ozziebee

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.

Yes, I so want to tackle this one!

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.

Yes, please!

Yeah, absolutely! There's intrigue and (attempted and bumbling) subterfuge to steal secrets. Whats not to like here?

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?

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

Where do I find this Little Luzy story?

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).

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.

Then change the scene so that she's locked in the bedroom, or in a cot with very high sides. You don't need to describe cages at all. We all know Littles can't escape from their cribs/cots, that's a given. At this point in time Sabrina hasn't been put into a crib yet, so it would still be a huge shock for her.

Stone the flamin' crows, mate, strewth! :-)

Stowe didn't seem real interested in whether the parents or sister's cars were shot up too, eh! Also, if the shots into the police car were loud, why wasn't there a large police presence already? Surely someone would have alerted the cops to shots fired? The street seemed quiet. Thanks for the hearts. Would be great to knock @bbykimmy off the leaderboard, at least for one day Did I seriously write Aussie slang? Hahaha, totally unintentional, eh cobber! I did this intentionally. There are other shortish chapters in this story already, which gave me some "permission" to release this one at the point it's arrived at. Of course, the parents, sister, and Meredith have already arrived at the house, time has advanced a reasonable amount. Maybe next chapter we get to see what happens from their side of the story. Do they see the dead cops and panic, or were the totally oblivious to the possibility the cops were dead, and thus never saw them? (Guess I should pull thumb out of mouth and get cracking on the next Chapter, eh!)

Next installment in the adventures of Meredith and Stowe. This one comes with a trigger warning. Please, I love comments, criticism, pats on the diapered butt, and love hearts. ---- ## Chapter 9 - A Wee Little Fight on their Hands It seemed a long frustratingly slow drive for the Battle Wagon and its sole occupant. Stowe kept glancing at the ETA in his GPS, willing it to hit 00:00 - and the reward of a tinny female voice excitedly exclaiming that "you have arrived at your destination" - but no. Heart pounding in his chest, he hoped that the Bradleys would follow his advice and get back to the relative safety of their own house. He was also close to losing control of his emotions, after seeing tiny Meredith. She looked good, healthy, even pointed at him, so she must have recognised him. But how much she remembered of their past life, he could not discern, as she gave him no clues. It was tough leaving her in the care of the Bradleys. Stowe was a bit of a realist, so understood that he wasn't geared up to be a Daddy, and care for a tiny tot. He'd never married, nor sired kids of his own, so how could he take care of a bub like Meredith. The roads in the City were clogged with traffic, a tad unusual for a weekend. What the hell was going on, he thought? There were people everywhere too. Yes, the weather was good, but even that didn't account for the number of people in the Mall and in the nearby streets. Even the main shopping centre was quite crowded. As Stowe exited the Mall's carpark, heading back to the HH&S underground carpark, he almost stumbled into yet another fight, this time between Mids and an angry mob of Littles. The scene was almost comical, and glancing around the spectators, he could see the glee in some Amazons' eyes, and licking of lips, as they waited for the inevitable outcome. But with the numbers stacked against the Mids, and the Littles fighting and punching well above their weight, he could see the Mids were in a lost situation. But he couldn't hang around for the result, and scurried off towards HH&S and the Battlewagon. The way those Littles were fighting though, seemingly for their lives, stuck in a part of his mind. He'd never seen such hatred before, not from Littles. The Mids seemed, well, scared. Traffic everywhere, fights and tension galore, and nary a single cop in sight. What was happening here... About twenty minutes later than the time originally estimated by the GPS, he reached his destination - a spot close to the Bradley house. Getting out of the vehicle to stretch, he looked over the vans short bonnet towards the building concerned, and started to panic. With some reflux of old coffee and potato chips working its way up from his stomach, he noticed no SUV in the driveway, and no sedan parked out front. "Where the fuck are they!", he angrily fumed. Surely they should have arrived well before him? Stowe stood propped up against the bonnet for a few seconds thinking of next steps, all the while fuming at Mr Bradley for causing yet another fucked up shitty security situation. He told them specifically to drive directly home, so where the actual fuck were they? They knew they were in danger, yet they're not here. With the warm air temperature of the mid afternoon sun, and time inexorably marching towards 1430p, Stowe felt the hairs on back of his neck stand up in alarm, and from anger. Quickly glancing around the immediate area, he scanned for the beat up old car that tailed the convoy earlier, noticing it too also not present. Well, at least the Mob aren't here. Unless they swapped cars, or dropped someone off to lie in wait at the house. He opened his driver's door, reached into the centre console for his pistol, racked the big 45ACP's slide to chamber a round, checked the safety was engaged, and stuffed it into the back of his pants. After adjusting his shirt to cover the butt of the pistol, He locked the van up, and took off at a run towards the park behind the Bradley residence he'd scoped early in the morning. Time to check the house for intruders. As he approached the entrance to the park, a thought flashed through his mind - "You're such a fit fucker now, eh, Stowe", whilst panting and emitting a few coughs from lack of oxygen. "Urgh, I really need to get a desk job, and cut this SF shit out, go on a holiday to the coast, meet a chick, get laid." The thought of the last time he received a hug from Meredith was the night they snatched Michael, and that made him sad. No druggies, and an empty park greeted his presence. Slinking through the bushes around the sides of the park like a ninja, he sidled up to the Bradley's back fence. A few quick glances, and a moment of absolute stillness listening for voices or movement, he was convinced there was no-one home. Thinking about how he'd approach such a house to take hostages, he imagined he'd gain entry through a back window, or a patio door. He could afford to spend time, so studied the doors and windows, seeing no signs of forced entry. Still no movement, looking around, either in the house, or in the park. "The Bradleys really need a big fuck-off type guard dog", he quipped to himself. Hmm... His brain recorded a task to buy Meredith a present, a guard dog big enough that she could cuddle and ride, but also strong enough to guard her fragile life. "Maybe I could train it in the dark arts of stalking - now that could be fun!", he chuckled. Satisfied the house was totally devoid of life, he dropped down the fence to the ground, and put his head in his hands, fatigue suddenly encroaching upon his weary body. Constant stress could cause a crash at any moment, his brain warned, that not even a Bellamy's coffee hit could ward it off. He looked through the bushes into the park. Still no foot traffic, no kids playing on swings. Even this far out of town, the atmosphere was thick with tension, and nervousness. "There's something else going on here", Stowe concluded. His right hand reached into one of his cargo pants pockets, feeling the outline of his mobile. Yes, ring Jax. He pulled the phone out, and flicked it on. Automatically, his right pointer finger hit the messages app icon, and was immediately greeted with no new messages from Jacksen. Shit. Where the fuck is he? Why isn't he responding? "Does nobody care?", he quietly mumbled, fairly flustered that his calls and advice were not being acted on. He popped up the phone app, selected Sergeant Jacksen's contact card, and dialed his desk number. "Sergeant Jacksen speaking, how may I help you?", the phone chirped back, after a full minute of ringtone, the voice a tad strained and rushed. "Jax, it's Stowe". An eyebrow raised. That voice seemed stressed. "Oh, what's up?", came a clipped and terse question. "Did you get my message?" "Yes, mate, I did. I dispatched whoever we could get spare to the Mall. No luck finding your Mob boss or any of his associates yet, though." "Shit. I told the Bradleys to head straight home, but they haven't arrived. Can you get a car over to where I am now, if I give you the coordinates?" "No, I can't, Stowe. I don't have any resources spare at the moment to babysit anyone bar Mark Bradley's family". "Why? What the fucks going on, Jax?" "Well, the shit's royally hit the fan at the InterDim UN conference today, mate. Haven't you heard the news?" "No, I've been staking out Mark Bradley's parents place, looking for Meredith. What gives?" "There are demonstrations everywhere in the precinct, by large numbers of fuckin Littles and some sympathetic Mids too, Stowe." "You're kidding me, right?". Stowe couldn't help but stifle a chuckle, as he imagined the security risk a mob of littles waving signs could raise, and demonstrating for some long-forgotten sapien rights. "Nope, the security detail around the UN Building was stepped up around lunch time in response, and I had to deploy all I had left on duty to the area. The Interdim delegation really freaked out. Their security details subsequently went nuts. Can't speak operationally on what's going on, but the Littles have really strapped on their man-pants and stepped up the pressure and violence against the conference and delegates at the moment." "Oh, wow!". Stowe's mind flashed to the scene at the Mall of the brutal fighting between the Littles and Mids. "Good on em - it's about time." "I'll let that one go through to the wicketkeeper, Stowe, knowing your line of business. But I have to warn ya, we're just starting to piece together some intel from anonymous sources on some of the organisers of this event." The voice through the phone started to drip with irony. "Don't tell me, don't tell me", Stowe responded, caught totally off-guard, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Yes, it seems one Michael Stone has been flashing some cash and words around. Do you know anything about that?" "No, it's news to me, bro. And these anonymous sources?" "Suspected InterDim Mafioso" "Shit" "Yup" "... and you believe the intel?" "Yeah, sorta. It's plausible. I dunno. The bosses are certainly worried at the implications of the size and scope of the demonstrations, so I can't help ya with a car. I'm really sorry, Stowe." "Right". Stowe's instant risk assessment of the tactical situation took a nose dive. No help from the cops. "Could you get a couple of general duties guys here in the interim?" "What's the immediate risk there, Stowe?" "I've observed the Mob tailing Mark Bradley's parents, who have Meredith. If they catch them, we can only imagine what would happen." "Hmm... Ok, Stowe, but this could take a while to organise, you know. No guarantees, and only because I too am thankful for the work Meredith did for my wife." "Just do what you can", Stowe pleaded. The line went dead. Fancy that, Stowe chuckled. A bunch of Littles getting organised, forming a politically violent movement, and taking on the UN for rights. Unheard of. But the play by Michael was bordering on total genius. There's no better way to talk to a bunch of Amazons on a power trip, at their level even, than to flash excessive amounts of cash at them. Unlike Little / Amazon relations, money is such an equaliser. Money truly does talk in this Dimension. As Stowe began to power-walk back to the van, his mind wandered towards the logistics involved in organising an apparently large and powerful demonstration. Michael must have had help. The thoughts cascaded through his mind. Just as he reached the van, Meredith's name popped up at the end of a random line of connected memories. She'd been working on legal material to be presented at the conference. He suddenly recalled she was getting quite stressed about it too, so he took her out for a shoot at the range, to de-stress, give her a headache, and have some fun. Every which way she turned in legal circles to improve Little rights, roadblocks were deployed by the Establishment. Those powerful Amazon monsters in the halls of justice, and Parliament floors, just didn't want to hear argument as to why a tiny sentient being should be granted the same rights and protections as the Mids, and thus not be constantly subject to the cruelty of forced regression. The only right the Establishment were interested in hearing was one of absolute power over the Littles. According to them, the only protection a Little needed was the nappy covering their messy butts. As he jumped into the van, his mind registered a vibration eminating from a pocket. "Jax, what's up", after Stowe glanced at the caller's name, pressed the "Answer" button. "I need to ask a favour", an alarmed and edgy voice emanated from the phone. "Sure, you know my price" "I'm working on that as we speak" "Ok so, what's up?" "TacOps haven't heard from the detail outside Mark Bradley's place. They were supposed to call in at 1430p, but haven't" "Ok", Stowe guardedly responded. It was bordering on 1500p, according to Stowe's watch. "If I know you like I know you, you'll be heading around to Mark's place anyway, so can you check in with the guys for me?" "On the way" The call once again went dead. Stowe glanced at his phone, and noticed a message from an unknown number. It had arrived some time after he left the park. Hmm... [Unknown] We're at Mark's house, if you need to know. Mark's little has been injured. Shit. [Stowe] Do not approach the house! Of course, no immediate response - the one message was a good 10 minutes old. Stowe found Mark Bradley's house details still in the GPS history, so selected it, accepted the "Fastest" route, and began following the GPS. Once again, the ETA was about twenty minutes into the future. At least, the further way from the City, the quieter the main roads became. The drive time gave Stowe another opportunity to think about the relationship that built up between Meredith and Michael. The night Michael was rescued, Meredith and Stowe took him back to the Henderson house. Mrs Henderson greeted all three of them at the door, and escorted them inside. After giving Michael some dinner, and warming Meredith up with a hot chocolate, she did what most other Amazon women did to a new Little in their care - she stripped Michael of his clothes, bathed him, dried him off, and put a nappy on him. He strangely didn't object to it, so she dressed him in a footed sleeper. Meredith got much the same treatment, except Mrs H had to scrub all the warpaint off Meredith's face, and brush out her matted hair. Meredith too didn't escape the night nappy (she always wore night nappies, but often was allowed to forego day nappies). Mrs H gave her lots of leeway with dress, but was quite strict at night. She also knew Meredith's emotional limitations, and when the opportunity arised, sent Meredith off to bed as early as possible. But Meredith and Michael were both hyper on adrenaline. So, with Meredith in her cot, and Michael covered in blankets on top of a mattress in a playpen nearby, they talked non-stop for hours. Mrs H had no option but to use the only uniquely Amazonian technique to get Meredith to calm down, switch off her over-excited brain, and drop off to sleep. She opened Meredith's bedroom door to find the two Littles in quiet discussion about Little rights. They both immediately stopped talking, when Mrs H entered the room, scooped Meredith out of the cot, took her out into the loungeroom, and offered Meredith a breast to nurse. Stowe was often quite amazed that this highly intelligent fiercely independent Little woman would often succumb to nursing from Mrs H at night. Maybe, even Meredith acknowledged and accepted her role in Amazonian society, if only in short bursts. Michael spent a few days at the Henderson residence before he was adopted by Mark and Sue Bradley. In that time, Meredith must have planted the seed in Michael's mind that he could use his newly acquired wealth for world-changing good, instead of allowing Portal humans to enter this Dimension and be claimed by Amazons. Maybe. Stowe shook his head. Maybe? Plausible? He really could only guess, as Meredith and Michael would often sneak off to a far corner of the house to discuss matters. Michael had the money, Meredith the contacts to use that money. Ok. But Meredith would never have suggested violence as the means to an end, surely? Stowe was shocked when he glanced at the GPS ETA, which showed all of a minute to arrival. 1520pm it stated. Was he that out of it that the twenty minute drive went in the blink of an eye? The Battle Wagon cautiously turned a corner onto the street containing Mark Bradley's house. Down the bottom of the hill it was, he remembered. Stowe felt his battle senses start to kick in once more, the pupils of his eyes shrink and become alert, his senses heightened, his pulse ramping up - fight or flight. Seemingly independently now, the van slowed to an almost snails pace. Peering down the road, Stowe could see the target house in the distance, the parents' black SUV parked in the driveway. "Dear god, I hope they're ok", he thought. As the van slowly idled down the hill, lights on the roof of the police car opposite the house came into view. Something was amiss though. There was no movement inside. A few more metres closer, Stowe noticed the sedan belonging to the daughter. It was parked on the side of the road just down from the house. Another glance towards the cop car, where the two Protective Service officers should be located in, still no movement. A few more metres still, the sunlight angled just right, and Stowe caught a brief glimpse of red luminescence from inside the cop car. He was almost upon it. Still a few more metres. The van idling, gliding down the road almost completely silent, pistol out from the small of his back, resting in his lap. Stowe touched the brakes to stop the van just shy of the cop car. He could see why there was no movement inside. Glass shards rested on the road next to the front driver's side window, two neat large-calibre holes in the window itself, the glass almost shattered, but held together by a thin transparent mylar sandwich the glass panels were laminated with. Looking into the window, the driver's forehead was resting on the top of the steering wheel, his head turned towards the house, his eyes still open. There were innumerable blood trails trickling slowly down the inside of the windscreen, some brain matter scattered across the glass. His passenger was leaning over against the B-pillar, held in place by his seatbelt. Another neat round hole in the left temple, a faint trickle of blood exiting the wound, his eyes and mouth open. The passenger window was completely red. He at least had a few more seconds of life before it too was extinguished - his left hand was resting on the butt of his pistol, still holstered. Stowe let off the pressure on the brake pedal, and let the van free-wheel slowly down to the bottom of the hill. He picked up some accelerator and guided the van quietly up the other side, parking it next to a Unit block, about 150 metres from the Bradley house. "Ok, shit, shit", he whispered to himself. Pulling out his phone, he dialed Jacksen's number, his fingers shaking. "Sergeant Jackse.." "Jax, they're dead! Shots fired! Officers down, you hear me!?", Stowe interrupted immediately "Shit, both of them?" "Yup" "Leave it with me, Stowe. Do not approach the house." "Right, yup, ok" "Let us deal with this now, ok?", Jacksen commanded quietly. "Yup". "Help is on the way". The line went dead once more, but not before Stowe heard commands being shouted at the other end. "Sure", he said into the dead connection. Stowe was numb, partially in shock. He'd not seen that kind of carnage since, well, a long time ago. Meredith. Meredith was in clear and present danger, Stowe. Get your act together. He grabbed his pistol, hopped out of the van, and looked around at his surrounds. Unit block, at least 3 storeys tall. Single-storey houses, apart from across the street, with more multi-storey unit blocks. Trees and shrubs. Cars parked both sides of the street. Think, Stowe, think, bro. Observe, recon the location, Stowe. Gather intel. The rifle.

If you don't have a nerve issue causing numbness, why would you ever lose the sensation that you're wetting? I'd think it'd be more a case of feeling the sensations of starting a pee, but unable to control it/block it either consciously or unconsciously. You'd still feel the water stream moving around, drips trickling across skin and hair follicles, the heat of a fresh wee, the sensations of being wet, and feeling the nappy expanding with a wetting. At night might be a bit of a different story.

In firefox, use NoScript and AdBlock Plus. Stops a lot of ads popping up, let alone attempting to track you.

It's an acquired taste, most definitely. I've been using the toddler formulas though, which has a lower iron content, and a more natural milk taste (very vanilla'ish, if you like Vanilla-malted milkshakes). I have a warm bottle at night some nights. Very soothing, especially after a full-crying session post-soppy movie before bed. It really helps with relaxing and falling asleep. Finish the bottle, pop paci in mouth, cuddle up to the bear, and nigh-nigh!

Please continue this story. Am really enjoying the read. Will Rob accept his new position, or fight it? Will he sign the Power of Attorney? I wait with baited breath.

Some things that I can think of: * Common brands of baby bottles adapter to adult nipples * custom paci shields for common adult paci teets * adult potty * seat frame to take baby highchair tables. Idea is that you sit on a normal dining table seat, but are locked into a frame that closely mimics and takes genuine baby highchair tables. Could be a moulded adult sized seat which covers the dining table seat * nappy pin covers * Adapters for Snappies. increases length by replacing the tiny plastic claw inserts with much bigger/wider/longer ones.

Yes, I'm very much looking forward to more chapters. If there's 40 of them, just dump them in here, and let us read them! I didn't get to read the original story.

I'm lying in bed, in a messy and wet nappy. And I feel like not changing for a few more hours yet. Why am I at peace with this? When I was young, I had quite severe fecal IC. I had no idea I was about to poop until I did it. This included accidents at school, in the car, at camp, at Uni. I slowly grew out of it, but it never quite left me. Now Im having urinary IC issues, and wear nappies. Lately when I've had an urge to poop, i've let it go into the nappy. My problem to date has been that I've been quite badly constipated, so the poop is really hard and uncomfortable. After discussions in the Incontinence forum, I bought some Lactilose-based laxative. Today that hit. It's been really gentle to me, no sudden painful urges, just a slow but progressive push. For the first time in a very long time, my poop is quite soft, and I'm actually luxuriating in the feels and slight smells. It's wonderful. With the plastic pants mostly containing the smell, Im ok with not changing for the moment. it scares me because I can see if my IC issues continue, this wet and messy butt will be my future. And Im ok with that.