. Of course. Nothing when I called, either. She’d blocked me on everything. I had no way to reach her. I took the rest of the day as a personal day, said I was making an appointment with my doctor. What was I supposed to do? Explain how I’d been cursed by a jealous ex? I tried getting in touch with some of her friends, the ‘spookier’ ones who’d seemed to know what she was talking about when she mentioned magic, but that didn’t get me anywhere. I tried Google, but that was a complete dead end. There really was no solution, but to deal with it, and that’s how I ended up at the pharmacy. Magic or no, I wasn’t stupid. I made sure to pee as soon as I arrived, so my bladder was totally empty. There wouldn’t be any embarrassing accidents at the diaper store, while I was actually buying the damned things. I circled the incontinence aisle twice, trying to be discreet, hoping nobody would see me. I had to spend a couple minutes looking over different packaging to figure out the sizing and which brand would work best for my…problem. Another consultation on the internet made it clear that most of the lighter options wouldn’t help, because they couldn’t handle a sudden flood of pee. While I wasn’t happy about having to pick one of the thickest options on sale, I felt glad that I hadn’t learned about the leakage problem through personal experience. Feeling a bolt of anxiety in the checkout line, I played a little deception to cover my tracks. Taking out my phone, I pretended to receive a phonecall, nodding along. “Hello, hi grandpa, yes I’m picking up your diapers now–I’ll bring them over in a minute!” There, that’d do it. Now everyone would know that these weren’t for me, I didn’t need diapers, and nobody around me would think I did. The cashier smirked as she got to my package, though she hid the expression quickly. She was cute–a couple years younger than me, and I could definitely see me and her together. I said hi, started to ask a question, and, well… It turned out, the curse didn’t care how recently I’d used the bathroom. My bladder spilled out into my pants anyways, a torrential flood that came from nowhere. What could I do? I turned pink, but I was actively in the middle of buying diapers–diapers that I’d just pretended weren’t for me. I paid, sheepishly apologized, and hurried to the single stall bathroom to try and clean myself up for the millionth time. After washing my jeans in the sink and drying them as best I could with paper towels, I turned my attention to the diapers. Clearly there was no putting this off. Sooner or later, I’d need to put them on. Ripping open the container, I turned one of the diapers over in my hands, examining it. I paused to peer at the instructions on the plastic package, then followed them as best I could while leaning against the wall. The diaper rustled poofily between my legs. I had to adjust the velcro-ish tapes a few times to get it where it felt snug without restricting motion, but that was barely a concern next to the bulk pressing my thighs apart. My jeans only sort-of fit over them. The wet denim stretched, but the bulge around the crotch was pronounced and plainly visible. Crud. I’d need to buy new clothes, too. It was a solution. Not a great one, but a solution. I dealt with the problem. New, looser jeans. I started bringing a backpack with me, so I could carry diaper changes. And pretty much every time I talked to a pretty girl, I’d flood my diaper and need to excuse myself to a bathroom. In the meantime, my quest for someone who could undo the curse continued, but to no avail. Nothing worked. I tried getting incense and some fancy candles, I tried ‘manifesting’ a reality where I wasn’t cursed, it all failed. Nobody I talked to could help. One, who seemed to know what was going on, simply refused. I hated it, but there wasn’t much I could do to solve the issue. I got used to it. Diaper changes were a part of my routine, something I just learned to handle. Occasionally, when I had to go and a bathroom would be inconvenient, I just used the diaper on purpose. A couple months passed. I’d learned to keep things discreet, and staying cooped up didn’t work for me–I needed socialization. My favorite club, a few blocks down from my apartment, felt like a comfortable place to go. I hadn’t been since the breakup, but my return had me hailed by friends who I knew from there. It was a good time. I had a couple drinks. I even started chatting up this girl, Ally, who I’d met a few years back. And sure, I soaked my diaper about as soon as the conversation started, but who cared? She didn’t notice. I was used to it. We got to talking. We’d made out a bunch a few months ago, back before the curse, and she still seemed interested–heck, I got the sense that she might be interested in more than just making out this time. I sent a complement her way. She replied in kind, suggesting she thought I looked good, and– And I learned that the curse was much, much worse than I thought. My body betrayed me. The slightly splorchy frrrr– that escaped me wasn’t too loud, but my expression couldn’t have been more of a betrayal. I mean, fuck me. I was paralyzed–what could I do? There I was, sitting at the bar, loading up my diaper like a dump truck. It swelled so much it made my pants sag, my face was so red it could have directed traffic, and though the diaper contained all the mush, it did ass all to hold in the smell. I stammered. I found a reason to excuse myself, and just ran out of the bar, waddling and squelching the whole way. Staying put and explaining myself wasn’t an option. The waddle home was humiliating. I was sure every stranger I passed could smell me, could see my pants sag from the overfull diaper I’d trapped myself in. And then my phone rang. It was her. I answered. “Why?” I demanded, stepping to the side of the sidewalk to speak to her. “I just know,” she explained. “Do you want it to end?” I nodded. Then I realized she couldn’t see me, and started to respond. But apparently she could see me, because she replied before I could say anything. “How many?” I knew the answer she wanted. I knew the consequences if I lied. “Three,” I conceded. Defeated. I’d lost. “Three times. Different girls.” “Three it is,” she said. “Once the time is up, you’ll get your control back.” “Just three days?” I asked, hope rising. No response. My stomach sank. “Weeks?” Nothing. “Years?” “Try not to forget your potty training,” she said. And then she hung up. ... 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The little one pouted as Daddy pushed the cart into the grocery store. It wasn’t that they’d been dressed up–or rather, dressed down in only a T-shirt and a puffy pink diaper, at least in the virtual space of their headsets, and it wasn’t that Mommy had made him hold her hand all the way into the store. It’s that they’d picked that shop. The grocery store with the Caroline’s Carts, the ones big enough to hold the little one snugly in place, buckled into the cart. Using a few child safety features on the totalset, Daddy had turned the buckle into a lock. The little one was firmly, completely bound into the cart, stuck doing whatever shopping they wanted without the option to wander away. To passersby, it’d just look like a young-ish guy with a slim build was riding in the cart for a laugh, but Mommy and Daddy knew. “You know,” Mommy said, smirking like she’d planned to say this all along. “Do you think it’s time we let him try potty training again?” “I think you’re right,” Daddy agreed, grinning back at her. “It might be time for pull-ups full time, at least when he’s not in diapers.” That would, strictly speaking, be a demotion–the little one got to wear big boy boxers most of the time, pullups were worse! He looked up at them, eyes pleading, while Daddy turned the cart towards the incontinence aisle. “Oh, Sandra!” Mommy said, as they pulled forward. The little one blinked, sitting up in his buckled-down cart seat. Sandra was one of their friends from game night–one of their vanilla friends, one who had a VR totalset. And sure, it wasn’t like Sandra had access to the private server room they’d set up, so she wouldn’t be able to see the diaper under his elastic shorts, but she would see him buckled into the seat, and he blushed deeply at the thought. “Fancy seeing you here,” Sandra replied, walking up. Her gaze drifted down to the little one, who squirmed as she looked at him. “And how’s this one doing?” She’s not going to address me? The little one wondered, as Daddy pushed the cart definitively into the incontinence aisle. Wait, why are we– “Oh, I think it’s time we try to get him into pullups!” Daddy said, adding with a wink, “At least some of the time.” The little one’s face went bright pink, flushed from forehead to neck. “Dadd–Um–” “What is it, baby?” Daddy asked. “Do you need a diaper change?” Blush deepening, the little one looked at Sandra, who had a broad smirk, and followed her gaze…right down to his crotch. She can see. “Buh–” he stammered, only then noticing that Greg was in the store, walking right up to them. Another friend of theirs. “Well isn’t this a surprise,” he said. “How’ve you been?” “Greg,” Daddy said, greeting him with a smile. “Good to see you.” No, no, no– the little one thought, mortified. This had to be some kind of–what was even– Mommy selected a training potty from off the shelf, holding it up for everyone to see. “What do you think?” “Honestly, you might be wasting your time with this one,” Greg said. “This old and still in diapers? That’s not going to change without a miracle.” “Oh believe me,” Daddy said, slipping his phone out of his pocket. “This little one’s had plenty of changes.” The little one didn’t put it together that Daddy was changing a setting on his phone, not until he felt his belly grumble and, without warning, release. No, no, no, no, no– There was nothing he could do, save to screw up his face, blush beet red, and feel his body expel mush right into the seat of his diaper, pressed up against the cart’s buckle, swelling out the padding with a solid, smushy weight. There was no virtual augmentation here, just a very full belly and intensely unfortunate timing. Though to most they’d just see slightly bulging shorts, Mommy, Daddy, Sandra and Greg got a full view of the whole thing, the way his diaper sagged and bulged around the strap and buckle holding him in place, the way his face screwed up and his hands balled to desperate fists while he tried–and failed–to hold it in. All four of them burst into giggles when Mommy said, “On second thought, maybe diapers full time is the way to go.” She placed the training potty back on the shelf, to the little one’s further humiliation. Sandra, covering her nose, giggled, “He really is just a baby, isn’t he?” “A smelly one at that,” Greg agreed. Quietly, Daddy added, “Thanks for coming out–he’s fussy now, but he’s loving it.” Both their friends nodded, and he said louder, “Well, I guess that means we don’t need to keep shopping here–since we’re all together, want to go get ice cream before we take the stinker home to get changed?” The little one squirmed in delight, embarrassment, shame, and pleasure. Daddy was right–he was loving it. ... Support me on Patreon or SubscribeStar for more similar content: Patreon SubscribeStar

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