PeculiarChangeling

Everyone in this setting is 'Normal' size, in that they fall into the same range that people in the real world fall into. Unlike the DD, being Little here isn't about size/genetics, it's just a mental state and social class. ... Chapter Seven Jamie toppled as Michelle pushed him onto the bed, legs feeling unsteady–it felt as though the pee that had soaked in and made his diaper sag had imbalanced his whole body, even though the pull-up couldn’t possibly be that full. Regardless, he fell back and landed on the mattress, and though he expected her to start changing him, he didn’t expect her to be quite so enthusiastic about it. She followed him onto the bed, pulling the straps off his shortalls, straddling his knees as she pulled the garment down off his body, so that only his onesie and pull-up remained. “Be a good boy and lie still for me,” she instructed, moving to discard the shortalls completely. Jamie nodded, and felt silly for doing so–he didn’t need to agree, that was like agreeing to breathe. He would simply do whatever Michelle told him to do; she knew what would keep him safe, what the grown-up choices would be, and he’d be better off following her instructions than trying to think for himself. The snaps on his onesie came free, and Michelle’s hand slid up the front of his fully saturated pull-up, groping the crotch of his diaper. He was burning with desire, but to his surprise, he hadn’t grown hard enough to make the diaper tent out, only bulging it a little. Jamie could absolutely feel Michelle’s fingers stroke over the soggy garment, but he didn’t know if she could feel him back. Still, it didn’t matter–Michelle pulled her hand back and slid off the bed, though he would have been fine for her to leave it there forever if it meant the dizzying pleasure stayed firmly in his thoughts. Instead, though, she began to change his pull-up, ripping the sides so that it could be removed just like a thoroughly saturated Little diaper. The baby wipes she produced were warm, pre-heated for his comfort, and she worked delicately to clean all the stale urine from his skin. She didn’t tease or make fun, and instead only said, “See, I’m so proud of you–aren’t you glad you weren’t trying to wear silly grown up underwear? Isn’t this nicer than icky, cold pants and a huge stain to clean up?” He nodded, though his attention was split by sensation as she sprinkled baby powder between his legs, rubbing it in with her hand. Fingers stroked up his cock, massaging in the perfumed powder, and he felt tiny and blissful, eyes rolling back in his head. Michelle wadded up his old diaper and discarded it. Jamie didn’t see where, and he didn’t care, that wasn’t his problem to worry about. He expected a new pull-up, or maybe a new diaper, but instead, Michelle leaned over him again. “I need to do something before I put your diaper on,” she explained, hands on his thighs. “It’s important.” He nodded. “Mhmm.” He’d do it–but what was it? A hint of skepticism washed over him, dampening his arousal. Jamie hadn’t done this before, but he felt fairly certain that she should have put a fresh diaper on him immediately. “Roll over, and get on your hands and knees,” Michelle instructed. “Okay? Be good for me, and this will help you keep your grown-up thoughts.” That explained it–this wasn’t normal, it was to help him stay a grown up. Placated, Jamie did as he was told, eyes down on the bed as he raised his naked bottom into the air. Looking between his legs, he saw himself, confirming what he’d felt–his cock looked smaller than he remembered. In fact, his whole body seemed different–was he a little more slender at the waist? Had his hips swelled a bit, giving him more overt curves? He frowned, brow furrowing, trying to decide if the changes to his body were simply a trick of perspective. He normally saw himself in a mirror, not while kneeling, looking down at his half naked body. Before he could question it further, he felt the bed shift, one side pressing down as Michelle crawled onto the mattress behind him. He felt naked skin against his back, and Michelle’s fingers laced with his shaggy hair, pulling his head back so she could whisper in his ear. “A good, grown-up boy would let me use him,” she whispered. “However I want. Are you going to be good for me?” Jamie nodded diligently, but this felt wrong. He wanted–he needed something, but– Michelle anticipated his need and reached around his face, pressing his pacifier between his lips. He sucked down on the bulb, moaning in relief as he felt it calm him. Then, from behind, he felt pressure against his bottom–not the need to go, but instead a hard force, slick and firm, pushing inside him. Eyes widening, he looked down again, watching between his legs as Michelle pressed her hips against his thighs, pushing the strap-on into him, filling him up. He couldn’t help himself–he moaned, shuddering as she pulled back and thrust again, a little faster this time, sliding in and out of his bottom with an escalating rhythm. (Yes,) Jamie thought, as Michelle accelerated, pounding into him, one hand still laced in his hair. (Yes, I–I’m a good boy, I’ll do what M–m–) “Mmphhh…” he moaned, his own parts quivering, ready to burst from the pleasure as Michelle filled him, using him for herself, driving the strap-on into his G-spot over and over again. But, again, she knew his body better than he knew it himself, and before he could spurt onto her mattress, overwhelmed by the burning need to cum, she stopped, retreating, pulling out of him. “Such a good boy,” she purred. “There you go…” “Buh…” he stammered, pacifier dangling between his lips. “I…I wanna…” “You want to make me feel good now, right?” she finished, planting the words in his mouth and the thought in his brain. “To thank me for using you?” Helpless to think for himself, Jamie nodded–Michelle was right. “Then we should get you in your diaper, before you have a little accident,” Michelle cooed, shimmying out of the strap and setting it aside, along with her panties, leaving her as naked below the waist as he was. Jamie was as hard as he could be when he rolled onto his back–which wasn’t all that impressive, though Michelle didn’t seem to care about his diminishing manhood. She was clearly wet, dripping with arousal that seemed as intense as himself. That reassured him–he had to be mature, he had to be grown up, that’s why she was so interested. She had a diaper ready, though, and slid it under his hips, folding it… (Where did she get all this from? Did she already have it in here? Why…dhuuh…) His questioning thoughts were rendered into putty as she pushed the fresh diaper down over him. This was no pull-up, it was fluffy and snug, playful monkeys and jungle friends decorating the exterior. Feeling the thick, comforting padding press down over him, Jamie began to drool around his pacifier, mind sinking in a soup of pleasure. Two large tapes secured the diaper down, and Michelle ran her hand up the front one more time, satisfied in her handiwork. “Now,” she instructed, crawling up onto the bed, hooking a finger into the pacifier’s handle once again and pulling it free. “Are you going to be a good boy?” His nod came automatically. Of course. He was a good boy. She spread her legs, showing off her waiting sex. “Then show me how you use your mouth, and make me feel good.” Jamie required no further instruction. Crawling forward on the bed, freshly diapered bottom sashaying in the air as he approached, he dipped his head between her thighs and showed Michelle that he knew exactly how to demonstrate his maturity. She gasped as his tongue ran across her clit, and Jamie worked himself harder. She reached down, fingers lacing once again through his long, lush hair, and she pulled down–unnecessary, because Jamie had no thoughts of pulling away, but her need filled him with satisfaction more deep than he could remember. He wanted to make her feel good. He needed to make her feel good. She’d cared for him, she’d changed his diaper, she’d used his bottom and helped him, and now he could show her how much he cared for her in return. This was right. This was what he was for. Making M…m… “Yes,” Michelle gasped, back arched in ecstasy. “Use your diaper for me–show me how obedient you–” Her words trailed off as she rode into the beginnings an intense climax, but Jamie didn’t need to be prodded further. As soon as she’d said, ‘for me’, he’d strained to obey, scrunching up his face, grunting, pushing out the last dregs of his potty training to show his obedience. His bowels emptied, at first because he strained with effort, then because he could no longer stop them–his willful release turned to an uncontrollable wave, the seat of his diaper crinkling as it bulged to contain his fleeting maturity. As he felt the mush swell against his skin, packing into the diaper without a trace of control or shame, he felt an intense wave of pleasure wash down his body, and he clung to Michelle’s thighs for support. She screamed in satisfaction, and Jamie felt sheer bliss as he shuddered and groaned, forgetting himself, forgetting everything except for the ecstasy of his diaper, the comfort of Michelle’s touch, spurting at the mind-melting pleasure that came to him from his diaper. Sweaty, endorphins washing into the two of them, they collapsed into each other, exhausted in the way that only joy could bring. ... Audiobooks are a lot of work to make, and represent a huge investment of time and money - it's the kind of thing that's only really possible with a lot of community support. The kickstarter for The Baby Bet is starting to lag - I'd really like to see this this audiobook get made, and if you feel the same, please consider tossing in a contribution! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/peculiarchangeling/the-baby-bet-coming-to-audio

Chapter Six Michelle felt giddy as she waited on the step of the brownstone apartment building. She hadn’t allowed herself to believe that this plan would really work, let alone that she’d have Jamie in her arms in just a few days, but now–suddenly–it seemed possible. He’d asked her for a diaper change. Jamie had asked her for a diaper change. Maybe she’d been a bit too hasty, all but admitting she’d followed him home and had been waiting in hopes that he’d call her for that very reason, but she couldn’t wait. She needed to see– Jamie opened the door, and something inside Michelle melted. He was just so…adorable. Helpless. Wonderful. Perfect. He stood in the doorway, legs splayed more deliberately than when it’d just been a crinkly pull-up between them. He carried the faintest odor of stale pee, but that didn’t matter, she knew even without being told: Jamie had the awkward waddle of a Little with an over-soaked diaper, one who knew they’d leak if they weren’t careful about managing the squelch between their thighs. His face, though, was what made her heart soar. Big brown eyes pleading, afraid, in need of a strong, caring hand to come tell him everything would be okay. His hair fell around his shoulders, and he’d begun twirling a strand around his index finger, shyly avoiding eye contact. “Let’s get you home,” Michelle said, offering him her hand. “Okay? I’ve got diapers for you there.” He nodded shyly, hand drifting up to his mouth, then he caught himself. Reaching into the pocket of his shortalls, he took out the pink pacifier she’d planted there and plopped it between his lips, suckling with a little more confidence. (Oh, hell,) Michelle thought, feeling her own panties get wet–but not for any lack of potty training. (I need this boy.) Helping Jamie into the passenger seat–she wasn’t quite ready to get an adult booster for the back yet, he might realize that was wrong–she leaned over, buckling him in. Impulsively, she gave him a little peck on the forehead before pulling away, leaving a tiny lipstick mark above his eyebrows. “You did the right thing by asking me for help,” she promised him, looking Jamie in the eyes. “I’m proud of you.” He looked like he might start to sniffle and cry, but Jamie just squirmed and nodded, clearly uncomfortable with how his diaper felt when it squelched beneath his weight. They’d need to fix that–Michelle wanted him to know that used diapers were a good thing, that they were a chance for Mommy to take care of him. No more negative associations, just happy thoughts. Then again, as she leaned over him, she caught a faint whiff of sex, a chlorine odor that told her Jamie had already enjoyed a few happy thoughts in his diaper. He was further along than she’d ever imagined. Walking around her car, she got in and began to drive. She felt every red light, every stop sign–she yearned to get him home, and every second that kept her away from the Little boy she’d claimed as hers was infuriating. When she got to her space in the parking garage, she all but dragged Jamie out of his seat, fingers lacing around one of the straps of his shortalls. (I should get a lead for him,) she thought, passion driving her as she led the waddling young man to the elevator. This time, as she prepared to take him up to her floor, she got her wish. One of her neighbors waited in the chamber full of elevator doors, and when Michelle walked in, the older woman glanced over at her. “Good afternoon, Michelle,” the neighbor said, her eyes sizing Jamie up. “Who’s your…friend?” Jamie shuffled his feet, looking down at his shoes and avoiding eye contact. “Don’t mind him,” Michelle said, brimming with joy as she quietly called attention to Jamie. “He’s just shy because he…well, he needs my help a little.” She pulled him a little closer, protective, and Jamie reached out with his hand, fingers lacing with hers. He wanted to hold her hand! Michelle had to stifle a squeal of joy as she got onto the elevator with him, riding up to their floor with the older neighbor. Michelle didn’t even say goodbye, too focused on her goal, leading Jamie by the hand to her apartment. The door opened, and shut, and they were alone together. She couldn’t wait any more. Turning to face him, Michelle let her passions out, lifting Jamie’s hand in hers and pinning it against the wall and over his head. She used her other hand to grope the front of his shortalls, feeling his diaper squish beneath her fingertips, feeling him grow hard beneath the soggy padding and layers of fabric. “You were such a good boy,” she said, face moving up to his. “Remembering to use your diapers, remembering to call me for help–but is that all you wanted my help with?” Jamie trembled at her touch, and he shook his head, the handle on his pacifier rattling. She felt his hips move, pressing himself into her hand harder, succumbing to her advances. Leaning in, Michelle kissed the front of Jamie’s pacifier, then she reached up and fished the crook of her finger under its handle, pulling it free so she could kiss him on the lips. Their bodies were warm and desperate, each of them trembling together with anticipation and need. “Will you let me take care of you?” Michelle asked, whispering against his lips. All this boy had to do was ask, and she’d do anything to keep him. He nodded. “Yes–please.” Michelle didn’t know what exactly he thought of all this–whether her hex had left him confused, whether he was eager for any sex regardless of context, or if her wishes had come true and he’d already begun to feel the link between her care, his diapers, and fundamental pleasure, but for now, none of that mattered. She’d waited long enough, and she knew she had him. Now it was time to play with her Little boy. ... Support is just a couple bucks a month to get early access to all my writing - which, at the moment, includes the conclusion to this story, (four more chapters,) a three-part femdom punishment story, and more! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

It's also nice to have it happen automatically and on a schedule - I know for me, it's easy to just forget to donate for a while. If I could just chip in 5$ a month consistently, I'd be happy to set that up.

A baby girl, or a sissy boy will do Chapter 5 Jamie took slow, heavy breaths, his senses returning to him as the post-orgasmic high dissipated. Uncertainty faded, and after a long moment of recovery, he took stock and realized how much trouble he’d landed in. He’d been smart to wear his pull-up, sure, but now he’d found himself with a new problem: As he lay there, panting for air, he found a new warmth trickling into his pull-up. He was having another accident, and this one had come without warning. Jamie hadn’t intended to go–it had just happened, and he’d only realized after the fact. That meant he’d slipped further, that his curse had found some other ‘immature’ behavior to feed upon. Suckling his pacifier for comfort, Jamie fought the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes. (Michelle promised you’d be okay–you just need to figure out what went wrong, so you don’t do it again!) It worried him that he’d made another mistake without thinking. He’d been so vigilant, and he’d still failed. His best just wasn’t enough. Was it that he tried to make himself feel good? Did self-pleasure count as an immature behavior, and he should’ve waited and done that with Michelle? His eyes widened and he sat up straighter, surprised at himself–already, he was thinking about Michelle as someone he could be intimate with. They’d only known each other for one date, and he’d spent half that date panicking about wet pants and Little clothes. Yet, when he thought about having grown-up fun time, he couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone but Michelle. Squirming, he tried to think, but the heat in his diaper distracted him as it squelched against his parts. That would need to be taken care of–a grown up wouldn’t just sit around in a soggy pull-up. (Would they?) Pursing his lips, he took out his phone. The keyboard made him feel dizzy–the buttons were so small, and all right next to each other, but he managed to type out his search, hunting one key at a time until he found the letters he needed. Do adults change their diapers right away? The query brought up a few suggested articles, mostly directed at new caregivers for Littles. Is your Little one bigger than you expected? Here’s how to change those big accidents! Diaper Rash on your little’s bum? Five tips for preventing discomfort for your special one. This One Weird Trick Diaper Companies Don’t Want You To Know! Squinting at the words, Jamie found no direct answers, but one thing seemed obvious: Nobody was talking about how to change your diapers, it was all about how to change someone else’s. Put another way: Grown ups didn’t change their own diapers, they got another grown up to help. Proud of himself for making the deduction, he got to his feet. Now he just needed someone to help him, but he wasn’t sure who. His parents lived a few hours away–too far. Were any of his work friends close enough that he’d ask them to wipe his bottom? That seemed like too much of a favor, and besides, he didn’t want anyone to gossip around the curse. If HR found out he was regressing, he could be in hot water at work–better to keep things private. While he pondered who to ask, his phone chimed again. He lifted the screen, smiling behind his pacifier shield as he read ‘Michelle ❤️ ❤️ <3’ next to the text. ‘Did you get home alright?’ Blushing, he tried to peck away at the keyboard to respond, but he was having trouble with letters, and a few words took him almost a minute to type out. Grumbling to himself, he tapped the button to call her instead. “Jamie?” Michelle picked up almost immediately, concern in her tone. “Are you alright?” “Michewwe,” Jamie began, but realized he’d never taken the pacifier out. He spat it into his hand and tried again. “Michelle, I…made it home, but the curse is getting worse.” “Oh no,” Michelle said, with a tone that said, I’m sympathizing with you, rather than, I’m worried. “Tell me what happened.” “I got off the bus, and…” he began, blushing as he tried to explain without going into detail. “Um…when I got back to my apartment…it doesn’t matter, I just need to make sure to behave.” “Jamie.” Michelle’s tone wasn’t upset, but it sounded a degree more firm than it had before. “Did you have another accident?” Her words were so direct, he answered without thinking. “Yes. I…how’d you know?” “I can always tell, sweetie,” she said. “That’s nothing to be ashamed about. You couldn’t help it–but aren’t you glad you were wearing your diaper?” “They’re just pull-ups,” he fussed, pacing across the floor. “Not real diapers.” “Okay,” she said, with a giggle that suggested she didn’t really agree. “Do you have a grown up to help you clean up?” (She’s so smart,) Jamie thought, shaking his head as he held the phone. “No…I don’t know who to ask.” Another stifled giggle, barely audible over the line. “Do you want me to come help you, Jamie?” He flushed. “I…are you sure?” “I promise I don’t mind.” He nodded a few times, remembering a second later that he had to speak to be heard. “Yes, please.” “I’ll be there soon,” she promised. “Just wait for me, okay baby?” “Thank you.” Jamie sighed in relief, glad to have that problem taken care of. “You’re so nice, Michelle.” “Awww,” she said. “You’re the sweetest. Goodbye, Jamie!” “Bye bye, Michelle!” He hung up, satisfied with how that’d gone. Michelle really didn’t seem to be phased by anything–she was sweet, and nice, and smart, and managed to be ready for everything. He wasn’t sure what to do while he waited, so he put his pacifier back in and just stood there, uncertain what to do. It wouldn’t be long before– His phone chirped again, another message from Michelle. ‘I’m outside!’ He blinked–that was fast! Texting her back, he spent twenty seconds finding the letters for ‘Omw’, then waddled out his apartment door, hurrying to let her in. ... This story was brought to you by one of my awesome readers! My ability to create fiction like this is supported entirely by fans like you, without whom I wouldn't have enough time to write because I'd have to be working a second job. If you'd like to join these awesome people, (and get early access, commission discounts, and exclusive stories,) you can do so here: https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Have you considered setting up something like a Subscribestar page to help keep the income and donations consistent? Anyway - it looks like we needed 23 dollars, so I tossed in 23 dollars

Well, you're in luck! ... Chapter 4 Jamie felt a little foolish, sitting on a low stool in the middle of Michelle’s living room while she walked a tight circle around him, waving a garland of lavender over his head, mumbling words that sounded like gibberish. When Michelle had explained her theory–that he’d fallen afoul of a curse–he’d almost thought she was joking. Jamie had never learned much about witchy stuff–he knew about people falling afoul of curses and regression spells, but it hadn’t seemed worthwhile to learn the ins and outs of how they worked. Jamie made sure to always show kindness and respect to antique shop owners and avoided fortune tellers, and that had served him well…until now. In a stroke of luck, though, Michelle seemed to be an expert. She’d known what to look for, and in only a few minutes, she had prepared a simple test to check him over for traces of magic. “Bad news first,” Michelle announced, as she completed whatever bit of witchcraft she’d done to check him out. “You’re cursed.” Throat going dry, Jamie tried not to let his feelings get the better of him, though he felt like a doctor had just given him a terminal prognosis. “I’m going to regress?” “Not necessarily,” Michelle replied, shaking her head. “It looks like this is a sort of self-fulfilling hex. It draws strength from your behavior–if you act mature, it’ll slowly fade. You’ll only regress if you act in childish ways.” He frowned, thinking back. “Well…what did I do that was childish at the coffee shop?” “Peeing your pants is rather juvenile, isn’t it?” Michelle asked, tilting her head. “That’s probably what regressed you to the point of sucking your thumb.” Her answer felt wrong to him, but anxiety had clouded his thoughts and he couldn’t pinpoint the issue. “Alright.” He nodded a couple times, reassuring himself. “Alright. So…I just have to remain mature, right?” “Right,” Michelle assured him, patting his shoulder in a comforting way. Her fingers gripped him just a little, almost like she expected him to fall over without her support, but then she relaxed and pulled her hand away. “Just…make sure you don’t wet your pants anymore, and don’t suck your thumb. You should be fine.” Nodding, he got to his feet. The shortalls felt a bit snug as he moved. He typically preferred baggier clothes, not form-fitting denim that pulled the pull-ups against him, reminding him of the extra padding whenever he moved around, but he could change once he got home. “I…I should get going. Thank you, Michelle, for your help today.” “Of course,” she said, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? We could still put on that show?” A part of him wanted to agree–in part simply because Michelle seemed sad to see him go, and he really did want to get to know her better–but he needed to take some time to process the news about the curse, and didn’t feel like he’d be able to relax around Michelle. “Rain check? I do want to spend more time with you, this is just a lot to take in.” Her face flashed for a fraction of a second with disappointment, but she recovered so quickly that Jamie realized he must have misread her emotions. “Of course,” she said, opening her arms and pulling him into a hug. “Good luck, Jamie.” Hugging her back, he felt her soft body press against his–warm, comforting, reassuring. He wanted to stay, even more, but stuck to his original decision. It seemed too juvenile to stay just because it’d be more fun, the responsible choice would be to head home. He regretted his decision to leave almost immediately, but not because he wanted Michelle’s company–just moments after getting onto the bus, he felt pressure in his bladder, an unexpected need that struck him with an urgent need. The bus started to move before he could get off, and though the next stop was only a half dozen blocks away, he didn’t know of the nearest public restroom he could access. Shifting his weight from side to side, he bit his lip, anxiously wondering if he could make it. He wanted to put his thumb into his mouth, but fought the urge, pushing his hand back down every time it tried to rise up to his lips, fighting for maturity. (Should I be doing a potty dance?) he thought, fretting as he shuffled, leaning on a handrail. The bus was mostly empty, but was he getting strange looks? Did they know he was acting like a child? (Is it that immature? What did Michelle say?) ‘Don’t wet your pants, don’t suck your thumb’. That had been her warning. He tried to think what to do, but it felt as though his thoughts were steeped in thick fog. Should he go find a bathroom? Would a Little really make all the other people on the bus stop so he could run off to use a toilet? Could he hold it, if he tried? (Think,) he told himself, bumping his head against the metal pole to try and shake loose a thought. (Just…do what Michelle told you.) ‘Don’t wet your pants.’ ‘Don’t wet your pants.’ (Oh! Right!) The idea struck him like a static shock. He had on a pull-up. He could use that, and he wouldn’t wet his pants at all. It’s what he had it on for, after all, and rather than stand there hopping from foot to foot like a little kid, he could take the simple, mature choice and use his princess pull-up. Relaxing, he stood straight, bladder giving in to the need. Like the accident at the coffee shop, he felt warmth spread over himself, but unlike before, it stayed contained, wicked up by the padding. This didn’t feel like a mistake–it felt right, and the comforting, super-absorbent pulp swelling around his parts, warm, soft… (This was the right decision,) he assured himself, sighing in relief. He knew what Littles looked like when they had accidents–it was like at Sammy’s Little shower. They threw a tantrum and cried, complaining to their caregivers, pretending that it hadn’t been their fault. He wasn’t like that at all–he’d used his pull-up like a grown up, and it didn’t bother him at all. Now that he was confident in his maturity, he really wanted to suck his thumb in congratulations, to self-soothe as a reward for his smart decision making, but he knew better than that. To keep his hands busy, so that his thumb wouldn’t find its way into his lips by accident, he stuck them both in the shortall pockets. To his surprise, he found something–a plastic object with a soft, rubber bulb on one side and a ring on the other. (Oooh. Michelle thought of everything, didn’t she?) Taking out the pacifier, he turned it over in his hands. She was so smart–he didn’t need to suck his thumb at all! Plopping it in between his lips, he tasted the rubber bulb, eyes crossing in pleasure as he sucked down. Between the relaxation offered by the bulb, and the warm saturation pressed between his legs, held snug against his skin by the shortalls, he felt a deep sense of desire, lulling him in, coaxing him to suckle harder. He shut his eyes, feeling very nearly high, the rest of the world fading around him, minutes rolling by as he enjoyed the soothing. This felt good. It felt right. It didn’t matter what some stranger on the bus might think, and he didn’t need to search their face for a clue as to whether he was behaving in a mature way–Jamie knew he had to be making the right choices, because he was starting to have some very grown up thoughts. He couldn’t wait to be home, where he’d have more privacy. The bus finally came to a stop by his building, and he waddled out, suckling harder in anticipation. He hadn’t known a pacifier could feel so good, but as he rushed to get home, he felt his erection build within his soggy pull-up, growing a little warmer as a fresh trickle of pee soaked into it. He barely noticed his neighbor as he passed her to get into his apartment, slamming the door behind himself, slumping against the wall and sinking down. (Yes,) he thought, imagining Michelle’s body close to him, her hands wrapped around him. Sucking harder, he throbbed inside his pull-up, and fantasies played out in his thoughts. Jamie had done the mature things–he’d used his pull-up, he’d suckled his pacifier, he’d made sure to get home and find privacy before enjoying grown-up fun. He deserved this. Drooling over the pacifier’s tip, heat and need and passion growing inside him, he finally felt the climax build, edging towards orgasm without even needing to touch himself. He moaned loud and uncaring into the pacifier, and lost control, breaking through another threshold. Pleasure exploded within his pull-up, and he continued to suck passionately, spurting into soggy padding. It seemed to last forever, harder and more intense than any sex he could remember, buckling his knees, pleasure that overrode everything else. When it ended, he sank down, laying on the floor, sweaty, delirious, and happy he’d been smart enough to use his pull-up. ... 👀 Things are getting spicy for Jamie! Also! The audiobook kickstarter for The Baby Bet is over halfway! If you're interested in an AB/DL romcom audiobook, we're getting very close to hitting our funding goal - and it's just 15$ to back the project and reserve your copy, the same cost as an audiobook on most major platforms! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/peculiarchangeling/the-baby-bet-coming-to-audio

Chapter Three Michelle had come prepared for the accident–she just tried to act as though she hadn’t. Her regression curse, cast upon Jamie with a simple incantation and a lock of his hair on the same day she’d met him, was a bit of home-brewed magic, and she hadn’t been certain how quickly it would work, but she’d been optimistic about its success and her hope had been rewarded. He’d had plenty of time for the magic to brew before their date, and a few carefully planted nudges–the whipped cream, the discussion of baby books, her efforts to ensure he wouldn’t have time to step into the bathroom–had all done their job perfectly. The bag full of beach supplies provided a good explanation for why she had a large towel ready to lay down, spreading it over her passenger seat before Jamie got in. “See?” she declared, patting the seat. “No problem.” Jamie held his arms over his chest, glancing around uncertainly. His pants were thoroughly soaked, and nothing he could do would hide that fact to passing strangers–he just felt thankful that nobody seemed to recognize him. “I’ve got some clothes that should fit you, or we could go to a store somewhere and get you new pants,” Michelle added, prompting him a bit as she walked around the car. If he asked to be taken home, she wouldn’t have a good reason to say no, but if she prompted him with a binary choice, chances were good he would impulsively answer with an option she gave–and no matter what he picked, she would be happy. Just as she’d predicted, Jamie nodded meekly, buckling himself in, eyes drifting to the wet stain over the crotch of his jeans. “Can we do your place? I don’t want to go out in…thanks.” She smiled, patting him on the knee before she got the car moving. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Accidents happen, right?” “I guess,” Jamie began. “But…” He trailed off, and Michelle pushed a bit further–she didn’t want him to clam up. If things went her way, she’d eventually wear down any barriers between herself and his inner thoughts, she didn’t want him to close her off. “But what? Don’t worry, Jamie, I really don’t mind.” “It just came out of nowhere,” Jamie admitted. “I don’t know. I’ve never lost control like that.” “Well, there’s no sense in worrying about a fluke,” Michelle assured him. “Bodies are weird, okay? Don’t beat yourself up over one accident.” They arrived at her apartment a little later. She half hoped that there would be someone else waiting for the elevator, so she could parade her soon-to-be Little in front of them, but she didn’t have that luck today. They got to her floor without interruption, and just like that, she had Jamie in her house, wearing–she hoped–his last ever pair of grown up underwear. “Just wait here, I’ll get those clothes,” she promised, leaving him to blush and stand in place, fidgeting with his hands, unable to sit without staining her furniture. Her living room was neat and decorated with an overthorough sense of order–she’d recently gone through spring cleaning, purging clutter. Michelle was no minimalist, but she wanted to make room for the inevitable play pen and stuffies that’d be littering the floor before long. Retreating to her bedroom, she pulled a few tags off the new clothes and tucked a pacifier into the front pocket. Hastily looking them over for any obvious tells that they were new, she returned, a smooth lie at the ready as she justified the clothing choice. “My cousin came to visit with her Little recently, and he’s the same size as you–they left a couple things behind. Don’t worry, though, these should be totally discreet.” That last part was even true, or at least true enough. She’d bought the clothes from a Little store, but specifically selected the outfit for this lie. The shortalls only seemed juvenile in that they were shortalls–no cute designs, no flowers, no crotch snaps–and if you couldn’t see the bottom, the onesie would just look like a normal shirt. Holding up the clothes, she added, “Sorry I don’t have any boxers in your size–it’s these or panties, I’m afraid. Nobody will see–it’s just so you’ve got something on down there.” Michelle would have been just as happy if he asked her to go get the panties. Again, she’d jumped ahead of his decision making, forcing a false binary on him so he wouldn’t suggest anything else. She’d learned the trick from a book on dealing with fussy toddlers, and it seemed to work on soon-to-be-Littles just as well. He was hesitant, a blush spreading up his face, but she’d already primed him for this. ‘Nobody will see’. He reached out, accepting the pull-up, turning it over in his hand. She’d sized it right, and the princesses on the front were as cutesy and feminine as she could find. “I guess…” he began, hand moving to his mouth. Michelle’s heart leapt, hoping he might start sucking his thumb right in front of her, but he just chewed on his nail instead. “I’ll just do the pull-ups.” “Of course,” she said, handing him the stack of clothes. She wanted nothing more than to dress him up herself, rendering him cutesy and adorable and claiming him as hers, but for that, she could wait. “And just so you know–as far as I’m concerned, our date hasn’t ended yet. Since we had to leave the cafe early, how’d you feel about maybe turning on a movie?” “Oh!” Jamie’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Yeah, that’d be really nice. Did you have something you wanted to watch?” Michelle walked the verbal tightrope, aiming for suggestive without being too overt. “I don’t really care what’s on the TV,” she explained, leaving it to Jamie to guess what she did care about. “If you want some privacy, you can use my bathroom, okay?” He nodded, face still full of blush, and followed her simple directions. When he locked himself in the bathroom to get changed, Michelle nearly squealed in glee. She’d chosen perfectly–Jamie wasn’t just adorable, his attitude would be perfect once he’d regressed a little more. It had taken a heroic amount of effort not to ask him about adoption paperwork right at the coffee shop, when he’d started talking about childhood books. Michelle hadn’t even done that much to plant the subject, just a well placed question! She imagined him on the floor, asking for uppies or a diaper change, and her heart surged with excitement along with other parts of her body. She could be patient a little longer, but she wanted this boy. The object of her desire returned, waddling out of the bathroom. Even in the unassuming Little clothes, Jamie was darling–bottom ever so slightly puffing from the ‘discreet’ pull-up, shortalls making him look round and juvenile in tiny ways. But, above all that, he had his thumb between his lips, suckling away with a distant look. Seeing that, Michelle nearly lost control of her facade. She raised a hand to her mouth, eyes widening, and Jamie stared back at her. Only then did he look down and seem to notice, removing his thumb in a hurry. “I–” he began, anxiety and fear building in his face. Not just embarrassment, but true worry. “Oh, Jamie,” Michelle began. She wanted to give him a hug and whisper reassurances, but that would be too far. He shook his head, eyes watering. “Michelle, I…I think there’s something wrong with me. Something really wrong.” (Oh, to hell with it,) Michelle thought, stepping up to him and wrapping her arms around his body. He tensed, then melted into the hug, embracing her back. “Don’t worry,” Michelle promised. “Whatever’s wrong, I’ll help, okay?” “Okay,” he sniffled, squeezing a little tighter. “Everything is going to be okay. I promise.” Michelle knew then, there was no turning back. This boy was hers. ... I've got some pretty good news! Between Ream and SubscribeStar income, I'm up to over 60% of the income I'd been making on P*treon before they purged all of the ABDL accounts on their site. It's still a blow, but it's a big step up, and I've been able to make up the difference with extra work on the side. Any and all support is always appreciated. Stories like these are possible thanks to the generosity of my readers, and it only takes a couple bucks a month to get early access and discounts on commissions! ❤️ https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

I saw a guy once who could grab tapes from both sides and stick them down simultaneously and with perfect alignment. He was incredible. Truly a step above all of us.

Chapter Two Jamie waited until he’d fully exited the bus before he took out his phone to check his notifications. He didn’t like people who tried to text and walk at the same time, thus ended up clogging the door just when people were in a hurry to change over and get moving. Though it was likely that nobody ever noticed, he still took pride in his tiny courtesy. The notification showed a message from ‘Michelle ❤️ ❤️ <3’. It was, perhaps, a bit early in the relationship to put three hearts next to her name, but he’d been hit with the infatuation bug, and the extra flair in her contact info seemed harmless. ‘I’m at Drip and Foam, waiting on you to order!’ He smiled, typing out a reply, ‘Just a couple blocks away, see you soon!’ Walking down the bustling city street, he had to skirt around a Little girl throwing a tantrum, stamping her feet right there on the sidewalk and screaming about a doll. He shared a sympathetic look with the girl’s caregiver, who smiled and rolled her eyes just outside the Little’s field of view–there was no use getting mad at her for the display, if she knew how to regulate her emotions, she wouldn’t be Little. Passing her, the slight whiff of baby powder wafting off the Little reminded Jamie to put a little pep in his step. He needed to pee, and while he could hold it for a while, he’d rather deal with the discomfort immediately. A few steps away from the coffee shop’s entrance, he stopped, puzzled. Something about his train of thought bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Frowning, he ran the thoughts back, and started to get an idea. Why did I think about the bathroom after smelling baby powder, of all things? Before he could think about it any longer, Michelle caught his eye, waving through the window. He dismissed the question and beamed, getting out of the wind and into the cozy, crowded cafe. “Jamie!” Michelle said, getting up to greet him with a warm hug. “It’s always nice to see you,” he replied, returning the embrace, feeling her body press against his. Glancing over her shoulder at the restrooms, he began to think of a way to excuse himself for a moment, but Michelle spoke before he could. “Come on, let’s order–it’s an Espresso sort of day for me, I need the pick me up.” She chuckled and took his hand, pulling him towards the line in a way that left little room for protest. “Do you come here often?” he asked, making conversation as they stood in line. With the odors of fresh coffee and baked goods hanging in the air, he felt he could have lived off the smell alone–she’d picked a good cafe. “It’s my favorite,” Michelle confirmed. “My happy place is here, right between a latte and one of their scones. They heat them up in a toaster before serving, it’s magical.” Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he looked up at the menu, skimming options. “Any recommendations?” They stepped up to the cashier, and her eyes widened with delight. “Oh, you have to try–” Turning to the cashier, she just took the initiative, placing their order. “I’ll do a quad latte with extra foam, and he’ll have your ‘Original Cocoa’.” Facing Jamie again, she added, “They make it by melting real chocolate, it’s fabulous.” Smirking, the cashier asked, “Do you want whipped cream on that cocoa?” Jamie weighed the options, considering whether the extra topping would be worth it. He didn’t want to look too juvenile in front of Michelle, not when she was still getting to know him. “If you have to think about it that much, you want it,” Michelle snickered. “Live a little!” “Alright.” Smiling in a good-natured way, Jamie nodded, pleased to have the excuse. “I’ll try it with whipped cream.” “Alright,” the cashier said. “You won’t regret it.” Michelle paid, then took his hand, knitting their fingers together and pulling him towards a table. Jamie’s eyes drifted again to the bathroom, but he didn’t want to be rude or awkward on their first proper date–he’d wait. “So,” he began, hands fidgeting in his lap as she smiled at him. Her smile had something to it that made him swell with feelings–warmth, but also something deeper. Desire, anticipation, emotions he didn’t really expect to be directed his way in general, let alone on a first date. “You–tell me about yourself?” She raised a hand to her mouth, hiding a light giggle. “Sorry. It’s not a silly question, just…” He shook his head. “I know, it’s just so generic–I’m bad at ‘first date talk’. I feel like…I don’t know, we’re supposed to ask about all the basic stuff, your favorite book, your job, whatever, but then I never even know what I’m supposed to say when I get asked questions like that.” Michelle nodded. “Alright. How’s this for a question: Don’t tell me your favorite book right now. What’s the first book that you fell in love with?” Jamie’s eyebrows raised, and he had to think about it for a moment. “Oh, wow, that’s…I would have been just barely learning to read, I’ve loved books since forever. Honestly, it’s probably like…The Pup in the Cup?” “That’s a baby book, isn’t it?” Michelle asked. “By ‘Professor Pleasant’?” “You asked the first book I fell in love with,” Jamie pointed out. “My mom says I asked for her to read it to me every night–I think that qualifies. Besides, it’s really well written–the author worked hard to get them perfect. ‘You can’t kid a kid, and you can’t befuddle a Little’, I think is what he said. He was a Little’s rights advocate, too–donated a ton of money to support services and adoption charities, especially after he and his wife found out they couldn’t have kids of their own.” Michelle’s smile broadened. “You don’t need to justify your pick, Jamie–though I’m half expecting you’re going to tell me it’s still your favorite book.” “I admire his work, is all,” Jamie explained, not mentioning that he still had a copy of The Pup in the Cup on his bookshelf at home. “What about you, what was your first favorite book?” Before Michelle could answer, their orders were called out at the counter. She smiled, getting to her feet. “Just a moment, let me get that.” Jamie considered using the opportunity to dart to the bathroom, but Michelle returned only a moment later with two mugs–one with a snowflake poured into the espresso foam, the other stacked high with a veritable monument of whipped cream, towering several inches up over the brim of the mug. “Oh jeez, they weren’t kidding about the whipped cream,” Jamie began, staring. “Come on, give it a sip,” she encouraged. Picking up his mug, he did as she suggested, raising the lip of the mug to his lips. As he’d been promised, the cocoa was rich and sweet, warming his soul as it rushed down his tongue. “Wow,” he said, lowering the mug. “That’s…wow.” “What do you think?” Michelle asked. “So…when I was a kid, I read The Arctic Express,” Jamie said, staring at the mug. “There’s a line in there about cocoa ‘as thick and rich as melted chocolate bars’. I always thought that was just a bit of magical imagination, it couldn’t exist in real life, but…well, I think I found it.” Michelle tilted her head. “You like picture books, don’t you?” Jamie hesitated. “I don’t know, I guess they were just on my mind.” The corner of her mouth curling up in a smirk, she added, “By the way, you’ve got a bit of–on your nose, the whipped cream.” “Oh?” Jamie crossed his eyes, and saw the speck of whipped cream she’d mentioned. The pile on his mug had of course left a bit behind, but he stuck out his tongue, trying to lick it up. Giggling, Michelle asked, “Do you need a napkin?” “Wha’?” Jamie asked, “And waste whipped cream? No wa–” He froze, suddenly, tongue still waggling beneath his nose. The pressure on his bladder had vanished, and Jamie realized with horror that he’d lost control, warmth suddenly spreading down his jeans. All attempts to clamp down on his bladder failed–the flood gates had opened, and they refused to close. For a second, he was the only one who knew, though Michelle saw his reaction and tilted her head in concern. “Are you okay, Jamie?” Before he could formulate an answer, the puddle building on his chair overflowed, and splashing water echoed up from the floor as thin trickles ran down. Michelle heard, and her face softened. “Oh, Jamie–don’t worry, I’ll go get some towels.” He was too mortified to do much more than stammer, especially as others in the cafe began to take note. The next table over, he heard a muttered comment, low, but projected so that others would hear. “I can’t believe people are still letting Littles go out without a diaper.” “I’m not–” he started, but he wasn’t even sure who’d made the comment, who he could argue with. “I just–” At least, finally, his bladder ran dry, but the puddle beneath his chair was plenty big by then. A cafe employee was already next to their table, a pair of towels and a mop in hand, wearing a professional expression. “Don’t worry,” Michelle promised him, standing up by his side. “They deal with this all the time when Littles leak. You’ve got nothing to be worried about.” (Nothing to be worried about,) Jamie thought. (But…why couldn’t I hold it?) ... I'm adapting one of my novels into an audiobook! "The Baby Bet" is being crowdfunded, and it's gonna be given the full-on audio treatment! How cool is that? Backers get the audiobook early - we need about 50 people to pledge to get our minimum funding, and if we go over we'll be doing some extra projects too! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/peculiarchangeling/the-baby-bet-coming-to-audio

The Baby Bet - Audiobook Kickstarter is now live! Aaah I'm extremely excited! We just launched our kickstarter to get The Baby Bet adapted into an audiobook. Our minimum funding goal is 700$, which is juuust enough to cover the cost of production, and only needs about fifty people to back us! Details and whatnot in the kickstarter link: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/peculiarchangeling/the-baby-bet-coming-to-audio

Cover Art by Flashy Flesh Chapter One “Congratulations–I couldn’t be happier for you.” Michelle’s promise was true, even as she hid a wash of emotions behind a smile, hoping that the cheer of the party would hide her jealousy. Candice deserved this as much as anyone, and Michelle wouldn’t spoil things for her friend even if the whole situation made her burn with envy. Candice didn’t seem to notice any of the mixed feelings. The gifts in Michelle’s hands distracted her; while they were the same size, one box was wrapped in bright, colored paper, decorated with teddies and balloons, while the other was plain, tasteful, and held shut with only a black ribbon. It was the custom for Little Showers: One gift for the caregiver, the other for the newly Little. “Thank you,” Candice replied, tucking her Little’s gift under one shoulder while she pulled at the ribbon on her own parcel. “I just can’t believe it–I’d just started looking for my own Little, and the perfect boy just about fell in my lap!” “I’m so happy for you.” Michelle’s words came through tight lips–she’d wanted one for years, but nothing had worked. Personal ads got nothing, Mommy & Daddy sites only got her messages from people assuming she was Little, and good luck spells seemed only to impact those around her, never her. Three of her friends had ended up as caregivers–two of them were even at the party, sipping wine next to the refreshment table while their Littles played patty-cake in the corner. Opening the gift, Candice’s smile grew–it was a digital display encased in purple plastic, speaker and microphone built into the base. “A baby monitor!” “The camera is in your Little’s box,” Michelle explained, nodding to the other gift. “Just because he used to be grown up doesn’t mean he won’t need supervision, after all.” “Oh, don’t I know it! It seems like I can hardly turn my back without my little Sammy getting into trouble–you’d think all he knows how to do is rub his diapers,” Candice laughed, and a few others within earshot joined in the good-natured chuckling. “Or, well–rub them and fill them, of course.” As though on cue, the star of the party waddled into the room–slim and almost a foot taller than his new Mommy, Sam Franklin–that is, ‘Sammy’, now that he’d been adopted–looked positively adorable. A wet diaper sagged between his thighs, evidence of his recently-revoked potty train, and his T-shirt had a print of ‘Mommy’s Little Dump Truck’ on it, with a cartoon excavator below the letters. It was bad form to ask what’d regressed him, but given his slight glower, Michelle guessed it hadn’t been by choice. Then again, maybe he was just cranky because he needed a change. “Candice,” he mumbled. “Can I–” “Mommy,” Candice corrected. “You know that, silly boy.” “Mommy,” he said, nodding quickly. “Can I please just have a change?” The new mommy beamed, and Sammy realized his mistake too late when she said, “Of course, sweetie! Just lie down, okay?” “But–” Sammy began, eyes widening as he took in the number of guests. At least they weren’t friends of his, none of them had known Sammy when he’d been grown-up. “I–” “You wanted a change,” Candice repeated. “So lie down.” (Definitely not by choice,) Michelle thought, her jealousy tempered as she watched it. This wasn’t what she wanted–a brat who’d argue, an involuntary Little who’d ended up that way by manipulation or magic or legal mandate. She wanted someone who’d accept her care. Part of her struggles with acquiring her own Little had come from her pickiness, wanting someone who’d fit her just right. If she simply put together a hex jar to sap away some unfortunate guy’s potty training and autonomy, then swooped in to adopt him, he’d resent her forever. She wanted a boy who’d depend on her, and who’d thank her for the care she gave. A toy she could play with, certainly, someone she could show off to her friends, but if she had to argue with him, if he refused her instructions out of a misplaced sense of maturity, that’d spoil the fun. So, while Candice forced Sammy to lay down and made a show of changing his diaper in front of everyone, Michelle sank back, debating whether she could leave the Little Shower early without it being a faux pas. She wasn’t the only one standing back. The other Littles had turned to watch the show, giggling as Sammy fussed, but a young Daddy seemed almost as uncomfortable as Michelle felt. His own Little girl was clearly pleased with her lot–she didn’t cry or fuss except when she lost her favorite pacifier–and Michelle guessed he wasn’t thrilled about seeing a Little in distress. Aside from him, only one other person was standing back–a young man with a bit of stubble and a rounded-off build. Physical features aside, he caught her attention for one reason: He had a thumb in his mouth. It was only for a moment. He wasn’t sucking his thumb, Michelle realized, waving it off as a bit of wishful thinking that’d caused her to hallucinate what she’d wanted to see–he’d just had his thumb near his lips. A second later, though, her wishes were reignited as she caught him running the finger over his paper plate, picking up all the last remnants of frosting before sticking his thumb right back in his mouth, licking the sweet leftovers clean. That gave Michelle an idea. A wonderful idea. She didn’t need to find a Little, and she didn’t need to hex someone to be against his nature. All she needed was to find the right boy, and give him the right push. Walking up to the stranger, she opened her posture to him–not saying hello, waiting for him to greet her. The guy wiped his thumb off on a napkin, smiling at her. “I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, offering his dubiously-clean hand to shake. “I’m Jamie.” “It’s nice to meet you, Jamie,” Michelle replied, sizing him up. He had brown hair that fell in subtle curls around his shoulders–probably going for a subtle ‘punk’ or ‘alternative’ look to match his leather jacket, but she saw the seed of adorable pigtails, or perhaps braids. His eyes were brown puddles, full of emotion and curiosity, the kind she’d expect from a poet or perhaps an explorative baby. “How do you know Candice?” “Coworkers,” he explained, giving an obvious glance back at the snack table as he considered another slice of cake. “We’re both in sales.” “Sales, hmm?” Michelle asked, moving to cut a slice and slide it onto his plate, curious how he’d react to being served. “You must be pretty persuasive, hmm?” He didn’t even seem to notice, accepting her un-asked-for help with nothing except a smile at the sudden presence of cake. “You could say that.” He was perfect. “Well–oh, hold on,” Michelle started, reaching out, brushing the side of his jacket and pinching a hair between her fingers as she did. “You had frosting on your jacket, I didn’t want it to ruin the leather.” “Oh, it’s faux-leather,” Jamie replied with a shrug. “But…thanks.” “You’re welcome,” she replied, pretending to reach for her phone to check the time while actually tucking the long strain of brown hair away so she couldn’t lose it. Tilting his head, he asked, “What were you saying before? About being persuasive?” “Oh, yes.” Michelle gave him a sultry smile. She had the plan, now she just needed the man. “Do you think you could persuade a girl to give you her phone number?” ... Hey there! I'm trying out a new name - I'm keeping around 'Peculiar Changeling' as my screen name most places, but I want to run with 'Penn Canon' as the thing I put on my books and sign my work with and stuff! It just feels nicer as a Name, y'know? Anyway, I hope you like this story - it's ten chapters, and it's completely written, so I'll be releasing it publicly over the next couple weeks. Expect a chapter every day or two. If you want to support my writing, a couple bucks a month can really go a long way - and I offer a bunch of stories in early and exclusive access, plus discounts on commissions (like this one)! -Penn https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling Written as a commission

To be honest, I'd look at this less from a copyright angle and more from a personal respect angle. It's extremely unlikely that you'd face copyright problems for posting a story, especially for free to this forum. However, if it's a rewrite - even with significant additions - I would strongly suggest you just reach out to the original author and ask them for permission to share your story, with a link back to theirs. If they're no longer active or can't be reached, just post in good faith, explain the context, link back to the original work, and clarify that if the original author gets in touch you'll respect their wishes!

Chapter 10 After tossing and turning through his first night, trying to find a good way to lie down when there was unexpected and unwanted bulk rustling between his legs, Daniel had woken up crabby and late, with his bladder painfully full. With little time to get breakfast, he’d taken a shower–and peed in the shower, too, so he wouldn’t have to actually wet himself again–then changed into a fresh diaper as quick as he could and hurried to get to his first class. He wasn’t the last one in the room, but it was close. The Covenry Hall was one of the largest in the school, and with good reason. Covens required space to operate, necessitated large groups, and–of course–the class was fundamental to their education. Or, well, it was fundamental to the witches’ educations. Daniel, a warlock, could have gone a couple years without ever needing to bother interacting with this field of magic. Still…it was on the syllabus of every student at Alphabeta, so he couldn’t exactly blow it off. Arranged in many tiered sections that arced up so that every coven would have a good view of the teacher at the front, dozens of ten foot sections were separated by curved walls, so that the huge lecture hall reminded Daniel of the interior of a seashell. Each bubble contained five or six girls, sitting on beanbags that were arranged in a semicircle so that they could face each other while still seeing the front of the room. Narrow staircases ran up the sides to reach each coven’s personal bubble. Looking around, Daniel tried to guess which one was his–he knew his covenmates’ names, but not their faces. “Daniel Aster,” a voice to his right said, and Daniel almost jumped–he hadn’t noticed Professor Blackburn. She stood off to the side like an assassin ready to pounce; her black robes and black hat helped her blend into the blackboard that dominated the wall behind her. He looked at her, trying to gauge if she was happy to see him. Surely she didn’t like him–the general vibe he’d gotten from faculty was vague disdain and outright hostility–but Blackburn’s expression seemed neutral and polite. “Hello, Professor,” Daniel said, testing the waters of diplomacy. “I’m looking forward to learning under you.” “A moment of your time,” she replied, cutting to the chase. “I know the comments some of my colleagues have made, but I want to be clear–once this conversation is over, I will expect you to behave just as any of my other students, and I will treat you no differently.” “Thanks,” Daniel said, hesitating for a moment. “I think.” “This means I expect you to perform as well as any other student,” Blackburn continued. “You call yourself a warlock, but I’m not teaching warlocks.” “Warlocks can be in covens,” Daniel pointed out. “Typically only Covens of Eight, but still–covens.” “That’s true.” Professor Blackburn’s eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment, flaring with amusement. “As the coven’s Focus, the fulcrum they pour their power into. A warlock leading a Coven of Eight can be a truly terrifying thing–one mage with that much power and the skill to use it is a rare thing. All the power of a coven, all the speed of an individual caster with scarcely seen mastery.” “So,” Daniel said. “There shouldn’t be a problem.” “Mmm. Daniel, don’t forget–there are five other witches in your coven, and you’ll be getting no special treatment,” Velma pointed out. “So?” Daniel asked. “So, why do you assume you’ll be chosen as your coven’s Focus?” Velma asked. “Or, I should say–a coven of six has no explicit Focus, so why do you assume you’ll be given such control?” Before the conversation could move further, a light french accent sounding off at waist level caught Daniel’s attention. “You’re Daniel, right? We’re in the same coven.” Daniel turned to look at the speaker–a girl with long, blonde hair sat in a subtly rune-marked wheelchair. He nodded. “I’m guessing you’re…I’m going to say Mathilde?” “That’s right,” she said. “How’d you know?” “Honestly, relying on stereotypes,” Daniel admitted. “You just sound like a Mathilde to me.” “Well, I guessed on generalities too,” she conceded, smirking up at him. “Not many boys in class,” Daniel agreed. Glancing off away from him, Mathilde’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “That…wasn’t the first thing I noticed. Your skirt isn’t hiding much from my vantage.” Daniel’s own face turned fully red, and he glanced between her and Blackburn. “Thanks for the talk, Professor–I promise I won’t be a problem.” “I expect as much,” she replied. “Go join your coven, class will be beginning in a moment.” Daniel almost asked, ‘Where are we seated,’ but Mathilde waved a hand forward. “We’re over here.” Her chair moved on its own, wheels spinning with neither manual effort or an electric motor. Daniel watched the chair move for a moment, curious. “Can I ask you something?” he asked, as the two of them moved across the front of the lecture hall, passing covens in their own little scooped-out bubbles. She looked at him with uncertainty, and maybe a touch of suspicion. “That depends on the ‘something’.” “How are you controlling the chair?” he asked. “I mean, it seems like psychic control, but even with constructs designed for the purpose, that’s…well, either you can control a construct without focusing on it, which is a wild level of precision, or you’ve got a trick I haven’t thought of.” Her suspicion faded, replaced with a confident smirk. “How do you know I’m not focusing hard on it?” “I mean…I guess I don’t, but it’d be pretty dumb on the part of the designers if it took your constant attention. At that point, you’d be better off with like…a remote control or a joystick or something.” Daniel shrugged. “So, I assumed there’s a trick I’m just not seeing to make it easier, since, well–it’s nice to be able to move and cast spells at the same time.” “I’m controlling it directly, and there’s no trick to make it easier,” Mathilde explained, but she quickly added, “Though it’s not as impressive as you might think. You know how it takes babies months to go from ‘Awkwardly standing’ to ‘Walking without thinking about it’? This isn’t much different. And besides, can you?” “Can I what?” Daniel frowned at her. “Cast spells and walk at the same time,” Mathilde asked. “I mean…I wasn’t here for testing, but I heard you…struggled, a bit.” Daniel blushed. “I can, just–never mind. Your control is impressive, is all I’m saying.” Together, they made it to the bubble at the far end, where three girls waited. Mathilde nodded with a smile at the nearest girl, rolling her chair between a couple of the available beanbags. She exchanged a couple more greetings with the other two, pleasant and familiar; They all knew each other, Daniel was the only stranger. So, taking off his pointy hat, he held it in front of himself for a moment and waved anxiously. “Hi. I’m Daniel.” The girls eyed him, and every one save for Mathilde wore an expression that was tempered with uncertainty. The first, whose smile said, ‘I’m trying to be polite’ while her eyes said, ‘What did we do to get stuck with him?’, introduced herself. “Soga Asami. I’m a Second year, same as Mathilde.” Asami wore her uniform skirt long, cut so that it was almost a mirror opposite of Daniel’s immodest miniskirt, with an earthy complexion and a faint Japanese accent. “They try to put a couple of us in every group, so there’s some more experienced women–eh, experienced witches, at any rate.” “Historically, ‘Women’ and ‘Witches’ would be synonyms,” another girl added. She had red hair that curled up around her neck in a very particular, just-so sort of way, and wore a sneer that looked just as carefully cultivated as the hair. “I’m just going on the record here, I did not come to the most prestigious Witches school in the world to get stuck with…y’know. You. If you shit yourself, I don’t care what Blackburn said about ‘working with each other’, you’re either going to leave or I’ll make you leave.” “That’s Hazel, she’s always like that, it’s not you,” the third girl added. The only one so far to actually get up and offer a handshake, she wore her hair long, nearly down to the small of her back. “I’m Radha, and–I mean, if you do need to go, I’d appreciate giving the rest of us some space.” Daniel started to respond, shaking her hand. “Thanks, but–like, I don’t actually need–” “Take your seats,” Blackburn called from the front of the room. “Things are about to begin.” Glancing around, Daniel asked, “Where’s… Cassandra, right? Our sixth?” Radha shrugged. “Late.” Daniel sat down on one of the two available beanbags, sinking slightly into it. He wanted the firm reassurance of a desk, but apparently this was how they did things–he’d have to put up with it for now. Turning his attention to their teacher, he waited. Walking to the center of the room, Velma Blackburn raised out both her hands in a dramatic flourish. “Magic–” “Sorry!” The voice cut in from across the classroom, and the entirety of the lecture hall turned to look at the last girl approaching–a couple books clutched to her chest and a piece of toast held in her mouth. She had dark skin and frizzy hair pulled into a pair of hastily-thrown-together messy buns. “Sorry!” she repeated, scrambling across the room and hopping into the last beanbag in Daniel’s coven, sliding over next to him. Loud enough that Blackburn could hear, she added, “I had to get some books for this, and then I missed breakfast, and–yeah. Um. Sorry.” Blackburn stared at her for a long moment. “Cassandra Clay,” she said. “Your tardiness is not our concern. Delaying class by explaining tardiness, however, is.” “Sorry,” Cassandra repeated, sinking into the bag a little deeper as though she might shrink from the professor’s gaze. “Now,” Blackburn repeated. “Magic…” She began a monologue about the importance of covens, the history of witchcraft, a whole spiel, but Daniel’s attention was focused on the latecomer. Leaning in, Cassandra whispered to Daniel, “I’m Cassie, I don’t think we’ve met.” “Daniel,” he replied. “Are you a second year?” She shook her head. “You?” “First, and I hope only,” he explained. “Shut up,” Hazel snapped. They shut up. “The construction of the coven is one as old as magic,” Blackburn was explaining, turning, moving her wand through the air and twirling a piece of chalk on the huge blackboard behind her. A tiny motion of her wand made the chalk fly, inscribing a perfect circle. “It takes fundamental concepts, sharing the power that we all depend on. These are the fundamental forms of magic–the Wheel, or the Circle, being the most basic. The symbol that contains power so that it can be shaped and released into the world.” Moving her hand again, she marked a five pointed star, the kind kids learned to draw by marking five lines without picking up their crayons–though hers was, again, smooth and perfect, each angle exact, with the points of the star touching the inside rim of the circle. “The pentagram,” Blackburn continued. “A channel, moving magic how you desire, and together these two form a pentacle–contained, controlled magic. Each point represents power–From the leftmost point, clockwise, Earth, Aether, and Aqueus, the physical elements, then the two legs, Spirit and Mind, for the mortal elements. But for all the power these carry, that alone is no coven, for that, you need a sixth.” Finally, drawing back in preparation, she waited, letting the anticipation build. Once certain her audience was rapt, she flicked the wand forward, and the chalk broke into five pieces, marking five lines from the perfect center of the chalkboard out to each point of the pentagram. “The Familiar.” Blackburn’s voice was quiet for a moment. “Some of you may shy away from this role, because the Familiar wields none of her own power, but without her, you cannot cast a single spell. The Familiar carries magic she cannot wield. She is the wellspring that your might is drawn from, she is the conduit that your thoughts are carried through, she is the vessel in which you must place your confidence, because in you she will demand utter trust, because in you she will rely on your skill, because while she’s acting as your Familiar she will not be able to cast a spell. Never forget the burden placed upon your Coven’s Familiar, and never take her for granted.” She let that hang for a moment–apparently, that was the end of her speech, too. “Your first lesson will be simple,” she explained. “You will each take turns acting as each point of your pentagram, and as your Familiar. Form a circle, orient yourselves, and open your minds to share your power. By the end of our lesson, I will expect each of you to have experienced every place in your coven, from the raging Aether to the helpless Familiar.” A moment of further silence passed, and she frowned as though surprised by their reactions. “Well?” Blackburn demanded. “What are you all waiting for? Begin.” ... And here we meet the coven - And, very much, *not* the 'study group'. Of all the changes from V1 of the story, this group got the most work, going from basically just an idea I had one day to the crux of the plot. I hope you like them ^^ If you want to support me, a comment is always awesome to get! You can also contribute a couple dollars to help keep the lights on over here, which is also awesome https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Author Commentary: (Gonna try doing some author commentary/lite-blog posts like this! Let me know what you think and if you want to see more of these!) Sometimes a concept just comes together with just a little push, and this was one of those cases! Little Kokiri Girl reached out to me to talk about some commission ideas, and when she pitched me the idea of a classic noir mystery with an ABDL twist, I was on board. Youthlock as a concept is something she came up with, a world where some people stop aging and have to deal with a few additional ABDL-styled problems, like incontinence and needing a crib so they don't fall out of bed. I think it fits really well with these sorts of genre blending stories. I enjoy playing around with different elements in my fiction, and in this case, I got to mix in some really fun genre tropes and 30's slang and language, adapting them all to the youthlock twist. Once I had the general premise, ('A youthlocked hollywood star hires Nick for a case',) a lot of elements just fell into place - I knew immediately who I wanted to base the star on. I think everyone will probably guess who "Shelly Chapel" is an allusion to, even without all the historical parallels in her backstory. The real child star had a history of dealing with contract issues and underpayment from studios, which played nicely into the mystery angle of the story. Using that as inspiration gave me all sorts of ideas for a fictionalized backstory for Shelly which plays into the intrigue - some of which you'll have to wait and see in future chapters. On the other hand, I'm not sure if anyone will guess all the name references I buried into the studio and director - even if you figure out who I'm drawing a parallel to, guessing why I chose the substitute names is probably going to be tricky. Sometimes I write little in-jokes just for myself, and this is definitely one of those cases.) Really, writing AB/DL with Noir just ended up being a peanut butter & chocolate style marriage of ideas. Kokiri Girl had the idea for Nick to use candy cigarettes, which just perfectly blends the gritty noir with the juvenile elements, and I think the relationship between him and his assistant/nanny just kind of hit its stride right out of the gate. I'm really excited to continue this one, and I'm excited to see what y'all think, too. ^^ https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Written for @cute little kokiri girl, using the Youthlock ideas and setting explained in this post! Our plan is to release about a chapter a month, so strap in! Chapter 1 I can tell a lot about a broad by what troubles she decides are worth my time to solve. To put it in terms any Joe could understand, my services don’t come cheap, and I’m not in the business of looking glamorous. Sometimes a dame will wander in telling me how her cat’s gone missing, and it’s not because she’s mistaken me for a newsie looking to make cash on the side, it’s because she’s got too much dough and not enough sense. On the other hand, if I have a dame come in telling me her husband’s gone missing, that tells me something else–if she were rich, she’d be hiring some glitzy gumshoe who’s got his name in the papers, assuming she didn’t just place a donation or two to get the coppers on the job. You don’t come to the only youthlocked detective in Los Angeles because you’re just stirring up trouble. And that’s me–Nick Juliet, Private Eye. Don’t let my looks fool you, I might need to sit on a phonebook to use my desk and I’ve still not finished potty training, but I’ve been old enough to drink since prohibition ended, and if you take me for a kid, I’ll take you for a ride. It was just about closing time when the latest doll waddled into my office, looking cute as a button. She had it all–golden hair that curled up like a coiled spring around her shoulders, eyes like blue puddles, wearing a little pink number with lace that just wouldn’t quit. She stood maybe three feet tall even in her patent leather heels, but even though I could hear her diaper crinkle as she crossed my office, I knew this wasn’t any little child who’d wandered in off the street. Youthlocks aren’t common, but we aren’t all that rare either. The lucky ones get all the way to nine or ten before they stop aging, when they’re tall enough to reach the middle shelves at the grocery store without jumping. At a glance, we look like kids, but you can tell us apart if you know what to look for. The diaper bulge is one thing; I can’t say why, but our potty training goes to squat when the youthlock sets in. There’s the walk, too. You spend thirty years practicing, you’ll have a swagger to your step that few tots will match. In this case, though, I didn’t need any of my observation skills, just a pair of eyes. This wasn’t just any dame who’d walked in off the street, it was Shelly Chapel. The Shelly Chapel, the starlet with more than thirty hit films to her name. “You must be Nick Juliet,” she said, stopping in front of my desk. She had to stand on tip-toe to see over it, giving me a view that only showed her precocious eyes and a stare that’d stolen the hearts of audiences across the world. “And you’re Shelly Chapel,” I replied, glancing past her. My secretary had stepped out. Hopping down off my desk chair, I walked around, pulling out the seat for her. Prepared for a Youthlock, I had a spare book I kept on the edge of my desk at all times, but sizing up the actress, I quickly realized I’d need more height than just one book offered. Stacking a couple newspapers beneath it, I offered her a hand, pretending that I couldn’t spot her diaper beneath her dress as she got onto the boosted-up seat. “I thought you’d be shorter,” she commented, looking down at me from her perch. I had a good six inches on her at least, the result of my youthlock setting in a couple years past hers. Walking back to my own seat, I clambered into my own chair, feeling the need for a pick-me-up. “How can I help you?” I asked, reaching into the pocket of my vest and producing a package of candy cigarettes. Extending one, I offered her first pick of the pack, but she shook her head. “They say you’re good at finding things,” Miss Chapel said, her golden hair flopping adorably over her shoulder as she tilted her head to eye me. It felt odd, seeing decades of suspicion in eyes that belonged to a preschooler’s face. “They say you’re discreet, too, but I don’t know much else about you.” Setting the candy stick between my lips, I sat back, letting the slight sugar rush give me the energy I needed. “Funny thing about keeping secrets,” I said as chalky sugar dissolved down my tongue. “If you never share them, nobody ever knows how good you are at keeping them.” “Well.” Shelly nodded thoughtfully at my comment. “Thanks to the paparazzi, my life’s an open book. I can’t take a nap without a camera finding its way between the crib bars. For once, I’d like to be ahead of the tabloids.” I nodded, taking the notepad from my desk. “Ahead of the tabloids on what?” “My manager, William Waters. He’s a chisel, and a bastard, and he’s trying to kill my career.” She sat back, eyeing me, as though waiting for me to call her crazy or question her story. I knew this part all too well. Dames who came in my door weren’t always looking for the truth, they just wanted to know that someone believed them. I’d learned a lesson or two from the girls on fourth street: So long as they paid, it never hurt me to play the pal. Nodding, I clicked my pen a couple times, jotting down names. “Give it to me,” I prompted. “From the beginning.” “You know who I am,” she began, stating it as an observation, not a question. I nodded anyway, and she continued, “I’ve been in the business for a long time–hell, I started playing six year olds when I was actually six. I’ve had the same manager for a decade and a half, and I’ve been at the same studio for the past eleven years. And let me tell you–I’m just about sick of it.” Her gaze drifted out the window looking wistful. I raised an eyebrow. “You’re done with acting?” “I’m done with Shelly Chapel,” she replied. “Little girl, sings and dances, cute as a button–it’s so goddamned sweet it makes me want to choke. I’ve been acting for my whole life, Mr. Juliet, but it seems like I’ve only ever been cast in one role.” Nodding, I chewed on my thoughts, and on the tip of the candy cigarette. “Alright. So what’s the problem?” “I’ve been auditioning for new roles,” Shelly explained, reaching down to dig into her purse. “And my manager–he’s worthless. He’s not able to do a damned thing for me. With my resume, I should be able to walk onto any set I please and get a part, but no, it’s like a kid wandered into a factory, they just want to coo over how cute I am and then usher me away. I was beginning to suspect something, and then this happened.” Producing a letter, she tossed it onto the desk. I leaned forward, unfolding the wrinkled paper and skimming the note. It was written in a tight cursive script, jotted down by someone with good penmanship. Phone call from Candor Taurus of Erikson Productions, asked to pass along: He’s confused why you didn’t accept the part, but they’ve decided to go with someone else. He asked why you never responded, after you were so enthusiastic at the audition, but he had to make another choice to get production moving and couldn’t wait any longer. I frowned. “Candor Taurus? The director of It Occurred One Evening?” Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Why didn’t you respond?” “Because, I never got told I’d been accepted!” she snapped bitterly. “Calls don’t come for me directly, I’m too busy to answer the phone on set. Typically, William will accept them for me and let me know if anything’s important, but my manager claims he never got this one.” “Who wrote the note?” I asked, holding up the paper she’d given me. “One of the receptionists.” Shelly reached over, taking the message back. “If nobody’s around to take the call, they’ll pass along messages and have them delivered.” “Could several messages have been missed?” I asked. “A few phone calls in a row?” She shook her head, golden curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Impossible. If nobody picked up, his studio would call back. Someone got the message, and just didn’t pass it along to me.” “Or several messages, by the sounds of it,” I said, frowning as I thought it over. “So, you think your manager killed your chance at a new role? Why would he do that?” “You know what his job is?” Shelly asked. When I shook my head, she explained, “It’s to sit around and collect a paycheck while I do all the work. A manager’s supposed to find new jobs for me, but we’ve been working on the same lot for more than a decade. All he’s had to do was get a bonus whenever someone calls up asking for an endorsement or product sponsorship–if I start working for new companies, taking on serious work, he’ll actually have to get off his ass for once. Clearly, he’d rather keep the easy ride going.” “So fire him,” I suggested. “You’re the biggest youthlock name in town, I’m sure there’s managers out there who’d blow their wig to scoop you up.” “He’s got me in a bulletproof contract,” she glowered. “Locked me into it before I was old enough to know better: If I fire him without cause, there’s a do-not-compete saying I can’t bring on anyone else. I need proof he screwed me so I can take his ass to court and hire his replacement.” I nodded, mulling it over. Her story sounded plausible, but I didn’t just take every plausible case that wandered in off the street, no matter how cute she looked when she gave me a pleading look. “Miss Chapel,” I began. Her expression fell, then I saw the beginnings of an angry snarl. “You don’t believe me?” “I believe you,” I promised, quelling her anger, “But if you’re right, if your manager took the calls and then buried them, or he threw away notes from the telephone operators, that’s going to be almost impossible to prove. I’d need to get him to admit it, and it’s not often you’ll convince a man to incriminate himself. You’d be wasting your money if you hired me.” “But there’s a chance?” she asked, leaning forward. “Right?” “Not a good chance.” I shook my head, biting the end of the candy cigarette into pieces and chewing on it. “Even if he’s got loose lips, once a private eye shows up on set and starts asking questions, he’ll clam up like a wet diaper in winter.” She nodded, thoughtful. “I might be able to do something about that–I can get you onto set without it being too disruptive.” “I don’t want to take your money and leave you without answers.” I shook my head, leaning back in my chair. Persisting, she dug into her purse again. “I understand. Payment up front, then.” Taking out a stack of bills, she dropped it onto my desk, where the fresh green cash sat between us. I frowned. I had a hard time saying no to dames in desperate straits, but I had an even harder time saying no to cash up front. Leaning forward, I took the wad of bills, riffling through them like a deck of cards. “What’s your plan to get me on set?” I asked, nodding. “Call you an extra,” she explained. “We’re filming a scene at an orphanage in two days. Kid actors are cheap, but they’re hard to work with–Youthlocks are better if you can find ‘em willing to act.” Thinking on it, I pursed my lips. “I don’t care to have my picture taken.” “You’ll just be a kid in the room,” she promised. “Please, Mister Juliet. There’s nobody else I can trust with this.” I considered a little longer, but my heart was already made up long before I nodded my head. “I’ll take the job,” I said. “Call my secretary, Miss Brown, tomorrow, get her the details for when the filming starts.” Smiling, she pushed to her feet, falling down to the floor. I could only see her eyes over the edge of my desk, but I saw relief in them. “Thank you.” “Don’t thank me yet,” I replied, staying in my seat. “I still don’t think I’ll be able to get much out of him.” She waddled out of my office, skirt flouncing as she reached up to turn the handle on my frosted glass door. I mulled things over while she left, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. A film set–a whole studio full of people who lied for a living, and a case that it’d be impossible to prove before any judge. (Why do I even take these jobs?) I thought to myself, sitting back and putting my feet up on the desk. There was something foul in the air about this whole situation, but I couldn’t place my finger on what. As I pondered, my door swung open a second time, but now it was a familiar face who walked in, carrying a paper sack. Margaret Brown, the best damned secretary on the west coast. She was just a little younger than me, but stood a solid two feet taller, actually looking like a woman in her mid twenties. “You’ll never guess who I walked by on the street!” She exclaimed, excitement shining on her face as she set down the sack. “You’d be surprised,” I replied coolly, hopping off my office chair and walking over to her. “Go on,” she prompted, removing a package of diapers from the bag. “Guess.” “Shelly Chapel?” I suggested, eyeing the package. “No, it was–” she began, before pausing to look down at me. She sniffed, disappointed. “How’d you know?” “Because, we’ve got our next job,” I replied, reading the label. “‘Coddles’?” “It’s the new disposable diaper brand,” she explained smoothly, before guiding the conversation back on track. “We’re working for the Shelly Chapel?” “The one and only.” I frowned. “I don’t see what’s so bad about terry cloth and plastic–old fashioned diapers have never done me wrong in the past.” “You’re not the one who has to do your laundry,” she replied haughtily. “And, on that subject, I smell a soldier who needs a change–let’s get you freshened up, boss.” I rolled my eyes but took her hand, waddling behind her to the bathroom where she hefted me onto our changing table. Smiling as she undid my diaper, Margaret asked, “So, what did the little starlet want?” Crossing my arms and wrinkling my nose, I stared at the ceiling. I could have changed myself, but Margeret was faster and did a better job, so I took the opportunity to get her help whenever I could. “She wants to be taken seriously.” “Oh?” Margaret inquired, mostly making the sound as a prompt for me to keep going while she wiped my thighs clean. “Bottoms up.” Pushing to raise my hips off the table, I let her pull my diaper away and wipe to get everything else clean. “She says someone’s sabotaging her career, trying to keep her out of serious film.” Margeret nodded, dusting me down with fresh baby powder, filling the room with an overbearing cloud of perfumed talcum. “And do you think she’s right?” “I don’t know.” I pondered it quietly for a little while as Margeret folded up my new diaper, taping it down. I still didn’t see the issue with good, old-fashioned cloth diapers, but the sticky tapes did seem to be easier to apply. “I don’t trust her.” “Really?” Margaret seemed genuinely surprised as she sat me upright and moved to wash her hands. “Shelly Chapel? That girl seems like she’s a saint in her films.” “That’s the thing about actresses,” I replied. “She’s made a career out of trying to be someone she’s not–so, call me skeptical, but I’m not taking a bite ‘til I know that the sweet isn't just there to cover up something sour.” ... Support for this fiction is provided by readers like you! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Technically speaking, the data I posted counted all platforms, not just public platforms, so you are baaarely in the 6+ category. If you're looking for other places to post to that you aren't already using: Furaffinity is accepting of human stories I've heard Pixiv can be good for fiction, I just started recently and haven't seen many results yet but I'll stick it out for a while longer Tumblr is good for shorter stories and OK for mid-to-long stories (And I'm always keeping my eye out for new platforms) As for the exclusive content thing, I find that it doesn't necessarily increase subscriber count, but it can increase the price of subscription - By having a cheaper tier for just early access and a more expensive tier for those who want all access. The downside seems to be that you have less content to post publicly, reducing posts-per-month and the number of total subscribers. I'm going to toy around with how I do things, I've been doing exclusive-plus-early-access for years on the assumption that it increased income, but if it doesn't, I might need to reconfigure things. I might adopt something like the Cushypen model where 'Exclusive' content stays that way for a year or two then gets released publicly waaaaay after it's written.

Chapter 9 After the acute humiliation of his first few hours at the school had faded, Daniel expected that the rest of his day would pass by with reasonable ease, and a minimum of giggles at his expense. Only one thing stood out, and that was a humiliation of a more private sort–changing his own diaper. That, at least, he could do in the privacy of his own room, but privacy didn’t totally bury the shame. Even alone, he still had two eyes judging him the whole time–his own. The whole thing just proved to be profoundly, acutely awkward. He didn’t know if there was a shower he could use, but even if there was, he didn’t know if it’d be private, or what access would be like. For the moment, he had to deal with this on his own with the supplies provided. Baby wipes and a pail did not feel up to the task, not after how thoroughly Rachel had forced him to fill his diaper, and certainly not after he’d been sitting in it for a couple hours. Even then, working through the awkward, slow process of wiping himself clean was not what hit Daniel the hardest. Going through dozens of wipes, trying to clean away muck that seemed to perpetually return, working at an angle that made it difficult to see? That was frustrating and humiliating, but the worst part was the implication. If he’d been half the mage Rachel was, he could do this with magic. If he’d been a warlock, he could have done this with magic. But, because he was no warlock, he had to spend twenty minutes cleaning up his poopy diaper. At least he didn’t have any other classes for the day–it was expected that they’d use this first day to get familiar with the campus, make friends, unpack, and generally get settled. He could have sought out his new coven members, tried to socialize, but Daniel had other goals. He wanted to figure out what he’d overheard. Plot, ploy, or whatever the hell–someone in the school wanted to accomplish some nefarious, secret end. Daniel’s first impulse was to pass the buck, but he’d long since come up with reasons not to. Reason the First: He didn’t know who was involved. He’d heard two voices, so even if his hunch about the Voxavin coach participating was correct, there was no certainty about who the other might be. If Penelope Madrigal was involved, and he went to her and explained everything he knew, she’d be perfectly situated to retaliate and stop him from sharing what he’d found out. Reason the Second: He lacked proof of any kind, and Madrigal hated him. She’d all but told the student body to bully Daniel, after all. His story would probably just sound like a weak excuse for being out of bounds, and lead to further reprisal, humiliation, and punishment. Reason the Third: If Daniel solved everything on his own, discovered the culprit, and unveiled the conspiracy all in one fell swoop, it’d look great on an application. He told himself that the first two reasons were the important motivators, and would never admit the third motive to anyone else, but he couldn’t deny it held a bit of allure. ‘I’m the warlock who saved Alphabeta’ would, in truth, be the best possible legacy of his time here. He wouldn’t just get an education, he’d get a positive reputation, saving the school that actively wanted him to fail. So, rather than seeking out the dean, or even Jen, he instead traced his steps right back to where it’d all started. He wasn’t stupid about it. He checked around corners and generally obeyed all the rules of stealth he’d learned from movies, spreading out his arms, crouching low, moving silently and listening for anyone who might be around. The prefects’ dormitories were only sparsely populated, and just like last time, the hallway itself was unlit and abandoned, barely remarkable except as an ill-used wing of the campus. Daniel had no issue slipping down it, and this time he made sure to check for closets and hiding spaces as he went, in case he encountered any other teachers or staff and had to evade future punishments. Daniel had to resist the temptation to hum the Mission Impossible theme as he went, though it ultimately didn’t matter. On his way to the room where he’d overheard the sinister conversation, he encountered not a single soul. Or…well, that wasn’t exactly true. He located the same room, identifying it by the faded numbers on the door. When he reached for the handle, though, he felt a slight chill and pulled his hand back. (Is this stupid? What if it’s warded, or trapped? I don’t know who I’m dealing with.) Even if his control was weak, he was a sort-of warlock, he had magic at his disposal. Precision might be beyond him, but he could identify magical power if he tried. Crouched in the hall, Daniel closed his eyes, extending his senses. Nothing stuck out to him right away. No big, obvious screw-you spells were woven into the door to blow up anyone who tried to open it, not even the sensation of magical static. The people behind the door had mentioned the hall being a dead zone, and what he could feel lined up with that. Still, that didn’t rule out subtler traps or wards. Tightening his face, Daniel searched a little harder. He could feel something. A whisper of power, something in motion, something he couldn’t identify. Maybe a spell, maybe the lingering results of an enchantment, maybe a mistake. Focusing a little harder, Daniel concentrated his senses, trying to follow every spark of magic, grunting slightly– “Are you pooping yourself?” The voice came from nowhere, and Daniel’s eyes shot open in alarm, stumbling back. He looked around, but nobody had snuck up on him–nobody he could see, anyways. “Who’s there?” he yelped. “Don’t let me interrupt you, sunshine.” The voice tittered. It was feminine–not a surprise–but the voice didn’t seem to come from anywhere. “If you gotta go, you gotta go.” “I–” Daniel started. “I wasn’t pooping myself, I was just crouching down.” “Really? Crouched down, face all screwed up, and let’s not even start on these.” With the last word, a puff of wind seemed to come from nowhere, flapping Daniel’s skirt up so that his diaper was flashed to the empty hall. Daniel felt an intense chill around the seat of his diaper, and hastily pushed the skirt down. “I don’t need these!” he snapped, spinning in the hall. “And–stop that! Where are you?” “You’re wearing diapers for fun? Are you just some kind of dork, or has fashion taken a really weird turn lately?” the voice asked. Daniel felt the coldness move between his legs around to the front. He crossed his hands over his crotch self consciously just as the voice said, “When did they start letting weird diaper dork boys into the school?” “Shut–hey!” Daniel shot again, stepping back. “Are you invisible? Where are you?” “I’m over here,” she replied. Daniel blinked, and she added, “No, a little to the left–a little more–there.” Daniel was staring at a bit of wall in a blank hallway. There definitely wasn’t anything to see, and reaching out, all he felt was a slight chill. “Yup, found me,” the voice said. “Though–move your hand, casanova, or we’re going to have a conversation about hypocrisy here in a second. “I don’t get it,” Daniel said, stepping back. “Can you just tell me what’s going on? Who are you?” He felt a chill breeze pass over him again, like someone’d just walked over his grave, and the voice whispered right in his ear. “I’ll give you a hint: Boo!” His eyes widened. “You’re–” “An incorporeal, post-life entity,” the voice said, her intonation slipping into a teacherly affectation. “Left behind as the result of a traumatic death surrounded by extreme magical energies. Also known, in some circles, as a ghost.” “Oh, uh…” he swallowed, uncertain how to handle that revelation. “I see.” “No you don’t, dummy.” Daniel frowned. “I beg your pardon?” “I said ‘incorporeal’. No body means nothing to refract light,” she explained. “So you couldn’t ‘see’ that I’m a ghost.” “Okay, well… I’m sorry to hear that,” Daniel said, quickly adding, “And I can hear that.” She giggled. “It’s okay, I don’t remember dying. My mom always said I’d sleep through my own funeral–and she was pretty darn close, I slept through my death!” Daniel hesitated. “So when I feel a chill, was that me touching you?” “Closest thing to it–I can’t really touch stuff, but I can kind of…move energy around, just a little. It’s like if touching was homeopathic.” Daniel frowned. “So when I felt cold between my legs a moment ago…” “You’re just dodging explaining why you’re wearing a diaper,” the voice continued. “It’s this stupid thing with my prefect,” Daniel explained, rolling his eyes. “I managed to get into this school by working around the rules, so she’s getting back at me by making me wear diapers. And before you ask, yes, I’m ‘potty trained’ or whatever, I don’t actually need them.” “I wasn’t going to ask if you needed them,” she replied. Daniel frowned a little, surprised at her lack of curiosity. “Oh, well–I don’t.” With a coy giggle, the voice asked, “I was going to ask if you used them.” Turning pink, Daniel said, “Look–this doesn’t matter. I’m here because I overheard a weird conversation earlier and I wanted to try and figure out what happened.” Finally opening the door, he walked into the room where he’d overheard it all a few hours prior. “Were you here?” “Well, yes, I was definitely here,” the ghost said. “It’s not like I have anywhere to go. Do you know the first thing about ghosts?” “...not really,” Daniel admitted, giving the room a once over. It was mostly barren–a desk was pushed up against one wall, but the rest was given over to storage, dusty cardboard boxes stacked against each other. “Like, I’ve heard of ghosts, but…okay, to be honest, most ghosts I’ve read about were the ‘Late night TV Movie’ kind, not the real ones.” “Well, we can’t leave our haunts,” the ghost explained. “Some of us stick with our bodies, but I didn’t really get that option, so I’m stuck here, where I died. And, uh, you may have noticed it’s a featureless, boring storage area.” “So you’re stuck here, and the only company you get is when the janitor comes through,” Daniel surmised. “That’s got to be lonely.” “Oh, no, I’ve got a friend. Do you know Jordan?” She asked. “I’m new here, it’s literally my first day,” Daniel said. “I don’t know her.” “She comes around to spend time with me,” She explained. “Sometimes I’ll help her study, or we’ll just play games, or talk. She’s sweet. What were you asking about, though?” “Oh, well, this should be easy. Can you tell me what happened here a few hours ago?” Turning to face where he thought she was, Daniel asked, “There would have been two people talking–one of them was a middle aged woman, not a teacher though. “Eh…” Pausing, she admitted, “I have no idea who you’re talking about.” Daniel frowned. “If you were here–” “I don’t remember,” the girl said. “I’m a ghost. Time doesn’t pass for me like it does for normal folks.” “You don’t remember things?” he asked. “I don’t remember when things happened. Once you walk out of here, I won’t know if this conversation happened yesterday or a year ago–though the boy in a diaper will probably be memorable enough to stick. There’s a reason we ghosts tend to live in the past–I remember stuff from my life the normal way, everything after that’s a jumble.” Daniel thought about that. “If I describe the situation, could you tell me if you’ve seen something like it before?” “I guess that’d work.” She sighed. “Sure, it’ll kill some time I guess.” Pausing, Daniel asked, “Wait, you mentioned your friend Jordan. How do you know if she still even goes here?” The girl didn’t respond for a long moment. “I…I don’t, admittedly, but I think she still does. She said she’d let me know when she graduated, and she’d still come back to visit when she could.” “When’s the last time–” Daniel started, before realizing the issue with his question. “You can’t remember the last time she visited, right.” “Not really,” the ghost confirmed. “But I can piece together the order, sort of, like–I know she broke up with her girlfriend at some point, so any time she comes here with Penny it has to be before that happened–and she started wearing her team scarf after she got into the Mothwicks, so those memories happened later, but…” Daniel heard a sniffle. He rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably. For all he knew, Jordan hadn’t been around here in years. “When did you die?” “It would have been…I don’t know how long,” She said. “But I was twenty two, the year was nineteen seventy one.” (It’s been almost thirty years,) Daniel thought. (Jeez. That has to be lonely.) “So…” “I know, this is boring to you,” she said. “Go ahead, tell me about the thing.” “So there were two people, I think one of them might have been a coach named Catherine Glinse, but I didn’t get a look at her,” Daniel explained. “The other one didn’t have a teacher’s uniform on, just plain professional clothes. She’s faculty or something, but I don’t know what she does, though she did have blond hair. They were arguing, and one of them had a voice that sounded all warbly and demonic.” “I don’t…I’m not sure. That’s not ringing any bells, but teachers are in and out here a lot. Like, a lot a lot. The warbly demon voice should stand out, but, well, I’ve got a lot of memories.” Daniel rubbed at his chin, trying to think. “The one who was maybe a teacher was yelling about explanations. Does that help?” “Not really…sorry. Let me think about it some, though, it might come to me,” she offered. Nodding, Daniel looked around and said, “That’s fine. Will you be able to remember it when it does come to you?” “Yeah, it’s kind of a repetition thing. Like, you’ve got old memories that are still pretty clear, because you think about them a lot, right? It’s like that. I can sort of…just keep it in mind, if that makes sense.” “Thanks,” Daniel said, walking back towards the door. “I shouldn’t stick around too much longer, I’m not supposed to even be in this hallway and if someone catches me, I’ll be in real trouble.” “Oh.” The ghost fell quiet for a moment, disappointment more clear from the silence than it would’ve been with words. Quickly, Daniel promised, “I do, but I’ll be back, as soon as I can. Also…here, let’s see if this helps.” Clearing his throat, he spoke loudly and clearly. “This is my first time ever visiting you.” “I know,” the ghost said. “I’d remember the diaper boy, I don’t forget that stuff happened, I just forget when.” “Yeah, sure,” Daniel confirmed, trying to clarify what he meant. “But you’re going to see me more than once. So let me clarify, and it’ll help you remember the order.” “Oh–oh! That’s… really thoughtful,” she said, hesitating for a moment as another thought struck her. “What’s your name, diaper boy?” “Daniel,” he said. “Daniel Aster.” “Nice to meet you, Danny,” the girl replied. “I’m Ismella.” ... Ugh, I love Ismella, and also hate that I wrote her into a corner - literally - where she can't move in and out of places, making it super hard to use her in any group scenes. At least, I used to hate that, in the previous version. Now I've got plans to fix that. Financial support is always appreciated to help keep me fed and diapered while I write, but if you can't do that for whatever reason (no judgement!), a comment is also lovely to receive! -Penn https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

I recently gave a panel at capcon about AB/DL content creation and monetization, with Pudding (Of Sophie & Pudding) as my co-presenter! As part of this, I did a bunch of research and data gathering, looking into what works, what doesn't, and how to make money with ABDL writing and art. Here's what I learned! (I intended to release this as more of an essay, but I'm sick and impatient so imma do it like this instead.) #1: Whether we're talking Writing or Art, I found two factors that correlated strongly with high levels of income. Everything else had very weak or no correlation. Factor #1: How often are you posting content? Creators who posted a couple times a week consistently saw far more success. Those who posted 3-4 times a month made a modest side income. Those who posted monthly or less were not making significant amounts of money. Factor #2: How many places do you post to? Creators who consistently posted to many sites had reliably more income than those who posted to only a few sites. 80% of creators with an income over 1000$/month posted to 6+ platforms. The vast, vast majority of ABDL creators who monetize their work don't make enough money from that single income source to meet their living expenses. I don't think anyone should try and monetize their art with the expectation of doing it full time. However... It's very reasonable (not guaranteed, but reasonable) to build a income stream of a few hundred dollars a month, if you're able to post consistently. And while that won't let you quit your job, it could be enough to cover bills or help save up for big expenses, which is great! As for the other big thing I learned: comissions. Writers, y'all *need to hecking charge more*. I found *zero correlation whatsoever* between pricing for fiction c0mms and difficulty in finding clients to write for. (I found similar results for visual artists.) The vast majority of writers who responded to the survey are undercharging for commissions. Over half charged less than 2/c word, often stating a belief that higher prices would lead to difficulties finding customers. However, this assumption wasn't help up by the data. While there is probably a price point that makes it impossible to find customers, I was unable to find one in the data. The highest prices listed, 10c/word, were mine - and I have not had trouble finding clients. For creators struggling to find clients, it's not about prices. It's 100% about visibility and clarity. Creators who post often and have clear, precise commission terms that are easy to find and understand were able to get commissions easily. Creators who post in unclear or sparse ways have trouble finding commission clients. That's it. I even have a case study to prove it, featuring colleague and friend, Clairanette! Her price had previously been 1/c word, or .6c/word on projects over 5,000 words. Despite these rock-bottom prices, she was unable to find new clients or get many people to take her commissions... and when she did get commissions, she made no money off them. She’d been had a loyal following, and I can vouch for the fact that writing quality was not the issue. Her rate of writing averages 1000 words/day - in other words, she was charging 10$ for a day of her effort. She didn’t have a price sheet, and when doing commissions, would just announce them on her Discord with simple messages like, “I’m taking commissions”. Prices were not given per word, but instead were ‘Per story’. (IE, “20$ for a custom story.”) She was thinking of increasing to 2c/word, but worried that it would mean she wouldn’t get any clients. After we talked, however, I convinced her to try a few things. She increased her prices to 7.5c per word, with a discount of 6c/word for paid subscribers, and, instead of just announcing on Discord and asking people to message her for further info, created a detailed commission guideline and announced it on all of her socials as well as posting an announcement in the description of her next story post, everywhere she posted. Within a day, she had a commission lined up. She quickly had her queue full and was unable to take more clients until she got some of them finished. (As an aside: Claira is super cool and I'm still raising money to help her move! If you'd be willing to donate just a few bucks, as a thank you for helping this presentation, I'd appreciate it! Also her comms are open! Go to @submitzvah and hire her!) If you want an example of what a commission form can look like, here's mine. You are 100% invited to shamelessly copy every element of it if you want to! https://forms.gle/RoLnyfweQp4uCjnp6 That's pretty much it! I do have some other loose data you might find useful, though, mainly factors that I checked against income. So, to close this out, here's a brief list of factors that I ruled out: How long you've been creating content: Creators who'd been making content for less than six months had trouble monetizing, but otherwise there was no correlation How long you've been monetized: Very little correlation to income Ratio of exclusive, early access, and public content: This one surprised me! Creators who had *no* early access or exclusive content had far smaller incomes. (Expected.) Creators with just had early access content hit the same average income as creators with exclusive content. Giving paid subscribers a discount or bonus towards commissions was partially correlated with more income, though it was a weaker correlation than I expected. I've gone through the data and scrubbed out identifying details. If someone who's better at data analysis wants to go through this and check my work, feel free! https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1hipw776DXl4XtZYyfbmlW2QAulT2qVgfDbACXdlKlS4/edit#gid=855171745 And, finally, I want to thank a bunch of people who filled out the survey! paddedlittleparadise, Red, Personalias, omopurrr, Pizzabagel, Artsy, Padawanacookie, Little Theodora, JuiceBox, FlashyFlesh, CrissieBaby & CodiBaby, Daymare, Elfy, HofBondage, PinkTheDinosaur, BabySofia, Newguy20, BigRed, horsemotif, Wannatripbaby, Pelo Dee, BabyIzzy, tammie2, dlboy781 Thank you all!

Chapter 4 “Sandra, Sandra–” The elf sat up, groggy and worn from the fight. Or…from the spanking, really. She had a hard time thinking of it as a ‘fight’, she’d been a hero of legend right up until she became a humiliated peepshow. At least she didn’t wake up with a pacifier gag of confusion in her mouth. Hadrian knelt over her, tapping her face. To someone out of her view, he called, “Healing potion, come on! How many times do I have to say it?” She blinked a couple times, winced, and sat up. Her thighs and butt stung like wildfire, but someone had done her the dignity of pulling her diaper and pants back up, so that she was at least covered up. “I’m fine, don’t need a potion,” she said, moving her jaw around a bit. There were people moving about, either caring for the wounded or taking stock of their injuries. The bartender was up, too, in the middle of returning a health potion to its shelf. “Take it we won?” “Six people are down,” Hadrian said. “Not dead, but disabled until we find a way to remove those cursed gags.” “Damn.” Standing, Sandra tried to make it look like she wasn’t just taking weight off her butt to reduce the constant burning there. Though she couldn’t see, she imagined she had an impressive bruise down there. “Tell me we at least caught–” The summoner flew through the broken doorway and into the room, carried by an impressive throw at Quinn’s hands. Cuffed, gagged with a cloth, bare skin exposed all over, and most notably, no longer inside a fluffed up latex animal costume. She landed with a heavy thud on the floor, but lay still, unconscious. “We got her,” Tarja said, waddling through the door, her gait a little wide and awkward. She wasn’t lacking in dexterity, the waddle was from aversion to the load in her diaper–it’d only been a few minutes, then, since Sandra passed out. Quinn was right on her heels, a big of swagger in his hips on account of the successful takedown. “Once we hit her a few times, the wolf costume thing kind of just…melted away.” “That was her eidolon, I think,” Sandra explained. “Some summoners, they can fuse with their Eidolon and share a form, but…I’ve never seen one that restrains its host like that.” “That’s the wizard’s work,” Hadrian said. “Finding ways to make everything a little more messed up.” Stepping over the summoner’s unconscious form, Sandra nudged her with a foot. She had on a collar, buckled around her throat tightly, giving off a faint aura of magic, with a name printed on it–‘Kitty’. (Okay, maybe not a name, just a label.) Her armor was scanty, little more than a leather bra and a thong, exposing dark skin and a well toned body. For someone who spent most of her time casting spells, while bound on all fours, she was fit and athletic. (At least it isn’t chainmail,) Sandra thought, looking over her not-really armor. “Let’s get her into a room. A soundproof one–I’ve got questions.” Quinn didn’t need to be told twice. Hefting the summoner, he threw her over a shoulder, taking her upstairs. “Do I have a second–” Tarja started to ask, cheeks growing a little pink. “Go change,” Sandra said. She to follow after Quinn, but winced as her diaper and pants chafed against raw, tender thighs. Glancing at the bartender, she said, “I will actually take that health potion now, if you’ve got one.” … They took no chances. The summoner clearly had experience with restraints, and Sandra didn’t want to risk a slip-up. They tied her legs to a heavy chair, shackled her ankles together, cuffed her arms behind her back, and tied the cuffs to the chair too. For good measure, they wrapped a few coils of rope around her whole body, too, binding her so tightly there wasn’t any room to move. Hadrian stayed in the corner of the room, counterspells ready. Tarja sat to the side, bow in hand, while Quinn loomed by the door. Only a few candles existed to cast light in the room, lending it all a shadowy, intimidating atmosphere, and Sandra loomed over the chair with a knife in her right hand and a leather glove shrouding her left hand. Only once all that was in place did Sandra pour her healing potion down the summoner’s throat, giving her just enough rejuvenation to wake up. Sandra held the dull back edge of her blade against the summoner’s throat, a threat to keep her in line. She expected surprise, or even shock, but when the summoner woke up, she just blinked a couple times and took in her surroundings. Then, she began to purr. “Mmm,” the summoner said. “I’m sorry, mistress, was I naughty?” Sandra blinked, her grip on the knife shaking for a moment. “I’m sorry?” The summoner turned her head to nuzzle against Sandra’s arm. “No, I’m sorry. Did I earn a punishment? Am I going to have to please your friends one at a time, or are they all going to use me at once?” Yanking back her hand as though burned, Sandra tried to figure out how to respond, lowering her knife. “What–what can I call you?” “It’s on my tag!” The summoner said, giggling. “Kitty.” “Alright, Kitty,” Sandra said, trying to regain control of the situation. “You’re going to tell us what we want to know, or we’re going to make you regret it.” “Bold talk,” Kitty said. “If you think you can–I haven’t even felt how hard you hit yet.” Unsure what to do next, Sandra glanced at Hadrian, but he only shrugged. She didn’t want to actually torture the summoner, but it really seemed like threats weren’t working. Kitty tilted her head to a forty five degree angle, feigning surprise. “What? You don’t want a little struggle first? I figured you’d like the game–if you just wanted a compliant hole, I left you plenty of those downstairs. But, please–you can use the sharp side of the knife, I don’t mind a little blood.” Sandra looked down at the blade in her hand. Kitty had noticed the empty threat, the dull edge. “We want to know where the wizard took everyone from the Calistrian temple,” Sandra said, “And from the other temples he’s hit, too. And we want to know why you attacked us tonight.” “That’s all?” she asked, grinning up at Sandra. “Hmm…alright. My safe words can be map coordinates, then–if you think you’re hard enough for me?” “Hadrian,” Sandra said, holding out her hand. She’d put on a leather glove just for this, to prevent skin contact with the cursed object. Hadrian carried over one of the cursed pacifier gags, passing it to her. She held it up for emphasis, just a couple inches from Kitty’s face. “If you don’t comply, I’m going to jam this in your mouth and you can say goodbye to your mind.” Kitty went a little cross eyed looking at the gag, but then her vision shifted back to Sandra and she made an overt effort to roll her eyes. “Stick that in my mouth, I can’t give you the information you want, can I?” Sandra frowned and stepped back, tossing the collar off to the side. She looked around again, to her party. It really seemed like torture would be the only option, if that even worked, if they could deal enough punishment to make a hardcore masochist break. “Eh…” she started. “Guys? I don’t know if I really want to just–” “I’ww doi’,” Tarja said, drawing the room’s attention to her. “D’aww,” Kitty sneered, mocking Tarja’s lisp. “Da widdle baby is gonna have pwaytime wiff me? Gonna piddle your pants so you can be a big bully?” Hesitating, Tarja shook her head, focused on enunciating. “I don’t need to stand to make you hurt.” Kitty’s sneer faded slightly, and her eyes widened when she realized the threat wasn’t impotent. “Eh, heh.” “Are you sure?” Quinn asked, standing up a little straighter. “You don’t have to.” Sandra stepped back. “Don’t–” “Let me do this,” Tarja said, to both of them. “If you need to step out, I understand, but this bitch took six minds today. I don’t really have any qualms about this.” Sandra backed up to the door. She was uncertain about the methods, but she couldn’t argue, and they needed the information. “Eh…do it.” Tarja nodded, shut her eyes, and focused for a moment, loosing a bit of ranger magic without so much as sitting up. From the floorboards, small, narrow vines began to sprout. Weak at first, they wound their way up Kitty’s bare legs, through the cuffs, and up her body, tying, tightening, squeezing. Kitty chuckled nervously. “I’m already tied up, what’s–aaah–” Thorns, wicked and sharp, shout out from the vines. None were long enough to cut deep, but there were dozens, hundreds, piercing Kitty’s skin and drawing out tiny droplets of blood. The vines kept growing, creepy, needles moving up Kitty’s bare tummy. As they grew, they twisted, slowly rotating so that the thorns were pulled through her skin, more lacerations than Sandra could count. Kitty took a deep breath, steadying herself, a flicker of a smile playing across her mouth. For all the pain being inflicted, she still enjoyed it. “Your leader said it best. Harder,” Kitty whimpered, flashing a smirk at Sandra. Tarja complied. The vines clambered higher, underneath the leather bra that barely qualified as armor, and by the way the material bulged, Sandra could tell the vines were coiling around Kitty’s nipples, tightening, cutting. She winced sympathetically, glancing away for a moment. Kitty squeezed her hands into fists, balling them up so tight that her nails cut her own skin and blood dripped down from her palms, but her vicious smile only grew stronger. The vines grew higher, towards Kitty’s throat, wrapping around her neck to squeeze. They pulsed, reducing circulation, stifling the supply of blood to her brain. It never lasted long enough to let her pass out, just enough to fog her brain, to send her into an unconscious panic mode she couldn’t resist. Tightening further, the vines applied the barest amount of pressure to her windpipe, so that even breathing caused pain. “Hhhc–” Kitty said, trying to look back at Tarja. “That all you–got?” Forcing the vines tighter, Tarja wrapped them around Kitty’s chest, limiting the summoner’s ability to suck in air. She could only take short, ragged breaths, and those were each accompanied by a staccato of pain. Sandra had to turn around completely. She couldn’t watch the rest–she just had to wait it out. Kitty’s words grew blurrier, less clear, but she continued to fight, to sass, to brat. Demanding more, until her words were gone completely, and she could only gasp and moan and yelp and groan. Still, she didn’t break, reveling in the pain. Tarja grunted, then, driving the magic harder. A minute passed. Two. Kitty’s pitch grew and her moans gained volume. It didn’t sound like she was being tortured, it sounded like she was being fucked, drawing incredible sexual pleasure from the violence. Sandra wanted to step out, but she’d already shown enough weakness by looking away, she didn’t want to give Kitty the satisfaction. But, still… “Stop,” Quinn cut in. The room fell silent. “I can go harder,” Tarja said. “I can do this.” “I believe you,” Quinn promised, “That’s not my issue. We’re going about this wrong–we’re punishing her with the carrot.” Kitty laughed, her voice sultry and ragged all at once. “No, no, please–I was just about finished. A little more.” Quinn was right. They weren’t torturing her at all, they were just giving Kitty what she wanted. Looking back, Sandra asked, “What do you propose?” “Kill the vines,” Quinn said, walking up to Kitty. “Please.” Tarja was reluctant, but complied, releasing her magic. The vines crumbled, and for just a moment, Sandra could see that they’d sprouted roots, digging into Kitty’s– Trying not to gag, Sandra just accepted that it was over. “Here’s the deal,” Quinn said, kneeling in front of Kitty, so that they were at eye level. “You’re going to tell us what we want to know, and if you don’t, I’m going to make your life a hell that you, personally, can’t stand.” “Really?” Kitty asked, leering up at him. Even covered in a thousand wounds and bloody all over, she managed to look confident, even cocky. “How are you going to do that? Throw me in prison? Maximum security, let the guards ravage me at their will?” “We know plenty of churches and orders,” Quinn said. “I’ll find one of them–a sweet, nice one–and I’ll put you in their care. They’ll be able to make sure you can’t use your magic.” “Sure, who cares?” Kitty asked. “I’m not hearing a threat, sissy boy.” “They’ll take care of you,” Quinn continued, smiling genuinely when Kitty’s eyes widened. “Every day–make sure you’re eating healthy food, getting plenty of rest. Taking time to meditate and focus on yourself, in self-fulfillment. Finding satisfaction in the mundane, in simple acts of goodness. And I’m sure they’ll let you masturbate as much as you want, as long as you’re not hurting yourself…” Kitty’s face was panicked. “No,” she said. “You–you can’t.” “I can,” Quinn promised. “I wonder if you’ll prefer gardening or knitting?” “I–” Kitty started. “I–” Sandra, finally, saw her moment to step in. “We know a good therapist who will happily take time for you, too.” Kitty swallowed. “Fuck.” “Or,” Quinn said, reaching out to touch her leg, squeezing hard enough that she could feel his strength. “You tell us what we want, and we’ll throw you in a dirty, awful little hole, full of prisoners that can’t wait to take advantage of a helpless, pathetic, powerless summoner. I don’t know if they’ll want to take turns or use you all at once, it’ll probably depend on the day. You’re going to be imprisoned one way or another, so you tell me–which would you rather have?” Kitty swallowed. “You bastard.” “Where did the wizard take the prisoners?” Sandra asked. “And why did you attack us?” “You broke a promise,” Kitty grumbled. “Interfered with my master’s affairs–helping his victims. He wanted to remind you that promise-breaking has consequences. As for the locations…Master has strongholds he’s built, places to tuck away important things, important people. Your priests are stuck in a few of those. I know one is underneath Drakefire Mountain, the volcano north of here. Promise that my cell won’t have a toilet, and I’ll mark the locations of all his temples on a map.” Sandra exhaled sharply through her nose. Quinn’s plan had worked. “We’ll get that map. One more question,” she said. “Your collar–what does it do?” “It’s a compulsion,” Kitty explained. “It–how do I put this. It makes everything feel so good, and it makes me obey my master.” She blinked. “Wait, it’s…like, an obedience collar?” “You could put it that way,” Kitty continued, nodding. “My master makes me wear it, so I’ll be a good Kitty for him. And I want to be a good Kitty for him, so I always do whatever he asks me.” “Ah…” Sandra said, guilt suddenly gnawing at her. “So you didn’t choose to come out here, and hurt these people–” “No, no,” Kitty said. “Not at all. I did it because the Wizard told me to, and I can’t say no to him.” “Fuck,” Sandra said. “We–we just tortured someone for something she couldn’t consent to.” The room fell silent. “I should have thought of that,” Hadrian said. “No shit he’d have compulsions on his servants, making them act–don’t blame yourself, Sandra.” Tarja shook her head. “But, she–she liked it, right? Even if she’s not responsible for the fight…” “She was mindfucked into liking it,” Sandra said, pacing the room as guilt washed into her. “We…oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” Quinn stepped in with the important question. “Kitty, do you know if someone else can remove your collar?” “My master told me not to remove it, so I can’t,” Kitty said. “But someone else should be able to–but please don’t! Master would be really upset.” “Don’t worry, Kitty,” Sandra said, shaking her head. “We’ll get your head free. You’re going to be better, soon.” Reaching up, she unbuckled the collar. It fell free, landing in Kitty’s lap, breaking the compulsion spell. Instantly, Sandra felt better. She’d done something good, rescued another victim of the wizard. Everyone else seemed to relax, too, sighing in relief. “Sandra,” Kitty said, moving her head around, stretching out her neck. “Thank you for that–I mean it. You’re a good girl.” There was something odd about her tone, but Sandra couldn’t identify it. And, besides, the words caught her interest more than the inflection–‘A good girl’? It struck her as an odd compliment, but maybe Kitty had just spent so much time around the wizard that her word choice was warped. Besides, it was a nice thing to say about someone. “I’m sorry for being a bully,” Tarja said. “That was mean, I don’t like being mean.” “It’s okay,” Kitty said. “Could someone untie me, please?” That seemed fair–she wasn’t much of a threat anymore, and she was nice. Crouching, Sandra inspected the knots and cuffs. She knew how to untie these–rabbit goes around the hole, into the weeds, then out…right? “Gimme a second,” she said, frowning over the knots. “Take your time,” Kitty said. Behind her, Hadrian said, “We’re gonna…beat up that wizard for this.” “Yeah, he’s a jerk,” Sandra agreed. The knots perplexed her. She’d been the one to tie them, but they looked so complicated. Sweating, she pulled at one of the threads. “Erm…this is tricky.” Tarja got to her feet, waltzing over to help Sandra, crouching to help. “Huh…you tied this?” “I know,” Sandra said. “It’s…funny.” “Hey,” Kitty said. “It’s okay, I can get it.” “Oh,” Sandra said, nodding agreeably, sitting down and scooting back to give Kitty room to work. “Okay. Sure!” Sitting down, she scooted back a little and watched Kitty wriggle her hands, fidget a few times, and finally drop the cuffs from her wrists. From there, she worked her way up to the ropes, maneuvering her body one joint at a time until she got free of the bindings on her arms. “This would have been way harder if I had to do it while you weren’t looking,” Kitty explained. “Thanks for that.” Sandra tilted her head. “How come you couldn’t?” “Well, you would have stopped me,” Kitty explained. “But now we’re friends, so it’s okay!” “Oooh, okay!” Sandra said, happy to hear that they were still friends after she’d been such a meanie. “Uh…” Quinn said, looking down. Sandra could practically hear the blush in his voice, and she giggled when she looked up at him–he’d peed his pants! “Hah!” Sandra announced. “Quinn went potty!” “So did you,” Tarja pointed out, snickering. “Potty pants.” Sandra glanced at her, then, finally, noticed that Tarja wasn’t shaking at all. “Hey, you too!” “You can all be potty pants,” Kitty said, shaking herself off and getting to her feet. “It was nice talking, kids, but I’ve got places to be. Have fun, you should come to your senses…oh, eventually.” “Huh?” Hadrian said, raising his hand, his tone a little whiny and high. “Hold on, you’re not supposed to be going no place–Sandra, she’s not! Tell her she’s not!” “Hey, yeah,” Sandra said, looking up at Kitty. “Where’re you going?” “I have grown up business to take care of,” Kitty explained. “I may have mislad you a bit, earlier–I do what my master says because I want to, the collar is just something I asked for because it’s so much fun to not have a choice. And the insurance policy we worked in? That’s extra helpful when I’m in a room full of dupes.” Sandra blinked, and then her eyes went wide as she understood, sort of, what’d been said. “H-hey! You fibbed!” Hadrian tried to conjure magic, and managed to throw up a magical barrier over the door, though he looked puzzled as he cast the ward. “Nuh… not going noplace. Stay here!” “Mhmm,” Kitty said, crouching and waving her hand over the pacifier gag on the floor. “I know, I’m an awful fibber, but I really can’t stay.” Floating up into the air, the pacifier turned, identifying its prey–Hadrian. Diving at his face, he only had time to yelp before the bulb jammed itself in his mouth. His eyes rolled back, and he sunk to the floor, suckling mindlessly. The ward over the door vanished, and Kitty crouched down, smirking at Sandra. “Your friend’s gonna be all hazy, but I bet he’d like if he got a makeover, so he could look pretty when he wakes up!” That…seemed wrong, but Sandra couldn’t spot an issue with the logic. Hadrian did already have heels and his pretty, shiny outfit–why wouldn’t he like a makeover? “Okies,” Sandra said, nodding happily. “Thanks, Kitty!” “Thanks, Kitty!” Tarja repeated. “No fair,” Quinn pouted, no longer trying to hide his accident. “I want one too!” “You can all play,” Kitty suggested, waltzing out the door. “Just remember this, next time you think you’re good enough to try and beat the wizard–even when you win, you really just lose.” Sandra remembered the words, but she didn’t really know what they meant. That was okay. She had her friends to play with. ... Replies are always appreciated! If you're able, support for my writing is always a massive help. I wouldn't be able to do this without the awesome patronage of my readers on Ream and SubscribeStar. https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Jessie pounded on the sorority house door, fighting back the furious tears that threatened to ruin her makeup. Her feet were sore and her legs ached from walking, but her dignity had been hurt far more. The girls of Delta Lambda had accepted her as a pledge–or, that’s what they’d promised. Jessie had expected a little hazing. Maybe a hand in a bowl of peeled grapes and telling her it was eyeballs, or having her do shots and flash some boys at a party, something harmless and a bit fun in hindsight. The girls hadn’t gone for ‘harmless fun’, they’d gone for a social torpedo. ‘All the pledges have to run through the campus fountain naked,’ they’d said, but while Jessie stripped, the others had stolen her clothes, leaving behind only a diaper and a crop-cut T-shirt that barely came down enough to cover her nipples, though the top half of a teddy bear could still be distinguished above the cut line. Then they’d abandoned her, declaring she could have her clothes when she got back to the house. Jessie had been left with an awful choice–put on the humiliating granny diaper, or attempt to streak the four miles between the fountain and the sorority house. She’d gone with the diaper, but on a Friday night, that still meant being seen by probably the entire student body and then some as she trudged back, holding off tears. And now they weren’t letting her in. “Pledge, you forgot to run through the fountain!” one of the sisters taunted through the window. “You have to go back and do it right!” “Asshole!” Jessie yelled back. “Let me in!” Instead of replying, the girl just raised her phone, snapping a picture of Jessie before she could try and hide her obvious diaper. “I wonder what Jamie will think of this?” She laughed sarcastically as she name-dropped Jessie’s boyfriend. “I bet this’ll finally convince him you’re third base material, huh?” Eyes widening, Jessie shook her head, raising a hand in protest. “Don’t send that!” “Sent!” the girl declared. “If you want your clothes–and your phone–back, go do the fountain run. You know the rules, pledge.” Anger rising, Jessie snapped, “I wish–” “Don’t care,” she replied, cutting her off with an eye roll. And with that she wandered away, leaving Jessie on the stoop, alone, humiliated, and defeated. She could try and walk back to her dorm, but it would be even further than the fountain, and her keys were still in her pants, locked inside the sorority house. Maybe someone would lend her a phone, but she didn’t want to go asking strangers for help–she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. “Tsk, tsk–this just won’t do at all.” The tiny voice came from right behind Jessie, and she turned in alarm, expecting someone to be standing right on the front walk, but she saw nobody. She did, however, feel a prodding sensation down at the seat of her diaper. “We can do so much better than this!” Jessie yelped and stepped forward, whirling again, and this time she saw her: Not even six inches tall, with iridescent butterfly wings, the pixie wore a simple blouse and long skirt with an apron over the ensemble. Jaw falling open, Jessie searched for words but found none. “Those mean girls just don’t understand,” the pixie said, shaking her head and frowning as she took a toothpick-sized wand from her apron’s pocket. “But don’t worry–I’m here to make sure that no Little Girls will ever have to hide what they are!” (What? ‘Little Girl?’ Is she talking about me?) Jessie wondered, but before she could ask the question aloud, the pixie flicked her want. With a burst of starry sparkles, magic burst into life, splashing against the front of Jessie’s diaper and dousing it with color. The plain white plastic poofed out like popcorn, doubling in thickness in an eyeblink, and the thin blue stripes and medical aesthetic were replaced with pinks and purples, a design dominated by a cutesy rabbit. “I–hey!” Jessie blurted, hands lowering to try and cover the infinitely more embarrassing diaper. She looked around, but her tormentor at the window had left. “What the heck?” “Oh, do you prefer the lions?” the pixie asked, tilting her head and tapping her wand against her lips. “You know, you Adult Babies have it easy these days–it wasn’t too long ago, you’d have to settle for solid colors if you got any designs at all! Now–that top, it’s just no good, is it?” Jessie’s eyes widened as she tried to understand what the pixie meant. (Adult Babies? What is she talking about?) Before any further objections could be raised, she flicked the star wand again, and the cut-off tee shirt spooled out, threading itself into a new form–it laced over her diaper and between her legs, metal buttons snapping snugly over her new, far thicker diaper. Jessie looked down at herself, eyes widening. Her outfit was infinitely worse–at least the crop top could claim to have a little sex appeal, but the bright pink onesie had rainbows and unicorns printed all across it, and over her uniquely puffy bottom, glittery ruffles poofed into existence as the finishing touch. She gaped, turning to try and get a look at the ruffles, spinning in place for a few steps. “Stop it!” she yelped. “I don’t want any of this baby crap!” The pixie rolled her eyes and sighed in a good natured way. “Sweetie, just because those other girls tease you doesn’t mean you should hide who you are–but if you won’t allow yourself to be yourself, I’ll happily give you a little nudge in that direction!” Flitting around Jessie, she tapped her wand right over the woman’s onesie-covered tummy, and the magic kicked in immediately. Jessie felt sudden warmth burst into her diaper as her bladder drained without warning, quickly soaking into the thirsty padding. She lowered her hands to cover her crotch, though the onesie did an admirable job of hiding the accident. The snaps even prevented much in the way of diaper sag, but while it could hide her accidents, it couldn’t prevent them. Even as she bent to try and conceal her humiliating clothes, she felt a gurgling in her belly. When she tried to clench, Jessie found she had no control, and so she couldn’t stop herself from immediately pushing out the contents of her bowels into the diaper. Her attempts to stop the accident only emphasized how helpless she’d become, unable to stem the tide of gross mush that swelled against her skin. She blushed, her cheeks feeling almost as warm as her saturated diaper, humiliation building as the back of her diaper bulged and grew heavy, enough that even her onesie struggled a bit, stretching and succumbing to the telltale sag that indicated a dirty diaper to observant onlookers. “You–you little imp!” Jessie snarled, raging at the fairy. “I don’t hate this just because they’re teasing me! Why can’t you just do what I want you to do? I don’t. Like. Diapers!” “If you don’t, then why did you put one on for everyone to see? Someone’s knee-deep in denial, I think!” The pixie crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, though since hovered like a hummingbird, the taps just fell on thin air. “A certain Little Girl sure is being fussy. I’d normally think it’s because she needs a change, but she was like this before, so maybe she just needs to relax a bit and get off her feet.” Jessie’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No, no–” But the spell was already cast, and her knees wobbled like jelly as the pixie stole her balance. Falling back, she plopped down onto the ground, landing on her ruffled diaper seat with a mucky squish that made her blush increase in intensity. “A little rest will do you good, and if you need to get around, you can have fun crawling, Littles always like that,” the fairy cooed. “And I must say–you’re much cuter like th–” “Put me back!” Jessie demanded, mortified, worried that one of the sorority sisters might snap another photo of her like this. Spread-legged on the ground, in a diaper full enough to strain the snaps on her baby doll onesie, she would give anything to make sure nobody got a photo of this. “Before someone sees!” “Oh, fuss, fuss, fuss.” The fairy flicked her wrist casually, and a pacifier appeared between Jessie’s lips, one that was specially sealed so that only a grown up could remove it. She grumbled into it, face screwing up in petulant anger, but the fairy ignored her, scratching her chin in thought. “Okay, she’s clearly upset–but what else could a Little want? I’ve given her all the general fantasies, so…” A few giggles echoed from behind the sorority house door, and the fairy–invisible to everyone but Jessie–snapped her fingers as she understood. Floating down to hover in front of Jessie’s teary, humiliated, and particularly angry face, the fairy said, “I know what it is, sweetie–you’re embarrassed, because you don’t want the other girls to see what a cute baby you are. But, don’t worry, I’m going to fix all of this.” Jessie started to relax, until she added, “Let’s just clear up all those nasty big girl thoughts, okay?” “Nnmmph!” Jessie blabbered into her pacifier, too late to stop a spark of magic from tapping her right between the eyes, and… (Um…) (Why was I cranky?) Jessie blinked a few times, a thin line of drool trickling out from behind her pacifier guard. She looked up at the fairy, eyes slightly hazed. She was a bit cold, but not terribly. Her diaper felt nice and warm and squishy, and her pacifier helped her calm down a bit. Something smelled, but it didn’t bother her terribly much, she just needed… (What do I need?) “Alright, little one,” the fairy said. “I have one more thing to take care of–and remember, magic is real, and wishes for Little Girls do come true!” With a puff of glitter, she darted off into the night, leaving Jessie alone. She still felt her heart pound with anxiety, but couldn’t place why. (I don’t gotta potty, I…the diapers…my diapers make sure I’m safe!) (Um…) (I’m so pretty, pink is such a nice color!) But, if she liked everything about herself–her diaper, her pacifier, her onesie–why did she still feel worried? She sniffled, uncertain why she felt like she might cry, but before her unfamiliar emotions overwhelmed her, she saw something blue. (I like blue!) It wasn’t just any old blue thing though, it was a blue car. A big blue car that could go really fast! Maybe she could sit on Daddy’s lap and he’d let her turn the steering wheel– (Oh! Daddy!) Jamie got out of the driver’s side, eyes widening when he saw her sitting on the ground. “Jessie?” he called, quickly running over to her, crouching by her side. “Shh, baby, it’s okay–Daddy’s here.” She giggled, opening her arms for a hug. More than just hugging her, Jamie scooped her up, lifting Jessie off the ground. He was strong, and she was light enough to always get picked as the flier on the cheer squad, so he hefted her easily, one hand cradling the seat of her diaper. “Smells like someone needs a freshie,” he said, giving her bottom a playful squeeze. “We’ll get that taken care of soon, okay?” Jessie squirmed happily–this was what she’d been missing. Her boyfriend–her daddy, here to take care of her. Carrying her to his car, Jamie paused by the door, removing the pacifier from between Jessie’s lips. “Who’s my lovely little baby girl?” he asked, cooing at her. She could have answered with words, but she knew a better way. Leaning up, she kissed him, and he held her close as he kissed her back. In the distance, a diminutive fairy watched, smiling at the scene, content with how she’d handled it. Though noone was around to hear, she whispered to herself, a quiet affirmation. “Another happy ending.” There were more and more little girls every night, it seemed–and she would give them all what they wanted, just like she had with Jessie. ... Written for bricks66 Comments and feedback always appreciated! Hey y'all, I could use a favor! gofund.me/37aecafd I'm raising money to help a friend and ABDL colleague of mine move after finding out she's going to be out of job and home soon. Let's show her some love, ok? I normally try and promote my own work here, but right now I want to make sure that another author and cool person in the community is taken care of. ❤️

I'm quite certain it has been! (And, for the record, Alphabeta is a trans-inclusive school.) I'm not sure of stories that specifically use the idea of, 'only women can be witches' and uses that as part of a trans narrative, but I'd get a tall pointy hat and eat it if a story like that didn't exist out in the world somewhere already.

Chapter 8 Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There didn’t seem to be any way to position his weight without feeling the muck in his diaper clinging to his skin. If he sat back, everything squelched forward, and he really didn’t want it going forward. When he sat forward, it mushed up the back and made him fear a blowout–and the only situation that might be more publicly humiliating than a visible dirty diaper would be a visibly blown out diaper. Of course, constantly wriggling back and forth wasn’t helping any, but he couldn’t help himself. Everything about this was new and deeply unpleasant. Jen, sitting next to him, seemed to fidget almost as much as he did, even though she had no particular reason to–fiddling with the loose threads of her scarf, she played them between her fingers so much he thought she might pull the garment apart. The eyes of nearby girls kept glancing his way. He could hear comments being whispered, and the giggles that followed those comments almost immediately–jokes and rumors at his expense. He’d have to do something about that eventually, but for now, Daniel tried to listen to the orientation, the reason he’d come here. The dean had conceded the stage, giving way to a woman in her mid fifties with silvery patches covering much of her skin–her hands, her right ear, even a part of her face. She’d begun her introduction a few moments ago, and Daniel had to play back his memory for a moment to catch himself up. (Professor Saito Sora, potion master.) Someone a couple rows ahead whispered, “Is that a skin condition?” A second girl shook her head. “No, I heard it’s from an alchemical accident.” A third, “I heard she lost a bunch of parts in the war and had to replace–” A fourth, “What war?” A fifth, “Shut up!” Daniel shook off the chatter, focusing on the presentation. “...Freshmen should know, there will be no brewing outside of class hours while you’re here at Alphabeta. You will only make the potions required for your lessons, and only under the supervision of myself or one of my teaching assistants. Junior and Senior students may be given a pass for unsupervised brewing, but only for specific needs.” Leaning forward, she scowled at the whole student body, as though each of them had personally wronged her. “You will not free brew under my watch. Potions will by made by the book. If you don’t, and I find out, you could get seriously injured.” “Jeez,” Jen muttered. “Is it just me, or did that sound like a threat?” One of the girls in front of them shot a glare over their shoulder, making a face at Daniel. (Oh, come on–I’m not even the one who talked!) He shrugged sheepishly, and after an exaggerated show of sneering and wrinkling her nose, the girl looked away. While Professor Saito stepped away, a familiar face stood from the row of chairs at the back of the stage. Velma–or, she’d be Professor Blackburn now, the teacher who’d been in charge of grading their entrance exams. “Most of you know me,” she said, looking out at the room. “You can refer to me as Professor Blackburn, or simply Blackburn, and I’m here to make sure you’ve got friends.” That got a round of chuckles–even Daniel smirked, though he didn’t totally get the joke. “In all seriousness, your coven is going to be more than just a friend circle. Many of the freshmen have requested to be in a specific coven–and my returning students know you’re going to be disappointed to see that I’ve denied most of your requests. We’re not building cliques here, and we’re not interested in turning covens into gossip circles.” She waited for that moment to pass. “Your coven will be a second family to you, and you don’t get to pick your family. The team building tools you develop together will be crucially important, and they need to go deeper than mere friend relationships–as such, you will not be allowed to switch to a different group except in extreme circumstances, as it would not be fair to the other women in your coven.” (Women,) Daniel thought, pursing his lips. (Not everyone in my coven will be women, though.) Chances are, this speech had been written months prior, if it wasn’t recycled every year word for word. It didn’t surprise him that the language hadn’t been changed just for him, but he wondered if that, too, was a veiled threat. They were only concerned with fairness towards the women in the student body, not Daniel. (Is Blackburn against me too?) Maybe he was being paranoid, but the dean had all but publicly condoned bullying Daniel a moment before, so he felt justified in his paranoia. “Your coven assignments will be posted outside the hall when we’re done here. Disregard your preconceptions. Some of you will be assigned to a coven with women you can’t stand–and, I got permission from the Dean to say this: Tough shit, suck it up and find someone else to complain to. If you can’t make friends, you don’t belong in my class, or this institution. Thank you.” Velma’s voice was amplified through the hall by magic; she had no mic to drop. Still, her point had been made, and she stepped back, glancing around. Clearly confused, she looked to Dean Madrigal, seated at the end of the row of teachers. “Where’s Glinse?” she asked, voice still carrying. Glancing out at the student body, she waved a hand, silencing the spell so that she could confer privately. Standing, the dean walked up to the center of stage, pulling the amplifying spell onto herself. “On the subject of the Voxavin league,” she began, and Daniel could just barely notice the annoyance in her tone. “We’ve been selected–” A side door–the same door Daniel had made his humiliating entrance through, in fact, flew open, and a pale woman hurried in. She didn’t raise her voice or cause a stir, but the dean’s silence drew all eyes onto the woman, watching as she scurried onto stage. She was tall, and had a frame like she spent a lot of time watching other people exercise–Daniel pegged her as a gym teacher. Accepting a harsh glance from the dean, the woman walked up to centerstage. “Greetings, hello, I’m Catherine Glinse.” She paused, as though expecting a reaction. When she didn’t get one, she continued, losing a bit of steam. “I’ll be coaching you through Voxavin.” That, at least, got a reaction–interest from a lot of the girls, particularly the freshmen, who leaned in keenly. It also confirmed Daniel’s guess–Voxavin was, for all intents and purposes, Witch Gym. “All of you are required to participate in Voxavin practice, though you won’t be required to play in the league if your coven doesn’t wish it. The sport has an illustrious history amongst Witches, and we carry that tradition forward. Not only is victory in Voxavin one of the highest honors and greatest achievements a witch can achieve, it’s crucial to your education, your Coven. The skills you learn playing with your sisters of magic will stay with you for the rest of your life, and–if you’re lucky–you’ll end up…” She trailed off for a moment, gazing into the middle distance. “Three of the past seven high covens had members who were collegiate Voxavin champions. This could define your future.” She started to turn away, but stopped when the dean cleared her throat. Turning back, she added, “Oh and we’re hosting the school games this year. Try to win, it’s embarrassing when the host school gets beaten. Good luck.” While Daniel gawked at her presentation, and how poorly put together it’d been, Jen leaned over and whispered to him. “Why do you suppose she was late?” Daniel shrugged. (Laziness? Or–) He went cold, realizing Jen’s implication. Someone had been behind that door, after all, ranting about power. Was Catherine Glinse their mystery voice? The thought tickled at the back of his brain, distracting him through the rest of the presentation–a few other teachers introduced themselves, explaining details of their job that wouldn’t be obvious at a glance and generally giving an overview of what to expect. Daniel was so distracted, he even stopped fidgeting in his seat. It was like breathing–while it’d been on his mind, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, his attention drawn to every detail of the discomfort. Now that he’d been distracted, it fell back into the white noise of the world around him. (I need to learn more about Catherine Glinse.) When the ceremony ended, girls everywhere stood, shuffling out in an excited rush. Daniel just turned to Jen, hoping she might know more about the world of Voxavin. “Do you know–” “Come on,” Jen said, apparently unaware that he’d spoken at the same time. “We have to go find out what coven we’re in!” Daniel blinked. “Oh, yeah, but–” “Oh,” Jen said, mistaking his hesitation. “I…oh! Right, your, um. Uh–can’t you just tie your jacket around your waist?” Blinking, Daniel said, “Er…I didn’t–I was distracted, okay?” “Well, no time like the present,” Jen said, lowering her tone. “I mean, it’s not like anyone will forget, but at least they won’t be able to see your, y’know…diaper.” The extra emphasis she gave the word, speaking in a stage whisper, made Daniel more self-conscious rather than less, but he didn’t raise the point. “I…yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks.” “I mean, it’s something, right? And something’s better than nothing, so, yeah. You’re welcome!” Shrugging out of his uniform jacket, Daniel was faced with a question–it wasn’t a skirt, he couldn’t fashion it to cover things completely, he had to pick–hide the back, or the front? The bottom of his diaper would be visible from one angle for another. He could have asked for Jen’s jacket, too, but that just felt awkward, so he chose to cover up the back, letting his jacket drape over the drooping diaper seat. “Now come on!” Jen insisted, grabbing him by the hand and pulling Daniel towards the exit, leading him through a sea of students, pushing forward in her haste to find out who they’d been assigned with. “You were saying, by the way?” “Huh?” Daniel asked, struggling to keep up. He would never in a million years get used to the feeling of walking around in a fully loaded diaper, let alone speedwalking in one. “Earlier–you said, ‘Do you know,’ what were you asking if I knew?” Jen clarified. Trying to keep his head low and avoid the sneering glances directed his way, Daniel said, “Oh, you did hear–do you know much about this Glinse woman?” “I think she’s been the coach here for forever,” Jen explained. “But I dunno–okay, find our names!” Daniel looked up as they stepped out into the hallway. The outer chamber was as grand as the actual assembly hall, and large illusions were cast up on the far wall, an enormous list of names, separating the girls into their covens. “I think Glinse might be the voice we heard,” Daniel said. “Oh, sure,” Jen agreed, nodding as she read through coven lists. “I mean, maybe–what’s your last name, so I don’t get you confused? Oh, wait, I guess there’s not many ‘Daniel’s up here, but still.” “It’s Aster,” Daniel supplied automatically. “Aster, Aster…oh, there I am!” Jen said, pointing excitedly. “I… oh. I don’t know any of those people.” Daniel hadn’t really expected that there’d be such a giant coincidence, but he still felt a twinge of disappointment to not be in Jen’s coven. She’d been nice to him, the only friendly face he’d really met in the school so far. He found his own coven a moment later, reading off the names: Soga Asami, Hazel Saunders, Mathilde Travere, Radha Gole, and Cassandra Clay. Like Jen, he didn’t know them. These were the strangers he’d be stuck with until he got into a proper Warlock college. He’d just have to hope he didn’t end up in a group with five Rachels. ... This chapter is another one that is completely original from the V1 version of the story - There was a tiny bit of the introduction, but the teachers and most of the class introductions were nonexistent. I'm so glad I added this Support the author, and read all my stuff super early and get exclusive content, too! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 7 “Punishment?” Daniel squeaked. “But–” “But what?” Rachel asked, leering down at him. “I made it very clear, didn’t I? You’ve got one toilet you’re allowed to use, and it’s the one taped up beneath your skirt.” Cheeks turning pinker by the second, Daniel said, “Come on, I was just wandering down a back hall–I just got lost. I wasn’t even trying to find a toilet.” “That’s not what I was told,” Rachel replied, taking a step closer and drawing out her wand. She let the ribbon trail behind her on the floor, tapping her chin with the index finger of her free hand while she thought. “But if you don’t want to use the toilet underneath your skirt, we can fix that.” Daniel blinked. He knew it was a trap, but he had to ask. “Really?” “Really,” She replied, flicking her wand. The ribbon lashed out, and when the long end brushed against the hem of his skirt, the garment began to come apart, threads falling loose and piling into a heap around his feet. Diaper fully exposed, Daniel lowered his hands, trying to cover it–at least it was just him and Rachel in the hallway, but he knew that could change in an instant, and if anyone walked by, they’d see his diaper plain as day. When he’d first put it on, Daniel had hated how short the miniskirt was–it offered no modesty, it didn’t cover anything, it practically wasn’t there! Now, he was strongly considering dropping to his knees to beg for it back for the tiny concealment it offered–if he thought that would actually get Rachel to agree, instead of pushing her towards further torment. “Now,” Rachel continued. “There are two options here, that I see. The first is, you were really looking for a big boy potty, because you were just so desperate to go that you weren’t thinking straight. If that’s the case, then I think you’ve learned your lesson. You tried to go, I took your skirt, we’re all square.” “O-okay,” Daniel said, blushing. “Sure. Fine.” “On the other hand,” Rachel continued, “I know you’re a troublemaker who likes to find ways to cheat, and there’s a whole lot of bad you could get up to in the faculty halls. I know you’re not that stupid, which leads me to assume the whole ‘looking for a toilet’ spiel that you sold that lady was just something you cooked up to get out of worse trouble.” Daniel swallowed. “No, that’s not it. I–I was just looking for a toilet. I just really had to go. That’s it, I swear.” Smirking, Rachel stepped back, making enough room that she could look down at the front of his diaper. “Had to, or have to? You’re still all sparkly clean and dry, spark.” “I mean…” Daniel said, trailing off. “Erm.” “You want me to believe your fairy tale about looking for a bathroom?” Rachel asked, smile spreading as her point became clear. “I’m going to need you to prove it.” “Uh…” he said, looking down. “Um. Er. Oh.” She was going to make him wet himself, right then and there, without even the dignity of the miniskirt. “That’s not fair,” Daniel sputtered. “Are you–come on. You can’t just make me do whatever you want.” “I’m not making you do anything, spark,” Rachel insisted. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already been disciplined…as long as you’re not trying to get away with anything, and a dirty diaper will prove you’re not trying to get away with anything. Besides–you’re going to have to use it sooner or later.” He could tell she was bending the rules, but it’s not like he had any recourse. Looking up at the ceiling, Daniel’s face grew redder and redder as he focused on getting his bladder to obey. It was just about the worst possible circumstances for this–he didn’t have to go that much to begin with, his body had been conditioned over two decades of potty training to absolutely not, ever, under any circumstances, pee while he had any sort of underwear on. The leering, giggling audience didn’t help at all either–Every amused titter set him back to square one, undercutting all his efforts to self-humiliate. Wriggling, shifting from foot to foot, he focused on controlling his body, willing it into compliance. Nothing. “I can’t…” he said, shyly. “Not because I don’t need to, just…if you’re watching, and stuff.” “Really?” Rachel asked, glancing back at the doors. “Maybe you need a bigger audience.” Taking a step back, Daniel raised his hands defensively. “No, no, I just–I can’t get my body to…y’know.” “So, what you’re saying,” Rachel clarified, looking back and raising an eyebrow at him. “Is that you need something to compel your body a bit.” She raised her wand up to about waist height, letting it dangle to the side, so that the ribbon just barely trailed on the floor, and started walking, slowly, towards him. Daniel raised his hands even higher, almost as though shielding against an attack, and took a step back. His back bumped into the far wall, and he felt cool marble on his exposed legs. The last thing he wanted was this girl messing around in his head, laying compulsions on him. “Rachel, listen, whatever you’re thinking–stop. Stop.” She kept moving, walking towards him, savoring his fearful stammering. Magic sparkled down the length of her ribbon wand, and as she got up to him, grinning like a shark, she flicked out a spell. Daniel flinched, shut his eyes, and tried to shield his thoughts from whatever magic she was going to throw at him. Instead, all he felt was the grip on his wrist, and a slightly warm, damp sensation on his hand. Opening one eye, he looked anxiously down. Rachel had conjured a bowl of warm water, and was holding his hand in it. Relaxing, he looked up, and then tensed again when he saw her expression–pure condescension. “What?” she asked with sneering innocence. “I don’t need to mess with your brain to make you pee your pants. That’s like enchanting a hog to roll in mud–you just need the slightest encouragement.” And, to his embarrassment, she was right. The need to pee had gone up considerably, and with a nervous chuckle, Daniel was finally able to overcome his bladder’s practiced resistance against self-humiliation. Rachel laughed right in his face. “Oh my god, you’re pathetic.” “I–okay.” Daniel surrendered, shrinking beneath her. “That proves it, right?” She stepped back, sneering. “Oh, not even a little. You were struggling there–and besides, you’re not that dumb. If you were looking for a toilet, it’s not because you had to kinda-sorta pee.” (She can’t mean…) Refusing to say it out loud, Daniel just stammered, “So, I…what?” “Either your excuse stinks,” Rachel said. “Or your diapers do. Your choice.” “I can’t,” he said, immediately. “Peeing was hard enough, how am I supposed to…do that?” Raising an eyebrow, the prefect asked, “Do you need more help?” Daniel weighed the question, and his options. Whatever punishment Rachel held in store, it would have to be worse than just…using his diaper. He still wouldn’t think about it in more specific terms than ‘using’, let alone the ‘P’ word. If she had free reign, she’d probably think up some awful torture, or just get him expelled. It would be better to just suck it up now. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he doubted he could go on his own. The bowl of water hadn’t been so bad. So, as much as he hated to say it, Daniel nodded and looked at Rachel. “I need more help.” “Aww,” she cooed, like he was an infant struggling to say the word ‘Potty’. “No, you’ve got to be more specific.” “I…” he fumbled for words. “I need help using my diaper.” He regretted it instantly–Rachel smiled. She was loving his resistance, it gave her more leverage to mock him. “You already used your diaper. Now, use your words and tell me what you need.” “Are you fucking–I need help to poop,” he said, glaring– Rachel flicked her wand, and he felt immediately woozy, wobbling, like he might fall over if he didn’t spend all his concentration on staying upright. Rachel circled him, taunting, finally stopping right in front, making eye contact with him. “Thanks for that–I can’t get in trouble if you asked, and it’s easier to get into heads with an invitation.” She raised her wand, and he stumbled. Again, his back pressed against the wall, but this time, instead of standing straight, he slid down it, dropping until he was in a low, wide crouch. He couldn’t stop himself–if he wanted to retain his dignity, he had to fight off the compulsion, and Rachel’s efforts had frayed his mental state. This had been deliberate. (Holy shit,) Daniel thought, with the tiny, analytical part of his brain that never really shut up. (She’s–she’s good.) On the fly compulsions were hard magic. In a rigorous academic setting, like the entry exam, an anti-cheat compulsion didn’t strike him as anything unusual, but this sort of overt mind-fuck was above and beyond. He’d never heard of a witch pulling off an instant compulsion without a coven to back her up, but Rachel hadn’t just nailed the technical side of the magic, she’d nailed him. Mixing fear and submission around his brain, playing with his headspace long before she got into his actual head, making him ask, all so that she’d be able to puppeteer him however she liked. And now that she was in, he couldn’t get her out. Resisting compulsions required a foundation, and she’d washed away his foundation like a sandcastle at high tide. His body, under Rachel’s control, pushed. He couldn’t resist, he couldn’t even break eye contact with Rachel as he bottomed out his diaper, emptying his bowels like a toddler that didn’t want to walk all the way to the nearest bathroom. The seat of his diaper swelled and sagged. It took a moment for the smell to waft up to his nose, but that hit him too a moment later. Under Rachel’s control, he couldn’t pinch his nose or try to fight it, so he just took deep, steady breaths, an occasional unconscious grunt escaping his lips. Finally, Rachel released the magic, returning control to his body in an instant, and he fell back. Landing on his butt, all his weight pressed down on the new load of mush, squelching it against him, a particularly intense sensory reminder of what he’d just asked to do. “Alright.” Rachel looked down on him in every sense imaginable, and her true feelings showed plainly: She had enjoyed this, sure, but more than that, she did it because she resented him with every fiber of her being. Disdain bordering on hatred. “That should do it. Do you need help finding your seat, too?” He wasn’t so gullible as to answer in the affirmative. Pushing back up, Daniel brushed off his top, blushed, and shook his head. “I’m good.” He walked up the doors, then hesitated. A part of him wanted to run back to his room, to skip orientation completely, to change his diaper and hide, but his pride ran too strong. If he ran, he’d be giving Rachel what she wanted. Then again, if he showed off his diaper to the whole student body, she’d probably be okay with that outcome too. Maybe it was better to just slink away in shame, and try to get a recap later. There’d be some important announcements, but the meeting wasn’t mandatory, and– The doors flew open, framing him perfectly in the hallway, making a bang loud enough to draw the attention of the entire hall. Behind him, a moment later, he heard a quiet snicker from Rachel–of course she wasn’t going to let him decide for himself. All eyes fell on him, the singular male student, probably the only man in the entire facility, blushing furiously in the door frame. Even if anyone didn’t recognize his face, after tonight they’d know him by reputation. His reputation. His chance to establish who he was. Rachel had stolen that out from under him, undermining any chance he may have had to get out and ahead of the humiliation she’d forced him into. Everyone in the school knew him first in two ways: He was a boy who’d insisted on coming to a girl’s school, and he wore sodden, sagging, smelly diapers. Rachel had wanted to break him, and in that moment, it almost worked. He almost, almost turned to flee, running back to his dorm, or perhaps running all the way back home, through the apparation gate, pretending this whole thing was just a bad dream. But…that would be worse. Things that happened within this school wouldn’t stay here forever. This would be apart of his permanent reputation, no matter where he went, if he didn’t do something right then and there. So, he turned and looked back at Rachel, and projected his voice loudly enough that a few girls could hear: “You really enjoyed making me do this, didn’t you?” There. It was a paper defense, but better than nothing–he’d established that this wasn’t his own choice, that he hadn’t intended on giving the student body of Alphabeta a show. Then, turning, he held his head high and began his march into the grand hall. Every part of him burned with humiliation, but so long as he didn’t show it, so long as he pretended he didn’t care about the drooping diaper squelching between his thighs with every step, maybe someone would believe him. Just his luck, he’d come in near the front of the hall. Girls in uniforms had already filled up every available seat nearby, wanting to get as close to the stage as possible, so he couldn’t just slip into a nearby chair–he had to walk the length of the room, marching along to the sound of whispers and giggles, a one-man parade for the student body’s amusement. Jen, at least, didn’t laugh. Spotting him, she raised a hand, signaling that she’d saved him a seat. Daniel almost took a closer, easier spot, just so he could sit down and slump down out of everyone’s view, but she wasn’t much further away, so he took the extra ten steps to get next to her. “Wow,” Jen said, as he sat, “What happened to your skir…oh, you…ew. Oh. Ew. Why’d you use your diaper?” “Rachel,” Daniel said, simply, not bothering to keep his voice low. “Prefect. She hit me with a compulsion, I guess that’s Alphabeta’s version of ‘discipline’.” He noticed, only then, that the woman at the podium of the room hadn’t resumed her speech. A second after that, he also noticed that the speaker was the dean herself, Penelope Madrigal, and she was staring right at him. “Ahem,” she said. “If that’s all the interruptions.” Most of the students didn’t giggle, but enough did that it could be described as a chorus. “As I was saying, and he so nicely demonstrated,” the dean continued, “this year, a man has managed to enter the ranks of our alumni. We’re revising the application process to ensure this sort of misconduct doesn’t happen again, but for now, he’s to be treated just as you would treat any other student. Any attempts noticed by staff to harass or haze him outside of sanctioned university discipline for misbehavior will not be tolerated.” (Noticed by staff,) Daniel considered. That could just be a bit of unfortunate phrasing, but the more obvious interpretation stuck out in his head–it’s okay for students to harass and haze him, just don’t be too obvious about it so that the staff can turn a blind eye. He couldn’t be certain, but it certainly seemed like Ms. Madrigal was painting a target on his back. “And, as of course you all know, mocking other students or making jokes related to medical conditions or disability is not tolerated on the grounds of Alphabeta,” the dean continued. “Were Mr. Aster incontinent, that rule would apply to him, too.” Okay, that was pretty unambiguous–even if she hadn’t outright said it, she’d just given the thumbs up to mockery and jokes, making it clear that he wasn’t protected by their anti-bullying rules. Rachel had teed him up for this, exposing his diapers to the room, and Ms. Madrigal had swung with perfect aim, working together to make his educational experience as humiliating as possible without violating the rules. They were working together. ... Thanks for reading! Support the author: https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Using the examples presented above, I think I have some thoughts here: The issue is not "It takes too long to get the protagonist into diapers", but, "Too much of the story is spent in a different genre." IMO, kink writing often has quite a bit in common with horror, especially noncon/dubcon kink, with the difference being that horror is meant to frighten rather than tittilate. However, it makes a good example here, because we can contrast different styles: Imagine a story about a family going on vacation in the mountains, to a private retreat. The dad is working on his novel, the mom is enjoying time away from the hustle and bustle of daily life, they play with their son, they explore the nearby garden, there's some marital strife and the kid has a few quirks, and then wham the dad snaps and begins hunting down his family with an axe and they have to escape before he kills them- Okay, you might have guessed what I was doing here. I basically just described 'The Shining' (with a few details altered), but with all of the foreshadowing and suspense cut out. The first two thirds of the film don't have anything directly dangerous - Jack Torrence isn't swinging his axe - but we still know what's coming and are left in suspense. If it were presented without all of the paranormal elements, the psychic warnings, the premonitions of danger and the hints that Jack was losing his mind, the first two thirds of the movie would not work. Now, imagine you're writing an AB/DL story, and worried that the pacing is too slow burn. Ask yourself: What is the slow burn doing to set up the kink content?

Part Five After three weeks of living with her captor, Elizabeth finally had her plans in place. She couldn’t deal with Nanny directly. She was too strong in a physical sense and too wary in a mental sense. So long as she kept her leverage, Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to get any advantage. If, however, Elizabeth escaped, she could rebuild. She’d lose her old accounts, but that no longer worried her–it would be easier to make new ones, with better encryption, than to try and wrestle her old ones free. Though she’d miss a few of her long term piggies, little boys she’d kept filling their diapers for months-long streaks, she could give them up. And, once free, she could launch her counter offensive. All she would need was enough money to start digging, then she could track down ‘Nanny’ and find a way to make her pay. Revenge wouldn’t be enough–though Elizabeth normally only targeted men, she’d make an exception here. Nanny would be the filthiest pig in her pen–drip-fed bits of freedom while Elizabeth made her dance like a puppet. First things came first: Escape. She just needed enough money to pick up a functioning computer and time enough to commit a few crimes. A few hundred bucks would do, the computer didn’t need to be good. A couple hours spent breaking into accounts would get her seed money, and from there she could get a new apartment, buy a proper rig, and start building her new web of control. To that end, she’d worked out a scheme. Nanny kept all of Elizabeth’s clothing under tight control–if she snuck out the window, she’d have to do so in baby jammies, diaper bulging beneath them. That wasn’t ideal, but she could hurry to the store across the street and buy some clothes. She’d have to deal with that cashier’s leering condescension, but she’d get her revenge on him soon enough. He’d already landed on her soon-to-be-piggy list. The point was, she could make out a check to cash and make the figure large enough to convince the clerk to give her some spendable, untraceable money. Elizabeth had learned from Nanny about making checks out to cash. She hated that she knew how to make a check out to cash. A thousand dollars in a check should be enough for three hundred dollars cash, that level of greed would overwhelm his good sense without seeming to be ‘too good to be true’. She’d get dressed, flee to the nearest electronics store, and before Nanny knew what hit her, Elizabeth would be gone. So, despite wearing pink footy pajamas with loose front buttons and baggy flannel fabric that ensured her diaper could always be spotted from the front, she put her plan into action. Staying quiet as to not wake Nanny, Elizabeth began to strip her bed–first the regular sheet, then the waterproof fitted cover. With painstaking slowness, she tore the fabric a few threads at a time, so that the sound of fabric being split apart wouldn’t be heard by her baby monitor. She had to balance making enough strips that they’d tie together well, while still being thick and strong enough to hold her weight. The process took an eternity in the wee hours of the night, crouched by her bedside, but she was no stranger to long nights or tedious work. Before long, she had six strips, each about six feet long, twisted into quick-and-dirty rope. Tying them end to end, she lost a little length from the knots, but she still had enough material to get out. Eyeing her baby monitor, she stood and listened. Nanny hadn’t made a sound in a couple hours–she was sound asleep. So, creeping to her window, Elizabeth pulled on the handle. It glided silently open, but she fumbled with the screen and it rocked, threatening to topple in a noisy clatter. Darting out her hand, she caught it before it could fall, setting the screen on her bed. Makeshift rope tied to the foot of her bed, she checked its security one more time, tucked her checkbook into the pocket of her fuzzy footy PJs, and swung her legs over the edge of the window. Breathing unsteadily, Elizabeth sat in the window frame for a moment, looking down at the two-story drop below her. (Do I want this?) she wondered, glancing over her shoulder. (Is it worth it?) Looking down at the fall that’d await her if she had made a mistake with her rope, she swallowed. Leaving Nanny behind… (Just do it, coward.) Gripping the rope, she pushed off and began her escape. Immediately, the rope shifted and she dropped a couple inches. Her stomach lurched and she scrambled with her feet for something to slow her fall, but nothing tore and her knots held. Once her heart stopped pounding, she began to rappel down, hand over hand, sliding all the way from her high apartment down to the street. She’d gotten out. She’d escaped! Dropping to the sidewalk, she– “Beth, sweetie, you’re out past your bedtime,” Nanny remarked casually. “Surely you know your rules by now.” Elizabeth yelped, turning to see her captor, her opponent, leaning beneath an awning, watching her phone with a casual air. She turned the screen around, showing a camera feed of Elizabeth’s room. Her eyes darted side to side, looking for an escape. She could run now–Nanny wouldn’t chase her down in the street, would she? And– “Elizabeth Sullivan,” Nanny snapped. “Don’t you even think about it.” Elizabeth froze. Nanny had learned her name. Her real name. And if she had her name, then she knew…everything. “You–” Elizabeth began. “Let’s go back inside, you’ll get a chill,” Nanny said, making a tsk sound with her tongue. Shaking her head, dumbfounded, Elizabeth repeated, “You found me? How?” “Leg work,” Nanny replied. “Upstairs, Cricket. March.” Beth trembled, cowed into temporary obedience. She knew better than to fight when there was no chance of winning. Shuffling back into her apartment building, she asked, “If you knew I was getting out, why didn’t you stop me?” “I thought I’d let you try,” Nanny replied, gesturing a hand at Elizabeth’s outfit. “I wanted to see if you’d actually go out like this.” Elizabeth fumed a little harder, stomping up the stairs. … Mikaela kept her cool as they went into the apartment. Little Beth didn’t notice anything amiss or out of the ordinary, which was expected–the girl had computer smarts, not people-reading smarts. “I’m going to escape,” Beth grumbled. “Sooner or later.” Sighing, Mikaela decided to end the charade–there was no point in keeping it going any longer. “You don’t need to, Cricket. I’m leaving.” Beth gaped, confused. Facing Mikaela, she fumbled for words. “But–then why stop me?” “Because I needed to explain some things first.” Mikaela pulled up her phone, reading off a few details. “I know all about you, Elizabeth Sullivan. I found your family, your history, your age–and I’ve created a little portfolio, tying all your online activities and false identities to your real name. If I ever decide to do so, I can tie them together, permanently. You won’t be the online vigilante anymore, you’ll be the world’s most infamous diaper girl.” Blushing, Beth stepped back, her heels bumping against the living room couch. “You hold leverage over your piggies with money,” Mikaela continued. “But money’s a fickle thing–I don’t like it. I’m holding you with dignity.” She swallowed, and the girl’s knees buckled. She sat down, dizzy, reeling. “You–what do you want?” “What I want, is something you’ll be quite familiar with.” Mikaela smiled. “I’ll be giving you a special phone to communicate to me with, and you’ll use it to send me verification of certain tasks. You will not lock me out of your accounts–in fact, if you make new ones, you’ll send me the login immediately.” “What do you want?” Beth asked, her voice distant. “You’ve done all sorts of things to your piggies.” Mikaela refused to answer simply–she wanted to draw this moment out. “Denying them changes, forcing them to wear diapers for days on end, demeaning them for your entertainment. Making them dance on cam sites just so you can giggle at the viewer reactions. How long did you make that man wear his piggy costume and sing to nursery rhymes? Fourteen hours?” “Fifteen,” Beth mumbled numbly. “And twenty three minutes.” “You never seem to care if your piggies get diaper rash. You seem to prefer it, in fact–making them squirm, making them uncomfortable. It’s your goal to ruin their life just enough that they’ll never forget you, while letting them keep enough dignity to hope that it’ll get better. But will it? Or do you go after them again, just as soon as they’re comfortable?” Shaking her head, Beth swallowed. “Just tell me what you’re going to do.” She could relent, a little. Mikaela leaned back against the wall, smiling, letting Beth feel the fear for just a moment before she explained. “You’ll keep the baby monitor in your room. You’ll send photos when I ask. If I give you tasks, you’ll do them, but above all else, you’ll follow these rules.” Pausing for a second, a drawn out breath, Mikaela let her dominance sink in. “Eight hours of sleep a night,” she started. Beth blinked, confused. “What?” “That means lights out, no electronics, eyes shut, head on your pillow,” Mikaela confirmed. “And you can’t give me any excuses about needing to get up to use the bathroom. Which reminds me–I expect regular diaper changes. No more wallowing until you’re about to get a rash.” Baffled, Beth shook her head. “I don’t get it.” “You’ll take your trash out three times a week, at least one meal a day will include a vegetable, and you’ll have to ask permission before ordering pizza–it’s a treat, not a staple food.” Mikaela beamed at her, the smile halfway between a joyful grin and a dominant leer. “Eight glasses of water a day, and you’ll send me a positive affirmation before bedtime.” Beth’s fear had turned to confusion, but both rendered her equally speechless “If you break any rules, even by accident, I’ll free one of your piggies,” Mikaela continued. “I know which ones are your favorite, so I’ll save those unless your disobedience gets particularly bad. If you try and ignore the rules, if you try and get out from under my control, that’s when your identity comes into play.” That got a reaction from her. Beth squeaked, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t.” “Try me and find out,” Mikaela shot back. “I own you, now, Cricket, and once things are mine, I expect them to be cared for. You will take good care of my things.” Jaw slack, Beth just sat in silence for a long moment. “So…other than those rules, I’m free to do whatever I want?” “Unless I change my mind and add a rule, yes,” Mikaela explained. “But I’m not software, and these aren’t logic puzzles. If I see you’re trying to wiggle through a loophole, I’ll close it. That’s it. Follow my rules, stay on my good side, and you’re free.” Beth glowered, which made Mikaela grin. Already, the girl had been trying to come up with flaws in Mikaela’s verbal security, exploits she could attack. “When are you going?” she asked, changing topics so she didn’t have to admit what she’d been thinking. “Now, more or less,” Mikaela admitted, pulling her jacket a little tighter. “Everything I need is already in place, I have no bags to pack, and you’ve had me as your guest long enough. I’ve got a train to catch in a couple hours.” “This is it, then?” Beth stared, her eyes unfocused, and her voice sounded distant. Mikaela paused. She’d delivered her Cricket a crushing defeat, and now she’d have no opportunity to outplay and regain the advantage. The game was over for Beth, and if Mikaela knew her at all, that would be worse than a mere loss. So, Mikaela threw her a bone. “I might come back and visit. We’ll have to wait and see, Cricket.” Beth’s eyes shone for a moment, the craftiness returning, glimmering with the light Mikaela had wanted. Satisfied, Mikaela moved to leave, but Beth gave one last parting comment before she could get out the door. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Mikaela hesitated, her back to the girl. “You like to take out your fantasies on the people you target, Cricket.” Looking over her shoulder, she winked. “So do I.” The... End? ... This concludes - for now - the story of these two! I might return to them in the future, but I felt that this sendoff gave a pleasing level of closure, moreso than just writing a series of one-off stories that end when I run out of ideas for where to take them. If you'd like to support my writing and get early access to my various fiction, plus exclusive pieces and works you can't read anywhere else, you can do so for just a few bucks a month! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling