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PeculiarChangeling
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Posts posted by PeculiarChangeling
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Without more information, it's impossible to give a helpful answer. I'll second what Valentine said, that many things in mainstream media could be construed as ABDL. Does the main character have a plushy? Does someone wet their pants? Does their parent figure replace all their underwear with diapers and tell them that they're going to be treated like a baby since they've been acting like one and then they get regressed as an extremely draconian punishment for a minor mistake?
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ABDL is more of a set of tropes than it is a genre like thriller or romance, and you can apply any beat sheet you want depending on the type of story you want to write.
As an example, I wrote "The Baby Bet" with an outline explicitly based off of the beat sheet suggested in Romancing the Beat, because I was writing a romantic comedy that was also an ABDL story. However, for my ongoing magical academy fiction novel, Diaper U, I wrote an outline more in line with fantasy drama.
I find that ABDL stories most often fit with either romance or horror outlines, with the caveat that it's only 'horror' from the perspective of the POV character. (This assumes a story where the protagonist doesn't want to be diapered, but is. Clear examples would be the various Academy Works stories by *cough cough* Mia Moore.) However, the only thing stopping you from writing any genre you want is deciding how to integrate the diapers.
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Chapter Three: The Conquest of Brad
‘I need the living room to myself tonight.
I want to watch Moana and since none of you are engaging in submissive activities, you shouldn’t be allowed to watch it with me.’
Candy expected the message on the chalkboard to undermine the Littles in their polycule the most. Socks, or herself, or maybe Daisy, whose pet persona leaned more towards ‘puppy’ than ‘dog’.
It surprised her, then, that John, the pure kinkster, was the first to crack.
“I’m sorry, everyone. I can’t take this anymore–no terms are worth this.”
Candy looked up from her breakfast–a spread of waffles lovingly prepared by Mick, though he seemed on edge cooking without his uniform on. “It was your idea,” she objected. “You can’t throw in the towel now.”
“You just want to get on his good side!” Socks added, pushing her syrup-soaked plate aside. “Then he’ll be extra mad at the rest of us! S’not fair!”
“I’m not going to stab you all in the back,” John shot, getting up from the table. “Or go to him and get special privileges for being the first to submit. We should all give up, at the same time, and beg for mercy. He likes it when we beg.”
Daisy whimpered and nodded her agreement, arms crossed over her chest.
Candy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Come on–it’s only been two days! We can do better than that!”
“Two days is foreeever,” Socks whined. “You’re not even locked in chastity!”
Looking for support, Candy asked, “Mick?”
Looking at the dishes as an excuse to avoid eye contact, Mick said, “You’re already outvoted. Let’s see if he’s ready to negotiate.”
They knew it was a silly thing to hope. Daddy wasn’t anywhere near ready to negotiate. He’d outlasted them, and it hadn’t even been close.
All Candy could do was suck it up, draw him out, and hope to find a compromise. “Fine, but I’m going to do the talking.”
…
Candy’s word choice was precise, direct, and chosen for maximum impact.
“Thank you for joining us, Daddy.”
Not ‘Brad’.
Daddy.
She wanted to give him a small victory right away, to show that they were ready to compromise. She was coming to him submissively, with the rest of their polycule lined up around the kitchen table, ready to give him what he wanted. They’d dressed as maturely as they could, in clothes that emphasized their independence and maturity–no maid clothes, no juvenile print shirts, Candy had gone so far as wearing a blouse and light slacks.
“You said you were ready to talk,” Daddy said, extending an open hand in a gesture for her to continue. The gesture also, coincidentally, seemed to dismiss the paper contract set out on the table, treating it like a non-object. “So, talk.”
“I think we’ve shown that we’re determined,” Candy said, as though they hadn’t been about to buckle in less than forty eight hours. “But there’s no need to drag this out. You know our terms.”
Daddy blinked slowly, his expression placid, waiting for her to go on. When Candy didn’t press further, he put a hand on the table and pushed up to his feet. “If this is going to be a waste of my time–”
“Wait,” Candy interrupted before he could fully stand, and she breathed out in relief when he sat back down. “We’re willing to compromise on some of our positions.”
A smirk curled up at the corner of Daddy’s mouth. “Compromise? I’m listening.”
Turning the contract around, Candy picked it up and raised the paper so that Daddy’s face was partially hidden. She opened her mouth, but her voice cracked and she had to try again before she could speak clearly. “The first line item–freedom of cummies. We’re willing to compromise with a once-per-week pass.”
“A pass?” Daddy asked.
“One free orgasm every week, without needing permission in advance,” Candy explained. “You said you didn’t want me to spend all day riding my wand, well, this way I’ll only have limited buzzy time and that won’t happen.”
Daddy tapped a finger on the table, and his gaze slipped from Candy to Socks. “And when you’re in chastity? How will that work?”
Socks blushed brightly and lowered her face, and Candy thought she could see steam coming out of the other girl’s ears.
“We’ll get to that when we talk about the chastity clause,” Candy explained, trying to remain professional as she moved forward. “Now–the next demand, make out privileges. Instead of at will, we’d be willing to accept thirty minutes of making out, every evening before bedtime.”
To her side, Daisy whimpered. This had been one of her requests, the one she’d championed for the most, and Candy had just curtailed it massively.
However, she had something else to sweeten the pot: “We would take this time instead of watching cartoons. It would be one or the other.”
“You’re willing to give up your Bluey time for this?” Daddy asked. “No more cartoons at all?”
“No!” Candy squeaked immediately. “Not–not every night. Just sometimes.”
“And how often are you going to say no to watching Bluey with me?” Daddy asked, looking right at her eyes. “Or whatever other show you want to watch.”
“Um…I…” Candy stammered, avoiding his willpower-melting stare. “Not…not very often.”
“Then why have that option at all? If you’re always going to be a good baby girl for me, then having permission to do something else just complicates things for no reason,” Daddy said.
The obvious response came to Candy’s mind, but she couldn’t pass the message along to her lips. (It’s not for me, it’s for Daisy–I don’t need this.) When she tried to explain that, all that she could produce was a quiet squeak in the back of her throat.
“Keep going.” Daddy’s tone was full of mock encouragement. “Use your words. What else are you willing to compromise on?”
“Um…”
Candy’s gaze slid over the paper, where her bedtime arrangements were listed. She’d meant to say, ‘Move bedtimes forward by one hour.’ Instead, she found herself saying, “We want our bedtimes moved from nine PM to nine-o-five.”
“Candy!” Socks yelped. “We said–”
Daddy cleared his throat, and she immediately fell silent. “I believe Candy is explaining things. It’s not nice to interrupt, sweetheart.”
Socks looked down at her toes and nodded sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Candy.”
Her shame building, Socks nodded again. “I’m sorry, Candy.”
“Mick is…” Candy started. “Um, also willing to make hot brekki–hot breakfast on Saturdays, he’s only asking for Sundays off.”
Daddy tilted his head curiously. “Are you too much of a big girl to say ‘Brekkie’ now?”
Candy quickly shook her head. “No! I–”
Swooping in, Daddy claimed his verbal victory. “Then why are you telling me what to do?”
He’d outdone her again, effortlessly demonstrating how Little she was in contrast to him. Knees wobbling, Candy sank back onto a stool, wishing she had the comforting padding of a diaper to rest between her bottom and the hard seat. “I…”
Daddy reached across the table and snatched the list from Candy’s hands. “Let’s see what else is here. John still is asking for an open cage, you want nuggies twice a week instead of three times and only one meal with vegetables, stinky diapers must be changed immediately when guests are over.” At that last one, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “You realize I would change you in front of everyone, yes? I can’t imagine you’d prefer that.”
Candy shook her head–he was right, and she just hadn’t considered the fairly obvious loophole in her language. She cast her gaze down, acutely aware of the growing wet spot staining the front of her panties. “Um…”
“You already wrote this out, it’s too late to change it,” Daddy said. “And let’s see here…the chastity clause. No more than one week at a time, I see, unless it’s a serious punishment. Where would the fun in that be, exactly, if you knew you would always be released right away?”
“One week isn’t ‘right away’,” Mick whimpered. “It’s like…forever!”
“Then perhaps you need to work on your endurance,” Daddy said, lifting the paper up for emphasis. “Alright. I’ve considered your new terms, and I have a counter offer.”
All five of the subs leaned forward, eyes widening as they listened.
Pinching the paper between his hands, Daddy tore it in half cleanly down the middle, then doubled it over and tore it again. “You all submit to me, right now, and beg for my forgiveness.”
Candy swallowed on a dry throat. “But–”
“Candy,” Daddy said sharply. “I listened to your whole little speech, very politely. It’s my turn now, you will not interrupt me.”
She whimpered and nodded, fingers trembling, body pulsing with heat and need and the overwhelming desire to submit.
“This is my only offer,” Daddy continued. “You submit, now. Candy might think of herself as the ringleader, but you don’t belong to her, you belong to me, and I think we’ve had enough of this little play-pretend independence from all of you.”
(Oh god…) Candy thought, as she nearly came in her panties right then and there. Leaning forward onto the table, she clasped her hands in front of her head and looked down, pleading with her whole body. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Candy!” John objected. “You–”
“I’m speaking,” Daddy said sharply. “Now, Candy, look at me and tell me what you are sorry for.”
“For…” Candy looked up at her Daddy and stared into his eyes. The last vestiges of her resistance wash away like a sand castle against the tide, a crashing wet surge of submission and arousal that ruined her willpower and her panties in equal measure. “For acting like I knew better than grown ups, and for trying to be in charge, and for pretending to be smarter than you.”
Daddy’s smile turned onto the rest of the group, gaze shifting from sub to sub as he cleaned up any remaining vestiges of resistance with nothing but a powerful smile. With the ringleader dealt with, the remaining independence in the group toppled like bowling pins. Daisy whimpered and whined and sank to the floor, John dropped to his knees, Mick snapped to an attentive, doll-like stance of obedience, Socks covered her face with her hands.
“I want to hear it,” Daddy said. “A promise that you won’t try to pull a little game like this again.”
A weak chorus of, ‘We promise, Daddy’ echoed from the polycule, as they were all shamed and cowed into obedience.
Daddy stood, somehow looming over them all despite Daisy being several inches his superior.
“And I want to be clear about something,” Daddy continued, stalking around the table. One by one, he touched each of them, on the chin or the cheek or running his fingers through a strand of hair, and wherever his touch went, he brought out moans and whimpers of desperation. “There is not, and has never been, any promise of non-retaliation. You are all in serious trouble, and you will be punished for acting out like this.”
Once more, five ‘yes Daddy’s mumbled out of the group. Candy shivered, and she only hoped he would punish her first–she didn’t want to be greedy, but it’d been two whole days and she was gonna throw a tantrum if nobody punished her soon.
He loomed over Candy, and she squirmed and looked away as he touched her thigh, applying gentle pressure to spread her legs and show the wet spot that’d grown on the front of her pants. She didn’t think she’d peed, though in her overwhelming arousal, she couldn’t be quite certain of that.
“We’ll take care of that soon.” Daddy took her by the chin and turned her to look up from her accident, forcing her head to meet his eyes. “I hope you got what you wanted out of this little game,” he said. “Because from now on, we’re not going to even entertain the notion that you might have a grown-up bone in your body. You are, all of you, mine.”
He was right:
Candy, and all of them, were his.
And he was right, again:
They had, absolutely, gotten what they wanted.
The End
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And that's this story!
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Chapter 22
Thaumaturgy class.
(What did she do?)
Enchantment class.
(What did she do?)
Free period.
(What in the fuck did she do?)
Every time he tried to take notes, to think, to pay attention to anything at all, his anxieties flared up, returning to the same question. Daniel failed to absorb even the most basic lessons from his classwork for the rest of the day.
What curse had Rachel laid upon him?
He tried to parse it out, but tracing the lines of magic in his head felt like trying to determine what city he was in by following a map of the roads with his finger. He didn’t have the experience, and he had no doubt that Rachel’s threat about getting help was true: If he tried to ask someone to fix it for him, it would become permanent.
…whatever it was. It didn’t seem to be doing anything to him. He could walk, and talk, and other than the non-magical panic spiral he found himself in, his thoughts didn’t feel clouded. He hadn’t broken out in hives, or turned into a monster, or otherwise found himself suffering from any obvious negative effects.
Had he not been able to trace the lines of magic wound into his aura like a gordian knot, he might have thought Rachel was bluffing completely, but he knew she’d done something.
By the time Voxavin practice rolled around, Daniel had no further clues about the effects of the curse.
It was possible that he could just ask his coven to look at the curse and help him figure out a way to fix it without directly intervening. That wasn’t the same as having someone else dispel it, it was just a bit of observation, but given the potential danger of a permanent, unknown effect, Daniel plastered a fake smile on his face and pretended nothing was the matter as he found his spot amongst the group.
For that matter, he could go to the faculty, but what would he tell them? The dean clearly wanted Daniel gone, and she would likely protect Rachel and deny that the curse had even taken place, let alone that the prefect had done it.
Besides, authority figures had a habit of trying to ‘fix’ things, and Daniel didn’t trust that their expertise would get around Rachel’s failsafe. Whatever she’d done to him, he wasn’t going to risk it becoming permanent because an overconfident teacher decided to fix the issue for him.
“Hey, Daniel,” Cassie said, giving him a little half-wave.
“Uh, hey,” he replied.
“We’re finally going to start with some real voxavin today,” Hazel said, stretching out her arms. “No more lame dueling practice.”
“Who wants to go first as forecaster?” Mathilde added. “Daniel, you’d probably be pretty good at it.”
“Hmm?” he asked, barely aware of the conversation. “I–to be honest, I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s what the Familiar is called during a game,” Mathilde explained. “It’s the forecaster’s job to keep track of where everyone is and communicate that to the team.”
After a moment to consider the possibility of having to relay his thoughts to the coven while hyperfixating on Rachel’s curse, Daniel shook his head. “I’m kind of out of it today, I don’t think I should start.”
“I can,” Asami added, before a sharp whistle brought their conversation to a close.
Coach Glinse stood with her arms crossed at one end of the gym. “Alright–teams, we’re going to do coordination drills for thirty minutes, then we can have some scrimmage games. Form up to the sides so we can raise the walls, then I’ll be coming around to check on your progress.”
Following the coven’s lead, Daniel stepped to the side of the hexagon they’d been practicing in, next to the barrels of liquid mana. Waiting on the border, he watched as walls raised up from the ground, forming a semi-random maze within each hex. The facing they were against had an open chamber large enough for six people to comfortably spread out and stretch, but beyond that he could only make out a few passageways that spread into a labyrinth. All the openings were wide enough to walk through comfortably, and he could tell at a glance that Mathilde’s wheelchair would fit through every turn pretty easily, though the height of the walls ensured that nobody could peek over the top and the turns were sharp enough to obstruct vision completely.
“Alright, girls,” Asami began, before correcting herself. “Team. Sorry, Daniel.”
“It’s fine,” he replied.
“Let’s circle up and form a connection.”
“Who’s taking which elements?” Daniel inquired, stepping in and reaching his hand out with everyone else, like the coven was about to declare, ‘go team!’.
“It doesn’t matter for voxavin, we’re not doing shared spells,” Mathilde explained. “We just need the mental connection.”
Extending his power, Daniel formed the mental linkup to his coven that they’d been practicing for two weeks. They’d grown much better at it, able to work together smoothly, and to keep the link going even if they stopped touching. They still had a ways to go before doing any complicated magic, but they’d reached the point of clear communication, without having to stop or regroup every few minutes.
“Mana disrupts magic flow,” Mathilde continued. “So if you get hit too many times, you’ll lose your connection and we won’t be able to communicate anymore. If the forecaster gets taken out, then the team will be blind, so she stays back by the flags, where it’s safest.”
(Remember, I can’t see what you see,) Asami added, thinking it rather than speaking it. (You have to tell me what’s going on.)
Pulling his hand back, Daniel nodded to himself. (Got it. It’s a communication exercise.)
Asami stayed put, moving her fingers in a delicate pattern as though conducting music. While she did, the rest of them walked towards the maze, moving around the walls and barriers built into the hex.
Daniel quickly adjusted his estimation of the playing field. While it was cluttered, it wasn’t exactly a labyrinth. There were many open corridors and areas where vision was open but movement was restricted; windows and openings in walls. It reminded him of playing multiplayer Quake, with the arena built to have sightlines and shooting galleries while still providing cover.
(It looks like there’s a big central lane,) he thought, (with some gaps off to the side.)
(Good,) Asami replied. (There’s always variance in the layout, but similarities. A hex like this will have some paths to flank that central lane, making it more dangerous, but it’s probably the fastest way to cross from one side to the other.)
Exploring deeper, Daniel got a feel for navigation while Asami kept the stream of information running. After they’d had a few minutes to explore, she began running drills, assigning two members of the coven to meet in particular areas and then giving directions to get there.
Mistakes were made, but even in the first half hour, they were already getting a feel for things. Daniel found himself making assumptions too often, forgetting to communicate exactly where different turns were, but he made a mental effort to think about where he was at all times, and Asami gave him poor instructions less often. In turn, she occasionally mixed up who was going where, leading to the coven not meeting up as they went off in opposite directions, but as they got a better feel for the hex’s layout, those mistakes grew less common as well.
Just as Daniel was starting to feel comfortable with the practice, Glinse’s whistle blew again, indicating that it was time for scrimmage.
“Pick a neighbor, and practice!” she called across the gym floor. “Remember, your goal is to work as a team, nobody will be impressed if you run up a high score with cheap tricks.”
(How do we score?) Daniel thought, as he walked back to the starting area.
(It’s capture the flag,) Asami replied. (Every time you recover a flag from the other team, you get three points, plus one for each opposing player eliminated–but you only score if you get the flag.) Then the mana clears, scores are added, and you go back to the start. Games normally go for thirty minutes, most points scored wins.)
(Easy enough,) Daniel considered.
(Simple, not easy.)
Meeting up in the starting zone, Daniel caught sight of Glinse walking by, carrying an armload of white flags on three foot poles. Despite the lack of a base or stand, when she dropped one off in their hex, the flag stood upright, hovering in place over the ground.
“Is there a reason this is called ‘Voxavin’?” Daniel asked, chuckling, “And not just ‘capture the flag’?”
“Shh,” Mathilde snapped, looking around with surprising urgency. After she was sure nobody was listening in, she added in hushed tones, “Do not let Glinse hear you ask that, unless you want a twenty minute lecture on the importance of Voxavin in witch culture.”
“But, yeah, it’s capture the flag,” Radha added, bending over to touch her toes in a warm up stretch.
“We’ll do two teams, plus one solo,” Asami said. “Mathilde, you take the middle path. Radha and Hazel, you’ll go down the right, Daniel and Cassie, you’re on the left.”
While they got ready, the walls of their arena shifted, rearranging so that they wouldn’t be able to use their warm-up time to their advantage. That done, their flag blinked, white fabric turning brilliant blue, and the scrimmage began.
Mental connection already established, it only took a moment for the coven to spread out. Everyone save for Asami had their wands out, and lifted an orb of mana from the barrels on the edge of the play field, moving towards the new maze with cautious excitement.
Daniel felt a surge of confidence. His mana orb wasn’t the largest, and he had to put a lot of thought into keeping it hovering over his head, but he was able to levitate the goop without leaking or losing any. He wanted to get better–the more control he had, the more mana he could carry, and the less often he’d need to return to reload–but it was a confidence boost that he could keep it going at all.
Blue goo wobbling in the air behind him, he stepped into the maze, trying to juggle the magic while keeping up with Cassie and updating Asami.
(It looks like the sides are more open this time,) he explained, adding out loud, “Have you played…um…”
Cassie glanced back at him, tilting her head. “What was that?”
Daniel turned pink, and his orb of mana wavered, threatening to burst and fall to the floor. (No, no, no–)
(What’s wrong?) Asami demanded.
(I–this isn’t happening–) Daniel thought.
(Everyone, move to the left side of the arena, Daniel and Cassie are being ambushed,) Asami instructed.
In front of him, Cassie shook her head, shutting her eyes for a moment.
(Hold it–Daniel, what is going on? Are you okay?)
(I…)
Daniel’s mouth was agape and his eyes looked down to the edge of his skirt, in total shock. His mana slipped out of his grasp, splattering to the floor behind him, but he barely noticed, too caught up in the surprise.
His bladder had simply let go, and he could feel warmth spreading through the front of his diaper, padding swelling suddenly. There had been no warning, no indication that he needed to go, he’d just lost control.
(Daniel!) Asami repeated.
“He’s fine,” Cassie said aloud, before shaking her head and screwing up her face in concentration. Daniel couldn’t hear what she was thinking, but Asami relayed a message a moment later.
(Cassie says he’s not hurt. Daniel, talk to me.)
Paralyzed, Daniel shook his head. (Sorry. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, I am back in the game.)
Turning, he said aloud, “Give me just a second, I need to get more mana.”
“Here, just take some of mine,” Cassie replied, splitting off some of the goop she’d been levitating over her head. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Oh, thanks.” Daniel accepted it, flicking his wand to take over the levitation spell.
Holding the orb in the air, he smiled, trying his best to regain his confidence.
Then he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as his control slipped once again. He felt the pressure with no warning and his eyes widened in horror, but he had no time to run, and nowhere to go even if he wanted to. Cassie stared at him in confusion as he looked around in a humiliated panic, but it was already too late to stop anything.
Daniel’s knees wobbled like jelly as the seat of his diaper swelled, heavy mush slowly packing his padding. He tried to clamp down and stop it, pressing his legs together and crossing his arms over his chest, but his control had vanished, and he couldn’t so much as slow the mudslide.
Cassie’s brow furrowed for a moment as she tried to parse his huge eyes and quivering lip, then her expression melted into sympathy that only made him feel even more humiliated. “Daniel, are you–”
Before she could finish the sentence, a blob of red mana flew out of nowhere and splattered across her face. She stumbled back, and though she kept her balance, a second blob hit her chest, and a third slammed into her wand hand, throwing her back and sticking to the wall behind her.
Daniel had time to turn in surprise before an absolute deluge of mana goo pummeled into his body, tossing him to the ground. He’d been so caught up in his accident that he’d forgotten the game and gotten them both ambushed.
(Asami,) he thought, but he could no longer hear the forecaster.
With his arms over his chest, and his chest slathered with semi-solid, sticky mana, he could only kick his legs and squirm on the ground like a turtle flipped on its back as two girls from another coven approached, carrying with them small blobs of red mana.
“Nice shot, Becky,” one of them said, checking around corners as she approached. “You absolutely nailed these two, they…do you smell that?”
Catching up, the second girl from the opposing team–Becky–looked down at Daniel, a broad, toothy smirk spreading across her face. “No way–I took out the diaper boy.”
“Do you think he–” the first girl began.
Rather than answer, Becky swished her wand, flipping up Daniel’s skirt to expose his sagging, yellowed diaper. “No way,” she repeated.
As both girls burst into a fit of giggles, Daniel’s heart sank.
He’d finally figured out the effects of Rachel’s curse.
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Chapter Two: Nothing To Gain but our Chains
Lockout
John felt a little nauseous as he walked out of his bedroom. He’d been all ready to get a good night’s rest, but now it looked like that would be impossible.
It’d been fourteen hours since they dropped their demands, and Daddy hadn’t shown any signs of cracking so far. He’d done some work in his shop, run a couple errands, and never once did he come to beg for their submission.
That alone was starting to get to him, but when John got undressed for the night and found his sleeping cage–a welded steel box Daddy had built himself–locked and sealed, the shock nearly caused him to give up then and there.
He found Candy brushing her teeth, using a pink princess-printed toothbrush and toothpaste that smelled like bubblegum. “I’ve got an issue,” he said, speaking in low, urgent tones. “Daddy locked my cage.”
Glancing at him, Candy raised an eyebrow, toothpaste foam dribbling from her mouth as she asked, “Whassapobble?”
“Huh?”
She spat in the sink and rinsed out her mouth before repeating the question. “I know we want him to leave it unlocked, but that’s normal for now, isn’t it?”
“No, no,” John clarified, dropping his voice as though he might be overheard. “He locked me out. With a padlock.”
Normally, the ‘Lock’ was just a latch with a zip-tie style tamper proof seal around it, so that John could get out in an emergency. Padlocking it meant that John couldn’t get in to sleep at all.
Candy’s eyes widened as she understood, and she moved to shut the bathroom door before responding. “He’s trying to make us give up,” she said, blushing as she hooked a finger in the waistband of her pajama pants. Pulling on the elastic, she revealed a pair of plain cotton panties beneath. Shame-faced, she admitted, “He took away my diapers.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep without bars,” John said, shuffling uncomfortably. “I’m so used to my cage, and…”
“Here,” Candy assured him, resting a hand on his arm and squeezing gently. “You sleep in my crib tonight. I’ll sleep on the guest bed.”
Understanding what she was sacrificing, John whimpered a little, feeling bad for the imposition. “You’re sure?”
“To each according to their needs,” Candy promised him. “You need it more than I do.”
…
Undermining Leadership
A message was scrawled on the chalkboard in the kitchen the next morning.
‘Candy cannot stop you from freely submitting to me. You don’t have to do what she says, just because she thinks she understands being your Daddy better than I do.’
Blanching when she read it, Candy hurriedly wiped the chalk away with her sleeve. She wasn’t in charge of the group, she was just their representative, but she didn’t want that sort of message undermining their efforts.
Unfortunately, Daddy knew her all too well. The video camera he’d placed got the incriminating shot perfectly, showing Candy’s fear and anxiety as she tried to silence speech that disagreed with her, and before anyone had even had breakfast, the whole house had the clip texted to their phone, along with another message.
‘Why is she afraid of you hearing the truth?’
Hurriedly, Candy followed his text with her own. ‘I’m not trying to act like I’d be a better daddy than daddy!’
His reply devastated her, providing an ironclad reminder that he was in charge–or, at least, that he should be.
‘Then why are you telling me what to do, silly girl?’
…
Captive Audience Meeting
It wasn’t a scene.
If it had been, they would have boycotted, but Daddy promised that he just wanted to talk about some practical things.
Daddy was a gosh-darned liar.
Socks squirmed uncomfortably as Daddy addressed her, his face straight and level as he absolutely demolished her confidence in the strike. “I want to make sure I have your consent before I post any of these pictures to Fetlife,” he explained politely.
The pictures in question were from a scene they’d played out last week. Socks had been trapped in her mittens, filled up with three glycerin suppositories, and left to dangle in her bouncer and watch while Daddy played grown-up games with Candy. Just the memory of the play made her blush–thinking of being bound and helpless as she filled up her diaper, elastic bands forcing her up and down in an endless rhythm that sank her weight into the yucky mess, frustrated and burning with desire as she watched Daddy fuck her big sister.
She’d been in a chastity belt since then, and even through the strike, she hadn’t been allowed out. That frustration had only built, horny need that drove her into further desperation, and now as she looked at the photos and remembered what they’d done–
“Sweetie?” Daddy interrupted. “Are you alright with me sharing this one?”
Socks stared at the picture–a particularly humiliating frame, the moment where she’d lost the fight with the suppositories and began to pack her diapers full. She could remember that moment as vividly as when it happened, how all she’d wanted was to feel Daddy’s cock inside her, but all she got instead was a mushy bottom.
“I–” she squeaked. “Mhmm.”
“Alright,” Daddy said, swiping on his phone to the next photo. Socks looked at herself, face buried in mitten-clad hands, ashamed and blushing.
Squirming, she said, “This isn’t fair!”
Daddy played innocent. “What’s not fair?”
“You’re getting me all squirmy,” Socks explained, stamping her foot in a fit of pique. “You’re just being a meanie.”
“A meanie?” Daddy asked, raising an eyebrow. “Little girl, are you trying to get yourself in trouble?”
Normally, that sort of bratting–calling Daddy unfair, calling him names–would be tantamount to getting on her knees and begging for a spanking, but not today. “Nuh-uh. You can’t punish me right now!”
“I didn’t say I’d punish you,” Daddy replied mildly, moving to the next photo. “Oh, this was excellent–I can almost hear how you were whimpering for permission to just lick me clean! Wasn’t that so much fun?”
Putting her hands over her eyes, Socks whimpered, “Daddyyyy!”
He rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to remind her of his strength. “Sweetheart–if you don’t want me to punish you, you can’t throw fits like this. How am I supposed to respond?”
“It’s not that I don’t want–” Socks began, leaning forward and pressing her face and hands into the table so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “You know we can’t play together right now!”
“Really, now, baby girl?” Daddy asked. “I don’t ‘know’ any such thing–the only reason we can’t play together is because you don’t want to. All you have to do is say the word, and we can snuggle and have our movie night together after all, and afterwards–if you’re a good girl for me, well…maybe you could get to have playtime with me in the bedroom.”
She wanted it. She needed it. The desperate need to have daddy humiliate her, and comfort her, and snuggle her, and pin her to the bed and use her like a good little toy.
Socks almost broke, then and there, but Daddy pushed a little too hard. He moved to the next picture, and though the tableau of her on her knees, worshiping his cock while he ate Candy out was nearly enough to make her gush in her diaper just by looking at it, she was reminded that she wasn’t just doing this for herself. She had to stay strong, for Candy, and for the rest of them.
“Not until you promise,” she said, cutting off the train of thought before shameless arousal could override her loyalty to the other submissives in their polycule.
“Alright, no playtime then,” Daddy said calmly, as though he hadn’t expected her to crack at all. “That’s alright. Now…can you look at this picture and tell me if it’s okay to share?”
…
Right-to-Wet
A new message was scrawled on the chalkboard on the second day, along with another change.
Candy had learned her lesson–she couldn’t hide it, she couldn’t erase the writing, all she could do was squirm as everyone woke up and saw what Daddy had announced to them.
Mick read the message, and though he wanted to ignore it as well, it was hard when it remained an ever-present part of his peripheral vision, posted in the kitchen the whole time he made breakfast.
‘Candy can’t tell you where to go potty. That decision should be made between you and your Daddy. Anyone who asks can have a fresh diaper, without any expectations of other play.’
Matching the timing, he had woken up to find their dressers cleared out of all padding, as well as his maid uniforms–all he had left were boxers, jeans, and plain T-shirts. Checking with Socks and John, he’d confirmed that it’d happened to everyone, losing access to onesies, collars, everything. Candy had been the canary in the coal mine–one by one, they were all losing the submissive comforts that they’d grown so used to.
Mick wanted to take Daddy up on his offer. Wearing normal clothes–no skirt, no apron, nothing maid-like in the slightest–felt unnatural, and without the reassurance of a puffy diaper around his hips, his days went by in constant discomfort.
And besides–Daddy promised it wouldn’t lead to anything else. He could go get his diaper change without crossing the picket line and giving up their struggle, right?
But…Mick knew that wasn’t the case. One crack in their armor, and the dam would burst. If he went to Daddy now, he’d never be able to stop.
Still, as he finished preparing breakfast, it was a constant struggle not to give in to temptation, and the message on the chalkboard seemed almost to flash like a neon sign in his vision, reminding him just how easy it would be to give up.
Then Daisy walked in.
Only…no. She waddled in.
Mick froze, barely able to believe what he was seeing. The puppygirl of the polycule just sauntered into the kitchen, diaper on full display below her T-shirt, looking as innocent as she pleased.
“Daisy?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Something you want to tell me?”
Characteristically silent, she shrugged and shook her head, a mop of hair flopping around her face as she did.
That did it. If Daisy had given in, he would too. Red-faced and as angry with himself as with her, Mick stormed past, fuming as he stomped up to Daddy’s room. On the way up the stairs, though, he bumped into Candy, who caught his expression immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
“Daisy,” Mick said. “She took a diaper from Daddy.”
Candy’s brow furrowed. “She wouldn’t.”
“Go look for yourself,” he snapped. “She wasn’t even guilty.”
For a moment, Candy shared the same aggression Mick felt, then her eyes widened and she grabbed his hand. “Hold on.”
“What are you–” he started, but she dragged him away before he could finish the sentence, pulling him by the wrist like a doll.
He hurried to follow after as Candy led him upstairs, past the nursery, and into Daisy’s bedroom. There, she finally let go, leaving Mick to wobble for a moment and catch his balance as she hurried over to the dresser by the wall.
“Aha!” she said, pulling the drawer open and producing a puffy paw-print diaper from inside.
It was a trick. Daddy had taken everyone else’s diapers, but not hers.
Blushing bright red that he’d been so gullible, Mick felt a new surge of energy and turned, hurrying back down to the kitchen. Snapping up the chalk, he wrote his own message beneath Daddy’s, declaring his resistance.
‘No diapers, no peace!
Sub solidarity forever!’
…
The Scab
The five of them sat on the couch, sharing a round of uncomfortable blushes and a singular thought: God, I wish that were me.
Daddy was never all that quiet, but today, he was playing it up, loud and passionate as he ravished…someone. Dating outside the polycule was allowed, but he’d rarely brought in someone so vocal, especially not someone that the five of them barely knew.
“Who’s my little diaper slut?” Daddy demanded, voice carrying all the way down to the living room.
“I am!” a shrill, whimpering voice called back.
“You filled up your diaper so good for me–are you ready for your reward?”
“Please!”
Then the spanking began–loud, powerful SMACKS! that rang out like applause. With every impact, a matching yelp rang, pained cries that the entire group of submissives knew all too well. Jealousy burned hot in the living room as the scene played out upstairs, reminding them of what they could have if they stopped the strike.
“Um…can we put on music or something?” John asked.
“Daddy changed the spotify password and hid the bluetooth speaker,” Candy pointed out. “He even took the TV plug…”
“He hid my headphones…” Socks added in a distraught tone. “He said since they had baby block stickers on them, they were Little stuff, and I couldn’t use them while we were striking…he gave me ear buds instead.” Sticking out her tongue, she emphasized the horror of that substitution by gagging.
“I could play music through my phone,” Mick offered, but it wouldn’t be loud enough to drown out the sounds of punishment echoing down the stairs. The smacks had mutated from clapping impacts to heavy thuds as Daddy switched to using a paddle, and the woman he’d brought into his bedroom cried out even louder.
“What if we just…went somewhere?” John suggested. “Like, out to get ice cream or something?”
“And let Daddy know he can force us out of the house whenever he wants? No,” Candy said. “We have to make a stand here–we have to prove we’re not bothered.”
Sitting on the floor by the end of the couch, Daisy began to whimper. She’d given up her own diapers out of solidarity, though Daddy hadn’t yet confiscated them, and she clearly looked uncomfortable trying to sit on the ground in simple panties.
Socks groaned in agreement, pressing her hands over her ears. “I can’t take this anymore!”
“Come on,” Candy said. “We’re stronger than this. Socks, you sat through two hundred spanks while you had a plug in your bottom! Mick–you managed to clean the entire house with your hands behind your back and a dust mop in your mouth. John, how many hours did Daddy edge you for your birthday?”
“Um…three,” John said, smiling, blushing, and rubbing the back of his neck. “And a half. I did pretty good…
“And Daisy,” Candy prompted, reaching down to ruffle her hair. “You’re the best girl there is–you’re definitely strong enough for this. We can make it, we just have to hang on a little longer.”
That brought their spirits up, until the sound of thudding stopped, replaced by the sound of flesh clapping together, and yelps were replaced with moans.
...
The finale of this story is already up in early access for my subscribers! Support is always appreciated, and incredibly helpful.
-Penn
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1 hour ago, ValentinesStuff said:
Brad is quick, but what is he doing with big girl panties?
That's a very good question with no explicit in-universe answer, but my headcanon is that they are normally for Mick
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On 12/9/2024 at 7:37 PM, Wannatripbaby said:
Yeah, this is something that I gathered when talking to a few other writers. 😅
Do you link your banking info to your "business" PayPal, or do you just send the money to your "Regular" PayPal and cash-out from there?
If I am gonna give this a shot, I wanna make sure I'm doing it safely AND efficiently. 😅
I have my banking info linked to my Business paypal, but it's also a business bank account. I haven't heard of anyone having issues with a regular bank account linked to a paypal, though!
On 12/12/2024 at 11:40 AM, Wannatripbaby said:Another question to add to this: Do I have to set aside a certain percentage for taxes? If so, what would be a safe amount to suggest? 20%?
Absolutely! This is taxable income and you don't want to get hit with a surprise bill at the end of the year. (And, worst case scenario if you have more than you need, you can pocket it or save it for next year.) I second the suggestion of 25%.
3 hours ago, DramaPajamasDP said:Has anybody ever noticed any correlation with what platforms have the best reach?
Is there a benefit to having multiple paid platforms, like, is there any reason to have both a Ream and a Subscribestar? I guess "having both just in case the credit card guillotine drops on one" is probably a good reason.
Are there any platforms besides these that are worth considering?
Personal website (like blogspot or wordpress), DailyDiapers, DeviantArt, Pixiv, Archive of Our Own, Wattpad, Reddit, LegitFic, AR Archive
Paid platforms have almost no reach whatsoever. You don't get discoverability by posting to Ream or SubStar.
The reason I have multiple platforms is so that if one goes down or nukes ABDL content, I've got a backup. (Also, I prefer Ream's platform for reading, but many people only have a SubStar, so I like offering the choice.)
I don't use a personal website or AR archive, and I've found that Reddit gets really poor traction, but I use all those other platforms and they work fine.
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Chapter One: Seizing the Means of Seduction
Candy’s word choice was precise, direct, and chosen for maximum impact. “Thank you for joining us, Brad.”
Not “Daddy”. Not “Sir”.
Brad.
That alone was a white glove tossed across the negotiation table, a challenge. It didn’t matter that she was wearing her PJs–a onesie over a puffy, damp diaper–or that the ‘negotiation table’ was a double-wide kitchen island, she wanted him to know that she, and Daisy, and John, and Mick, and Socks meant business.
Daddy just raised an eyebrow at her, pulling up a seat opposite the five of them. He wasn’t dressed for the day either, but his loose T-shirt and sweatpants only emphasized his power; the hard shape of his sculpted body visible beneath flashes of fabric. “I don’t see breakfast,” he pointed out, glancing out at the table.
Mick was the housemaid, and though he hadn’t been bold enough enough to forgo donning his uniform and skirts that morning, he’d made a stand in that regard–leaving breakfast unmade.
“And you won’t,” Candy replied, raising her hand towards Daisy and holding her palm open, “Until our demands are met.”
Nothing happened for a moment, until she nudged Daisy, who was tugging at the hem of the long t-shirt that fell over her own paw-print decorated diaper. The lanky girl yipped in surprise, remembering what they’d planned, and took the sheaf of paper that they’d prepared and placed it in Candy’s open hand. With a flourish, Candy passed the paper across the table, turning it around for Daddy to read.
He looked down, expression bemused, then raised an eyebrow as he began to read. “Do we need to bring safe words into this conversation?”
Candy shook her head quickly. “No. This isn’t that kind of negotiation.”
Nodding, Daddy picked up the paper, eyes lingering on Candy for a moment longer before drifting down to begin reading. The five of them waited on bated breath, awaiting his reaction.
“You’re threatening to withhold your submission?” he asked, more curious than concerned.
“Not threatening,” Candy replied. “We’ve talked about this, and we’re going to go through with it. If you want our submission, you will need to comply with our demands.”
Daddy set aside the paper, instead looking her in the eyes. Candy flinched–Daddy had a look that could make her melt, and he employed it judiciously, dropping her into subspace with the slightest arc of his eyebrows. “Really now, baby?”
Her lips trembled, and she struggled to produce any sounds more coherent than pure babble. The pure, concentrated Daddy Energy filled her with an urge to drop to her knees and submit, but a gentle touch from Mick stabilized her. Her submissive-in-arms slipped his lace gloved-hand between her fingers and squeezed, restoring a bit of her ability to resist.
Raising her chin, Candy declared, “Really.”
Ignoring the paper, Daddy looked them all over. “All of you planned this out?”
Nobody else made eye contact with him. Mick found a spot on the ceiling to stare at, Socks looked down at her boots, John turned his nearly-naked body around to face away, and Daisy crossed her arms over her chest and even went so far as to nod her head in defiance, her bone-shaped collar tag jingling.
Daddy nodded. “And what are your demands?”
She’d hoped he would simply read the list, but of course he was forcing her to speak them aloud instead. She didn’t want a confrontation, but she didn’t have a choice, the whole polycule was depending on her.
“First–freedom of cummies,” she said, acutely aware of the chastity belt locked beneath her diaper. “Chastity should only be employed as punishment for serious disobedience. I–we–want access to buzzy time whenever we want, without needing permission.”
Daddy chuckled, as though she were joking. “Baby, you know you’re too little to make decisions like that. How would I keep you all in line if I let you spend your whole day just riding your wands?”
The comment made her blush, which had to be intentional–Daddy was trying to derail the delivery of their manifesto. “Second,” Candy said, voice trembling slightly. “Make out privileges. We demand permission to kiss and fondle each other at will.”
Daddy nodded, though his broad smirk said, ‘Never in a million years’.
“No more bedtimes for me or Socks. We should be allowed to stay up past midnight with everyone else. Mick wants access to diaper changes before his daily chores are concluded,” Candy continued. “And he only wants to do hot brekkie on business days, so he can sleep in on weekends.”
“Sweetheart,” Daddy interrupted. “You’re not australian. Just because they say ‘brekkie’ on Bluey doesn’t mean you should call it that.”
He was trying to get her flustered, and it worked, but she powered through without replying to the comment.
“John wants his cage to be left open at night. I want nuggies available for at least three meals a week, and full veto power on anything containing vegetables. Plus, no more stinky diapers when your other Big friends are over, or during playdates with other littles who might tease me–erm, us.” Her lip trembled, but she held eye contact, all her bravery on display.
“Is that all?” Daddy asked.
“There’s a few more things,” Candy admitted, reaching for the papers. “But this one is the most important. We don’t negotiate anything else until this is signed.” Producing the bottom sheet from the stack, she held it out.
Daddy glanced at it, but didn’t read the paper, forcing Candy to explain herself. “What is that?”
“A non-retaliation clause,” Candy declared. “Saying that you will not punish any of us for collective bargaining, enforcement of our rules, or for demanding fairer rules.”
Looking at the paper, Daddy pondered it for a moment before setting it aside. “Who’s idea was this, Candy? It wasn’t yours.”
They remained silent, but Daddy could see through their poker faces easily, and a few darting glances turned his attention onto John. The polycule’s resident rope bunny shivered, his bare body somehow sweaty despite the cool morning.
“Toy,” Daddy told John. “What were you thinking? That I’d let you out of your cage if you got your friends to ask with you? You know that everything between your legs belongs to me. And with this little fussing session, I think we can put another month on the calendar before I let you borrow those parts.”
John whimpered, but Candy cleared her throat. “It was a group decision.”
Daddy didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. “I have a counter offer.”
Nodding, Candy glanced at her co-submissives, ensuring they were all ready to listen. “We’ll hear out your terms.”
Daddy lifted his chin ever so slightly, an acknowledgement that their efforts had gained his attention–but not his respect. “You all apologize for being brats, and I’ll forget the myriad responsibilities you’ve chosen to disregard this morning.”
Daddy’s confident smile shook Candy to her core, and she could tell by the way the others rocked back that she wasn’t alone, but she held strong. “That’s it, then.”
“That’s it?” Daddy asked.
“A submission stoppage,” Candy announced. “Everyone, this meeting is over.”
Getting to his feet, Daddy nodded, moving to step around the table. His fingers reached for the seat of Candy’s diaper, but she stood and stepped back, preventing him from checking her.
“I need to see if you’re soggy,” he pointed out. “Don’t you want a change, little one?”
She did. Nothing relaxed her more than Daddy’s tender touch, wiping her clean and powdering her dry before wrapping her up in a nice, fresh diaper, but Candy stuck out her chin and shook her head. “Not until our demands are met.”
“If you leak–” Daddy started.
“I won’t.”
“You can’t stay in one diaper forever.”
She sucked in a breath, her next statement feeling more like a challenge than anything she’d done so far. “I’ll change myself.”
Daddy was taken aback, but only for a moment. Moving on, he looked between them, deciding where to apply pressure next. “Daisy. Are you ready for your morning walkies?”
Daisy’s expression brightened, then soured again. She shook her head, sniffing a little as she held her ground.
“Socks–it’s pancake day. Don’t you need my help eating breakfast? I’ll cut the pieces extra small.”
Candy held her breath, but her baby-in-crime stood proud: Socks puffed out her chest and held her breath, waiting for Daddy to move on.
Daddy finally turned to face John, letting Socks exhale. “Toy,” Daddy said to the next sub in line. “Is your harness clean?”
“It is,” John promised.
“Then–”
“But I won’t use it,” he interrupted. “I’m not crossing the picket line, Brad.”
Daddy sighed, and Candy felt a surge of triumph. They’d held strong, refusing to buckle under Daddy’s dominant energy. Turning, he said, “Alright. If this is how you want to behave, just remember–it’s your choice.”
He left, and the five of them slumped, all drained by the flimsy resistance they’d offered.
Shivering, Daisy sniffed, looking like she might cry. Mick gave voice to her concern. “Do you think he’ll be mad?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Candy replied. “He’s got to agree to our terms, and that means he can’t retaliate.”
“But if he doesn’t?” Socks asked, already desperate after only two minutes of independence. “He said he’d watch Tangled with me tomorrow night–what if we’re still not at an agreement?”
“Then we’ll hold strong,” Candy promised her. “I know this is hard, but we have to stick together. Once he gives up, we’ll get to have grown-up time whenever we want! That has to be worth it!”
“He’s not gonna wait us out,” John supplied. Almost naked save for the chastity cage Daddy kept him in at all times, Candy didn’t know how he wasn’t shivering cold; without her onesie and knee socks she would have been shivering.
“You think?” Socks asked eagerly.
“Of course not. He’s going to try and pressure us,” John explained. “Isolate us, make us turn one by one.”
“Don’t worry. We held together once, we can do it again,” Candy promised them.
Mick wasn’t so certain. “That was when we were all together. What about when we’re alone?”
“Just remember: No matter what Daddy promises you, we can’t buckle. He will punish us, so we need to make sure he doesn’t get that opportunity.”
“The longer we hold out, the more he’ll try and bribe us,” John added. “He’ll get us alone and make promises–that if we turn, he’ll let us have whatever we want. Don’t listen.”
“Daddy’s a fibber, anyway,” Socks said. “The other day he said I could pick between cookies and five minutes with my buzzy wand, but when I picked buzzy time, he didn’t let me plug it in!”
Candy slumped back on her stool, tummy grumbling. Without Mick’s usual breakfast spread, she was feeling particularly hungie. “Let’s just go about our day, and don’t let him get to us, okay? We knew he wouldn’t break immediately.”
There was a moment of assent and the five of them stood, but it quickly faded as they all tried to think what their day would even look like. Without their typical routine, breakfast hadn’t been made. Candy and Socks would have to feed themselves, Daisy wouldn’t be getting anything served in her dog bowl, Mick didn’t have anything to clean up. Uncertainly, they all milled around the kitchen for a moment, shuffling back and forth, at a loss for how to proceed.
“I’ll make breakfast, okay?” Mick suggested. “I like cooking, anyway.”
“No,” Candy insisted. “We can’t just do what he wants. If you make brekkie, we lose.”
“I won’t make any for dadd–Brad.” Mick shook his head. “He’ll have to prepare his own food.”
“You’re not in maid mode,” Candy shot back. “I’ll make it.”
“You’d burn cereal,” Mick snapped. “I’m not eating whatever slime you make!”
Stepping between them, Daisy lifted her arms and shook her head furiously, her voluminous hair flopping from side to side. Growling a little, she communicated her point without needing to say a word: Stoooop fightiiiiiing.
She was right, and Candy blushed as she recognized she’d started a meaningless argument. “He’s getting to us already,” she said, though Daddy hadn’t even seeded this argument. “I…I’m sorry, Mick. You can make brekkie if you want. Socks, I can feed you, if you feed me, ok?”
The other baby girl nodded. “Okay!”
Mick moved to start cooking, flouncing daintily around the kitchen in his maid uniform. “Everyone, you’re in my way–let me cook.”
They filed out, and Candy took a moment to scratch Daisy’s scalp, just behind the ears. “I’m sorry for fighting, girl.”
Daisy’s tongue lolled out and she made a pleased sound in the back of her throat, nodding as she accepted the apology. “S’kay.”
Candy had one more thing to take care of–she needed a fresh diaper. Daddy had claimed she would leak, and she wasn’t about to prove him right, so she set off to her nursery to get herself changed.
She hated doing her own diapers–it just never felt the same. A self-change was a chore, not a pleasure, but she’d already accepted that this would be necessary as part of their collective struggle. Socks was hopeless with changing diapers, and she wouldn’t want to ask anyone else to take on that responsibility.
Candy found the nursery door open when she got upstairs, which got her attention immediately. She always shut it out of habit, leftover paranoia from when she'd lived with vanillas and had to worry about her diaper supplies being spotted. Walking inside, she looked for Daddy, wondering what he'd try to bribe her with, but he was nowhere to be seen.
On edge, she walked to her dresser, pulling out the top drawer to get her changing supplies. She recoiled in horror, eyes widening once she saw what Daddy had done.
A stack of fresh, clean panties were in the drawer. No diapers, no powder, not even a stuffer. Daddy had taken away all her underwear and replaced them with these…things. The panties didn't even have cute prints!
A note sat to the side of the panties, written in Daddy’s straightforward handwriting. Reading it, Candy felt a chill run down her back, from the base of her neck to the seat of her damp, sagging diaper.
‘Since you think you're big enough to make grown up decisions, I think it's only fair that you wear grown up panties.
If you want your diapers back, you'll have to prove you won't act like a grown up.
-Brad’
...Yes, I did a story based on a meme. I'm not apologizing.
Support for this smut is sponsored by readers like you! (Which is to say, my subscribers help keep me in groceries and diapers, and I give them early access and exclusive content in exchange!)
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6 hours ago, Wannatripbaby said:
This is all very helpful information! 😁 I'm actually considering starting to do story commissions as a little side-gig and this is all invaluable to know. 😊
I do have a technical question though.
What payment method should I use? I want it to be something that doesn't give away my real name, so PayPal is out. 😅 What do people generally use to receive payment for their commissions?
If you set up a Paypal business account, it won't reveal your real name.
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On 11/22/2024 at 11:31 AM, PurpelSwirl said:
Love your story!!
Thank you! ^^
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Chapter 6: Switch Scene
It took only five minutes for Melody to put together the supplies she needed, but a full hour to negotiate the details.
Skip considered noping out of the situation twice, but they’d already committed to it, and their balking points were a bit too embarrassing to admit. Better to run with it, and keep their private opinions on the situation private.
“I want you to experience some pressure, even some stress,” Melody had explained, “But it’s not going to be sexual.”
“I’m not going to say that sexual stuff wouldn’t be stressful,” Skip pointed out. “If you want me uncomfortable, that could work.”
“But it’s not the point.” Melody sat back on her bed, kicking up her feet. “If it were sexual, you’d only be super grossed out and uncomfortable.”
(It’s not that gross,) Skip thought. Their issue with sex had more to do with boredom than anything else; the grossness came with the human element. “So, the point?”
“I want there to be a push and a pull. A threat, and a reward. Normally–”
“Punishment and cumming, yeah,” Skip interrupted. “I get it.”
“Okay, so, we’ll figure out something for you. What would make a good reward?”
“I guess…” Skip started, pursing their lips.
This was the first balking point. Anything they suggested would be unavoidably revealing. Would asking for cash be greedy? Almost certainly–and it wouldn’t fit the mood. They had to come up with something personally rewarding, something that would actually entice them.
Fortunately, Melody saved them. “I’ve got a box of chocolates this guy sent me–they’re super fancy. How does that sound?”
It sounded like an opportunity to not have to come up with anything, and that was exactly what Skip wanted. “Perfect.”
Melody grinned. “Great. Now–for punishment. We’re not going to do anything physical. I’m not even going to actually do anything, I just need something I can threaten you with.”
“So…if you’re not going to do it, just threaten me with violence,” Skip pointed out.
“Yeah, no. This one needs to be personal.” Melody sat back, scratching their chin. “I’ve run a kinda-similar scene before, but I’d just threaten to call the sub’s ex. That doesn’t work here, for obvious reasons.”
“Yeah,” Skip agreed. “No exes.”
“Are you reading anything right now?” Melody suggested. “Or in the middle of a show? I could threaten to spoil the ending.”
Skip shook their head. They didn’t particularly care about spoilers, and most of their narrative investment fell into video games rather than TV or books, where the plot was more player-driven and twists didn’t matter as much. “I generally guess twists way in advance anyway,” they pointed out. “So…spoilers don’t bother me?”
Melody bobbed their head in a nod. “Okay…hmm.”
Tilting their head, Skip got an idea. “Though…if you’re not actually going to do it, I do have an idea.”
From there, they hashed out details, with an unnecessary-but-insisted-on refresher on safe words and a couple plans made for how to write about the scene after the fact. Just to be thorough, Skip also took notes on the pre-scene conversation, jotting down enough commentary to remember how it played out so they could print it as well.
A few concessions would be made. Skip would remain fully clothed throughout, but they’d have to remove their hoodie to make their wrists more accessible. Not much physical contact would be needed, but Melody would sometimes touch Skip’s face, arms, legs, and shoulders, both to facilitate the bondage and to encourage the right headspace.
And, if need be, Skip was always free to end things in an instant.
Then came the setup. Skip retrieved a toy from their own collection while Melody borrowed a couple office supplies from Grace. Surprisingly, the only object Melody actually provided was the box of chocolates–her extensive collection didn’t come into play.
After reconvening, Melody dimmed the lights in her room, and though her clothes didn’t change, her posture shifted, bringing out a persona that Skip rarely saw except incidentally and in passing.
“Sit down,” she instructed, nodding to her bed. Her voice wasn’t quite a purr, but it had a deeper, huskier element to it.
Skip exhaled through their nose. They didn’t want to laugh in her face or deliberately break the mood, but it was hard to get around the inherent silliness of it all. A human mating ritual, minus the mating part, felt like it should’ve been a comedy sketch rather than a passionate scene.
Still, they’d been given an instruction, and they wanted to see how this would all play out. They sat, legs hanging over the side.
Melody approached, reached down, and took Skip’s wrists in her hands, holding them up. The touch reminded them that they were exposed, with only a T-shirt over their body, and the desire to chuckle faded.
“Don’t struggle,” Melody said, stepping onto the bed and kneeling behind Skip’s back. She deftly moved their wrists, pinning them together, then added in a whisper, “You’re not going anywhere.”
A slender strip of paper wrapped around Skip’s wrists, pulling their hands together. It wasn’t special paper, or particularly hardy, just printer paper borrowed from Grace–with a solid tug, it would rip, but that was the point. Skip wouldn’t really be bound, it would only feel that way; even if Melody lost her mind and started ignoring safe words, the bondage would be only an illusion.
Sliding the base of the stapler beneath the paper so that it protected Skip’s skin, Melody gave the tool a squeeze, and with a solid ka-chunk Melody pinned the paper together. There was no escaping the makeshift cuff without ripping it.
Skip found it to be more delicate than they’d even realized. Shifting their weight, they felt the paper strain against the side of their hand. They had to be still and careful, cautious not to accidentally tear the restraint.
For emphasis, Melody slipped two fingers beneath the paper, showing that there was room for circulation. That done, she stood, kneeling by Skip’s feet.
Another strip of paper, another heavy stapler cha-chunk, and Skip was left helpless and immobile.
At least, so long as they wanted the scene to continue.
Melody stood, leaning in and studying Skip. Her face was only a few inches away from Skip’s, her chest moving slowly, and Skip could feel her warm breath puffing against their skin.
They locked eyes with her, jaw set in determination.
“Are you comfortable?” Melody’s question felt like a joke, or an insult. Of course they weren’t comfortable. It was a struggle to keep still, to hold their body in place and avoid ripping the paper, and the act of just remaining stationary took up their focus.
“Yes,” Skip promised, nodding. They wouldn’t be defeated by some strips of paper. “I’m fine.”
Melody’s delicate fingers traced over Skip’s shoulder, idly taunting them with her freedom of movement. They were paralyzed, barely able to shift their wrists or adjust their stance.
A smile spread across Melody’s lips. “Good. Remember, you can end this at any time.”
Skip nodded, realizing that their heart rate had begun to increase. Their arms trembled a little, as though their body thought they’d begun exercising. Burying their nerves, they shook their head. “I’m not stupid.”
“Alright.” Reaching down, Melody picked up the object they’d settled on as the Threat. “Then let’s begin.”
Pressing the power button on top, she clicked on Skip’s Switch, a shiny logo appearing as the game console powered up.
“Now, let’s see,” Melody purred, somehow still maintaining the sultry timbre in her tone as she moved the joystick, screen turned that Skip could see. “I’ve got access to all your save files here, don’t I?”
It was just a game, a farce as part of their trumped up scene, but Skip still felt a spike of anxiety when they saw Melody open the settings menu and tab to the storage page. ‘Delete all save data’ was right there, text highlighted, waiting to be pressed.
“Don’t,” Skip blurted. They hadn’t set any rules about not arguing, and their argument response had kicked into high gear. Still, they kept their wrists pressed together, not wanting to lose face by giving up.
“Don’t, what?” Melody asked.
This part had no clear response. Melody had explained that she would try to provoke responses from Skip, to make them say things, but she’d been vague about what exactly the word games would be.
“Don’t even joke about it,” Skip said, going with bravado.
“I think you meant to say, ‘Don’t, please,’” Melody chided. “Maybe a lesson is necessary. Which of these do you care about the most?”
Skip’s eyes widened as Melody moved away from the save data storage, instead moving to the user statistics page. Suddenly, their gaming history was laid bare, cumulative thousands of hours across a rather embarrassing spread of titles.
“Two hundred hours in Monster Hunter: Rise?” Melody said. “That sure is a lot of time to be gone in an instant.”
“No!” Skip snapped, a blush immediately shooting up their face as they reacted. (It’s just an act, don’t let on that you’re getting flustered.)
“No, what?” Melody asked, the corners of her mouth curling up in a demonic smirk.
Squirming, twisting their wrists against the paper, wishing they could snatch the Switch away and end this, Skip capitulated. “No, please.”
“That’s better.” Straightening, Melody reached out and traced a finger along the side of Skip’s face. “If you ask very nicely, I’ll let you play with your Switch tonight, and I’ll even give you an extra reward.”
Skip frowned. “Wait, stop.” (No, stupid.) “I mean, Yellow.”
Melody’s change in demeanor was smooth but instant as she shifted from stern to soothing. “What is it?”
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Skip objected. “We never said anything about you keeping the switch once we’re done.”
Smiling warmly, Melody shook her head. “It’s just another threat. I won’t follow through with it.”
(Obviously.) Skip exhaled slowly, feeling ridiculous for using a safe word over something so apparent. Or, really, feeling ridiculous for reacting at all–they’d known it was an act, but they’d had a spike of concern anyway. They should’ve been better than that. “Okay, I’m good then.”
“Thank you for using your safe words,” Melody whispered to them, soft and reassuring. “You’re so good for me.”
That, at least, didn’t make Skip feel much of anything, which helped them regain a bit of confidence. It was just so cheesy, and they hadn’t done anything warranting real praise. “Let’s just get back to it. Green?”
Nodding, Melody regained her aloof smirk. “I think I want to hear you beg.”
No longer worried thanks to the break in continuity, Skip still played along. “Please, don’t take away my games. Please!”
“You can do better,” Melody chided. “It’s like you don’t really even want it.”
This was just acting, and while Skip was no movie star, they could put on an front well enough, even hiding how much the whole encounter made them want to snicker at the absurdity. “Please, Melody, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you say, just let me have my games back, please?”
“Mmm…” Melody said, tapping a finger to her lips in thought.
Taking a stab at what Melody wanted, Skip threw in a stinger at the end. “I’ll be good for you.”
That won her over. Melody smiled, setting down the Switch. Reaching to her side, she picked up the box of chocolates she’d left on her nightstand, undoing the ribbon with the tip of her nails. When she opened the lid, a note inside fell out: ’Can’t wait to see you again - Quentin’.
Melody ignored the note completely as it fluttered to the floor, picking up one of the chocolates, a shiny red one that smelled of cinnamon and spice. Cupping Skip’s face gently in one palm, she pressed the confection between their lips, letting Skip savor the impeccably made chocolate.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Melody inquired, watching their face. “When you’re good for me, you get rewarded.”
Skip smiled, warmth spreading down their throat. The chocolate had a bit of heat to it, maybe a Mexican Spice blend, and it tasted expensive. Unsure if they were supposed to respond or not, they simply nodded.
At their reaction, Melody only smiled. “I knew you’d like it better once you were obedient.”
Even if only because it came with a bribery of chocolate…she wasn’t entirely wrong.
...
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Chapter 21
In an abstract, logical sense, Daniel knew better than to be flippant with his pernicious prefect, but applying abstract knowledge towards the practical often eluded him.
“Do you need help with your homework?” He asked, smirking back at her.
“You've got a smartass streak,” Rachel said, hand lingering on the door handle for a moment before she stepped away.
“Yeah, well, you're the one who's got a weird obsession with my ass.” Shrugging, Daniel returned his focus to the cast-iron cauldron he’d been rinsing clean. Shaking off the bulk of the water droplets, he set it upside down on the drying rack. “So, what do you–woah.”
Rachel had sidled up beside him without a sound, and now loomed just out of arm’s reach. “That's what I'm talking about, spark. I know it was you.”
Daniel rolled his eyes, projecting a lack of care. He didn't want to show how intimidated he suddenly felt. “What was me?”
“The rumors. The jokes.” Stepping closer, she glared down into Daniel's eyes. “You’ve been making up stories about me, you little prick.”
Daniel felt a surge of confidence when he heard her admit it: He'd dealt a painful blow. His plot had worked, and Rachel was hurting, and she'd just given him the opportunity to twist the knife.
“I didn’t have to make anything up.” He looked back up at her, unflinching. “I just told the truth, and let your reputation do the rest. Nobody likes you, Rachel. Everyone knows you're a sadistic, friendless bitch who barely deserves to be here, it didn't take much to convince them you were a creep, too.”
Rachel exhaled sharply, and Daniel got the mental impression of a snorting bull, stamping and preparing to charge a matador. “Don't test me, spark. You think your life sucks now? I can make it infinitely worse.”
Pressing his palms to his cheeks, Daniel made a face of mock horror and shook a red cape in Rachel’s face. “Oh, no! What are you going to do, humiliate me? Make me do the chicken dance and shit myself in front of the school? Newsflash, asshole, anything you do to me is just going to get added to the list of rumors about you.”
“That’s the best you’ve got?” Rachel snorted, her face burning red. “At least ‘I’m rubber, you’re glue’ is catchy, you’re just pathetic.”
“What did I do to you?” Daniel threw up his hands and rolled his eyes, making a show out of not caring. He was done playing Rachel’s punching bag–it was time to drop the hammer. “Do I look a little too much like your absentee dad? Or some guy who dumped you? Or is it just that I exist as a walking reminder that even a man is a better witch than you?”
At that, Rachel didn’t fumble for an angry retort, she just set her jaw. “A better witch, huh?”
“I heard you’re the reason that covens can’t transfer members,” Daniel said, missing that he’d gone too far. “How many times did you get traded before Blackburn created that rule? God, it must suck to be the group that’s stuck with you–it’s like a game of Hot Potato, except instead of burning hands, they got stuck with a shitty excuse for a witch.”
Reaching to the strap on the side of her skirt, Rachel took her wand, flicking it out so that the ribbon extended in a spiraling loop. “Let’s test that theory, then, Spark.”
Finally, Daniel realized he may have pushed a bit too much. Taking an unconscious step back, he asked, “What?”
“Take out your wand, and let’s see which of us is the worst,” she explained. “Here.” Reaching forward, she picked up his wand from the counter and shoved it into his hand.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Daniel said, stumbling back as he raised his wand.
“Why not? I thought you were so much better than me,” Rachel spat. “Here, I’ll even let you take the first shot.”
She raised her arms to the side, the ribbon on her wand dangling down to the floor while she waited.
Daniel almost–almost–fell for it. Clutching his own stubby, solid wand, he thought about what he could do that would keep Rachel from retaliating, then thought a little more. “You want me to attack, so you can hit back,” he said. “I’m not stupid. You don’t get an excuse to hex me.”
“Well, damn,” Rachel said, shrugging. In the blink of an eye, she flicked her wrist and hissed a word, and a lash of complex power flew towards Daniel and knocked the wand from his hand.
Eyes widening, he stumbled backwards, slipping and falling as his knees went weak. His wand was right there on the ground, but when he tried to pick it up, his fingers were numb and it felt as though he were trying to lift a feather through thick mittens.
“Aww, what’s wrong?” Rachel sneered, stepping over him. “Trouble with your wand, baby boy? It’s just a little enchantment on your fingie-wingies. Any half-decent witch could clear them away in a second.”
Daniel’s heart was pounding, but he tried not to let fear override his common sense. Shutting his eyes, he searched for the strands of power, following the magic just like Jen had taught him. He could just sense the energy, overlapping his own body like a net, and with a little nudge–
Rachel flicked her wand again, and Daniel convulsed, falling to the ground completely, focus broken–not by pain, but a sudden, overpowering tickling sensation.
“You’re really struggling, huh?” she asked as he writhed on the ground and tried not to giggle. “Wow–I heard you were practicing with the klutz, but this sort of aura tracing is supposed to be the first thing witches learn. Then again, if you’re still potty training, it’s no wonder you still don’t know your spellwork either.”
Gasping for breath, Daniel coughed, “You–rumors!”
Crouching down so that she sat on her ankles, Rachel looked Daniel in the eye. “You’re right–if I were to try and humiliate you in front of everyone, it would blow up in my face.” Looking around, she made a show of raising her eyebrows, throwing Daniel’s own mock surprise back at him. “But would you look at that–we’re all alone, aren’t we?”
Eyes widening, Daniel continued to giggle as a confusing mix of tickling, laughter, and horror all dawned on him at once.
Leaving him to squirm, Rachel tipped one of the cauldrons upright, sizing it up in her hands for a moment. “I want to test a theory.”
He watched her, but couldn’t do much more than that.
“We’ve been around forever,” Rachel said. “Witches, that is. Long enough to appear in fairy tales, legends and myths, all sorts of crap. Good witches, bad witches, but all the best stories involve a good curse.”
Daniel didn’t like where this was going.
Walking the cauldron over to the nearest lab table, she slid it onto a burner. After a brief click-click-click of the ignition, a little gas flame sparked to life beneath it, rapidly the cast iron.
“Did you ever wonder why the good fairies didn’t just undo the curse on Sleeping Beauty? It’s because curses are hard as hell to break…if they’re someone else’s work.” Pulling open a drawer, she rifled through it, producing a handful of ingredients. “A good, solid curse ties itself to the victim’s own spirit. Try and break it, you risk breaking their minds as well as the magic that’s binding them.”
Daniel really didn’t like where this was going.
Pouring a half cup of clear liquid into the cauldron, Rachel stirred it slowly, muttering a few words below her breath as she did so.
“Of course, you can’t curse another witch that way. A witch knows her own spirit like the back of her hand, she can tell where it’s been tied and twisted. Curse a witch, she’ll undo the spell as easily as undoing her shoelaces.” Glaring over the simmering pot, Rachel said, “So, spark, we’re going to find out if you’re really a witch after all.”
Invisible fingers traced up and down Daniel’s body, and though the laughter all-but paralyzed him, he managed to get out a word. “Please!”
“Please, what?” Rachel asked, sprinkling a few extra ingredients in. “You should have no problem, since you’re such a good witch.”
He gasped, struggling to breathe and speak at the same time.
“That’s what I thought,” Rachel said, removing the cauldron from the heat. “Don’t worry–this is a pretty awful potion, I barely put any effort into it at all.”
Tapping the side of the cauldron with her wand, a puff of steam lifted from atop it, and when she touched the iron with her bare skin, it didn’t burn. Smiling smugly, she took a straight-walled glass bottle from the shelf below the lab table and drained the freshly-brewed potion into it.
Holding up the pale white liquid, she gave it a few swirls, then said, “Hold on, this isn’t quite right.” Giving the top of the bottle a tap with her wand, a rubber nipple sealed itself over the opening, so that it resembled little more than an oversized baby bottle.
Tears ran down Daniel’s face as the tickling spell forced him to keep laughing, body contorting on the floor. He’d begun to hiccup between the giggles, deep inhalations barely able to keep his lungs full of air as the torture of sensations attacked him.
Rachel stepped up to his convulsing body, crouched, and whispered, “Drink up, spark,” before shoving the tip of the bottle into his mouth with enough force that he couldn’t easily pull his head away.
If he’d had strength and breath, he might have been able to free himself, but he was exhausted and still wracked with a tickling sensation that left him too weak to fight. Resistance would only lead to further humiliation, and he was in no state to push his tormentor, so Daniel gave in and drank. Cool, syrup-sweet liquid ran down his tongue, like cherry medicine with a tinge of something cruel in the aftertaste, and he couldn’t do anything except whimper and swallow it down.
Ten seconds passed, then thirty, as the sickly sweet sludge ran down his throat. The tickling faded, but Daniel could feel something else working its way through his body, magic spreading down his veins like chains that tightened whenever he tried to fight it.
As the bottle emptied and the tickling curse faded, he fell limp against the cool floor, taking deep breaths through his nose. His face felt cold in streaks where tears had dried, and he wanted to go curl up and sleep for a week.
Instead, as Rachel pulled the bottle away, leaving only a lingering bitter aftertaste, he croaked out, “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Rachel said, glancing down with a broad smirk. Daniel’s gaze followed hers, and he saw that his skirt had at some point bunched up, revealing a yellow-stained diaper beneath. “I certainly didn’t do that.”
He flushed red, realizing only then that he’d lost control at some point during the flurry of tickles. Not his fault, exactly, but it certainly felt like he was to blame. “But–” he started.
“Just remove the curse,” Rachel said simply, pushing up to her feet. “And you’ll never have to find out. Otherwise…well, good luck blaming this on me, nobody is going to believe that a student here can’t even undo a simple binding hex.”
Turning, she walked towards the door, letting the tip of her ribbon wand trail on the floor behind her as she left. With one last glance over her shoulder, she added, “Oh, and by the way–if you try and get someone else to undo the curse, the effects will be permanent. Good luck!”
Slipping out of the potions room, she slammed the door behind her, leaving Daniel to lay on the floor, eyes shut, tracing lines of magic as best he could but sure of only one thing.
Rachel was right: He couldn’t undo her curse.
...
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Chapter Four
Stelle paced outside the Reverie Hotel, uncertain what to do next.Now that she was out of the Penacony dream world and in reality, Stelle found that it felt even more like she was at square one; both literally and figuratively where she’d started–no clues, no suspects, and no leads to pursue.
She’d told her team to take a break and split up–she needed to clear her head before approaching the problem again. If she were still in the dream, she could at least goof off, maybe go back to Dr. Edward’s bizarre theater.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar face, walking across the Reverie’s courtyard. Just like last time Stelle had met her, she wore a serious-but-friendly expression, all business but ready for negotiation at the drop of a rather dashing hat. Yet at the moment, her concentration was taken up by something as she walked.
Stepping forward, Stelle waved. “...Miss Topaz! I never thought I'd run into you on Penacony.”
Beaming, Topaz walked up to her. “Long time no see! Aventurine has told me a lot about your happenings...hmm?” Glancing away, she shook her head. “...it's fine. Schedule the shoot, we should get the next round of ads ready before the end of the quarter...yes, I will be starring once again. Report to me before approving the new wardrobe. Mhm. Yes, alright.”
While she handled the voice in her ear, Stelle sniffed the air, noticing a slight odor that’d wafted up along with Topaz’s arrival. Her gaze dropped to the Warp Trotter who’d cantered up with Topaz, but when she looked down, she realized it wasn’t Numby that Stelle was smelling–it was the puffy diaper bulging out of Topaz’s leotard.
“...as I was saying,” Topaz continued, turning her attention back to Stelle. “It sounds like you’ve been busy!”
“We…have…” Stelle began, feeling the need to ask, even though she could see the proof in front of her. Stelle was a trailblazer after all, even at the expense of niceties. “Topaz, are you wearing a diaper?”
The IPC representative flushed pink, stumbling over her words, like an automatic response and her mouth was ahead of her brain. Topaz had to stop for a moment before she managed to blurt, “Yes, my IPC Smart Diaper contains all my accidents, no matter where I am!”
Her delivery was shaky, but as she got to the end of the sentence, her confidence clearly bloomed. (How does someone even respond to that?)
Stelle asked, “Were you…injured? Did something happen?”
“After the incident in Belebog, my superiors decided that simple revocation of my bonus wasn’t enough punishment,” Topaz admitted. “So I was assigned a special duty, as the brand ambassador for IPC Smart Diapers. To be clear, they’re not simply making me wear diapers as punishment–but, as the spokeswoman for the product, I have to demonstrate their utility and be a positive example for the brand.”
“And you have to use them?” Stelle asked, her own face grow pink as she felt a wave of sympathetic embarrassment pass through her.
“Yes, that’s a stipulation of the deal,” Topaz explained. “Though, I have shares in the product, so as sales continue to grow, I’m being rewarded for my work. Haven’t you seen my ads?”
Stelle thought back to clips she’d seen, advertising the new smart diapers. “I had, but I didn’t look closely–that’s you?”
Topaz nodded. “We’re planning another round of filming as well–objectively speaking, the video advertisements have shown forty percent greater impact than any other marketing vector, and we’d like to hit market saturation by the end of next quarter.”
Nodding, Stelle reached her hand up to cover her nose. She didn’t want to be rude, and the smell wasn’t particularly strong, but even the faint odor wafting off the IPC executive made her want to blush sympathetically. “Erm…may I ask you a question about it?”
Topaz nodded, beaming, though her face remained pink. “Yes, of course!”
“Erm…can you still tell when you need to change?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or…well. You need one…”
Blush rising ever so slightly, Topaz glanced away, thoughts flickering in her expression as she delayed her response. “Of course I notice! My smart diaper tracks all accidents, it’s impossible to miss. My, erm–my IPC Smart Diaper is able to contain any accidents,” she began, slow and uncertain, holding up her phone to emphasize the accident tracking. “I don’t want to waste their capacity, and…I’m a busy woman who can’t stop what she’s doing to run off and change constantly!”
“Okay, but…” Stelle began, struggling to find a way to phrase her question that wouldn’t be awkward. Topaz still beamed up at her, either oblivious or unashamed. Had she been excited to see Stelle despite being in this condition? “But…surely when you…well, when you poop yourself, don’t you want to get cleaned up right away?”
Topaz squirmed, face growing redder by the moment. “I–” she began. “It’s…um…”
Gaze tracing down to the phone, Stelle looked at the information Topaz was presenting–a graph of accidents, changes, and capacity. She couldn’t be certain, but at a glance, it definitely seemed like every poopy accident had a lengthy delay before changing–not just waiting for a convenient moment to be clean, but delaying as long as possible before freshening up.
“Uh…” Stelle said, blushing sympathetically. “I see…those really have an…impressive capacity?”
“They do,” Topaz admitted, looking back at Stelle. Her blush was even more pronounced–though given the state of her diaper, Stelle wasn’t surprised. “It…I…It doesn’t bother me. I have never had to worry about leaks or blowouts; the software integration warns me when a change is necessary.”
That shocked Stelle, who widened her eyes in response to the explanation. “Really? I can’t imagine…being that comfortable in them.” Looking down at the chart on Topaz’s phone again, she saw the proof that her diapers had never leaked–though, sometimes, there was a spike in moisture just before changing that brought the diapers dangerously close to capacity. Stelle couldn’t help but show her confusion, puzzled at the pattern. Maybe she was just under stimulated from having so few clues to work with in the more important case…however–
Reaching up, Topaz responded to something in her earpiece, glancing away. “Alright. Tell them to wait for me, I’ll arrive soon.” Facing Stelle once more, she said, “As brand ambassador, I have access to some complementary diapers I can give away as promotions. Our next product line will have warp trotters on the print, and there’s going to be a matching plush as well! Would you like me to arrange to have some sent to your room, so you can try for yourself?”
Stelle blinked, shaking her head immediately. “No! I…that won’t be necessary, thank you.”
“Alright, well…” Topaz turned her body, preparing to walk away, but took the time to add, “Let me know if you change your mind. It’s nicer than you might realize, and as brand ambassador…I’m always open to giving a product demonstration. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
Topaz strolled off, waddling slightly as she headed up to the hotel desk.
Stelle stared at the Senior Manager waddled away, her bulging bottom swaying slightly with every step.
Quietly, she took out her phone, feeling flushed as she typed out a message.
‘Topaz - I think I’ll take you up on that offer after all.’
The End
...
And that's it for this one!
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On 10/15/2024 at 3:35 PM, kerry said:
Digging her involuntary guzzling of the Kool-Aid.
More like the formula, amirite?
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Chapter Three
Topaz kept her posture closed and tight as she sat waiting for her shuttle. Her arms were tucked in, and though she couldn’t actually press her legs together for all the bloated bulk packed between her thighs, she did as best as she could, ankles crossed over each other. She had her lunch in her lap, packed up in a to-go box, and her phone held in both hands, looking down at the screen anxiously.
Though IPC Smart Diapers had been given a soft launch a couple weeks prior, rolling out early to address supply chain problems and smooth out the release, the sales figures showed a sharp spike not half an hour before, timed to coincide with her commercial.
The ads were working, moving product.
That meant people had seen the ads.
A lot of people.
Eyes locked on the screen, she returned to her company profile.
‘Diaper capacity: forty-five percent. High amounts of solid waste detected. Change recommended.’
The number had changed, again. Instead of going down in large bursts, it was trickling, percents dropping slowly as she dribbled helplessly into her diaper, but that’s not what had her rapt attention.
This was her public company profile. Accessible by anyone who knew her name–which would include anyone that’d seen her ad. The precise, objective truth of her accidents was part of the public record, broadcast across the IPC’s entire network.
She felt warmth building in her face again. Had the shuttle not touched down just then, she might have gone on staring, watching the percentage, lost in contemplating her public lack of dignity.
Getting up, she waddled to the space shuttle, a pod no larger than a typical bus, and with a similar purpose. Her step had grown even more awkward and splayed with her latest accidents, extra bulk sagging and squishing against her thighs with every step. Either she waddled like a struggling toddler or she tried to stride normally and felt the reminder of her accident squelch and rub with every little movement, and she couldn’t decide which was worse.
As the shuttle rumbled into the sky, she felt its vibrations in a way she rarely did. Normally, Topaz could tune out the minor shake of the shuttle’s engines, but in her packed diaper, every tiny vibration and shimmy sent humiliation ripples into her sodden undergarment.
The shuttle trip was mercifully brief, but it also required her to sit in an enclosed space with a handful of other IPC employees making the trip up to the ecological observatory she lived on. In such confinement, the earthy, foul odor wafting off her was unmistakable, even if they couldn’t see the heavy diaper straining against her clothes, leg guards bulging out like an extra billboard.
Topaz couldn’t help but notice every sniff, every wrinkled nose, every smirk and every look of derision cast her way. Her only saving grace was that nobody confronted her about it, asking what she was wearing, forcing her to repeat an IPC Smart Diaper slogan.
There was nothing to be done about it–she couldn’t change the situation. The upper management’s punishment was ironclad, and she was trapped in her circumstances.
Given all that–and given the sales quotas she was expected to hit, if she ever wanted to escape this sponsorship–she could choose to blush and whimper, or she could accept it.
(These are my diapers,) she thought. (They keep me protected from accidents. That’s all.)
Divorced from the context of her humiliation, the diapers didn’t feel bad. Squishy, sure. Warm. The smell wasn’t ideal, but even that wasn’t too awful. From a purely physical sense, as long as she didn’t leak, it wasn’t that bad–it was hardly even a punishment at all.
Catching another smirk from a young woman seated across from her, Topaz noticed the other passenger give a significant glance over her head. Turning, Topaz looked up, and her blush redoubled as she saw a banner ad displayed directly above her, glowing on one of the shuttle’s many screens.
The ad was just one of the static images, though a yellow stain had been animated, spreading onto the photographed Topaz’s diaper as text scrolled, declaring her trust in the IPC Smart Diaper.
(Well?) Topaz thought, feeling warmth building in her again. (So what? As long as I’m taking this medicine, I do need them–so why pretend that I don’t?)
Crossing her arms, she didn’t question the fact that the warmth she felt was no longer building into a blush on her face, but instead somewhere in her chest. Not just embarrassment, but something…deeper.
The shuttle rumbled to a stop, juddering slightly as it docked with the observational starship. Air hissed as the airlocks connected, and with a quiet chime, they were able to leave. Taking her purse and to-go dinner, Topaz got to her feet, waddling through the airlock.
It was better to walk with quick strides, mushy diaper squishing, than to try and remain bow-legged and keep anything from touching. She’d already sat in her mess for the entire shuttle ride, it wasn’t as though she could make things worse, so she just let her sagging diaper squish with every step.
She didn’t have to waddle far to get to the residential section of the ship, though reaching her apartment involved passing several neighbors who were just leaving. Her blush rose as they sniffed the air and glanced down to see her bulging diaper, but she quickly accepted that she’d never have an opportunity to hide her new needs from them.
In fact, as she got to her door, she saw that any chance at privacy had already flown away. Her promised delivery was waiting for her, packages stacked in front of her door, and absolutely zero effort had been taken to keep things discreet. A dozen packages of IPC Smart Diapers, with all their labels about high capacity and handling the biggest accidents, were stacked up together, a note taped to the front listing the recipient of the delivery.
On top of the pile of diapers, a smaller box from Tulas Pharmaceuticals waited for her, the medicine she’d be required to take to maintain her incontinence. Powder, wipes, barrier cream, and other sundry changing supplies were all in a box together, and between everything, Topaz had what she’d needed to stay diapered and safe for months.
Pushing open her apartment door, she began taking in the diapers, hauling them in. Numby, her warp trotter companion, waddled up to greet her, nose snuffling around her waist. Topaz scratched the porcine creature behind the ears, setting aside the first pack of diapers and taking a moment to fill his food bowl before she returned to her task.
To have proper storage for the mountain of diapers, she’d need to make space in her closet, so for now she just stowed them in the bathroom, stacking the packages on her soon-to-be-ignored toilet.
Diapers inside, lunch left on the counter in her kitchen, she checked her phone.
‘Diaper capacity: thirty-nine percent. High amounts of solid waste detected. Change recommended.’
If her own diaper thought she needed a change, she’d trust its assessment. Her meal could wait–she wanted a clean diaper.
Ripping open one package, Topaz took out a fresh diaper. It wasn’t the first one she’d held, but as she took it from the package, she looked at it with fresh interest. Now that she was looking for it, she could spot the moisture sensor nodes embedded in the wetness indicator strips, the smart fabric strips in the leak guards, even a pressure sensor near the back–no doubt to measure her messes. It was an impressive piece of technology, and with the right marketing campaign, it was likely to sell well.
She could respect the manufacturing quality, but at the end of the day, she still needed to put it on. Unfolding the diaper, she set it on her bathroom counter before taking out the box of changing supplies. Aside from the powders and creams, she found a mat sealed in plastic, and after removing it from the packaging, she unfolded it to find a water-resistant changing mat emblazoned with the IPC logo. Laying it out on the floor, she hesitated for a moment.
This was going to be part of her new routine.
Diaper changes.
She’d have to get used to them sooner or later.
Topaz had to remove her leotard completely, but after slipping out of it and dropping it to the floor, she inspected herself in the mirror. Her diaper was still holding up well–full, yes, but though the tapes were holding quite a lot of sagging, bulging weight, the adhesive didn’t appear to have any issues keeping it all in place. She suspected that the diaper could go past a hundred percent capacity, if her observations were correct, providing even greater protection and peace of mind.
But, for all her observations, she was just putting off the inevitable. Taking a breath, she finally got on her knees, then turned and laid down on the changing mat, staring at the ceiling of the bathroom.
A shiver ran down her back that had nothing to do with the icy bathroom floor conducting cold through the mat.
Everyone knew. She couldn’t keep her shame a secret, she couldn’t hold onto a scrap of dignity–and though that should have filled her exclusively with humiliation, it instead sent a pulse of blush-inducing pleasure through her. Contradictory feelings of protection and exposure, being swaddled and comforted while having her defenses stripped away, made her wriggle with a need she struggled to place.
Reaching down, she touched the front of her sagging diaper, and when the squishy padding pressed against her, she shuddered again. Though she’d had no delusions about what she’d done in her diaper, it still made her blush to confront her accident head on, and that only made the intensity of sensation grow deeper. Feeling her diaper, not just as a statistic on her phone or a squelchy weight between her legs, she felt endorphins surge through her mind and between her thighs all at once.
Leaning forward on an elbow, she pressed into the diaper again, rubbing the front with two fingers, feeling pressure probe through the padding into her.
She gasped, and all pretense fled her as she embraced the ecstasy, stroking harder, running her fingers along the outside of her diaper as the impossible cocktail of burning, humiliating pleasure drove her into mind-numbing ecstasy.
It took only a few moments. The whole day had been foreplay, though she hadn’t recognized it as such until just now. With a loud gasp, she arched her back, wave after wave of bliss rushing up from inside her diaper.
As she sank back against the changing mat, her phone buzzed, indicating the addition of moisture.
Once again, everyone knew, but only that she’d had an accident. To all observers checking her profile, it was just another potty accident, so the truth of her pleasure would remain her one little secret.
Sweaty and pleased, she began working on the change.
Undoing the tapes on the heavy, sodden diaper, she watched it flop to the mat, heavily used.
Cheeks pink, she took the wipes from the packaging. They were warm as they left the box, the result of a clever chemical reaction, and wiping away the muck and pee clinging to her skin, she found them more effective than she’d expected. It only took a few moments and half a dozen wipes to clean herself up, and before long, she felt refreshed, dry, and ready for her new diaper.
Setting her old one aside, Topaz slid the new diaper beneath her hips, but before putting it on, she reached for the barrier cream, squirting a dollop into her hands. The last thing she wanted was to get a diaper rash, and while she trusted her diapers to take care of her, she’d have to meet them halfway.
After rubbing the cream into her skin, Topaz sprinkled powder over herself. It smelled strongly of lavender, babyish and sweet, and she realized that even when she didn’t smell like an accident, she’d always have an unmistakable Diaper smell following her around. There would be no escaping it, not unless she was allowed to try out an unscented powder.
Then again…this powder smelled nice, even if it was juvenile. Was that so bad?
Finally clean, dry, and powdered, she pulled the diaper into place and secured the self-aligning tapes in place.
Her phone chimed.
‘Diaper changed - Status Nominal. Remaining capacity: one hundred percent.’
Sitting up, Topaz ran a hand over the front of the diaper, feeling the thick, smooth material beneath her fingertips. It crinkled slightly under her touch, soft and delicate, yet somehow firm and protective.
Topaz stood, turning to inspect herself in the mirror. There was no mistaking what she was wearing, of course–she had on a thick, puffy diaper, and she could never in a million years pretend otherwise. She had thought that the humiliation would be gone, but that wasn’t true. In the right light, she could tell herself it was more cute than embarrassing, but that couldn’t bury the truth completely. She was humiliated by the mortifying diaper around her waist, but those emotions no longer struck her as a problem.
She wanted the embarrassment that came from the diaper she’d been forced to wear.
And…despite the fact that she’d been forced to need those diapers, she couldn’t deny that there was truth in marketing as well.
She trusted her IPC Smart Diaper to keep her safe from any accidents.
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Chapter Two
Topaz read over the contract for a third time as she navigated through the streets of Pier Point, memorizing every aspect of it. She wouldn’t be able to avoid her new role as the IPC Smart Diaper Spokeswoman, so she wanted to be thoroughly prepared and ready.
She’d at least been given the opportunity to put her normal clothes back on…minus her panties, of course, she wouldn’t be needing those anymore. However, with the thick diaper puffing out beneath it, she had been forced to acknowledge how much her signature leotard resembled a baby’s onesie in the wrong context. The elastic fabric that went between her legs wasn’t wide enough to completely cover the diaper, so she had both leg cuffs puffing out obviously, with the silhouette of the diaper standing out starkly beneath the material in case anyone was uncertain what she had on beneath.
At least the wetness indicator strips were covered, so nobody would see that she was still wet; she didn’t have anything to change into, all her company-issue diapers were waiting at her apartment.
After the surprise with her incontinence-inducing medicine, there wasn’t much in the contract that shocked her. Her diaper’s status was automatically linked with her company profile, and if discrepancies were noticed that indicated she was avoiding wearing the diapers, not taking her medicine, or trying to use the toilet in general, she would have her quarterly bonuses docked.
Topaz was expected to be an enthusiastic brand ambassador at all times, not just on camera, which meant not just wearing and using the latest in IPC medical technology, but also doing her best not to tarnish the brand: she couldn’t express dissatisfaction or negative sentiments, and was expected to promote the product whenever possible.
All of this was because she’d taken a chance on Belebog, and it blew up in her face. No good deed goes unpunished.
She caught a nearby IPC employee smirking at her puffy bottom, and with a blush, decided to find a little privacy. It was past her typical lunch break as well, and if she didn’t take half an hour off, she would be giving up the rest period for no good reason. Turning, she moved towards the nearest restaurant, hoping to get a secluded booth to avoid any further ogling of her new padding.
A young hostess beamed at her as she walked in. “Welcome to Kiliro Fish Restaurant! Party of one?”
“That’s right,” Topaz said, nodding as she glanced around. The place was packed, and her hope of finding a private place to eat shrank.
Smile never faltering, the hostess asked, “I’m afraid we only have bar seating, is that okay?”
“Sure, that’s…fine…” Topaz replied, already regretting it as soon as she said it. Still, there was no taking it back, so she reluctantly followed behind as the hostess led her inside.
Her diaper squelched as she sat down on a high stool at the bar, and when she squirmed, it crinkled loudly enough to be heard over the sound of general conversation.
The bartender slid a menu across the countertop and poured a glass of water, giving her a moment to reflect on her order. Topaz barely paid attention, her focus taken up predominantly by furtive glances over her shoulder, checking to see if anyone was staring at her. Every giggle or laugh seemed to be directed at her, even if logic suggested that most people were absorbed in their own conversations. God she needed a drink, even if it was only noon.
None of her giggling onlookers spoke to her, though. If anyone had seen, they kept it to themselves, and when the bartender returned, Topaz shyly ordered the lunch special and let her attention wander, falling to the Roboball game playing on the TV behind the bar.
Then it cut to commercial breaks, and she got a heavy, sinking feeling in her stomach.
(How did they get it edited so quickly?)
The images and slogans were a blur, details lost to her shock. All Topaz could see was her own smiling face, beaming at the camera as a bright yellow stain spread over a prominent, puffy diaper, announcing proudly, “With my IPC Smart Diapers, I never have to worry about accidents slowing me down!”
Discretion was no longer on the table. A few glances passed her way, and a man a few years her junior asked, “Isn’t that you?”
Topaz flushed, watching as the stranger’s gaze dropped down, eyeing the diaper puffing out from under her leotard.
“Y-yes!” Topaz began, doing her best to smile as the sinking in her belly grew, shame and awkward embarrassment raging inside her. “I’m the brand ambassador for IPC Smart Diapers–the most reliable protection on the market!”
Her contract-mandated corporate puffery only drew more eyes. It was a little unusual for a woman of her age to be wearing a visible diaper, but it was especially curious for her to be announcing it proudly to the room. More eyes turned on her, and to the commercial still playing out on-screen.
A few phones came out, and Topaz heard a virtual assistant read out, “Senior Manager Topaz’s diaper has sixty-five percent capacity remaining–no change is required at this time.”
Flushing, the penny finally dropped.
Her diaper’s status was linked to her company profile.
Her public company profile.
(Wait–I thought I was only seventy percent when I left the studio?)
The realization that she'd had an accident barely had time to land. The increasing attention on her took her attention, a small crowd forming in response, more onlookers coming to see what the fuss was about and sticking around once they correlated the diapered woman on TV with the blushing executive sitting at the bar in front of them.
“Since when do senior managers at the IPC need diapers?” someone asked.
“Does she really use them?”
“The smart app says so, look!”
Topaz stammered. “I–I am confident that–they–I–protection–hng–”
Her humiliation turned to horror as she understood the source of the sinking feeling she’d been noticing, realizing finally that it wasn’t just an emotional response. The medicine she’d been required to take had done its work, and though Topaz recognized what was happening, she was powerless to do anything to stop it.
Whimpering, she felt her body give an involuntary push, and just like that she began to pack mush into the seat of her new underwear. Despite all statements about security and protection, her diaper seemed to make the accident more obvious, more intense, amplifying it rather than hiding it. The back bulged out, swelling as she inflated it with solid muck so that everyone could see the results of her helplessness, but at the same time it pulled it close to her body, pressing the mushy tidal wave against her so that she could feel it spreading inside. She spread her legs involuntarily–not as a result of the drugs, but simply as a response to the expanding mass, making room for the diaper to expand between her thighs.
Someone whispered, “Is she going right now?”
True to their word, the IPC Smart Diaper didn’t have any issues containing the accident, but that was little comfort. A half dozen phones around Topaz chimed in unison as everyone who’d accessed her profile got the new update.
She checked her own device: ‘Accident detected. Diaper capacity: fifty-two percent. High amounts of solid waste detected. Change recommended.’
Topaz stammered, unable to even find words as humiliation washed over her in waves. Only a moment later did she sniff the air and wrinkle her nose as the smell hit her; even contained within a diaper that represented the pinnacle of IPC technology, it couldn’t do anything about the stink wafting off from her accident.
For a moment, she could only sit there, overwhelmed by the comments and snickers, by the increasingly acute smell wafting off her diapered bottom, by the feeling of the solid mass squelching beneath her weight on the barstool, spreading further in her diaper every time she squirmed.
She couldn't even take it off. Given her obvious lack of control from the medication, she couldn't risk being without her diaper, and all her changes were waiting at her apartment. Until she returned home, she was stuck, trapped in the mushy, heavy mess that sagged against her leotard.
A thought crossed her mind.
(At least it's contained…)
True to the marketing, her diaper had taken everything she'd had to push into it, and though it was swollen and heavy, it was nowhere close to a blowout. Thanks to the impressive capacity and leak protection, she didn't have to worry–stuck she might be, but she would be well protected until she made it home.
“I can't believe the IPC Upper Management wears diapers,” someone scoffed, eliciting a few more snickers from the audience that'd formed.
Topaz faced them, taking a breath and planted a fake smile on her face. “Of course–the IPC Smart Diaper offers ultimate protection for the business executive on the go!”
She forced herself to adopt the pro-diaper persona, but it wasn't as difficult as she'd expected to enter that headspace. Her confidence didn't dispel the giggles, but it helped Topaz accept them without shame.
Though the burning blush never left her cheeks, she found herself calming down, and soon, she didn't need to fake her smile.
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This story is set immediately after the events of the "Future Market" arc!
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“Remember when I said you dodged a bullet? Turns out, management isn’t done with you yet, they want to make sure your lesson sticks.”
Topaz listened patiently, holding a finger to her earpiece as she waited in the Pier Point courtyard. “Am I being demoted further, Aventurine?”
“No, they’re done with that. I think Jade realized you were too much of a sweetheart for that to have any impact. They’ve got a new assignment for you, and it’s mandatory.”
“If that’s what I have to do,” Topaz replied, drawing her lips to a line. This wasn’t too unexpected–she’d failed the IPC and allowed a valuable asset to slip through their fingers, and they were not a corporation that looked fondly on unclaimed value. “Am I being put on paperwork duty? Sorting through old files?”
“Nothing like that. Report to the Bellezza Studio on the south side of the pier, I’m sending you the location. You’ll have the job explained to you there.” Aventurine’s words carried a smug tone, and Topaz could almost see his amused smirk as he said it. “That’s all I’ve got for you.”
“Alright, I’ll do it,” Topaz said, hanging up the phonecall before muttering to herself. “Never a dull moment.”
Truth be told, she loved her job, working for the Interastral Peace Corporation, but their methods could be rather harsh. They did good work for the many worlds who they worked with, providing trade and industry to places that otherwise couldn’t survive on their own, but they had a tendency to treat their employees like cogs in a machine, and some of that filtered down to her subordinates. It took effort to keep them in check, and she was by no means immune to the intolerance for failure.
Still, she wouldn’t give it up. If they had grunt work for her to do, she’d do it with a smile on her face.
Pier Point was a bustling centerpiece of industry and trade. As the location of the IPC headquarters, people worked day and night to keep the galactic economy running smoothly, and whole markets had sprung up around just that workforce–restaurants, shops, and more.
While Topaz hadn’t been to the studio she’d been directed to, her phone navigation led her there without any trouble. From the outside, it looked fairly plain, giving Topaz little indication what she was in for until she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
She found a dark space, one cast in almost complete blackness as she walked in. A slight haze was in the air, and as the door shut behind her, only the light of her phone kept her from being cast in total darkness.
“Hello?” she called. “I’m here about the IPC assignment.”
In a flash, the lights flicked on, and she found herself standing on the edge of an elaborately lit sound stage. A dozen bright studio lights on tall stands were arranged in front of a blank screen, and to the side, a tall, slightly overweight man with a posh, perfectly tailored suit awaited her.
“It is I,” he declared, stepping down from the chair like a model down a runway. “Oro Belleza, and we are here to make art.”
Topaz blinked, but before she could ask questions, a pair of PAs were on her, pushing a clipboard in her face while making notes and poking at her clothing. Glancing down at the contract, she began to read, but immediately a question raised itself and she stopped.
“Image release?” she asked, looking up at Oro.
“Yes, yes, darling,” he said, waving a hand dismissively as he approached her. “You are my subject–the paint to my masterpiece.”
“I see.” Looking down, she read further. The contract was well defined and clear-cut: Topaz was being assigned a position as the spokesperson and brand ambassador for a new IPC product, the IPC-SD. It would be her duty to promote, speak for, and utilize the product, with various sales quotas and targets listed that she’d be responsible for hitting.
For someone of Topaz’s skillset, marketing and selling a product was comfortably within her wheelhouse, but acting as the face of the product still gave her pause. Skimming through to the end, she made sure to read everything–from the smart integrations with her company profile to the usage requirements–before signing at the end.
It wasn’t as though she had much choice, she’d be fired if she refused.
“That’s taken care of, then,” she said, passing the contract back to a PA and facing the man in front of her. “Do you have the product with you?”
“Yes, yes.” Turning, he pointed to a parcel on the table, then directed her with a wave to a line of doors along the side of the photography studio. “Changing rooms are right there, darling. Get dressed, and then we’ll get you in place!”
Strolling confidently to the table, Topaz picked up the cardboard box, curious what could be inside. A fashion line didn’t feel quite on-brand for the IPC, but then again, they were always branching out to take over any branch of the market they could get a grip on.
Finding a little privacy in the changing room, she opened the box, taking out the first garment. The shirt was accented with some ruffles around the sleeves and a stylized collar, but the front was given over to a large IPC product logo.
Topaz did a double take, eyes widening as she traced the hourglass-shaped symbol and read the words printed on her company-mandated outfit.
‘IPC Smart Diapers: The Future of Protection’.
She read it twice, then felt a jolt of realization and shock. Looking into the box, she quickly tossed aside a long pair of stockings and a fashionable leg strap holster for her phone, eyes falling on what she’d been afraid she’d find there–a thick, puffy diaper, with tapes and leak guards colored the light tan of the IPC logo, along with a pair of gold-striped wetness indicators running down its length.
Cheeks flushing, Topaz spoke to herself aloud. “So this is what Aventurine meant…”
There was no way around it. She couldn’t lose her job, and for that matter, she’d already signed the contract. So, though her face burned almost as red as the highlights in her hair, she began to undress, readying herself to take on the role of the IPC Smart Diaper Spokeswoman.
The top and stockings went on about as well as she’d expected, but the diaper proved far more simple than Topaz had assumed. Once she had it wrapped around her waist, the front lit up with a subtle glow, marking down places to stick the tapes. No fuss, no struggle, Topaz had herself securely taped into a snug, puffy diaper almost immediately, and as she stuck the final tape down, she heard her phone chime.
‘New device connected - syncing profile now.’
Topaz looked down at herself. There was no hiding her diaper, but then again, that was the point: You couldn’t photograph something hidden beneath a skirt. “You can do this,” she told herself, taking a breath and raising her chin up. She just had to get through the photo shoot…
And then, as her contract had stated, continue to be an enthusiastic brand ambassador for the IPC Smart Diaper indefinitely.
(Did it say I had to utilize the product?)
No use questioning it now, she could go over the details later. Taking a waddling step out of the changing room, she re-entered the photography studio at large, facing Oro.
When he saw her, his face lit up and he tossed his long, silky hair over his shoulder with a flourish. “Wonderful, darling, you look incredible! Now–it’s time to make the magic.”
Topaz kept a smile on her face and hid her mental cringing as she walked forward, towards the thoroughly lit backdrop. The diaper was thick enough that it pressed against her thighs with every step, adding a juvenile waddle to every step, as though she were a toddler still mastering the finer points of walking.
As she stepped in front of the camera, the rest of the studio disappeared, blocked out by blinding brilliance. Overpowering photography lights shone in her eyes, and she couldn’t see past without covering her face and squinting.
A production assistant came forward, pressing a pack of diapers into her hands, and her blush deepend as she read the description on the packaging, declaring the IPC Smart Diaper to be ‘Capable of handling accidents of any size!’ and boasting ‘Leak-proof intelligent wicking technology and notification sensors for total peace of mind, no matter your needs’.
Speaking from behind the void of lights, Oro Belleza announced, “Alright, and, let’s see that smile.”
Holding up the package, she faced the direction of the camera and gave her best corporate-friendly grin, the corners of her eyes crinkling up with imitation delight. She heard the cla-click of a camera shutter echo two or three times, capturing her and her outfit permanently on film.
“Excellent, darling,” Oro crooned. “Now–let’s see it with a thumbs up. Show us how confident you are, how safe you feel.”
Topaz exhaled, feeling slightly uncertain. “Safe?”
“Of course, you’re protected, you don’t need to worry about your accidents anymore,” Oro explained, speaking with a musical tone. “No more embarrassment, no more leaks–for the first time, you can be confident in your diapers.”
Topaz almost objected that she didn’t have accidents before this, but Oro was simply telling a story for the photograph. It was a narrative for her to embrace; a sales pitch.
So, though she couldn’t fight down the blush that burned hot on her face, she gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and grinned from ear to ear.
Cla-click. “Wonderful, wonderful. Now, spin around–let’s see how well it fits!”
And so it went. Oro may have been a master of photography, but his true art seemed to be in coming up with infinitely varied poses for Topaz to strike. She spun, bent over, raised her shirt to show the waistband’s flex-smart leak guards, spread her legs wide so that the camera could show off the wetness indicators, and even struck a few dynamic moves, feeling acutely silly as she spun and danced across the stage, showing off the range of motion that was possible.
All this had to be repeated as well, first taking away the package of diapers so she could pose empty handed, then giving her a single large diaper to hold up for emphasis. Through it all, Oro continued his Darlings and his praise, talking her through it, his words telling her the character he wanted her to portray: she liked how her diapers felt, she felt safe in them, she felt confident, she was proud to be wearing them.
“Alright, alright,” he finally declared, after cla-clicking his way through the second memory card. “Art. We’ve made it here.”
“So we’re done?” Topaz asked.
“Almost–but now, we have to capture the video, darling,” he all but sang. “Just be yourself–the version of yourself that knows she’s got nothing to fear so long as she’s in her IPC Smart Diaper, of course.”
Nodding, Topaz was about to ask what she was supposed to say, until she saw a PA step forward with a sign, holding it up for her to read.
“With my IPC Smart Diapers, I never have to worry about accidents slowing me down…”
Her blush had begun to fade, but referring to it out loud as her diaper brought the redness roaring back, shining bright on her face as she addressed the camera.
“Good, good–but more passion. Let’s hear the music in it!”
Taking a deep breath, she tried to push past her embarrassment and embody the role. (I’m just selling a product.)
“With my IPC Smart Diapers, I never have to worry about accidents slowing me down.”
“Yes, that’s it. Again–you’re confident, you’re safe, you’ve never had a diaper this protective!”
Puffing out her chest, she almost shouted with complete enthusiasm, “With my IPC Smart Diapers, I never have to worry about accidents slowing me down!”
“Yes!” Oro snapped his fingers, triumphant, but Topaz heard the way he fell quiet and thoughtful just a moment later. “But…no. It needs something. The story isn’t finished.”
Standing there, Topaz hesitated, uncertain what she wanted from her.
“We need to see that you’re really confident–that you trust your diapers to handle anything,” Oro mused. Snapping her fingers, he announced, “I’ve got it. Topaz–you need to show us.”
It took her a moment to catch his drift, and when she did, Topaz’s blush overtook her face, heat radiating off her more intensely than the stage lighting. Hoping she’d misunderstood, she asked, “Can you clarify what you mean?”
Triumphantly, Oro explained, “You say your diaper can handle any accidents–we need to see it.”
Fingers trembling, Topaz kept her smile in place, but internally, she felt her guts twist in shame. “Well–objectively speaking, would an accident even be visible? Surely these have enough capacity.”
“Oh, yes, yes–you don’t need to poop, of course, darling,” Oro explained, his tone contrasted by his shameless blunt explanation. “But I want to see those wetness indicators fade.”
(Okay. I–I can do this.) “Just give me a second,” she said, nodding, taking a breath, trying to get her body in check.
“We’re rolling–just go on your cue, darling.”
She had to pee, at least a little. The issue was not the physical need, but the emotional block, the mental barriers in place telling her that she shouldn’t just wet herself. Taking a few deep breaths, Topaz closed her eyes, finding her calm inner center.
(You’re just selling a product,) she reminded herself, but that didn’t help. Instead, she repeated the character she’d taken on, reminding herself of the narrative she wanted to portray. (I trust my diapers. I’m proud of them. This is what they’re for.)
Opening her eyes, she faced the camera, shook off the last of her reticence, and released her bladder with an effort of will.
Feeling hot pee flood suddenly into the thirsty padding distracted her for a moment, but she regained control quickly, forcing her smile to shine with even more enthusiasm. As a bright yellow stain spread down the front, turning the wetness indicators from tan to bright gold, she faced the camera, tossed her hair back, and declared, ““With my IPC Smart Diapers, I never have to worry about accidents slowing me down!”
She held her smile, even as her cheeks burned and her diaper continued to grow heavier from use, sagging slightly around her hips.
The room was utterly silent, save for a tiny chirp from her phone.
Finally, Oro spoke in a breathy whisper, as though in prayer. “Magic. Topaz, darling, you are a star.”
She blushed again, though less from her accident and more from a bashful reaction to the praise. Rubbing at the back of her neck, she asked, “Is that it?”
“Yes, yes–we’ll get this sent to the agency.” Oro’s excited demeanor had already returned, energy bubbling up. “If you ever wish to be a model full time–you have my number.”
“Right,” Topaz said, reaching to check her phone. “But the IPC has taken good care of me. I think I’m going to stick with…them.”
The notification gave her a moment of pause. ‘Diaper use detected: seventy-four percent capacity remains. No change required at this time.’
(It’s a smart diaper,) she reminded herself, returning the phone to its holster on her leg.
Before she could go fetch her clothing, another PA approached, handing her a small bottle no larger than a shot glass. “Here you go,” they said, face covered by an IPC-standard mask. “Diapers are being shipped to your apartment on the ecological starship.”
Taking the bottle, Topaz eyed it uncertainly. “What’s this?”
“The medicine you’re supposed to take,” the production assistant explained. “It’s a mix of targeted muscle relaxers and mild diuretics and laxatives, it will render your bladder and bowel control inert. It’s in the contract–we’ll be sending this to your apartment as well, for you to use until the product sales targets are hit.”
“Oh. I see…” Topaz said, embarrassment building in her as she looked at the small medicine bottle. “Are there any side effects?”
“Prolonged use can cause your control of those muscles to deteriorate, but it’s nothing you can’t get back with effort,” the assistant offered. After an awkward moment, they added, “I’ve been asked to confirm consumption of the medicine and compliance with your contract. If you don’t take it, you will have your quarterly bonuses revoked, and–”
“I understand,” Topaz said, popping the cap off with a finger and throwing back the medicine. It tasted of cherry blossoms, and went down in a single gulp.
“Very good. If there’s anything else you need, you can contact your supervisor–congratulations, you are officially the brand ambassador for IPC Smart Diapers.”
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I was recently commissioned to make a Honkai: Star Rail story!
...I don't play Honkai: Star Rail, but my amazing editor does, and she was able to help me out quite a bit. I'm really pleased with how this story turned out - there's a few more chapters on the way soon!
If you want to support my writing and get discounts on commissions of your own, I'd be super grateful for the support! My subscribers help keep the lights on and ensure I don't run out of diapers.
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Author's note: This story is heavily inspired by - though not taken directly from - a piece of art by @vluesclues. Go show them some love!
“Uh-huh? Mindy? Hi there! It’s Rebecca–Cody’s sister!”
I sat criss-cross applesauce on the ground, a smile plastered on my face as I fought through the thick layer of fog laying over my thoughts. Shifting from side to side, I could feel a little plastic rustle against my thighs, reminding me what I’d been dressed in.
(Mindy? I know that name…)
Rebecca stood above me, wearing a broad smirk and a crop-top that didn’t quite cover the bottom of her breasts. From my vantage point on the ground I could see up the shirt, and as I stared, a thin line of drool ran down the corner of my mouth.
“Remember what you always used to say, about why you made the big bucks babysitting?” Rebecca asked. She snickered a moment later and shook her head. “No, not that–I mean how you didn’t mind changing diapers. Yeah! Well–how would you like to make some really big bucks?”
I was inexplicably thirsty, but without anything to drink, my thumb found its way into my mouth and I began to suckle. I blushed, but drooling over my thumb washed away some of the thirst, and I couldn’t convince myself that I should stop.
“Yeah–you want to come over? I’ll explain it all, but trust me, I’ve got a sweet deal. Yeah, Cody’s doing okay! Don’t worry about him.” Giggling, she added, “I’ll text you the address. See you soon, Mindy!”
She hung up and turned, leering down at my pouting face. I wanted to be properly angry, but the most I could manage was sticking out my lower lip while I compulsively sucked on my thumb.
“You remember Mindy, don’t you?” Rebecca asked, crouching to get on my level. “Blonde, tall, dumped you right before prom?”
Whimpering, I nodded.
“Well–let’s see if she likes the new you any more than the old one, ‘big’ bro.” Snickering, Rebecca turned on her phone, queuing up–
(Ah, come on.)
A colorful video of dump trucks began to play, animated vehicles that rolled along while cheerful piano notes played along. Dancing numbers counted bouncy balls that hopped from truck to truck, and as soon as the show caught my gaze, I was fascinated.
Blue balls bounced in a red truck, and Rebecca propped her phone against the table, leaving me to watch with rapt attention. Now there were red balls and a purple truck, hopping back and forth–one, two, three, four, five balls!
As the truck reached the garbage dump, it dropped off the balls, and the song continued on a loop, with different colors, different shapes, and different numbers.
I couldn’t look away, and my focus remained on the colorful animation. Every time I tried to think about something else, a bouncy shape would fall into a new truck, and my brain would return to mentally cataloging the change. Even when I heard the front door open behind me, I couldn’t look up, I had to know what happened next–would they drop the shapes at the dump? Would they count all the way to ten?
My thumb had gone all pruney in my mouth when Rebecca answered the door, and I couldn’t see the exchange, I could hear it.
“Oh my god, is that Cody? What is he wearing?”
“It’s his favorite romper! Or, well–it’s the one I think he looks the most pathetic in. Not that he wouldn’t make anything look pathetic when he’s still in diapers.”
I looked down at my outfit, which was like if a onesie and a pair of booty shorts had a baby, and then that baby was dyed bright pink and pulled snugly over a bulging, puffy diaper whose silhouette stood out like a sore thumb. The zip was in the back where I couldn’t reach, not that I remembered how to change my own clothing if I’d tried.
“You dressed him in that?”
“You bet.”
“Gross! Did you have to touch your brother’s–”
“He’s just my stepbrother.”
“You totally did!”
“Only barely! And besides, he definitely liked it.”
“Gross!” Though the words implied disgust, Mindy’s giggle suggested she was more amused at the situation than anything else.
“Cody! Why don’t you tell Mindy what you’re watching?”
I spun on my butt and slipped my pruney thumb from my mouth, unable to keep the beaming smile off my face. “I’m watching dump trucks! I love dump trucks.”
Mindy’s gaze lowered to my bright pink romper, which was emblazoned with a cartoon truck on the front. There were words there too, but I hadn’t yet figured out what they said. More important were the button snaps around the crotch that covered up my puffy, bulging diaper. Taking a moment to drink in my outfit, Mindy said, “I can see that.”
“Cody,” my stepsister prompted. “Why don’t you show Mindy how you play ‘dump truck’?”
I knew this. (Hold on…)
Rebecca thought she had taken my potty training away, but that wasn’t true at all. I still remembered how to go! Nodding enthusiastically, I pushed up from my sitting position, balancing on the balls of my feet as I got up into a crouch. Balling my fists and shutting my eyes, I could only hear the tiniest part of my brain try to tell me that this wasn’t right as I showed off how I still had control–whatever she’d done, I still knew how to do this.
A little grunt escaped my lips as I pushed, leaning into my squatting position. Sunk so low, it wasn’t hard for me to begin to go, knees trembling slightly as I dumped everything out into the seat of my diaper, making the back of it crinkle and drop. Struggling to do my best, I kept going as long as my body would allow, grunting and pushing until my diaper sank around my hips, bulging and swollen.
“P-poopy,” I mumbled, compulsively announcing that I was done, proving I was…able. As I felt the muck squish between my thighs, though, I realized my mistake.
(Doesn’t going potty involve…a potty? Hold on–)
“What was that?” My stepsister taunted, prompting me to repeat it.
A blush crept in, the reality of the situation trying to reassert itself in my mind. I hadn’t gone potty at all, I’d just gotten up and– “I went poopy.” I confirmed, now a statement made up more of shame than pride.
“What did you do?” Rebecca prompted once more.
Dropping back, I sat into my mushy diaper. As the stink began to waft up from my accident, I realized there was no point pretending. If I tried to hide my accident, I’d just look petulant, so the best course of action was to loudly declare, “I went poopy in my diaper, big sis!”
My ex, Mindy, watching the whole show, kept her hand over her mouth to fight back giggles as she watched. “Oh my god–he really stinks. I know I said I don’t mind dirty diapers, but wow.”
“Tell me about it,” Rebecca snickered. My blush deepened, and a feeling of dread began to build as I realized where this was going.
“But–why did you want to show me all this?” Mindy asked. “Besides just schadenfreude, that is.”
“So, here’s the deal–I don’t feel like wasting all my time at some dumb nine to five, and Cody here is…well, first, a dirty little perv, and second, he’s pretty much set.” Twirling with her arms out, she gestured to the living room. “He has a friggin’ house, for fuck’s sake! Or, well–his name’s on the deed, anyways, I’ll moving into the master bedroom.”
“Hey, that’s–!” I began, but my attempt at invective shut off as I tried to remember what word I wanted to use next. Cow poop? No, it was… “H-hey, why can’t I use naughty words?”
“I decided he’d be a lot more useful like this,” Rebecca continued, utterly ignoring my comment. “He’s always been a perv, and as long as he’s like this, I know he won’t try jerking off thinking about me.”
“I don’t know, boys can be pretty gross,” Mindy mused. “And he seemed to really like playing ‘Dump Truck’, so…don’t trust that having a load in his shorts is going to stop a boy from trying to touch himself.”
“I know,” Rebecca insisted. “I just turned his little parts off–he can’t really use it for anything except dribbling in his diapers.”
“Wh-what?!” I yelped, sitting up straighter. I hadn’t realized she’d done that! “But–”
“Hush, grown-ups are talking,” my stepsister snapped. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve caught him jerking off to my pictures on Instagram. He’s a little creep, and I was done with it–that’s how it started, actually–I turned off his pee pee, and that made it so he started making pee-pees in his pants, and one thing led to another before I decided he’s just way funnier like this.”
“That’s not fair!” I complained, but that only elicited another giggle from Mindy.
“See? I told you–he’d totally still try to touch himself like this if you hadn’t.” Looking smug, Mindy added, “So how much can you do, anyway?”
“Oh, a girl’s got to keep a few secrets. But, anyway, I don’t want to sit around here playing babysitter all the time, and I am not cleaning him up when he’s like this.” Waving her hand in front of her nose for emphasis, she said, “So–want a job?”
Mindy considered it, but I could tell from her smirk that she’d already decided. “What do I have to do, exactly?”
“Oh, just come by a few times a day to change his diapers–they’re nice and thick, so you don’t need to stress about it that much. Say, morning and before bedtime?” Rebecca smirked down at me. “And if he gets too smelly in between, he can just play in his bedroom where it won’t bother me.”
“When’s bedtime?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“How much are we talking?”
“How about I cover your rent? And an extra five hundred bucks a week.”
Mindy chewed on her lip, thinking about it. “Can we move bedtime to seven-thirty? That way I can change him before any of the clubs really start bouncing.”
I whimpered, but Rebecca just nodded, pleased to restrict my freedom by a further hour every day. I wanted to object, so I opened my mouth, searching for the words. Both girls glanced at me while I gaped, and after a pathetic beat where I couldn’t think of anything to say, my thumb found its way into my mouth.
“Alright.” Glancing around, Mindy asked, “So this is his place?”
“Well–my place. He just gets a crib in the guest room.”
“What’s the rule on parties?” Mindy inquired, spinning slowly as she inspected the living room. “It’s pretty nice here–way more space than my apartment. If I could just put him down for the night and then have the place to myself, that’d be pretty sweet.”
“Oh, sure. Fortunately, the tyke still knows how to do chores, so we can just have him clean up in the morning too.” Snickering, she added, “I mean, he doesn’t remember how to clean up his stinky diapers, but that’s okay–it’s why you’re here!”
“This is great, Rebecca,” Mindy confirmed, grinning as she stepped up to me, pinching her nose and smirking down at my whimpering face. “You said his dick doesn’t work anymore?”
“Mhmm,” Rebecca replied. “And I put parental controls on his phone, so even if he wanted to try scrolling through my swimsuit pictures to frustrate himself, he’s only allowed cartoons, and shape puzzles, and The Wiggles.”
“Such an improvement,” Mindy agreed. “Honestly–after last time I tried touching him down there, changing his diaper will be less gross. You know he came to a date with jizz stains in his boxers?”
“That just goes to show, little boys need someone smarter than them in charge so they don’t have little accidents.” Rebecca snickered, covering her hand with his mouth.
“This is awesome,” Mindy said, as she reached for her purse. “But, for now, I’m gonna head out–I’ve got a date. See you later?”
Frowning, I sat up slightly, making a noise of objection as I felt my diaper squelch beneath me. “Huh? But…”
“Before bedtime, right? That’s still ages away,” Mindy announced, rolling her eyes. “I don’t mind dirty diapers, that doesn’t mean I’m changing more than I have to! I’ll see you two later–buh bye!”
The End
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If you enjoyed this short story, you might like some of my other work! I've got more smutty shorts, plus some long stories that take themselves far too seriously!
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Chapter 20
“Gross, gross, gross, this will never not be gross,” Daniel mumbled to himself, avoiding eye contact with his blushing visage in the enchanted window.
One week into his education at Alphabeta, and he’d settled into a bit of a routine, but this part of his day would never feel normal. He’d found ways to keep his diaper use to a minimum, peeing in the shower whenever possible, but there were certain things he couldn’t get around.
So, as part of his morning rituals, he would squat down in the corner of his room, think up something distracting to take his mind off things, and fill up his school-mandated diaper.
The sensation of muck spreading in his padded underwear as the seat bulged out never made him feel anything other than humiliated, and though he could strip out of it almost instantly and wipe up in a matter of minutes, he refused to let this become ‘normal’. If pooping his pants became normal, Rachel would win, and Daniel would never in a million years let Rachel win.
After an utterly degrading wiping session, he made his way to the prefect’s bathrooms, using the accessible one at the end of the line–a private stall that stood separate from the rest of the showers. Nobody else needed it this year, so it’d been reserved for his shower use. In a reasonable world, he’d get to use the toilet there as well, but he’d already accepted that his padding was intended to force him out of the school, and so any attempt at reasonability would be met with total refusal.
Besides–he was getting what he came here for.
An education.
It was slow, but it was steady. In a week, he’d gained a grasp of the fundamentals in a way he’d never experienced before, and as he practiced with Jen and worked with his coven, he found his experience levels multiplying.
If he’d continued to hit roadblocks and failed to learn anything, maybe it would have gotten to him, but as it was? He had a long skirt, a practiced walk to hide the waddle, and the most humiliating parts of his tribulation remained concealed within his bedroom. Rachel had nothing on him that he couldn’t push past.
Coven lessons had become a highlight of his day. They were still working through fundamentals, giving everyone the familiarity and experience needed to communicate thoughts back and forth while spellcasting, but whenever he got to be the Mind, he thrilled at the power. It was a taste of what was in his grasp: the control and power of a Warlock. They weren’t there to just indulge his fantasies, but he could imagine himself as the foci of a Coven of Eight, leading his own group, mastering the power and becoming high Warlock–
“Daniel?” Mathilde interrupted, snapping him out of his daydream.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, blinking a couple times. “Can you repeat that?”
“For the group project,” she repeated. “We need to do a demonstration on Monday. What role do you want to take?”
(Mind,) he thought instantly, but out loud he just said, “I’m happy to take any position, whatever is best for the group.” He didn’t want his ego to be that obvious.
“Familiar it is,” Asami announced. “This should be super easy, we will just be doing a couple basic spells in the general magic groups, but if we want to get in a practice session over the weekend, I can reserve us a classroom.”
“Are we doing the extra voxavin practice?” Hazel asked.
Radha tilted her head. “Well, are we going to try out as a competitive team, or just do the mandatory P.E.?”
“I’m good with us trying out,” Cassie said. “It sounded like a big deal.”
“Glinse always makes it sound like a big deal,” Mathilde snickered. “Funny how the class she teaches is the most important one.”
“We’re mostly second and first years, it’s pretty rare for a group like us to make it through tryouts,” Asami added quickly. “Just so nobody gets their hopes up.”
“Daniel?” Cassie asked, glancing at him. “What do you think?”
He shrugged again. He wasn’t trying to be an athlete, but his telekinetic control had been improving a lot, and this could be an opportunity to hone that further. “Let’s go for it. Worst case scenario, I’m not going to be too worried if we don’t get picked, but I wouldn’t mind trying.”
“Great.” Collecting a few papers, Asami said, “I’ll get that classroom, and we can do the extra practice right after, if that doesn’t cause an issue for anyone.”
“Oh, well, I was going to go to a big party with my extensive social circle,” Daniel snarked, shaking his head. “But it turns out, the only people who don’t hate me here are you all and Jen, so…yeah, I think I can swing that.”
It wasn’t exactly true. His reputation hadn’t exactly improved, but it’d been blunted as the week went on. There hadn’t been any more humiliating shows, and the rumor mill–with a little guidance via Radha’s motor mouth–had nudged popular opinion towards ‘Rachel is a diaper-obsessed prick’ rather than ‘Daniel is a weird diaper boy’. He wasn’t popular, and there were still circles of bullies and mean girls he had to avoid, but the giggles in the hall had waned.
Class began to dismiss, and the coven left their cubby, dispersing as they got ready for their respective classes. Daniel would need to find Jen so they could be potion partners together, but for now he lingered, holding back as the other students filed out, until he had a bit of privacy with Professor Blackburn.
She spotted him lingering and gave a significant glance, though her attention was focused on a notebook in her hands. Waiting until it seemed like she was at a stopping point, Daniel said, “Do you have a moment?”
“How can I help you?” she asked, an eyebrow quirking up at him.
“I was trying to do some research, but I’m getting stymied by the limits on what books are available to me,” Daniel explained. “I was wondering if I could get you to sign off on a pass to get me restricted section access.”
She gave him a long, level look, thoughts moving efficiently behind her gaze. “Your performance has been adequate, Mr. Aster, but not exceptional. I have no issue with ambition, but perhaps you should be focusing your efforts on your assigned work before doing additional studying.”
“Alright,” Daniel said, sticking out his chin. “Give me a grade to aim for.”
That got her attention, and Blackburn finally seemed to give Daniel her full attention. “Excuse me?”
“If you won’t give me the pass because I’m not performing well enough, how well do I need to perform? Give me a target, and once I hit it, give me the pass.” He smiled, feeling confident in his gambit.
Blackburn smirked, and his confidence waned. “You don’t lack bravado, do you?”
He shook his head. “I know what I want, and I’m willing to work to get it.”
She nodded, looking thoughtfully down at him. “Tell me what books you want, I’ll have them set aside for you,” she replied.
That wasn’t what Daniel wanted, but he’d expected this. “I want to know as much as I can about the history and founding of Alphabeta.”
Once again, she gave him a curious look, and Daniel found himself feeling a bit intimidated. Just by being thoughtful, Blackburn was more threatening than any of Coach Glinse’s angriest rants. “Why is that?”
“I got in on a technicality,” Daniel admitted, letting the prepared lie do the work for him. “But…it’s obvious that the Dean wants me gone. She’s letting Glinse treat me like crap, and turning a blind eye to Rachel’s idea of ‘discipline’. I want to know if there’s any precedent for male students, anything I can use to defend myself if they start conspiring to have me expelled when their whipping boy routine doesn’t force me out.”
Glinse leaned back against her desk and set down the notebook she’d been studying, tilting her head as she looked at Daniel. She seemed about to speak, but Daniel interrupted before she could.
“You’ve been fair to me, you’ve only expected that I do as well as anyone else, and that’s all I want. Fairness. A chance to learn. I don’t want special treatment, or extra lessons, or for you to stick your neck out and go to bat against Madrigal.” He inhaled, chest swelling with self-assuredness. “Just give me information, and I’ll do the rest.”
Rubbing at her chin, Glinse nodded. “History books about the school. I’ll see what’s available.”
Smiling, Daniel nodded. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t as good as a free pass to wander the restricted section, but it might tell him what the school was built on, and what dangers were pressing down on the academy that he could prevent.
He turned to leave, but Professor Blackburn cleared her throat. “One more thing, Mr. Aster.”
Daniel turned in the doorway, frowning. “What?”
“I said your performance has been adequate, which is true, but I shouldn’t leave it unsaid. Your improvement within your coven has been exceptional. Keep it up.” The compliment was delivered flatly, and she turned her attention back to the notebook after delivering it, but if anything that made it feel more impactful. She wasn’t trying to butter up his ego, it was just a statement of fact.
Pride stroked, Daniel found himself strutting down the hall towards potion lessons. Jen was waiting for him outside, and her eyes lit up when she saw him.
“You’re looking happy,” she commented. Her glasses had been broken again, with new spell-o-tape wrapped around the center support. “Coven class went well?”
“I’m getting some books from the restricted section,” he replied. “Professor Blackburn signed off on it.”
“Nice!”
“She also said that I was learning very quickly.” Blushing, Daniel rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thanks for that. Your extra help has been invaluable.”
Jen beamed, eyes almost closed as she radiated joy. “I’m really glad to hear that.” Leaning in conspiratorially, she added, “Did you hear what Candice was saying about Rachel?”
“No,” Daniel said, flowing smoothly with the subject change. Jen had a habit of changing focus on a dime, and he’d learned to keep pace with her so he didn’t drown in the topics flowing past. “She’s not in my coven, you hear a lot more from her than I do.”
“There’s a rumor going around that Rachel wears diapers, and she’s making you wear them as a distraction so nobody notices hers.” Jen giggled. “Someone tried to pull her skirt down in a voxavin game–they claimed it was just a misguided spell, but everyone was trying to get proof.”
Daniel whistled. He hadn’t started that lie, but rumors had a habit of growing out of control, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of vindictive joy at the comeuppance. “Sounds like she’s getting what she deserves.”
“Mhmm,” Jen said. “I bet if you hid a diaper in her purse, she’d go ballistic.”
Daniel thought about it, but ultimately shook his head. Rachel would know it was him–he was the only one with diapers in the school–and that was just asking for revenge. “Better not poke the bear,” he said. “Rachel going ballistic means going ballistic at me, after all.”
“Point. Shall we?”
“I think we shall.”
They entered potion class, gossiping like fiends until it came time to start brewing.
When they were done, Daniel was chosen–probably not at random, Professor Saito had chided them twice for giggling during lessons and causing a disruption–to rinse out the cauldrons before taking his free period. Gloves and safety glasses donned, he stayed behind as the class filed out, ensuring nothing caustic remained in their brewing stations that would damage the school equipment.
It didn’t occur to Daniel that this would result in him being left alone, until he heard the classroom door click shut. Even then, he didn’t quite yet recognize the danger until he turned to see who had walked in.
“Hey, Spark,” Rachel announced, glowering with fury. “We need to talk.”
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Chapter Five - Making a List
Melody felt a shock run through her as the suggestion left her mouth. Quickly, before Skip could respond, she added, “I mean, I think it would be good for the–you know. Our last chapter, the one where I showed you how the knots work, it was the best one we’ve done so far.”
She wasn’t quite clear on why she felt so defensive. It wasn’t as though she’d ever been bashful about sex, and this wasn’t even about sex, it was just about a demonstration of knots and restraints. And yet, even with that in mind, Melody was blushing.
She was blushing.
It was a godsend that Skip didn’t acknowledge the pinkness rising in her cheeks. “Oh, sure–I mean, we’d kind of already talked about that, hadn’t we?”
Melody’s heart rate settled, though confusion still kept her from relaxing completely. “Did we?”
“You wanted to take placeholder photos,” Skip pointed out. “And like…you can’t tie yourself up, so how else would we do that?”
“Oh! Right.” Melody nodded, relieved that the faux pas had passed. “Well, this would be a bit more than that. I would want to give you sort of…the ‘full experience’, so you can get the feelings down on paper as precisely as possible.”
Skip rubbed at their cheek, thinking for a moment. “Are you okay with that?”
“Yeah,” Melody assured them. “I just didn’t want you to feel weird about it, you know? I’m obviously not proposing anything sexual, but it is sex-adjacent. I’m obviously fine, I’m just confirming that you are.”
“I’m cool with it,” Skip replied immediately. “I mean, obviously depending on what the details are, but in a general sense? Absolutely.”
Sitting up, Melody swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat upright, walking to her closet. “I think we should start with a sort of suite of the basics–I have a bunch of restraints, and then there’s a million things we can do with rope. Do you want to make a list, and we’ll start just knocking them out one at a time?”
Skip produced their phone, nodding along. “Sure–I’ll make a list. Are we going to be documenting how to do all this safely? Focusing on how it feels?”
“Both,” Melody said, pulling out a plastic bin full of toys and scanning the contents. “Some of this is safer than others, like…it’s possible to use a pair of fuzzy handcuffs unsafely, but that’s really hard to do, while you can cut off blood flow with rope if you’re careless.”
“Gotcha,” Skip said. “I’ll add ‘tips and tricks’ to the list, too. How are we categorizing all this? Difficulty? Type?”
Melody glanced over her shoulder, standing in the closet doorway. “What do you mean?”
“I’m just making assumptions here, but it seems like there would be easy rope bondage, and hard rope bondage, and easy restraints and hard restraints. Do we want to group together different restraints by how hard they are to do, or by what materials you’re using?”
Melody tapped a finger on her lip, chewing on the question for a moment. “Both? We should have sections by type, because that tends to be a preference thing. Rope people really like rope, but some people just don’t want to mess with it. But we can tag stuff by difficulty.”
Smirking, Skip suggested, “What if we used rock climbing ratings? Scale from one to ten, with decimals and plus signs and stuff.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Melody looked back at them. “When did you ever go rock climbing?”
Skip shrugged, smile falling away. “It’s just an idea.”
“I think that works. We can workshop if and see if there’s a better fit, too,” Melody decided, looking into her closet. “Okay, so, rope–lots of rope stuff. For physical restraints, there’s cuffs, which kind of get used for everything. Collars, you can also do restraints around the waist or body. Gags are a big thing, and I’ve got a spreader bar, but besides that it’s mostly just about how you combine different elements. Handcuffs clipped to a bed are way different from handcuffs clipped to each other, or to a collar, or to your ankles. Add a hard point, and you’ve got even more variables.”
“Slow down,” Skip interjected, thumbs blurring as they took notes on their phone. “Let’s make a list first. Physical restraints–what do you have on hand, and is there anything you don’t have that we should at least mention?”
“Puh-lease.” Melody rolled her eyes, shooting them a cocky grin. “I have everything.”
Skip looked around the room and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see a St. Andrew’s Cross in here anywhere.”
“Everything that fits into my room,” Melody clarified, rolling her eyes. “If you want me to tie you to a cross, we can go to a club.”
“Okay, but that’s a good point–toy use at clubs! We could have a whole chapter on that. Club etiquette, how to find them, all that.”
Melody pursed her lips, falling quiet for a moment. “Yeah…that might be beyond the scope. I don’t want to spread out too much. This is a book for beginners and home hobbyists. Besides–clubs all have their own rules, so we’d never be able to make a comprehensive list of every possible thing you might encounter, if people want to go to a club they should just ask the club.”
“Alright,” Skip said, reading their note aloud as they made it. “Keep…it…in…the…bedroom.”
Scanning all the available toys in their closet, Melody again hesitated. “Okay, I’m just going to veto testing out impact play. I don’t think you’ll be interested in that, so I’m not going to ask.” Moving on, she looked down to her other toys, thinking–
“Hold up.”
Melody stepped out of her closet, turning to fully face Skip. “What?”
“Who says I won’t do impact toys?” Skip gave her an acute stare, challenging Melody to try and argue.
“Spankings–any impact play, really, it hurts. You wouldn’t enjoy it.” Melody shook her head. If Skip lacked a sex drive, they wouldn’t have any positive side effects to a sexy spanking. “And–”
“And I’d tie myself up just for fun? I do things I don’t like all the time, Melody.” Skip shrugged. “My day job isn’t something I enjoy, but I do it because it pays the bills. I’m doing things that aren’t ‘fun’ one way or another, so if I’m going to pick, I’d rather do something that’s at least creatively fulfilling.”
Melody looked back into her closet, then returned her gaze to Skip. “I’m not sure that’s a great attitude.”
Skip wobbled a hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “Botanists probably don’t love sweating buckets in the rainforest, but they put up with it because they enjoy the research.”
“So, to you, sex is like an exotic fern?”
“More like one of those plants that’s interesting to look at but smells kinda gross.”
Melody snorted at the mental image that conjured. “Okay. You’re sure?”
“I never thought you’d be the one to question my sexuality,” Skip said, deadpan.
Shaking her head, Melody began to clarify. “I’m asking if you’re sure about trying a spanking.”
Skip rolled their eyes, unphased. “I’m messing with you–and I’m sure that I’m willing to try it. If you’ve got a stronger arm than I expected, I can back out then.”
The corner of Melody’s mouth turned up at the challenge. “Oh, trust me–it’s not a question of if I can make someone Red. I pull my punches.”
“If you say so,” Skip decided.
“If we’re doing impact toys, are we doing other pain stuff?” Melody asked. “I’ve got E-stim and clamps. I don’t really like needle play, so I don’t have anything for that.”
Skip continued to tap away at their notes. “Adding that to the list. Do you have a kneeling board?”
Melody found herself getting annoyed again. “Can I get through my list, please?”
“Okay, it just seemed like it would fit on the ‘pain toys’ list. Also, am I going to use any of this stuff on you? I need to write it both ways–how to take it, how to get it.”
Rolling her eyes, Melody said, “I’m not a sub.”
“Neither am I, I just need to be able to write about it.”
“Right. We’ll figure something out for that.”
Facing her closet, Melody was about to move on, when another question cut through her focus.
“Do we want to get Grace to help?”
“Why would we–” Melody began, but she got it pretty quickly. “Oh. You’re thinking about adding a chapter on diaper kink stuff?”
“Diaper kink and adult baby stuff. You don’t do that, do you?”
Melody shrugged. “I’ve been in a few scenes with that kind of play, but it’s never been my focus. The ba-ba goo-goo crap isn’t a turn on, if I wanted to babysit a dude I’d just start dating him full time.” Returning her tub of toys to its home, she added, “We’re never going to get to cover every single kink in the world.”
“No, but we’ve got…not an expert, but at least someone familiar with the interests,” Skip pointed out. “It could be worth exploring.”
Melody shook her head. “That sounds like we’d have too many cooks. I want this to just be written by us.”
“Cool.”
The response felt a little flat, and Melody turned her attention back on Skip. “Do you disagree?”
“Not about it just being us, I think that’s smart,” Skip said, eyes on their notes.
“So…you want to do baby goo-goo stuff?” Melody snorted, amused by the idea.
Skip looked up. “Is that what I said?”
Melody shook her head. “No, but…okay, I’ll just bite. What’s your point?”
“Well–forget the diapers for a minute. Pearce bought a bunch of stuff for Grace that sounds exactly like the stuff you have, just…‘goo-goo’. Is there a difference?” Skip asked. “I’m asking you to tell me here, because I don’t have a clue. If you’re gagged with a pacifier, that seems like it’s the same thing as being gagged with a rubber ball, or a dog bone, or whatever. Either way, my mouth is open and I can’t talk.”
Nodding a couple times, Melody thought it over. “Okay, I get it. You’re talking about the difference between the physical sensations and the headspace.”
“Maybe. What is the difference?”
“Well, let’s compare being handcuffed. The experience of having cuffs on you in the back of a police car is going to be way different than being handcuffed by your paramore, because you’ll be thinking about it differently.” Discarding the search of her closet for a moment, she continued, “Really, the headspace is more important than the implements a lot of the time. The point is not that you’re actually restrained, it’s that you feel restrained. And so a different gag might accomplish the same physical result, but it’s going to make you feel differently, because Grace will feel like a baby if you make her suck on a pacifier, but she won’t feel like a baby if it’s a dog toy.”
Setting aside their phone for a moment, Skip crossed their arms over their chest. “So…hold on. I thought the point was the feeling? You want to feel like you’re tied up.”
“No, no.” Melody shook her head. “You want to feel like you’re helpless. Or…well, there’s lots of ways you might want to feel, but that’s a big one. It’s a power exchange, not just a chance to feel what it’s like to have rope on your skin.”
Skip looked past Melody at the closet for a moment. “I guess I just don’t get it.”
“I can show you,” Melody confirmed. “That’s why we’re doing examples, right? Rope, cuffs, and we can add headspace stuff to the list.”
“How would you demonstrate a mental state?” Skip asked skeptically, tilting their head.
Melody didn’t need to think about an answer. “I actually have something for that, but I’ll need to prep a couple things. Want to plan for a little scene once you get back from work?”
“Sure,” Skip said, shrugging. “What are you thinking?”
“It’s simple,” Melody said, smiling as she considered the options. “I just need one thing from you.”
...
I swear there's going to be AB/DL content sooner or later - it's a slow burn on this one!
-Penn
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Chapter 19
Daniel grumbled as he knelt, hunched over on all fours, scrubbing the brush against loose mana.
Glinse had made a small concession to practicality, though not to Daniel’s face. When he had arrived for his punishment, he found a bucket and a full sized scrubbing brush rather than the toothbrush he’d been threatened with.
Still, given the sheer amount of space he was expected to clean, he expected he’d be there all night. The courts were all wide and spacious, and all were splattered with the aftereffects of dueling practice by dozens of covens.
(Just one year of this,) he reminded himself, as he lifted the brush, dipping it into the bucket. In water, the mana dissolved away, vanishing completely from the brush. A small mercy, since it meant he wouldn’t need to refresh the cleaning water every couple minutes. (One year, then you can get into a proper warlock school.)
Thinking about how harrowing his first two days had been, it felt like a struggle to imagine himself lasting nine more months.
“Heya!” Jen’s voice cut across the gymnasium, echoing in the empty, unpopulated space.
Glancing over his shoulder, Daniel compulsively pulled down at the back of his skirt, worried that his prone position might make the fabric ride up too high and expose his diaper. Jen jogged across the courtyard, keeping one hand on her hat so it wouldn’t blow away while she hurried to him.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Daniel looked up at Jen and sighed. “Hey. I’m not sure if I have time to practice today–I’ve got to finish this by tonight.”
She paused, glancing out at the expanse of unfinished scrubbing. “Well…I mean, this is going to take hours, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Daniel groaned. “And my arms are already getting sore.”
“So what’s the harm in a fifteen minute break?” Jen asked, smiling pleasantly.
Daniel couldn’t argue with that logic, or any logic that would let him procrastinate for a while. Dropping the brush into the bucket, he stood, stretching out his back. “Okay. So what’s the plan?”
“I think it’s easier to show this kind of magic than to tell it,” Jen explained. “Especially if it’s kind of unintuitive for you. So…I’m going to show you.”
“I don’t get how a demonstration will hel–” Daniel started, but his words cut off suddenly as Jen slipped her hand into his, squeezing tightly.
“Not a demonstration,” she corrected. “C’mon, Daniel, sit down.”
He felt like a dork for being caught off guard by simple hand-holding, but it took an effort not to blush as he sat cross legged on the floor, facing Jen. She mirrored his posture, reaching into her robes to produce her wand.
“It’s like with your coven,” she said, shifting slightly to get comfortable. “I want to just…reach out a bit. We won’t be able to make the same sort of mental bond without a full pentagram, but you should be able to kind of get a magical sense of what I’m doing, y’know?”
“Oh, yeah,” Daniel said, his brain finally catching up to what Jen wanted. Producing his own stubby wand, he held it in his left hand while squeezing her right. “I can do that.”
Closing his eyes, he extended his mental awareness through their touch, finding Jen’s mind on the edge of his own, in tandem with her fingers intertwined with his.
“Can you see the world around us?” Jen asked, and he felt her presence blink, somehow coming off as a mental rendition of a stutter that matched with her stumbling over her words. “I–eh–with your eyes closed, I mean. I know you can see it with your eyes open.”
“If I really concentrate,” Daniel replied. “I wouldn’t be confident wandering around blind, but it’s like a sort of ghost image?”
“Hmm?”
“Like when you stare at a lightbulb then look away,” he clarified. “If I know something is there, I can kind of…know where it is with my eyes shut, too.”
“I’m not talking about the physical space,” she clarified. “More, the magical energy flowing through things.”
“Oh, eh…” he said, trying a little harder to concentrate. Jen’s hand was warm, and he felt acutely aware of how he’d begun to suddenly sweat as they touched one another. “Sort of?”
“It takes practice, it’s kind of like trying to see what’s in a magic eye picture,” Jen explained. “Just…follow my lead.”
He wasn’t sure how to ‘follow her lead’ when he was sitting quietly with his eyes closed, but he nodded anyway, not wanting to seem difficult.
As he wondered what exactly he was supposed to do, he felt a tingling sensation in his mind, like light sparkling into existence. Furrowing his brow, he concentrated on it, trying to follow the light.
“You see that?” Jen asked. “Or–not ‘see’, but–”
“I see it,” Daniel replied, bobbing his head in agreement. “It’s super faint, but I see it.”
“I’m kind of highlighting it, so you can pick it up easier,” Jen explained. “But that’s the scrub brush.”
Daniel nodded, reaching out to brush his senses against the brush. Now that she’d pointed it out, he could feel it more clearly, outlined in his mind.
“Everything has energy running through it,” Jen explained. “We just sort of…I guess we make those bonds stronger, and then use them to control stuff. When you’re linked with your coven, it’s because you’ve all bonded your minds through the energy that’s connecting you, and when you connect with an object, you can move it around, because you magically connect yourself and become sort of…one big thing.”
“I know everything’s connected,” Daniel objected. “That’s really basic. It’s just hard to see.”
“I wasn’t saying you didn’t know,” Jen replied, her grip loosening on his hand a little. “I’m just kind of going over everything I can think of that’s relevant, ok?”
“Okay.” He shut his eyes a little tighter, trying to extend his mental senses further. With effort, he could just barely detect the threads of power connecting the brush to Jen, and Jen to himself. “Why’s it so faint?”
“It’s not,” Jen said. “Not to me, but everyone has different levels of like…awareness, I guess?”
“Well, if I can’t see the power, how am I supposed to control it?” Daniel grumbled.
The connection between them severed, and Jen sat back. Daniel blinked a few times, recentering himself, noticing her frown before anything else.
“I’m just trying to help, there’s no need to carcinize on me,” she said, immediately adding, “Because–carcinization is when things turn into crabs. Uh, and I don’t mean like with a spell, it’s an evolution thing, marine crustaceans have a tendency–”
“I get it,” Daniel said, shaking his head apologetically, one hand still laced with hers. “I’m sorry for being crabby.”
“It might be…” Jen began, tapping a finger to her lip. “So, you know how some people don’t distinguish colors as well as others?”
“I guess,” he replied. “Like, you might look at two blue shirts and say that one is Cobalt and the other is Turquoise.”
“Turquoise is like…green. There’s no way you’d mix those up.”
“I don’t know names of colors, I was just making a point,” Daniel clarified. “Is that what you’re talking about?”
Jen nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! And it’s a learned skill–you can get better at it, but if you never practice, you’re basically, like, half-colorblind.”
“Is that actual science?” he asked, frowning. “Not focusing on colors makes you colorblind?”
“I…don’t know, but it’s a metaphor.”
“You mean an analogy?”
“I dunno, does it matter?” Jen asked, before answering her own question. “You get my point, so, yeah. I think you might just need to practice on seeing the difference more,” Jen explained. “Here…let’s connect again, and I’ll try to show you more, okay?”
Nodding, Daniel tightened his grip on her hands and closed his eyes.
Again, they linked, and as their minds grew closer, the spectral lines of power radiating from the brush grew more intense.
So did everything else.
He noticed every bit of sensation coming from his body–the tingle of his skin on hers, the slight chill and warmth that came from working hard in an air conditioned room, the chafing that’d built up around his diaper’s leg guards–but it was more than that. He could feel Jen’s sensations as well, a slight pressure on the bridge of her nose from her oft-repaired glasses, a little sweat built up beneath her breasts, a point of pain on the inside of her cheek where she’d bitten down on it. He could feel her, completely.
The connection was more intimate than he’d expected, and as the mental embrace rolled through his mind, Daniel felt his body react.
Pulling his hand back sharply, he disconnected their thoughts before Jen could recognize what he was feeling. She wouldn’t be able to see the growing bulge below his skirt and beneath a layer of diaper, not if she hadn’t felt it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, jolted by the sudden break.
“I–” Daniel started, hurrying to think up an excuse. A random erection wasn’t that unusual, but until now, the general weirdness of the situation and his below-the-skirt apparel had kept that at bay, and he really didn’t feel like unpacking or explaining any of that at the moment. “It was just a lot of sensation, and…it felt kind of like an invasion of privacy? I could feel…uh…you.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jen said, nodding as she got it. “You probably haven’t done this much before, have you?”
“Not really,” Daniel admitted. “There was coven practice this morning, which wasn’t even really the same, and then, uh…this.”
“Well, don’t worry about it,” Jen promised. “It’s just kinda how it goes. I’ve practiced this with my mom plenty of times, you get used to it and it stops feeling weird before long.”
“Okay, but–”
“Do you want to learn this or not?” she asked, raising a curious eyebrow. “I’m happy to keep helping, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Taking a breath, Daniel exhaled and shook his head, trying to think boring thoughts. The awkwardness had already helped kill most of the surprise boner, and he wanted to keep it that way, no matter what assurances Jen gave about it ‘not feeling weird’.
She offered her hand, and after a hesitant moment, Daniel reached out and took it.
Their minds met once more, sensations passing between the magical connection between them. It felt physically intimate, in a way Daniel had trouble putting into coherent thoughts. He didn’t have much experience with traditional physical contact, so adding in the extra layers of the magical connection only made it feel more alien to him, more difficult to come to grips with.
“Just follow what I focus on,” Jen said, and through her senses, he saw the world.
Magic spread out from them, spiderwebbing across the whole gymnasium like neurons. Some objects collected power, others had the magic wash over them like stones on the beach, present but not the subject of focus. He could see the way that energy puddled in the stains of yet-to-be-cleaned mana, magic lingering in the enchanted goo, and he could see how to reach out and touch it with his mind.
Extending his senses, Daniel used his magic and his wand to take the brush from off the ground. He whispered the words necessary for the spell, and at his command, it began to hover.
Smooth.
Stable.
No wobble, no struggle to keep it in place, the brush floated in place where he wanted it.
“You’ve got it!” Jen exclaimed, and he could feel her grin spreading across her face as she said it, excitement surging through her in sympathetic glee.
Giddy, Daniel whipped out his wand, sending the brush flying across the ground. The spell wasn’t perfect, he’d miscalculated how far it would go, but though there was more power than intended, the brush still moved along the vector he’d sent it, skimming over the smooth linoleum flooring. He laughed, his own triumph coursing through him, creating a feedback loop as his emotional high met Jen’s.
“I can do this!” he exclaimed, only realizing after he’d said it what a weight that was off his shoulders. Stress and fear over inadequacy, anxiety that he wouldn’t be able to get into Warlock school, it was all melting away as he found that he could control his magic with the precision and accuracy he always knew he was capable of.
“Awesome! Now do it without the training wheels,” Jen suggested, pulling back her mental link.
The lines of power faded, and Daniel’s vision went with it. The brush clattered to the floor as he struggled to maintain the link, and as quickly as it had gone, the fear built itself back up, replacing the connection he’d built with Jen.
Had he even been doing the magic, or was he just riding Jen’s coattails?
A second try proved even worse, the brush was dozens of feet away and once he’d lost it, he couldn’t find it again.
Slumping back, he opened his eyes and shook his head, pulling his hand away. “I can’t do this.”
“You can,” Jen promised. “You just did.”
Trembling, Daniel shoved himself to his feet. “I can’t, and I didn’t. You did.”
“I just showed you where to look,” Jen said, rising to meet him. “Daniel, all the magic? That was you. You just need to get better about tracing power, that’s all, then you’ll be able to keep up!”
“Keep up?” Daniel asked, throwing up his hands. “Jen, I’m a warlock. I’m supposed to be able to do this better, on my own. Not barely keeping up, even while I’ve got people behind me.”
Jen frowned, disappointment building behind her glasses. “But…it’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?”
He wanted to turn, to storm away, but the room still needed him to clean it up, and telling Jen to leave him alone didn’t feel right. “A step. A tiny one.”
“Well…” stepping forward, Jen laced her fingers with his, and he felt the mental offer as she said, “Nobody ever ran a marathon in a day.”
“That’s not how marathons–” Daniel shook off the thought. He accepted the mental prodding, opening his senses to hers, and as the world lit up once more, he also felt her soft reassuring presence.
“You can do this, Danny,” she said, and their connection betrayed no intended insult–she’d called him Danny because it felt natural, and because she’d forgotten he didn’t like it, nothing more. “I know you can. And if you need someone to help you practice, I can do that!”
He couldn’t help but smile, her infectious positivity leaking into his thoughts. Feeling the scrubbing brush a few meters away, he flicked his wand and picked it up, this time dragging it across the floor back his way, cleaning up a bit of spilled mana as he did.
“Okay, how’s this for practice?” he asked. “I have this whole gym to clean, but moving the brush around with magic should be a lot faster–can you stick with me while I do that?”
Squeezing his hand, Jen nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll just be right here, but you’ve got this. I have confidence in you.”
Daniel wasn’t sure he believed in that confidence, but Jen did, and when she said it, he felt that it was true. He could control his magic, he could build the skills he needed, he could prove himself.
He was going to be a warlock.
...
After only 19 chapters, Danny has finally caught a break!
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Chapter 18
Daniel felt a bit sheepish as he sat at the border of his coven’s circle, the girls talking quietly about him while the rest of the class ran dueling drills.
“So you’ve been casting telekinetic spells like this the whole time?” Asami asked, eyes wide as she marveled at it. “Just…sort of shoving things around?”
“Yes,” Daniel grumbled. “Because how are you going to move things without pushing them?”
“Well, it’s–your mom graduated top of her class, didn’t she?”
“Third,” Daniel corrected. “Third in her class, not top. She’s not like a prodigy or anything.”
“But your name on the application still got you in the door,” Hazel pointed out. “So–she was pretty damned good.”
“My point being,” Asami cut back in, “didn’t she teach you how to do this?”
“She helped on my homework, sometimes, but I was always kind of a self-taught learner. Anyway, I’m not seeing what the problem is here.”
“When you pick up an object,” Mathilde cut in, leaning on her hand in thought. “Do you feel it? Can you sense its presence?”
“I can tell when it’s pressed against my wards, kinda,” Daniel explained. “I kind of have to feel it out, though, to see how much energy I need to get it to move how I want.”
“But that’s just feeling your ward, not the object,” Asami interjected.
“When I pick something up, I’m not feeling my hand,” Daniel shot back. “I’m feeling the thing in my hand. It’s the same–I’m feeling the thing in my ward.”
“I’m just wondering,” Radha began, “Daniel, how’d you get through the entrance exams if you don’t get this?”
“Barely,” Daniel growled. “Can we please stay focused? I really don’t want to talk about my academic failings, as comical as it might be.”
“Besides, it’s actually kind of cool,” Cassie added, reaching over to pat Daniel on the shoulder. “The fact that he was still able to do enough to pass, even though his technique was way off? It’s like finding out someone did a triathlon without knowing how to ride a bike–the fact that he got it done at all is impressive.”
Things were getting infuriating. Daniel had started to suspect that he wasn’t doing the magic wrong at all, but that he was simply describing it poorly, and the issue was with his skill. The conversation wasn’t making progress, he was just being told over and over about his failings, and reminding him of how bad his control was wouldn’t actually help make him better at magic.
Trying to shut the conversation down, he began, “I didn’t–”
“That’s not what I mean,” Radha continued, bowling over his attempt to interject. “You passed the written test really well, right? And that’s how you got in?”
Exhaling through his nose, Daniel nodded.
“So how’d you pass the written part if you, y’know, don’t understand the fundamentals?”
“I memorized the answers,” Daniel explained. “It’s all just…math and formulas and knowing what words they want.”
“He knew the description of Kinetomancy,” Cassie added. “But it was just that he was applying it wrong.”
“But how was I applying it wrong?” Daniel asked, face burning as he lashed out with the question. “You keep saying I’m doing it bad, but like…how?”
“When you move things, you’re grabbing them and then throwing them,” Radha explained. “You need to just move them.”
“Grabbing things and throwing them does move them,” Daniel objected. “You’re just describing telekinesis differently. I feel like someone’s running me through a set of ‘Who’s on first’, except you forgot to tell me my lines.”
“But it’s not the same at all,” Asami said. “Using the object’s own center to move it, versus trying to push it with a physical construct–it’s completely different!”
Daniel wanted to rip his hair out. “But how?”
Clearing her throat loudly, Hazel rubbed at the bridge of her nose, getting the attention of the circle. “Look–I’m sorry Daniel got a piss-poor education, but are we really postponing the entire group’s practice for him?”
“That’s not fair,” Cassie replied immediately. “We’re a team. If one player’s not able to play, we’re all going to be worse off.”
“Okay, but he can figure out Kinetomancy 101 on his own time,” Hazel shot back. “We’re not his tutors, it’s not our fault he doesn’t know this stuff, and I know that I have to practice my dueling.”
“Hazel,” Mathilde began, shaking her head slowly. Before she could finish, though, Daniel cut in.
“She’s right.” Pushing to his feet, he wobbled slightly, mana-saturated diaper still hanging heavily around his waist. “I’m not going to delay everyone else’s work for myself.”
“But–” Cassie began, standing to address him.
“Nope, no buts,” he replied. “I’ll figure this out on my own time…once I’m not scrubbing floors.”
“I’m not sure she can even make you do that,” Radha said. “That’s a pretty intense detention.”
“I think teachers have a lot of latitude,” Asami interjected.
“And even if they don’t,” Daniel interrupted. “I’m not going to start an argument over it. You might have noticed that the faculty hate me, I’m not going to get fair treatment from them.”
“Alright.” Asami got to her feet as well, stretching out her arms. “Well…I guess, Daniel, can you do wards so someone can practice attacking you, at least?”
“Yeah.” Nodding, he straightened a bit. “I can do that.”
“Cool, then let’s get to work, okay?”
The rest of the class passed without incident, though Daniel felt rather sheepish as the rest of the coven rotated out around him, needing to alternate with one another so everyone else could get experience with both attacking and defending from the goopy paint attacks.
Eventually, Glinse sulked back into the class, though only to try and regain a bit of face and dismiss them before the bell could go off. She gave a little speech about discipline, but by that point, Daniel had lost what little respect he had for their voxavin teacher and he doubted that her self-serving monologue would contain any pearls of wisdom, so he drowned it out, thinking instead of what he had to do after class.
He’d been through plenty of humiliation that day, but he needed to put himself through a little more before moving on.
As the throng of witches began to disperse, collecting their things and moving on to their future classes, Daniel sought out a particularly pointy tip amongst the sea of hats. Spotting his goal and waddling his way through the crowd, he prepared what he had to say.
“Jen!” he called, once he was close enough that he could be heard over the hum of post-class chatter.
She turned, slightly surprised to see him only a few paces away. Her appearance was still heavily soaked with blue, though most of it had dripped out of her clothing, leaving smudges and a slight stain on her skin from their duel at the start of class. Turning, she commented something to a group of girls–her coven, if he had to guess–before stepping up to him. “Uh, heya, Danny.”
He almost corrected her to Daniel, but now wasn’t the time. “Can we talk? I kind of blew up at you earlier, and I need to apologize.”
She chewed on her lip for a moment before nodding. “Sure. And I mean–I get it, I probably wasn’t helping, and I could have asked first, but–”
“Hold it.” He held up a hand, shaking his head. “I’m apologizing to you, Jen, not the other way around. You were trying to help. We can…maybe coordinate better on how to deal with bullies, but…sorry. It’s not just about that.”
As the crowd thinned around them, he struggled with his words, trying to think how to phrase his question.
He settled on a blunt question. “Did you think you were going to be helpful when you challenged me earlier?”
She frowned. “Well, yeah. It’s like before–I thought, if you beat me, it’d make you look kind of…I dunno, tough? And since you’re kinda so-so with your magic, I thought it’d be better to be up against me, since I wasn’t going to go super hard against you.”
Shutting his eyes, Daniel sighed to himself, feeling stupid. That made a lot of sense, and it might have even helped his reputation, if it weren’t for the issue of his sheer incompetence.
“That’s…” he began, flushing and looking down at his feet. “Thanks, Jen. It was almost a great plan.”
Jen snickered, taking a step closer. “Well yeah, I didn’t know you were going to go all anarchist on the demonstration. Did you think it was a good idea to snub the teacher like that? I know she singled you out, but I dunno, making enemies might not be the best bet, especially if she’s…” Raising her hands, she gestured vaguely, waggling her fingers spookily. “You know. The one.”
“I wasn’t just trying to make a splash,” Daniel admitted, avoiding her eye contact. “I…well, my coven figured out during dueling practice that I actually just straight up don’t know Kinetomancy. At all.” Flushed, he glanced up, looking at her to see how she’d react.
Jen’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “I…how? You got into the school, how can you not know that?”
He quickly recapped the situation, and what they’d managed to piece together, ending with a summary of what he didn’t understand. “I really don’t see the difference between moving something and pushing something,” he grumbled.
“Oh! That’s easy.” Jen beamed, stepping back. “I can show you.”
Daniel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? Because I already had five girls try to ‘show’ me, and none of them got anywhere.”
“Yeah,” Jen said, raising her right arm by her side, like she was going to ask a question. “It’s just like this. I’m going to wave my arm the ‘right’ way, okay?”
“Okay.” Daniel tilted his head as she waved her hand from side to side, as though she were saying hello.
“And here’s how you’re doing it.” Reaching with her left hand, Jen grabbed her own wrist and shook violently, sending her left hand flopping from side to side like a muppet throwing a tantrum.
It clicked, finally.
“I…” he began, staring. “Oh. Oh god.”
“What’s wrong?” Jen asked, lowering both hands and frowning.
“I just feel really stupid right now,” he admitted, emotions starting to bubble inside him. Frustration at his own stupidity, and at his learning materials, and at everyone who’d seen him try and cast spells before and never bothered to correct him. “Okay. I…I’m not sure I’m not sure I’m following how you do that.”
Jen smiled. “Oh, well that part’s easy. It’s like…you just…” She trailed off. “Okay, hold on.”
“‘It’s easy’?” Daniel inquired, raising an eyebrow. “But you can’t explain it?”
“It’s like trying to explain how to ride a bicycle,” she admitted. “I’ve been doing it for so long without thinking, I don’t even know how I could explain it–I just do it. But I think…okay. I have an idea. When’s your next free period?”
He thought back to his schedule, frowning as he sought out a clock in the room to check the time. “Kinda, at the end of the day, but then I have detention. Plus…oh, hell.” His next class was in ten minutes, and his over-soaked, heavy diaper still sagged heavily beneath his skirt.
“What’s wrong?” Jen asked.
“I need to get back to my room so I can change before my next class,” Daniel admitted, flushing. “And it’s gonna be kind of tight…I gotta go. Talk later?”
“Sure,” Jen said, “Just–meet me here after your classes are done, okay? I think I have an idea that’ll explain everything.”
...
Oh, poor Danny. ❤️ He'll figure out what he needs to learn eventually!
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On 8/4/2024 at 11:18 PM, thedman said:
That us a juicy cliffhanger, I hope we don't have ro wait too long to learn what happens next
...sorry about that!
...
Chapter Four - The Offer
Skip lay in bed, staring at the pitch black ceiling above them.
It was the middle of the afternoon, but they weren’t particularly sleepy, they just didn’t want to get up. As long as they were in bed, they could just exist.
That quiet peace was broken by a persistent bzzz-bzzz. One notification they could ignore, or two, but as the number stretched into a half dozen little vibration pulses, they gave up on trying to ignore it.
Melody was having herself a busy afternoon, it seemed. New comments and replies to Skip’s feedback were popping up constantly, prompting Skip to disable notifications before they began skimming what Melody was doing. Comment replies and accepted corrections were lined up, and every few moments, another note got marked as approved as Melody chewed through Skip’s suggested edits.
As a pleasant surprise, she was even accepting most of the suggestions, only occasionally leaving something in place, and always with a decent reason for why; Melody occasionally declined to go into further depth because that would be clarified in a future segment, or preferred more vernacular over formally accurate language.
Either way, it was a flurry of progress, and Skip could see that in addition to the edits, Melody had shared a pair of new chapters with them, both of which were already several pages into their respective draft states.
Sitting up, Skip grimaced, then put on a smile, the first part of their wardrobe. Kicking out of their baggy pajama pants, they traded them for a pair of baggy sweatpants, as well as a loose plain t-shirt to go under their hoodie. It wasn’t much of a fashion look, but the only people they’d be seeing that day would be coworkers and the wasters themselves, so they didn’t have much reason to dress up.
All that done, they left their dark little corner of the world and shuffled down the hall to knock on Melody’s door, forcing a yawn as they did so.
“Door’s open!” Melody called.
Skip pushed open the door, and was assaulted by bright daylight streaming in through the bedroom windows, wincing out of their yawn. “Morning, Melody.”
“Did you just wake up?” Melody inquired. She was sitting in bed, bundled up with blankets and her laptop as she typed away, and had an intense-but-pleased expression that stayed focused on her screen.
“Mhmm,” Skip said. “I saw you got a bunch done–once I have some breakfast, want to go over it and I can run over the new stuff?”
“Sure, but…” Melody glanced up, flashing a triumphant grin, putting a little musical flair in her tone. “I’ve got some news.”
Skip tilted their head, leaning in the doorway. “What’s that?”
“So, I posted some segments from what we’ve done on Flutter, just to sort of test the waters, see how people were responding,” Melody explained. “It got some good responses, especially the bit we put together about safe bondage. Don’t worry–I didn’t post any of the test photos.”
Skip kept a frown off their face, though the idea of their unfinished work being posted for strangers to criticize didn’t exactly fill them with glee. “We got good feedback? That’s great.”
“That’s not the news,” Melody said, shaking her head, a grin spreading across her face. “Skip–we might have a publisher. A representative got in touch, they want us to publish through them once the book is done. It might be a bad deal, I don’t want to make any promises yet, but the initial numbers are looking really good. Thirty percent royalties, which is way above industry standard, and they’re really enthusiastic about the project. They might even pay for us to do that photoshoot we talked about!”
Widening their eyes, Skip considered the implications. That was good news–great news, even. It meant this wasn’t just a hobby whose potential profits were effectively a gamble; they were talking about a real business venture with reasonably likely profits. Even if this first offer fell through, the quick response suggested there was a market in place for their book to flourish.
When they realized they hadn’t responded for a few seconds and the pause was becoming awkward, they said, “That’s great!”
“I know, right? I’m talking to them now, but I had a burst of energy and wanted to sort of harness it.”
Skip pondered for a moment, then nodded to show enthusiasm. “Alright–quick breakfast, then I’ll be back up. Okay?”
Melody gave a thumbs up, and Skip found their attentions split as they went downstairs to have a late breakfast, processing how they felt about that revelation.
It took them a few minutes standing next to the air fryer before they could be certain that they were feeling unhappy about the news, and it wasn’t until they were dumping in taquitos–the breakfast of champions–to heat up before they could put a finger on why they were unhappy.
A publisher this early meant their project had promise, but it also boxed them in. They were only getting started, with a handful of demo chapters and Melody’s ambition to keep them going. What if they got through more of the book and realized they wanted to go in a different direction? Or what if the publisher started demanding changes from them, to suit a particular audience?
They hadn’t realized how defensive they’d feel about their work when it was so new and unpolished, but already, they wanted to snatch the book back and shield it from anyone who might want to take control.
And, then again…a publisher was quality control. Sure, they liked the demo excerpts they’d seen, but it was always possible, or even likely, that they might change their minds once the book was finished.
It was maybe hasty to start preemptively worrying about rejection, but Skip couldn’t help it. They didn’t want their work to be rejected.
Of course, both those problems had a solution.
Just make the book good.
Not only would a high-quality book mean they’d never have to fear rejection for quality reasons, it meant that they’d have more publishers courting them. It was like Melody had said–if they already had one in just a day, how much more could they get if they were actively courting a publisher?
They just had to be good enough that they couldn’t be judged.
The air fryer dinged to indicate that their food was done, but Skip was no longer feeling particularly hungry. Taking out their phone, they shot Brains a text, asking if he’d be home soon and would want some leftovers. As expected, he responded quickly in the affirmative–Brains rarely turned down free food–and so they left the taquitos in the air fryer and instead snagged a soda from the fridge.
Melody wouldn’t be expecting them for a while longer, so they loitered, sipping cola and mulling the situation over.
Did they tell Melody that they didn’t want the publishing deal? That seemed like a recipe for a bad time; there was no easy way to explain that they were so turned off by the prospect of oversight that they wanted to give up such a strong opportunity.
And there was the problem to agreeing to projects like this, laid out plainly: Skip had put themselves in a position that they couldn’t easily get out of.
When a socially apt amount of time had passed, they returned upstairs, retrieving their own laptop before walking to Melody’s door. They opened it without knocking, strolling inside. “I think–”
Melody raised her eyebrows, frozen in the middle of taking a selfie with her arm raised and her naked legs spread, laptop set aside and blankets spread around her tastefully. “Uh–”
“Sorry,” Skip said, quickly closing the door and waiting for a moment.
“Come in,” Melody called a second later.
When Skip opened the door a second time, Melody was shimmying back into her pants, the slightest blush on her face. Skip glanced down apologetically. “Sorry, I thought you’d still be writing.”
Melody shrugged, picking up her phone. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just texting this girl, but she lives like an hour out of town so it might not even go anywhere.”
Nodding, Skip walked in, pulling out the chair by Melody’s desk. “I take it that guy you came in with last night was a one-off?”
Smirking, Melody rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease. You have to be something special to get a second night with me, and he was…let’s just say, not that.”
“Sorry you had a bad time,” Skip said, opening their laptop and waiting for it to power up.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He was pretty much just a dildo with legs as far as actual sexual prowess goes, but it was a good learning experience.” Melody frowned over her phone for a moment, adding a filter to her selfie before sending it off.
Skip glanced at her, sure that Melody was trying to set up a particular reply. Seeing no reason not to take the bait, they asked, “What’d you learn?”
“Oh, I didn’t learn anything, but he learned a lot. It’s a good reminder that I know what I’m doing, and that I can just ignore the naysayers.” She smiled, picking her laptop up once again. “I’m the best at what I do, and what I do is teach wide-eyed rookies how to have a little fun.”
Pausing, Skip thought about tossing in a question. (What naysayers?) Instead, they said, “So, does the publishing deal look pretty solid?”
“So far, so good. I’m not signing anything just yet, but I explained what our goals are, and they sounded very on board.”
“Okay. So…we should make sure we do our best on this, huh?”
“That’s always the goal, isn’t it? We/re here to knock it out of the park, and so far, we’re doing it.”
“Right.” Skip pursed their lips. “Hmm.”
Looking up at them, Melody caught the uncertainty. “Are you worried about something?”
“Just…trying to make sure we stick to a high standard,” Skip explained. “I want to do our best.”
“Well then, we can just keep doing what we’ve been doing, because I think it’s been really good.” Melody turned to face Skip a little more directly. “And besides, you know the saying, ‘you can’t edit a blank page’. It’s better to get something finished, then if there are quality issues, we can fix it later.”
“Right, right.” Skip nodded again. “I just…”
“I get it.” Melody’s expression softened sympathetically. “This makes it kind of real, and that’s kind of scary, but I trust myself to do a good job writing, and I trust you to edit it well too.”
The vote of confidence didn’t exactly fix Skip’s concerns, but it helped, just a bit. “I guess…I don’t know. You’re right, it’s higher stakes now, and I want to try to put our best foot forward.”
Melody nodded, thinking for a moment before she replied. “Okay…here’s an idea, feel free to tell me no.”
“Yeah?” Skip asked, tilting their head. “Let’s hear it.”
Face turning slightly pink, Melody asked, “Well, what if I tied you up again?”
...
Sorry this update took so long to post! I've had a heck of a month - some good, some bad, but all very time consuming - and fell off my posting schedule somewhat. I'll be seeking to remedy that in the coming days!
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Chapter Three - Quentin Roue
Quentin lay on his mattress, counting the paint dribbles on the wall.
(Drip. Drip. Drip.)
His apartment was a crappy box, and he suspected that the thick landlord special of white paint had been slathered on so heavily to hide something worse. (Cigarette smoke? Mold? Blood?)
Regardless of the source, he had nothing better to do with his evening. He’d convinced himself that independent lodging would be better than a dorm, but now the matchbox he’d rented out felt more like a trap. He never heard about parties, he never bumped into friends on the way to class, he just went home and laid in bed.
His pity party was interrupted by a buzz on his phone. An email about an assignment, maybe, or a class update. Nobody ever messaged him just to hang out or talk, and…
He blinked as he saw the little flame icon next to the notification. A connection on Matchbox had replied.
Quentin sat up. He didn’t get replies. His attempts at online dating were, almost exclusively, an exercise in window shopping, nobody ever actually connected with him. Tabbing to the app, he pulled up the message, heart leaping as he read it.
MagicMelody: ‘You’re cute.’
(Holy crap.)
Heart racing and fingers buzzing, Quentin hurried to type his reply.
QuizzicallyQuentin: ‘You’re cute too.’
MagicMelody: ‘Got any good pickup lines?’
He thought for a moment, but he felt unprepared to put on any charm. Paralyzed for half a minute, he finally thought of something clever.
QuizzicallyQuentin: ‘They must call you Melody because it’s easy for you to get stuck in my head.’
After hitting send, he winced. It felt a little obvious, and the phrasing was a little awkward. Would she even get the joke?
MagicMelody: LOL! That’s great.
Quentin beamed, but before he could even reply, his connection sent another message.
MagicMelody: ‘Want to get coffee?’
QuizzicallyQuentin: ‘It’s kinda late, coffee would mean I couldn’t sleep.’
MagicMelody: ‘Well, I wasn’t planning on sleeping afterwards.’
He stared, eyes widening as though he’d just read off the numbers for a winning lottery ticket.
How–
Why him?
He hurried to reply.
QuizzicallyQuentin: ‘Coffee sounds great.’
Any fatigue or boredom left him completely as he rolled out of bed, scrambling to clean himself up. A date. A date. A girl was interested in him.
He took a hasty shower and got dressed in his finest–or his cleanest–clothes, already feeling a lump in his throat as he tried to think what he’d say.
Thirty minutes later, he found himself sitting in front of one of the prettiest girls he’d ever met, waiting at a cafe table for their far-too-late-evening caffeine boost.
He had to admit that his judgment of her appearance might be biased, but beauty was in the eye of the beholder after all. Her strawberry blonde hair fell in graceful curls, and when she smiled at him, he knew it was genuine from the way her eyes sparkled.
“So are you enrolled?” he asked.
“No, I just live locally and work in the area,” Melody explained. “But you’re a student, right? What’re you studying?”
“Geology,” he explained. “I’m setting myself up for a career staring at rocks–the ‘watching paint dry’ industry just seemed too overcrowded.”
She laughed. (God she’s got a pretty laugh.) “That’s fascinating, though–studying the Earth.”
“Honestly, I’ll probably just get a job doing geologic surveys,” he admitted. “It’s about the only way to make money with this degree unless you win the grant lottery. There’s some pretty fascinating stuff being done with the mining industry, figuring out ways to dig that won’t leave the environment trashed once the mine runs dry–I’d love to work on that, if I can, but…you probably don’t want to hear a lecture on sustainable mining practice, do you?”
She giggled, covering her hand with her mouth. “It’s interesting, really. And it’s important work, too–I think too many people take geologists for granite.”
He blinked, taking a moment to process the pun, then snorted. Immediately he worried that the awkward laugh would turn her off, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Even if she was interested in his studies, he knew better than to just talk about himself. Things were going well–Quentin wouldn’t spoil it by being selfish. “So what do you do?”
“I’m paying the bills doing food delivery,” she explained, “But really, I’m a writer.”
“Oh yeah?” He grinned, taking the obvious opportunity to let Melody talk about herself. “What do you write?”
She returned the smile. “Well–I’m working on an educational book, sort of a self-help thing.”
“Oh yeah?” Quentin began, before wincing at his own lack of charm. Asking the same question back-to-back, he may as well have replaced himself with a chatbot. “I mean–please, tell me more.”
Her warm smile soothed his concern. Melody hadn’t noticed, or she didn’t mind. Before she could answer, the barista called out their order, and Quentin glanced to the side to see two paper cups waiting for them.
“Hold that thought?” he asked, getting to his feet.
“Of course.”
(Don’t blow this. It’s going well. She likes you.) Quentin repeated the mantra to himself as he got the drinks–his anxiety was spiking, fear that he’d blow the one good opportunity he’d had lately at a bit of companionship.
Melody was scowling at her phone when he got back, and his heart sank.
“Something wrong?” he asked, knowing that something had come up.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head and returning the phone to her purse.
He hesitated. It didn’t seem wise to press if Melody didn’t want to talk about it, but he also didn’t want to just ignore her feelings. Leaving it up to her, he offered the drink she’d ordered and left things opened ended. “Alright. If something came up, I get it though, you don’t need to protect my feelings.”
She accepted her drink, sipping the dirty chai. “I’m really fine, Quentin, don’t worry about it.”
“Alright.” He took a long pull of his own drink, an extra-pump mocha, covering up the bitter espresso taste with sweetness, bolstering his courage. “Well–you were telling me about your book?”
Melody grinned. “Why don’t I just show you?”
…
“Are you familiar with safe words?”
Melody stood over Quentin, whose heart hammered in his chest as he tried to remember how to speak. Her room contrasted sharply with his own lame apartment–it was lived in, decorated. Band T-shirts were hung against one wall like posters, and while a overhead bulb light was attached to the ceiling, it stayed off, with the room’s lighting instead coming from an eclectic collection of lamps with RGB-bulbs, casting the walls in pink light.
Sitting on the edge of her plush queen bed, he found his tongue well enough to say, “Like…I say ‘banana’ and we stop, right?”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “You’ve got the basics, but it’s more than that. We’re going to use the stoplight system, okay?”
“Okay.” He paused, then added, “I mean–I don’t know what that means. I’m colorblind, so, does that matter?”
“That’s fine, Quentin. It’s just words. If I ask for a safe word, and you’re okay, you say, ‘Green’,” Melody explained. “Green is ‘All good.’ At any point, you can also say ‘Yellow’, which means, ‘Slow down and let’s talk’, or ‘Red’, which means ‘Stop immediately’.”
“Got it, okay. Stoplights. That makes sense.” Quentin nodded, then looked down.
“You’ve got a question,” Melody said. Not a question, a statement. “Quentin, I need you to communicate clearly with me, okay? If you’re confused, tell me.
He felt like an idiot–needing basic concepts explained to him, but Melody’s firm insistence gave him the courage to speak up, though he kept his eyes downcast. “What if I want to…keep doing stuff, but I need to stop right away? Do I say ‘Red’ or ‘Yellow’?”
“Good boy.” Melody took a half step closer so that she was right above him, and his heart leapt into his throat at the praise. Reaching out, she touched his chin, directing him to look in her eyes. “If you need me to stop, say Red. It doesn’t have to end the night, just what we’re doing. Yellow is okay too, but I’d rather you use the stronger word if you’re not sure. Okay?”
He nodded, feeling safe enough to reply honestly. “Okay.”
“Good boy.” She smiled. “But if you do want to stop, that’s okay too.”
“Okay.” Quentin was repeating himself, and he knew it, but Melody didn’t seem to mind.
“I’m going to tie you up,” Melody continued, moving her hand to rest on his shoulder. “Have you been blindfolded before?”
“Eh…no. I mean, yes. But not–” he cleared his throat, blushing. “Only when playing ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey’.”
Melody’s smile spread. “Well, if you feel comfortable with that, I’d like to.”
He nodded. “I can do that. Are you going to gag me?”
She shook her head. “You haven’t had any practice with nonverbal safe words. I want you to be able to speak easily.”
“Okay.” He nodded, breath catching a little.
“Once you’re tied up, I’ve got a couple toys I’m going to use,” Melody continued. “I don’t think you’ve used a plug before, have you?”
Quentin shook his head, blushing. “I’m sorry, I–I’m just not very–”
“Shh.” Putting a finger over his lips, Melody shook her head. “Just answer my questions. You don’t need to feel bad for being new.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “No I haven’t.”
“I think you’d enjoy it. Can we try with a small one?”
Quentin would have agreed to be flogged with chains, for how her smile made him swell up inside. “Yes.”
She smiled down at him one more time. “Good boy. Now, take off your clothes, and I’ll get the toys, okay?”
Quentin didn’t need to be told twice. Fingers shaking, he moved to unbutton his shirt, pulling it off hastily while Melody moved to the closet.
He watched her as she opened the door, curiosity mounting, wanting to see just how many toys she had. As Melody stepped into her closet, he saw her shoulders slump ever so slightly, and he frowned.
(Is something wrong?)
He hesitated, halfway through slipping off his pants. When she turned to glance back at him, though, she wore a broad smile, and he realized he’d misread her body language.
“Well?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
Quentin looked down at himself, then back at her. “Yes, absolutely.”
She smirked. “Then do as you’re told–and once you’re naked, lie down. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good boy.”
…
Quentin stared at the ceiling, chest heaving.
“That was…”
“Good, right?” Melody asked.
He was sweaty and delirious, warmth and bliss radiating off him as he lay on her bed.
There was no question about it. That had been the best sex of his life.
Heck, it might have been the best night of his life.
Melody sat up in the bed next to him, stretching.
Even her back was beautiful.
“If you want, you’re welcome to use our shower,” she said, leaning to pick up her shirt from the floor. “There’s lots of clean towels, just put yours in the hamper.”
“Oh, sure,” Quentin said, nodding. “Melody…you’re fucking incredible, you know that?”
She smirked over her shoulder and nodded. “I’ve heard it a couple times.”
After a few heartbeats passed, he asked, “Did I do good?”
Half dressed, she got to her feet, looking down on him. “You were just fine, Quentin.”
“Really?” He sat up on his elbows. His heart was still hammering, he felt a spike of concern–he’d kind of just laid there for most of it. Sure, it’s because he couldn’t move, but still.
“Really,” she replied as she slipped on her panties. Looking up for just a moment, she gave him a quick smile. “Really, Quentin. Don’t worry about it.”
“Alright.” Lying back down, he asked, “Do you want to do this again?”
Exhaling through her nose in what could almost be a laugh, Melody shrugged. “Sure. I’ll call you sometime.”
Sighing in relief, Quentin smiled.
(I think I’m in love.)
...
Poor Quentin - he has no idea what he's in for!
If you want to support the creation of stories like these, you can find me on Ream and SubscribeStar
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Chapter 5
My experience with Hollywood studio sets extended to about half a day of snooping around, but I knew chaos when I saw it.
It made sense, given what I knew. The director knew he was on a sinking ship, and what little passion he had was spent snorting down cadillacs in the bathroom. The star hated her management, the budget was in the toilet, and nobody was going to bother trying to patch the ship when it was steaming straight for an iceberg in a few months no matter how the films did.
Two of the extras were sharing a cigarette on set, flagrantly ignoring posted signage about smoking outside. The smell of a dirty diaper wafted from one of the other youthlocks, though I couldn’t pin down which one, and whoever it might have been they didn’t much seem to care. Everyone was in a holding pattern, waiting around, killing time until they got cut for the day.
Shelly paced at the front of the room, and I had to give her credit as the one professional on set. For all her anger, she had a job to do, and she did it–her steps moved through choreography, and I could see her lips move as she whispered lines to herself, walking through the next dance number in quiet rehearsal.
“Crackerjacks and candy stripes, gummy bears and sweet delights,” she whispered, then stomped a pretty white shoe on the floor and spun, sending her costume dress twirling. Raising an arm and beaming at an invisible partner, she added, “Then he’ll take my hand…”
Shuffling up to her, I got Shelly’s attention, waiting for her to stop her music-free dance before I asked, “Where’s Waters?”
She caught the embers of anger in my frown, and her precocious smile vanished, replaced with hard rage. “It’s him?”
“It’s him,” I confirmed. “You were right.”
A spark caught behind her eyes, and in a matter of moments, righteous vindication turned to a blaze. Beneath her rosy makeup her face turned red, and she whirled and bellowed, voice half incoherent with rage, “WILLIAM!”
Scurrying footsteps scrambled, and the beleaguered talent manager got onto set a moment later, his expression more frayed and weary than ever. “What?”
“You bastard,” Shelly began, but I raised a hand, and she fell silent before her anger could turn to a tirade.
“Three films,” I said simply, and the realization in his eyes was almost enough confirmation all on its own.
He made a few leaps in logic and stammered out his reply. “Who is this?”
“Nick Juliet,” Shelly explained. “Private eye.”
Waters shook his head, stumbling over his words. “Shelly–I–I’m sorry. I couldn’t…I wasn’t allowed to say anything, it’s in my contract.”
Anger derailing, Shelly shot a glance back my way. “What?”
“You knew,” I continued, refusing to slow down. “You had three films left, then Shelly’s time as America’s Golden Girl would be gone. That’s not much time to cash in on a legacy, is it?”
William Waters’ shoulders slumped, deflating like a blimp.
Around us, a crowd was forming. Shelly’s screaming had attracted attention, and the confrontation was more dramatic than anything they’d filmed in years–we had all eyes on us. The cast, the crew, even Candace came out from the green room to see what was happening.
“Here’s how I see it,” I continued, staring up at the tall, gangly manager. “You know Shelly hates those posters, she hates the marketing and the sponsorships you try and get her, but you’re hungry, and you know the butter and eggs are going to be off the table before much longer. You have to make your quick cash, now, because if you lose any time, your starlet’s going to be out of the public eye and nobody will pay the big bucks for her face.”
William wouldn’t meet my eyes, though his downcast gaze still fell near me. Pathetically, he nodded. “Can you blame me?” he asked, weakly. “You have to make hay while the sun shines.”
“That’s not all,” I continued, driving my verbal assault forward. “You’re getting a consistent cut right now, but if Shelly goes to dramas, your prospects are up in the air. Who knows if you’ll still be in the picture if she starts working for Candor Taurus? And, besides–if Shelly gets cast in a drama, if people start seeing her as the woman she is, it’ll make her appeal as an ad darling considerably weaker.”
All eyes were on us, all watchers were hushed. Shelly contained her abject rage, but I knew the screaming would come soon, once I was finished.
I let Waters speak, though I kept my glare burning through him, cutting past his defenses. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said, head trembling and shaking.
“Do I?” I demanded. “You’ve got all the incentive in the world–if Shelly starts playing in dramas, your career is in jeopardy and you lose out on sponsorship revenue. If she stays here until the ship sinks, you’ve got one last paycheck before the golden goose dies.”
“I’m not going to risk a sure thing on some half-cocked pipe dream!” Waters snapped, shocking me with his sudden energy. Looking me in the eye, he spoke bitterly. “I don’t know what Shelly told you, but there’s no manager in the country that could get her a job working for a dramatic production. This is it. I haven’t failed to get her new roles because I’m bad at management, it’s because it’s impossible. Shelly has a few months left, a few films, and I’m using that time to make sure she gets as much bread to retire on as possible, because I’ll be damned if I burn it trying to find some crock of gold that doesn’t exist!”
My confidence wavered.
“Impossible?” Shelly demanded, stepping in. “How can you say that? I had the role!”
Waters stared at her, eyes wide, baffled. “What?”
My understanding of the situation fractured. (He doesn’t know.)
“I got the job,” Shelly snarled. “Candor Taurus wanted me, and then you threw out the casting letter.”
“What?” Candor shot back. “Shelly, I–”
“He doesn’t know,” I repeated out loud. “Shelly, he doesn’t know.”
Eyes fell on me once more, and I took a breath, collecting my thoughts.
“Your manager didn’t sabotage your career,” I said. “He just thinks you’re incompetent.”
Waters shook his head. It was his turn to get angry, and he threw that frustration at me. “No I don’t! Shelly is a fabulous actress, but it doesn’t matter how good she is, nobody’s ever going to take her seriously as a leading lady when she looks like that.”
“You son of a bitch.” I expected as much to come from Shelly, but the statement instead came from the side set. Candace stepped forward, looking almost as angry as her youthlocked co-star.
William Waters whirled, eyes widening. “What? Did you come here to blow your wig at me too?”
“The studio’s shutting down?” Candace demanded. “You knew that?”
“Well–” he began, shaking his head. “Sure, muffin, but…it’s complicated. I signed an NDA before they told me. You can’t blame me for keeping quiet, we’d be out on our backsides if I’d let it slip, and–”
“I don’t care that you didn’t tell me, you worthless crumb,” Candace interrupted, stepping up into his face. “You’re my agent.”
“So?”
“So where’s the fucking poster parade for me?” Candace roared.
The studio fell silent for a moment, all eyes on the second-billing star. Beneath the rage I could feel her frustration, her sadness and grief, barely contained.
“You’re going out and doing all this shit to keep Shelly afloat,” Candace continued, her eyes burning hot and wet. “Practically dragging her through marketing meetings and getting mockups you know she’s going to hate and running all across town to earn her a buck–and what the hell am I? Yesterday’s news?”
Waters put his hands up in a weak defense, stepping back. “I’m only one guy, you dig? I can’t be everywhere at once, and I’ve gotta put my eggs in the right baskets!”
“You just dropped me!” Candace screamed. “You and everyone else! I fought tooth and nail for this studio, I busted my ass for you and Shelly, and you’re both just willing to kick me out to the curb the moment it’s convenient for you!”
“Candace,” Shelly said, her eyes sparkling with sadness. “I didn’t know either, I swear.”
“Yeah?” Candace snarled. “And that’s why everyone’s talking about you flaunting off to go work with Candor Taurus? You think if you go dance off to Washington with your new friends, things would just be smooth sailing down here? Fat chance–you’d be abandoning us to sink, and none of you care.”
She burst into tears, grief and anger finally overwhelming the actress. I could tell her upset was real–she’d taken it on the chin a few too many times, she’d grown up in an industry built on backstabbing and rumors, and despite playing roles for a living, she wasn’t faking this.
That only gave me a flicker of guilt as I stepped up, raising my voice. I asked my question to Shelly, but pitched it at Candace. “What’s the film you got offered?”
Candace’s confused grief turned on me, an expression so twisted up that it was hard to read. “What?”
“It was supposed to be called, Mister Brown Goes to D.C.,” Shelly said, almost as confused as her co-star.
“Okay,” I said. “Did you tell anyone that?”
Shelly shot me a perplexed frown. “No, I–”
She got it, and her emotions melted away into horror.
In case anyone else in the gathered crowd of extras and stage hands hadn’t put it together, I shot my next question at Candace. “How’d you know that Shelly was going to Washington?”
“I–” Candace began, spluttering. “Someone–I heard someone talking about it.”
“Nobody on set knew,” I insisted, my voice flat and face expressionless as I spelled it out. “Nobody except Shelly, and whoever it was that took her job offer and tossed it in the trash.”
Candace stared at me, tears marking rivers into her makeup. “I…”
“You spent your whole career protecting Shelly,” I said. “You saw her as your actual sister, didn’t you? It must’ve come as a sucker punch when you found out she’d be leaving you behind, so you threw away the message and made sure to bury it.”
“I–” Candace repeated, shaking her head. “She…she didn’t even tell me!”
The room was perfectly silent, save for the near-inaudible buzz of the bright tungsten stage lights, until a choked whimper cut through the tension.
I’d half expected Shelly to be the one to break into sobs, but it was Candace who lost control, crying incoherently in front of all of us.
“Mr. Juliet,” Shelly whispered, her voice straining as she contained her feelings of betrayal. “I’ll send your check in the mail. I think we’re done here.” She spun on her heels, storming out of the studio. The slam of the side door echoed through the set as she left us, furious.
I watched her go. She probably needed a friend–or, at least, a shoulder to cry on.
Instead, I waddled to the clothing rack, retrieving my trench coat. Slinging it on my back, I slid my arms through and retrieved a candy cigarette from the pocket. The sugar melted over my tongue as I popped it between my lips, suckling as I shuffled to the front exit of the studio. Margaret wouldn’t be there to pick me up for a couple more hours, but I could catch the bus and make my way downtown.
It was time for me to leave.
The case was closed, and I needed a dame bringing me her troubles like I needed diaper rash.
The End
…
Shelly Chapel Sues Former Co-Star
In a stunning turn of events, famed youthlock actress, Shelly Chapel, has launched a legal battle against her former co-star, Candace Wick. According to her filing, Candace is being sued for intentional damage to Shelly’s career after concealing an offer to work on a new film with Candor Taurus.
Evidence discovered by Private Investigator, Nick Juliet, played a crucial role in this suit. Testimony will be provided–
Interesting.
It seems our little detective has been doing quite well for himself.
Maybe it’s time for me to let him know I’m in town.
...
Written as a commission - and I had a lot of fun playing with the private eye gumshoe tropes in an ABDL context!
For Research Purposes Only - Chapter Fourteen, Hot & Bothered (Updated May 26)
in Story and Art Forum
Posted
Chapter 7 - Fucking Assholes
The sound of tearing paper told Melody she’d done her job well, and she smiled as she set aside her empty box of chocolates.
The scene had been simple, but there was no such thing as an effortless encounter when Melody was involved. She made sure to give it her all, even when the stakes were nothing and the reward would only be knowledge.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, glancing over at Skip.
They were rubbing their wrists, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring off at the edge of the room. Melody recognized that they were being thoughtful, rather than zoning out, and after a few moments they replied. “That was a good learning experience.”
“Okay, sure.” Melody smirked. “But how do you feel?”
Rolling their eyes, Skip said, “I feel like that was a good learning experience.”
Her amusement faded, and Melody stepped closer to Skip. “I know it was just chocolate and video games, but it was still a scene. That can be emotionally intense, and you can feel some serious fallout from it–please don’t be flippant. If you feel anxious or stressed, say something. If you feel relaxed and floppy, that’s good to know too–but don’t laugh off how you’re feeling. Okay?”
Shrugging, Skip stood and shook their head. “I really feel fine. It was fun, I guess.”
“You enjoyed it?” Melody asked, pleasantly surprised.
Skip shrugged a second time, picking their hoodie up from the foot of the bed. “The chocolate was good. Do you want to write this up, and I’ll edit it in the morning after work?”
Melody couldn’t shake the feeling that Skip was being avoidant, but she didn’t think it would do any good to press for further details. If Skip needed some time to process their feelings, that was on them. “Sure–just promise me that if you do start feeling a sub drop, you’ll tell me, okay?”
“Sure, but–it was just paper and chocolate. I’m fine, Mels.”
Picking up their switch, Skip nodded to Melody and began walking to the door.
That was that. Their first scene together was done.
…
@CanineBites
It’s come to my attention that a certain member of the community has taken it upon herself to write a book on BDSM play.
I’m not going to name this person, I don’t want any drama, but let’s talk about this.
/thread
…
@CanineBites
Replying to @CanineBites
When you write a book, you position yourself as an authority on that subject, but this person is NOT someone who should be trusted. Everyone who knows her knows she’s unstable, abusive, and crazy.
/2
…
@CanineBites
Replying to @CanineBites
This individual gives a bad name to the community. She’s already the first point of entry for many people to the world of kink, and that point of entry is full of consent issues and trust violations.
/3
…
@CanineBites
Replying to @CanineBites
When you engage in a scene with someone who thinks you’re looking for a partner, without telling them that you’re only looking for a one night stand, that’s not informed consent.
/4
…
@CanineBites
Replying to @CanineBites
This person is TOXIC. Anything she writes is not something to be trusted. She shouldn’t be writing a book at all, and if she does, nobody should read it. There’s nothing musical about this creep.
Keep our community safe from gross predators! ❤️ ❤️ XOXO
/fin
…
@MelodyMelody
Replying to @CanineBites
I haven’t done anything to you, and I’ve never lied to a partner. Calling me a fucking r@pist because because some incels think I friendzoned them is so gross.
And you haven’t even read the book!
…
@CanineBites
Replying to @MelodyMelody
If you wrote it, I know it’s going to be trash. Also, blocked.
…
@MelodyMelody
People are fucking assholes. I’m just trying to help out our community, and I’ve got randos coming after me trying to apply some shitass purity test to my relationships to prove I’m a bad guy.
…
@BunBunBunnyBunBun
Replying to @MelodyMelody
OMG sis what happened?
…
@MelodyMelody
Replying to @BunBunBunnyBunBun
People are saying my book is going to be some kind of assault manual. They haven’t even read it!
…
@BunBunBunnyBunBun
Replying to @MelodyMelody
That sucks
…
@MelodyMelody
Replying to @BunBunBunnyBunBun
Thanks ❤️
Once it comes out, it’s going to be super obvious that I know what I’m doing. She probably will still try and claim I just got everything right by mistake, but that’s none of my business :rolling_eyes:
…
Susie was cute, but she’d unfortunately learned everything she knew about BDSM from Fifty Shades of Grey, and that was worse than inexperience. By the time Melody had unwound the knot of misconceptions about spankings and safewords, Susie decided she wasn’t actually interested in anything kinky.
They still fucked, but Melody got the sense that she wouldn’t need to ghost anyone. Susie had come in wanting danger, wanting a threatening asshole to pin her down and make her obey, and while Melody was willing to play the part, she wasn’t going to do that without protocols in place.
(This is why we need better education,) she thought as she pumped her strap-on into the moaning blonde on her bed. Susie had got it in her head that the danger needed to be real in order to be fun, and the shock of reality had been so bad that she’d fallen back to bland, vanilla pegging.
Ironically, Melody felt disappointed at the lack of fight. The push and pull of a proper scene. Having a prospective sub resist before melting, like cracking into a creme brulee to get to the creamy center. Once she’d learned that Melody wouldn’t just boss her around at random and magically fulfill all her fantasies, Susie had become all cream, cloying and dull like a pack of instant pudding.
(God, two food metaphors in a row? Thank god my first thoughts aren’t put into print,) Melody thought to herself, as the girl beneath her moaned and squirted for the third time onto the towel spread over the bed.
Pulling out, Melody rolled off of her partner and laid on her back, sweaty and unfulfilled.
Susie moved onto her side, smiling in what was probably meant to be a wicked way, tracing Melody’s naked breasts with her finger. “That was great, babe. Do you want me to finger you?”
“I’m alright,” Melody said, shaking her head.
“Really?” Susie asked, her caress growing a little more firm. “Surely you want me to repay you a little, don’t you?”
Melody perked up a bit. There was some push and pull. Sitting up on her elbows, she asked, “Are you going to beg so I’ll let you touch me?”
“I just want to make sure you’re satisfied,” Susie explained, missing the tension Melody had hoped to build.
Laying back, Melody nodded. “I had fun.” She’d buzz one out with her hitachi once Susie went home. Reaching over Susie, she took her phone, mind already moving to new topics. They hadn’t done anything kinky, so there was no need for aftercare.
“Oh, sure,” Susie said, not quite disappointed, but uncertain what else she should say.
“If you want to take a shower, there are towels in the bathroom,” she said. “Use the shampoo and body wash in the top drawer–it’s mine.”
Susie started to sit up, but she didn’t make any motions to get out of bed. “You okay, sugar? You seem a little distant.”
Melody almost dismissed the comment, but it wasn’t as though she cared what Susie thought about her. Setting aside her phone, she said, “Do you feel like I took advantage of you?”
“What?” Susie’s eyebrows shot up. “No, of course not.”
“I didn’t trick you into having sex? Everything was nice and clear?”
Susie rolled her eyes. “Again with this? You don’t need my verbal, specific permission for every little thing we do together. I swear, you girls are all so worried about that stuff.”
Melody frowned, sidetracked. “‘You girls’?”
“Never mind.” Rolling her eyes, Susie sat up, throwing her legs over the bed and bending to take her panties. “Look, this was fun–I’ll call you, okay?”
(No you won’t,) Melody thought, though she didn’t call out the lie–it’s not as though she wanted a second date. “Consent is important, okay?”
“Yeah, I think me screaming ‘yes’ over and over was plenty of consent,” Susie said. “Look, honey, I don’t know what’s got you all worked up, but you did fine.”
“I know I did fine,” Melody said, reassessing her assumptions about this girl’s inexperience. “That’s not the point.”
Picking up her shirt, Susie stood and pulled it over her head. “I know you want to be all impressive, but you don’t have anything to prove. Just have fun with it.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything, but it’s more fun when we’re on the same page,” Melody snapped.
“Uh-huh, sure thing.” Shimmying into her shorts, Susie said, “You’re right. Good job, hon, you’re way more ethical and better at this than everyone.”
Rolling her eyes, Melody laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Whatever.”
Stepping into her shoes, Susie said, “Look–I don’t know what you wanted out of tonight, but it clearly wasn’t sex, and I’m not here to play around with whatever mess of problems you’ve got going in that head of yours.” Straightening, she looked down at herself, confirming that her wardrobe was complete. “I had fun. See you later.”
She left the room, and Melody was left dumbstruck and confused.
(‘You girls’?)
It took a few minutes to become certain that Susie had been wrong. Melody had wanted sex, just not the basic-bitch boring sex that Susie was comfortable with, or the risky unplanned kinky play she’d wanted at the start. There wasn’t anything more complicated going on, and she didn’t have to make excuses for having high standards.
Either way, the evening had left her unsatisfied, and no amount of masturbation would scratch the very specific itch she was feeling. She didn’t need an orgasm, she needed to play, and the available partners were not going to do her much good in that regard.
Ironically, between near-virgins and stuck up know-it-alls, her most fun with a scene lately had been with Skip. At least they had enough confidence to know what they were doing, without trying to boss Melody around or jump the gun.
Raising her phone, Melody sent a text. ‘What do you want to do next for the book?’
Skip’s reply came only a minute later. ‘Well, we tried paper. Want to escalate to rope?’
...
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