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ozziebee

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Everything posted by ozziebee

  1. Welcome back BooBoo! Loving the story so far. I didn't get to read it before the big Story Crash of '17. It's Hypocratic Oath, BTW. I do like the change of heart though by the ladies towards Sammi. Hopefully, she'll tire of any sort of rebellion, and relax and accept her new status. Looking forward to the next few chapters. I'd love to read more from Robbie's perspective.
  2. Like an ice cream brain freeze, right? When I read that line, I had to go back and read it again, just to make sure i actually read it right.
  3. In Sydney there's two major distributors of incontinence products: Independence Australia, and BrightSky. I use the former, as I can pick up the products from their warehouse near Prospect. Neither are ABDL aware, nor supply ABDL nappies There is also ABU out of Melbourne. Plus Littles Downunder. If you do some searches, the same people who do Littles Downunder have a non-ABDL shop, where I get plastic pants from. They also import Betterdry. I didn't know about the ABDL shop in Sydney, so will be checking it out myself! Have fun!
  4. oh my lordy, have done 5 run through and got 5 bad endings. Maybe I should have stayed with Amelia?
  5. LPS are Amazons. I'm trying hard not to describe heights to any detail.
  6. Onto Episode 2 - does our hero LPS Caseworker find Little Annie, or is the girl lost to the system forever? ## The Little Protection Service - Episode 2 - Case Number 149-250913 Main Character: Bella Mackenzie, Case Worker The LPS is a government authority with the mandate to enforce and promote the protection of Littles in the Amazon Dimension. Its employees are mostly case workers and investigators, who deal with reports of harm to Littles every day, 24x7x365 days a year. When reports of Littles in distress are recieved, the reports are logged, and sent to a case worker for investigation. It may be required for the case worker to remove the Little from the situation, and either place them in temporary emergency care, or pass them to a Littles Broker for a more permanent adoption. Sometimes, rarely, a Little will tug at the heart strings, and a case worker might go above and beyond to re-diaper the poor thing. Other times, the Little deserves to stew in whatever mess they've made in their diapee. We all agree that we're dealing with Littles here, bundles of stress that are incapable of doing anything more than mess in their dinky diapers. However cute they may seem to be, these are their crazy stories. [BONG BONG] I had to race across the road, and fast, as the last few cases for the day in LPS Courtroom 5 should be close to being heard. I left my cubicle in a supercharged mood, totally forgetting to log out. I stepped into the lift, and smacked the button for the ground floor a million times it seemed, but the elevator doors took their usual sweet time deciding to close, ignoring my radiating urgency. A quick glance at my watch and it was going to be close. As the elevator dropped below me, I did the potty dance, even without the requirement of actually needing the potty. Impatience. Out the lift, swipey pass out the security gate, and run across the four-lane road separating the Joseph P Meyers Building from the District Court House. Crazy, it seemed to be my time to shine, as traffic separated and stopped at just that moment. I was a successful frogger player it seemed, as I wove around the stationary cars. Racing up the 40 or so steps outside the massive court complex, heart pounding, I felt quite alive, as I raced towards the requisite Court Room inside. Before plunging into the unknown depths of the room itself, I hesitated about fifteen seconds, just enough time to breathe, gather myself, straighten my clothes, and slow that over-excited beating heart. Pause. Pause. Remember the process. I opened one of the two massive doors leading into the gallery of LPS Court Room 5, and stepped inside. A quick curtsey as a mark of respect to the Crown affixed to the wall behind the Judge, I slowly walked towards the gate, leading to the two tables directly in front of the Judge. I found a seat right next to the gate itself, and waited till the end of the hearing currently being played out. "Your Honour, my client contends that she had indeed been looking after Nathaniel Briggs. She was feeding him regular meals, clothing him appropriately, and giving him the love and attention he deserved", the defendant's Counsel spoke respectively towards the Judge. "I really don't think that feeding the poor boy haggis for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is appropriate, Counsel. Neither is sitting him in a walker, with his feet not able to touch the ground for hours on end, with no mental stimulation, and being locked in a thin diaper and being changed once a day, and having noone else in the house whilst your client is at work", the Judge spat out. "As the medical records show, the boy is in no fit state to be returned to your client's care, and as such, your motion is dismissed. Good day to you!". Before the Defendant Counsel could respond, the gavel caused a resounding BANG! on the Judge's desk, formally closing that case. I had a quiet chuckle. This Judge was known for his little outbursts, particularly at the ridiculousness and audacity of some parents towards their Littles. As the Judge started to mumble to himself and contemplate the next case on his desk, I took a deep breath, and stood up behind the gate. "If it pleases the Court, may I approach the Bench, your Honour?", I called out. The Judge looked up from his stack of papers, looking over his reading glasses towards me. "What is this about, Miss Mackenzie", he warily responded. "I would like to ex-Parte respond to a case heard this morning, on behalf of the Defendant, your Honour" The Judge looked over towards the Prosecutor, who shrugged her shoulders, and sat down behind her desk. "You may approach the bench, Miss Mackenzie, but make it quick". "Thank you for hearing me, your Honour. I won't take up much of your time. I would like to make a representation to the Court on case number 149-250913, concerning Ms Janet May Feebly. She was a no-show to the Court this morning", I spoke respectfully but firmly. "Sheriff?", the Judge spoke, as he motioned for the Sheriff to return with the file mentioned. After a few seconds of reading, the Judge looked over his bench and down towards me. This position was intimidating, and he could do whatever he liked at this point, including dismissing my representation. I had one chance at this. "Prosecutor, I suggest you approach the Bench?" I looked around as Miss Jones slid into position next to me, just off my left shoulder. "Ok, Miss Mackenzie, what is this about?" "Your Honour, I visited Ms Feebly this morning, and spoke to her about her case. The LPS of the opinion that her Little was taken in error. Ms Feebly's sister, one Ms Mardi Feebly, was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer approximately nine months ago, and died four months ago. Ms Feebly's Little spotted the lump, and alerted Mardi to it, but by that time, the cancer had taken hold, and there was nothing the doctors could do." The Prosecutor took a step back, turned, and went back to her desk, rifling through her papers. "There was no evidence given to us by LPS about this fact", she stated. "No, Maam, there was no evidence gathered at all by our case officer", I quietly responded, placing subtle epmhasis on the "all" bit, as embarassment welled up inside me. Embarassment for being the face of the Department at this point in time, a Department that fucked up. The Judge looked down at his notes, scribbled something down, then looked back at me. "Go on" "Yes, your Honour. As Mardi was in the last few weeks of life, she became mad from the pain. Unfortunately, she often took this out on Little Annie. The girl didn't know what was happening, or why she was being hit by Mardi, so she retreated into herself. Her mum was also too focused on her only blood relative, so Annie had to fend for herself, basically." "Do you have any evidence of these statements?", the Judge asked. "Yes, your Honour", I stated confidently, as I opened my work folder and took out photocopies of the photos I'd taken on my phone, handing a set to him, and another set to the Prosecutor. I'd made sure the photocopies were notarised by my boss as being true and accurate copies. They both took their sweet time going through each page in the stack. I could do nothing but wait. "I will accept these into Evidence. Do you object, Miss Jones?" "No objection, your Honour. Indeed, if it may please the Court, I would like to make a motion to defer this case back into the hands of the LPS?", "Is this what you wanted, Miss Mackenzie?", the Judge looked down at me, studying my face. Process, be impassive, mute, and stone faced. Inside though, my guts were going a million miles an hour, and my head was pounding from elevated blood pressure. "Yes, your Honour, though I would respectfully ask the Court to consider a dismissal", I meekly responded, with a nervous cough. I was pushing my luck for a dismissal, but I had to try. "Motion to dismiss is denied, Miss Mackenzie", was spoken with formal authority. I jumped at the sound of the Judge having a quiet chuckle. "However, I will cancel the arrest warrant, and grant a stay of one month for you to investigate further. Then this case will be put back into the list for Directions. If your client does not appear at that time, I will reissue the warrant. Do you understand me?", The Judge spoke, whilst writing notes. "Yes, your Honour", I confirmed, noticing that the Prosecutor had returned to her desk, and made a note in the file. Even in the face of insurmountable evidence, and a tacit admission by the LPS that we'd fucked up and snatched the Little in error, all I got was a stay of execution. Better than nothing, I supposed. I turned and walked back the way I came, through the gate, and through the massive gallery doors. I had time now. Time to work on a pet project. ---- Back at my desk, time slowed. I was in my own little world. I could hear the general hubbub of the open-plan office, but it was just quiet background noise. Even Marty, my supervisor, failed to attract my attention. "Oi!", he shook my shoulder. I jumped fair out of my skin. "What!?" "How'd it go over there?" "Just a deferral. I asked for a dismissal, but nope. I have one month." "You have a couple of days, at most, Princess. Lest I remind you, we have an infinite case load to consume!?" "That's not fair!", I pouted up at him. "Take it, or leave it, Princess" He was right though. My pet projects weren't my only bits of work. If we all cherry picked cases, nothing would be achieved in the long run, and we'd all be fired, replaced by automatons the Establishment could depend on. I let the princess references slide, and returned to my work. I started with the evidence, or lack of it. I was intensely curious why the original case officer neglected to log any at all into the file. I added notes and images of the evidence I gathered from Ms Feebly to the case file, then pushed the file into the background on my screen, popping up another application to glance into the Evidence Locker, seeing if any evidence was scanned by the clerks in the basement. All it took was the case number - 149-250913. After about a second, no matches were returned. Weird. So what evidence did that lazy shit officer use to justify snatching Little Annie? As I sat back in contemplation, it occurred to me that the LPS had no more reason to snatch a Little than to see physical evidence of harm, even though that harm may have been completely unintentional, and certainly not caused by the parent in this case. So the lazy shit went up to the house to discuss a complaint of neglect, saw the welts and bruises on Annie's body, and took her. But the stupid bitch didn't even take any photos of Annie as evidence. Who was the case officer on this case? Oh, a guy downstairs, a newbie. A bitch, then. No evidence logged, and no reference to where the Little was taken to. I looked through the history log of actions taken, and noted that the last entry by the case officer was a week after Little Annie had been taken. The guy had clearly moved onto bigger and better things. Annie was nothing to him. I've known for a long time that LPS case workers often thought of themselves as cowboys. Some of the more cocky guys actually strutted into the building a few times wearing spurs and cowboy hats! Process dictated that Littles with injuries were taken to the Childrens Hospital in Camberton. So, I exited the Evidence Locker database app, and brought up the website for the CCH. After supplying my LPS credentials, I was faced with another screen asking for the case number. Everything the LPS did was logged under a case number. Whilst in our care, even the Littles wore wrist and leg bands with the case number imprinted on them for all to see and scan. I held my breath as I entered in the nine digits and one dash. Ten seconds passed and I became dizzy from lack of oxygen and watching a spinning beach ball. No records found. Nothing. Not a darn thing. I searched by name. Still nothing. I took screenshots of the page as evidence of our distinct lack of ability in following processes. Next step in the famed LPS Procedures Manual was to drop the Little off at the Camberton Boarding Centre, a grandiose name for a run down building and the awful crap that went on inside it. There, according to the glossy brochures, the kids would be afforded the luxury of a clean cot, a change of clothes and fresh diaper, hot food, basic medical attention, and another chance at adoption into a loving family. If the Little wasn't soon adopted out, they were shipped off to an Etiquette School somewhere within our great and prosperous Country. I've known of some Littles who spent the rest of their lives at these schools, even dying there whilst lying in a puddle of their own vomit, neglected by the staff. The LPS turned a blind eye to it. We had to. No resources, and no money. Everyone knew that Littles beyond their prime years were not attractive to potential Adopters. So they wasted away in these centres. Perversely, I hoped that Little Annie was in one of these centres, because she'd have a record. My heart fluttered as I entered the case number in the requisite web page. No records found. Nothing. Not a darn thing. I searched again by name. Still nothing. A broken record. I took more screenshots as evidence of our tardiness at records keeping. My heart skipped a beat ... or two ... or maybe even three. I cried out in anguish and despair, with half the office popping their heads up and looking around at the commotion. But I was instantly back in the zone, staring intently at my screen. To my knowledge, there was no next step we undertook. But maybe the girl had been adopted out? So I flicked to another website, one run by the Department of Births Deaths and Marriages. That database tracked adoptions, both Little and Amazon. With an increasing sense of inevitability, I plugged in the case number, now committed to memory. Records slowly appeared on the screen. But my heart skipped more beats, as I read down the list. > Birth registered (expected) > Voluntarily given up for adoption (Oh...) > Adopted to Mr & Mrs Sweeney (Ok, so she'd been adopted) > Taken into LPS care after a motor vehicle accident (Ouch, poor girl) > Adopted to Ms Feebly (Pretty quickly too, it seemed) ... then nothing else. No further records found. So the BDM think she's still with Ms Feebly. Well, shit... I again had to pause and think. Where else could she have gone? "Hey, Mr wannabe-Bossman, can I borrow the squad car for an hour or so?" "Sure, Princess". I flinched, but still managed to catch the keys which suddenly appeared flying over the divider. Within 30 minutes, I was standing at the front door of Ms Feebly's quaint but run-down home. This time, she didn't hesitate to open the door, and I stepped inside. "Ms Feebly, thank you for seeing me again today. I have some good news, and some bad news." "Oh?" "Yes, the good news is that I've spoken to the Judge presiding over your case, and he has granted a stay of one month whilst we investigate your circumstances." "Oh, that's wonderful news. I could never get in touch with my Counsel." Hmm.. interesting. I made a note in my notebook to follow up on this. "You're Counsel is a public-appointed one, right?" "Yes, I can't afford a private one. I used all my money burying Mardi", came an embarassed reply. I could see she had no money, and therefore no way to defend herself. "So, what's the bad news?" "Well...", I took a deep breath, "... there's a bit of a glitch in the system, and I'm still trying to track down what happened to Annie, and where she went to". "Oh... that's not good." "Do you still have her Adoption Certificate?" "Sure, I'll just go find it", she said quietly, then stood up and disappeared into another part of the house. After a few minutes, she returned with a rather large ornate and delicately embossed envelope. I opened it up, and retrieved the Adoption Certificate, gently placing it on top of the envelope. After studying the details on the certificate, and admiring the tiny hand and foot prints, I asked Ms Feebly to turn off the overhead lights. Retrieving a UV chemlight from my handbag, I flicked it on, and positioned it over the paper. What shone out under the UV light was a series of random letters and numbers, 64 characters long. It was the security code embedded within the chip that was implanted somewhere within Little Annie at the time of adoption. I took a photo of the string using my mobile, remembering to turn off the auto-flash. After turning off the UV chemlight, I took another photo of the certificate, to add to the evidence trail. "Thank you, Ms Feebly, I must get back to the office now." The entire time I was driving back to the office, I could think of no other place the poor girl had been taken to bar one. ---- Sitting back at my desk, with tears welling up and cascading down my cheeks, I hit one final website, that of the Inter-Dimensional Portal Network. This one was run by the Border Police, and the database recorded every movement into and out of the Portals. Even though Littles were scanned on entry to the Airport and where the Portals resided, LPS knew there were illegitimate avenues to get unwilling Littles through the Portals. Legally, Littles needed approval from their parents before they could cross into the Airport, and again before entering a Portal. This was achieved by entering a security password into a terminal held by the Border Police, and then when checking in to cross the Portal. No security password, no access. The Border Police were pretty strict in this regard. Unfortunately, those illegitimate avenues existed. Fortunately, there was one final scan as each individual crossed the Portal, and this was done by the machine itself. It was just a log of activity, nothing more. But the LPS had access to it, so I carefully entered in the 64 character long string, checking it three times, and paused before hitting enter. Thirty seconds later. A match. She'd gone through to a place called Catalon in another Dimension, a place which had no records, a place we couldn't access using the Inter-webs. I'd never be able to ever convince my bosses to send me there. I took a final screenshot, then exited the session. That screenshot went into the case file. "You win some, and you lose some", came a quiet voice from behind me. I looked around, and noticed Marty and his boss. At times like this, Marty knew just what to say, and how to say it. He squeezed my shoulder, so I touched his hand. "This aint over, Marty", I replied, whilst looking directly at his boss. "I know" "You have leads to follow, Miss Mackenzie, so follow them", his boss spoke commandingly, before turning and walking out. I looked at Marty quizzically. "I suggest you start there", and pointed at my screen. Looking at it, his finger was right next to the case officer's name. A pet project finishes, a secret project starts.
  7. Yeah, there are a few typos in there, and I'll go correct them in a bit. Not surprising, when I only decided to sit and write that first chapter last night. About three hours or so of writing, a quick proofread, then publish. I enjoyed writing it in that style Thanks for reading it! Oh, Oh, I'm breathless... One of the writers I look up to has commented! Oh Oh! Awesomesauce! *embarassed look* *calm down* *breathe* That aspect of the DD has so much potential to be fleshed out. I'm planning on writing my chapters like little episodes Law & Order style, picking up cases, but weaving an underlying story within. Hopefully that won't be too subtle as to not have it picked up by readers. Ive already left the odd clue in this first chapter already!
  8. I got this idea from the Story Ideas Adoption Thread. It will be a series of episodes examining aspects of the Littles Protection Service, a government authority run within the Diaper Dimension. Please comment, give love, criticism. If you have an idea for inclusion as an episode, please get in touch. (ala, maybe @BabySofia, an episode where the LPS visits Stacey Westerfield, perhaps?) ---- The Little Protection Service - Episode 1 - Case Number 149-250913 Main Character: Bella Mackenzie, Case Worker The LPS is a government authority with the mandate to enforce and promote the protection of Littles in the Amazon Dimension. Its' employees are mostly case workers and investigators, which deal with reports of harm to Littles day in and day out. When reports of cruelty to a Little are received, they're investigated. It may be required for the case worker to remove the Little from the situation, and either place them in a temporary emergency care arrangement, or pass them to a Littles Broker for adoption. But we all know that Littles caught in the system just end up in an Etiquette School. They're just babies, deserving of ridicule after all. Sometimes, rarely, they tug at the heart strings, and the case worker goes above and beyond to re-home them. Other times, the Little deserves whatever they get coming to them. These are their stories. [BONG BONG] The Judge adjusted his reading glasses carefully atop the bridge of his massive nose, and stared down into the quietish courtroom. He looked across at the stack of case files for the day, a stack that was slowly but inexorably being whittled down as the hours progressed. Picking up the top case file, he quickly scanned its contents, and sighed. "Case Number 149-250913 in the matter of ... State versus Janet May Feebly", he read off the case sheet, before looking up and surveying the LPS Court Room. I made a quick note of the case number within my beaten and weathered notebook. The prosecutor shuffled files across her desk, whilst standing behind it, picked out a file, and then looked around. There was no other movement. No-one from the gallery approached the gate leading to the empty Defendant's Table, the table that had just been vacated by the previous case. "Miss Jones, is the Defendant here?", the Judge queried, annoyance flecked within his otherwise quiet voice. "Umm...", the Prosecutor looked around the room for the Defendant, or their Counsel. Seeing neither, she looked back up towards the Judge, "No, Your Honour, it doesn't look like they have presented to the Court". "Fine. This looks to be the third time for this Defendant", the Judge noted as he shuffled through the case notes again. "Sheriff, please raise a warrant for the arrest of Janet Feebly, for failing to appear". The Sheriff approached the Bench, and retrieved the case file from the Judge. "Yes, Your Honour", before returning to his desk, and placing the case file on top of a slowly growing stack of case files. "I think we might take a 30 minute recess", the Judge formally announced, before bringing his gavel to the bench with a resounding bang, standing, and retiring through a side door. I sat in my position in the front row of the gallery for a few minutes, as the majority of people shuffled out through the main doors back into the court complex. Rather than scratching the case number out, I added a question mark to it, and filed the notebook into my handbag. Today was going to be a long day. There seemed to be a higher number of no-shows today for some reason, I noticed via the stack of files on the Sheriff's desk. I looked at the simple digital watch on my left wrist and decided that I'd better flitter back off to work, so I filed out of the LPS Court Room, through the main foyer of the Court complex, and plunged into the blinding sunlight outside. I stopped and retrieved my sunnies from my handbag, placing them on my nose just so, before looking across the road to my work place. The Littles Protection Service. What a misnomer of a title. We more often than not forcibly removed Littles from their families, and in the majority of cases, these poor creatures ended up in far worse situations than if we'd left them alone. Protection? Please! We were obligated to investigate all complaints according to the law. Where this broke down was the sheer volume of calls received every day, and cases, overwhelming our limited resources. We were simply unable to complete a quality investigation of every situation, and so, it was invariably the Little that copped the short straw. Sad really, when I take the time to sit and think. I had grand hopes and desires and dreams when I started with the LPS. I was genuinely concerned for the Littles welfare, and interested in making the lives of Littles safer, more caring, and have more hope and opportunity. Now, I'm just horrified at the reality of it all, the brutality of some of the kids so-called "families". Little lives at this time were fraught with danger, and uncertainty. A Little could be swept up off the street by an Amazon, and adopted, leading to a life of diapers, regression, and babification. They often never knew when were going to turn up on their doorstep, our in-quotes "investigation" complete, with only the final step to remove them to a in-quotes "safe place". I still cared for those Littles, but I too had to begrudgingly acknowledge there was a process to follow. This didn't mean I always followed it, like an automaton. Process rankled me, pushed my buttons. My bosses knew this. Outwardly, I'd be cautioned, but on the sly, they were often as jaded and frustrated as I was. Today, as I sat in that Court Room, I was curious of the circumstances of Case Number 149-250913. Every time I walked into the foyer of the Joseph P Meyers Building, home of the LPS, I looked down at the giant marbled logo on the floor - "Department of Justice - Littles Protection Service". It would not be hard to spit on that logo, and I'm sure others have done exactly that, but I'd think such an act would be an instant CLM, a career limiting move, to those of us who worked there. A swipey pass through the security gates, and into the elevator, I pressed #9, and waited for the doors to close. "Awesome, you have blessed us with your presence, once more, Princess Bella!", came a voice behind an outstretched hand, eager to catch the same lift. "Cut out the Princess bullshit, Marty, or I'll report you to HR", I responded back towards my immediate manager. All the same, my cheeks began to glow a deep pink. I loved being called a princess when I was young. Marty slid into the elevator just in the nick of time, the doors sliding closed a fraction of a second after he crossed the threshold from floor to lift car. He chuckled, as his deep blue eyes scanned me from my glossy black flat shoes to the tight bundle of deep brown hair within a cream ribbon bow perched precariously atop my head. I hated it when he did that, so demeaning. I would never seriously go to HR though. Marty was that kind of manager which gave me freedom and space to work on my own quirky cases. I too put my head down, and pushed through a sizable workload each month, like all the other case workers did in our section. He depended on me at times, to take some sensitive cases off the grid, on the down-low, and be discreet about them. So he compensated for that stress, by letting me do my own little pet projects. Maybe Case Number -913 would be one of those "pet projects". I treated my pet projects as a way to recharge my internal batteries, reset my emotions, readjust my reality meter. I get so drained by cases which end up being messy, or have a tragic outcome. It's way too easy to burn out emotionally and physically in this job, dealing with the shit families, the abuse, the lies, the heartache of a snatched loved Little. My coping mechanism is to just tune out, become that automaton the Establishment always wants us to become. So I must recharge from time to time. Otherwise I'd go crazy, have a meltdown, and quit. Get depressed, and harm myself. Spiral out of control. End up in a mental institution, or a hospital, or even worse. Sitting at my desk, I tapped the keyboard peeking out from under a few new case folders, and sat transfixed at the large screen perched in one far corner of the desk. It was asking me for my password. After typing about 30 characters, it finally granted me access to the content of my PC, and more importantly, the LPS Intranet. It was an easy task to navigate to the screen where I could specify a court Case Number. Retrieving the notebook from my handbag, I typed in the 9 digits, and smashed the return key. Janet May Feebly, aged in her late 50's, had one Little registered to her under adoption, name of Annie Feebly, aged 29. No known natural children. Not married. One sister, mid-60's, recently deceased, 4 months ago. Hmmm... The LPS Case Officer took the Little away from Ms Feebly's care a little over two months ago. In that time, the location of the Little should have been recorded in the Case, but as per usual practice, that field was blank. The Officer did note that the Little was slightly malnourished, and had bruises over her body. A classic case of neglect and abuse. We saw this kind of case all the time. I clicked onto the thumbnail photo of the Little. A cute girl otherwise, sad eyes, no smile. I could see a worn and tattered peter-pan type collar right at the bottom of the photo. I looked at Ms Feebly's street address, 20 minutes away. Hmmm... I've seen this kind of case before too. Looked to be straight-forward, open and shut, but my senses thought otherwise. "Marty, can I grab the squad car for an hour or so?", I inquired towards my chauvinistic manager after hitting "Print", and retrieving the case description off the printer next to my desk. He instantly reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a keyring, and threw it across the desk divider towards me. "Thanks boss-man", I threw back at him. "Lunch, Princess Bella!", he yelled back at departing me. "Whatever!", I yelled out as the elevator door closed up tight. ---- Twenty minutes turned into forty with an accident on the freeway leading out to Orchard Hills, a deceptive up-market name for a lower-class neighborhood. I came to a stop in the driveway of number 15 Smythwood Drive, and sat in the now-quiet car examining the scene in front of me. This lady was not married, so the lawns were weeds, and quite unkempt. The grass had not been mowed in some time. I could not see any garden beds, though a single red Rose bush poked out above the weeds and rubbish, tapping its thorns against the front window of a quaint run-down house in tune with the wafting breeze. "Ok, lets go", I steeled myself. These were the bittersweet moments, the initial jump into the unknown of a new case. My heart began to race as I locked the squad car up. No sooner had the car alarm's Beep-Beep emitted, I noticed a slight rustling of the front window curtains. Someone was home. "Hello, are you Ms Feebly?", I asked whilst peering through the flyscreen door at a lady shying away into the blackness of the house interior. "What do you want?", she responded quietly, nervously. "I'm Bella Mackenzie from the LPS, Maam. I noticed that you didn't appear in Court today. May I come in?" The thin lady behind the screen hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes thinking. I wondered whether she only just then realised she needed to be in Court. Pretty soon, she was going to be forced by the Sheriff, whenever he got off his ass and came out here to arrest her. "What do you want?", she repeated. "I want to talk to you about your case." It was hard to see very much, with the glare from the hot midday sun beating down on the concrete front porch. There was no shade. "It's really hot out here, so I really would appreciate it if I could step inside, please?" The lady relented, and opened the door for me. The interior was also unkempt, but not an absolute mess, as contrasted to outside. It was much cooler in here than out though. "Thank you, I really do appreciate not standing out there in that sun" The lady motioned me over to a seat at the dining room table. She looked frail, but in her frailty, I could see that she still had some pride in herself. She was, perhaps, just coping. "What do you want?", she repeated again. "I'm really sorry for your loss of your sister, Maam", I opened. Process. Be kind and gentle, non-threatening. "She died, what, six months ago?", I respectfully spoke. "No, four" "Oh, I'm very sorry". I knew that answer, but I had to get her to talk to me. I watched, as the lady started to disintegrate into quiet sobs. I reached into my handbag, and took out a few tissues, handing them to her. Process. Be respectful. "May I ask how she died?" "Stage 3 to 4 breast cancer". More sobs. "Oh". Unexpected. "We only twigged to it when Annie told her of a lump in her left breast, some nine months ago. But by then, it was too late for the doctors to do anything. They sent my sister back home, to live with Annie and I in her final days." "Was Annie breastfeeding off her at the time?", I inquired. "No. They were close, Annie and my sister were. Mardi adored the girl. So did I for that matter." "Oh. It says on our case notes that Annie had bruises on her body. Can you tell me how they got there?" "Is this what you're here for? To arrest me?" "No, I'm here to get an understanding of what happened to Annie, and the circumstances of her removal, that's all." The lady squirmed on her seat, obviously uncomfortable having to confront the loss of Annie. She looked incredibly sad, grieved by the loss of both sister ahd child, and defeated by the process. I sat, and waited. Process. Be patient, and let them talk. "Mardi lived here with Annie and I. In the later weeks of her illness, she became delirious, and lashed out at anything and every one, including Annie, and myself. Poor Annie copped a lot, and she couldn't understand what her Aunty Mardi was doing, why she was acting the way she was. Mardi was in so much pain towards the end." I had started taking notes. The story that Ms Feebly was telling gave me the shivers. If she was right, we'd fucked up. "It was reported that Annie was under-weight" "As Mardi was on her death bed, I became depressed at the despair of it all, and her suffering. I was losing my sister, my only living blood relative, so my focus was on her. Poor Annie, she found herself having to grow up because of my inattention, fend for herself. I should never have done that to her..". She stopped and sobbed. I sat, quiet as a mouse, and waited patiently for Ms Feebly to continue. "Annie ... umm... Annie took her Aunty's infirmity and death very hard, and withdrew into herself. Annie was all I had, and I tried to reconnect to her, to show her that even after the death of a loved one, life still went on, that life could still go on for Annie and I." I cracked up, a tear fell from my left eye, my weak eye. I reached for a tissue myself, and quickly dabbed away the wet drop. Stupid process. Don't show any emotion. The lady got up out of her seat, and shuffled off into an unseen part of the house, returning a few minutes later with some papers, placing them gently on the table with shaky hands. I reached across, and started reading them. Doctors notes, concluding that Annie was depressed, and withdrawn. Another note from Mardi Feebly's treating doctor to Ms Feebly to up the pain medications in an attempt to stop violent outbursts, effectively sedating the poor woman. Another random local doctor's certificate explaining a visit to the clinic by Annie for bruises, dated around the same time. A photo, taken by persons unknown, showing the state that Mardi was in, the dishevelled bedroom, marks on the walls. Mardi had gone mad. "Did the LPS not take copies of these?" "No" "May I take a photo of these?", I asked quietly. Process. Gather evidence. I quickly remembered back to what was on my computer screen. There were no notes regarding any evidence taken before, during, or after Annie was removed into LPS care. More fuckup. "Sure" As I began to take photos of the pages on the table with my mobile phone camera, I noticed another photo appear from within the stack. It was one taken in happier times, with Mardi, a very cute little Annie playing up for the camera, and Janet Feebly standing behind Annie, hands on Annie's shoulders, looking very proud and motherly. We'd fucked up. Mardi died, Annie withdrew, and Janet broke down, depressed. But I couldn't tell Ms Feebly that. I couldn't admit guilt on behalf of the Department. Process. I could almost fuck that process right the fuck off. I looked up and into Ms Feebly's bloodshot and teary eyes, and reached out to touch her chin. "I promise you this, Ms Feebly. I will find your child for you." I left her to her despair, her grief, her loss. I left her before my blood boiled over. Annie should never have been taken away from the woman. Only God knew how Annie was feeling about all this. And only God knew where the poor girl was. As I drove away from Ms Feebly's home, I felt my batteries recharging. They had to be fully energised before I walked into my manager's boss's office and dumped this pile of steaming incorrectness on his desk. Sometimes the LPS did good work. Most of the time though? We fucked up, or just didn't give a rats. I had to find that girl, and unfuck this part of the system.
  9. Stop stealing my thunder, here! *giggles* Do you think Stowe is gonna, like, actually shoot em? He has a rifle with him, after all. Would be a shame not to use it! Is Michael still just an innocent Little? How do you think the HoS is gonna steal off with Michael? Did I leave a teensy tiny clue there perhaps?
  10. Onto Chapter 10 then. Things start to come to a head, revelations are disclosed, and all is not as it seems... Please provide your comments and feedback, as I really do appreciate them. ## Chapter 10 - Future Generations 1447p in the afternoon. This meant the sun was still high in the sky, but beginning its inevitable slide back towards the horizon, to set sometime after about 1815p. The forecast was for a cooling breeze to waft across the Hungerford Hill district, caressing the lake and forest trees down in the valley behind Mark Bradley's humble two storey abode, before rising up the slopes and over the Hill. Water vapour from the great lake was often dragged into the air by the sun's fierce rays where, to people in the valley, it was felt as humidity. As the sun's influence waned, the wind would often cause the humid air to travel upwards, causing it to condense. Given just the right conditions in the cool early afternoon and evening, Hungerford Hill would be surrounded by mist, swirling and dancing gracefully with the shifting air currents. It was not uncommon for wisps to float up in the afternoon change. Keith Bradley knew nothing of the building vapours though, as he was only intent on navigating to his son's two-storey residence. It looked, well, not quite out of place, set amongst simple multi-storey unit blocks and grand stately mansions a bit further up on the Hill. Mark had chosen well, when he bought the block of land. It had, at first glance, all the right ingredients, being a fairly flat block, nice frontage size, and a stunning view of the lake and forest down in the valley below. The house design was modern, blockey, lots of windows, a few balconies to take in that view, and two storeys tall. However, all around it were single storey older-style houses. Mark was banking on those properties being modernised, upgraded, appreciating in value. Then there were the three-storey unit blocks ringing the base of Hungerford Hill itself, and across the street from Mark's house. When Mark lodged plans with Council, some of his new neighbours complained that his house would remove their views. He was up to the challenge though, and eventually, the plans were approved. The house was getting close to two years old. Those around it were really starting to show their ages. From the main highway, 30 minutes from the centre of the City, there were a few side streets to navigate before the SUV turned into the road where the house stood. Directly in front of the house was a spot in the driveway, so he naturally kept his eyes on that spot. Sarah had been faithfully following her father's lead, surprised that they had decided to head to her brother's house, rather than head home, like that Mr Stowe guy suggested they do. Keith slowed the SUV to a crawl, indicator on, and stopped for a car travelling in the other direction, before idling the truck onto the driveway. "Keith?", Jenn questioned quietly. "Hmm?" "There's a cop car here", she pointed out. "Oh, that must be the protective detail" "Do we have to let them know we're here?" "Mark must have already told them, otherwise they would have stopped us". Jenn had sorta seen two occupants of the car, but the SUV turned into the driveway at that instant, and she paid them no further attention. She failed to notice anything amiss, like glass shards on the ground, or a hole in the drivers side window. Meredith was asleep and covered up in her rear-facing baby capsule, asleep mostly from boredom and being rocked around by the vehicle movements. "Where's that card that man gave us?", Keith asked towards his wife. Jenn reached into her handbag, pulled out what felt like a business card, and handed it over to Keith. He examined it for a sec, punched in some numbers, composed and sent off a message to that Stowe dude. [Keith Bradley]: We're at Mark's house, if you need to know. Mark's little has been injured. 1450p. After a few seconds of waiting for a response, there was no reply, so he put his phone into his shirt pocket, switched off the truck, and motioned for Jenn to hop out and fetch Meredith. Sarah parked half on the street and half on the driveway, directly behind the SUV, cutting off any opportunity for it to escape. "What gives?", she quizzically asked of Keith, as she hopped out of the vehicle. "I thought that guy said for us to head straight home to your place?" "Yeah, but Mark rang to say that Little Michael's been hurt, so we came here instead", Keith responded. "Oh, ok then, I guess!". She bent into the vehicle and plucked Annabelle out of her carseat, placing her on her hip. Annabelle was also mostly asleep, rubbing her eyes, looking back towards the police car across the road, as the family walked towards Mark's rather large front door. At the front entrance stood the main door, and a simple door bell button sitting just below a faintly glowing red light. Keith pushed it, heard the chime start playing a merry tune, and the dog barking out in the backyard, but there was nothing else amiss. What seemed minutes, but likely just a few seconds, Mark opened the door part way, with a smile, but otherwise panicked eyes. Seeing the entire family caused his legs to buckle, as he took a step back, composed himself, and motioned the family inside. Keith turned around as the door closed behind them, pushed not by Mark, but by someone else. "Don't you move a fucking muscle", growled a disheveled man, just as the door closed itself. With a final click, the guy reached over and locked the door, and stepped in front of it. All Keith could possibly see was the muzzle end of a silenced barrel, the pistol looking tiny in the man's hands. He gulped, took a few quick breaths, and slowly looked across to his son, Mark. "I had no choice, Dad, they were going to kill all of us if I didn't get you here", Mark pleaded. Tears started in his eyes, but he remained stoically upright. Keith looked back at the man holding the gun. "What do you want?", he quietly asked the barrel, and was rewarded with it being pushed into his forehead. "Move, into the dining room, GO!" The ladies both let out a scream, which woke Meredith up with a start, as they were ushered up the staircase to the top floor of the house, the floor which rose above the trees to soak in that opulent view. At the top of the stairs, the family turned left. Jenn opened the sliding frosted-glass doors to the dining room, to reveal the rest of Marks family, already sitting, gagged and restrained. "SIT", the gunman snapped loudly at the newcomers. Keith stole a few precious seconds to look around the room. In one corner, next to a grand window looking out over the lake was a middle-aged man, sitting in a recliner, a glass of brandy in one hand, a pistol resting in his lap. Beside him stood Michael, bound and gagged, tethered to the man by a short length of thin rope. Although his knees were wobbly, his eyes had long since dried of their tears. On the floor next to the man sat a briefcase. Mark's family were sitting at the dining table opposite the window, looking back towards the man. Sue, and the other two of Mark's children (Thomas and Kerry-Anne), were all bound and gagged. Tom was squirming around, but Kerry-Anne sat wide eyed and scared out of her nut like a stunned mullet. With a quiet thump, the gunman slid and locked the doors behind Keith once more. "Hello, you must be Mr Keith Bradley", the man sitting finally spoke. "And who are you?", Keith quietly responded. Keep it slow and non-threatening, he thought to himself. "You don't need to know my name, though I would have thought by now that you'd know who I work for. Ever heard of the Ramon Family?", the HoS replied quietly. "Yes". Fear. Keith instantly remembered that Don Ramon had murdered all of Little Michael's original family in cold blood, in a situation not unlike what they're facing right now. "I'm responsible for the security of the Family, and this boy here is a risk to that security". He took a swig of the brandy, relishing the intense but smooth flavours. "I have to say, Mark, this is darn good brandy!" Mark looked blankly back at his captor, wondering whether to thank the guy, or continue saying nothing. He sat at the end of the table, closest to the HoS. The HoS looked across the room towards his minion, and motioned with his brandy glass for the guy to do his work. "Sit", the gunman ordered Jenn, who immediately complied, taking a seat at the table next to Tom. The boy looked at his grandmother, seeking some emotional support, whilst watching the goon begin to tie her up. "Please, I need to keep a hold on my baby", Jenn cried towards the goon. He stopped and looked across to his boss. "Why, certainly, Maam", the HoS responded, "just so long as you keep it quiet, and you don't get up off your seat", he commanded. "I'm not a monster, unlike my Boss". The gunman shrugged his shoulders, then moved to seat Sarah, who continued to hold Annabelle. They were seated with their backs to the window, looking across the table at Jenn. Keith stood at the head of the table, as far away from the HoS as possible. "Search him", the HoS quietly stated towards his goon. After a pat down, and a search of his pockets, the goon only found the car keys, mobile, and wallet, which he placed on the table in front of Keith. The mobile silently flashed one message: [Unknown]: Do not approach the house! Too late for that now, Keith thought to himself. He watched the goon slowly walk around the room, glancing through the windows. The Dining Room in this place was stately, with windows looking out in three directions. The house fell silent, bar the odd sniffle, or muffled cry from the kids. Keith decided to take a leap of faith. After all, he was a negotiator from a long time ago. "So, what do you want?", he enquired softly, his hands flat on the table, palms up. The HoS twirled the glass of brandy in his hand, contemplating his position of power, and wondering what kind of man Mark's father was, to be so brash as to open discussions. He remained relaxed though, salivating at the thought of another sniff. "You know what I want, Mr Bradley", he formally spoke back. "I'm here for this little shit", tugging on the rope, causing Michael to stumble and fall to his knees. Michael shook his head slowly, sadly, mumbling from behind his gag. "Then you have him. Take him", Keith said whilst lifting his right hand off the table in a gesture towards Michael. "It's not that simple, and you know this", the HoS fired back, slightly angered. Keith stifled a giggle. Even the most powerful Mafia family had trouble breaking legal adoptions. There were ways, and willing experts, to track down snatched adopted kids. "You require Mark to give up his legal adoption of Michael then, is it?" "I can't do that, Dad!", Mark immediately yelled, pained, in tears. Adoption is such a formal concept, and especially so with Littles. This wasn't always the case though, not until the public were horrified by media reports of abductions of Littles, who were often never seen again, forcing the Government of the day to act in tightening Adoption laws. The papers signed by Adoptive Parents now were time-bound artifacts (evidenced by issuance of Adoption Certificates) - a minimum of two years before any formal change was allowed by the government. This was often enforced by the tag implanted into the adopted subject, a piece of nannite tech that bound itself to the subject so forcefully on first injection, that it caused irreparable damage to the subject if removal was attempted within the two years. Beyond two years, the nannites broke their bond, and could be removed or re-programmed if required, like with new Adopter details. But there were also clauses in the law dealing with Termination of the Adoption. On the death of the Parents, the subject could be legally adopted by a relative, in which case the tag was re-programmed by an authorised agent of the Family Court, using a special scanner which had encryption technology in it to unlock the nannites protecting it. However, Littles being Littles, even in a progressive State, another clause existed allowing a Little to be claimed by someone with physical possession of them, any surviving relatives be damned. Mark knew all this. He had to go through all the legalities when adopting Michael through Henderson Henderson & Stowe. Mark realised that the man simply couldn't just walk off with Michael. They might be able to escape to another continent, but Adoption Laws are recognised world-wide in this Dimension, even though they may not be the same from country to country. Which left the possibility of abducting the Little to the other Dimension through a Portal. With an adoption tag embedded into Michael, Mark thought that not even the Mafia could take Michael across dimensions. So they'd have to get rid of it before doing so, lest they alert the InterDim Border Protection Service. Keith also knew all this, because of Meredith. Remembering such, he looked across to his little baby girl, who was yawning herself awake, and beginning to look around at the turmoil unfolding within the room. Keith quickly understood that this left both sides in a pretty pickle. He looked down the table at his son, who looked defeated and broken. Mark was a geek, who had no fight in him to start with, so he certainly wasn't going to be able to put up a fight now if it came to that. He'd get no support from Mark. Keith looked down at his phone again, and had a thought. Maybe the Stowe guy could help us, but I'll need to stall this conversation, to give him time. He'll go to our house, find us not there, see we're at Mark's, and come here. He looked like he meant business. Why did I ignore his advice? How did these two get past the protective detail out front? Keith's eyebrows furrowed, worry lines spread across his forehead. He stole a glance at his wife, who looked back a bit puzzled. Stall for time, Keith. Make the guy talk. "Why do you want Michael anyway?" ---- I woke up, cradled in my mother's arms, face buried in her chest, and started listening to a conversation about Michael. I remembered overhearing in the car that Michael was injured. Looking around the room, my eyes focused on Michael, who was on his knees, bound and gagged, next to a scary-looking man with a gun on his lap. This is not good. Michael didn't seem to be otherwise injured. I tensed as I realised that phone call was just a ruse to get us all here. I felt a tightening hug, and a gentle kiss on my forehead. I rewarded Mum with a fresh stream of warm pee into my nappy, like I always seemed to always do after I woke up properly. She stopped patting my butt at that point. "Shhh...", she cooed at me. "Go back to sleep now, bubba." Looking across to Dad, he was busy in thought, stealing glances at me, at Mum, at the scary guy holding Michael, and at a guy wandering around the room, casually looking out through the windows. He also had a gun in his hand, keeping it at the ready, but held down low against his abdomen. Ok, so there were two bad guys here. The guy in the corner with Michael seemed to be the one in control, the guy wandering around just seemed to be a goon. "Do you know who Michael is?", the scary guy asked. "Of course I do, and I don't see why he's such a threat to the Ramon Family. He's just a Little", Dad replied. Keep the guy talking. Michael blushed, his cheeks going beetroot red. He hated being talked about so openly, like he was a nobody, just another stupid Little to these Amazons. The scary guy waved his glass of brandy about, emitting a faint chuckle. "Just a Little, hmm? My dear friend, you have obviously not been listening!" Dad seemed a tad surprised, looking across the table towards Michael, studying the boy for a period of time. "He's the heir to a multi-Billion dollar fortune", scary guy explained. "Oh that? Yeah, I knew that", Dad dismissed, with a slight wave of his hand. "Your boss caused that, so don't blame us." Pause, in thought, "What I still don't understand is why Michael would be a threat to you ... hmmm... Is it because money talks, perhaps?" "You are only partially correct" "What?", Dad was truly taken aback at that. Maybe Michael hadn't told the complete story? "Have you ever wondered what goes on in the InterDimensional Portal industry?" Dad's face was blank. I knew where this discussion was heading though, as a faint memory flashed into my consciousness about HH&S receiving intelligence a long time back about Little abductions, and them being transported through the Portal Network. Speaking to a few people in law enforcement circles caused leaks, the public got wind of it through the media, and all hell broke loose, politically. "We never really understood", Mark piped up. "We knew Michael had an inheritance, but not the true amounts, and certainly not the Portal business". He looked up to his wife, silently querying her. "Of course not, and I'm sure you all knew that Mr Stone himself was famous for those Portals." Both Dad and Mark nodded at that. "He never disclosed the business' major shareholder being a Little, through a Court-enforced inheritance. My Boss discovered that little gem." Dad seemed quite shocked. Poor Little Michael over there in the corner, cowering away, seemed to be not quite so innocent. "But I bet Michael never told you about his little side business, eh?" "Oh?", Mark responded, also a bit surprised now. "Michael here had been flashing a bit of cash around, on the quiet, developing a lucrative business in the medical line. Ever heard of Nano Augmentation?" My ears really pricked up. Wasn't I put through that process? It certainly seemed to be confirmed when Mum stiffened considerably, squeezing me quite tightly, forcing the air out of my lungs. Dad sat there poker-faced through. He was good at poker it seemed. He shot a steely-eyed nano-second glance towards Mum and I, then back at the scary man. "No, never heard of it", Dad responded. "The NAP is a medical procedure to transform Littles into baby Amazons. All well and good and all, but Michael here injected a logic bomb into the process". The scary man placed his brandy glass onto the table, and suddenly yanked the mouth gag free from Michael. "Explain away, my boy!" Michael coughed a few times to clear his throat, surprised he suddenly had a voice. "Umm... the Littles transformed by NAP kept their adult knowledge. In forty years or more, those Littles would be in Parliament, with retained knowledge of what being a Little was like, and thus able to legislate for Little rights and privileges. We'd be on equal footing with you Amazons within one or two generations!" "Noble, don't you think?", the scary man summarised, "... and the subjects quite out of reach of lucrative Littles trafficking". "I still don't get it?", Dad curiously queried, a bit confused by the revelation. "Money talks, Mr Bradley, and that confers power in the halls of Justice. But this isn't all, isn't it, son". "No, Sir. My dad, Mr Stone, knew of the NAP - he was the seed investor after all. I paid him back his seed capital, and he almost left the business to me, but he discovered that Littles could be snatched through the Portals by undergoing a modified NAP to kill the nannite adoption tag. I hated him for developing it, and sued his ass to get him out of the NAP program. But that bought attention to the NAP, so the Ramon Family wanted in, through a competitor Portal product. Dad had the other CEO murdered." "Michael here is a risk to a business model that is a major source of income to the Ramon Family. With the key that's in Michael's puny brain here, and the updated Portals, we can snatch Littles into the Black Market without a trace. Money, and power." I looked out a window, distracted by movement, and noticed the roof of what looked to be Stowe's battle wagon inch its way up the road. Inhaling at the shock of it, and salivating at the prospect of being saved by my hero, I looked up into Mum's face, and smiled, relaxing into her body. "Meredith?", she whispered back.
  11. He's bottom of the 10th frame, needing one strike to win the match for his team, and he spares it... Disappointment is etched all over his face, his teammates console him. By by the time he gets home, his lack of performance at the crucial moment causes internal turmoil and anger, and there's only one person he can take his frustrations out on.
  12. Yeah, absolutely! There's intrigue and (attempted and bumbling) subterfuge to steal secrets. Whats not to like here?
  13. I've thought about the physical transformation from adult to a child, and how to describe this in a story. When we think about what should happen, in the absence of a shrink/transformation ray, the subject would have to shed material (tissue, bone, blood, brain matter, etc) in order to reduce in size. I came up with one way in my own story (internal and external transformations through blood transfusions and a special fluid bath the subject was effectively drowned in), and I think Boo did a sterling job of describing another way in this chapter. I fully expect the poops to be quite frequent and messy for poor baby Robbie. But now that he's been physically transformed, was his $10k reward just a teaser to get him to this point?
  14. Yes, I discovered that I also could push and pull down my diaper, which gave me the confidence to give up pull-ups altogether for wearing at work. That was the final hangup - how to do a poo if i got the urge whilst at work.
  15. Yup, +1 on hanging out for the next few chapters. Have been curious as to what the Dr would do. I thought about a scenario on the train this morning on the way to work, I bet the Dr Lake did the initial work with Rob in "play testing" regression, and now Dr Ward will actually enact it. I bet the second read the work of the first, and Patient Zero gets to experience first hand the techniques he unwittingly helped to develop!
  16. I've got a referral to see a Continence Nurse, and am just waiting on a an appointment date. I'm hoping they'll give me some tips. I've done pretty much my own research on products, lotions, clothes etc. Have been doing ok so far, but lets see what the Nurse says.
  17. Off-topic, but I finally finished Little Luzy. That story is very much published novel quality. Superb. I found it really difficult to keep from crying on the train this evening, just knowing that story was a few pages from ending. I cried when Luzy said goodbye to Nora. She was such a beautiful character. I didn't like the long sexual scenes Why couldn't these characters be just normal people? I disagreed with Nora changing Martas role. In a professional care environment, that was very dangerous, and unprofessional. Sure, punish the woman, but do it behind closed doors. That said, I was astounded to learn the relationship between the two. Just quite shocking, and _very_ in-theme with the rest of the story. Im really sad that this story had to end. Time to go back and re-read it, but slower. Am an absolute fan of your work, Sophie and Pudding! Thank you for writing it!
  18. You nailed it for me Aries. Started reading about 2pm. At 2am I was half way through, balling my eyes out as Luzy was changed, crying for my Mummy. incredible story, the emotions are raw, the characters quite real. just incredible.
  19. And the easiest way of confirming this for oneself is to go sit in an outdoor cafe and people watch for an hour. How many people do you see commenting on others butts and looking for leaks? How many people are wearing diapers that you can spot? How many people have their heads buried in their phones, or zoned out listening to music whilst ignoring everyone around them as they walk through their crowds? Do some diaper fashion watching. Is that guy wearing clothes good enough to hide a diaper? Does that girl's skirt allow a diaper to be hidden? Or are their clothes too risky to be wearing diapers (if you were that person).
  20. Absolutely looking forward to reading more of this interesting tale, and for more to come. I'm really sorry for bugging you to post more of the story. Completely understand that your health has to come first. I have enjoyed being taken on the emotional rollercoaster when Rob woke up dirty, and wanted to be out of there, but later is seeing the benefit of continuing the "fantasy", but unknowingly sealing his own fate into the real deal. Am curious at the same time what they have planned to do to him by the doctor.
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