[Patreon ABDL purge]

I'm also amongst those hit by the purge - No warning, no heads up, just deletion. 

[Patreon Purge - Please Find my Work Here, Instead]

1 hour ago, starman said:

Only problem is that it will only do USD where as patreon used to let me do uk ,ie identity get charged for non sterling transaction fees on top , 

If you're worried about fees/it being too expensive due to currency issues, PM me and we can get something figured out. (Ream is supposed to handle the currency conversion and the fee should be on my end, but if it's not working properly, I'll find a way to get you taken care of.) 

[Patreon Purge - Please Find my Work Here, Instead]

Sorry for the overt ad post, I'm just kind of panicking right now.

I'm Peculiar, author of a whole bunch of ABDL stories - The Potty Draining Chart, The Baby Bet, a bunch of shorts, and the comic, Under Lock and Key. For the past three years, I've been writing professionally, using the crowdfunding/subscription website, Patreon. 

Patreon nuked my account without warning, without even letting me log in to get anyone's contact info or post an announcement about it. 

Writing has become a primary part of my income and basically a part-time job for me. By nuking my account without warning, appeal, or any sort of recourse - just days before a new billing cycle - Patreon has left me without money for December's bills and no way to even contact my former subscribers to let them know where they can find me in the future. 

 

I've set up a new account with a fiction-focused, erotica-friendly website, "Ream". Even if you were never a subscriber of mine, you can follow creators on Ream for free and get updates when they have new, free content come out.

If you like my fiction, please give me a follow, and if you want to help out while I try and scramble to cover bills this month, I'd be incredibly grateful if you'd subscribe. If I can't get back on my feet as far as writing income goes, I don't know what I'm going to do, but writing several stories a month just won't feasibly be part of it. 

"Ream" has a very user-friendly reading format and I've uploaded most of my library to the site - though there's still more to come. (And some cover stuff needs to get polished.) Once I'm done with the backend management, it'll be the most exhaustive repository of my writing anywhere on the internet, with a vastly better UI for reading a single author's library than any other site I've used, subscription or otherwise. 

As I always say, there's no pressure to support me if you can't afford it or just don't want to, but if you're able, and you want to help me get back on my feet, I'd very much appreciate the support. You get all the same perks you would have on Patreon - Early access, and a ton of exclusive fiction. 

https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

 

[The Diaper Vigilante (Updated, Part 5, Complete!)]

35 minutes ago, Babypants said:

Did you receive an explanation for this?

They deleted the account of every ABDL creator on the site and gave only a stock copy/paste explanation saying that it was violating rules about sexualizing minors. 

[The Diaper Vigilante (Updated, Part 5, Complete!)]

2 hours ago, Baby Billy said:

Yea that happened to one I follow, though I am not going to another site that I don't trust.

Would you be willing to at least give me a follow? Ream allows you to Follow authors and get updates when their content comes out for the public, without any payment or subscription necessary. Even without building a paid audience, I'm just trying to establish myself on the platform right now and get the reader experience as nice as I can.  

[The Diaper Vigilante (Updated, Part 5, Complete!)]

 

The hacker sat cross legged on her floor, leaning against her bed for a bit of support. She’d bought an expensive gaming chair–the kind that was ninety percent of the way to being a carseat, it just needed the harness–but it was several feet away, and she’d already been on the ground, moving a box beneath her bed when the shipping notification pinged.

With her laptop in reach and her focus engaged, she’d gotten to work right where she sat. Her back would protest, but that was a problem for later. Nor did it matter that it was just past dawn, that she’d been up all night, that sleep would have to wait for hours once this began. She had her game, and that’s what mattered in the moment. 

Elizabeth Sullivan did not consider herself a hero, but that’s how she branded herself, and to the few who knew her screen name, ‘Little Cricket’, it’s how she was to be treated. 

She didn’t consider herself a grown-up either, but that’s how her documents read–and as far as the government was concerned, it’s how she was to be treated. 

Shifting a bit, she noted absently how her diaper squelched–she’d saturated it heavily enough to justify a change, and she needed to poop. Strictly speaking, she preferred to keep that contained to the toilet, but she was in the middle of a project, her thoughts were laser focused, and she didn’t want to kill all her momentum by getting up to change and use the toilet. It’d just have to last a little longer. 

Tabbing through her notifications, she read data, soaking it in like a diaper absorbed moisture. She knew the patterns, she recognized information before she’d read it, and only needed to glance at what was written to confirm her gut feelings. 

The internet had existed for forty years, and for twenty, it’d been a tool used by more than half the world’s population. Elizabeth didn’t understand how so-called adults could be so incompetent in its use, so lax and lazy when it came to security.

It’s like they wanted her to beat them. 

Her current target had fallen for a trivially simple linkswap scam to get his passwords, and from there, the rest of his downfall had been easy. A few tricks to bypass two factor authentication, a couple more to get into his financials. 

By most estimations, he was some flavor of asshole–he’d made his money scamming people into buying useless assets, the lazy kind of fraud that didn’t even take creativity. 

Elizabeth didn’t particularly care what he’d done. She’d long since learned, however, that if she targeted vulnerable victims, she’d be condemned, she might even end up in trouble with the law. When she went after criminal con men, though, everything became permissible. 

Leaning forward, she grunted almost without thinking, the seat of her diaper swelling a bit while she took control of her victim’s computer. She’d already decided on the game she wanted to play, now she just needed her participant. 

“Hello, piggy,” she said. Her voice was modulated, a bit–not to hide her identity, though, it wasn’t as though anyone would be able to track her down. She rarely left her condo, and few people knew what she sounded like. Rather, she distorted her words to make her targets uncomfortable.

The man in front of her flinched–of course he did. A voice from nowhere had just addressed him, when he was alone, in private, working from his home office. In a work-from-home world, high-def webcams had become standard, which made her games all the easier. 

“What the hell?” he asked, setting down his morning coffee. He hadn’t even gotten to work yet. “Who said that?”

Elizabeth gloried in the moment for as long as she could–watching her target’s surprise, the shock, all displayed in crisp HD from his webcam. Soon would be the horror and the realization. The sweet moments of early victory, while he still had enough dignity to show humiliation.

“I did, piggy,” Elizabeth said. For emphasis, she moved a mouse on her computer screen, and the motion was mirrored on his own display. “Don’t close your computer. I’m in your wallet, I own your assets, and if you disobey me, you’ll find out just how quickly I can take it all away.” 

She wouldn’t actually take it all away. Others had disobeyed her before, after all, and if she actually followed through on her threat, it ruined the game. She’d take their money, but who cared about money? She wanted more than that.

So, if he disobeyed, she’d only take half. Let him see the notification on his phone, learn what he’d lost, and frantically come back to beg. That was, in its own way, almost more fun than when her days went off without a hitch. 

“I don’t know how you’re doing this,” he said, “But I don’t believe you.”

“Then let’s give you some proof, piggy,” Elizabeth said. She was rubbing the name in thick, but she wanted it to be clear that this was his name, at least while she spoke to him. 

Moving her mouse again, she opened his digital wallet, displaying the various cryptocurrencies he’d acquired. Selecting one at random, she sent it to an anonymous holding wallet with just a few keystrokes. 

It didn’t matter where it’d gone, the point was that her Piggy no longer had it. The digital equivalent of several thousand dollars, gone in a flash. He still had millions, but he’d gained it recently, and the psychological impact of the dollars lost still hit him plenty hard. 

His eyes went huge, like she’d just shoved him down on the playground and taken his lunch money. Perfect. “What the fuck–okay. Stop. What do you want? Money?”

“If I wanted money, I’d already have taken it,” Elizabeth pointed out. “No, piggy, I want something more. You’ve hurt people to get this money, you’re a pig. You need to learn a lesson.”

He swallowed. It was clear she could follow up on her threats easily enough–one wrong word, and she’d drain his accounts. His delicious fear sang when he asked, “What lesson?” 

“What you really are,” Elizabeth explained. “You’ve got a package in front of your door. I know how long it takes you to go from the computer to your porch. Go get the package, and return immediately–every second you dally, I’ll delete another coin.” 

He nodded, shook his head, and stared at his computer screen a little longer. “Okay. Okay. I’ll do it, just–”

“The timer’s started, piggy boy,” Elizabeth’s tone was sing-song, and just for emphasis, she called up a stopwatch on his screen.

Her target jumped to attention, scrambling out of the room. Good–if she kept pressure on him, he wouldn’t have time to think or come up with any bright ideas. She doubted he had the intellectual capacity to come up with bright ideas regardless, and even if he did, they wouldn’t be bright enough to beat her.

Even still, she kept the pressure on. She’d win, no matter what, but she preferred to have full control of the game. 

He returned a minute later, holding a medium sized duffel bag. “Okay,” he said, taking shallow breaths. “I have the package–please don’t take anything else.” 

“We’ll see,” Elizabeth promised. “All I will promise is that after we’re done, you’ll never hear from me again. If your accounts remain full, that’s all well and good. If not…well, good luck getting it back, because I won’t be available to hear your begging.”

He swallowed, looking between his computer and the duffel. “What are you going to do?”

“Inside the duffel, there’s some water bottles, a bit of food, and an outfit,” Elizabeth explained. “Take off all of your clothes and put on the outfit. Is that understood?” 

Instant shock. Of course, it’s what she expected–nobody liked getting naked on camera. “What? No!” 

Another coin vanished with a big, dramatic notification bubble.

“Oh dear,” she said, trying to pump sarcasm into her tone so that it’d come through even with the artificial processing. “You can turn your back–I don’t care about seeing your dick. Just get dressed.” 

That deflated his protests, and he looked again at the duffel, reluctance and greed battling in his head. 

She was so focused on the game that she’d lost all sense of her surroundings. She was a part of her laptop, and the vague smell permeating her bedroom, wafting off her diaper, may as well not have existed. If she leaked, she leaked, she had victory to enjoy.

Defeated, her piggy unzipped the duffel, peering inside for a long moment in uncomprehension. Only after staring did he say, “No, I–I mean–please, don’t take anything. I’ll do it.” 

Elizabeth could have jumped for joy, if that hadn’t meant actually moving her body, taking her attention off the display and keyboard in her lap. 

The outfit wasn’t elaborate–just three elements–but she’d selected it with precision. Sometimes, less was more, and this was absolutely one of those instances. 

She genuinely couldn’t care less about his nudity, but she still watched him strip with glee, staring not at his body but at his face. The humiliation, the fear, she drank it in until she felt intoxicated. 

Then came the real prize–the awkward, uncertain embarrassment that came whenever she made someone put a diaper on for the first time since before they could remember. Inevitably, they always got something wrong, and she got to giggle as they worked to correct their mistakes. 

Her piggy laid down on his back, fumbling with the diaper. He first put it on upside down, then had to flip it, lifting his hips to slide it in place. While he did, little sounds kept escaping him–squeaks of embarrassment that he didn’t even seem to be aware of.

Elizabeth’s grin just grew, seeing how his cheeks turned pink when he stuck down the tapes, sealing himself into a puffy white diaper that clung to him like a pillowy target. 

“And the rest,” Elizabeth said. “A diaper alone does not a piggy make.” 

Meekly, already halfway to being broken, her target reached for the bright pink onesie. It was mostly uniform in color, but had one bit of special decoration–a short, curled tail on the backside. He’d feel it, just a bit, when he sat down, just as she wanted. He wriggled to get into it, not understanding how the crotch buttons worked, instead stepping into it like a swimsuit and shimmying his legs into the outfit from the top, doing the shoulder snaps instead. 

Only one thing was left–a halloween costume pig nose, one that’d hold over his face with elastic straps. It’d be uncomfortable, and that’s what she wanted. Discomfort. A constant reminder that he was just a little piggy, with a little piggy nose. 

He pulled it over his face, transformation complete. 

Or, well–almost complete. He looked the part. Now he had to go through his training. 

“Alright, piggy,” Elizabeth said. “Sit down on the floor, criss-cross applesauce.”

He obeyed. It meant he had to look up at his desk to see the computer screen. It also meant his posture and pose matched hers, except that he looked up at her, and she looked down at him. 

“I’m going to play a video for you, and it’s going to ask some questions. Every question you answer correctly, nothing will happen. Every question you answer incorrectly, I take your money away. Do you understand?” 

Of course he understood–and if he didn’t, she’d still start the video, just to see him struggle and try to learn by trial and error. Still, he nodded. “I won’t lie.” He’d jumped to conclusions about the question, but that just meant he’d be surprised when she showed him his video. “Please. Just don’t take anything else.” 

“I know you only care about your money, and I’m not lying either,” she assured him. “But this isn’t an interrogation. Consider it more…a knowledge test. If you get hungry or thirsty, or need to take a break, you can have the food in the bag. There are points in the test where you’ll have a few moments to do so. But, and this is important: Until the test is over, you won’t sit up, leave, or turn off your computer. Any of those actions count as a forfeit.” 

He understood the implied point, anxiety weighing down on his shoulders. “How long will this take?” 

“I hope you didn’t have evening plans,” she replied. He was a couple time zones ahead of her, but it still wasn’t past nine in the morning yet.

“What if I need to use the bathroom?” he asked.

Elizabeth didn’t feel the need to properly answer. “If you’re that dumb, piggy, I worry you’re going to fail this test. I’m starting the video now. Pay attention.”

He’d already known, somewhere down in his subconscious, but the dawning moment of realization as he was no longer able to pretend still sang to her heart. Knowing, without a doubt, that he’d have to use the diaper he put on was triumphant to Elizabeth. 

In truth, the test was not really one of knowledge. It didn’t matter how much he knew, any toddler could answer correctly–but the questions would come fast, and they’d demand focus. He’d have to follow along for hours. 

Queuing it up, the cartoon began to play. A woman in colorful coveralls stood in front of a barn, and a cheerful tune began to play, simple guitar strums. 

“So many animals on the farm,
so many sounds heard on the farm,
all the animals make sounds on the farm,
can you name the sounds on the animal farm?” 

Her piggy’s brow furrowed for a moment, confused. “I don’t–what is this?”

Elizabeth didn’t reply, and the video continued. 

“What noise does the cow make on the farm?” 

He didn’t say anything. Grinning, Elizabeth removed a coin from his wallet, taking thousands of dollars away right for him to see. 

The song continued. 

“What noise does the cow make on the farm?” 

His eyes just widened. “What the hell?” 

This time, Elizabeth said, “Tsk, that’s wrong,” as she removed another coin, another couple thousand dollars in speculative value. 

“What noise does the cow make on the farm?” 

This time he got it, and finally, tentatively said, “Moo?” 

Elizabeth laughed, and the rest of his wallet stayed firmly place.

“So many cows moo on the farm.

What noise does the chicken make on the farm?”

He got it, and this time, answered immediately. “Cluck.” 

“What noise does the chicken make on the farm?”

“Cluck.” 

“What noise does the chicken make on the farm?”

“Cluck.” 

“So many chickens cluck on the farm.” 

Elizabeth was satisfied–he’d understood, and now, all that was left was to wait and enjoy the torture. 

The song moved forward–next to the dog.

“Woof.”

Then to the cat.

“Meow.”

Then to her second favorite moment–the pig.

“Oink.” 

And, finally, the crescendo of the song, where the singer asked,

“What noise do you make on the farm?” 

Her target didn’t get it. “Um…hello? Human sound? I don’t know.”

A coin vanished, and his anguish at financial loss was hilarious and cathartic. She’d picked an expensive one, too: He’d lost more than ten thousand dollars for that one little mistake. 

“What noise do you make on the farm?” 

“This is–there’s no sound for a person!” he objected, furious and near tears as she removed another coin–though, this time, she was generous and only cost him the price of a shitty car. 

“Think about it a little longer,” she replied, pointedly avoiding his new moniker. 

“What noise do you make on the farm?” 

Finally, with a dawning moment of humiliation, he got it. “Oink.” 

Success. No loss for him, as the song jingle finished its loop.  

“Good piggy,” Elizabeth praised. “Now, let’s see how well you learned.”

The song began again, playing through the chorus–the twenty second period he’d get every repetition to drink, or to try and eat some of the food in the bag. She looked forward to that–watching him gawk as he realized she’s left him no utensils, that all the food was chosen to be as messy as possible. Would he try to lick the pudding cups out with his tongue and get it all over his face, or scoop it out with his fingers and dirty his hands? She’d even done tests with the canned spaghetti–when cold, it was slightly thick, and would come out in globs. If he tried to drink it from the can, it’d inevitably end up all over his face, and I’d get to enjoy his mollified reaction as he spilled red sauce and soggy noodles all over his piggy onesie. 

The song itself was only a couple minutes long, but that was fine–the repetition added to the torture. He’d have to listen to it a few hundred times before she let him off the hook–in fact, she had set it up to play on a loop until she told it to stop, and she wouldn’t be doing that until he’d leaked through his diapers and filled up the seat at least as much as she had that morning. 

She wanted him to really get the pig pen experience before it came to an end, after all. 

She could have gotten up then, letting the audio play in the background to ensure that the piggy didn’t get his answers wrong. She kept watching, though, enjoying her private performance as he enthusiastically called out the barnyard animal sounds loud and clear for fear that if he mumbled she’d take more money away. 

This wasn’t about justice, or punishment, or even revenge. Her target was an asshole, but that’d been the excuse to pick him as her victim, not her motivation. 

This was just about fun. 

...

Author's note:

Patreon nuked my account and I'm left scrambling to try and make up the lost income and rebuild my audience from scratch.

I've set up a new page on a service called Ream, which is ABDL-friendly and fiction-focused. I'd be incredibly grateful if you'd go over there to subscribe, especially if you were previously subscribed on Patreon.

https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl 

[Patreon's ABDL Purge]

2 hours ago, DailyDi said:

Is there an adult version of Patreon yet?

Sorry your all are having to go through this. I know from personal experience how much it sucks to loose years of recurring income when a processor shuts you down. Takes forever to rebuild.

Ream is a version of Patreon that's specifically for authors, (sorry, visual artists,) and which is erotica friendly. (I sent an email to their team and was told that ABDL is explicitly allowed!) 

I've set up an account, and have a signup link for anyone else who wants to do the same: 
https://reamstories.com/create/Peculiar 

[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

On 11/9/2023 at 6:09 AM, Little Sam said:

That can't possibly backfire.

Heh, Charlie would have even less of an idea what to do with the underpants than the gnomes did.

Personally, I'd probably just call in a bomb threat to the police, So they're forced to evacuate the building. They're more likely to try and either hide Billie or sneak her out, than start a firefight, I'd think. Shoot-outs with the cops, probably wouldn't help their stock price.

Buuuut, this is a superhero world, Charlie really wants to be a superhero, and she's feeling pretty invincible right now, so I get it, I can't really blame her for wanting to do things the cool way, rather than the easy way.

That's really damn clever, also there's a joke there somewhere about curiosity and cat5.

To do their best to protect her, sure, but they're not omnipotent, Haven. ~Stares pointedly~

That submissive mindset kicking in. Gotta love it, when your automatic/default response to any prompt is to first make sure you aren't in trouble.

Well, we'd already figured out Haven's weakness to electricity. Maybe they've realised a defense to this would be, to be, umm... on the inside... of Charlie?

At least Haven can trigger the release of a ton of happy chemicals to help Charlie withstand any torture/interrogation, while biding their time. I'd want to throw in a line like, "Damn it, you're going to get me in trouble. I'm not allowed to orgasm."

Y'know, these guys were remarkably well-prepared for dealing with Haven, right from their first encounter. This isn't a Fox Kids cartoon, the bad guys can have proper guns, but they showed up with cattle prods. I'm thinking that Haven must have at least one sibling, somewhere here on Earth. There was definitely some pre-existing research on their species.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 Thank you... 

On 11/10/2023 at 9:36 AM, Wannatripbaby said:

Yet another terrible fate that many of my friends would pay good money for. 😅

That line alone is worth all the Likes I can give today. 🤣

 

LOL thanks

...

Issue 10: The Testing

 

I awoke in a context both familiar and unknown.

Haven had quickly conditioned me to restraint. Controlling me, my range of motion, pinning me with their own form into predicaments and binding my limbs however it pleased them. Waking up to find my wrists and feet shackled, my body spread out naked on a table, carried with it many of the same sensations as the alien symbiote’s own domination of my body. The tight band stretched over my mouth, gagging my cries of alarm into a muffled ‘mmm’ also carried with it a degree of familiarity.

In contrast, the bright lights shining into my eyes and the total, complete nudity stood out as completely foreign and terrifying. More than the presence of new things, though, another absence really sank home how alone I was. Haven kept me in diapers all but constantly, and the absence of that familiar, crinkling bulge between my thighs told me that Haven was gone.

How stupid could I be? I knew Haven didn’t actually care about me. I was a game, a toy, a plaything, a buffet. They liked me only insofar as I was a supply of food and entertainment, and a possessive streak didn’t mean they actually cared about me as a person, only as an object. A prize to hold onto.

But, even knowing that they could manipulate my hormones and my emotions like a tech whiz reprogramming a computer, I’d allowed myself to believe that their care went deeper.

They’d abandoned me, but…

(Do you trust me?)

I’d said no, because there’d been no point in lying. I did not trust the alien that I relied upon, not really–in a situation like this, it had to be easier, safer, and smarter for them to abandon me and find another host. Their question stood out as a manipulation, a trick to get me to stay quiet and wait for them.

I hated that the manipulation worked. Even as I logically knew that Haven wouldn’t come for me, emotionally I wanted that rescue.

To my left, I heard a door open. I tried to turn my head, but I was held in place by some sort of frame, metal bars on my left and right that kept me looking straight up. Outside my range of vision, a voice said, “Sir, she’s awake.”

“She’s immobile, that won’t matter,” came a deep, masculine reply. “Run the tests. We need that sample.”

Footsteps clinked on the floor–it sounded like tile–and I saw a face appear above me, covered in a surgical mask and goggles that rendered it almost completely alien, more like a puppet or a doll than a real person. Their goggles seemed to line up with mine for a moment, but I couldn’t tell if they were making eye contact.

“I’m sorry that this is necessary,” the person–a doctor? A researcher? said. “It’s necessary–your brain has been overtaken by the parasite, and we don’t know yet how to free you from its control.”

I wanted to scream, to say, “I’m still in control, it didn’t take over my mind,” but the gag made it impossible, and…was that even true? I’d accepted a lot in the past week that would have been utterly unthinkable just a few days earlier.

Had Haven gotten into my brain? I knew they could influence my hormones, my emotions, but what about my memories? My identity? The concept hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“If it’s any consolation,” the doctor continued, “Your mind will be an excellent specimen for our research. What we learn from you could further our understanding of xenobiology by decades. Think of how much your sacrifice will improve science at large.”

It clicked, then. Not a doctor, not a researcher. A mad scientist.

The lights in the room changed, from brilliant white to a dark purple glow, and though I couldn’t see much, the parts of my skin that were visible to me began to fluoresce. The goggles of the scientist twinkled for a moment, and they stepped back.

“Luminescence seems to correlate with duration of contact,” they said, tapping a black-gloved finger to their masked chin. “Interesting. There is significantly greater contact here…”

Reaching down, they brushed their fingers over my breasts. The contact felt both clinical and violating, an upsetting blend of delicacy and lack of care. I heard a tearing sound, paper being ripped open, and then felt a sudden icy dampness brush over my nipples.

I yelped, as the cool swab ran over my skin. “No significant tissue from the parasite,” the scientist commented. “But…it seems there is even greater contact below. Perhaps we can get enough that this won’t be a waste after all…”

The fingers moved down, between my legs, and I shut my eyes. I wanted to shake and scream into the gag, but I forced myself to remain still–what good would it do?

(Haven,) I thought. (Please. Be better than I know you are.)

My body was not my own, and I didn’t even have the privilege of a tormenter who enjoyed my pleasure. Haven could hurt and humiliate, but they balanced it with bliss. This was just the bad parts, without even a sense of sadistic glee to latch onto.

I was meat to be used and discarded, for whatever this person considered to be ‘Science’.

They used another swab, probing between my legs, ice and violation. I longed to be anywhere else, to be in a bed, to have Haven on me instead of this stranger. I wanted them. I needed them.

A moment later, the lights went out. Even the fluorescence on my body lost its glow–though, a moment later, deep crimson emergency lights began to glow.

“Hmm?” The scientist mused, standing up straight.

A few seconds passed, and a crash echoed outside the door. They stepped to it, reaching for the handle.

The door exploded inward, thrown completely in off the hinges, and a figure stepped in–all inky black, covered in an amorphous void. Haven, with a new host, and…

“Oh god, Charlie!”

The face covering retracted, and I saw Billie, my best friend, eyes huge. She lunged forward, grabbing at the chains that held me down. They snapped in her fingers, allowing me to sit upright and look around the room. I spared a glance for the mad scientist–on the ground, motionless, a large lump on their head. Still, they were breathing, we hadn’t killed anyone.

At least, not that I’d seen.

“Your–I don’t know what. The fucking alien predator thing, it came and got me,” Billie babbled. “What the fuck is going on?”

Reaching for my gag, I ripped it free, gasping as I got the wretched thing off my face. “I don’t–Haven. They came back for me?”

In response, an inky tendril lashed out to my skin, and I heard them directly.

(I couldn’t handle a direct fight. I had to leave. I’m sorry.)

I didn’t even know how to react to that.

I stared, for as long as I dared, mind reeling–Haven had the possibility to leave, the incentive, every reason to do so. The rescue couldn’t have been easy, and even if they’d been confident, surely they’d known there was a real risk.

They’d put themselves in danger for my sake.

To save me.

Because…I mattered to Haven.

“You…” I swallowed, trying to somehow condense all these surging thoughts into a few words. “You came for me.”

“Of course,” Billie said, confused, thinking I was talking about her. “I wouldn’t leave you here to these shitfuckers, any more than you would leave me. Come on–the monster thing got all the guards, I think, but there’s got to be more coming.

She helped me to my feet, and we staggered together out of the lab. Dark, cast in deep red shadow, the basement facility looked like something out of a horror movie.

Not all of the red was from the lighting.

None of that frightened me, because I had Haven, and they had me.

Together, we got out.

Haven got me out.

...

That's the end of this story arc! 
I have other ideas for these characters, but I'm going to give them a break for a while and also just see how popular demand shakes out - I hope everyone is enjoying my digression into erotic superhero antics!

If you really liked this series and want to see more padded superheroines, consider supporting the author! Diapers don't grow on trees, and I need them for... research... into, uh, plot stuff. (Yeah, that tracks.)

https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling

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[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

Issue 9: Private Invasion

I kept street clothes on, sweatpants and a baggy hoodie covering my body and hiding the bulging diaper Haven didn’t let me remove. As an additional bit of discomfort to emphasize my state, they lined the inside of my clothing, ensuring there was no airflow except up through the neck of my shirt, every step wafting the stink of my diaper right towards my face.

Even with that constant reminder of my dependence, it was hard not to feel like hot shit as I strolled up to the back entrance of the Storm Holdings office building–a relatively modest structure given Central City’s imposing skyline, but still a twenty story building owned and operated by a singular company. That alone was a symbol of wealth and power matched by few others–complete and total ownership of an entire block in Central City.

Even still, they could do nothing to stop me. All I had to do was touch the handle, and Haven oozed their way into the lock, unlatching the door and allowing me inside.

Out of sight of the public, Haven covered me in their inky armor, and I discarded the hoodie and sweats, freeing up my mobility as much as possible. My plan was simple–kick ass, take names, check rooms until I found Billie.

It was simple, and reckless, but it seemed to work when superheroes on TV did it. Sure, the publicly recognized heroes tended to have allies and resources I couldn’t dream of, cash that even a decade of camsite degradation couldn’t come close to, but the fundamentals were the same:

Beat up the bad guys, complete my objective, a series of question marks, profit.

Inside, I was quickly met with a security camera. I grinned, an expression mirrored on Haven’s night-black, featureless face as a curling up of several flapping tendrils. Let them see me, I wanted that camera.

Tendrils lashing out, I–we touched the camera, and through Haven I could feel the arcs of electricity, the wires coursing from the camera to a power supply, and another cable running across the building, towards a central network.

The further we got from this one camera, the more vague my ‘vision’ grew, but within a few seconds I’d built a mental map of the facility and–more importantly–the location of every camera in the building…

Including the ones deep down in a basement, four stories below ground level. A lot of cameras were down there, more than any other section of the facility.

“As good a place to look as any,” I said, swaggering to the elevator.

No one had stopped me yet, but I’d only been in the building for ten seconds or so. Even a fast responding team would still need some time to get to my position and coordinate, and that gave me an opportunity to stroll right up to the service elevator.

I didn’t push the button. Haven’s semisolid form slipped between the doors, and with a shove, I simply pushed them apart, accessing the elevator shaft.

“You’re sure?” I asked, a bit of hesitation entering me as I saw the long plummet.

(I’m sure.)

Haven’s confidence bolstering me, I took a step back, took a deep breath, and–

“Hey!” a guard shouted, dressed in a blue polo shirt and a clip-on tie. He had out a taser and was approaching quickly, to deal with the ‘intruder’.

I didn’t wait any longer, I jumped.

The fall passed in inky darkness–twenty feet, or thirty. Haven could show me our surroundings, but there wasn’t much to see, just four walls boxing us in, a shaft just barely big enough for three people to walk abreast if it’d been turned on its side.

I landed on one knee, one hand out for balance, the other on the ground to help absorb the shock. I felt it in my joints, a little, but the bulk of the impact reverberated into Haven, and the ripples of impact spread out through them and into the air above me. A burst of air created a loud ‘Whoomf’ like the blowback from a massive potato cannon above me, but no harm came to my body.

Standing, we ripped open another set of elevator doors, walking right into the sub-sub-sub basement.

Immediately, five more guards faced me, but they looked nothing like the semi-schlubby polo man from upstairs. These guards had on body armor, and they held some sort of not-rifle, attached with cables to hefty battery packs on their backs.

That alone, I probably could have dealt with, but a sixth guard stood behind some sort of enormous turret-mounted weapon, something I could only describe as a laser cannon.

“Uh…these guards aren’t like the other ones,” I whispered, uncertainty kicking the cockiness out from underneath me. I’d hoped that the element of surprise would carry us forward for long enough to get an edge, but they’d been waiting. They’d known I would come down this elevator, and had the cannon waiting for me. “This was a trap.”

(Do you trust me?) Haven asked.

In front of me, the lead guard–expression masked by a helmet so that I couldn’t read his face–shouted, “Get on the fucking ground.”

“What?” I asked, responding to Haven’s question first. “No, I–wait, I’m not refusing, just–”

The next words weren’t meant for me, but I caught them anyways, picked up by Haven’s acute hearing. “Take her down.”

Five rifles raised, and the tip of the cannon began to glow. I swallowed–this was going to hurt. Haven could protect me, but…

A chill came over me. Not fear, not anxiety, not any emotion at all–literal, physical cold, as my skin suddenly bared itself. I hadn’t had anything on save for my parasite and my diaper, but as Haven retreated, my body was left totally naked, exposed, vulnerable.

The realization struck me that I was totally helpless, and then the electric surge struck me from six strange weapons.

It wasn’t like the cattle prod at all. I stayed conscious when I got hit with the cattle prod. This knocked me out, and I fell, vision turning black before my body struck the ground.

...

How will Charlie ever get out of this? Find out next time!

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[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

On 10/29/2023 at 6:28 AM, Wannatripbaby said:

How am I already a chapter behind!? I can't keep up! 🤣

I'm with Charlie, Haven is acting mega weird. If I wasn't genre-savvy enough to know that these are acceptable levels of weird for a story's CG surrogate, I would suspect that getting zapped early factory-reset our parasitic friend. 😂

 

On 10/29/2023 at 8:23 AM, Little Sam said:

Yeah, I mean they have spent quite a long time now reading Charlie's mind, experiencing her memories etc. It probably is changing them, who knows if Haven, or any of their species, had ever experienced anything like human emotions before. In the first chapter, they mentioned being glad they didn't get stuck in a host without their own will, and later Charlie figures out that it just isn't as satisfying for Haven to just remote pilot her body like a drone. It makes me think that it might be quite rare for them to encounter compatible intelligent species. And humans are weird, we do things like have simultaneous diametrically opposed desires. We can imagine what we think would be the worst thing ever to experience, recoil in horror, then start to wonder how we'd react and if we could cope, obsessing over the idea until we almost want it to happen, just so we can find out.

And yeah, I was like that's not "you screwed up my order at a restaurant" mad, that's "I have a very particular set of skills" mad.

I don't think Haven really understands why they reacted as strongly as they did, though. "You hurt Mine, you die now" is pure Momma bear instinct, combined with major dominant energy. From experience, I can tell you it definitely is more than just "you broke my favourite toy" even if Dominants absolutely don't want to admit it.

I think maybe they just lack the language and experience to describe how they're feeling. This appears to be all new to them.

Responding to this whole conversation/thread:

I love it so much when y'all start analyzing the characters and stuff 😭 Thank you thank you!!!

I'd respond more thoroughly but that would be spoilers!

On 10/29/2023 at 5:00 PM, ABAlex said:

Hmmm...

Super powers in exchange for being diapered dommed 24/7 by something that can directly control your bowels and pain levels.

This should be a harder decisions.

Anyway, love this story. Very creative!

Now if only marvel would make a comic character like this

LOL - "Nooo please don't dom me, that's the worst! I'm just in it for the superpowers, I swear."

On 10/29/2023 at 5:15 PM, Little Sam said:

If it belongs anywhere, it's in The Boys' universe. You wouldn't be nearly the weirdest one.

 The Boys can't have Charlie, she's already in her own superhero universe. 

 

...

 

 

Issue 8: On Display

Storm Holdings proved both trivial and tricky to track down.

Trivial, because they were a publicly listed company–a simple search on the internet revealed quite a lot about them, including addresses.

Tricky, because that search resulted in no fewer than twenty three addresses, just within Central City alone. I toyed with the idea of going to each address, but quickly determined it would do no good–what would I do, break in and search their basements until I found something? Even if I could get away with that once, what were the odds of getting away with it twenty three times?

Fortunately, Haven had a better idea.

(They know who you are,) they reminded. (That means they’ve likely seen your videos. If they’ve got the resources to track you down, they have the resources to find your face on the internet.)

(And?) I asked.

(And it’s been a while since I’ve played with you in public.)

That’s how we found ourselves at the trashiest mall in the city, my phone secured to a bathroom stall with duct tape to record my performance, with a nice, eye catching title–‘Watch me get fucked and fill my diaper on a public toilet’. This certainly violated the terms of service of any legitimate cam site, but Haven found a website that was sufficiently seedy and which wouldn’t burn my income to use.

And then, well…we’d made the headline true, playing up the voyeurism. Since this wasn’t my main site, nobody could send me commands, but I still reacted as best as I could to the chat going on, playing up my responses as I fingered myself beneath a saturated diaper for the entertainment of anonymous strangers.

I made a show of it, too–granting Haven a down payment for my promise, I did everything I could think of in a masochistic display, at least when I had the bathroom to myself. While I was alone, I spanked my thighs, pinched my nipples, squirted into my fingers and then licked them clean–and even when anyone walked in, my play didn’t end, it simply grew silent.

Haven enjoyed that the most–though the cameras couldn’t see, they took those moments to fuck me in both ends, and I could tell they enjoyed making me struggle to keep from gasping and moaning. It was all I could do to keep perfectly still and quiet as they hit me with one earth shattering orgasm after another, knowing I couldn’t make even a peep in reply.

Thirty minutes into my livestream, at a point where the bathroom was empty save for myself, the bathroom door flew open, and no less than six figures walked in. They hadn’t chosen to be any more subtle than before; mirrored sunglasses and black clothes still dominated their wardrobe–instead, they’d upped the ante with sheer numbers.

The apparent leader held out her phone, watching a particularly shameful moment where I was humping the toilet seat in a diaper that’d begun to leak.

“In the back,” she said immediately, gesturing to the farthest stall, where my little ‘livestream’ performance was playing. “We’re not letting her get away this time.”

Two obedient thugs walked to the stall door, cautious that I might attack them from inside the bathroom.

None of them expected the door to slam behind them, at the same moment that all the lights went out.

Maybe it was unfair to call my performance a ‘Livestream’, since we’d recorded it an hour in advance, but that’s what it said on the internet. To anyone watching, it’d look like I was live–I even reacted to messages in chat. Of course, I only responded to messages that I’d scripted out in advance, messages I sent from a burner account after the fact.

Maybe if they’d looked up when they came in, it would have been a different story, but they’d been too focused on the stall they thought I was in. The trap had worked perfectly, and I had six Storm Holdings thugs locked in a pitch black room, utterly helpless.

Dangling from the ceiling, Haven’s body sticking to tiles like a glue trap, we analyzed for a moment.

(Two candidates,) Haven thought. (The ones closest to the door.)

I grinned, and then their inky body pulled itself over my face, symbiote covering me completely as we started the fight.

Dropping onto their leader, I landed on her shoulders, my body facing hers, and we both fell to the floor. Still in the same diaper I’d worn in the video, I rewarded the thug leader’s ambition with a faceful of gross, then Haven left a bit of themself stuck to her, a strand that suffocated while I dealt with the rest.

It was a trivially easy fight–they couldn’t see, they couldn’t strike, and even when a clumsy waving hand clocked me, it bounced off. Adrenaline surged in my body, and in half a minute, they were all unconscious.

All save for two.

And, for once, I let Haven do the talking. They used my vocal cords, but modulated it through their form, and the voice came out as a deep, unsettling, and wholly inhuman growl. “Where?”

One of the thugs began to cry, panic tears rushing down his face. The other begged, instead. “Please, don’t kill us–”

In an instant, I reached out, consuming the crying thug’s face completely. It sounded as though he’d simply ceased to exist, and there was no light to contradict this assumption. Beneath Haven’s ooze, his mouth and nose were cut off from oxygen, suffocating him into unconsciousness–but for all his ally could tell, he’d been killed in the blink of an eye.

“Where?” Haven repeated, facing the remaining, babbling thug. We’d dabbled with the idea of grabbing him, rewiring his hormones to make his fear as intense as possible, but he was already suffused with the smell of fear–no further manipulation from us was necessary.

“Th-the office on m-Main Street, a block down from the Central City r-r-Research Institute!” he stammered. “We were just supposed to take you there, a-and–”

“Where’s the girl?” Haven insisted.

Pitch rising to pure terror, the thug stuttered, “I d-d-don’t know about any girl!”

“Useless,” we said together, turning our power on him. Without oxygen, his brain went to sleep quickly. While still in contact with the unconscious body, Haven enacted a bit of hormonal manipulation, releasing melatonin subtracting adrenaline, ensuring he’d stay that way for a good long while.

(Main street office,) Haven thought. (Easy.)

I nodded beneath my symbiotic mask. “Let’s go.”

...

Things are starting to build to a climax here! 
...okay yes I know Charlie isn't allowed to climax until she's had all her edging, but I'm talking about the plot.

Support the author for early access and a feeling of charitable self-satisfaction that's akin to being allowed to climax: 
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[Charlie, Slipping Away (Caption)]

On 10/30/2023 at 9:13 PM, LilRugrat said:

Luv Luv LUV this!!

Thank you!

[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

20 hours ago, Little Sam said:

Being constantly suspicious of being treated kindly ~soft sigh~ I remember that. 😊

Interesting fact, adrenaline tastes bitter and metallic, you often can taste it when fight or flight kicks in, assuming you aren't otherwise too distracted to notice.

  

Does she have a superhero outfit? Superman wears his underwear over his tights, so y'know... some inspiration for Haven there.

Funny you should ask that...

Issue 7: Suiting Up

 

I heard a subtle, almost subaudible hum in the air when I woke up–clean, nestled in blankets, as pleasant a wakeup as I’d been allowed to experience since Haven had claimed me as their own. Glancing around, I identified the source of the hum–a black, amorphous ball had glomped onto my phone, and was buzzing so rapidly on the device that it sent out ripples of pulsing sound.

A tendril still dangled between the nightstand and the bed, so they still had contact with me–if I focused, I could feel them slithering around my thighs–but I didn’t seem to have their attention in that moment.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

(Research,) Haven replied. (You asked, last night, ‘How did they find us?’. I believe I have the answer.)

“Oh?” Sitting up, I rubbed at my eyes and pushed the sleepiness away. It took me a moment to understand what I’d just been told, and to ultimately gawk. “Wait, how?”

(Eight days ago–you may have been the first to find me, but you were not the only one to see the pod I rode within. You left the shell at your former associate’s house, but the impact crater was still discovered. There are several amateur UFOlogists who posted videos that same day–all of whom had their videos removed shortly after.)

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I said, “Okay. So they knew there was something. But how could they know anything besides that?”

(Your former associate. Billie.)

I blinked. “What, she sold us out?”

(I doubt she sees it that way. When last you spoke, you were as much my prisoner as my plaything. Regardless–one of the same UFO hunters spoke of “G Men” coming to your little hometown and entering your neighborhood. They most likely spoke to Billie, learned of my existence, and chose to pursue the lead aggressively.)

“Oh, oh god,” I said, shaking my head. Sure, I hadn’t contacted Billie. I didn’t know how to explain any of this, that I was working with Haven now, that I lik—it didn’t matter, it was all too much to put into words, but she was probably worried sick about me. “I need to call her.”

(And if she alerts the authorities a second time, and they track us down?)

“They’re already tracking us down pretty fucking well,” I pointed out, allowing a bit of edge to enter my tone. “I need to call her.”

I expected resistance, but Haven said nothing, oozing off my phone and back to my body. (Very well, Mine.)

Uncertain, I reached for my phone, then hesitated. “Why are you acting like this?”

(What do you mean?)

“You’re…nice. Last night. You let me clean up, you did what I asked, you didn’t fuck with me at all. I thought I tasted best when I was miserable.” I was thinking it out as I said it, speaking my undeveloped theory. “What, am I just too much of a good thing, trying to eat a whole tub of caviar in one meal?”

(It’s more complex than that,) Haven hedged, and I knew their words well enough to notice the reticence. (It’s a delicate blend, it requires…cultivation.)

“Right,” I said. “Okay. So you can’t let me feel too bad, or I get gross.”

(Correct. I’m glad you understand.)

Haven’s behavior still struck me as odd–were they lying, or simply too alien for me to truly understand? Whichever it was, I didn’t have any good way of learning the truth, so I dropped the subject and pulled up Billie’s contact number.

It rang six times before picking up, and I smiled into the receiver. “Hey, Billie! How are you doing? Look, about–”

“Charlie, oh my god,” the voice replied. It sounded a bit like Billie, but deeper, and a bit worn–weathered by age. I knew Billie’s mom pretty well, but the surprise caught me off guard and it took me a minute to recognize it. “Have you heard from Jessica?”

That took me another moment of mental calculation. ‘Jessica Billingsworth’ might have been her full name, but only her parents actually called her that. “No ma’am,” I said, slipping back into old childhood honorifics. “Is she missing?”

“Just a couple days after you disappeared,” Billie’s mom said. “These men–they said they were from the government, but they showed up, and said they had questions for her, and…she didn’t come back. You haven’t heard from her?”

My fingers felt numb for a moment, and I didn’t have anything to say in response.

“Charlie,” she repeated. “Are you there?”

“I’m going to find her,” I said, simply. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll bring her home.”

I hung up, lowering my phone.

(Storm Holdings likely took her–or would know who did,) Haven said, thinking about the problem from a far more analytical point than I could manage.

“Storm Holdings isn’t government,” I pointed out. “So they were lying, or they’re working for something top secret.”

(Does it matter?)

It didn’t, really.

“Haven,” I whispered, my voice quiet and hard so it would be clear this wasn’t an impulsive choice. “I give you full permission to do whatever the fuck you want to me. Call it a day pass–A twenty four hour window where I’ll be your fucking puppet. Hurt me, humiliate me, I don’t care. But I’m going to need something from you, first.”

(Mine–)

“I know, you said we don’t negotiate,” I interrupted, rolling my eyes. “So this isn’t a negotiation, it’s a promise. You and I are going to get Billie back, and we’re going to burn the people that’ve been coming for us, and then you’ll get whatever the hell eight course meal you want from my body. Got it?”

A moment of silence passed, and then Haven responded without words.

Instead, their inky form spread across my body, spreading from my thighs out. Their ink stretched over my waist and belly, up over my breasts, extending to cover every inch of skin, all the while stretching down like leggings over my skin, expanding to cover the diaper I wore beneath their amorphous bodysuit.

In under a second, they’d swelled over me, a tidal force that covered my skin like armor, stretching up to my neck. I stood straight and took a few speculative steps. Haven moved with me, enhancing everything–I felt strong, powerful, capable.

(Ready?) Haven asked.

I nodded. I didn’t have any quips, any good one-liners, and they’d have been wasted on an alien mind like Haven, so I took a page from Haven’s book–I didn’t speak, I didn’t waste time on words, I just got to work.

...

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[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

On 10/26/2023 at 4:42 PM, Little Sam said:

I really like this, and am looking forward to further adventure of the Stinky Avenger (just a suggestion 😛). I hope she eventually confesses that she likes it, not just all the "awful" things they make her do, and that it's not just some act of noble self-sacrifice on her part in exchange for superpowers, but that she actually likes being theirs, and would feel completely lost if they ever decided to leave her.

Oooh maybe Haven could grow big enough to split and take a second "victim", causing a telepathic link between them. That would make for an awful lot of interesting fun... and it'd probably be pretty useful for crime fighting too.

It occurs to me that she hasn't picked out a superhero name yet 🤔

On 10/26/2023 at 4:46 PM, Wannatripbaby said:

I actually would take it in the opposite direction: have Haven learn about things like indirect attachment/caring about someone who *isn't* your host, through Charlie. 

Empathy? Pfft that's for humans!

Issue 6: After

Haven wrapped their body around me as I checked in, clinging to me like a wetsuit so that my diaper couldn’t be detected. An odd gesture, considering how much they typically relished the opportunity to humiliate me. Perhaps they were worried we’d draw too much attention, given that we were trying to keep a low profile.

Or, perhaps, they were trying to be kind.

Whichever answer was correct, I appreciated an opportunity to interact with someone who didn’t notice or remark on my undignified underwear. I got checked in quickly, took the elevator up to my room, and made sure to throw the deadbolt lock once I got in. A room key was needed to even access the elevator, but I wasn’t taking chances about someone sneaking up to my room for round three.

Once safe–or at least relatively safe–I relaxed, flopping onto the bed. “You’ll make sure I don’t rash tonight, right?” I asked. “Because I’m not going outside again until I’ve had a chance to sleep.”

Haven paused, and for a moment, I thought the threat of a rash might have just been reintroduced to the table by my careless comment. Instead, they thought, (Go turn on the shower.)

(What now?) I thought back. Some kind of temperature torture, with cold and hot water? Or were they simply going to flood my diaper until it weighed as much as a medicine ball? Whatever they wanted to do to me, I’d begrudgingly put up with it–shuffling to the bathroom, I turned on the water, checking the temperature with my hand until it got just right.

(You’re in a state of plummeting hormones,) Haven said. (Adrenaline and cortisol were pumped into your system at prodigious rates earlier, but now they’ve dropped off almost completely. You need care to avoid a mental crash.)

I frowned. “Okay. Sure, you don’t want my brain chemicals to get spoiled, that would taste bad.”

They didn’t correct me, but they didn’t confirm my theory either.

Slipping up my body, Haven’s goopy form slid around the front of my diaper, popping the tapes off one at a time. The abused absorbent garment was thrown into the bathroom’s tiny plastic trash can, overwhelming it, but neither I nor Haven really cared.

(Get into the shower.)

I obeyed, still half expecting a trap, but my suspicions were melted away by indulgence as I felt the warm water course over me.

I’d had showers since Haven overtook me, of course; I had to get cleaned up occasionally. The relief of washing away layers of sticky salt-sweat and sex and other fluids was always a palpable relief, but this was something more, something that penetrated my muscles and unclenched tight spots I hadn’t been aware of until the tension was relieved.

I exhaled in sheer relief as the water cleansed my body from the top down, rinsing everything away, brown water slowly turning clear until I’d been completely rinsed.

(Breathe,) Haven instructed. (Center yourself. You are here. You are safe.)

(You’re acting weird,) I replied, thinking my response so that water wouldn’t splash in my mouth.

(You require particular care, I’m providing it. Take as long as you need.)

(As long as I ‘need’? I’m pretty much clean, so... What does that mean?)

(Take as long as you desire…Mine.)

The use of the label they’d created for me felt tentative, slightly probing. Testing my reaction to its use, as though they cared what I thought of it.

I didn’t speak any response, didn’t think one, I just let the moment dangle between us, indulging in my shower.

Since it wasn’t mine anyways and I didn’t really care about a bit of waste, I used slick handfuls of the hotel shampoo and bodywash, lathering my body up to indulgent levels. When I finally felt clean, truly clean, I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. The mirror had fogged up so completely that it was completely nonreflective, but I wiped a smudge, looking at myself.

I looked tired, and drained, but I still looked like me. Charlie hadn’t gone anywhere, in spite of the past week and a half.

(Go lay down,) Haven instructed.

“Why?”

(Please?)

I was so caught off guard by the request that I didn’t even think to disobey–I walked out of the bathroom and to the hotel’s luxurious–as luxurious as a cheap economy hotel could get me–twin bed.

A slight silence in my thoughts caught my attention–an absence, like when you notice that you can’t hear the air running. A space had just emptied.

Glancing up, I saw Haven across the room, moving like a ferrofluid drawn by a magnet as they searched through my bag. They’d…left my head. I didn’t have them attached to me, at least for a brief moment.

It occurred to me that I could try to run. Sure, I was naked, but I was also free of the parasite that lived in my head, and I didn’t know if they could move across the room fast enough to chase me. I could get out, go…somewhere, call a friend, get a ride back home. Haven would have to find a new host.

Instead, I stayed on the bed, watching curiously as they returned, towing along a fresh diaper and a tube of baby powder.

When they touched my skin, slithering up my leg, the space in my head was filled again. Their presence had reached my mind.

(Just relax,) they told me. (You have nothing you need to do tonight. All I require of you is that you care for yourself.)

The diaper unfolded, and a puff of cool, dry powder sprinkled across my thighs. I didn’t even have to sit up or move my hips, Haven slid the puffy garment into place, adjusting the fit so it’d be snug and secure without chafing. The level of care on display surprised me–Haven had gone out of their way not just to ensure my physical wellbeing, but my comfort.

(Mine,) Haven thought.

I didn’t question their meaning, it was too late for that, and I was too tired.

I needed sleep, and with Haven watching over me, I slept.

...

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[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

On 10/20/2023 at 11:09 AM, Wannatripbaby said:

Never send a Goon to do a Nemesis' job. 😅

Of course that would require her/Haven to have a Nemesis. Hint hint! 👀

And hey, we now now that Haven is vulnerable to electricity. Good to know. Maybe next time Haven will be more eager to help stop attackers, rather than wasting time bargaining. 

Probably not, but maybe. 😅

We're getting there  

 

Issue 5: Flight or Fight

 

Squelching out onto the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street, uncertain where to go.

I could hear sirens in the distance. Without a clue whether they were coming to the convenience store or if it was just a coincidence, I assumed the worst, and that I didn’t have much time to get clear if I didn’t want to spend my time answering their questions.

“Haven–I don’t know how to actually do this superhero shit. What do I do?”

(I…)

They trailed off, at a loss for words for the first time since I’d met them.

Glancing up and down once again, I tried to think. The people had come in right before they attacked me, and–

“The car!” I said aloud, looking at the black SUV parked right in front of me. It was the best chance I had at tracking down where these people came from, unless I stuck around and talked to them myself.

Walking around, I tried to peer inside, unsure what kind of clues I was looking for. Something–anything. They had sought me out specifically, attacked me while talking about a ‘sample’. They would come at me again unless I put a stop to it.

(How the fuck did they know about us?)

Getting to the driver’s side, I tried the handle. It opened–a stroke of luck. Glancing around, I got right into the seat, my still-full diaper squelching beneath my weight as I looked around.

It looked used, but barren–no personalizations, no cups in the cupholders. I closed the door before leaning over and opening the glove compartment, taking out a few papers.

“It’s a rental,” I said aloud. “Made out to…Storm Holdings? There’s no name listed.”

Haven didn’t respond right away.

“Haven, what’s–”

(I didn’t protect you.)

I paused. “That’s–whatever. We don’t have much time before–”

(Mine. You are Mine, and I didn’t protect you.)

“Haven, you can self-flagellate later. Right now, I need to–”

Black ink spilled out from beneath my clothes, Haven’s body slipping over the paper and producing my phone. Their gooey, jet-black form seemed to bristle, like water set on a bass speaker, movements more quick and twitchy than I’d grown to expect from my parasite. Almost…

“Haven, are you anxious?”

No response for several seconds, though I saw my phone blink through several screens, tabs moving as fast as they’d load.

(You need a better phone,) Haven replied. (Storm Holdings. I’ve got an address. Drive.)

“Drive?” I said, barking out a laugh. “I can’t just hotwire a–”

Blackness shot out from Haven’s form, a strand oozing into the keyhole. A moment later, the SUV rumbled to life, convinced to start by…whatever Haven had done.

(Drive,) Haven repeated.

Eyes widening, I gripped the steering wheel, pulling out before I could question what we were doing. “This is, uh, grand theft auto.”

(Would you rather go back, explain things to the police, and trust them to handle it? I thought you wanted to be a vigilante.)

“I want to be a superhero. There’s a difference.”

(What is the difference?)

“Erm…”

(Turn left here.)

I obeyed. “Are we sure we want to go after these people now? We’re, I mean… I’m hardly in the best condition to fight.”

(I’m healing you as we go.)

“I mean my diaper,” I clarified. “I didn’t exactly get to change back there. I’m…this is not how I pictured my crime fighting to go.”

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been–the modern style SUV had strong air conditioning and kept the air moving away from me, so a lingering smell didn’t bother me.

Haven’s tone was resolute. (We’re going. We’re going to find these people. We’re going to stop them.)

I hesitated, then put my foot on the brake, looking for a place to pull over. “Haven, stop–”

Blackness spread over my body, suddenly, Haven consuming my body, sealing me away in their sticky, confining presence. My arms were pulled back to my body, my feet were stuck to the floor, and Haven took the wheel, swerving back into traffic.

(No. No. I am the master here, I am the one in control. I am allowing you to play your little game because it amuses me, not because you are in charge, not because you have any power of your own. Do you understand?)

I inhaled sharply–cognitively, I knew the car wasn’t without a driver, but there was a certain terror in sitting in the driver's seat, my arms bound to my body, watching cars zip by.

(We are going to go find the people that attacked you,) Haven continued. (And you are going to be obedient and thankful to me for indulging in your fantasy of heroics.)

“Why?” I demanded. “Just to spite me? Because I said no? What the hell kind of logic is that? You want to take me back to the apartment, find some new way to make me debase myself for you, fine, but Haven–I’m scared.”

(Don’t be. They won’t get a shot like that on you again, I’m going to make certain of it.)

“Haven, I’m not scared of them.”

Dead silence.

Haven stopped the car, pulling off to the side. The restriction on my limbs lifted, and they pulled away.

“What?” I asked, masking fear with sarcasm. “Does fear not taste good?”

(Charlie,) Haven thought, letting the name hang.

“That’s my name,” I said. “I’d say ‘don’t wear it out’, but I don’t know if you’ve ever said it before.”

(They hurt you.) That was all the explanation they gave, as though it perfectly explained all their behavior.

It didn’t. “You hurt me all the time. So you’re jealous someone else played with your favorite toy?”

(It’s different. I know what you can take.)

“They didn’t break me,” I objected. “Your plaything is fine. We don’t need to go in all half-cocked trying to beat a bad guy we know nothing about.”

(Charlie,) they repeated. (They hurt you. That cannot happen again.)

The repetition interrupted my reply. It didn’t strike me as mere redundancy–repeating the same words until I gave up and stopped arguing. Haven didn’t know what else to say, how else to convey their motive.

(Get out of the car. We’ll get a hotel room, in case they know where you live.) Haven said. (We won’t go after them tonight.)

 

...

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[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

Issue 4: Shocked

 

“Erm–um–” I stammered, fumbling for my money.

I had to hope the cashier couldn’t smell me. A sheet of plexiglass covered most of the space between customer and employee, leaving only a little gap beneath for us to exchange cash and product. I’d gone for something cheap, just a candy bar, any excuse to pay him money so I could get access to the bathroom.

Regardless of what he could smell, though, the lady in line behind me could definitely smell my diaper. If the cashier had identified the odor as wafting from beneath my shorts, he hadn’t said as much, but that could just as easily have been out of a sense of polite respect for my dignity.

So, I fumbled, trying to get the interaction over with as fast as possible.

“Erm–can I use your bathroom?” I asked, as he passed my receipt back to me.

He nodded, taking back the receipt for a moment, leaving me stranded to wait a little longer, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Taking a pen, he wrote down a number on the back of the paper, slowly, one swoopy mark at a time.

Outside, a car parked right in front of the door, and a moment later an electronic chime rang as the door opened, more customers walking in.

(Ugh, come on, come on, I don’t want to be standing here anymore,) I thought, aware of all the eyes now on me–or, more importantly, the noses.

“Door code,” he explained, sliding the receipt back to me.

I nodded thankfully. “Thanks. Erm, where is it?”

Pointing around back, he guided my attention to an unlabeled door by the freezers. Eager to get out of there, I hurried to the back.

(Ugh, thank god it locks–let’s get this over with.) Punching the door code into the steel handle, I slipped into relative privacy and out of the attention of the other customers.

The bathroom wasn’t much–just a toilet, a sink, and a small cupboard in a four by five rectangle. There wasn’t much room, but it was enough. I slipped my shorts down to my ankles, stepped out of them, and set them on the sink, then took off my backpack–

(Your diaper bag, now, don’t be coy,) Haven corrected.

I took off my diaper bag, rolling my eyes, and fished inside for a fresh diaper and my powder.

Outside, I heard noise–the cashier, raising his voice, though I couldn’t make out the details.

Haven stirred inside me. (He said, ‘That’s for paying customers only.’)

(Wait, what? But–)

The door to the bathroom flew open, kicked by a heavy boot. The steel handle and electronic lock were fine, but the cheap frame blew out in splinters, rendering that protection moot.

The person in the door grinned, a muscled man almost a foot my superior and dressed in black from tip to toe. He held a long, shiny silver rod, and looked ready to deal out some serious Fuck You.

Two muggings in one day–I’d come to the right place for crime.

(Well, shit,) I thought. (Haven, what’s this going to cost me?)

(Hmmm, how about–) Haven began, but before they could finish the thought, the big man lunged, extending the rod. I finally got a glance at the two prongs on the end, and realized, (cattle prod), just a second before it made contact with my skin.

I fell backwards, landing on the toilet, and cried out in pain. I expected Haven to intervene, to do something, but as I fell I felt them squirm inside me, and in my thoughts, I felt something–fear?

No, pain.

This hurt Haven as much as it did me.

The thug kept the prod pressed against my body, shocks of electricity coursing through me, all but melting me into the toilet. My body spasmed, but I ground my teeth–I’d been through worse.

“I’ve got her,” the huge thug called out, finally stopping the shock for just a moment, prodding me again. Zzaapp!

“Get the sample and get out,” a voice replied–masculine, but I couldn’t see who was speaking. “Hurry.”

I thought about moving, but he zapped me yet again, and again, sending a course of electricity through my body every second or so, ensuring I couldn’t rally or even stand.

(Haven, I need you.)

“You do it–I’m holding her down.”

Zzaapp!

(Haven?)

Grumbling, the other person–zzaapp!–walked over, reaching into his pocket for a small leather pouch.

“Don’t see why she was so much trouble,” the big one said. Zzaapp!

Little whimpers escaped my mouth–all I could muster. Haven had fallen still, silent. It hurt, and though I’d faced other pain, other torture, even, each sting was sharp and acute, frying my body and burning my muscles.

“H-hav…” I stammered, teeth chattering. “Help–”

Haven had made me afraid plenty of times–for my dignity, for my future. They’d never truly made me feel afraid for my life, but this man…I had no idea what he was going to do to me.

Zzaapp!

“Let’s just get this over with and–”

Click. “Get the fuck away from her.”

The cashier had a gun. Fucking–of course he did, we were in crime central, and he had it aimed on the big guy.

The other one looked back, raising an eyebrow. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The fuck it doesn’t,” the cashier said. “Cops are on their way. Get away from her.”

Hesitating, the huge man seemed to debate whether to obey or turn around and do something unsavory to the cashier, but in that hesitation, he finally gave me time to rally.

I didn’t need Haven for this, just one swift, well placed kick up between his legs. He made a little noise, a slight exhale, and dropped to his knees.

(Haven, you with  me?)

(Just…a moment…)

I had two legs and a lot of fury to unleash, so I raised my foot again, this time driving a kick into the thug’s face.

His partner began to move, but the cashier turned his pistol to face the man, and again, bought me a second of hesitation. From there, finally, Haven jumped into action, slithering down my leg and across the floor, grabbing the man’s ankle and yanking hard. He fell, head banging against a countertop, knocked out cold.

Staggering up, I bent and grabbed the cattle prod, lifted it to the big thug’s chest, and thumbed the trigger. He hadn’t let up, so I didn’t either, holding it until he stopped making noises.

(He’s still alive,) Haven said.

(I don’t really care.)

Looking at the cashier, I said, “Er…”

My diaper was on full display, sagging and gross, but he didn’t comment, instead preferring to make a general statement about the situation. “Holy shit.”

“I–” I started, wondering what I’d do when the cops arrived. “I don’t know if–I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, no, get out of here,” he said. “Were these guys after you? Why?”

I swallowed, bending to take my shorts off the ground and yank them back up over my diaper. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

...

Well that escalated quickly! 

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[Open Call for Authors - Research for a CAPCon Presentation]

Hello!

I'm putting together a presentation for CAPCon about being a content creator in the AB/DL space - I've had a lot of people ask me how to start selling their work, IF they should start selling their work, how to get more subscribers, etc, and I figured it would be a good thing to just cover for as many people at once as possible.

If you write - and particular, if you try to make money from your writing - I would appreciate if you took a couple minutes to fill out this form. (I just did it myself, it took about three minutes.) There's no minimum or particular skill level I'm looking for - everyone can fill it out if you've ever made any content at all for the AB/DL community. 

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[Dungeons and Diapers (Chapter 17, Updated Oct 11th)]

6 hours ago, keith60 said:

i hope the story will go on 

It will! ^^

Chapter 17

 

14th of Pharast

My Dearest Serendipity,

I must first apologize for the lateness of this letter. It’s been some time since we’ve been to a city with a proper post office–the adventurer’s life.

Even as I miss you, it feels good to be out adventuring again. Petty quests and deliveries might not seem as grand as delving into other planes or battling world-feared wizards, but there’s a certain satisfaction in it–and, I might add, a degree of comfort in knowing that it’s unlikely we’ll be cursed or tricked or changed.

And speaking of changes–Sandra’s begun to work on her potty training! Three weeks ago, she was washing her diapers out behind camp while a few travelling wood elves passed by, and I think that’s what broke her–though, she claims it’s simply because she’s getting tired of all the washing. (I must say, even with a spell doing all the work, I’d get tired of it as well.) Regardless, she’s begun taking the opportunity to work on it daily. When we have the time in the morning, while I’m preparing my spells, she’ll go off and sit on a toilet if we’re at a tavern, or whatever latrine hole we’ve dug at camp, and work on it–it may not be the best technique, but it’s the one she’s got access to, since we’re otherwise on the road.

It hasn’t helped much, so far. During our traveling, she still doesn’t have much control over when she’ll need to go, if she has warning at all. I’m unsure if this slow improvement is a lingering effects of how the Wizard cursed her, or if it’s a side effect of being mature and trying to learn a juvenile skill. Children learn many things very, very quickly while their brains are growing, but we’ve all got adult brains, with the stunted rate of study that comes with maturity.

It’s something to research, at any rate.

And speaking of research, I’ve been learning some new spells–and tweaking a few, too. As much as he’s a bastard, the Wizard had some clever ideas on energy control, and I’ve been working them into my existing magic. It’s like a cheat! My pacifier curse inspired me to look into magic along those lines, and I’ve found that it’s far easier to silence someone by sealing their lips with a bit of rubber than to silence them with magic alone–it makes me think of all kinds of ideas that work along those lines.

What could accomplish when applying this thinking to spells of the highest order? I’ve only just begun to dig into this, but I think there’s some potential.

You might find this example funny–I’ve found that it’s easy to create diversion-style illusions by working in a bit of the magic. There’s various sounds and sensations that draw the attention of beasts and men alike more strongly than simple curiosity. Fear has commonly been used as a way to frighten guards and distract them from a sneaking spy, but that has its downsides–a frightened guard is a twitchy guard.

An aroused guard, however? Not only does that distract their attention rather strongly, it lowers inhibitions rather than raising them. Lacing in a bit of…shall I say, ‘amorous energy’ into an enchantment can offer some real benefits.

I explained this to a bard we were working with a week or so ago, and she seemed quite interested. Her typical style seemed quite–shall I say, aggressive? With music enchanted with lightning of some sort, shocking notes of power. After a bit of dabbling, we managed to work paraphilic magic into one of her more sinister spells, wherein she can sow thoughts in the minds of her targets.

It worked–perhaps a bit too well! The rest of us managed to sneak past the dragon completely undetected, and nobody was harmed. I will say, the bard seemed rather winded by the whole experience, and her clothes needed to be replaced. I almost apologized, but she only asked if I could enhance any other magic in her repertoire. She’s bringing a few spells back to her college to share with her peers–she says she plans to call the new genre she’s developed “Baby Metal”, though I don’t know if it’ll see any traction.

It’s good to be questing again. We’re far stronger than we were when last this was common, and the rewards from our guild work is stupendous–we’re flush with cash. There’s still never enough to buy everything I could possibly want. (Though I’m pretty sure some of the listed prices in the guild catalog must have an extra zero snuck onto the end for prestige.)

I must also say–and, please, accept my apologies if this is a bit rash, but…I’ve missed you, deeply. Perhaps it’s all the paraphilic magic I’ve been doing, but my thoughts drift to daily, and when I’ve got any semblance of privacy, my thoughts of you grow even stronger. I often find myself wishing I had that relic you showed me, the one that could buzz like a hornets nest–with a layer of this latex and so much fabric, it’s difficult for mere friction to get me anywhere. Would it be possible to acquire one of those from one of your Calistrian craftsmen? I’d be very happy to own one, and I’d think of you whenever I’m using it.

I hope this letter finds you well, and that your work in the temple continues to excel. Next time I am in your city, your performance will be all I desire to see.

I have the honor to be at your service,

Hadrian Mistweaver

…

10th of Sarenith

My Lovely, Sexy Serendipity,

Can I vent for a moment? I’d just like to get some frustrations out on paper and have them be heard. If you’d prefer, you don’t even have to read this–skip this first page completely and move on to where I shower you with compliments.

Sandra’s potty training has become a chore. I am more than happy for her to try her hand at self improvement, but it’s become increasingly annoying for us as a party to deal with.

It’s the waiting.

Every morning, waiting for her to sit on a potty and practice. Every evening, too, we have to wait around before supper–or we could just eat without her, but that feels like an incredibly rude thing to do.

She doesn’t even seem like she’s making progress! Every time we have to go more than a couple hours without a stop, her diaper still ends up soaked. It’s almost worse, because she ends up flustered and embarrassed, sulking off to go change as though she hasn’t been without potty training for months, as though the rest of the party wasn’t in a similar predicament. I don’t think she’s had a single dry night since getting out of her cursed diaper, and she only makes it to the potty through luck during the day.

And it’s affecting our work.

Three weeks ago–no, I should back up.

A month ago, we were called to a job the next town over. It should be six days of travel. It took us eight, because we kept having to stop for thirty minutes at a stretch so she can use her wondrous potty–it shrinks down to fit in your pocket when you’re not sitting on it–to ‘practice’.

Then, three weeks ago, when we finally arrived at the town, we got our task–staking out a cave where suspected vampire activity was occurring.

Naturally, this means staying up overnight. We were taking shifts, two at a time, on opposite sides of the cave for maximum vulnerability. And, it turns out–Sandra thought she could use her shift to try and get a little ‘training’ in. She had her pants around her ankles when activity around the cave mouth began, and I was on the other side of the shift–I had to run in, by myself, to catch the creatures who were sneaking out.

Turns out, they were just drow teens who’d been sneaking off to the cave for a little nighttime romance. But you’d best believe–when they saw Sandra waddling into the fray, holding her pants up with one hand because she hadn’t had time to re-dress herself, they made sure the village knew afterwards.

She promised it wouldn’t interfere with our work again, but then she started taking more breaks when we weren’t working, and it’s eating heavily into our social time.

I don’t want to be mean to her, but if she makes us wait before starting our travels one more time–before immediately using her diapers the minute we’re out on the trail anyways–I might have to cast silence upon myself so I can scream.

On the other side of the spectrum of ‘things that make me want to gag’, Quinn and Tarja have given up all dignity and gone full-on mushy lovers. Tarja spends most of her time on horseback these days–beats walking, I suppose–and when she’s not mounting her horse…

Let’s just say that I wish I could cast, ‘Zone of Silence’.

On a brighter note, we’ve achieved a new rank with the guild! They gave us a waiver showing ‘Noteworthy competence’ and everything. That means they’re giving us tougher quests–which, importantly, tend to pay a whole lot better. I’ve already got my shopping list put together towards new reagents, and I’ve attached a sum of gold to this parcel to pay for the wondrous item you suggested–the one that can be remotely controlled. I’d like you to keep one of the two control rings, if that’s alright.

And, on that note, I very much enjoyed the portrait you included. Give my sincerest compliments to the artist, and, I must say, it’s impressive you managed to hold that pose for long enough to get a detailed rendering. Your leg strength and balance is truly astounding, and you amaze me every time I hear from you.

I have the honor to be in your service,

Hadrian Mistweaver

…

29th of Arodus

My Serendipity, my Wonderful, my Love,

Your most recent letter, I tore open and licked the seal for any lingering taste of your lips–I miss you. I long to hear your voice, to speak with you, to be in your company again. The little communication our rings allow is a slight balm to my absent heartache, but twenty five words a day is simply not enough to express my affection for you.

Still–it’s been a comfort. I’ve asked that we find quests closer to your temple, but we’ve traveled all the way to the coast, and it will be some time before we work our way back to you. And the secondary use of the item–I’ve found myself going to the portrait you sent some months back almost daily, when I’m using it.

My magic is getting pretty scary–in a good way. The Wizard’s an abusive monster, but the tricks he worked out for amping up power is pretty impressive. “Paraphilic Magic” can be devilishly efficient when it needs to be.

You know how to stop a fire breathing dragon from roasting your party?

Simple–plop a pacifier between its lips and watch it get really mad when it can’t spit out its new binkie.

Speaking of ‘getting real mad’, Sandra’s given up on potty training for the time being. Allegedly, she’s still working at it when we stop at taverns, but I haven’t seen it, and out on quests she’s been diapering up.

I can’t say I mind. Not that it took long for her to prestidigitate her clothes after every leak or accident, but…it wasn’t working well, and I think we all knew it. She’s asked me about making a diaper that has the self-cleaning function of her old one, but without the curse attached that would undo her potty training efforts. I said I’d look into it, but–between you and me–it doesn’t really seem like there’s much in the way of potty training for it to undo.

I’m not one to speculate or point any fingers, but Sandra’s work hasn’t gotten her very far. Six months is a long time for potty training to take, or so I’ve heard. From what we know, she should be able to re-learn that skill, it just seems like her heart’s not in it.

But, I’m in no place to judge. I haven’t made much progress dealing with my own curses, either. (Not that I’d undo them if I could, given the Wizard’s threats–I don’t want him swooping down on us again just as soon as we get everything else cured and dispelled.)

Missing you deeply, I wish to be in your embrace again.

I have the honor to be your obedient servant,

Hadrian Mistweaver

…

10th of Neth

My Dearest, Serendipity,

I will see you before the dawn of a new moon.

I cannot wait.

We’d have been to you sooner, but I was pulled aside by a frankly ridiculous mixup. The Mage’s Guild had me in for questioning, after they heard reports of my spells. It seems, because I’ve been dabbling in paraphilic magic, they thought I must be working with the Wizard, as some sort of agent or lieutenant.

Fortunately, Wizards are reasonable sorts who never lose their tempers and don’t mind having their mistakes pointed out and corrected.

…I trust you’ve been around enough wizards to know that I’m being rather sarcastic.

I had to travel to their high college to get it cleared up, pointing out that I’m one of the most obvious curse victims the Wizard has inflicted his magic on, and more to the point that I had a good record of combating him. I’m not sure if I should be pleased or embarrassed that they began to accept my arguments after I unknowingly used my diaper rather thoroughly on the grand floor, pleading my case before the high counsel. It, at least, conveyed my status as victim more clearly than any words could, though perhaps I’d have spent a few more nights under house arrest if it meant avoiding that predicament.

Nonetheless, they were persuaded, and I was even invited to lecture on the merits and uses of Paraphilic magic. Its potency impressed them all, though until it’s been given further research, they decided not to do any further teaching on the subject.

The others are doing well. Sandra’s given up her potty training completely and donned her cursed diaper again–it’s an inconvenience, in one sense, but she says the self-cleaning aspect is simply too useful to care much about the downsides.

The party found small quests to occupy themselves while I dealt with my situation, and we’re looking rather good for gold–so I suggested we take a few weeks off and go back to the city to relax. After some persuading, (and a little begging,) I convinced them.

We’re coming to you.

I am coming, my love. We’ll see each other soon.

I am yours,

Hadrian Mistweaver

The End of Book One

...

And that wraps up the first arc!

More will be coming soon - I've already got several chapters of Book Two written, which is planned out in such a way that it works both as a sequel and a self contained story. 

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[Dungeons and Diapers (Chapter 17, Updated Oct 11th)]

Chapter 16

 

I've been really bad about posting updates for this - Updates coming soon!

...

The Archipelagon stood as a testament to, if nothing else, the sheer wealth of nobility. Neither an archipelago, nor a paragon of anything besides opulence, it nonetheless stood proud as the most ostentatious structure for a thousand miles in any direction.

A shrine to Abadar, geometrically perfect, a hexagon wall around a circular temple. At a glance, Sandra could not identify the material it’d been made of–or perhaps, coated in. It seemed the whole structure had been painted a perfect, pearly white.

“I don’t get it,” Quinn said, setting down Tarja for a moment and scratching his chin as they came over a ridge, into view of the Archipelagon.

“What don’t you get?” Tarja asked, shaky on her feet. As bad as her dexterity drain had grown, she had been having trouble walking and even standing, but she could wobble for a bit on her own when Quinn needed a break from carrying her. “It’s a temple.”

Quinn shrugged. “Well, for the ‘God of walls and ditches’, I expected…I don’t know.”

“More ditches?” Hadrian chuckled, stretching his back. “Less walking?”

“The owner said he’d give an audience to anyone who makes a pilgrimage to see the place,” Sandra said. “Pilgrimage means walking. As for the ditches…Eh. Abadar rules over other stuff. More to the point, all the real temples–sorry, all of the tithe-funded temples restrict access to their inner sanctums, and none of us are priests. So we’re going to play the game just long enough to have this chat.”

“Pilgrims can have horses,” Hadrian said, kneeling to rub at the back of his legs, through a layer of latex. “My calves are killing me.”

Sandra shook her head. Hadrian was just venting, they all knew why they were here.

They’d drawn the attention of the gods, and all of them wanted to know what was going on. Priests could sometimes be persuaded to relay messages, but in this case, they needed a divine chat, and the nearest likely candidate was here. The Archipelagon. A structure built and funded by a politician-slash-businesswoman with far, far too much money on her hands.

After a bit of soul searching, Sandra had proposed they needed more information. They’d been playing catch-up and fighting blind for too long. Making guesses and running fetch-quests to patch over the last mistake.

The time had come to find a god and get some answers.

“Let’s rest a minute,” Quinn said. “I need a little break.”

Hadrian exhaled sharply through his nostrils, not quite a laugh. “Really?”

Quinn almost let his request die, then straightened and shook his head. “Yeah, really. I’m tired. I need a break, or for someone else to carry Tarja.”

Blinking, Hadrian said, “Oh, I–sorry. I’m just so used to you being Muscle Man, I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“It’s fine,” Quinn said, moving to the edge of the road and sitting down. “It’s not so much the weight as the awkwardness–I’m as strong as ever, but it’s hard to hold a good grip and keep balance when she’s twice my size, and I’ve got to take twice as many steps as the rest of you.”

“I–” Tarja said, a little pink. “I could walk on my own for a bit.”

Sandra blushed sympathetically. Even though it allowed Tarja to bypass the dexterity drain she’d been cursed with, the side effect was humiliating: If Tarja wanted to walk, she had to choose to wet herself. Even with the option to put on a diaper beneath her cursed onesie, it was almost worse than simply having her potty training erased.

“If you’re okay with that,” Sandra said.

Tarja’s arms straightened, hands tightening into balls, and her blush deepened bright red. Nobody commented on the process, just waiting until the changeling relaxed, no longer wobbly or unstable in the slightest.

“Let’s get a move-on then,” Sandra said, offering a hand to Quinn. He was remarkably light in his reduced form, and she added with a chuckle, “I could carry you for a bit, if you want.”

He took the comment as intended: As a lighthearted joke disguising a genuine offer for help. Smiling, he shook his head. “I’m alright. Thanks.”

The remaining mile to the Archipeligon went quickly. Ivory gates loomed, a large key embossed in stark relief, ensuring nobody with even a passing knowledge of religion or the arcane could miss the purpose of this temple.

The four of them staggered up, dusty, dirty, riddled with magical curses that rendered each almost as laughable as the next–save for Sandra, who’d been purged of her curses and stood almost back at her normal self. Almost.

With a shudder, the gates opened, slow and imposing. Sandra could make out the faint glow of a magical mechanism beneath them, turning the cogs that moved the huge alabaster-white gates.

As the gates open, a short, slender halfling woman outfitted in a tailored suit of crimson and pale green fabric, raised her hands up to her sides in a gesture of greeting.

Sandra knelt, and taking her lead, the others did as well. “Archbanker Blackdown.”

“Please,” Praye Blackdown said, spreading her arms genially. “I’m merely a humble servant of Abadar, I’ve got no claim to the title of Archbanker.”

“This is your temple, isn’t it?” Tarja asked, glancing up at her.

“I built it with the wealth I’ve earned under Abadar’s grace, but I’m no cleric,” Blackdown explained. “Come in, I received your message, and we’ve much to discuss. Will you be changing into supplicant’s clothes now that you’re off the road?”

Sandra looked over the party. Hadrian didn’t have anything on over his latex bodysuit–as he’d explained, it was hot and stifling enough without adding extra layers. Tarja’s onesie was covered by her normal travel clothes and armor, and the bulge of her diaper was mostly hidden unless one knew what to look for. Quinn had stayed armored on the road–meaning he had on his pink, ruffled dress full of petticoats. And finally, Sandra had worn her typical armor, with the addition of the tail she’d acquired in the dream realm, and…

It didn’t particularly matter. “We didn’t bring any supplicant’s clothes, unless you have something for us to change into,” she said. “This is, generally, what we wear when working.”

Blackdown’s smirk carried subtle condescension, but she didn’t comment on it aloud. “Well, come in.”

They approached through the huge gate, so tall that the whole party could have stood on each other’s shoulders and not reached the top, and the enormous doors crept closed behind them.

“Explain to me why you’re here,” Praye Blackdown instructed, as they walked across a wide, sandy courtyard separating the outer walls from the inner structure, a boxy white temple made of the same matter as the walls. Crates and carts full of trade goods were stacked out in the courtyard, and off to the right Sandra saw stables being worked by experienced animal handlers. This wasn’t just a temple, then, but a place of business as well.

Or, perhaps, the business conducted was a part of the temple’s nature. The god of Merchants would have a place for mercantilism to be conducted in his home, it only made sense.

“What do you need to know?” Sandra asked. “We explained as much as we could in the letter we sent ahead.”

“I know what I need to know,” Praye countered. “I want to hear your pitch. Sell it to me.”

“Oh.” Sandra started. “Well, we’re here because we need to speak with the gods, or at least one of them, to figure out if they’re willing to help us–”

“I’m sorry,” Praye said, as a smaller door to the inner temple opened up, pushed by an unseen bit of magic. “Were my instructions unclear? Tell me where I lost you.”

“You wanted me to explain why we’re here, right?” Sandra asked, following her inside. Within the doors, she paused, stiffening as she looked around.

The interior was all pearly white, same as the exterior, lit by gilded sconces shedding magical light, but had the layout of a place of business–with space for secretaries and middle management to do bookkeeping.

“I told you to sell it to me,” Praye Blackdown explained. “I don’t care what you want, unless it offers some benefit for me.”

“Ah–” Sandra said, distracted, trying to repitch the idea in her mind as they were led deeper into the temple, past the desks and filing cabinets. “Well, if things go well, we could stop the Wizard of Paraphilia, and stopping him is good for everyone. Yourself included.”

“Hmm,” Blackdown considered, leading them finally to a side hallway. “Work on it, and do better when we speak tonight. For now, your lodging can be here–I strongly advise you to make use of the showers at the end of the hall, but the beds and rooms are yours to rest in.”

Off guard by the sudden dismissal, Sandra didn’t know what to say until Praye Blackdown was already five steps away. “Why tonight?”

“Because I prefer to conduct business over supper,” Blackdown explained. “I’ll have a servant come fetch you when dinner is ready.”

And with that, she left, dismissing the party and the conversation without another thought.

“I don’t like her,” Hadrian said, quietly, as they walked into the lodging–little more than a barracks, albeit one with fine silk sheets and pillowy blankets on down mattresses.

“The gods want to speak to us,” Quinn said. “Does it really matter that we didn’t bring the right robes, or whatever?”

“Be polite,” Sandra warned. “She still has the right to refuse us entry to the inner sanctum, and without access, we can’t talk to Abadar.”

“I can play politics,” Hadrian promised. “But I’m not going to hold my tongue when she’s not even around to hear me.”

Tarja collapsed onto one of the beds, her legs buckling out from under her as they entered–her curse reinstated in full force once again. “What’s our backup plan if we aren’t allowed in?”

“We don’t really have one,” Sandra admitted. “It’s this, or we find another religious site not overseen by a priesthood, or else one of us will need to be inducted as a cleric somewhere so we can access a real holy site. Both of those options could take months or years, so I really don’t want to screw this up.”

“Serendipity is looking into the possibility of talking to Calistria at an orgy,” Hadrian added. “But it’d need to be…intense, for there to be a chance that it works.”

“Like I said,” Sandra repeated. “I really don’t want to screw this up. We just need Praye to let us into the inner sanctum, then we’ll be home free.”

“Well, in the meantime,” Hadrian said, rubbing at the back of his legs, “I’m not going to say no to some rest and a shower. My calves are killing me.”

Sandra nodded, gesturing with her head towards the bathroom. “Good call. Anyone mind if I go first?”

At the lack of objections, she ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door and taking a breath.

She was filthy from traveling. Heat meant sweat, and sweat and dust had caked her in a fine film of grime, but more than that she needed a change.

Checking her trousers, she breathed a sigh of relief. Though she had leaked, the wet spot around the leg gathers was barely noticeable, almost certainly overlooked by Praye and the party. She needed to get better about that.

Though she’d been freed of the cursed diaper and clothing, that freedom hadn’t been perfect. Though no longer trapped in a diaper, her potty training hadn’t returned, and a private conversation with a Calistrian healer had confirmed her fears–she’d need to work to get that control back the old fashioned way.

And, another hiccup–she no longer had a magical, self-cleaning diaper. She’d had to learn to change herself, and more importantly, to check her diaper regularly to make sure she wouldn’t leak.

By the wet crescent-moon shapes on the inside of her pants, that diligence needed work. She’d almost considered putting the cursed diaper back on, since she was stuck with the incontinence anyways, but disregarded the idea as impulsive. It might take a while, but her potty training would return, with practice and diligence.

For now, she stripped herself naked and stepped into the shower. Her tail still hung between her legs–the counterspell designed to undo the Wizard’s curses had been fine tuned and specific to a certain frequency of magic, and any efforts to undo dream magic would need to be just as specific on an entirely different frequency.

Still, she’d almost grown not to mind it. Unlike the humiliating curses from the Wizard, this felt almost more like…a gift, perhaps, if not one she’d have asked for. There was no malice behind it.

Cleansing herself with hot water and fancy soap, Sandra dried herself off with a towel, then went about cleaning her clothes up with judicious prestidigitation. She’d found that the cantrip couldn’t quite clean a diaper while she wore it, but rinsed off and wrung out, the magic refreshed it to like-new. The leak stains vanished from her pants, and the dust melted off her clothes, leaving her clean and as professional as she could manage.

It’d be good enough for Abadar, she expected–he’d already taken an interest in her activities. She just hoped it’d be good enough for Praye Blackdown as well.

Returning to the room, she let Tarja go with Quinn to take the next turn in the bathroom, and for her free time she went with a nap for herself. Hadrian was right, the trip had been exhausting, and a little rest would do her good.

“Sandra?” Quinn asked, nudging her arm.

She sat up, surprised. “Huh?” She didn’t recall falling asleep, but she hadn’t heard Quinn or Tarja return, so she knew she must have dozed off. “Is it time for supper?”

“No, but you were twitching,” Quinn said. “A nightmare, I’d guess.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Sandra said, though she still felt a prickle of adrenaline, as though she’d been wary of a fight about to break out.

The party had gotten ‘cleaned up’ as it were; similarly washing away the dirt and grime, cleaning up their clothes. Quinn at least looked less frilly, having removed his armor in exchange for simple traveling clothes, though he was still as busty as he was short. Tarja’s onesie was concealed, though the slight bulge of her diaper was not, and there was little Hadrian could do about his latex bodysuit save for wearing a fetching jacket overtop of it.

Sandra stood and stretched, as much to untangle her muscles as her mind. She felt nervous for no reason she could pin down, save for the apparent nightmare she couldn’t recall.

While she did that, a knock came at the door. Hadrian answered it, and a servant in a nicely tailored suit cleared his throat. “I’ve been sent to show you to the dining hall.”

“Alright,” Sandra said, steeling herself for their greatest challenge yet: an awkward dinner. “Let’s do this.”

…

Dinner was served at a table of comical proportions. Long enough to seat thirty people, barely wide enough for one person to sit at either end, in a marble hall of equally grandiose design.

Sandra briefly considered taking the bait and sitting at the far end, across from Praye Blackdown, but shouting through their conversation felt ill-advised, so she instead sat on Praye’s righthand side.

Another complication presented itself: Praye had built this dining hall with her own body type in mind, and nobody else’s. The chairs were awkwardly short, with a table to match, and uncomfortably narrow, so that Sandra’s thighs were pressed up against the armrests.

Quinn was right at home in his shrunken down body, but the rest of them sat awkwardly, legs bumping up against the underside of the table across from Tarja. Hadrian, unable to bend his legs quite far enough, just pulled the chair away and sat on the ground.

Well-dressed servants poured wine into delicate glass flutes, while the first course, some kind of brothy soup, was laid out.

“Did you work on your pitch while you rested?” Praye inquired, swirling her wine.

“I gave it some thought,” Sandra said. It wasn’t totally a lie–she had considered it, at least. “The gods have already expressed interest in speaking with us. We know they’re watching. Were you to deny us access, you’d be risking the ire of several powerful deities.”

Nodding, Praye’s lips played up in a slight smile. “That’s better, I suppose. But have you considered the alternative?”

“What alternative?” Sandra asked, knees bumping against the bottom of the table as she tried to shift to get comfortable.

“That, should you insult the gods with your presence, I could draw their ire for allowing you into my sanctum,” Praye explained. “So what assurances do I have that you’re going to perform well?”

Sandra seethed, and she heard Hadrian’s latex clothes squeak as he shifted in annoyance. Before he could say anything cutting, she said, “We’ve gone up against the Wizard before and bloodied his nose, and come away from it alive and whole. He’s pursued us and been held off. Our information about his magic is greater than anything anyone else in the realm has learned. Who else do you know that can make such a claim?”

Praye’s smile never quite reached her eyes, but she nodded. “Tell me of your pilgrimage.”

As servants brought out the main course–roasted meat in an expensive-smelling sauce–Sandra fought back frustration. Though she couldn’t prove it, she knew in her belly that Praye had already decided what she would do, and this whole conversation was a show for her entertainment.

“We walked here, on foot, as per your request,” she explained. “As we already established, we don’t have any other robes or fancy clothing.”

“Have you thought about where you might acquire such clothing?” Praye asked, tilting her head.

Quinn made a small sound.

Dammit.

“Something to add?” Praye Blackdown asked.

“Where would we?” Quinn said, bluntly. “Unless you’re offering to give us some.”

“Certainly not,” Praye said. “Though, if you’d be interested in buying robes from me, that could be arranged.”

“Sa–” Hadrian started. Sandra bumped him with her leg.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Sandra insisted, drawing the conversation to a rather harsh conclusion before anyone else could blow it. “We just need to use your sanctum. Please. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this test, but the gods have already shown that they’re interested in us. We’ve shown we can handle it. Give us leave, or don’t, but don’t bar us because we can’t play word games as well as you.”

Praye tilted her head back in a slight nod. “As you wish, then.”

Getting to her feet, Blackdown strode across the room, down the length of the table, and out the far door.

That left the four of them alone, for a moment, uncertain where to go.

“So, what happened to ‘be polite’?” Hadrian asked.

Tarja chimed in, “Sandra, that was brash, you have to admit.”

“She wasn’t going to let us win in the verbal sparring,” Sandra said. “I wanted to end the bout on our terms. And besides, we know Abadar wants to speak to us.”

“Do you? Or was that an assumption made on incomplete information?”

The voice that interjected was deep, and not particularly bothered, but also carried with it a sharp edge. It made Sandra think of her father, except that the subtleties in the tone were far deeper than any mortal.

She looked down the length of the table. Fifty feet down at the far end, in the seat across from where Praye had been, sat a handsome man who appeared to be in his fifties, dressed in robes and armor of crimson and deep brass.

Sandra faced him. “Lord Abadar.”

“Sandra Cassidy,” Abadar replied. Though some forty feet down the table, his voice carried clearly. “You asked for this audience. Speak your piece.”

Sandra didn’t allow herself to gawk, and cut simply and directly to the point. “We need something to allow us to defeat the wizard. He plans to make a new school of magic–and you know those plans could wreak havoc on the realms of mortals and gods alike if nobody stops him, and it’s clear you have a plan for us, so let’s lay it out. Hadrian can tell you what he’s learned of the wizard’s magic, and we can tell you everything we know about his tactics. What do you want us to do, and what can you give us?”

He nodded his head. “And the reason you’re asking this of me?”

“Because…” Sandra started. “Well, simply, because we could. And we couldn’t get to anyone else easily.”

“Do you know the impact on trade and business that a new school of magic would cause?” Abadar asked.

Sandra didn’t, precisely, but she took a guess. “It’d throw things into chaos.”

“In what way?” Abadar inquired. “Specifically.”

“I suppose–” Sandra started.

“I’m not going to help you,” Abadar said, simply. “But, as a courtesy to my peers who would see you succeed, I will explain why.”

Sandra swallowed. “Why did you–”

“I did not request this conversation,” Abadar said. “We took note of your activities because you are acting against powerful forces, but notice is not the same as approval. Let me be clear, Sandra: Your goals are not in question here. Your ability to carry out those goals is.”

“That’s why we need power,” Hadrian cut in. “Something you–or any god–can give us to even the scales. Surely–”

His pacifier plopped into place between his lips, cutting him off. Abadar’s eyes narrowed. “You will allow me to speak.”

“Did you–” Sandra started, glancing between Hadrian and Abadar. “You can control his curse?”

He nodded slightly, approving of the question. “In a fashion. Magic is the lifeblood of all divinity. It shapes us, and in turn we control it. Now, may I continue?”

Sandra kept quiet. She understood the implied, ‘If you interrupt again, I won’t be so polite.’

“You’ve only persisted this long due to a stroke of cosmic luck.” Abadar continued flatly. “You’ve shown cleverness, and tenacity, but cleverness and tenacity are not the only traits one needs when up against the wizard. Do you know why you’ve managed to survive against him so far?”

“Why?” Sandra asked, vocalizing the hypothetical.

“Because you’ve caught him by surprise, and you’re not worth his time.” Abadar let that statement hang in the air for a beat before he continued, speaking like a student to a child. “The Wizard of Paraphilia has amassed great power, and wrapped himself in defensive magic the likes of which you could hardly fathom. He is not incapable of destroying you, you’ve only found yourself in a position of being just strong enough that it’d be an inconvenience for him to do so. And were I to give you power–a boon, so you might go face him directly–he would suddenly find that inconvenience worth it.”

“So get us more boons,” Sandra said. “So we can stop him for good. His power isn’t infinite.”

“You are not the only mortal champions in the world,” Abadar countered. “Were it in my interest to face strength with raw strength, and simply overpower the wizard, I’d pick a paragon whose strength already rivals the wizard’s. That isn’t in my interest. The more power we bring into the mortal realm, the more we stir up trouble–we want the wizard defeated, yes, but not if his defeat brings forth greater danger.”

“Hey now,” Quinn said. “We’ve kicked him where the sun don’t shine once before, we can catch him by surprise again. You’re acting like you’d have to bring in the full power of your divine strength to stop him for–”

“Mmm,” Abadar raised a hand, and Quinn simply fell silent. “Please remember that my presence here is a courtesy. Waste my time again, and I will not hesitate to give up that courtesy.”

“May I ask a question?” Tarja asked, quietly.

He nodded. “You may.”

“Would you?” she asked, quietly.

It took Sandra a moment to jump back a few moments and recognize what Tarja was asking, but Abadar answered immediately. “It would take more power than I could bring into the plane without fracturing it beyond recognition. The wizard has found ways to tap into primordial powers, the powers he needs to enact his plans, and matching force with force has ceased to be an option. Though we might lend you much strength, it will take more than strength to beat him.”

Sandra exhaled. “So what do you want from us?”

“Nothing. You’re not the champions I’ve chosen,” Abadar explained. “We are watching, but that is all–we have observed your quests, and your failures, and the way you operate, and we are simply unimpressed.”

He let a moment pass, for an objection. Sandra didn’t answer; He was going to explain regardless of what she said.

“You have had only one moment of triumph over the wizard, and then only fleeting,” Abadar explained. “Your first meeting with traps he had left behind, you were soundly humiliated. Your second, you could hardly protect your charge from his curses. Every moment of your lives has been spent cleaning up from him, scraping by to undo a little of his damage. Only once, with careful preparation and clever trickery, were you able to face him as peers and get away, but that cost you more dearly than any other encounter, before or since.

“To put it simply and plainly, you do not have the focus, the clarity, the presence and planning to be entrusted with our power. You are reactive. Your ability to handle threats as they arise is impressive given your inexperience, but that is all that it is–handling threats as they arise, taking your lumps, limping along weaker than before. Even now, before me, you are demonstrating your inability to think ahead past your next fight.” He let his words end for a moment, staring quietly at her.

“I don’t understand,” Sandra said, when it seemed that he was leaving an opening to reply without incurring his wrath. “What did we miss?”

“My favored supplicant tried to aid you,” he explained. “To give you guidance. She wouldn’t simply tell you the best way to speak to me, what I expect of any who demand my presence so brashly, but she tried. You ignored her.”

He stood up from the seat, and though he only stood at the height of an above-average human, his presence grew imatterially, until he took up all the space in the room with the weight of his words. “You though yourselves so important that you could demand an audience with me, in hastily washed traveler’s garb. You brought no offering. You ignored her suggestions. You burned a relic from my domain–in case you thought I didn’t know about your abuse of the ledger you stole. You presumed to know what I would do, and never once considered that I might give an answer you didn’t want to hear.”

Sandra had no response, or no good one. She shook her head. “So what are you going to do about the Wizard? Pick another group of champions?”

“That,” he said sharply, and the anger in his tone shone clear. “Is none of your concern. Step carefully, Sandra Cassidy, and should you demand an audience with me again, first know that my courtesy has met its limits.”

With a gout of golden fire, he vanished, leaving the room empty.

Quinn gasped as his voice returned to him, the powers of speech restored with Abadar’s departure. Hadrian, less lucky, needed Sandra’s help to remove his pacifier.

Even able to speak, though, the four of them had little to say.

Tarja spoke up first, sighing as she said it. “We’re done.”

“I’m sorry,” Sandra shook her head. “This is my fault. I should have known.”

“No,” Tarja said, shaking her head. “We’re done. We’ve been told as much by the greatest authority we could ask. The fight isn’t ours anymore.”

“But you’re still cursed,” Sandra said. “We haven’t fixed anything.”

“Honestly.” Hadrian spoke tentatively, feeling out the words as he said them. “That’s…that’s fine. Someone else will sort out the wizard. We’ll get the curses removed eventually. There’s got to be a substitute for the ledger out there somewhere, some way to get all this dealt with. We can get back to our lives.”

“I’d be fine with that,” Quinn added. “Hell, most of what was done to me, the wizard isn’t even at fault. I don’t have to wear the dress armor, and he didn’t make me this size. Curses are a part of the job. They’ll get fixed sometime or another.”

Sandra slumped back in her chair, uncertain.

She’d failed, but her party was okay. They were safe.

And maybe they were right–maybe their normal lives could be returned to, maybe they could let someone else deal with the existential problems while they went back to more mundane quest work.

She smiled. Maybe they were right. “Well, it’s worth a shot.”

...

I've been neglecting to update this properly, but new updates will be following soon! 

If you want to support my writing, you can do so here for just a couple bucks a month:

https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling

https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

On 10/7/2023 at 1:54 PM, Wannatripbaby said:

Oh my. O_O that was umm... That was certainly uhhh... I'll be right back. 

*leaves and comes back an indefinite amount of time later*

... Taxes. Yeah, that's what I was doing... Filing taxes... In October... 

#seemslegit

All I'll say is, my GF should be glad I don't have this type of power over her body. 😏😅 

I hope your ""Taxes"" went well!  

[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

On 10/2/2023 at 3:15 PM, Wannatripbaby said:

Oooooo so Superheroes are common in this world? 👀 Very interesting. 

You are the first person to notice this!

Very, *very* keen eyed readers who are also dedicated fans of mine might be able to spot something else - but I'm going to stay hush hush for now.

Also - Guess who's got two diapers and is fucking back to being able to swear? This guy! 

...

Issue 3

 

The quality of my new apartment didn’t matter too much when I was bound, blindfolded, gagged, and deprived from all sensory input.

Haven had been given my full permission to deny me pleasure fifty times, and my parasitic alien master had taken to that task with gusto. No part of my body was off limits, no inch of skin was mine to hold back.

In concept, being edged repeatedly was bad enough. Being brought to the precipice of climax, only to be denied, would be pretty torturous on its own. In practice, Haven made things far, far worse.

They knew me, they knew my limits, they could feel when I approached the edge. The level of precision went beyond human, Haven could have me gasping and moaning, nanometers from orgasm, and then pull me back with a flood of hormones that ensured I could never achieve the pleasure I so desperately wanted.

I’d lost count, but I knew we were miles from finishing–it had been…fifteen? Twenty times? Enough that my thoughts were clouded by an inferno of arousal, that it was difficult to think about anything but my desperation to squirt into my diapers, but still an eternity from having this marathon come to any sort of conclusion.

Haven’s inky body wrapped around my eyes and ears, and my limbs were pulled spread eagle, hitched to the frame of my bed by their amorphous pseudo-tentacles.

I’d been stripped near-naked, save for–of course–my diaper, which was sodden, but not yet ready to be changed, not that they’d let me up even if I asked now. They had more important things to do.

Inside my sex, Haven pulsed, and I knew things were starting to build again. Slick, warm pressure rubbed against my clit, and my back arched in anticipated pleasure, knowing things would reach an end soon–my logical brain had been buried by denial, I was willing to take any false hope, any lies about the joy I’d soon be allowed to experience.

(Beg,) Haven instructed, and though I was gagged, mouth held open in a drooling mess, I tried.

My words were nonsense–moans and garbled pleas that no listener would ever be able to comprehend, but I obeyed anyways, asking for release, for anything. Haven’s work moved faster, thrusting inside me beneath my diaper, stimulating me in every way imaginable all at once.

(Please,) I thought. (I need–I need this, please, Haven, just let me–)

A release came, but not the one I wanted. Instead, I felt Haven suddenly plunge into me from behind, filling my ass as heavily as any plug and spreading it wide.

I was helpless to resist, helpless to even complain. All I could do was tense my body as, instead of the orgasmic release that I’d wanted, I instead was forced to release my bowels, expelling waste into the seat of my diaper in a helpless tide.

Haven’s message bypassed rational thought, planting itself deep in my brain–this was the release I deserved. No orgasmic bliss, only heavy, humiliating shame that piled into my diaper, swelling the seat of the crinkly prison I’d been sealed into.

Sweat and repression poured off me, and I sank into the bed as the wave of promised pleasure passed, ungranted.

(Breathe, Mine,) Haven instructed.

Whether this was to ensure I got air and could recover, or to ensure I got an intense shock from the smell that now radiated off me, I didn’t know. It could have been both, but one way or another, I inhaled sharply, panting to recover.

(How many?) I asked, weakly, as I felt a trickle of cool water go down my throat–Haven had, at least, kept me hydrated, though I assumed it was a ploy so that I'd soak my diapers more thoroughly. (How many more? I don’t know if I can take it.)

(Ten,) Haven told me, and I visualized their wicked, amused grin as they said it.

(Ten? But–that–there’s no way it’s just been ten. How long has it been?)

(I’m not cheating, plaything. It’s been ten near-denials in three hours. We can take a break for now, come back to it later.)

(But I can’t sleep until–)

(No, no. You can’t go to bed. If my toy wants to sleep, they can sleep on the floor tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll go buy you a cage.)

Breathing a little longer, I weighed my options. This session alone had me so desperate and pent up that the idea they proposed–being forced to sleep in a cage–turned me on more. I feared how pliable I’d be if I had to endure this again, and again, five days in a row.

Then again, as long as this had taken–I didn’t have the stamina for twelve more hours of this sort of torture.

(A break, please,) I asked.

Relenting, Haven pulled back, their inky body retreating. I blinked a few times–noting that day had turned to night, that I could hear the sound of Central City buzzing outside my window and of the neighbors shuffling around.

The walls were pretty thin–had they heard my desperate moans?

Did they care?

Did I care?

Relaxing a little, I asked aloud, “May–may I change my diaper?”

(You can beg better than that, Mine,) Haven replied.

“Please.” I knew he wouldn’t give in if I just offered words, but I tried anyway. “May I go change? I–I don’t want to go to bed like this.”

(Like what?)

(I–) I had an idea, but I didn’t want to consider it.

(I like what you’re thinking, Mine. Do it.)

Sitting up, I let my mess squelch beneath my bottom, spreading it, smushing it between my cheeks. Making it harder to clean up, harder to change. “Please,” I said, thrusting my hips forward a little, grinding my weight into the diaper seat, feeling every moment of the squelching sensation. I thrust a little harder, taking special note of how my slick, soggy diaper rubbed against me, how the sensations blurred, how my ruined diaper clung to my skin.

“P-please, please let me–”

(Stop.)

I froze.

(Clever Mine, but you don’t get to cum until your edging is all done.)

“What?”

(I knew what you were trying there. I’m glad to see you’ve already been trained so well that you thought to try and enjoy your diapers without so much as a suggestion from me–but it will have to wait.)

I swallowed. Had I been planning that? Sometimes Haven’s insight into my motives was deeper than my own understanding.

Or else they were lying, gaslighting me about my thoughts so I’d think I liked diapers more than I really did.

“Well…may I?” I asked, sheepishly.

(You may,) Haven thought. (There’s a twenty four hour convenience store a block away, with bathrooms available for paying customers. Buy something, and you can use their bathroom to change.)

I nodded, getting to my feet and looking around for my clothes. “Okay.”

(Okay, that’s all?)

“Er…” Right. They’d given me what I asked for, I should be polite. “Thank you, Haven.”

...

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[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

55 minutes ago, kerry said:

What is Haven getting out of this? It travels across the galaxy just to find a host who will allow it to act out its kinkiest, most disgusting desires? To what end? And how does a weird black ooze from outer space get a messy diaper fetish in the first place?

Inquiring minds want to know. 🙂

I touched on this in Chapter One, but it's worth more clarification:

Haven eats hormones. The complex emotional results of blending humiliation with pleasure taste particularly good, and Haven selected Charlie as his food supply. 

As for how he got the fetish - he borrowed it from Charlie, looking through her memories for examples of what left her feeling particularly humiliated and selecting that as his tool for embarrassing her. Mixing in pleasure was the next obvious step, and then once they had internet access, the details of ways to engage with this fetish became pretty clear. 

[Story language being auto-censored?]

I noticed that on my latest story update, some language was automatically filtered with no option to edit it. This wasn't the case with the previous chapter of the same story. 

"f**k" got automatically changed to 'f**k', and an attempt to fix it didn't change the censorship. 

What's going on there? 

[Symbiotic Submission - Issue 10: Private Invasion (Updated Nov 16th/Story Arc Concluded)]

Issue 2: Autonomy Arbitration 

 

I wasn’t sure how to handle Haven’s new sense of humor, especially as they got more comfortable navigating the internet.

They’d handled apartment hunting while I slept–using my phone, something I’d have objections to if they hadn’t already invaded my privacy in far more significant ways. All I had to do was read the chat log on Crissie’s List after the fact.

CharChar72:I saw your post. You’ve got an apartment available?

Dylan: I didn’t post about an available apartment.

CharChar72: I’m talking about this: [Plumber Needed - Urgent]

Dylan: Yeah, the toilet’s wrecked, last tennant poured cement down the pipes. Needs a whole rework, and it’s gonna cost my left nut and take a billion years to get it done. You want it once it’s fixed?

CharChar72: I want it now. I don’t need a toilet.

Dylan: What?

CharChar72: I wear diapers. Is that an issue?

Dylan: I guess not.

CharChar72: Give me a ten percent discount, I can move in tonight.

Dylan: Hell, you can’t be worse than my last tennant. You’ve got a deal. Rent’s due every Monday.

I was moderately relieved that Haven hadn’t tried to make a deal trading sex for cheap rent. Still, the lack of a toilet symbolized something pretty clearly–Haven had no intent of letting me regain my potty control.

It’d taken only a few minutes to get my things. I slipped by the house when my parents weren’t home, grabbed the possessions I needed, and departed for the nearest intercity bus stop before I had to explain to mom and dad why my potty training had been set back twenty years. I left a voicemail explaining I was heading back to college early for some vocational training, then put my phone on mute so I wouldn’t have to answer any of their replies.

Nearly my entire life packed neatly into three suitcases–one of which mostly just held diapers and the sex toys Haven had required me to purchase. The only thing that didn’t fit in a bag was my bicycle. With a one-way ticket to Central City, I got onto the back of the bus, excited and terrified at what awaited me.

I was going to be a superhero. Like the kind on the news.

(I’ve done some thinking,) Haven told me, as we sat in the back of the bus.

(Yeah?) I asked. (What sort of thinking?)

(I can see into your mind and taste your endorphins. I know what you really like. I know where your limits lie.) Haven purred for a moment, something I felt as a rumble between my thighs–they’d retreated their form and were currently acting as a diaper cover. (I’m returning your control to you.)

(What control?) I asked.

(All of it. I will compel you to do nothing, except for what you agree to do, what you ask of me.) Though they had no form, I could still picture a Cheshirian grin forming on Haven’s imagined face.

(You’re not going to make me…like, use diapers?) I asked. (No catch?)

(Not unless you ask me to,) Haven replied.

(Well…I don’t have a toilet. Because of you.)

(You’re welcome to find another apartment, or a public restroom close by.)

I swallowed. There was a trick here, a trap somewhere, but I couldn’t see it. (You’re betting that I’ll give in and use diapers because it’s convenient, or because you think I enjoy it, aren’t you?)

(Possibly.)

(It’s unfair that you can read my thoughts but I can’t do the same.)

(Who ever said I would be fair to you? You are Mine.)

On that note, they fell silent, leaving me to do little but stew in my own boredom for several hours.

Haven was, unfortunately, immediately proven right in at least one aspect–given the choice between trying to use the dingy, gross toilet at the back of the bus or wetting my diaper, I peed in my diaper. It was purely a matter of convenience and sanitation, but I felt Haven’s amused satisfaction nonetheless.

I sighed in relief as the bus finally came to a station and I was able to get up, stretch my legs, and seek out a bathroom. I needed to do more than pee, and I wanted to test Haven’s promise. I was going to find a toilet, sit down, and use it like a continent adult, and if they kept their word, they wouldn’t stop me.

The bus station’s bathroom was dingy and ill maintained, but it was at least a bathroom. A real bathroom, not a shaky, awful craphole like the one on the bus. Walking to the nearest stall, I pushed it open–

(Did you notice?) Haven inquired.

(You know I don’t know what you’re talking about, so just tell me what I missed,) I shot back, rolling my eyes. Here came the catch.

(You’re in danger.)

The door behind me opened, and two figures walked inside. I turned–they didn’t have the posture of travelers looking for a john, and as soon as they were inside, both faced me directly. Both women were taller than me, more physically fit, and the one on the left wore a jacket that did little to hide the pistol concealed inside.

Time froze for a moment–not completely, but my thoughts had accelerated, making it seem that the other women’s motions were in slow motion.

(Did you set this up?) I asked.

(No, but it’s a happy coincidence. You’ve found your first muggers, so soon after arriving.)

(Okay, let’s take them out.)

(No.)

I blinked.

(What? But–)

(Not for free. Give me a reason to help you.)

(I–) It hit me, then. Haven had given me privileges back, just so that they’d have the ability to take them away. (How about if I don’t use the toilet for three days?)

(No, no. That’s not how this works. You don’t negotiate, you just give me control, and I’ll decide if I want to help you.)

I swallowed. The woman on the right was saying something–I’d missed it completely–and reaching for her gun. I didn’t have much time.

(Please–) I started, trying to be quick about it. (Make me use my diapers for the next three days. Don’t let me use the toilet.)

(Alright.)

(Will you help me now?)

(No.)

(Er–um–f**k. I don’t know what to–this is hard when I’m panicking, okay?)

(Then stop trying to be coy and give me something good.)

(Please, Haven–) trying to think, I came up with a desperate number. (Edge me thirty times before I go to bed?)

(Gladly.)

(But–okay, fifty times.)

(Since you asked so nicely.)

My peril was getting closer, and Haven hadn’t yet fully complied. Her hand was inches from the weapon, getting closer with each passing thought.

(Make me beg for diaper changes.)

(Of course.)

(And–f**k. Okay. You like it when I’m embarrassed in front of people, right? Make me change my diapers in public bathrooms.)

(Aaah, that’s wonderful–I think that’s enough.)

(Will you help me fight now?)

(‘Help’?)

Before I could ask what they meant, inky blackness shot out and both my attackers, striking their faces, covering their mouths and noses. The woman on the right stopped going for her weapon, and both clutched at the tendrils cutting off their oxygen supply.

The struggle took twenty seconds, and when it was done, they slumped to the ground, unconscious. I didn’t have to do a thing.

(So,) I asked, heart pounding. (This was your plan all along?)

(No plan, I just wanted to see what you’d do.)

(And?)

(And I think I’ve got promises to keep, Mine.)

(f**k. How much edging did I agree to again?)

(Fifty times.)

(Right… is that even doable?)

(I will ensure you've got the physical stamina.)

(f**k.)

...

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[A Sensitive Guy (Updated/Complete with Part 2, Sep 26)]

Part Two

 

Though Sam could barely recognize his life anymore, he could identify where it had all shifted, where the slide into his new role had turned into an inescapable avalanche.

It had all begun with two keys.

The first key locked his new chastity cage.

The second key unlocked Tim’s front door.

The cage wasn’t because Timberly wanted to deny anything from Sam–obviously not. She explained how she didn’t mind him having fun, she wouldn’t even mind if he masturbated, but his ‘special times’ were becoming so frequent lately that it was becoming a problem. They couldn’t snuggle on the couch or even hold hands without one of his accidents interrupting.

A pink, plastic, locking shell, something to keep his cock isolated and unstimulated, might mean he didn’t go through quite as many pullups in a day.

She’d even let him keep the key, right in a special spot in her dresser.

Still, Sam couldn’t exactly shake the feeling that this escalation was more than just practical. She’d proposed something intimately disquieting at the same time that she offered him a major life improvement–getting out of his parents’ basement and into her house.

So, after taking a few days to think about it, Sam added two keys to his life. One to Tim’s home, and one to his own cock.

She helped him put it on–just fumbling with his dick for a moment had been enough to make Sam spurt into her hands, but in the post-coital limpness that followed, she got him all locked up inside the pink plastic chastity device.

Then he got to see his new place.

No more basement apartment, no more paying rent to mom, no more dependence on his parents–he was his own person, with his own home. Or, well, with his own room in Timberly’s home. Her former office, in fact, but who was checking?

An attempt had been made, but sleeping in her bed was off the table–every time he rolled over and brushed his skin against hers, he woke up to startling bliss, and he’d been so crabby and sleep deprived the next morning that Tim decided he needed his own space.

It was a nice room, too–Tim’s old desk was huge, a great work surface for him to work on projects; it was nearly as big as the old single mattress in his basement abode. He’d initially seen the appeal of the work surface, but it’d taken some advice from Tim for him to decide what to use it for–since there wasn’t any more pressing work just then, he found an old lego kit that’d been languishing in a storage box of his for years for lack of time and space.

Sam had space to arrange every piece, and Tim didn’t say a word about his hobbies being juvenile or a waste of time.

He tried not to be embarrassed by the diaper pail she’d installed under his new desk. It was for practical reasons; even with the cage he still went through a couple pullups every day. It’s not like he’d have to bring guests in here and explain to them why he had the pail.

Timberly was still out and about a lot, so they spent more time chatting than speaking in person, but that wasn’t new–they’d always spent more time messaging each other than face-to-face. Occasionally she’d ask him to do specific chores around the house that’d been languishing, and he was more than happy to do so–it’s not like she was asking him to pay rent or anything, and he just wanted to see her smile when she came home to a clean home.

If anything, the notification chimes that came when she had a little job for him became highlights of his days off–they were an opportunity to make Tim happy.

Their time in bed got more interesting, too–his cage didn’t really stop him from dribbling out into his pants when things started to get hot, but his chastity at least made it so he lasted sixty seconds instead of six.

After ten days of this new arrangement, Tim had another idea.

He was bringing in barely minimum wage at his dead-end job, so why bother going to work? She made enough, so she could pay him an allowance to do chores, and he wouldn’t have to spend all his time doing something soul-crushing. Sam wasn’t about to say no to an offer like that, not when he’d fantasized about quitting a thousand times.

Maybe it hadn’t been mature for Sam to tell his manager to go f**k himself with his ‘World’s Best Boss’ mug when he went to pick up his last check, but he didn’t care about burning that bridge. He had Tim.

Then something else…changed.

Tim’s house was nice, but it wasn’t massive, and it only had one bathroom. One morning, while Tim was getting ready for work, Sam found himself needing to pee, and the bathroom door was locked.

He knocked, shifting his weight from side to side. The need to go had come on fast. “Eh, Tim? Are you in there?”

She replied sweetly, unaware anything was wrong. “Yeah, do you need something?”

“I have to pee,” he explained.

“Oh, sorry. I’m on the toilet right now.”

And that was that. He paced, he tried to think of something else. He let seconds drip past, but he had to go, and the need wasn’t getting any better. It’d come on strong and without warning, like his bladder just forgot to tell him how desperate he was until the need was at a Ten.

He knocked again. “Tim?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“How much longer?” Bouncing from toe to toe in a dance of desperation, he fought the urge with all his determination. “I, eh. I really need to go.”

“Oh, well…” She paused, then made an absurd suggestion with the same tone and cadence she used when she asked him to do the dishes. “Just use your pullups, sweetie. They’re meant for that, anyways.”

(She can’t be serious, can she?)

But before he could contemplate the suggestion anymore, his body decided, ‘Yeah, that’s a great idea,’ and gave up fighting. He froze in place, mortified as he felt urine flood into his pullup, soaking the garment front to back.

It didn’t go quickly, either–his bladder had been full to bursting, and once the trickle started, it didn’t let up. Terrified something might spill out into his jeans, he just stood there, frozen and acutely aware of the humiliation dribbling into his technically-not-a-diaper.

A moment later, Tim flushed, and after a brief hiss of the sink, she pulled open the door. Drying off her hands, she said, “Okay, it’s all yours.”

He stared at her, cheeks flushed bright red. “Um…I don’t need to go anymore.”

Her eyebrows raised, but Tim didn’t laugh or tease, she just smiled. “Oh, okay–well why don’t you throw that soggy pullup away and you can take a shower?”

Natural. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. Looking back, it was as though she’d expected this outcome and been prepared for it.

Sam was too mortified for that level of scrutiny just then. Nodding, he hurried to clean himself up.

But, just like his other accidents, these didn’t stop happening. And, just like when spurting into his boxers, piddling his pants always managed to happen in front of Tim: They’d get in her car to go somewhere, and as soon as they were on the highway his bladder would suddenly be desperate for release. They’d be over at her friend’s house, and the bathroom would be occupied. They’d be out for a walk, or any one of a half dozen other problems–it was as though his body had decided that it only needed to go when the bathroom was unavailable.

The pullups held up most of the time, but occasionally, he’d have to deal with crescent moon stains around the leak guards, marking his accidents for everyone to see.

What Tim suggested next didn’t even surprise him, though it caught him off guard that she didn’t even wait for his approval or confirmation. She just came home from work one day with a package of puffy, white adult diapers. He didn’t recognize the brand, but it’s not like he spent much time wandering the diaper aisle at the pharmacy–he’d just have to trust Tim’s judgment and assume that “Trests” would be effective for the job.

When protests were made by Sam, Tim had silenced them with ten words.

“Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?”

After that, he wore his diapers obediently, and never looked back.

His bladder didn’t look back, either–once he had somewhere to go potty wrapped around him at all times, he didn’t seem able to make it to the toilet at all. Something in him had accepted his diapers wholesale, and now it was hard to even think the word ‘Toilet’ without feeling an immediate release.

After only a few days, it became hard to even notice when he’d gone.

After a few days more, it became hard to even notice when he was wet.

Eventually, when Tim came home to find Sam had leaked through his diapers and onto her couch without noticing, she declared she’d had enough. If he wasn’t going to keep track of his diaper’s state, she would, and so a new part of their dynamic got added: In the morning, she’d check him, and when she found him inevitably soaked, she laid him out on his desk and changed his diaper.

He’d have to change himself around lunchtime, but it took Timberly texting him a reminder to get him to do it, and once she got off work, she simply deprived him of pants so she could tell when he needed a freshie at a glance.

That was good, though, because checking him with touch had its own side effects. All it took was Tim’s hand cupping his crotch, and he’d have the same reaction as always–brief, humiliating bliss. He’d already grown to associate the feeling of his soggy diapers with orgasms, and that was a correlation he didn’t want to reinforce in his thoughts.

The plastic sheet she got to go over his desk made it look distinctly like a changing table, which Sam found to be an odd coincidence, but he didn’t point it out. What he did point out was that he could no longer use the surface for his hobbies.

To that, Tim suggested he simply play on the floor–it’s not like he was using that space anyways, and there was plenty of room down there.

Really, though, as long as Tim didn’t mind his accidents, Sam didn’t either.

After a month living together, Timberly suggested just one more change, sandwiching her proposal between idle commentary about work and a question about what he might want for dinner:

‘Do you want to try a strap on?’

Sam had taken it with surprise–he doubted he could handle a strap on. Occasionally when they’d started fooling around, Tim had tried fingering him, and just a second or two of anal play was enough to make him dribble in his diapers. How was he supposed to deal with being fucked?

But then, Tim had clarified, and it all made a lot more sense.

‘You’d wear it. Don’t get me wrong–I like your mouth–but I’d also like to be fucked, and since you can’t do it yourself,  maybe you could use a substitute? I’d really like that, sweetie.’

He got it, then–his own cock was kind of useless, trapped in a cage, and ready to spurt helplessly at a second of contact. It felt good for him, at least when he wanted that reaction, but wasn’t much good for Tim.

So, they got a strap on. Or, ‘they’ didn’t. Tim picked it out for him.

It felt awkward putting it on over his diaper; a puffy layer of padding between him and his new cock. Still, Tim liked the look, pulling him in for a bliss-inducing kiss that had him needing to sit down for a couple minutes before they tried the strap.

Once he’d caught his breath, though, Tim pushed him down onto the bed, slid out of her panties, and began to ride his store-bought cock like she’d been the one locked in chastity for weeks.

Being inside Tim like this felt nothing like the sex he’d had before. Intimate and apart, slightly demeaning but full of connection at the same time. He was fulfilling his role in a way that he felt like he should, and yet…in a way that was focused all on Tim’s pleasure, because his own was already guaranteed. He just focused on having his ‘cock’ inside her, giving her pleasure, and imagined they were having real sex for the first time in their relationship.

What he didn’t expect, while Tim’s breath grew quicker and she began to grind her hips harder, was the sudden pressure that exploded out of nowhere in his belly. It was without warning, without any sort of chance to hold it or wait–he needed the bathroom, now.

“Tim, I–” he blurted, but before he could finish the words she’d bent forward, the back of her hand on his head, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss.

He didn’t have the words, or the sense, to finish his objection. Feeling her tense and moan into his lips was enough to bring out his own comparatively delicate orgasm, and all in that same instant, the unexplained and unexpected pressure won out.

They held each other tight through the simultaneous climax. The whole time, Sam felt heavy, solid mush spill out of him and into the seat of his diaper, enough to make it crinkle as it swelled. Whether she noticed the little grunts that escaped his mouth, or the shifting of his body that happened automatically to help facilitate the humiliating accident, Sam couldn’t say.

After a long, quiet moment, Tim pulled away, and Sam had to look her in the eyes and admit what’d happened.

“Tim, I–” he started, eyes huge.

“Shh,” she said, looking down on him. “It’s okay, baby. You couldn’t help it.”

She was right. He couldn’t, and even though it didn’t make any sense, her acceptance–her radical willingness to take every demeaning, humiliating thing that happened to him and laugh it off with a smile–made him melt.

Timberly smoothly got up off his strap-on, off his mucky diaper, and rolled next to him in bed, snuggling close so her head was against his.

“I love you,” he said, with the full vulnerability of exposing how he really felt.

“I love you too, baby,” she said. “I knew you’d be perfect, once I was done with you.”

Sam didn’t know what she meant by ‘done with him.’

He didn’t care, either. It didn’t matter.

He was in love.

...

Author's note: Sorry this took so long to upload! I forgot. 

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[The Potty Draining Chart (The Final Day, Sep 24)]

The book is now available to be downloaded for ereaders and such! 

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On 9/24/2023 at 7:44 AM, Wannatripbaby said:

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! 😩😩😩

This is not meant as a criticism, as leaving the aftermath open to reader interpretation is just as valid as giving a concrete answer. 

But man! I was really hoping we'd get to see what happens after the 2 weeks were up! 😅 I'm probably in the minority here, but I was hoping Nicole would go back to normal physically and mentally, but having been forever changed by the shared experience between herself and Vanessa. 

 It was a hard decision - I appreciate you taking it in the intent it was written with! ❤️ 

And who knows - Maybe she will go back to normal. There's no telling what magic might do, but what matters isn't the future - it's the friendship in there here and now. 

On 9/24/2023 at 9:14 AM, babykeiff said:

@PeculiarChangeling,

you are a true wordsmith, taking us on a journey where we know, love and feel for each charachter you create, and I respect, admire and thank you for that. Also, due to the appreciation of each charachter, I feel that you might have terminated the story a little too early - as you left out what will happen on the day after the chart ends. Not to spoil anything, we all know how it started by V's mischevious nature in writing a name on same chart. The story, in a way, punishes N but also gives her a much needed rest while V's life will go on, a little closer to N, but still proceed without much interuption. It doesn't seem fair to N, but her mind is regressed also so it is almost cruel.

Another day where it reverses - i.e., a twist from sleeping in the crib where the magic switches the two charachters maybe added to by N writing V's name in crayon could be a way to fininish without the 'cliff hanger' concept!

Despite that, still a brilliant story, and keep it up. I would sugest that you publish some of your work as it is more than worth it - maybe not ABDL style but more generic to suit the general market and/or fantasy instead of PG18+ style - not that you are incapable of that, far from it, but more of your work deserves to be shown to as large an audience as possible.

The wide publishing world is hard - You need to be really good at marketing, not just writing, to stand a chance. I'm trying, but it's not easy. 😥

On 9/24/2023 at 10:22 AM, YourFNF said:

Seconding honestly

But man this was a real emotional roller coaster.. Excellently done

Thank you! 

On 9/24/2023 at 2:13 PM, CDfm said:

I am always sad to see the good ones come to an end.  You truly did a outstanding job with this story. Thank you!  I am really hoping you put together another. 

I always am! ^^

23 hours ago, DAQ said:

I was kinda hoping the same but that it would appear on Venessa's door. Both knowing what is coming but no way to stop it.

That's cruel and mean - I love it! 

12 hours ago, kirababy said:

Very enjoyable tale, well written, and thought out.   Like other's I'm left wanting more...

Thank you 🥰

9 hours ago, Eagle0769 said:

Great way for your story to end with Nicole nursing from Veronica.

How else would a regressing story end.

As I understand Nicole is still an adult size baby.

But what happened at the end of the day and they wake up the next morning?

I love this story thank you for sharing it with us. 🙂

Whatever happens, they have each other ❤️ 

4 hours ago, babykeiff said:

From my understanding in reading this story -

Nicole is still the same size, but has the mental and physical behaviour and needs of an infant - she wets and messes without notice, she can't pronounce words correctly, her body behaves as if it is an infant, her mind is somewhat to totally regressed, she is totally dependant on another for care, she can't feed herself, or walk and gets around by crawling, she soothes herself by constantly sucking her thumb, her main source of nurishment is breast milk. The last vestige of adulthood - her coffee - makes her tummy upset where it relives itself by filling the diaper.

Vanessa is now producing breast milk to feed Nicole, and also acting as her babysitter.

Vanessa, maybe without knowing it originally, put Nicole in this situation - and Nicole has 'lost' her adult life from this. Nicole is being punished and Vanessa has got away with her actions.

From the way Vanessa was behaving orignally - setting up lights etc with Nicole doing all the heavy work, Vanessa is more of a user - and used Nicole not only to move, but to suit Vanessa's agenda. I suspect that in the future, Vanessa will get bored of babysitting and farm this out to another while she enjoys her life - and leaves poor Nicole in infancy. I wonder how long it will be before Nicole's lack of salary is an issue to Vanessa, and whether Vanessa will sell Nicole to another for the money. After all, that is her charachter - to create a situation to her advantage at the cost of another..... and poor Nicole is already paying that cost as being a permanant infant but still missing her mind and her adult life.

I really enjoy reading everyone's interpretation of the work. Thank you ^^