AB_DeLane

Chapter 41: 28 Days Later I winced slightly as I felt a sharp jab to my ribs. Couldn’t they leave me be? Still, I didn’t stir from the position I was resting in, with my head drooped forward and tucked into my arms. Just please let me keep my eyes closed a few more moments longer. Pretty please. I felt another wave of drowsiness settling in when it was rudely interrupted by a series of rapid pokes to my side. “Wake up,” Samantha whispered urgently as she gave me yet another poke. My head bobbed lazily after I jerked it upright from my school desk. “What’s wrong with you? I’m tired,” I replied back to her in a low whisper. “What’s wrong with you?” Samantha whispered back. “You should have taken the iced coffee I offered earlier instead of sleeping in class.” Before I could think of a good enough retort, the teacher’s eyes moved from the whiteboard to the back of the class, where Samantha, Desi, and I were seated. I hastily shut my lips and used all of my remaining willpower to look up at what I needed to copy down into my notebook. Three more classes left. How was I supposed to stay awake until I got home? Yesterday had been the fourth day in the past four weeks that Mom had kept me home from school. Supposedly, it was because I was sick, which was what I overheard Mom telling the school nurse when she called her in the morning. Actually, I had been held home from school each of those days because I had wet my pull-ups twice the day before, resulting in Mom putting me back in diapers for the whole day. And the diapers weren’t the worst of it. Mom insisted on treating me completely like a baby, making use of Emilia’s old highchair, bottles, sippy cups, and other leftover baby paraphernalia. And Mom had Emilia playing along with it as well, using my now-potty-trained sister to check my diaper, hand her wet wipes during changes, and even spoon food into my mouth during meals. I shifted a bit painfully in my seat as I struggled to keep my eyes focused on the whiteboard. The teacher’s monotone voice did nothing to aid my tentative attentiveness. The combination of missing school and missing sleep as I was staying up later to catch up on homework was resulting in poorer grades than I, almost exclusively an student, would typically get. Those poor grades had been accompanied by spankings at home. On my bare bottom, of course, as the only time I would want my mother to put me in a diaper or pull-up would, of course, be the only time she would have it off. My eyes were almost completely shut again when the jarring sound of the bell went off to mark the end of the class period. I felt like a zombie as I shuffled my feet through the door and into the hallway. At least it was lunch period. Eating a sandwich while half-asleep was a lot easier than trying to pay attention in class while being this drowsy. “I think someone needs to stop playing Fortnite past midnight,” Desi said as she followed me into the hallway. “I’m not,” I muttered back while rolling my eyes. “Oh really,” Samantha said. “I would know if she was online that late,” Lisa interjected. We all turned to look at Lisa. I hadn’t noticed her join our group as we were walking toward the cafeteria. “What?” she said. “My aunt and uncle don’t care if I’m up late, as long as I’m up on time for school. And I never see Sarah online that late.” “I’ll join you guys in the cafeteria in a bit,” I said, as I started to split off in a different direction. “I need to go to the bathroom.” I hadn’t liked the direction that conversation was going. While Lisa had been able to save me from some of the inquisition, I wanted to get away before it resumed. That, and I did really need to pee, even though I really shouldn’t have. During breakfast, I had managed to pour out most of my glass of orange juice in the sink while Mom was distracted, and I was careful to avoid drinking almost anything else until I got home from school. The dryness in my mouth seemed to be worse every time I passed a drinking fountain in the hallway. I allowed myself just the smallest sip of water from a drinking fountain before heading into the restroom. I sat on the toilet for several minutes but was only able to make a small trickle. I didn’t understand why the urge to pee was coming so strong when my bladder wasn’t needing to empty out much. True, I wasn’t needing to go between every class, but I was still needing to go more frequently than I expected, especially given how little I was peeing once I got to the toilet. Not that peeing a small amount made any difference if that happened as an accident in my pull-up. Mom didn’t differentiate between a pull-up that was a little damp and one that was fully soaked. Still, my pull-up was one hundred percent dry when I examined it. Wetting myself while dozing off to sleep was my biggest concern for the remainder of the school day. --- “Is everything all right?” Desi asked. I had barely taken a seat at the cafeteria table in the spot that my friends had saved for me when the inquisition resumed exactly where it had left off in the hallway. “Yeah, I just needed to go to the bathroom, that’s all.” “Sarah, this was the fourth time that you’ve missed school in the last few weeks,” Lisa said. “We just want to make sure you’re OK,” added Samantha. Leaving my friends alone together had been a bad idea, given how they’d managed to turn a budding inquisition into an intervention. “I’m fine, really,” I added. “I’ve just been feeling under the weather a lot lately. You don’t need to treat me like I’m dying.” “So, it’s not cancer then?” Desi asked. I snorted so badly in the middle of taking a sip of water that it splattered all across the table. “What?” “Don’t look at me,” Desi said, while grabbing a napkin to dry off a few watch patches on her shirt. “That’s what Samantha was speculating about. She just didn’t want to ask.” Samantha turned to glare at Desi. Thankfully, the long boring days of being babied at home had given me plenty of time to mentally plan out an alibi. “No, no, it was just different stuff. One day, I had a fever. And another time I had a stomach bug that I promise you don’t want any further details about. Just bad luck, really. Not anything bad enough to see a doctor, but enough to need to stay in bed all day.” “Well, when you’ve decided to be done being sick, we could finally have that sleepover we were wanting to do,” Samantha said. “You’re forgetting something.” “What?” “Remember, I’m grounded?” I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of Lisa’s face turning red. She remembered exactly what had led to me getting grounded. “It’s been like a month. Surely that’s over already.” “Maybe not. You know how my mom could be. I’m ungrounded when she says that I’m ungrounded. And not a moment sooner.” “Can you just ask her?” Desi said. “Lisa’s never been to a sleepover, and it’s her first time to do one.” Even if I wanted to go on a sleepover, which, with the bedwetting issues I was having, I had no desire to do, there was absolutely no way I could imagine Mom letting me spend the night at a friend’s house until I had demonstrated that my bedwetting issue was again a thing of the past. But I couldn’t explain any of that to them, so throwing my mom under the bus was the only other option. “I’ll ask again about a sleepover, as nicely as I could, but if not, then perhaps we could hang out all day on a weekend.” As Samantha and Desi slipped off to the bathroom before the next class started, Lisa hung back with me in the hallway. Lisa glanced left and right before grabbing my hand and pulling me closer to the wall. “You’re going to need to tell them.” “Tell them what?” “You know what.” “No, I don’t.” “The reason you don’t want to do a sleepover was because you don’t want to tell them about the bedwetting. And even if your mom is strict, you’re using her as an excuse.” I took a deep breath. Why did Lisa have to be so perceptive? I could tell her the truth... partially. I had never told Lisa that my bladder issues were a recent occurrence. I had just let her assume that, like her, my issues had been something I’d had my whole life. “My Mom doesn’t like other people knowing about my bladder issues.” “But she let you go on the sleepover before.” “I had a dry stretch and got lucky enough to convince her to let me go, as a special thing for turning fifteen, but I’ve had more accidents lately, so I don’t think she’ll want me to stay overnight anywhere.” “Well, I did talk to my aunt and uncle, and they said that if it didn’t work to do a sleepover at someone else’s house, that they would be OK hosting instead. Probably better to stay in my own bed since it’s got the mattress protector. You could even tell your mom that I wet the bed as well if that would make her more comfortable. And then before bed, we could tell Samantha and Desi together about your bedwetting, and it won’t be an issue at all.” “But...” But then I hesitated for a second. Lisa had put a lot of thought into the request, and I really didn’t want to make her feel bad, certainly not before I had a chance to think through the scenario she had proposed. “Yeah, I’ll see if I could catch Mom in a good mood to explain that.” --- I succeeded in one of my two goals for the school day. I didn’t fall asleep in any of my three afternoon classes. But I did wet my pull-up in the first class after lunch break. I should have gone to the toilet after having a small amount to drink with my lunch, but I had gotten caught up in the conversation with Lisa. Mom had given me extra pull-ups to bring to school in my backpack, but the downside was that she would be careful to count them when I returned, and the missing pull-up would let her know I had an accident. One accident wasn’t the end of the world, but if I had a second one, either at school or once I had returned home, I would have a fifth day where Mom would keep me home and force me to wear diapers all day long. The bus ride home from school was too uncomfortable to get any sleeping in, so Desi and Samantha instead let me copy some of their notes from the classes I had missed yesterday so that I knew what I needed to study for future tests. As I got off the bus and stepped into the house, Mom greeted me with the same question that she had asked the past four weeks. And I gave her the answer that I had unfortunately had to give way more times than I would have liked to. “Did you stay dry at school today?” No point in lying, not when counting the pull-ups would reveal the truth. Best to just limit the damage. “Only one accident.” Thankfully, accidents at home were extremely rare, with Mom making me sit on the toilet every thirty minutes. Most of the days where I had been punished with diapers had been the result of wetting multiple pull-ups while I was at school. Class periods lasted a bit longer than thirty minutes there. Still, I needed to be extra careful this afternoon, so that I wouldn’t be spending the following day stuck at home in diapers. Mom counted the remaining pull-ups in my backpack. True to what I had said earlier, I was only missing one pull-up. Mom then had me remove my pants to keep a watch on the pull-up I currently had on, and after confirming it was dry, sent me off to use the toilet and do some homework. Ever since I had begun taking the bus home from school again, I had made sure to track how long it took Mom to leave to grab Emilia from preschool. The quickest she had ever been was 32 minutes from the time the car left the driveway until the time it pulled back in. As scared as I was of what the consequences would be if I failed, I couldn’t deal with this cycle of being put back into diapers during the day any longer. I couldn’t stand another humiliating day of being babied by my little sister, and I wanted the freedom to go and hang out with my friends again. I started the countdown timer on my phone immediately as the car started backing out of the driveway. I had thirty-two minutes to do what I needed to do before Mom got back home with Emilia.

Chapter 41 is nearly done, should have it posted tomorrow. Oh yes, I had (and have) plenty of wonderful things to distract from writing, but fall/winter is best timewise, and finger's crossed, I'll get things wrapped up before another hiatus. Oh yes, we've got some very very exciting chapters coming up. And this is where I'm glad I kept very detailed notes and outlines saved, as I'm still on track with where I want the story going. I think the wait will be worth it. I'm excited as well to be back and working on it. Yes, all that downtime with the start of Covid made starting a writing project seem a lot more feasible. Crazy to think it has been that long.

I made a synopsis earlier in the story, and it seems like it would be a good idea to post an updated once since it has been 10 months since the last chapter. Synopsis: The Story so Far Sarah’s mom follows an extremely strict potty-training regimen with her youngest daughter, 3-and-a-half-year-old Emilia, who isn’t fully potty trained, but that strict sense of rules and discipline is similar in other aspects of her parenting, as 14-year-old Sarah often is the recipient of thorough spankings if she gets poor grades or misbehaves in other ways. For Emilia, too many potty-training mishaps result in being put back into pull-ups, or worse, being put into diapers and treated like a baby, which is often her fate. Sarah’s friends at school, Samantha and Desi, invite Sarah to a sleepover in a couple of weeks. Sarah’s mom has always forbidden sleepovers, in part because Sarah had been a bedwetter up until several years ago, but Sarah feels like she might be able to convince her mom about it for once now that she is in high school. At cheerleading practice, Sarah has to deal with a fellow freshman, Claire, who is jealous that Sarah has gotten the better assignments with the team. At one of the first practices, they are going through a maneuver where Sarah is tossed in the air, but the girls who tossed Sarah fail to catch her, letting Sarah take a hard fall onto the ground. Later that day, while doing some research on her computer into some new things they could attempt to finally get Emilia potty trained, Sarah wets her pants for the first time since she was a toddler, but as she is alone in her room, she is able to clean up the accident. And with being responsible for washing her own clothes, she can hide that from her mom as well. Besides that accident, Sarah is discovering that she is needing to go to the bathroom much more frequently and urgently than before. Sarah is able to convince her mother to allow her to go to the sleepover, but only after she turns 15 in a few weeks. Sarah wets the bed that night. For Sarah, who had been a bedwetter as an older child, this was her first bedwetting accident in years. She is able to hide the accident by falsely claiming that Emilia’s diaper had leaked, as her little sister had snuck into Sarah’s bed in the middle of the night. After those two accidents, and a close call at school the following day, Sarah takes the step of trying on her little sister’s pull-ups, testing them out to find out that they appear able to hold one of her bladder accidents. Sarah continues her scheme of using the pull-ups both at home and in school to hide future bladder accidents, though getting away with hiding her new underwear while being on the gymnastics team requires a lot of stealth and care. At school, Sarah befriends Lisa, a shy fellow freshman who is getting bullied by Claire. Desi is welcoming of having someone else take part in their friend group, though Samantha is leery of that development. While disposing of one of her own pull-ups in a school bathroom, Sarah discovers that another student appears to have thrown away an adult-style pull-up, leading her to wonder who else in the school is experiencing a similar problem to herself. Sarah decides to go to a try-out for a newly created Fortnite team at the school, and Lisa is at the tryout as well. Both girls make the team, though Lisa is far and away the better player. At the sleepover, the Sarah, Samantha, and Desi play a game of Truth or Dare, where it is revealed that Samantha’s younger brother is still a bedwetter who wears pull-ups at night. Upon that discovery, Samantha gets dared to wear the pull-up, while Desi gets dared to urinate in it. Sarah sees the pull-up as an opportunity to be able to avoid the risk of wetting herself during the sleepover. Once she thinks all her friends are asleep, she sneaks off to grab a pull-up from Samantha’s brother’s bedroom, only to discover that Samantha appears to be making her brother wet the bed by holding his hand in a bowl of warm water. Sarah takes the pull-up but doesn’t let Samantha know what she had seen. While her sister’s pull-ups are mostly reliable, Sarah finds herself becoming overconfident with them, resulting in a leak that her younger sister notices, and immediately alerts her mother about. Her mother is upset about the accident and is frustrated that Sarah is setting such a poor example for a younger sibling she is working hard to potty trained. Sarah’s mom requires her to go back to wearing the pull-ups for a week, as a way to show that she was consistent in applying the same rules to both sisters. One daytime accident means needing to wear a pull-up until you are dry for a week. Two accidents in one day mean being put back in diapers for the rest of the day and the following day. Nighttime accidents are counted separately. Sarah has another bedwetting accident the night after being put back into pull-ups, but this time she is unable to hide it from her mother as the pull-up leaked all over the bed. She continues to have nighttime accidents, which she is unable to hide from her mother. Daytime is a different story, Sarah is able to continue to take some of Emilia’s pull-ups, and wear those during school, which is where most of her accidents happen as she isn’t always able to leave the classroom every single time she needs to go to the bathroom. At the end of cheerleading practice, Sarah gets into a fight with Claire, who had looked inside her backpack to find Emilia’s pull-ups. While Sarah is able to explain away the pull-up as being something for her sister, the cheerleading coach tells both girls that any future fighting could result in their dismissal from the team. Sarah’s nighttime wetting continues, with the pull-ups remaining completely ineffective. Her mom orders a package of adult diapers to use for Sarah at night instead and requires Sarah to keep them on the entire night, with no getting up to ask for a change or use the bathroom in the middle of the night. At school, Sarah goes to the library and uses a computer another student had accidently stayed logged in to do some research about her bladder issues but wasn’t able to find any clear answers to her problem. Her mother is leery of going to doctors, and Sarah is unwilling to see the school nurse, as that would result in her mother finding out that the extent of Sarah’s problem is much worse than she is aware of. With the aide of her sister’s pull-ups, Sarah is able to go a week of hiding all of her daytime accidents from her mother and is rewarded with being able to go back into her regular panties, but another accident at home just a couple days later has her right back into pull-ups again. While Sarah normally gets assigned to do any group projects with Samantha and Desi, she instead gets assigned to do a group project for history class with Lisa, who happens to be the niece of the history teacher. Lisa, who lives with her aunt and uncle, invites Sarah to come over to her house for a study session. While studying (and playing videogames) at Lisa’s place, her friend works up the courage to confront Sarah about her pull-up use, before revealing excitedly that they both share the same condition. Sarah avoids going into the actually details of her bladder issues and the way her mom has handled the situation, instead letting it appear that it has also been something she’s dealt with her entire life. Lisa tells Sarah about her background (Note: This part is covered in the story, “Diapers Never Lie”), about how she has had incontinence issues her whole life and how the abuse she suffered from both her parents led her to live with her aunt and uncle. Sarah’s streak of being able to avoid her mom noticing two accidents in one day comes to an end, and her mom follows through with the same punishment that Emilia would get for that offense. Sarah gets put back into diapers for the day. Sarah’s mom then turns to more drastic measures to get both of her kids out of diapers. She ordered laxatives as constipation can be a cause of bedwetting and bladder issues. Both Sarah and Emilia have to take the laxatives while wearing diapers, which they were required to mess in. The school bully, Claire, manages to get a hold of one of Lisa’s diapers from her backpack, and taunts Lisa about it in the hallway after school. Sarah decides to get revenge against Claire, taking note of the threat from the cheerleading coach that any additional fighting between her and Claire would result in both getting tossed from the team. Sarah instigates a fight between them, resulting in detention plus a suspension from the team. Other drama at school quickly eclipses the incident with Lisa’s diapers, and the introverted freshman is able to avoid unwanted attention from her classmates. Samantha, who had at first been annoyed with Lisa joining in with their friend group, is now much more at ease with Lisa taking part in activities with herself, Sarah, and Desi. The laxatives that Sarah’s mom used appear to be helping Emilia get potty trained, as Sarah’s younger sister is almost completely accident free. This puts Sarah in a bind as she doesn’t have the ability to take any of her sister’s pull-ups without her mom noticing a suspicious decrease. Sarah is too afraid to wear a pull-up to school, seeing how her classmates had tormented Lisa makes her dread what would happen if she wet her pants in class. Sarah decides to have one accident on purpose at home, to get mom to at least put her back in pull-ups, figuring that as long as she can avoid having two daytime accidents on the same day (that would mean going back to diapers the next day) that she would then at least have the ability to have a pull-up on while going to school. Sarah’s plan backfires when she has a second accident that evening, this time into the pull-up, which leaves her going to bed fearful of how she is going to be wearing diapers the next day at school. Instead of making Sarah wear diapers to school, her mom calls the school to say that Sarah is sick, and has her daughter stay home for the day. Sarah is thoroughly treated like a baby, being made to drink from a bottle and sit in a highchair for meals. Emilia, whose potty training has finally been successful and now is wearing underwear full-time, has been enlisted to help with the babying of her older sister.

Hello again! Can't believe it's been 10 months since the last chapter I posted. Didn't realize my hiatus had gone so long. But I'll have some new chapters to post soon, either this week or next.

You're welcome. Yeah, things aren't looking to good for Sarah at the moment. ? From the looks of it, I think some holes might continue to be dug a bit deeper for a while. Yeah, empathy isn't a strong suit for Sarah's mom. Yeah, I think there are a couple of explanations for Emilia's actions. Kids her age are a bit more self-absorbed in what they want to do, and this type of treatment by mom has been normalized for her (it's all she's known) so it isn't coming across as unusual as Sarah might understand it to be from her interactions with people outside of her family. I think it's correct to say that we've reached a point where mom's treatment of Sarah has arrived at the point of no return.

Chapter 40: Little Battles I could barely refrain from twiddling my thumbs as I sat in the passenger seat of the car while I waited for Mom to finish picking up my younger sister from her preschool class. She had already been inside for about five minutes now. While I hadn’t been along to pick up my sister before, it felt like it was taking longer than it should have. Mom had been in so much of a hurry to get me changed, dressed, and out the door that I hadn’t had time to ask her if I could bring my phone along with me like I had this morning. I was certain I had missed messages from Desi, Samantha, and Lisa. I guess I’d just have to tell them tomorrow that I had been too tired and sick to respond. I wasn’t sure if I was smelling baby powder in the car or if it was my imagination, but it did seem as if there was a hint of lavender in the air. I guess Mom must have gone heavy on sprinkling that on my bottom after getting me cleaned up from having messed myself during naptime earlier this afternoon. I turned back to watching out the window. We were parked in a spot where I had a clear line of sight from the passenger side door to the entrance of the preschool. A dozen or so parents, mostly mothers, but there had been one father, had already entered alone and exited with their kids during the time Mom had remained inside. Then the front door swung open, and Mom stepped outside, holding my sister by the hand. I couldn’t believe my luck. Emilia had on an entirely different outfit than the one that Mom had dropped her off in. My sister’s jeans and unicorn hoodie had been replaced with plain black leggings and a Minnie Mouse sweater. Had Emilia finally had an accident? There had been times before when she had gone through a serious regression after a period of successful potty training. That would be the answer to my question about how I was supposed to secretly get some additional pull-ups for myself. Mom had a plastic bag in her hand, which appeared to have Emilia’s outfit from earlier today tucked inside. I squinted out the window, but the hoodie went down too far on Emilia’s waist for me to see if there was an outline of a pull-up or diaper showing from beneath the leggings. “Sorry we took so long,” Mom said, as she opened the back door and got Emilia settled into her car seat. “One of the kids in her class had just spilled a thing of juice all over Emilia and we had to get her into a spare set of clothes.” So close. I should have known it wasn’t going to be this easy. That was OK though. I had another plan in mind. I made note of the time on the clock on the dashboard as we pulled out of the parking lot. I wish I had my phone on me, as I could have gotten a more precise measurement, but this would have to do. There were no detours this time on the way home from the preschool. I was grateful both because I would be spared the discomfort of having to be out in public with a diaper on, and because I wanted to get an accurate sense of how long it would take to travel between the preschool center and our house. Precisely ten minutes later, the car was pulling into the driving and coming to a stop. We’d hit a little less than half the red lights along the way, so I figured it was a fairly representative sample of how long that trip would take going in one direction. My diaper was still dry as I stepped inside the front door. I let Emilia run on ahead of me first. I didn’t like having to get down on my hands and knees to crawl with her standing and watching me. Is this how my sister had felt every time she had been forced to crawl around me? Thankfully, Emilia was so preoccupied with the idea of going to watch TV in the other room that she went sprinting off down the hallway while I was taking my sweet time getting my shoes off. I grabbed the pacifier off of the stand in the entryway and popped it into my mouth before Mom had the opportunity to do so. I caught an annoyed glance from her. But what exactly did she have to complain about? Winning those little battles, being able to maintain a smidgen of my own agency, felt wonderful even if it wasn’t doing anything to change the tide of the war. I felt prouder of myself than I should have, and then I started to worry. I hoped that I hadn’t given the entirely wrong impression. It wouldn’t do to have Mom mistakenly believe that I somehow liked having a pacifier in my mouth. I had to endure another half-hour of watching the children’s TV program Emilia picked out while we waited for Mom to make dinner. The remote remained exclusively in my sister’s control for the evening. I nearly wet my diaper without noticing and leaked a little into it before regaining control. This time, I was able to count to almost three hundred before the inevitable release. That was the best I’d done all day, except for the small leak at the beginning. At the rate Mom had been going through the day, I suspected that I wasn’t going to get changed until it was time to go to bed. Emilia liked to sit as close up to the TV as she could, something that Mom often scolded her for. Had our roles been normal, and not reversed like they were now, I might have told her to sit a few feet back, as Mom would have wanted me to. Instead, that let me sit out of her sight, and for preschoolers, that meant out of mind as well, so Emilia paid little attention to me. I averted my eyes the one time I caught her turning around to look at me during a commercial break. I wondered what she was thinking about this. My normally talkative three-and-a-half-year-old sister hadn’t said anything about the pacifier or any of the other ways Mom had been babying me. Was Mom’s toilet training process just so normal to her that what was happening to me didn’t seem like it was out of place? --- The highchair was waiting for me again in the kitchen when Mom called Emilia and me to come for dinner. Mom went with a simple dinner for the evening: frozen, dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and waffle fries that were cooked in the oven, along with baby carrots and small pieces of cauliflower to dip in ranch sauce. I appreciated getting finger food for dinner, even if the lack of napkins meant my hands were rather greasy by the time the meal was finished. While there are many things that babies are not allowed to do, sadly, homework wasn’t an item on that list. After dinner, Mom sent me crawling off to my bedroom to get my assignments for tomorrow worked on while Emilia went back to the living room to play with her dolls, pouting, because Mom had told her that her TV time was done for the day. This time, alone in my room, I set the pacifier on my desk as soon as I shut the bedroom door behind me. My phone was still off limits, even though I was allowed to use my computer at least for homework, so I would have to wait until tomorrow to respond to any messages from my friends. I didn’t have much to do, as I hadn’t been to school today to get any fresh assignments. I suspected I would be much busier when I got home from school tomorrow, but without cheerleading practice, I’d have an extra several hours to work on it. Mom had been picking me up from school every day following cheerleading practice and would typically pick up Emilia on the way over to get me. But now that I was finishing school at a normal time, I’d be able to ride home on the bus with my friends again. And as long as I wasn’t in diapers, I’m sure Mom would allow me to stay home and not have to ride along with her to pick up my sister. It only took me about an hour to get my remaining homework assignments wrapped up, but I was in no hurry to return to the living room. Mom would probably just question me as to why I had only spent an hour doing homework, anyway. I opened up a new web browser on my computer and stared blankly at it for a few minutes. Mom had software that monitored everything I did on the computer. I didn’t believe that she actually checked it much, but it also had crazy tight restrictions that ended up blocking sites that were completely innocuous. Still, I was always in the habit of thinking twice before doing anything that might draw her attention. I opened up Google Maps. I knew Mom wouldn’t even give a second thought if somehow, she was to notice that in my web browsing history. I zoomed in on our neighborhood until our house was in view on the center of the screen. One feature I’d recently discovered was the ability to click on two points on the map and get the exact distance between them. I didn’t dare put in the address of the location I was checking out, that, for sure, would create the risk of Mom asking questions I wouldn’t have any good answers for, so I had to make do with an estimated distance instead. Just under a mile. Now, could I get there and back in under twenty minutes? Since I had the bedroom door shut, I had a chance to stand and stretch before going back to crawling. Having to move around on the floor had made me so much sorer than I would have expected. I went through a bunch of the warmup stretches that I had practiced during the time that I had been on the cheerleading team. Some of the poses were manageable. Others, because of the bulky diaper between my legs, were difficult to get into without feeling really uncomfortable. But there was only so much stretching that I could do before boredom set in again. I cracked open my door and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear. Then I took several disobedient steps through the hallway — another little battle that I’d won — before placing the pacifier back in my mouth and crawling the remainder of the way. The TV was off when I got to the living room. Emilia had a couple dozen of her tiny dolls set up in between the coffee table and the TV with one of their toy houses and other miscellaneous accessories, while Mom was on the couch, reading a book and drinking tea from one of her many Christmas mugs. “There you are. I’ve got the coloring book set out for you,” Mom said, pointing to the coffee table. Maybe I should have remained in my room for a while longer after all. I picked another page to color, this time one with Belle, and scribbled in between the lines half-heartedly. With my diaper now getting closer to the point of needing to be changed, I wasn’t able to settle into any position to sit on the floor that was comfortable. The rest of the evening dragged on slowly. I wished my sister had to use a pacifier as well, then I wouldn’t have to listen to her incessant prattling as she played with her dolls. “It’s time for bed,” Mom announced suddenly, setting her mug down on a side table. Thank goodness that this day was finally about to come to a much-needed end. On any other day, I would have objected strenuously to being sent to bed this early, but the sooner I could drift off to sleep, the sooner this would all be over. --- Emilia had already changed into a knee-length baby-blue nightgown by the time I had arrived at the bedroom door. Maybe Mom could change me while my sister brushed her teeth and used the toilet one last time before bed. But Mom stepped out of the bedroom right behind my sister. “It’s time to go potty one last time before bed,” Mom said. Even with Emilia’s recent dry stretch, Mom hadn’t been taking any chances with my younger sister “But I don’t need to go,” Emilia whined. “Remember, Emilia, you need to set a good example for your sister. Why don’t you show her how to use the potty like a big girl? Can you do that for me?” Emilia looked down at me and then back up at Mom. “OK.” Emilia stepped past me in the hallway and then stepped into the bathroom. “Hurry up,” Mom said, as I had been slow to follow my sister. “You can stand up to watch this.” When I stepped into the bathroom, Emilia was already standing next to the toilet with the top lid off. I turned my face aside as my little sister sat on the toilet and relieved herself, looking back at her and Mom after the sound of the trickling had come to a complete stop. Emilia then grabbed a stool so she could reach the sink to wash her hands. “Tell me, Emilia, where do big girls go potty?” Mom asked my sister when she had finished washing her hands and was now drying them with a towel. “In the toilet.” “And where do babies go potty?” “They go potty in their diapies.” “That’s right,” Mom said, making a pointed glance in my direction. “Since your sister has been a baby today, I think it is time to check her diaper to see if she’s gone potty in it and needs to be changed.” Mom turned back toward me. “Lift up your dress so Emilia can check your diaper.” I complied with Mom’s request. I just wanted to get this one last embarrassing scene done with so I could get to bed. I grabbed the edges of my dress and lifted them up so that the dress was entirely above the waistline of my leggings, which themselves were sitting higher up on my waist than normal, in order to completely obscure the diaper. Emilia walked up toward me, but paused, as though she wasn’t exactly certain what she should do, and then Mom stepped up beside her to give some further instructions. “Here, if you want to check your sister’s diaper, you need to grab the front of the leggings and pull them down.” I shivered as I felt my sister’s damp fingers brush against my belly as she fumbled with the waistband of my leggings for a few seconds before finally getting a good grip with both of her hands. It turned out that my sister had taken my mom’s instructions very literally. She tugged down on my leggings as hard as she could, and with one pull, managed to get them all the way beneath the diaper. I didn’t need a good look at the diaper to know how full it was. I could feel the diaper tapes dig into my skin now that the soggy diaper was no longer being supported by the leggings. “Eww,” Emilia said, quickly withdrawing her hands from my leggings and taking a step back. I bit into the pacifier to prevent myself from saying anything that might result in being on the receiving end of another slap from Mom. Exactly how many times had I changed my little sister’s wet and messy diapers over the past several years? And she had the gall to be audibly grossed out the first time she checked one of mine. Of course, I also realized that no remark, no matter how witty or clever, was going to prove effective while I was still wearing a wet diaper, so I made the wise choice to remain silent. Mom didn’t say anything right away in response to Emilia. She simply leaned in and cupped her hand to feel the crotch of the diaper. I hated how that slight pressure against the diaper could create an uncomfortable reminder of how wet it was. “You think it is time to get your sister changed into a new diaper?” “Yeah.” “I think so too. Mommy is going to get Sarah’s wet diaper changed, while you get your teeth brushed.” I took that opportunity to walk back to the bedroom before Mom could remind me that I should go back to crawling. Once Mom was done changing my diaper, she replaced my leggings and skirt with a nightgown similar to the one my sister had on. “Why don’t you crawl back to the living room,” Mom said, as she tossed my used diaper in the trash. “We need to talk for a bit after I finish getting your sister tucked into bed.” As I made my way over to the living room, all I could think about was what specifically Mom wanted to discuss. Saying that there was a need to talk was the most ominous thing Mom could do. At least with something like being told you were going to get a spanking, you knew both what was going to happen and how things were going to be after it. This was far more foreboding, and I couldn’t come up with anything she would want to talk with me about apart from my accidents and the diapers. I ignored the coloring book page on the coffee table, even though I hadn’t quite finished it yet until Mom returned to the room about five minutes later – I suppose getting Emilia ready for bed is quicker when it doesn’t involve any diaper or pull-up changes – and took a seat behind me on the couch. “Why don’t you get up and sit on my lap for a bit?” I stood up and turned around so that my back was toward Mom, trying to figure out how to best sit down on her lap. “No, no, the other way around,” Mom said, placing a hand on my waist and guiding me until I turned around to face her. Mom grabbed my hands and placed them on her shoulders, which I gripped as I climbed onto her lap. I wrapped my legs around her waist and rested my head on her shoulder. We sat like that for a minute or so. Mom hadn’t asked me to take the pacifier out of my mouth yet, so I wasn’t sure what type of conversation was to be had. She placed one hand on my back, on the other firmly on my bottom. I could hear the diaper crinkle as she patted it. “Do you like being a baby?” Mom asked. “No,” I replied, a few seconds later, after I managed to get the pacifier out of my mouth. How could Mom possibly think that I somehow was enjoying anything of this? “Well, I don’t know what has gotten into you lately,” Mom said. “I hope this is a good reminder that you need to start acting your age again.” I didn’t add anything to the conversation. From experience, I knew it was better just to wait and let Mom talk and get her lecture out of her system unless she directly asked me a question. “If you keep being lazy and continue to piss yourself during the day, we will do this again, and we’ll do this as many times as it takes until you start behaving like a big girl again. Is that understood? I don’t want to punish you any more than I have to, but you’re way too old to be having this many accidents during the day.” Mom grabbed me by the shoulders and gently pushed me out on her lap enough so that I was looking into her face rather than nestling my head in her shoulder. “The pacifier stays in until I say otherwise,” Mom said, as she grabbed the pacifier that I was holding in my hand and shoved it back into my mouth. “Now, are you going to be a big girl and use the potty tomorrow?” I nodded. “I can’t hear you, Sarah.” “Wes,” I replied, as the pacifier muffled my response.

You guys are funny. I'm going through trying to respond to all the comments and I get three or four more during the time I'm typing this up. ? But I don't think I missed anyone. For sure, we'll have to see how mom decided to handle things for school the next day. Well, I think the one thing we know about Sarah is she is resourceful, so it's fair to say she'll act on at least some of the solutions she has considered. There are about 15 chapters and and epilogue left so far in the outline. That said, it might be more in the low to mid twenties. Chapter 37, for example, was supposed to be the kept home from school and babied chapter, and that ended up becoming four whole chapters instead (don't ask me how that happened, I'm still not entirely sure). There's a lot that's still to come. I think the challenge for Sarah is that obedience to her mom is so ingrained, that instead of direct defiance, she has developed more indirect methods of dealing with her mother's rules as a means of coping with it. ? Thanks! That's an interesting Quara example. And yes, you nailed the style. Honestly though, anytime I see some Quora or Yahoo answers story of a minor being forced to wear diapers for rather absurd reasons (Baptism or wedding diapers, anyone?), I pretty much always assume it was written by a pervy adult or a troll. As far as Sarah's knowledge of Lisa's history goes. Sarah is basically aware of all the main details of Lisa's past from "Diapers Never Lie." To quote from that Chapter 30, where Lisa gives a brief summery of her backstory to Sarah: And, to be fair, a sizable minority of the population does suffer from Dunning-Kruger. Thanks! That's a good point. The diapers could very well end making control harder rather than easier. One thing I should note as well, since this happened a long time back in the story, Sarah's mom did slap her once in the face before, after she had said a swear word. But yes, the way the mom is treating Sarah is far from appropriate. We'll have to see how that get resolved later on. Thanks! Like I mentioned above. Not entirely correct. Sarah's mom did hit her, in chapter 15 or 16, after Sarah said a swear word. No one sees themselves as a villain. Or at least no one likes to. So it makes sense that from the mother's perspective that she is going to believe she is correct or at least try to justify her actions in some way. What is really problematic for Sarah is that to her mom, these methods finally succeeded with Emilia, which only encourages this behavior going forward. And finally, some of these scene are very much meant to be painful or uncomfortable to watch. A lot of that is in response to a lot stories that go the forced diapering route without reflecting on how jarring that treatment would be under more realistic circumstances.

Chapter 39: Open Wide “Open wide.” I obediently parted my lips as Mom returned the pacifier to my mouth the moment the front door latched shut with a metallic click. The pacifier didn’t taste any better than it had this morning, and it took a conscious effort to make sure it didn’t fall out of my mouth and drop to the floor. I thought about how fussy Emilia had been as a toddler when Mom had weaned her off of her pacifier. How is it that babies actually want to have this in their mouth? Of course, weaned implies a gradual process; Mom had simply decided one morning that Emilia would no longer to use a pacifier, at least during times while she was being potty trained. I expected Mom to check my diaper now that we were home, but to my surprise, she didn’t lift up my dress to inspect it, let alone give me a pat on the bottom. I’d already wet the diaper twice this morning, but even though the wetness from the diaper was making me feel that a change was needed, I remembered how these diapers would last the entire night for me, and I typically slept for around eight to nine hours. If I had this diaper on that long during the day, I wouldn’t get changed until it was time to pick Emilia up later in the afternoon. The pacifier in my mouth did serve one important purpose. It reminded me of Mom’s admonishment that I wasn’t supposed to be saying anything. The urge to ask what the plan was for this morning still bubbled up, and I nearly opened my mouth to ask Mom a question before I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to. “Go on over to the living room,” Mom said, setting her hand firmly atop my shoulder. That touch from Mom let me know exactly what she wanted without her needing to tell me so. My heart sank almost as quickly as my knees did as I settled down on to the floor. Mom had said I was being punished like this to make sure my sister saw that she was being consistent, but any hope that this charade would let up some while my sister wasn’t around immediately faded away. “That’s right,” Mom said, in the smooth, drawn-out way one would talk encouragingly to a small child. “Babies who wear diapers still have to crawl across the house. Good job.” The dress may have been a great outfit to wear on a shopping trip, but it was incredibly impractical for trying to maneuver around on the floor, as the front of the dress kept getting caught underneath my knees. When I reached the kitchen entrance – marking the halfway point of the journey – I switched positions, so I was sitting with my bottom on the floor with my dress pulled up above my waist. Yes, that meant pressing down on the wet diaper, but as uncomfortable as that was, it happened to be the best of my limited options. Scooting forward across the floor in a manner that kind of resembled a crab walk wasn’t any less humiliating than crawling, but it was easier on my wrists and Mom didn’t put forward any objections. Mom stopped in the kitchen to put the few groceries and baby food away, while I finally got to the carpeted surface of the living room and switched back to crawling on my hands and knees as I made my way to the couch. However, that left me in a bit of a bind. I wasn’t sure how Mom’s stance against standing worked with needing to get up to get on the couch. Well, if I simply crawled up onto it, I wouldn’t technically be standing, I thought, as I began to lift myself up onto the couch. “Down,” Mom said sharply with a snap of her fingers as I was halfway up. I landed on my well-padded bottom as I dropped back down to the carpet. “No, no, sweetie,” Mom said, her tone softening as she stood way above me with a juice pouch in her hand. “Babies are better off sitting on the floor.” Mom set the apple juice pouch on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Make sure to finish it. Babies need to have plenty to drink.” I moved toward being in front of the center of the couch, where I could sit with my legs stretched out beneath the coffee table and my back propped up against the couch. Mom had already punctured the top of the juice pouch with the little plastic straw it came with. I used the first sip as an opportunity to briefly remove the pacifier from my mouth. Why did sucking on the pacifier make me feel so thirsty? The TV remote was another object babies were not allowed to touch, as Mom made sure to inform me. Mom turned the TV on and kept it on the same channel that Emilia had been watching earlier in the morning. However, she did drop the volume in half, giving me the ability to ignore the once blaring theme music to the current show, which I didn’t recognize. Mom rummaged through the cubbies along the wall where Emilia’s toys and other playthings were kept, coming back from it with a coloring book and crayons, which she set on the coffee table next to the juice pouch. I hated coloring, but I also had no other options to pass the time, and I’d rather ignore the juvenile nonsense playing out on the TV. I flipped through the coloring book – more than half of the pages had been filled in already – before settling in on a scene with Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I knew Emilia wouldn’t be bothered if I used that one, as it was one of her least favorites. At least Mom hadn’t found time to mix the baby formula yet. When she had left me standing in line at the grocery store earlier this morning, she had returned with a small container of baby formula in hand. And not even one for older babies. This one said it was for newborns. Thankfully, by that time the woman in front of us was too busy emptying her cart and getting ready to pay for her purchases to pay any attention to Mom. I still couldn’t believe I’d actually risked telling her about my accident. What was I thinking? I began to relax as Mom took a seat on the couch, letting me know that this was the last of the baby things that would be happening for now. She pulled out her laptop, and I could hear the sound of her fingers tapping away at the keys as I stared down at the still-blank coloring page. When was the last time I had colored with crayons? Early elementary school? My mind wandered as I attempted to fill in the coloring page. I had severely underestimated how boring this day was going to be. I emptied my bladder again in the diaper almost as soon as the urge to urinate arrived, and then immediately regretted that decision. This was one of the few times where I’d be able to practice holding my bladder as long as I could without needing to worry about the consequences of having an accident. I resolved to pay more attention to my bladder going forward. A familiar jingle – “I’m a big kid now” – playing on the TV got my attention, and I turned up to catch the second half of an advertisement for pull-ups playing on the screen. That was way too on the nose, but it was the first of many ads for pull-ups, diapers, and other baby products, which, given the target audience of these shows, made perfect sense. The next urge to pee came about thirty minutes or so later. I didn’t have a clear view of a clock so I could only estimate based on start and stop times of shows on the TV. I tried to squeeze my legs together the best I could with how I was seated, crossing my feet over each other. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. I counted silently in my head, getting all the way to one-hundred-seventy-eight, nearly three minutes, before I couldn’t hold out any longer and began to fill the diaper up even more. Still, I felt prouder of myself than I probably should of, but had I had a pull-up on, three minutes would have been enough to likely make it to the toilet in time. This time, the warmth in the diaper didn’t fade away, while it still wasn’t as full as I had experienced sometimes in the morning after spending a full night in it, I was beginning to approach a point where a change – as humiliating as it would be – would be a welcome relief. I wasn’t going to ask Mom for a change, though. That would only serve to give her another chance to rub in just how much of a baby I was being today. Mom left the room and returned with a hairbrush in hand. Thankfully, it wasn’t one she had ever used for spankings. I’d kept my should-length hair unbraided today, but from the hair ties Mom had in her other hand, it was clear she had other plans for how I was to spend the rest of the day. Mom took a seat on the couch directly behind me, with her legs spread to either side of me, and, for the first time since I was around Emilia’s age, began to brush my hair. I winced and bit down onto the pacifier as the brush momentarily got snagged by a small tangle, but she was practiced enough from doing my sister’s hair that the brushing was otherwise a painless experience. I felt her part my hair in half with a couple of hair ties, before starting the first of two French braids. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing what this looked like in the mirror. Less than a minute later, Mom had finished with both of the braids and had set the brush down beside her on the couch. She tossed the pigtails forward so that they were resting on the front of each of my shoulders and then went back to working on her laptop. --- “Open wide for the airplane,” Mom said, as she swung the spoon with an oversized serving of sweet potato baby food back and forth while bringing it closer and closer to my mouth. I would have rolled my eyes if I wasn’t so embarrassed. I opened my mouth all the way, closing it only once the spoon was completely in. The sweet potato actually wasn’t that bad. Not really all that different from eating mashed potatoes. Mom was putting her full effort into the meal. I could have finished off the contents of the baby jars in a matter of minutes, at the very longest, had I been allowed to eat from them with a spoon myself. Instead, Mom was taking turns between her exaggerated feeding of me and eating from her own bowl of chicken soup. I was certain my diaper was now close to the point of leaking. Squeezing into the highchair made it impossible to escape the feeling of the wetness against my skin. At least if it leaked, it would be her problem to clean up, not mine. The jar of sweet potato baby food was followed by a carrot flavored one – yuck – and a blueberry-banana mix I would have to reluctantly admit was rather tasty. Three jars of baby food didn’t come close to leaving me full. I didn’t get a look at exactly how much was in them, but they couldn’t have been more than a couple of ounces each. I knew better than to tell Mom that I was still hungry. I had no chance of getting any actual food, and I wasn’t going to play baby food jar roulette with mashed peas still being amongst the remaining options. Mom left me seated in the highchair while she cleaned up from lunch. My mouth was parched as I hadn’t been given anything to drink with the meal, but when I heard the microwave get started, I suspected that I knew what she was going to have me drink next. --- “Open wider.” Mom had taken a seat on the left side of the couch with a pillow propped up against the armrest. I laid down on my back across her lap, with my head propped up and resting against the pillow. I didn’t want the bottle she was now holding up to my face with her right hand, but the baby food had made me thirsty. I hesitated a moment while Mom held the tip of the bottle in front of my lips, but eventually followed her request and opened my mouth. The liquid inside the bottle looked almost indistinguishable from milk, but I was leery about how it would taste. I took my first tentative sip from the bottle. And basically, nothing came out. Just a tiny squirt of warm liquid that tasted like bland, slightly sweetened milk. The need to quench my thirst overwhelmed my sense of shame at being fed like this. I sucked enthusiastically on the bottle, falling into a steady rhythm as Mom continued to hold the bottle at an increasingly higher angle to ensure that I got every last drop while using her other hand to rub gently on my head. I had no way of knowing exactly how long it took me to finish drinking from the bottle, as I couldn’t see any clocks from the angle I was lying at, but it was a lot of effort for how little I had ended up drinking. “Aww, you did such a good job with your bottle,” Mom said when I had emptied it at last. She set the bottle aside, replaced it right away with the pacifier, and gave my cheeks a gentle pinch. “I think mommy needs to check if her baby girl needs a diaper change. I reflexively tried to squeeze my legs together as Mom lifted up the front of my dress, but the diaper was too swollen up now for that to make any difference. She slid her hand underneath my leggings all the way down to the middle of the diaper. I could feel the warmth from the urine as she pressed her hand firmly against the most soaked part of the diaper and gave it a brief squeeze. “Better get you in a clean diapey quickly. I bet you are going to go potty again soon from that bottle, and I don’t think it could hold any more.” I lowered myself from the couch onto the floor, ready to crawl all the way across the house to get changed in the bedroom. By the time I got there, Mom already had all the diaper-changing supplies arranged on the bed. Mom pulled my dress off over my head and removed my leggings completely as well. Without the leggings to support the diaper, I was finally able to see that it really had gotten right up to the point of leaking. Even the smallest additional accident would have been more than it could handle. I cooperated fully with the ensuing diaper change. Each of the cold baby wipes that Mom ran across my skin felt like a massive relief, even though I knew that it wouldn’t be long before the fresh diaper she put me in would be wet. I doubted I’d be able to hold out for an hour, let alone thirty minutes, this time around. “I have some calls to make for work, so we’re going to put you down for a nap until I have that all finished.” I started to roll over to get under the covers of the bed, but Mom held the covers down with her hand. “Babies sleep in a crib, not a big girl bed.” I looked over at Emilia’s crib. It was barely big enough for her to stretch out completely. Our bedroom was too small for anything else. I momentarily forgot what Mom had said about not talking. “But I’m not going to be able to fit in there,” I said, with the pacifier falling to the side of me on the bed. “Of course you’ll fit. Now pick up the pacifier and get in your sister’s crib.” I didn’t know why I suddenly felt like arguing, or why the crib was the final straw in this day of being babied, but I continued my objections. “It’s hardly big enough, even for Emilia.” “You’re going to be quiet or I’m going to give you something to actually make a fuss about.” “But...” I didn’t get a chance to finish my final objection. My head jolted to the side as Mom smacked the palm of her hand into my cheek. The left side of my face stung. I looked back toward Mom with my mouth gaping open, as she grabbed the pacifier and shoved it back into my mouth. “In the crib. Now.” I scrambled off of the bed, wearing only a diaper, a thin top, and socks. Now I noticed how cold the house was. I walked several steps over to the crib — surely even Mom would see the absurdity of crawling that distance — and stuffed myself into the crib through the gap in the side panel that had been slid open. I laid down on my right side in a fetal position with my knees pulled up toward my chest, so that my left cheek, which was still stinging from when Mom had hit me, would have to be pressed down against the pillow. Mom dropped one of my little sister’s thin blankets on top of me. It barely fit. If I were to stretch out my feet even a couple of inches, my feet would be out by themselves in the cold. “I’m going to be doing video calls for a while, so you are to stay in the crib until I come back to get you. No exceptions at all. Do you understand?” I nudged my head up and down slightly with my eyes facing down toward the mattress. Mom shut the lights off before closing the door behind herself. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get myself into a comfortable position. I switched from laying on my side to being on my back. I still had to scrunch up my knees toward myself to be able to fit, but it did feel better than being on my side. Well above my head, a mobile with a bunch of farm animals on it spun gradually in a circle. The only good news was that Mom would have to be done with her calls by the time Emilia needed to be picked up. And since she wasn’t going to leave me at home, I could expect my nap to be over by then, at the latest. I wasn’t tired at all. Once Mom had gone back to putting me in diapers every night, my sleep schedule had gotten back on track, as I was able to make it through the night without being woken up by wet bedding. I struggled to see how the next few weeks would be any different from this. Back when I had been sneakily using Emilia’s pull-ups, I was routinely having at least one accident in them a day, and sometimes twice. With Mom now to be aware of every accident I’m having, any chance of getting back into panties was non-existent, and further diapered days seemed all but inevitable at this point. As long as I kept my concentration up, I could avoid having any accidents at home. But with only one bathroom, despite my best efforts, there would still be times I’d be stuck having to wait longer than I could hold my bladder, especially at school. I remembered what I had witnessed Samantha doing to her younger brother, how she had stuck his hand in warm water at night to make him wet the bed. I thought about what I could do to get Emilia to start having accidents again, giving me an opportunity to smuggle away some of her pull-ups. I hadn’t tried putting on any of my sister’s nighttime diapers, but given that her pull-ups fit me, I was fairly certain that I’d be able to squeeze into one of those diapers as well. The problem with that is she only used one diaper a night, so even if I could get her to wet the bed again, I wouldn’t be able to get away with taking more than one or two of those diapers before Mom caught on to the fact that they were going missing. So that wasn’t going to be the solution to my issues. Lisa had mentioned seeing a doctor who specialized in treating incontinence issues. I was at the point now where the embarrassment of such a visit would be outweighed by my desire to find any solution that would let me be able to go back to using the toilet as normal. The only time I had gone to a doctor in recent memory had been before the cheerleading tryout at the start of the school year. Mom had called up the school to try to talk them out of making me do it, but the school had simply informed her that physicals were a state requirement to make sure any students that took part in sports were healthy enough to do so and that there wasn’t any alternative if she wanted me to try out for the cheerleading team. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. I’d had to get a half-dozen or so different vaccine shots at the checkup since I had apparently gotten far behind on those. And they had put them all in a row on the same arm, too. The only other doctor’s visit I could recall must have been when I was about four or five years old. It would have been shortly before I had started kindergarten. According to Mom, my daytime potty training had only taken a day or so to complete, but the bedwetting had kept up regardless of anything she had attempted. She’d gotten frustrated enough to take me to a doctor but only got more frustrated when the doctor didn’t treat the bedwetting as a big deal. And when none of the doctor’s advice – don’t drink anything a few hours before bed, limit sugary drinks for dinner, go to the bathroom right before going to sleep, use a wetting alarm, wake up at night to go to the bathroom – did anything to alleviate the issue, she never bothered to take me for a follow-up visit. Her attitude was why pay for a visit to the doctor when she could get the same answers on Google for free? As far as I knew, the same held true for my sister. The only times Emilia went to the doctor were for vaccinations required by the daycare and preschool. I doubted I could convince Mom to take me to a doctor. Pushing the issue might just make her do more research of her own on how to solve things, and I suspected there were even worse home remedies out there than the suppository laxatives she had used on Emilia and me. I could talk to Lisa and get more information on the types of things her doctor had recommended for her. But I would need to wait to do that in person, in case Mom looked at any of my messages on my phone or computer. Another option would be if I could buy some pull-ups of my own to use. I had money saved from babysitting I’d done over the summer, but I couldn’t order anything online privately, and while there were a couple of pharmacy stores in walking distance, I couldn’t figure out when I’d have a chance to go off to one of those stores without Mom noticing. If the opportunity came up, I’d make sure to take advantage of it, but there wasn’t any way that was going to be the case. Mom hadn’t made any mention of how long her phone call was supposed to last, but she would need to pick Emilia up in the late afternoon. I hoped I wouldn’t have to be trapped in my room until then. I’d been so distracted by my attempts to work through a solution to my problem that I suddenly realized that my diaper was wet, even though I didn’t have any recollection of having gone in it even once since the latest diaper change. I wrapped my arms around my legs and pulled my chest up so I could bury my head between my knees as tears began to stream uncontrollably down my cheek. I didn’t even know why I was still keeping the pacifier in my mouth at this point, but I kept it in place for some reason. I just didn’t get it. Bedwetting was out of my control, and given how I had done that through most of elementary school, it didn’t bother me anywhere close to as much as the daytime bladder accidents did. I felt I could control my accidents, if not perfectly, at least to a very large extent, as long as I managed my liquids and made sure to pay attention to the slightest of signals from my bladder. So why did I keep having so many accidents? But I had a more pressing problem than figuring out how I was going to avoid wetting my pull-up tomorrow. The pressure building in my abdomen indicated the need to do something far more disgusting than urinating in my diaper. My body was giving me every indication that I needed to go, and holding it in was getting increasingly more uncomfortable. For a while, I attempted to ignore the urge. But trying to intentionally not think about something is easier said than done. In some ways, this was worse than the laxative. In that case, the urge to go had been accompanied by the uncontrollable ability to go. Right now, I was stuck in the flux of both needing to go and not being able to make myself do it, resulting in an increasing discomfort that I wasn’t able to mitigate. I finally sat up in the crib and crouched on the tips of my toes. The squishy mattress made it difficult to keep my balance, and I fell down once before I got myself up and steadied once again. I had absolutely no desire to mess my diaper. And I wanted absolutely nothing more than for the discomfort in my bowels to go away. I wrapped my arms around the lower part of my chest and squeezed. I let out an audible groan as I emptied my bowels into the diaper. This was an entirely different feeling than the laxative. Much more solid and sticky, leaving a large lump in just one part of the diaper, rather than the mess from the laxative that had spread out throughout the diaper. The smell wasn’t bad. Well, it was bad, but it wasn’t anything close to the stench I had dealt with for my only other messy diaper. The phrase “relieving yourself” was never more accurate than right now. The combination of relief and shame made it hard to understand how I should feel right now. I took extra care with laying back down on my side, making sure not to sit on the mess I had made in the diaper, lest it spread around further on my bottom. The need to pee again went and passed without me doing anything to fight it. I was too mentally exhausted to keep up my earlier efforts to try to work on gaining bladder control. I just wanted this day to end so I could start again tomorrow with a fresh slate. The warm mess in my diaper gradually cooled as the wait for Mom continued. My room, which already had been rather dark when Mom had left, was getting close to pitch black as the sun set early in the late-fall evening. The pacifier was still in my mouth as I heard Mom walk through the hallway on her way to the bedroom. I closed my eyes, pretending as if I had actually gotten some sleep during the supposed naptime. My eyes hurt for a second after Mom opened the door and turned the light on. I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was for that sudden flash. Mom paused for a moment after stepping through the doorway. “Uh, oh, what do I smell in here?” Mom asked, but her tone was jovial, not angry or surprised. I blinked repeatedly as I opened my eyes to see Mom standing in front of the crib, looking down at me. “Sweetie, do you want to tell mommy what you did in your diaper?” I didn’t give her any response, not even a nod of my head. I don’t think I could ever work up the courage to audibly acknowledge having messed a diaper. “OK, well, let’s see what this baby did in her diaper.” I shivered as Mom pulled the blanket off of me and slid her hand to the back of the diaper until she was palming the lumpy mess. “Aww, it’s OK, mommy would get your poopy diaper all cleaned up,” Mom said, stretching out the final few words of that sentence. “And hurry up out of the crib. We need to leave soon to go and pick up your sister.” I somehow managed to get out of the crib without sitting back down on the diaper and waddled awkwardly over to the bed, where I laid back down on the changing pad that Mom had left there from before the nap time. The smell hit me harder once the diaper was untapped and opened up. Mom placed her hands between my legs and gently began to move them apart to make room for her to wipe my bottom clean. “Open wider.”

Well, apparently 15 isn't the limit for how many posts you can quote from at once ?. But yes, I'm enjoying seeing all of the speculation, some of it may not even be that far off track. For sure, though it is interesting to see what comes of her making that acknowledgement herself. Absolutely! Interesting theory. Can neither confirm nor deny. That would certainly be embarrassing, though maybe less so for Sarah since the other mom already knows anyways. Nothing like a good cliffhanger, but yes, we'll figure that out in the next chapter. Interesting theories. Can't comment on the ending, other than that we are approaching a part of my outline that I've been looking forward to writing for a quite a while. That would be awkward for Sarah. Sarah's mom does certainly go for humiliation as a punishment, but with how she has been discreet in dressing Sarah for being in public and didn't send her to school in a diaper, being public about it might not fit into her mindset. She has shown that she has an understanding of social norms. Another interesting theory, and yes, there are quite a few things left in store for Sarah before this is all said and done. That is a conundrum, Sarah's accidents are going to continue and if her mom knows about all of them now, we'll have to see how she handles or adjusts the punishments that Sarah is getting. Sarah certainly has been feeling guilty as of late for how she treated her younger sister. I think baby diapers would work absorbency wise, given that Sarah can wear her sister's pull-ups and have them absorb small accidents (of course, she's also had them leak on her as well). Part of that is she is needing to urinate frequently, which means she is going in smaller amounts every time. That would be quite the role reversal.

Chapter 38: Not a Big Kid Now Any sliver of hope that I might be too big to fit in my little sister’s old highchair was dashed the moment I settled into it. Given that I was still able to get into Emilia’s toddler-sized pull-ups with ease, it made sense that a toddler chair would have just enough room for me as well, though the leg divider caused my skirt to bunch up uncomfortably underneath my bottom. My feet dangled helplessly in the air. The seat of the highchair was tall enough for a young child to be elevated high enough for a parent to easily feed them. But as a teenager seated in a highchair, that meant my head would now even with my mom, who had a good five or six inches on me. I dutifully raised my hands in the air so that Mom could bring the eating tray back down and snap it into place in front of me. While I was skinny enough to fit in the highchair, I didn’t want to risk any sudden movements. I didn’t trust it to remain stable with someone of my height and weight in it. I looked up from the eating tray to where Emilia was seated. She had a regular dining chair with a booster seat strapped on to it. We briefly locked eyes before I turned away again, feeling my cheeks grow warm. “Emilia, your sister had too many potty accidents yesterday, so she’s taking a break from potty training and being a baby today,” Mom said, phrasing the situation as if it was somehow my decision to be treated like this. “I need you to be on your best behavior today so you could show Sarah how to be a big girl again.” I blinked away the few tears that had trickled down when I first entered the kitchen and took a long breath to steady myself. No matter how embarrassing or humiliating today was going to be, I just needed to make it through to the end, and I could focus again on finding another solution to my bladder issues. The highchair wasn’t the only baby accessory Mom had gotten out to try. “Sarah, hold your hair up for a moment while I put this on,” Mom said, as she stood next to the highchair with a Winnie-the-Pooh themed bib with Velcro straps in her hand. I used both hands to grab my hair – I had it loose and not braided at the moment – to get it clear from my neck. Mom stretched the bib as far as she could, but she wasn’t able to get the Velcro ends of it to meet at the back of my neck. That provided me with a small measure of relief. At least not every baby item was going to be able to fit me. The highchair was turned so that I wasn’t able to see what Mom was doing behind me in the kitchen, but the smell of toast gave me a hint as to what breakfast was going to be this morning. At least it was going to be finger food. Mom and I had spoon fed cereal to Emilia on numerous occasions. I didn’t have any desire to gain firsthand knowledge of how embarrassing that would be. Mom placed a sippy cup filled to the brim with orange juice on the tray in front of me and handed my sister a training cup that had handles on the sides but no lid. Mom wasn’t going to miss any opportunity to make me feel younger than my sister. I sipped the juice without complaint. I tried to be careful with monitoring how much I drank – juice and soda seemed to make me need to pee the most — when I was wearing pull-ups, but with a diaper on it didn’t make any difference. I had a suspicion that I would be kept fully hydrated today. Mom placed two slices of toast – one with strawberry jam and the other with grape jelly — on a faded pink plastic plate in front of me, while my sister received her single piece of toast on regular plain white plate. Mom had spread the jam thickly across the toast, leaving practically no room to grab it on the edge for me to grab hold of the bread without getting jam on the tips of my fingers. Though Mom had set a couple of napkins next to my sister’s plate, she hadn’t given me one. Being stuck in the highchair meant I couldn’t reach the napkin dispenser in the middle of the table. I only managed to keep jam off of my fingers for the first couple of bites before they got sticky. And with the bread overloaded with jam, I had a hard time keeping it from getting stuck around my lips. I spun my tongue in a circle, but I wasn’t able to get all of it off. This was getting worse and worse. I finally worked up the courage to ask Mom for help. “Mom, could you please pass me a napkin or two?” Mom glanced up from her own breakfast of toast and orange juice to take a look at me. Surely, she could see the mess I was making. “You don’t need that,” she replied. “It’s normal for babies to get messy when they eat. I’ll get you cleaned up once you are done.” I accepted her response – or at least I accepted that I wasn’t going to change her mind – and went back to silently eating my toast. Licking my fingers wasn’t an option. Mom didn’t consider that to be appropriate table manners. Under normal circumstances, I would have gotten scolded at the very least for behaving like that. However, Mom also might think that it is normal for a baby to lick itheir fingers, but I wasn’t going to do any baby behavior that Mom wasn’t explicitly requiring of me. Eager to get out of the highchair, I finished my breakfast as quickly as I could, but that only resulted in having to sit around awkwardly while I waited for Mom to finish her own toast, which she slowly munched on while looking at her phone. Emilia had already run off to the living room to watch her show again. I was annoyed at how lenient Mom was being with my sister’s TV use. “Aww, you really did get messy,” Mom said at last in a sing-song voice. “Let’s go to the sink and get you cleaned up.” Getting out of the highchair was more difficult than getting into it, but I got to the kitchen sink before Mom did. I instinctively reached my hand out to turn the faucet on, but Mom gave me a gentle slap on my wrist. “No, no, I’m going to do that for you. Babies don’t wash their own hands.” Mom reached out and turned the water on, letting it run for about ten seconds before putting her hand underneath the faucet to test the temperature. Mom took hold of both my wrists and pulled my hands into the warm water. She then briefly let go of one of my hands to squirt some liquid soap onto her hand, and then continued with washing my hands in the sink. I hadn’t noticed the effect the warm water had on me until the sink had turned off, but I could now feel a small trickle of pee making its way into the diaper. The one clear difference between wearing a diaper instead of a pull-up during the day was that after a small leak like that the sensation of being wet disappeared after a few seconds, and I felt completely dry again. But Mom had one more thing to do to finish getting me cleaned up. She grabbed a paper towel and wet it slightly before thoroughly wiping down my mouth. “All cleaned up!” Mom said cheerfully. “Why don’t you go watch TV with your sister for a bit? We have some time still before we need to leave.” I started to head over to the living room, where the sounds from My Little Pony were loud and clear. “Oh, come back here Sarah, I almost forgot something.” I turned around and stepped back into the kitchen. Mom had a lavender pacifier in her hand. I wasn’t going to get away with anything today. “Open wide.” I parted my lips slightly, but it clearly wasn’t enough for Mom. “Wider.” I opened my mouth wider, and Mom stuck the pacifier in and let me close my lips around the tasteless rubber nipple. “I don’t want to see you with that pacifier out of your mouth while you are home unless you are eating. Is that understood?” I nodded in response, understanding all too well that taking the pacifier out of my mouth to give an audible response was something that was implicitly against the rule she had given. I managed one step away from the kitchen before Mom spoke to me again. “And Sarah,” Mom added. “Babies don’t walk. They crawl.” With the pacifier still in my mouth, I lowered myself onto the floor, pulling my dress up in front of me so that I wasn’t kneeling on it. I crawled slowly over to the living room. Unlike the living room, the hallway wasn’t carpeted, which meant I needed to move carefully so as not to hurt myself, but my wrists and knees were already feeling sore by the time I got onto the carpet. I hoped dearly that Emilia would be too engrossed in her show to be aware of my entrance into the room. ---- Every instinct told me that I needed to run. The car was only fifteen feet or so from the front door of the house. I could reach the passenger side door in a second or two and open it and get inside before any of my neighbors even noticed I had been outside the house. But I knew that there wasn’t any actual way they would notice a diaper and running around like that would only draw more attention to myself, not less. So I calmly walked out to the car, opened the back door for Emilia to hop into her car seat, and then got into the passenger seat while Mom made sure my sister was buckled into her car seat properly. Like with the bib earlier today, I was really thankful that car seats didn’t come in adult sizes. At least, I was almost certain they didn’t. I had used the pacifier up until almost the last moment until I had to step out the door. I hadn’t risked removing it myself, and Mom didn’t take it out of my mouth until we were putting out shoes on in the entryway. She set it atop the entryway table, where it would be ready to be put into my mouth as soon as we arrived back home. My mouth felt dry and a bit sore after removing the pacifier. The plastic nipple was too small to easily stay in my mouth, which left me needing either to hold it in with one of my hands or constantly be biting down to keep it in place. Mom hadn’t allowed me to use my phone while at home – the list of things babies aren’t allowed to do is indeed rather lengthy – but I had been allowed to have it with me on the short car ride to Emilia’s preschool. I responded to some messages my friends had sent earlier in the morning. Telling them that Mom had allowed me to stay home cause I wasn’t feeling well. There wasn’t any point in deviating from the alibi Mom had provided to the school nurse. Of course, Samantha, Desi, and Lisa were all jealous that I was getting a break from school, even if they assumed I was sick enough to need that. If only they knew. I wondered what the rest of my day would be like once I got back home. Mom was going to be busy working on her laptop, which meant I would be left to myself for the most part until dinner time. But my computer and phone would be off limits, and I doubted that I’d be able to watch anything on TV outside of toddler shows. And who knows how else Mom intended to treat me like a baby? Mom at least let me stay inside the car as she walked Emilia into the daycare center, which left me spending a couple minutes watching Emilia’s classmates arrive. I spotted a number of them that appeared likely to still be in diapers. Skirts and dresses were the only outfits that left me without any sense of whether any of them were still not potty-trained, again making me glad that Mom had the sense to dress me the way that she had. On the drive back home, I distracted myself by playing a game on my phone. I was tempted to sneak in a round of Fortnite, even though mobile controls for that are complete garbage, but the drive was short enough that I was unlikely to finish it by the time we got home. And Mom was sure to tell me to put my phone away then. She was completely oblivious to the need to be allowed to finish an online game. --- I jolted my head upright as the car came to an unexpected stop and was put into park. The ride home was quick, but not that quick. My heart sank as I looked up to see that we were instead parked in the middle of the grocery store parking lot. Now I knew why Mom had been so intentional in selecting an outfit that would hide my diaper. “You didn’t say anything about going shopping.” “It’s not going to be long. We just need to grab milk and a couple of other things.” “My game isn’t done yet. Can I stay in the car?” “No, you are going to come in. Put the phone away. Babies aren’t allowed to stay in the car by themselves.” “Babies aren’t allowed to do anything,” I mouthed silently to myself, with my back safely turned toward Mom. I opened the passenger door and stepped uneasily into the parking lot. The store was packed, which meant Mom had needed to park near the back of the lot. Ahead of us, I spotted a number of parents with young children, getting their errands done right away in the morning. I felt so self-conscious as we walked through the store. I wasn’t worried about any diaper bulge being visible, but I was worried about the awkward gait that the diaper padding between my legs forced me into. It wasn’t exactly as if I was waddling, but the movement of my legs still felt off. I heard every single crinkle, despite the fact that the leggings did appear to have made the sound from the diaper a bit quieter. I was certain that the signs that were so blatantly obvious to me must be equally obvious to every shopper we walked past in the narrow aisle. I knew no one was paying attention to me, and I knew as well that, even if they were, they weren’t checking to see if I had a diaper on. But that knowledge didn’t dampen my nervousness. Then Mom turned and stepped into the baby aisle, leaving me with no choice but to follow her lead. She hadn’t said anything about needing to stop in here. We’d already gotten a half-gallon of milk and a loaf of bread, which were the only two items in the red plastic basket hanging from her hand. We walked past a large collection of baby diapers, followed by toddler pull-ups, and I spotted the brand with Emilia’s favorite Disney characters. Then I saw my bedwetting pull-ups, the ones that Mom now only made me wear during the day, as I had outgrown their usefulness at night. I held my breath for a second. She wouldn’t buy these in person, not with me here. Would she? But Mom continued past the nighttime pull-ups without sparing them a single glance. When she had discovered that I was having accidents, she had purchased a box of those pull-ups online, and hopefully would continue to do so in the increasingly likely scenario that more might soon be needed. Mom instead came to a stop at the section of the aisle where the baby food and formula was stocked. What she was doing didn’t immediately register in my brain, but as soon as she grabbed a jar – labeled assorted vegetables – and placed it in the basket that it dawned on me that my next meal was going to be less than pleasant. I might have made a fuss about her selection – couldn’t it at least be fruits instead? – but another shopper entered the aisle from the opposite side, so all I could do was fidget and watch and hope and pray that the nastiest of the flavors would remain untouched. Mom must have read my mind because the next collection of baby food jars she grabbed was one with a variety of fruit flavors, and then she headed out the other end of the aisle without saying anything to me. For the moment, the relief of not having to walk through the store with a package of pull-ups overshadowed the impending meal where I no doubt would be fed actual baby food. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I expected. Every cash register had a line of shoppers waiting behind it to check out. A woman and a blonde-haired girl who looked to be about the same age as my sister were directly in front of us in the line, wait for their turn empty their packed shopping cart onto the conveyer belt. Bored, I looked over what they were buying. Not one, but two large boxes of toddler pull-ups – the biggest size of those at that – were tucked on top of the rack at the bottom of their shopping cart. Sure enough, when the girl raised her hands to try to grab a bag of candy from a shelf in the checkout lane, her jacket lifted up enough to reveal the top of a pink pull-up sticking out above the waistband of her leggings. “Remember what mommy said?” the woman asked her daughter. “You can only have a treat to take home if you’ve stayed dry.” “But I am dry,” the girl protested. The girl lowered her hands, but she didn't stop looking at the candy. The Mom grabbed a bag of skittles and placed it in the shopping cart. “You could have the Skittles if, and only if, you are still dry when we get back home.” There was something about standing still that was worse for my bladder than walking. I’d managed to last a little longer than I would have expected since I had last wet my diaper just after breakfast, but the urges from my bladder arrived almost as soon as Mom and I had come to a standstill in the line. As I contemplated my lack of options, Mom handed the basket over to me. “Hold this and keep our place in line, Sarah. There’s one more thing that I forget we were needing to get.” Mom took off before I had a chance to ask what it was that she had forgotten. Perhaps I didn’t want to know. I didn’t have long before the effort to hold my bladder in would start to cause me to squirm, but with how much I had drunk during breakfast, I was certain this wasn’t going to be a tiny leak. That left me with a choice of squirming and making an awkward potty-dance scene in public or letting myself go in the diaper right then and there. I tried to release my bladder slowly, but it felt like it emptied out all at once. I hoped I was only imagining the sound of a stream of urine hitting the absorbent padding of the diaper. The woman in front of us let out a large sigh and reached back into her shopping cart to grab the skittles and put them back on the shelf without saying a word to her daughter. “You said I could have Skittles if I’m dry.” “And you had an accident just now, so we’re not bringing any Skittles home.” “No, I didn’t,” the girl replied indignantly, crossing her arms across her chest. “That’s not what I heard,” the mother said, in a firm, no nonsense voice. Lizzie sat on the floor and started to quietly cry. The mother chose to ignore the burgeoning tantrum and instead started putting her groceries out onto the conveyer belt. That ended up being an effective choice as the girl stifled her cries and stood back up. I felt really bad for how I had accidentally framed the little girl. With how many pull-ups were in the cart, I had to guess that staying dry was still quite a challenge for her. I glanced backwards. No one else had joined us in line, and Mom still wasn’t back yet. I wondered what was taking her so long. If I was going to do anything, it needed to be now. I stepped up next to the shopping car that the woman was unloading. “Excuse me,” I said softly, hoping that would be enough to get her attention. “I think your daughter could use those Skittles.” “I’m going to do what I see is best for my daughter,” the woman said, a bit harshly, before toning down her voice. “You’ll understand that once you are a parent.” “It’s not that,” I said, lowering my voice to an even quieter whisper. “I, um, I’m incontinent. That was me you heard having an accident, not your daughter.” The woman’s eyes dropped to my waist for a second. Of course, she had to look there, not that there was any way that she could tell. “Really?” the woman asked. I nodded, but my blushing face was likely conformation enough for her as she grabbed two packets of skittles and placed them on the conveyer belt. Lizzie looked up at me, and then her mom, and then me again. “And please, don’t say anything about this to my mom. She gets embarrassed when other people find out.”

Thanks! And yes, the fact that mom's extreme measures worked for Emilia doesn't bode well for Sarah in the near future, as her mother might now be convinced that her methods are successful. The practical aspect of wearing diapers to school was part of it, I'm sure, but the diapers are only one half of the punishment, with the other half being the babying that is being done to Sarah, which would be one reason her mother might have chosen to keep her at home. As far as cheerleading goes. Yes, it is fair to that this was the cause of Sarah's incontinence issues. Whether or not she ever realizes the source of her problems is something that will have to be answered later. Thanks! And yeah, Sarah being forced to wear diapers to school wasn't something that ever made sense in the context of the story. It would be entirely different in a scenario where she was taken to a doctor and wearing diapers was recommended as part of her medical treatment and the school was aware of that (like the case would be for Lisa). Sarah is definitely spiraling further and further down into more diaper use. Even with the acquiescence she has shown to her mom's authority, it's fair to say that we haven't seen the last of her schemes to hide the extent of her incontinence. You're welcome. And yes, there is a lot more in store for Sarah for the rest of her day. I originally had it down as one chapter, and then, of course, I write enough for at least two additional chapters to cover what happens before the day ends. ? Thanks for the catch. Got that fixed. I'm glad the synopsis was helpful. Putting that together was useful for me in terms of getting caught back up to where things are in the story. The fact that Sarah's mom doesn't want to publicly humiliate her daughter is a good observation, though whether those motives are well intentioned or selfish (not wanting to be seen like a failed parent) is something to consider as well. We aren't going to get any chapters from the mom's point of view, but certain her perspective on why Sarah is behaving like she is will shape how she responds going forward now that Sarah is the only non-potty trained child in the house. No comment on the end-game, other than to stay it has remained the same as it was prior to when I was last writing it. I added a few additional subplots to the remaining outline, but we're still going full-speed ahead with the original plan. You're welcome!

Chapter 37: What I Deserve There is a moment that comes when you first wake up. The type that happens after you’ve had a long night’s worth of sleep following an exhausting day. A moment of bliss before your cognitive gears begin to fully turn. You’re happy and content beneath your warm covers. Everything is right in the world. Then a deep fog rolls in and settles across your mind. Something is wrong. Very wrong. Something that would mean your current happiness is nothing but an illusion waiting to be shattered. But in this moment, you can’t quite put a finger on what the wrongness is. Its elusive name escapes your grasp. I felt the clammy wetness of the diaper I had worn to bed. Yes, that was wrong. A 15-year-old girl shouldn’t be wearing a diaper to bed, let alone wake up with it completely soaked. But that wasn’t the wrongness that had invaded my momentary waking bliss. Against my best efforts, I had become accustomed to the wrongness of the feeling of a wet morning diaper, and I had gotten past getting shocked or upset by my nightly bedwetting. No, the wrongness was something entirely different. And sheer terror set in as I went in an instant from having no clue about the horror in store for me later today to knowing exactly what was going to happen. I was going to have to wear a diaper to school. I was such an idiot for getting myself into this predicament. Yes, the vast majority of accidents I’d been having day and night the past couple of months were not my fault. But with Emilia’s potty-training basically complete – the laxative had worked wonders with her while leaving me to continue helplessly pissing myself at random – I had no source of toddler pull-ups that I could discreetly use at school to hide my accidents. My solution to that problem had been to wet myself on purpose. I’ve made some dumb decisions in the past few months, but that easily trumps all of them. One was indeed the magic number. Because according to my mom’s strict potty-training rules, which she insisted had to apply equally to myself as well as my 3-and-a-half-year-old sister, any time you had two accidents in a single day meant you had to take a break from toilet training and spend the next day in diapers. The first intentional accident – if the words intentional and accident can be used conjointly – wasn’t the problem. That got me put back into pull-ups, which would spare me the shame of openly wetting myself at school. It was the real accident I had later yesterday evening that was the source of the current stress that was just now wracking every single nerve in my body. I took a momentary pause from my fretting to turn and glance at the alarm clock. I still had nearly an hour before Mom would be in the room to wake me. Lately, mornings had sucked even more than usual, as Emilia could scarcely contain her excitement at waking up dry, which she had done all but one time since the experiment with the laxatives. Emilia wasn’t intentionally malicious – that really isn’t something that can be fairly attributed to a preschooler – but with our potty-training statuses headed in different directions at a rapid speed, any reminder of just how I had fallen was increasingly painful. Back to the task at hand. I had an hour left until Mom would come in to change me and help get me ready for school, and way more than an hour's worth of worrying to do. I had to convince Mom to let me not wear a diaper to school. I simply had to. I couldn’t recall a single time I had ever successfully convinced Mom to relent on one of her potty-training rules, but if there was ever one instance where I needed to succeed, this time had to be it. What would convince her? I could argue about the unfairness of it. But who am I kidding? Mom’s idea of fairness is that rules be followed to the letter of the law and that they be applied equally to either of her children. I would have no luck arguing that a pre-described punishment was unfair in a situation where there wasn’t any question of whether I had broken the rules. Especially given the countless times Emilia had been made to go back to diapers during her year-long potty-training saga. Attacking the practicality of the punishment made more sense. What would happen if I needed to go number two? I couldn’t exactly do that in the middle of a classroom. Think of the smell. And changing? I had never changed a diaper myself before, and I somehow suspected that changing messy diapers wasn’t part of the school nurse’s job description. And clothing. Would I have any outfits that would hide a diaper? If my peers noticed, I would be the subject of ridicule for the next four years. That certainly would seem to be an excessive punishment. But I couldn’t just attack the punishment. I had to offer an alternative. Something that would take its place, while letting Mom feel I had been sufficiently disciplined. My odds of getting out of wearing diapers during the day were slim to none, but perhaps I could propose spending a day – or maybe even two – being diapered after school. Or perhaps I could wear diapers all day on Sunday? I felt hopeful about those last few suggestions. I spent the last few minutes before Mom’s appearance in my room going over exactly how I was going to word my request. I had to avoid coming off as combative or challenging her authority. I needed to be quick to point out that I was willing to accept a basically equal punishment. As the clock continued its upward count, I whispered my argument silently, willing myself to believe that it was going to work. I heard Mom’s footsteps echo in the hallway. I closed my eyes and turned my head to face the wall just a second before the door swung open. I kept completely still. I didn’t need to pretend to be asleep, but I thought it might help if my arguments against wearing a diaper to school appeared more spontaneous than pre-planned. Mom patted my bottom to wake me up. I hated when she did that. I could hear the crinkle even through the bedding. I turned back over to my side in anticipation. I wasn’t going to pre-empt her announcement that I was going to be wearing a diaper to school. I had to wait until after that to make my move. Mom never even gave me a chance to get started. “Sweetie, I called into the school office today and told the nurse that you’ll be staying home as you aren’t feeling well.” I gave a confused nod in response, too shocked to speak. I couldn’t believe my luck at getting out of that bind. There isn’t a better feeling in the world than that of the relief after discovering something you’ve been stressing out about for hours isn’t actually going to happen, even if I basically had wasted a whole hour in which I could have instead been sleeping. “Don’t think this gets you out of wearing diapers all day,” Mom added. “I’m just keeping you home from school because it wouldn’t be practical to have you wear them there.” I suppressed a sigh. That figures. I was lucky, but not that lucky. This would be the second time I had spent a full day in diapers. There was no way this could be worse than the first time, when Mom had made Emilia and I both take a laxative. Nothing could be worse than the state my diaper got into after taking that suppository. I hoped Mom wouldn’t use another laxative today. She hadn’t mentioned that topic again, and I didn’t dare bring it up and risk giving her any ideas. Out of habit, I repositioned myself on the bed with my legs slightly dangling off the edge, waiting for Mom to slide a changing pad beneath me and go on ahead with the morning diaper change ritual. With the diaper change finished, Mom grabbed Emilia, who by now was already awake in her crib, and set her down next to me on the bed. “Did my big girl stay dry all night long?” Mom asked, before pulling down Emilia’s pajama bottoms to reveal a diaper that had retained all of its original white colorations. “Oh yes, she did. Good job!” Mom made me lay on the bed in just a fresh diaper and t-shirt while she got my sister dressed for the day in elastic waistband jeans – easy to pull down to go to the potty – and a hoodie with unicorns on it. I wondered what, if anything, Mom was going to dress me in since I was going to be home all day. Even though it had been getting colder into the fall, she had lately been keeping the temperature up, so it didn’t really matter what I wore. Mom helped Emilia off of the bed and onto the floor, and then my little sister scampered out the door. I remained on the bed. Getting dressed was part of the diaper change routine, which meant I had to sit back and let Mom do it for me. She spent a few moments rummaging through the closet and dresser drawers before returning with a pair of leggings and a dress. That was not the outfit I was expecting. “This should keep your diaper from showing when we go out,” Mom said, as she pulled the leggings up my waist until the diaper was fully covered. “Going where?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the panic out of my voice. “I thought you said I was staying home from school today?” “You are staying home from school, but that doesn’t mean Emilia is staying home from preschool. We have to go and drop her off after breakfast.” “Can’t I stay home? You aren’t going to be gone for that long.” “Don’t be silly. Babies don’t stay home by themselves.” I knew better than to say what I was about to say. But I said it anyway. “I’m 15. I’m not a baby.” Mom just gave me a look. The kind that a parent gives to tell you that they are done with your argument and any further resistance will be futile. “If you aren’t responsible enough to pee in the toilet instead of in your pants, then you aren’t responsible enough to stay home all by yourself.” I bit my lip to keep my mouth shut at that response. But really, what more did I have to say in defense of myself? I had already gotten out of wearing a diaper to school, there wasn’t any need to push my luck on anything else. I sat up on the bed to allow Mom to slip the dress on me. The leggings were making me completely aware of the diaper I had on. I mean, it wasn’t exactly as though I could ever forget I was wearing a diaper, but the way the leggings so thoroughly pressed the diaper up against my skin greatly enhanced the feeling of that part of my body being completely enveloped. I only had a couple pairs of leggings, as I never really liked the tight feeling of them around my legs, but I was more than happy to trade that discomfort for the security of knowing that my diaper was fully concealed. I was reminded of how Lisa, who had been incontinent her entire life, would dress. I had never even come close to guessing that Lisa had a diaper on – it had been total shock when she had revealed that to me in a study session at her house a few weeks back – so I supposed I shouldn’t have to worry about any nosy neighbors thinking I had a diaper on if they happened to be looking out their windows at the exact moment I spent a dozen seconds walking into the car and hopping into the passenger seat. Should I worry about it? No. Was I worried about it? Absolutely yes. “Breakfast time,” Mom said, putting her hand on my bottom and giving me a gentle nudge toward the door. Emilia arrived in the kitchen at the same time Mom and I did. My sister had come running over from the living room, where she had apparently managed to get the TV on and turned to one of her favorite cartoons. That was a skill I had rather she had waited longer to learn, but she is also is a lot close to being four than she is to being three. I did not like what I saw in the kitchen. There were three spots set up at the dining table. One regular chair for Mom. Another regular chair with a booster seat strapped on top, which Emilia would need as she wasn’t tall enough yet to sit in an adult chair and still be able to easily eat off of the table. And then there was the third spot: Emilia’s old highchair. I now knew exactly what was in store for me today. Aside from the laxative, I had gotten off quite easy the only other time I had been forced to spend a whole day in diapers. Sure, Mom had babied me a little, but she hadn’t gone full on with it, as she was prone to do with my sister. Nearly every time Emilia had been put back into diapers for the day, Mom had treated her completely like a baby. The whole nine yards and everything else that came with it: bibs, bottles, high-chairs, pacifiers. Mom wasn’t subtle about any of it, and she went hard on the baby talk as well. The way she had explained it to me was that if the carrot didn’t work when training a kid, then the stick was the only alternative option. My experience from watching her perform this all too frequent circus act with my younger sister was that layering on a bunch of humiliation and embarrassment wasn’t effective in getting a kid to potty-train. The kid was going to be embarrassed enough as it was from having potty-accidents, so no additional humiliation was going to help correct their behavior. I thought about all the times, though, that I had been complicit in treating Emilia like a baby. I had changed her into diapers even as she cried about wanting to be put into pull-ups instead. I had reminded her to crawl on the floor like a baby instead of walking around. I’d spoon fed her the yuckiest of baby foods despite her protestations. I’d made her go potty in her diaper even when she was ready and willing to do it on the big girl toilet instead. Sure, there had been times where I had been merciful. There were a couple of occasions where I had neglected to tell Mom about an accident that Emilia had, or I had, at times, finished Emilia’s bottle for her when Mom wasn’t looking. But how could a few good deeds absolve me of everything I had put my younger sister through? I looked again at the highchair. Mom had lifted up the small table in front of it to the side so that I would have room to sit down. Did I have any standing to complain if Mom was treating me the same as she treated Emilia – the same as I myself had treated my sister? How could I argue that I deserved anything different? A trio of warm tears trickled down my face as I took a small step toward the highchair. I hated this. I deserved this. And I hated that I deserved this.

Given that it has been about eight months since the last update, I figured it would be good to give a brief (or at least as brief as I could make it) summary of the events so far in the story. Synopsis: The Story so Far Sarah’s mom follows an extremely strict potty-training regimen with her youngest daughter, 3-and-a-half-year-old Emilia, who isn’t fully potty-trained, but that strict sense of rules and discipline is similar in other aspects of her parenting, as 14-year-old Sarah often is the recipient of thorough spankings if she gets poor grades or misbehaves in other ways. For Emilia, too many potty-training mishaps result in being put back into pull-ups, or worse, being put into diapers and treated like a baby, which is often her fate. Sarah’s friends at school, Samantha and Desi, invite Sarah to a sleepover in a couple of weeks. Sarah’s mom has always forbidden sleepovers, in part because Sarah had been a bedwetter up until several years ago, but Sarah feels like she might be able to convince her mom about it for once now that she is in high school. At cheerleading practice, Sarah has to deal with a fellow freshman, Claire, who is jealous that Sarah has gotten the better assignments with the team. At one of the first practices, they are going through a maneuver where Sarah is tossed in the air, but the girls who tossed Sarah fail to catch her, letting Sarah take a hard fall onto the ground. Later that day, while doing some research on her computer into some new things they could attempt to finally get Emilia potty-trained, Sarah wets her pants for the first time since she was a toddler, but as she is alone in her room, she is able to clean up the accident. And with being responsible for washing her own clothes, she can hide that from her mom as well. Besides that, accident, Sarah is discovering that she is needing to go to the bathroom much more frequently and urgently than before. Sarah is able to convince her mother to allow her to go to the sleepover, but only after she turns 15 in a few weeks. Sarah wets the bed that night. For Sarah, who had been a bedwetter as an older child, this was her first bedwetting accident in years. She is able to hide the accident by falsely claiming that Emilia’s diaper had leaked, as her little sister had snuck into Sarah’s bed in the middle of the night. After those two accidents, and a close call at school the following day, Sarah takes the step of trying on her little sister’s pull-ups, testing them out to find out that they appear able to hold one of her bladder accidents. Sarah continues her scheme of using the pull-ups both at home and in school to hide future bladder accidents, though getting away with hiding her new underwear while being on the gymnastics team requires a lot of stealth and care. At school, Sarah befriends Lisa, a shy fellow freshman who is getting bullied by Claire. Desi is welcoming of having someone else take part in their friend group, though Samantha is leery of that development. While disposing of one of her own pull-ups in a school bathroom, Sarah discovers that another student appears to have thrown away an adult-style pull-up, leading her to wonder who else in the school is experiencing a similar problem to herself. Sarah decides to go to a try-out for a newly created Fortnite team at the school, and Lisa is at the tryout as well. Both girls make the team, though Lisa is far and away the better player. At the sleepover, the Sarah, Samantha, and Desi play a game of Truth or Dare, where it is revealed that Samantha’s younger brother is still a bedwetter who wears pull-ups at night. Upon that discovery, Samantha gets dared to wear the pull-up, while Desi gets dared to urinate in it. Sarah sees the pull-up as an opportunity to be able to avoid the risk of wetting herself during the sleepover. Once she thinks all her friends are asleep, she sneaks off to grab a pull-up from Samantha’s brother’s bedroom, only to discover that Samantha appears to be making her brother wet the bed by holding his hand in a bowl of warm water. Sarah takes the pull-up but doesn’t let Samantha know what she had seen. While her sister’s pull-ups are mostly reliable, Sarah finds herself becoming overconfident with them, resulting in a leak that her younger sister notices, and immediately alerts her mother about. Her mother is upset about the accident and is frustrated that Sarah is setting such a poor example for a younger sibling she is working hard to potty trained. Sarah’s mom requires her to go back to wearing the pull-ups for a week, as a way to show that she was consistent in applying the same rules to both sisters. One daytime accident means needing to wear a pull-up until you are dry for a week. Two accidents in one day mean being put back in diapers for the rest of the day and the following day. Nighttime accidents are counted separately. Sarah has another bedwetting accident the night after being put back into pull-ups, but this time she is unable to hide it from her mother as the pull-up leaked all over the bed. She continues to have nighttime accidents, which she is unable to hide from her mother. Daytime is a different story, Sarah is able to continue to take some of Emilia’s pull-ups, and wear those during school, which is where most of her accidents happen as she isn’t always able to leave the classroom every single time she needs to go to the bathroom. At the end of cheerleading practice, Sarah gets into a fight with Claire, who had looked inside her backpack to find Emilia’s pull-ups. While Sarah is able to explain away the pull-up as being something for her sister, the cheerleading coach tells both girls that any future fighting could result in their dismissal from the team. Sarah’s nighttime wetting continues, with the pull-ups remaining completely ineffective. Her mom orders a package of adult diapers to use for Sarah at night instead and requires Sarah to keep them on the entire night, with no getting up to ask for a change or use the bathroom in the middle of the night. At school, Sarah goes to the library and uses a computer another student had accidently stayed logged in to do some research about her bladder issues but wasn’t able to find any clear answers to her problem. Her mother is leery of going to doctors, and Sarah is unwilling to see the school nurse, as that would result in her mother finding out that the extent of Sarah’s problem is much worse than she is aware of. With the aide of her sister’s pull-ups, Sarah is able to go a week of hiding all of her daytime accidents from her mother and is rewarded with being able to go back into her regular panties, but another accident at home just a couple days later has her right back into pull-ups again. While Sarah normally gets assigned to do any group projects with Samantha and Desi, she instead gets assigned to do a group project for history class with Lisa, who happens to be the niece of the history teacher. Lisa invites Sarah to come over to her house for a study session. While studying (and playing videogames) at Lisa’s place, her friend works up the courage to confront Lisa about her pull-up use, before revealing excitedly that they both share the same condition. Sarah avoids going into the actually details of her bladder issues and the way her mom has handled the situation, instead letting it appear that it has also been something she’s dealt with her entire life. Lisa tells Sarah about her background (Note: This part is covered in the story, “Diapers Never Lie”), about how she has had incontinence issues her whole life and how the abuse she suffered from both her parents led her to live with her aunt and uncle. Sarah’s streak of being able to avoid her mom noticing two accidents in one day comes to an end, and her mom follows through with the same punishment that Emilia would get for that offense. Sarah gets put back into diapers for the day. Sarah’s mom then turns to more drastic measures to get both of her kids out of diapers. She ordered laxatives as constipation can be a cause of bedwetting and bladder issues. Both Sarah and Emilia have to take the laxatives while wearing diapers, which they were required to mess in. The school bully, Claire, manages to get a hold of one of Lisa’s diapers from her backpack, and taunts Lisa about it in the hallway after school. Sarah decides to get revenge against Claire, taking note of the threat from the cheerleading coach that any additional fighting between her and Claire would result in both getting tossed from the team. Sarah instigates a fight between them, resulting in detention plus a suspension from the team. The laxatives that Sarah’s mom used appear to be helping Emilia get potty-trained, as Sarah’s younger sister is almost completely accident free. This puts Sarah in a bind as she doesn’t have the ability to take any of her sister’s pull-ups without her mom noticing a suspicious decrease. Sarah is too afraid to wear a pull-up to school, seeing how her classmates had tormented Lisa makes her dread what would happen if she wet her pants in class. Sarah decides to have one accident on purpose at home, to get mom to at least put her back in pull-ups, figuring that as long as she can avoid having two daytime accidents on the same day (that would mean going back to diapers the next day) that she would then at least have the ability to have a pull-up on while going to school. Sarah’s plan backfires when she has a second accident that evening, this time into the pull-up, which leaves her going to bed fearful of how she is going to be wearing diapers the next day at school.

Hello again! Sorry for the wait, but I'm back, no need to worry about me performing a full George Martin or Patrick Rothfuss on you (and secondary apologies to any readers perhaps traumatized at PSTD caused by reference to those two authors). I don't have a new chapter for you yet, but I will have some in the coming weeks. I need to do a full re-read and review all my notes and outlines first. I also plan to post a synopsis of the current story to date, to help with getting caught up to the story again.

I have used it, and have met actually people on there. A couple warnings though: It is partly a sham, but there are real people there as well Don't use a paid account. Plenty of people with actual accounts will put contact info in their profile. Do the same or contact people that way. Many of female accounts on there are fakes (I'd say roughly two-thirds are fake), but they are easy to spot (basically any account with multiple photos of a diapered woman is likely to be a fake account typically 5-10 photos is the norm for that circumstance). Ignore the spammy messages that come directly on the site. Those are sent to you by the fake profiles. But really, if you want to meet someone, Fetlife, Reddit (subreddits: ABDLpersonals, BDSMpersonals, DDLGperssonals), DDGLforum, and DDLGfriends are all much better and completely free sites to use for that purpose.

Good question. We'll get to a point of answering that question by the end of the story. That's a good point. I do wonder what will become of Emilia's if her she manages to remain potty-trained. Actually, I know exactly what is going to happen with them ? Haha. George R.R. Martin is known for taking excessively long in finishing his books. His last one was about 10 years ago. we've got about 15-ish chapters or so to go for this story (47 written so far, counting the ones for Lisa), so this will be done well before 2021 is over.

I've always worried about making that mistake. I have an internet browser on my laptop that I only use for kink stuff. On my phone, I have one of those secure folders that you can lock apps/files/photos behind. All my kink stuff is in there so if someone were to glance through it they wouldn't stumble onto anything I wouldn't want them to see.

Yeah, Sarah has a lot on her plate, and that probably isn't helping with her decision making. Hey. I'm not exactly being George R.R. Martin here ? Yeah, I've heard of real life stories of parents getting in trouble for less. In the rear world, diapers as a punishment is very much frowned on. Thanks! And yeah, I'm not exactly being all that nice to her. That was another choice that Sarah may not have fully thought up before making, though to be fair, her options were rather limited at that point. And yeah, the removal from cheerleading squad was certainly tied in with the timing for being put back into diapers for a day. I think that sums up the doctor question pretty well. For where the story is at, it would be out of character for the mother to drop everything and take her daughter to the doctor.

Thanks! Yeah, diaper changes could certainly make things rather complicated. Will have to see how that ends up playing out. Sarah certainly think she is going to be wearing diapers to school. Yeah, a doctor visit could possibly clarify things, though at this point, Sarah hasn't even been able to draw a connection between the cheerleading fall and the accidents starting, so it's hard to say if anyone else would put that together this long since that happened. Should and will are often not one and the same. Mom hasn't shown much inclination yet to get a doctor involved.

Chapter 36: The Mirage I had figured it would at least have taken several weeks, if not a month, before some other crazy drama occurred to move the school gossip away from Lisa’s incontinence. It turns out it didn’t even take a week. Even now, I wasn’t quite sure exactly how all the details had played out, as it hadn’t occurred within a social circle that I as a freshman was part of, but it involved the high school quarterback, the tuba player on the marching band, sugar free gummy bears, and the old school bus parked in the maintenance lot. The details were still murky. All that mattered was this was all that anyone was talking about, not the introverted freshman whose name everyone had already forgotten. Mom had been in a good mood today when she had sent me off to school. Emilia and I had both made it to the weekend without any observable accidents, though my sister was the only one of us who had achieved that result legitimately, getting the right to wear panties for the first time since the middle of the summer. Nighttime was a different story. I hadn’t had a single dry night, though there had been a couple times where I had woken up in the middle of the night with a strong urge to go, only to relieve myself in the diaper and drift back to sleep. Emilia had a single nighttime accident that had broken her string of dry nights, but otherwise appeared to be on track to wearing big girl underwear at night as well. My daytime toileting success was a mirage that was on the verge of coming to an abrupt ending. Despite an increased cautiousness, I had on the last of the Minnie Mouse pull-ups I had swiped from my younger sister, with no clear options of how to get more for myself. Like I had predicted, I had made it to last weekend without Mom catching onto any further accidents, so the right to wear panties during the day had once again been bestowed upon me, not that I was risking taking advantage of that. I’d kept it dry through the school day so far, but it was only a matter of time before I would have to risk wearing panties outside of the house. My friends had been bummed out by the news that a sleepover was a no go. I lied about Mom having banned me from those; I knew that would be the answer without needing to ask, but was glad that a weekend get together was still possible, even if it would need to be put off by a couple of weeks. I hadn’t even begun to plan how I would handle my increase in accidents at that get together, or what I would end up saying if Lisa continued to push me toward letting Samantha and Desi in on the secret of my incontinence as well. I hoped that Lisa would let that topic drop, but I suspected that I wasn’t going to get that lucky. I couldn’t wait for next week, when I would resume taking the bus home from school, getting back at the house much earlier, as well as getting some time to myself before Mom comes home from work. Before that, I needed to get through three more periods of after school detention, which meant sitting in an empty office in the administrative section of the school, watching cheesy anti-fighting and anti-bullying videos that must have been made at least two decades ago, as they were run on an old VHS player connected to one of those fat, cube-like TVs that had been wheeled into the room on a cart. Claire and I sat on opposite sides of the room. A teacher I hadn’t had any classes with was in the back, grading homework while making sure Claire and I stayed in line. He needn’t have bothered. Claire had been in a completely subdued mood ever since we had returned to school on Monday, once our suspensions had ended. The upperclassmen on the cheerleading squad whom she had been hanging out with were no where in sight when I had got glimpses of Claire seated by herself in the cafeteria. Meanwhile, I was convinced that the obviously college-age actors pretending to be high-school students must have failed out of whatever community college theater program they had attended. They weren’t doing a good job at convincing me that fighting in school was wrong, but they did have me convinced that I never wanted to get into another fight, just so I could be spared from ever having to watch even another second of these videos again. Bathroom passes weren’t a thing in detention. The teacher overseeing the punishment was of the belief that there wasn’t any reason a normal teenager couldn’t go for an hour-and-a-half without needing to run off to the restroom. I had made it through detention on Monday without any issues, but yesterday I had been forced to make use of one of my last remaining pull-ups when the teacher had refused to let me go to the bathroom. The downside to that was that since I hadn’t wet myself after getting denied a chance to got to the restroom, it was unlikely that any further request would be approved, given that in the teacher’s mind, I had confirmed his belief that those extra trips to the restroom were an unnecessary excuse to avoid part of the detention period. Besides, I wasn’t going to demean myself by begging to be allowed to go to the restroom in front of Claire, not with her likely having at least some lingering suspicions about whether I might have some bladder problems. The old-fashioned clock ticking away on the wall told me that I still had another thirty-minutes left before Claire and I would be released from detention. I needed to pee again, and the odds of holding it in another half-hour were not looking to be in my favor. I didn’t even bother with making a request to leave and go to the restroom that I knew would be denied anyway. I squeezed my knees together as I peed, hoping to keep the stream of urine small and quiet as it soaked into the pull-up – better to go know when my bladder wasn’t as full as it would be if I were to wait until I had an inevitable accident twenty minutes later. The worst part of it was we were stuck seated on these old-school style individual desks, with the bottom of the chair slanted upward just enough that the urine seeped further into the back of the pull-up. I waited about a minute after wetting the pull-up to sneak a customary discreet glance at my jeans to make sure no leaks had occurred. I hadn’t had issues with pull-ups leaking at school before, but my luck had run out at the worst time. The pull-up hadn’t leaked badly, but there was a nickel sized wet spot near the crotch of my jeans. I angled my legs so that Claire wasn’t able to see them from where she was seated, not that she had been taking the time to look over at me at all. I slid my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and casually pushed it down far enough that the wet spot was fully obscured from view. I maintained that position for the next half-hour until the monotonous video game to an end. Claire grabbed her backpack and raced out of the room the Moment the video ended. I gave her time to get ahead of me and proceeded to the door as well, making sure not to turn around and give the teacher a potential glimpse at the wet spot on my jeans that had grown slightly. In the empty restroom, I sat in a stall with my jeans removed, pressing a wad of toilet paper up against the jeans in order to speed up the process of them drying, at least enough that I could get into the car when Mom picked me up without raising any potentially awkward questions. Even though I didn’t have any additional pull-ups to change into, I had at least brought along a pair of underwear. There wasn’t any way I was going to be going commando. I forced myself to attempt to use the toilet even though I no longer felt the need to go. I did manage to get a little out. I hope that would be enough to avoid any problems on the ride home. I didn’t have any idea how I was supposed to survive another day at school tomorrow. ----- Arriving home from school still felt so strange. Neither Emilia nor I had to strip off our clothes after stepping inside the front door for a mandatory check to see if our pull-ups were wet. Emilia stayed put in her dress, though she hurried off to use the toilet ahead of me. I still had jeans on, with the panties I had changed into after the accident during detention. I should have been able to enjoy this brief Moment of normality, but all I could think of was what types of videos my peers would take of me should I wet myself at school tomorrow without the aid of a pull-up to contain the accident. There was only one solution I could think to come up with, and I hated the idea. The evening passed by torturously quick as I procrastinated on implementing the new plan, as time tends to go when moving toward an event you are dreading. I had made ample use of the toilet all evening, on occasion not even waiting the full thirty minutes before plopping down on it again for a brief leak. Mom wasn’t using the potty-training watch with either of us either since we were back to wearing panties. Emilia’s toilet usage had actually dropped in frequency the past couple of days without any of the typical accidents that would have previously come with that level of carelessness. We had settled into a typical evening routine: Mom and I were on the couch watching TV and Emilia on the floor with her dolls, taking advantage of every last minute before she would soon be getting sent to bed. At the start of a commercial break, I stood up from the couch and left the living room at a brisk pace without saying anything to Mom or my sister. I shut the bathroom door behind me after I reached it, but I didn’t pull down my pants or lift the lid up from the toilet. There was absolutely no way I was going to school without wearing pull-ups tomorrow, and I could only think of one way to get myself sent to school with pull-ups on. To ask Mom to let me wear a pull-up to school would only serve to imply that I’d had other accidents that she was unaware of, so the only choice left was to get Mom to make me wear pull-ups again. My intention had been just to make a small leak in my pants. Even the smallest spot would be enough for Mom to insist on me wearing pull-ups for the next week, giving me cover at school, but once the flow started, I couldn’t bring it to a stop. Streaks of warm liquid raced down my thighs along the inside of my jeans, as if competing to see which leg they would get down first. I unrolled a large bunch of toilet paper to clean up the puddle on the floor before sheepishly returning to the entrance of the living room. With her eyes fixated on the TV, Mom didn’t immediately notice my presence. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, but Emilia was eager to assist. “Mommy, Sarah peed her pants!” Mom’s head jerked toward me almost instantaneously, and her mouth gaped open. I’m sure she thought my daytime issues had disappeared as readily as my sister’s issues had. She stood up from the couched and wordlessly walked toward me, though it wasn’t as if she would have needed a closer to look to confirm the condition of my pants. With a firm grip on my upper arm, Mom marched me back to my bedroom. “What is going on with you?” “I was almost there. It just kind of came out.” “This is ridiculous,” Mom said, as she stripped off my soggy jeans and underwear and wiped me down before sliding a pull-up on me. “Your sister isn’t having any issues. What is she supposed to think of this? I can’t have her backsliding as well. This is the best she’s ever been doing.” I didn’t dare suggest another round of the laxatives. If it hadn’t worked the first time, I couldn’t see how it would succeed in another attempt, and I never wanted to be in a messy diaper ever again. Mom walked with me back to the living room. I tried to enter the room behind her, to hide the pull-up from Emilia, but Mom circumvented those plans. “Emilia, do you see what your sister is wearing?” Mom stepped casually to the side, leaving me fully in view of my three-year-old sister. Emilia was seated cross-legged on the floor with her dolls, and she wasn’t old enough to have mastered the womanly art of sitting modestly, so the difference between our underwear was plain for all of us to see. “A pull-up!” Emilia exclaimed, in a tone more upbeat than what I felt was necessary. “That’s right. Sarah went potty in her pants so she’s going to be wearing a pull-up until she could stay dry for the next week.” This was so unfair. I could take a lecture from Mom if it was being made directly at me, but to receive it second hand like this was humiliating. I let my hands slowly drift inward until they were making a half-way decent attempt to cover the pull-up. “That’s why you don’t want to have any accidents, because you’ll be wearing pull-ups again like your sister,” Mom said, continuing an explanation of her toileting rules that I, unfortunately, was all too familiar with. “But we’re going to help your sister with going to the potty. Can you remember to remind Sarah that she needs to go to the toilet? And let me know if she had any accidents?” Not cool. I couldn’t believe what Mom was suggesting. Have Emilia be responsible for helping me toilet train? I could see the twisted logic in it, with Mom clearly trying to get Emilia in a mindset of being a big girl to cut off any potential regression back to pull-ups, but I didn’t need my sister spying on the condition of my pull-up as well. “Yeah. I help!” Emilia said, even more excitedly. To my horror, she got up right then and there and walked toward me, stopping at last to take an obvious look at my pull-up. “Sarah, move your hands,” Mom said, grabbing at one of my arms and tugging it to the side to give Emilia a better view of the pull-up. “All dry!” my sister exclaimed. There were several sarcastic responses I could think of. But those types of things don’t hold much muster when you’re the one in the pull-up and your little sister is the one in panties, so I remained silent. After resuming my place on the couch, I tugged downward at my long-sleeved t-shirt, trying without any luck to get it to cover the pull-up. I ended up sitting cross-legged, with my legs pulled up as tight as I could manage. Uncomfortable, but at least the pull-up wouldn’t be directly visible to Mom or Emilia. I had only been without a pull-up for maybe four hours or so, but if I was being honest with myself, I had to admit that it almost felt more comfortable than my regular underwear. The padding beneath my skin was soft and almost formed a narrow pillow between myself and whatever I happened to be seated on. That didn’t mean that I was happy that I needed to wear it, but I needed to find some upside to focus on to keep from going crazy. I finally got the room to myself for a brief bit while Mom took Emilia off to get her ready for bed. Even from the living room, I could hear my sister’s protestations about not wanting to wear a diaper to bed. That hadn’t been an issue when her daytime and nighttime accidents had come at a frequent pace. I didn’t have much doubt that she would soon stay dry for long enough at night to finally get that desire to come true as well. I didn’t look up as Mom returned to the living room. I could tell by the way her footsteps seemed heavier along the floor that her mood had gone drastically downhill after I had wet myself. Mom reached her hand down to my waist and pulled the shirt up a couple of inches, enough to get a clear view of the pull-up despite how I was attempting to hide it. The indignity of it made me feel so violated. She hadn’t bothered to ask, or even at least give me a heads up that she was about to check the pull-up. And the silence afterward was even worse. I wanted to run to my room and duck under the sheets and cry. But I couldn’t because I had to wait for Mom to put a diaper on me for bed. I could stomach wearing the pull-ups if only I could be allowed to manage them myself, but not like this. Mom switched the TV channel over to one of those late-night talk shows. She usually went with Jimmy Fallon. The other two men that were on at the same time sometimes got a bit too crude for her tastes. She would have to rush to punch in the number of the channel midway through an inappropriate joke. Mom would normally stay up through Jimmy’s monologue, though would occasionally keep the show on for a guest interview or two if anyone interesting was visiting the show. I laughed at a couple of the jokes despite my sour mood. I was relieved that I’d be wearing a pull-up to school tomorrow, though now that every single accident I had would count against me, since I had no means of hiding the ones that happened when I got stuck in a classroom with no ability to immediately get to a toilet. Midway through a stronger set of giggling, I felt an unexpected warmth near my crotch and belatedly realized that I had begun to pee. I managed to cut off the stream this time, but enough damage had already been done. I took a discreet peek down at the pull-up to see that the yellow wetness had made its way slightly into the white rectangle at the bottom of the pull-up. There was no escaping from Mom finding out, and my mind raced through what the implications of this second accident might mean. How could I have gotten so careless? I didn’t laugh at any of the remaining jokes, even though Mom seemed to find them absolutely hilarious. I hoped that she would keep the TV on a bit longer for the interviews, but it was just a pair of B-list celebrities whose names I didn’t recognize, so no such luck. Mom clicked the remote, and the TV shut off, as black as my thoughts about what was going to happen next. Mom stood up and walked toward the hallway without saying anything to me, clearly expecting me to get up and follow her. I eased myself out of my cross-legged position on the couch, trying to casually use my hands and the shirt to keep the front of the pull-up out of view from Mom. That didn’t work. “Damnit Sarah,” Mom said, as I flinched in response to her angry tone. She almost never cursed. My response was an unintelligible, blubbery mess. “I’ve had enough of this,” Mom said. She gripped my ear in a firm, stinging pinch between her fingers as she led me away from the living room. Mom normally diapered me for bed in her room to avoid needing to disturb Emilia, who was usually sound asleep by the time I got into bed, but this time she opened the door to my bedroom with her free hand, not bothering to do it quietly, flipped the light on, and led me into the room with fingers still firmly gripped around my ear. “Get the changing pad out and get on the bed,” Mom said, letting go of me at last. I obeyed, numb as I began to realize what the consequences of a second accident in a single day were going to be for me. “Sorry sweetie,” Mom said, leaning over my sister, who was lying on her back in the crib, rubbing her eyes. “Your sister had an accident, so I need the lights on to get her changed.” If Emilia gave a response to that, I didn’t hear it. She still appeared pretty groggy. The pull-up squished against my bottom as I meekly lowered myself onto the bed. I felt the need to pee a little more and let it go — feeling the warm stream run down across my skin and underneath to the backside of the pull-up was humiliating, but better than having to do it in the diaper before falling asleep — as Mom was grabbing a diaper and changing supplies from the dresser. Mom sighed loudly as she ripped off the sides of the pull-up to reveal the now-yellow interior. She wiped me clean in firm, swift strokes before replacing the pull-up with the diaper. I winced as her fingernails dug into my skin when she raised my legs up to make room for the diaper to slide beneath me. I waited a moment for Mom to perhaps slide on some pajama bottoms as well. She typically would take charge of dressing me at the conclusion of a diaper change, but after tossing the pull-up in the garbage, she didn’t return to the bed with any pajama pants in hand. “Get up,” Mom said, yanking me abruptly to my feet before I could say anything else. I took a step toward the dresser; it was finally getting cold enough at night that something to cover my legs would be preferable, but Mom stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Not tonight. Having the diaper as a visible reminder hopefully can be helpful.” “But it’s getting colder.” “I’ll put out another blanket on the bed for you. Go brush your teeth.” I held in the large sigh that I knew better than to release at the Moment, and obediently went to brush my teeth, trying unsuccessfully to avoid looking down at the image of the diaper around my waist that reflected back at me in the mirror. The lights were at least off this time when I returned to the bedroom. I shut the door swiftly behind myself so that Emilia wouldn’t be able to see the diaper with the light coming in from the hallway, and tip toed across the room until I could feel the bed with my outstretched arms. The extra blanket was there, though I would greatly have preferred pajama pants instead. I was consumed by only one thought as I drifted off to sleep: How was I supposed to get away with wearing a diaper to school tomorrow?

Not really, I mean, this is an ABDL forum, after all. And yeah, it's a bit of a house of cards that Sarah is building for herself. Yeah, I was key on mentioning the four pull-ups to give a sense of just how close things are getting for Sarah. Needless to say, the upcoming sleepover (or perhaps just get together, given how Sarah's mom is inclined to view a sleepover at this point) could be quite interesting. ? This would certainly be a wacky story outside of the DDlg context, though sadly on outside the realm of possibility given a bad parent. Yeah, I think the punishment probably ended up worse than she anticipated, but given that she knew it was going to be strict she was accepting of it. For sure You're welcome!

Yeah, the walls are definitely closing in for Sarah. We'll see how things progress between Emilia and Sarah if their differences end up getting even more pronounced as far as accidents go. Emilia hasn't done much teasing, but she's observant of her sister's accidents and plenty willing to tell mom about them so far. Yeah, Sarah is pretty used to harsh punishments, and probably doesn't perceive it as being a crazy as it actually is because of that. Spankings have been a pretty common thing for the mom since the beginning. And she did go after the control sense as well with grounding Sarah from hanging out with her friends for a while.

Chapter 35: Fallout Whack. Whack. Whack. Mom had left my pull-ups in place when she began the spanking several minutes ago. The only sounds in the room were of the wooden paddle colliding with my slightly protected posterior, the faint whistle it made as it moved through the air en route to my bottom, and Mom’s metronomic breathing that was keeping pace with each swing of her arm. The pacifier Mom had stuck in my mouth at the last second before the spanking began meant that I wasn’t making a sound myself. Good, because at least I had something else to focus on to avoid thinking about the spanking. Bad, because it only served to redirect my thoughts to a reminder of how far I had fallen from being a normal teenager over the course of the past month. The spanking had begun, like they normally did, with the blows coming at an infrequent, unpredictable pace, one that didn’t allow you to let go of the tension and brace yourself again for each strike. But by the end of the second minute – I could just barely make out the digital clock on the cable box – the spanking had settled into a more consistent pattern and was likely to continue for at least another minute or two. This was the second worst spanking I had received in my life. I’d received the worst one the day before, when I had come home from school to inform Mom that I had been permanently booted off the cheerleading team, suspended from school for the remainder of the week, and sentenced to a full week of after school detention for the following week. I made sure to tell her while we were on the car ride home as soon as I got into the vehicle and buckled myself into the front passenger seat. I couldn’t imagine a worse punishment than I was receiving currently, but I didn’t doubt Mom’s ability to do so. If I had let her find out about my problems at school from the call the principal made to our house that evening, rather than from me, I would have risked finding out just exactly how imaginative Mom could be. Mom had responded to my news with a disheartening silence on the ride home. When Mom found out that I’d done something wrong and she didn’t immediately give a lecture or yell at me, that meant she was thinking, and having time to contemplate how she was going to discipline me was never a good sign. She didn’t wait long to pronounce my punishment once we had arrived home, and I had stripped my jeans off to reveal the pull-up with white stars on it that I had hastily changed into after leaving the principal’s office and before going out to Mom’s car. There were three parts to the discipline Mom decided on. First, I was to get a spanking each evening I was suspended from school. And with the wooden paddle each time as well. Secondly, even though I was getting to stay home from school for three days, I was given a lengthy series of chores to complete each day while Mom was off at work. It was enough to do that I barely had a moment of rest for myself today. The final punishment was the worst. I was grounded from hanging out with my friends after school for the next month. That would delay the get-together that Samantha and Desi wanted to plan, though. Perhaps that was a good thing. It wouldn’t be right not to include Lisa now that she’d become more involved in our friend group, but it would also allow for there to be some time for the noise about her incontinence to settle down. The only punishment I had been spared was that I hadn’t gotten kicked off of the Fortnite team. I had somehow managed to convince Mom that she shouldn’t ground me from that, given that it was the only after school activity I was involved with now that I was no longer doing cheerleading. My bottom was stinging in a way that was likely to continue to hurt for the remainder of the evening when Mom finally wrapped up the spanking, taking the pacifier from my mouth without giving any further comment on my punishment. With the conclusion of this Wednesday evening spanking, that meant two down and two more to go. Being suspended from school didn’t mean that I got a free pass from doing homework. The evening after the fight with Claire, the principal had sent an email to Mom with all my homework assignments for the week following his talk with her. I had a short paper to write, a bunch of reading to do, and several math worksheets with complex equations to fill out. There was one benefit to having the house to myself for the day. Since I wasn’t going to risk an accident in one of my pull-ups – how I hated the fact that I had begun to think of them as mine – and taking any additional pull-ups from Emilia was a no-go since she still hadn’t had a single accident since Sunday, I could get away with wearing panties while Mom was gone at work and Emilia was at daycare. Since doing my own laundry was one of my responsibilities, I didn’t have to worry about Mom coming across a pair of underwear that I had wet. Yes, despite all my precautions, I had still had one accident shortly after lunch. While I was home by myself, I hadn’t bothered to put on any jeans or sweatpants, partly because I didn’t want to have additional clothing that would need to be watching if I had an accident and partly so that I would have even quicker access to the toilet. With the spanking over, I retreated back to my bedroom, hoping to get a couple of Fortnite games in, but leery of sitting down on either my swivel chair or my bed so soon after the spanking. I hadn’t been able to make contact with Lisa yesterday, but that was because I hadn’t dared get online on Fortnite in the immediate aftermath of Mom’s wrath. With all the homework I needed to get done today finished, I logged in once more to Fortnite. Mom thankfully still allowed me to keep playing since I was on the team. I certainly would have been banned from playing video games otherwise. To my pleasant surprise, I received a pop-up notification that Lisa’s character was online as well, but was in a match at the moment. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I paused before beginning to type a message to her. I didn’t want to rush as I had a few minutes before she would be able to respond to the message anyway. I opted for something shorter to get her attention rather than attempting a whole essay. and typed out the first message while standing and leaning down over the keyboard. I paced back and forth across my bedroom. It only took me a couple of steps to walk diagonally between the corners, but it gave me something to do while I anxiously waited for a reply and helped keep my mind off of the gradually receding pain on my butt. A few minutes later, a sharp ping from the computer alerted me to Lisa’s response. I tried to sit down at first, but it was still too uncomfortable, so I resorted to hunching over the desk instead. Lisa: I’m doing better Me: That’s good. I’m so sorry about what happened. Were you back at school today? Lisa: Yeah. No one said anything about it. But I could tell from the looks. I had a bunch of accidents cause I couldn’t bring myself to get up to go to the bathroom during class Me: That’s awful Lisa: I might just wear diapers to school for the next couple of weeks and not bother with it for a bit Me: Did you see Samantha and Desi? Lisa: They came over to my table during lunch, but it was a little weird Me: what was weird? Lisa: Samantha was asking me a bunch of questions about my incontinence Me: like what? Lisa: Just basic stuff, like how often I have accidents, what it feels like and stuff like that Me: I guess it’s better than her being rude about it Lisa: yeah. It was just awkward. It was easier talking to you about it Me: You didn’t tell them anything about me, right? Lisa: Of course not. But... Me: But what? Lisa: You should tell them. They aren’t going to make fun of you That was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d given Lisa the impression that I’d been dealing with bladder problems my entire life. I didn’t think that the explanation would fly with Samantha and Desi. It’s not as if they haven’t seen me wearing panties before. Besides, three people knowing about my secret would only serve to exponentially increase the possibility of it leaking out. That said, it also wasn’t fair to Lisa that my friends were aware of her secret but ignorant to me having the same condition. And with Lisa as the proverbial guinea pig, it appeared that my fears about a negative reaction from Samantha were overblown. Me: I guess, but only when I have a chance to properly explain it to them Lisa: That reminds me. Samantha mentioned that I should come to the next sleepover that was being planned Me: I think that might get put off by a while. I’m grounded the next month Lisa: Really? Me: Yeah, Mom was pissed that I got myself kicked off the cheerleading team Lisa: You really didn’t have to do that with Claire Me: Of course I did. She was being a smug bitch about it yesterday Lisa: She was going to get punished anyways, you didn’t have to take matters into your own hands. Me: But the principal hadn’t done anything about her yet, she was acting like her normal bitchy self yesterday Lisa: My uncle told me that they had to wait to get all the videos so that they could make sure she was going to be punished Me: Seriously? Lisa: Yeah, he wasn’t supposed to tell me this, so don’t tell anyone else. Claire’s going to be in after school detention for the rest of the semester The conversation trailed off onto Fortnite, and we got in a pair of games before I needed to step away from the computer to allow Mom to put Emilia to bed. It wasn’t my best performance, given that I had to play standing up, but Lisa nonetheless carried us twice to victory. I used the bathroom again before going back to the living room. The cold surface of the toilet seat was like a soothing balm against my skin, so I lingered on it for a few minutes after I’d convinced a tiny stream of urine to exit my bladder. As far as Mom was concerned, my last actual daytime accident had happened on Saturday. Given the freedom I was experiencing while she was away, I was confident I could hide any further accidents from her through the upcoming Saturday. The problem was that Emilia hadn’t had a single daytime accident since the experiment with the laxatives, not even a close call to send her scrambling toward the toilet. Her progress was actually genuine. A toddler isn’t capable of hiding something like that. But I only had four of Emilia’s pull-ups left tucked away in my backpack. I couldn’t dare take any of the couple dozen that remained in Emilia’s dresser since that would almost surely be noticed now that my sister was only using one a day. And Emilia’s nighttime accidents had come to a halt as well, not that this would have helped much as she was still kept in diapers at night. I turned off the TV, putting an end to the gibberish from the game show Mom had been watching, and gave myself a few moments of silence on the couch while I played a puzzle game on my phone. The faux leather couch was much gentler on my sore bottom than my computer chair. Still totally worth it.

You guys have good timing. There'll be a new chapter tomorrow. Eventually. Writing tends to come about in spurts. I do actually want it to finish at some point. I promise this isn't some never ending soap opera. Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner.

Note to self: Reply to posts sooner so you aren't doing 18 at once. To everyone else: Thanks for all the comments. I'm glad you are enjoying the story! ? Good catch about Sarah being in panties at the moment. That's always risky for her. As for Claire's reaction, bully's don't like being bullied ?‍♂️ Yeah, we'll have to see if Sarah fesses up or waits until the school decides to inform her. Either way, I think it's safe to say the reaction isn't going to be good. That would be a fair assumption. We'll have to see what her mom does. Perhaps, but like most schools, she might get caught in zero tolerance policies. If she isn't worried, maybe she should be. And we'll get an update about Lisa in the next chapter. Yeah, it was definitely a rash decision by Sarah, which she acknowledged by not sharing the plan with her friends. Hmm. I guess that part was worded a bit ambiguously. I intended at least for it to refer to the stall trash when I wrote that. Absolutely ? Thanks, and yeah, the issue with the pull-ups will be coming up soon as well. We'll get an update on Emilia's potty training in the next chapter too. I think one benefit for Lisa is she already has a fairly small friend group who are more receptive to her disability. That she isn't a well-known/popular student will probably help things blow away easier too. Yeah, teens can be mean. But they can be pretty self-focused. I think there's a chance Lisa won't be as big of a target after this. And yeah, there were plenty of rational ways for Sarah's incontinence to have been treated, but I think she is past the point of no return on that. Hm.. that would be a lot easier to hide since she won't be doing cheerleading anymore. We'll have to see if this is the last we see of Claire. I haven't delved really into class size, but a 2-3k student student body would be about right. I just kind of picture it as your standard, average suburban high school. Sorry, but I promise there are some other fun things to look forward to. Yeah, you could argue that for the moment, Claire got the worst end of the deal after that fight. I don't have any current plans for any additional chapters from Lisa's perspective. That said, I've considered it, and wouldn't completely rule out doing so at some point if there was a point in the story where it made sense. Given how much time was spent on her backstory, it shouldn't be much of spoiler to say that she's going to have a role in things to come down the road. Yep, there's a lot that is going to need to be resolved. The good news is that most of the setup is complete so we've got a lot of action-packed chapters remaining.