MinnesotaWriter

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.

Chapter 34: Retribution I had a difficult time paying attention to the remainder of Mr. Higgin’s lecture about the Cold War. My thoughts ran off to a new fantasy of how I might exact revenge on Claire for what she had done to Lisa. I had become so engrossed in that daydream that I completely missed the end of the class period. Even the bell ringing out in the hallway hadn’t been enough to catch my attention as I stared blankly at a notebook that I’d hardly written anything in during the last forty-five minutes. “Sarah, earth to Sara, come in,” Desi said. I jerked upright as she snapped her fingers in front of my face. Had I been out of it that badly? My first concern was for my pull-up. Had I been out of touch with reality so much so that I had had an accident? Dry, without any sensation of warmth or wetness down there that would have indicated that I had wet myself while I was distracted. Still, I did feel the urge to get up and go to the bathroom. I could barely make it to the end of a class without feeling the need to go. “You were really out of it,” Desi said. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t the last person out of the classroom.” “I’m fine. I was just distracted,” I replied, while blinking and rubbing my eyes, unsure of what excuse to use for my daydreaming. I didn’t want to tell Desi and Samantha what I was planning to do about Claire. They would probably try to talk me out of it. And I worried that my initial bravado would fade if they forced me to verbalize exactly what it was that I was intending to do. Samantha and Desi both ran off to catch the bus, leaving me in the back of the classroom by myself. I was a bit envious of them getting to have their school day end earlier than mine. Normally, I would run out to the hallway to make one of my many obligatory trips to the toilet that my bladder was telling me I needed to do, but with Lisa’s absence, I wanted to get a chance to ask her uncle how she had been coping. By the time I had gathered up my things from my desk, a line of students had already formed in front of Mr. Higgin’s desk. I groaned. Normally, everyone would be rushing to leave school rather than bothering a teacher after the final period ended. I stood in the back of the classroom by myself for a bit, glancing at the clock on the wall. I didn’t have that much time before I needed to be at cheerleading practice, especially since I would need to go to the bathroom to change into my workout clothes. I could wait, but if anyone got in line behind me, or just hovered around near Mr. Higgin’s desk, I wouldn’t have the privacy to talk about Lisa with him. I didn’t bother getting in line yet. That would only make things more awkward if I ended up having to rush off to cheerleading practice without getting a chance to talk with Mr. Higgins. From the back of the room, I wasn’t able to make out the conversation that was taking place as I was fiddling with my phone, but I could hear laughter from a joke that must have been told. The casual conversation was moving at a glacial pace. With no signs of progress, and a couple more students lined up still to talk with him, I realized I would have to settle for trying to catch Lisa online on Fortnite later tonight. ----- I was much less nervous stepping into the locker today than I had been yesterday in the immediate aftermath of Claire having outed Lisa’s incontinence. Whatever crude or demeaning comments Claire had come up with for today wouldn’t matter. I’m sure I’d get looks from her friends as well as soon as I pulled open the door, but with my plan already set firmly in my mind, the weight of their judgement came out to nothing at all. I had wished that Coach Addison had moved our lockers apart after our previous scuffle, but she instead left us to having lockers that were side-by-side, as if to test us to see how much self-control and restraint we were capable of under the threat of being kicked off of the team. That had been a big annoyance the previous month, but today it would be exactly what I needed. Having changed into my workout outfit already in the bathroom, all I needed to do once I got to my locker was to shove my backpack inside and carefully spin the lock on the door. I gave it a decent tug to make sure it remained shut. Claire had failed in her previous attempt to expose my pull-ups, but I didn’t doubt for a second that she would try to do so again if she came across a way to do so without getting in trouble with the coach. I never initiated any of the conversations with Claire. I was completely and fully content to ignore her. If she had been willing to do the same, we could have avoided the mess we were about to get into. My mind wandered back to Mr. Higgin’s lesson about the Cold War. The threat of expulsion from the cheerleading squad had brought about a level of peace between me and Claire. With Coach Addison stating that misbehavior from either of us would result in both of us losing our spots on the team, we had both toned down our behavior toward each other. The problem was that Claire simply couldn’t let things be. Maybe Claire thought that I wouldn’t retaliate, that I valued my spot on the cheerleading team more than I valued my friends. “Aww, are you missing your baby friend?” Claire asked with a quiet snicker, sticking her thumb in her mouth to mock me. “I wouldn’t stick that in your mouth. Who knows where it had been?” I replied, not bothering to keep my voice quiet, like I would have on previous days when we got into locker room spats. The content of my snappy retort didn’t get Claire to shut up, but the fact that I said it with a raised voice did. Her eyes widened. She took an immediate glance in every direction, looking for a sign of Coach Addison before turning back to glare at me once she determined that the coach was out of sight and likely out of earshot as well. “Will you just shush it? Claire said, her voice lowered to a nearly inaudible whisper that had notes of panic in it. You’re going to get us in trouble.” That was so rich coming from her. I opened my mouth but thought better of it. No need to immediately press the issue right now. I’d clearly gotten on Claire’s nerves. I was content to let her worry about my apparent carelessness for the remainder of the practice. ----- I discarded one of my sister’s Minnie Mouse pull-ups in a bathroom stall in the locker-room prior to taking a shower after the practice had ended. We spent the majority of the practice going over a couple of new cheers and their accompanying moves that seniors on the squad had put together. Freshman didn’t get any input into those kinds of things. I’d kept the pull-up dry, but I still needed to discard discreetly in the bathroom garbage could. I didn’t have any way of concealing it when I undressed in the communal showers. I showered as fast I as I could manage, attempting to finish ahead of the rest of my teammates. I always hated the brief minutes after I showered. This was one of those few times in the day where I was stuck wearing panties, leaving myself vulnerable to the ever more precarious whims of my bladder. Granted, I had just urinated in the toilet prior to taking a shower, and I shouldn’t have that much liquid in me after a full, sweaty workout. On the other hand, it did give me the advantage of having the other girls, Claire included, see me getting dressed in panties, providing some plausible deniability should I ever be accused of wearing pull-ups, since I wouldn’t be able to change back into pull-ups until I was able to slip into another restroom out in the hallway. I hadn’t had much time to come up with my plan for how I was going to get revenge on Claire. Certainly not enough time to think through all the ways it could go wrong. Had I had a whole day to think on it, I probably would have chickened out by now. I was the first person on the cheerleading team to return to this row of lockers. I tested my locker. Still secured shut like I had left it. Back in the history class, I had realized that I needed to do something that would really get under Claire’s skin. Make her angry enough at me that she would lash out even at the risk of Coach Addison getting involved. Claire was stupid enough that she would edge right up to the line, maybe stick a toe over it, but she wasn’t dumb enough to jump right over without someone giving her a bit of encouragement. I jiggled the handle to Claire’s locker. That was plan A. I didn’t expect her to leave it unlocked – and I had a perfectly acceptable backup plan – but the door to the locker pulled loose. I took a glance up and down the aisle. No one was back. No one had caught me in the act. But I didn’t have long. I recalled one of Mr. Higgin’s favorite sayings: History doesn’t repeat, but it does rhyme. I pulled Claire’s hefty backpack out of her locker and set it upright on the bench. After fully unzipping both of the big pouches, I flipped it upside down and let it all clamor out onto the floor. I knew better than to hope that something as salacious as one of Lisa’s pull-ups would appear. Something embarrassing would have been a bonus, but that was beside the point. Violating her privacy and dumping everything on the floor would hopefully be enough to set her off. I didn’t have to wait long. One of Claire’s friends had peeked her head around the corner to see what the commotion was about, and then went scurrying over to the showers. I put the remainder of my things in my locker and made certain that it was locked shut. I didn’t want to give Claire the opportunity for that sort of retribution if the thought crossed her mind. The wait for Claire to appear was agonizingly long. I hoped her friends had caught her with her hair all suds up, so that she had time to stew over this outrage while she hurried to get rinsed off and dressed. I wasn’t facing her direction when Claire rounded the corner. “What the hell, Sarah?” Claire said in a near yell, as she struggled to contain her anger. I gave my shoulders a slight shrug as Claire started to walk toward me, kicking one of her books underneath the bench so I wouldn’t trip over it. “What did you do to my stuff?” I looked down at the scattered mess of textbooks, notebooks, pens, pencils, and an assortment of other school supplies. “Have you ever heard of spontaneous combustion?” I knew my mouth could get the better of me, and most of the time I fought the urge to say anything aggravatingly snarky. But I couldn’t help it now, and I wasn’t interested in holding it back. I took one step back, away from Claire. I wasn’t going to run. I wasn’t sure yet that she would follow me if I did. But I needed her to get to the end of the row of lockers, a spot where we would be in full view from Coach Addison’s office. Claire followed after me, and I let her think that she was forcing me to retreat back toward the wall. A few more steps later and I was able to glance to my right and see the coach’s office. While there were a bunch of posters obscuring most of the glass window into the tiny office, I could make out enough movement to know for certain that she was there and, if she were to peak out through the glass, would be able to get a full view of what was going on in the locker-room. I could use that to my advantage. I came to a stop after I had backed up far enough that another couple of steps would have my back literally against the wall. Would Claire take the bait? The shove I received next from Claire was exactly the provocation that I had been waiting for. All I had to do was hit her back harder, and we’d be fighting until Coach Addison broke it up. Claire recoiled instinctively as I raised my right hand as if to slap her across the face, like I had done previously in the lunchroom. Instead of hitting Claire, I swung my hand in front of her face and then struck her with the back of my hand. I felt my nails scrape across the skin of her cheek, leaving a series of thin parallel red lines across her face. If Claire was smart, she would have stopped the fight right now. I didn’t have a single mark on me. There wasn’t any way her soft shove would have even left the faintest trace of a bruise. If she had run to Coach Addison now with all the physical evidence pointing to a one-sided assault by me, perhaps she would have received some leniency. But she wasn’t smart. She was pissed. Claire held a hand to her face for a moment, before withdrawing it with widened eyes. “You bitch,” she screeched, stepping toward me quickly. I raised my hands in a weak attempt to deflect any efforts by her to mark my face in a similar fashion, but Claire grabbed me by both of my shoulders and shoved me hard against the wall. A shot of pain went through my shoulder. That was going to hurt for a while. Claire’s yell had attracted the attention of most of our teammates, some of whom had hustled out of the showers with towels hastily wrapped around themselves. No one stepped in to intervene. They didn’t want to risk the coach’s wrath for getting involved in a fight, but I couldn’t see Coach Addison yet. Claire struck me in the cheek, but not with an open hand. She had done it with a clenched fist. I felt some tears roll down my face involuntarily. That hurt way more than my shoulder. How the hell had this been a good idea? I tried to shove Claire backwards, to give myself to myself a little bit of wiggle room to avoid her next strike, but I only managed to take a single step back. Claire tried to hit me again, though this time I was able to block it with my arm. Where in the world was Coach Addison? Claire gave up trying to punch me and resorted to slapping at my head with both of her hands. These blows really didn’t hurt, but I was too focused with guarding my face that I wasn’t able to hit her back. I let out a gasp as Claire grabbed my hair and yanked me to the side. I tried to shake my head free from her grasp, but that only strained my neck. I stretched out my hands and managed to grasp a section of Claire’s hair as well. We tugged and pulled for a couple of seconds before slipping and tumbling onto the tile floor. At first, I was on top of Claire and then she was on top of me. Neither of us relinquished our hold on the other’s hair. My scalped ached so badly. I used my free hand to swat ineffectually at Claire as neither of us was able to stand up. “What the eff” Coach Addison yelled, coming closer to uttering a curse word than I’d ever seen a teacher or coach do. I let go of Claire’s hair immediately. My instinct to obey authority overriding my plan to get Claire in trouble. I heard the sound of my teammates’ footsteps as the rest of the cheerleading squad scrambled back to their lockers. They would come back and peek around the corners, but they didn’t want any part of the initial fallout. “Get up,” the coach yelled. “Get up.” Coach Addison grabbed my arm and yanked me upright before proceeding to do the same for Claire. “Both of you. In my office. Now.” I gave my best effort at contorting my face into a look of apprehension and fear. I was giddy at how well this had worked and relieved that the fight was finally over. Claire snuck in a slight shove of her shoulder into mine as we trailed behind Coach Addison into her office. It didn’t bother me one bit. There was barely enough room for all of us to stand inside her tiny office. I guess cheerleading doesn’t rank as far up in the hierarchy as other sports. “I had warned both you of,” the coach said, raising her hand with a finger that pointed alternatively at me and then Claire. I was certain my face must be bruised from where Claire had struck me. And Claire’s cheek had smudgy streaks of blood from where I had scraped her. “I don’t let many freshmen onto the team. It’s rare to have two at the same time.” Coach Addison lowered her finger and shook her head. “I’m not dealing with this all season. Both of you are off the team. And don’t think for a second that I’m going to give you a chance to get back on it.” I presented my best shocked face as Claire stood gasping next to me. “You couldn’t,” Claire said, her words blubbering. “It’s Sarah’s fault. She started it.” “It takes two to fight. And I said no fighting.” I started to step out of the office. Best to grab my things and get out of here. “We’re not done here, Sarah,” coach said. Claire glowered at me as I took a step back into the office. “You are both going to grab your things from your lockers and come with me to the principal’s office.” We gathered our stuff from the lockers in silence as Coach Addison watched. The locker room had gotten unsettlingly empty during our brief foray to the coach’s office. Claire had been reduced to tears. Banned from the team as a freshman? Cheerleading had been fun for me and a good way to get Mom off my back about the need to do after school activities, but I wasn’t super passionate about it beyond that. This was something Claire tied her identity to. I’m sure she had pictured herself hand-in-hand with one of the football team captains at her senior prom. That wasn’t going to happen now. I had held off smiling for as long as I could. Now, as I walked down the hallway to the principal’s office, with Coach Addison behind me and Claire ahead of me, I allowed a sliver of a smile to inch across my face. Totally worth it.

Yeah, Emilia getting fully potty-trained would throw a wrench in Sarah's plans. ? You're welcome! Yeah, I haven't been that nice to her. That said, having several friends that might stick up for her could help her as well. We shall see. Sarah clearly thinks she has a good idea of how to handle the problem. Thanks! Yeah, the fallout (if you can pardon the terribly terrible bad pun there) from the next chapter will be interesting. Yep, the story will be moving quickly the next couple of chapters. And like you mentioned, there could be some downsides to whatever Sarah is attempting to do. Thanks, and yes, we'll be getting answers in the next couple of chapters. Sarah has sabotaged her sister before, so that wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, but figuring out how to manage her dwindling supply of secret pull-ups is going to be her biggest challenge.

Chapter 33: M.A.D. “You knew,” Samantha said, looking pointedly at me from across the aisle as I took a seat next to Desi on the bus. “I what?” I knew exactly what Samantha was suggesting that I knew. I just didn’t need her to know that. And I certainly didn’t care to acknowledge it. The whole school must know about Lisa wearing pull-ups by now. The hallway had been crowded with onlookers yesterday afternoon when Claire had dumped the contents of Lisa’s backpack onto the hallway floor to discover one of Lisa’s extra pull-ups. Everyone watching the incident undoubtedly would have shared the gossip with their friends, who would then share it further. And that’s how a rumor – or in this case an actual salacious fact – spreads throughout a high school in less than a single day. This wasn’t close to the most scandalous thing that a student had done this school year. It’s a high school; shit happens. But it might take top prize for the strangest or weirdest. And that meant basically everyone already knew about it. And, if they didn’t know about it, they would know about it by the end of the day. My anxiousness over the upcoming school day eclipsed by far anything I had felt yesterday. A class presentation seemed like amateur hour compared to this. Samantha leaned in toward me, keeping her voice down. I hoped no one on the bus was paying close attention to our conversation. I’m sure some must have noticed how I had been hanging out with Lisa more frequently. The conclusions they might arrive at should they attempt to connect the dots would probably not be generous to me. “You knew that Lisa wears diapers.” “Pull-ups,” I said, correcting her before realizing that in doing so, I had essentially supplied an affirmative answer to her question. “That’s what she had on. Not a diaper.” “Pull-ups, diapers, whatever,” Samantha said. “My point was that you knew she was wearing them.” To someone who is incontinent, the distinguishment between those two particular garments is important, as Lisa had made clear to me on Saturday and as I knew full well from my own experience. To anyone not in that world, I suppose it doesn’t make any lick of a difference. “Yeah, so? I didn’t think Lisa would say anything about my pull-ups, but when each of us had been keeping the other’s secret, I had felt safer knowing that she wouldn’t reveal my secret as I could in turn reveal hers, and vice versa. As soon as I had arrived home from cheerleading practice, I had constantly been turning on Fortnite on my computer. Not to play. I only went to the game’s lobby and checked my friends list to see if Lisa was online too. I had even dared to turn on my computer after Emilia had begun snoring lightly after being put to bed. But each time, Lisa’s account status had indicated it had been away since Sunday, and she hadn’t replied to the numerous messages I had sent her way. “How long have you known?” I would have felt guilty gossiping about Lisa under any circumstances, but in this case, given that I was recently afflicted with the same bladder problems as her, any discussion about Lisa was going to be awkward to manage without also giving myself away. I wanted to escape Samantha’s badgering questions in a way that didn’t implicate the pull-up under my jeans that suddenly felt much more conspicuous. A lie is better with a little bit of truth mixed in between. “I was at her house on Saturday. We were prepping for the presentation. I accidentally found out, and she made me promise not to say anything about it.” “Like, does she actually use them?” What is it with people asking if someone uses a diaper or pull-up? And why in the world would you wear one in the first place if there wasn’t a need to use it? “No, she just wears them for the fun of it,” I said, snapping back in annoyance at Samantha’s question. That remark produced a reaction I hadn’t expected from Samantha. She looked extremely taken aback by my sarcasm. Her face flush red with embarrassment. Good. She should feel that way for digging into a situation that was none of her business. “There’s a video,” Desi said, joining in the conversation at last. “It. Um. The diaper, sorry, pull-up, looks like it has been used.” “Wait, someone posted a video of Lisa online?” “It wasn’t up for that long. It got taken down pretty quickly.” Well, that gave Samantha an answer to her question, at least. I wondered how many students at the school had gotten a chance to see the video before it was taken down. I hoped that it wasn’t too many. “Anyway,” I said, desperate for something, anything, to help me steer the conversation in a different direction. “We could agree that Claire is a bitch.” “Of course,” said Samantha and Desi in unison. Claire had tormented me relentlessly during yesterday’s cheerleading practice. The fact that I had been hanging out with Lisa more and more hadn’t escaped her attention. Claire hadn’t gone so far as to imply that I also wore pull-ups, but she intended to make it clear that my close association with someone who did was to be a mark of shame for me as well. This was all my fault. Claire couldn’t get back at me because of Coach Addison’s edict that any further conflict between us would result in us both being removed from the team. The fight that had occurred in the locker room when Claire had attempted and failed to expose my own pull-up wearing had resulted in an uneasy truce between the two of us. We had words for each other now and then, but only when Coach Addison was out of earshot, and neither of us had been reckless enough to let it evolve into anything greater than that. That left Lisa, who Claire probably wouldn’t have given two shits about, except for the fact that it had been Lisa who I had been protecting from Claire’s bullying when I had struck that bitch in the face in the cafeteria during lunch period. Claire wasn’t allowed to get back at me, so she had struck out at Lisa instead. “So, Lisa is incontinent then?” Samantha asked, bringing the topic right back to Lisa again. I paused at the question. That wasn’t even a word that I had known prior to my wetting accidents beginning. I wasn’t sure how it had ended up in Samantha’s vocabulary, but I wasn’t going to risk revealing that I was aware of what that word meant. “Incontinent? What does that mean?” “You know. Like not being able to control your bladder.” There wasn’t any answer to that, other than to state the obvious. “I guess so.” “I thought that was only an old people thing,” Desi said. “Or, you know, if you pop out a bunch of babies.” “Ewe,” I said. That was a mental image I didn’t want to have this morning. The conversation took a brief pause. I guess Samantha had finally run out of questions about Lisa. And neither myself nor Desi wanted to continue with the current topic of conversation. “So, anyway,” Samantha said, as I breathed a quiet sigh of relief that she appeared to be taking the conversion in a different direction at last. “We need to have another sleepover.” “Absolutely!” Desi said, chiming in before I could attempt to pour some cold water on that proposition. A little over a month ago, my answer would have mirrored Desi’s. With the return of my bedwetting, as much as I wanted to hang out with my friends, there wasn’t any way I was going to risk falling asleep at Samantha’s house. But I realized also that the bedwetting wasn’t my only source of hesitation about a sleepover. I thought back to the game of Truth or Dare that we had played. It had started as your standard sleepover affair, before spiraling out of control to the point that Samantha ended up successfully daring Desi to urinate in one of her brother’s pull-ups. That was a level of awkwardness I didn’t care to repeat. “For sure, I’ll have to ask Mom,” I said. “She wasn’t too thrilled about the last one, so I’m not sure she’ll say yes.” There was absolutely no way at all that I was going to pose that question to Mom. She hadn’t let me attend sleepovers in my previous bedwetting phase and I couldn’t imagine that her response would be any different now. “Well, if we can’t do a sleepover, we could at least hang out for a day on a weekend,” Desi offered. It wasn’t until after we had gotten off the bus that I realized we had overlooked an important question about our next get together. Would Lisa be invited? --- Lisa did not join us for lunch that day. I thoroughly scoured the cafeteria, thinking she perhaps had been too ashamed to come sit with us and had instead tucked herself away in some obscure corner of the room. She was nowhere to be found. I had made a point to stop by her locker several times as well, but again didn’t find any sign of her. I expected that she had likely skipped school today, though how she managed to do get away with that with an uncle as a teacher was surprising. Maybe Mr. Higgins had agreed to say that it would be OK. No one I had talked to so far in the school day had made direct mention of Lisa’s pull-ups, but I had caught mention of the topic in snippets of conversation from quite of few of my peers as we had made our way through the hallways between classes. To be fair, a few of the comments were kinder, with suggestions that it had been wrong of Claire and her friends to bully Lisa, and that it wasn’t right to make fun of someone with a medical condition like that. But most of the comments, well, they weren’t worth repeating. I was glad Lisa wasn’t around to hear it. I just really hoped that some other student would do something noteworthily stupid enough to get everyone’s attention onto something else soon. I understood, perhaps better than anyone else at the high school, the amount of shame she was feeling and how that was going to drive her hesitancy to new extremes. Shame is the acknowledgement of our failure to conform to expectations placed on us by society. We feel shame, not in the act itself, but in our knowledge of how our peers would react should they be made aware of what we had done. But shame is a double-edged sword. I was more keenly aware of the side of it that Lisa and I felt. From the moment a child could walk and talk, society ingrains upon them the expectation that they perform certain bodily functions on the toilet and only on the toilet. You couldn’t be a big kid unless you do this. And the inverse, if you are still peeing and pooping in your pants, you must be a baby. So we hide our incontinence. We rush off to the toilet as often as we could get away with it. We wear pull-ups or diapers for the times we can’t. We select our outfits in a manner that hopefully will conceal our deceit, the reality that we aren’t really normal at all. But there is another side to it. The side of Claire and her friends, who tormented Lisa mercilessly after discovering she was wearing a pull-up. The side of the onlookers in the crowd, who laughed, took videos, or maybe just stood quietly without thinking about intervening. But’s it’s also the side of Samantha. How she teased her brother for his bedwetting pull-ups. How she brought that humiliation onto him by tricking his body into wetting itself at night. You see, to someone who is normal, their first instinct when they react to something that isn’t normal is to differentiate themselves from it, as if shame is somehow contagious, and they might get infected if they associate themselves too much with it. Shame is nothing without knowledge. You couldn’t feel bad about violating society’s rules if you aren’t aware of them. Did Adam and Eve shit and piss themselves everywhere they went in the Garden of Eden? They were naked and unashamed. Without shame, that great motivator to action, would they not simply have done their business when and wherever they pleased? When a young toddler relieves themselves into a diaper, they don’t feel any shame or embarrassment. They are yet to be burdened with expectations of how they ought to behave. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, at some point, the curse of knowledge is given to us. And, with the full awareness of our bodily functions and society’s expectations for them, comes the shame when those expectations aren’t met. That reminded me. Emilia had been dry again last night. And I had woken up soaked. My bedwetting had been more bearable when it had been happening to my sister as well. I didn’t fear getting any inquisitive looks for her or judgement glances from Mom, but the act of waking up in a wet diaper becomes that much more shameful when you have to contrast it with a much younger sibling who has managed to remain dry. I hoped the trend wouldn’t continue. At this point, as much as I wanted my own bedwetting to also stop, I’d settle for Emilia joining me and becoming a bedwetter once more. --- “Who could tell me what M.A.D. is,” Mr. Higgins said, as he spelled out the word in three red capital letters on the whiteboard. Like all students, we had settled into a routine of where we sat in each class. This wasn’t elementary school, where a teacher laid out the room in a carefully organized seating chart, designed to keep troublemakers apart. We’d long since been in the habit of taking the same seat each time during history class, so Lisa’s absence was easily noted when the class began with her seat in the back row still empty. She was never late to her uncle’s class. Mr. Higgins had made no mention of his niece’s absence. He never did roll call at the start. I assumed he knew all his students by face – or by seat – and marked our attendance that way. No one initially raised a hand to Mr. Higgin’s question. It didn’t help much that it was at the end of the school day, and I’m sure most student’s minds were wandering to topics of anything but school. “Is this about the magazine?” said a student in the front row — a bit of a smart aleck — who Mr. Higgins had called on after he raised his hand. “No, but the magazine began in the same era as this,” the teacher answered, tapping the back of his marker right below the word on the whiteboard. “It stands for Mutually Assured Destruction. Pretty scary right? The idea is fairly simple. Us and the USSR were in the middle of a cold war. Can anyone tell me what that meant?” The smart-ass in the front row raised his hand again. Mr. Higgins ignored him. After a few seconds passed with no other takers, Mr. Higgins continued his lecture, leaving the student to awkwardly lower his hand. “That doesn’t mean we were ignoring each other; we just didn’t engage in any direct confrontation. We didn’t fight a World War III against communism. There was a bunch of spying and trying to catch spies. Some proxy wars. And a big arms race to see who could have the largest military and the biggest bombs, but nothing that escalated to the point where we declared war on each other.” That sounded an awful lot like how Claire and I had spent the past couple of weeks. “That’s where nuclear missiles come in. The power to completely wipe a country off of the face of the planet. You’re too young to remember this, but when I was your age in school, we had to do our normal fire drills, but along with that, we had a drill during which we would hide under our desk, practicing what we might do if a nuclear war were to begin.” That brought a bit of nervous laughter. How would hiding under a desk do any good? “I know, right, a wooden desk isn’t going to do much good if a nuke was dropped next door. But still, that’s what they had us do. But as powerful as nuclear bombs are, they have a major downside. There’s no going back once they get used. If the Soviet Union had nuked us, we’d nuke them back. And then tit for tat until there wasn’t anything left of us, and maybe the rest of the world as well. That’s where the idea of Mutually Assured Destruction comes in, since both sides knew any direct military confrontation would almost certainly lead to an escalating series of nuclear strikes that would only end with both nations destroyed, it was clear that we were better off leaving each other alone.” That gave me an idea about what to do with Claire.

It makes sense that ABDL diapers are becoming more prevalent in situations where a TV show or movie needs to represent someone in an adult diaper. With the amount of ABDL diapers that you can buy on Amazon (Rearz included) someone doing an even half-way thorough search for adult diapers just on that site is likely to come across them. So someone with a totally vanilla-level knowledge of the kink world could stumble across something like that. That said, I would not be the surprised in the least if many Hollywood writers are rather kink aware (not saying they are closet ABDLs, just that they probably have knowledge that this exists) and would see an ABDL diaper as a more interesting option than the granny-pantie style white adult pull-ups.

I do try to respond to most comments. But probably shouldn't have waited until there were 15 of them to do it all at once, oops.. You're welcome! We'll have to see how that plays out. Yeah, Claire certainly has been nothing but trouble. Yeah, I haven't been particularly nice to Lisa lately. That would be important. An important, but underrated factor. Claire might not even have known that, too. Sarah didn't find out the connection until Mr. Higgins told her. That is rather sad. That said, it is interesting to see all the recollections of how bullying was handled in their times. That would be one theory. That would be another theory. Well, probably best that an altercation didn't break out right there between Sarah and Claire, especially since a bunch of students were catching it on video. Kindergarten seems a little young to be getting suspensions. Feels like a time-out in the corner would be more deserving. It's just like sports games. It's not about which player punched the other ones first. It's about who the refs see doing the punching (hint: normally it is the one retaliating). Yeah, schools don't do a good job when they try to take on the role of the justice system (whether for middle school fights or more serious things). I think the most interesting dynamic going forward will be between Emilia and Sarah's potty training and how their mother handles that. People documenting the evidence of their own crimes? Now where did I see that happen most recently in the news ? We'll have to see what comes of those videos.

Chapter 32: The Gray Area I stepped off the school bus Monday morning with a bit of trepidation. I had several reasons to be nervous today. Lisa and I were to give our history class presentation this afternoon. Our practice presentation on Saturday had gone without a hitch. I wasn’t worried about myself. Public speaking isn’t fun, but I know how to suck it up and get it over with. I remained concerned about how Lisa was going to handle it. This would be the first time she had ever gotten up and spoken in front of a class before, and there were plenty of things that could go wrong. My next worry also had to do with Lisa. She knew I was wearing a pull-up, and there was no taking that back. The diaper genie was out of the bottle. I trusted that she wouldn’t intentionally reveal my secret to anyone else, but that didn’t preclude the possibility that she might accidentally reveal my bladder problems to someone. A slip of the tongue at the wrong time would spell disaster. My habit of heading into the bathroom right as we got off the bus no longer raised any questions from Samantha and Desi, who had gotten adjusted to my new routines. I exchanged the pull-up with white stars on it for one of Emilia’s Minnie Mouse pull-ups, relieved at the knowledge that any accidents today would be completely hidden from Mom. Back at home, I had grabbed a half-dozen of my sister’s pull-ups, as much as I dared to take at one time, and had placed them at the bottom of my backpack. I intended to be much more careful from now on about always having extra pull-ups to fall back on so that I could ensure I would return home with my initial pull-ups kept dry. My last worry was one that had started when I first woke up earlier this morning. My diaper was wet. Emilia’s diaper was not. I had to endure the effusive praise Mom lavished on my sister for having a single night of staying dry, only to see her look of disappointment as she checked my diaper next to find that it was soaking wet. I knew I wasn’t going to get any praise, but a few words of comfort or encouragement would have been nice. One night was way too soon to make a full assessment of whether the laxative was working, but what if it worked for Emilia and not for me? The thought of my sister getting toilet trained, being allowed to wear panties during the day with me still stuck in pull-ups was beyond horrifying. I was determined to make it through the school day without any accidents. If I could at least pull that off, then I could deal with the nighttime wetting later. Samantha and Desi were both waiting for me in the hallway as I left the restroom. Occasionally, they might feel the need to join me and empty their bladders before school began, but that wasn’t a common need for teenagers whose bladders functioned normally. The bus route had run ahead of schedule today, so we had some time to kill before our first class was to begin. “You guys going to be good for the presentation today?” I asked, remembering how they had been assigned to work with another random student since Lisa had managed to get her uncle to put her in a group with me instead. Samantha and Desi exchanged a nervous glance at each other. Not a promising sign. I wondered what exactly had transpired during their work on the presentation with Jonathan, their partner for the project. “Oh, we’re good,” Desi said. “But that isn’t the right question to ask.” “What’s the right question, then?” “You need to ask how our Jonathan was going to do,” Samantha said. “Is it that bad?” “It was that bad,” Samantha answered. “Really?” “Like, if you have the chance to grab the bathroom pass and get out during our turn, you totally should do it,” Desi said. I didn’t pester my friends any further about how bad the preparation for their presentation must have been. What’s the worst that it could be? Maybe their partner didn’t do any work, but Lisa and I had managed it all ourselves with just the two of us. --- The pull-up I had changed into prior to the start of my first class remained dry as I walked alongside Samantha and Desi toward the cafeteria. I’d gotten through my first several classes without any accidents. I hadn’t needed to rush out of the room, hall-pass in hand, on a well-memorized route to the nearest available toilet. Maybe the laxative had worked? Was this just a placebo effect? Or was it just my imagination that my toileting situation was improving? After all, I had gone through periods before where I would have been certain that this situation was on the up and up. My friends got in line to get whatever garbage was on the school menu today while I searched for somewhere for us to sit. Mom had put together a lunch for me to take to school as usual. I kept a close eye out for a spot that would be suitable for the four of us. Our lunchtime trio had expanded to four as Lisa had taken to joining us on a regular basis. It turned out that she had already staked out a four-person table near a window, and I took a seat alongside her. It’s amazing how, when you don’t know something exists, that you aren’t able to notice it at all. But, as soon as someone tells you it was there, the signs – real or imagined – begin to appear so obvious that you couldn’t believe that you missed them in the first place. Lisa was dressed modestly as usually. It wasn’t as if other girls at the high school didn’t wear dresses on occasion, but Lisa was the only person I could recall who I had never seen wearing a different outfit. She had confided in me the other day that she longed to know what it would feel like to come to school wearing short-shorts or leggings. The way she dressed had stood out to me before, though I hadn’t given much thought as to the possible reasons behind what she chose to wear. Of course, I knew now that the outfit was chosen to conceal the bulkier pull-up she chose to wear. I suppose I would have difficulty wearing jeans myself I had on that brand of pull-up myself. Lisa had a mouth-full of food right as I was about to sit down, so she just gave me a small nod instead to acknowledge my presence. We were in an emptier part of the cafeteria, and no one was seated at any of the tables closest to us. It would fill up soon, with students at nearly every seat. The lunch period had only just started and most of the students were standing in a winding line waiting to get served. It felt as though whoever designed the school and only setup the exact amount of seating in the cafeteria with no extra tables whatsoever. Desi had welcomed Lisa into our group with open arms. Samantha hadn’t said anything negative about the situation, but she still mostly avoided directly engaging in conversation with Lisa, not that this was a difficult task as Lisa became much less talkative in situations where it wasn’t a one-on-one conversation. In all our years together, no one else had ever broken through into our friend group. It wasn’t as if we didn’t have friends outside of each other, but when we did things as a group, it had always ever just been the three of us. Lisa always dressed so modestly that there was no way anyone would discern that she had a pull-up on unless they knew about it beforehand. Yet I could have sworn I had heard the faintest of rustling coming from the pull-up as Lisa shifted slightly in her chair. I hoped it was only my imagination. The idea that my – and her – pull-ups were more noticeable that I had previously thought was discomforting. We were alone enough that we could have talked briefly about what had transpired between us over the weekend. The echoes of a hundred different conversations taking place in the cafeteria would conceal our whispers. I had more questions. I wondered about the Kegel exercises. And I almost wanted to tell her about the laxatives. Lisa hadn’t mentioned that as something she had tried before, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to raise the subject. Not because I thought someone else would overhear it, but because of the other questions that were bound to come up. I didn’t want to talk about Mom’s rules. About spending a day in the diaper. About Emilia’s potty-training struggles. About the sippy-cup I had been forced to drink orange juice out of for breakfast. The worry that permeated my thoughts was difficult to name. It wasn’t shame or fear of being judged. Lisa had grown up only knowing black and white: the unrelenting cruelty of her parents contrasted with the unwavering acceptance of her aunt and uncle. Mom wasn’t either of those. The implication was not that Mom doesn’t love me, but it was a love that more often drove her to correct, not comfort. In knowing what Lisa’s ultimate reaction had been to her own mother, I hesitated to describe how Mom chose to discipline me and my sister. I wasn’t afraid of Lisa or afraid that she might take it upon herself to do anything. I worried that she lacked the context to understand what I was going through, and that this lack of understanding might push us apart. I was unhappy with Mom, but I loved her. I at times despised the rules I had to follow but begrudgingly acknowledged their necessity. So those things went unsaid between us. I wondered if the topic was on Lisa’s mind as well. In a matter of minutes, the seats around us began to fill up, leaving our ensuing conversation to topics safe for general consumption. --- The worse part of class presentation days was having to listen to other students as they got up to the front of the room to speak. They almost always seemed to fall into one of two categories. Some presentations were better than yours. The PowerPoint designs more detailed and polished. Those presentations made you wish you had put more work into your project. Made you embarrassed at the thought of pulling up your own slides and how simple they would look in comparison. Then there was the other category. This one didn’t have as many students in it, but it provided a necessary component of relief for everyone else involved. These were, of course, the students who weren’t doing nearly as good a job as you were. Maybe they hadn’t done any prep other than a few hasty hours the night before. Maybe they simply had a fear of public speaking and stammered through everything they had to say. Either way, they served a valuable purpose of easing the tension in the room. At least your presentation wasn’t going to be remembered as being the worst one. When Mr. Higgins called our names about half-way through the period, I stood up from my desk first and let Lisa follow me to the front of the classroom. I plugged a USB flash drive containing the presentation into Mr. Higgs laptop and loaded the first of the PowerPoint slides to be displayed by the projector. We had split the five-minute presentation into five one-minute chunks of time, with each of us alternative back and forth between those segments. I had offered to take the first, middle, and ending parts, so that Lisa could be more comfortable as we went back and forth through the presentation. The students whose presentations had proceeded ours looked bored. Everyone who hadn’t gone yet showed signs of various degrees of anxiety. Pencils slowly twirled in hands. Fingers tapped aimlessly and quietly on the wood topped desks. A couple of students were determinedly reviewing their note cards. The motion of getting up and walking to the front of the class hadn’t been good on my bladder. I suppose it felt that the class was done, and it was time for it to be let loose in the restroom. The problem was that there was still another twenty minutes left in the period. And I was standing in front of a couple dozen of my bored or nervous classmates, not alone by myself in a bathroom stall. I hated how something as simple as getting up and walking could throw my body all out of sync. I got the presentation started without a hitch. I kept my gaze focused on a spot on the wall on the back of the room, avoiding eye contact with any of my classmates. I had all three of my sections mostly memorized, though I took a glance or two back at the slide being projected on the whiteboard to make sure I was staying on track. I thought perhaps that standing still would allow the urges coming from my bladder to relent, but my bladder had interpreted my body’s movement as a signal that I had trekked to the bathroom next to the classroom, not to the front of the class. I had finished the first two of the three sections I was doing for the presentation, stepping to the side of the podium for Lisa to take her final turn. Lisa was doing a manageable job with her part of the presentation on George H.W. Bush, with the exception of a couple of brief stutters that were barely noticeable. The fight to keep myself from performing a twitching potty-dance in front of all my classmates was becoming too difficult to ignore. I reached my hand out to the podium, gripping it tightly to steady myself. I let myself pee, trying to keep the stream of urine as slow and limited as possible. I took a couple of small breaths in an attempt to keep the discomfort in my pants from showing on my face. If there was one time I couldn’t have a pull-up fail on me, this was it. It didn’t fail. I couldn’t know that directly, as I didn’t dare take a glance down at my pants while the whole class was staring at me, but enough people were watching that there would have been a visible reaction should any sudden wet spots have formed on my jeans. With the urge to pee out of the way, I wrapped up the remaining portion with ease. Lisa had wisely counseled me to leave the “pull-out game” quip out of the presentation. After we returned to our seats in the back of the classroom, there wasn’t much point in grabbing the bathroom pass to avoid the supposed disaster that my friends predicted to occur during their turn to give their presentation. I ended up being glad that I had passed on grabbing it, as a few minutes later Lisa got out of her seat to take the bathroom pass, having apparently done a better job at avoiding an accident during this class period than I had. It turned out that my friend’s dire predictions about the state of their group presentation had been a tad melodramatic. Was Jonathan prepared? Not at all, he stuttered his way through an awkward two minutes that ended in a ten second pause of silence before Samantha took over and got the presentation back on track. --- When the history class ended, I had gone over to the nearest bathroom right away, intent on changing into a new outfit for cheerleading practice in privacy, so that I could keep a new, dry, pull-up on during it. After I had finished pulling up my workout shorts, with the waistband tied as snug as possible to prevent them from coming down and exposing the pull-up, I began to hear a commotion coming from out in the hallway. Some yelling. Some laughter. The sound of racing footsteps of students headed in unison toward the source of whatever was going on. Using cold water, I washed my hands quicker than the twenty seconds you are supposed to take, not bothering to try to get the finicky sink to spout out warm water. One paper towel later, my hands were mostly dry as I stepped out into the hallway with my palms rubbing against my shorts to get the remaining moisture off of them. It turned out that the clamor wasn’t coming from right outside the bathrooms, but from the far end of the hallway, and I gasped when I turned to see what was happening. Lisa was bent down on the floor on her hands and knees, scrambling to pick up a collection of books and school supplies that had scattered across the hallway near her locker. Her dress was hanging down by her feet as she frantically grabbed books and haphazardly attempted to stuff them into her wide-open backpack. That wasn’t the worst of it. Claire and two of her senior friends stood around Lisa like three points on a triangle. They were tossing an object back and forth over her head, as if they were playing a game of hot potato or monkey in the middle. After giving my shorts a quick look over and tug to ensure that my pull-up remained discreet, I took off running down the hallway toward Lisa. As I got closer, I had to zig zag and squeeze between other students as a growing crowd had assembled, gawking at the scene. A couple of the students had their phones out, plainly recording the escalating situation, but no one had stepped forward to diffuse it. It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized what Claire and her friends were holding. It was one of Lisa’s white, unused pull-ups. Had it spilled out from the backpack by accident, or had they intentionally emptied it onto the floor only to discover the pull-up? I wouldn’t have put it past Claire to have discovered Lisa’s pull-ups and to have exposed them on purpose. She was a snoopy bitch. I had reached the edge of the crowd when Claire snuck up behind Lisa before I had a chance to do anything. Claire grabbed the bottom of Lisa’s skirt and yanked it upward over her head, exposing a frilly white pull-up with an unmistakable wet spot on it. “Uh oh, this baby needs her diapie changed,” said Claire, in a sneering, sing-song voice. Her lackeys echoed the taunt loudly in a chant that carried across the hallway and resulted in a wave of laughter from the students close enough to have gotten a view of Lisa’s pull-ups. “Baby needs her diapie changed. Baby needs her diapie changed.” Lisa struggled with the dress for a few seconds before getting it back into a position where it concealed the pull-up. With the last of her books in her bag, she zipped the backpack halfway and stood up, leaving a smattering of pens and pencils behind on the floor. The sense of humiliation was evident in her tear-crossed face as she stood up, snatching the pull-up out of Claire’s hand. I couldn’t believe Claire had stooped so low, but then I remembered how she had nearly outed me a while back in the locker room after cheerleading practice. That sent a chill down my spine. This could just as easily have been me. I stepped forward toward Lisa. I was at a loss for words. I wanted to reach out and grab her hand and take her down the hallway to somewhere private. As I reached out to her, Lisa gave me a firm shove to the shoulder, pushing me out of the way, before taking off running down the hallway as onlookers stepped aside to clear a path for her. The pull-up was still in her hand.

? Ok, that is probably the funniest comment this story has gotten so far. I promise there will be no more name changes ?

Good question, that could have been easier for clean-up, for sure. That said, there might be a chance that that particular scene might be being saved for another time. ? We'll have to wait and see how the laxative impacts Sarah and Emilia's toileting going forward. Should get those results fairly quick. You're welcome! Thanks!

Chapter 31: Full of It With the covers tugged off and tossed into a pile near the baseboard of the bed, I adjusted my position so Mom could slide a changing pad beneath me. I pulled my feet in closer so that my toes were rested on the bed rather than dangling off and my knees were pointed upward in the air. With the resumption of my bedwetting, the alarm clock I had once relied on to wake me up on time — a task it had never failed to do — was now never turned on. Mom was my alarm clock. The gentle nudge of her hand against my shoulder a replacement for that awful, annoying buzzing. And she was just as punctual. I struggled at that thought of how easily I had adapted to these changes in my life. Waking up to the feeling of a squishy diaper strapped around my waist and stuck beneath my legs. The ease with which I allowed Mom to change me. She had stopped checking to see if my nighttime diaper was wet, getting started with changing me under the assumption that I had failed to retain all the liquid in my bladder over the course of the night. Her assumptions about that were correct. The nighttime situation with my bladder had devolved to the point where I was waking up wet each morning without fail. Almost a week had passed since I had woken in the middle of the night with my bladder urging me to go sit on the toilet. There are moments when you wake up and realize something is off. You have that leftover feeling of anxiety or nervousness that you were unable to shake off with a full night of sleep. I rubbed my eyes as Mom began removing the four diaper tapes one by one, each coming off with a loud ripping sound. Despite having been put to bed early, I remained groggy, and I couldn’t quite put a finger on what exactly it was that I was supposed to be unhappy about. I knew I would eventually remember. And I knew I would likely be even unhappier when I did. The diaper was eventually removed, and I readied myself for the pull-up Mom was about to put on me. I wish I was allowed to do that myself. Only, it wasn’t a pull-up Mom was putting on me. It was a diaper, and I instantly remembered the source of my morning angst. I fought against the urge to resist the diaper change. I wanted to kick Mom’s hands away, grab the diaper, rip it up, and toss it in the corner of the room. That would do me no good. I knew that, too, but thinking about made it easy to get through the diapering procedure. The second factor that helped me keep restrained was the realization that I bore a decent amount of fault for this situation. No, I wasn’t assigning any internal blame for having wet myself. The randomness of the accidents indicated that they were far outside my control. I did, however, blame myself for a factor that was completely within my control: how I had failed to hide my accidents from Mom. So, I let the diaper change go by without any attempts to bring it to a halt, lifting my bottom at the right time, even holder the font of the diaper in place so Mom could get the tapes into a better position. It wasjust one day. I could suck it up and deal with it. I’d usually done a good job hiding my accidents and if I could manage to learn from the few mistakes I’ve made in recent weeks, I’d be able to exfiltrate myself from the web of these potty-training rules, especially if this laxative was anything close to the miracle cure I hoped that it will be. My first mistake had been yesterday morning, when I had wet my pants outside the bathroom door while Mom was taking a bath. I had been wearing panties at the time, because Mom had put those on me after changing me out of the nighttime diaper. I should have been wearing one of Emilia’s pull-ups as a precaution, but I hadn’t managed to change into one of them yet that early in the morning because Emilia was nearly awake in her crib in the bedroom. I needed to keep more of her pull-ups in my backpack so I could have another way to access them and not get stuck wearing panties during an accident. My second mistake had been much simpler, and I remained rather annoyed at myself for having made it. In my rush to get to Mom’s car while leaving Lisa’s house yesterday evening, I had failed to use the bathroom, despite the fact that I was about to go on a half-hour long car ride. Had I avoided just one of those accidents, I wouldn’t be in the mess I was in right now. Mom would have put a pull-up on me and I could have worked toward another seven consecutive days of hiding my daytime accidents from her. With the diaper securely fastened, Mom pulled a skirt on me. Skirts were by far one of my least favorite outfits. But with jeans a no go since they wouldn’t fit over the diaper, a skirt was probably the next best option. The idea of wearing leggings over a diaper was unthinkable, and I certainly didn’t want to walk around in an exposed diaper like what Mom made me do while wearing a pull-up. I let myself relax a bit once the skirt was on. While I hated being made to wear a diaper for the day. I accepted it, knowing both that the situation was at least partially the result of my carelessness and that Mom, in being fair in the application of her rules, would let me be back in pull-ups come tomorrow. ----- I sat on the couch with Emilia, watching cartoons as Mom prepared breakfast. That was a rarity for her. except Christmas morning, in which she always prepared a breakfast feast more suited to a dozen people than three, Mom never made anything elaborate for breakfast. That was fine with me. I liked my cereal, though the sizzle of bacon in the frying pan was getting me to work up an appetite. I was grateful I had gotten to the living room first and, as such, had seized control of the remote before Emilia came crawling in with a pacifier in her mouth. Emilia was going through a phase where all she wanted to watch was Caillou. Like, I didn’t hate every little kids’ show. I could sit through an episode or two of My Little Pony without getting too bored. And Sesame Street, at least, wasn’t annoying. But if I had to listen to that bald brat whine or throw a tantrum one more time, I might go crazy. Still, Mom had imparted to me the importance of not watching anything too grown up when my three-year-old sister was present. I’d found some Scooby-Doo re-runs, that were causing both of us to giggle like crazy as the gang with The Mystery Machine raced around on screen, avoiding the monster. Formulaic, but perfect for mindless Saturday morning entertainment. And mindless entertainment was what I wanted right now. Thinking wasn’t good. Thinking meant coming across thoughts that I may not have wanted to appear. Like thinking about why something between my legs was preventing them from closing all the way. Or thinking about that crinkling sound that came every time I shifted my position on the couch. The less I thought about the diaper, the happier I was going to be, so I tried to keep it off of my mind. Emilia knew I was wearing a diaper. There hadn’t been any way to avoid that, but she really hadn’t made any mention of it at all, though I supposed the pacifier was some help in that regard. Whenever Mom put Emilia back in diapers, that also resulted in my sister being treated like a baby and not a preschooler. Being made to crawl on the floor and having to use pacifiers, bottles, and sippy cups was the typical extent of how far the babying went. My knees hurt at just the thought of having to crawl across the floor. I certainly wasn’t going to complain that Mom wasn’t handling my diaper that way, but I was nonetheless suspicious of why this had been a point where she was willing to break from her rules. ----- The breakfast did turn out to be a feast: buttermilk pancakes, crispy strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, and a half a grapefruit with a tiny bit of sugar sprinkled on top. The only item out of place was my drink. This wasn’t even one of those big kid sippy cups, with a straw on top that might have been of little difference from one of my sports bottles if not for the childish patterns on it. This was a full-on toddler sippy cup, identical to the one in front of Emilia’s plate. “Mom, is this really necessary?” I asked, picking up the sippy cup to examine it. “This is a baby cup.” “You want to tell me what you are wearing under your skirt right now?” Mom said, letting her voice trail off. I didn’t want to tell her. I don’t think I could bring myself to say the word aloud even if I wanted to. I accepted defeat and raised the sippy cup to my lips. Had I been wearing a pull-up or panties, I would have been leery of drinking orange juice. That drink was a bladder accident begging to happen. But I knew I wasn’t going to have to be concerned about that today. Accident or otherwise, anything pee I produced today was going to be ending up in the diaper. I really enjoyed drinking the orange juice as I worked my way through the breakfast, despite the fact that I had been served it in a sippy cup. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been able to drink something without wondering about what the repercussions would be to my bladder. “I’m heading outside to do some stuff for a bit,” Mom said, grabbing her now-empty plate and walking over to the seat. “You can watch TV until I’m done. We’re going to give the laxative a try after that.” Stuff to do meant putting the remaining Christmas decorations up outside. For normal, rational, sane people, Christmas begins the day after Thanksgiving. For Mom, Christmas was more of a year-round thing, but the first weekend after Halloween was when it really kicked into high gear. I retreated back to the living room couch, making sure to finish breakfast before Emilia to retain my hold on the remote. The urge to pee came and went as I released a trickle into my bladder. I really shouldn’t have done that. Even without access to a toilet, I ought to be holding my bladder as long as I could to simulate waiting on my turn to go to the bathroom. I tried not to think too much about the laxative. I really should have looked up more info about it. Was it going to make me sick? Was it going to hurt a lot? Emilia didn’t show any signs of discomfort at her own diapered state, but then again, she almost always had one or two days a week where she was being put back in diapers, so this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for her. The Scooby-Doo marathon had kept up through breakfast, so we managed to watch another couple of thirty-minute episodes. I caught the sound of the front door opening and Mom coming inside. “Come on girls, let’s get to the bedroom,” Mom said, in a cheerful voice that sound like she too was optimistic that her days of changing diapers were soon to come to an end. I’m a bit surprised that Mom hadn’t come across this laxative idea herself. After all, she had tried everything in every potty-training book every written in her attempt to toilet train Emilia. The changing mat was already spread out on the bed when I walked into the bedroom with Emilia in my arms. seemed a bit early for a change, my diaper was barely wet, and I doubted that the condition of Emilia’s diaper was any different. Mom directed us to lie down on the changing pad, and I obeyed, setting Emilia down onto the bed before laying down next to her. “I’m going to give you the pills while I get you changed,” Mom said. That didn’t make much sense at all. Normally, when Mom was going to give me a pill or vitamin capsule to swallow, it would be in the bathroom and she would hand the pill to me with a glass of water. I had mastered an easy trick of getting the pills down by tucking the pills directly behind my bottom row of teeth and then tipping my head back and taking a swift swig of water. It never failed to work. “How are we supposed to take the pills while laying down?” I asked. “These aren’t normal pills. I got suppository laxatives. They are supposed to work faster. I figured it would be better to get this over with in an hour rather than have it take all day. Suppository? That was a word outside of my vocabulary. How on earth would you take a pill if you weren’t going to swallow it? “What’s a suppitory?” Emilia asked, bungling the word, which was well above her toddler-level phonics. “It’s a pill that is inserted into your bottom,” Mom said, way more nonchalantly than a statement like that deserved. I subconsciously tightened my legs together, cutting off access to the part of my body in question. “You can’t be serious,” I said. Mom looked directly down at me. “I’m completely serious. Suppositories get absorbed into your bloodstream much faster than regular pills, so this will be better since it will be over with quicker.” “But the pill has to go up my butt?” “Yes, it has to go up your butt. Suppositories are more common for babies, since you can’t trust them to swallow a pill, but they get used for adults in certain circumstances as well.” The promise of this all being over quickly was enough to soothe my anxieties about this new method of taking medication. Mom removed the wet diapers from both Emilia and I, and then positioned fresh diapers in place, but didn’t tape them up. We had so far danced around the issue of what the laxative was actually going to cause me to do, which is to poop a lot. Up until the past month or so, my bathroom habits had not ever been a topic of conversation with Mom, especially anything that might result in a direct mention of the process euphemized as going number two. “This should cause your bowels to empty out completely, a process that will take up to an hour to finish,” Mom said while looking at the back of the small bottle she was holding up to her face. I thought about how bad Emilia’s diapers or pull-ups would get when she pooped into them. And then I thought about how much worse an adult sized poop in an adult sized diaper would be. “So, can I sit on the toilet while the laxative is... doing its thing?” “It wouldn’t be fair to your sister if one of you got to sit on the toilet for this and the other didn’t,” Mom said. “Besides, I can’t have either of you taking up the toilet for an entire hour.” “I don’t wanna poop in a diaper,” Emilia said, starting to fuss. Mom reached down to rub Emilia’s head. “Shush. Shush. You have too much poop in you. All right here.” she said, poking the lower portion of Emilia’s belly, causing my sister to laugh. “This medicine is going to help you get it all out, and then it will be easier for you to go potty on the toilet like a big girl.” I had a more important concern I needed to raise to Mom’s attention. “Will the diapers hold it all in?” “The diaper brand indicated that it was designed for fecal containment as well, so it should hold up without any issues.” I had no way of knowing what to expect when Mom inserted the pill, but other than a few brief seconds of discomfort, I didn’t initially notice anything. Mom cleaned her finger off with a baby wipe and repeated the process with Emilia, taking a suppository from a different bottle. I stayed behind in the bedroom as Mom carried Emilia off into the living room. I decided I didn’t want to be in the same room as someone else when laxative started working. I stood up and stretched, noticing that the diaper wasn’t on me as tight as normal. I hoped that wasn’t going to be a problem. The next few minutes passed slowly as I sat at my computer desk in anxious anticipation of what was going to happen. I hadn’t felt anything yet. Was this pill really going to work? Those thoughts were interrupted by a burning sensation inside me where Mom had inserted the pill. My hands instinctively reached down to behind my crotch. Not that it would do me any good. It felt as though the pill was melting inside me. Gasping for breath, I wrapped my arms tightly around my chest. I got up from the chair, thinking perhaps to walk to the living room to tell Mom what was happening. Then the cramps began. I let out a yelp as the pain drove me down to my knees. The pain was a juxtaposition of two competing sensations. I was feeling the most urgent need to poop that I had ever felt in my life. Not even the worst stomach bug I had experienced and the diarrhea that had sent me sprinting to the toilet had felt more urgent than the need to poop right now. Compounding the problem was the fact that I couldn’t poop. I don’t mean that my bowels are blocked, just that there was nothing I could do to make the bowel movement come any faster. I suspected that once it started coming out, there would be nothing I could do to make it stop until my body had emptied out everything that it could. Both those feelings held steady, neither getting stronger nor going away. The momentum from the laxative was going to take me where it wanted to go, whether I wanted to or not. It began with a loud fart. The noise startled me. Farts just don’t normally happen on their own. And this wasn’t a fart, either. I’d messed myself. Actually, really, truly messed me self. Despite all my toileting problems this past month, I hadn’t actually failed to go number two in a toilet since my toddler days. I could feel the force of the diaper pressing the feces against me. Sticky. Wet. Warm. Gross. Gross. Gross. I froze in place. Why the heck had I suggested laxatives? That the mess in my diaper had been the intended result of the laxative didn’t in any way reduce the shame in having soiled myself. I couldn’t remain standing up for long. The cramps and the urge to defecate hadn’t gone away. Sitting down or lying on my back weren’t desirable options either, as that would only result in smearing feces over my bottom. I crawled onto the bed, careful not to press my bottom onto anything. I managed to lie on my stomach for a couple of minutes, but I found it impossible to remain in that position for any longer than that. The urges coming from my bowels couldn’t be ignored, and the intense pain and cramping forced me to at least be partially upright. I sat on my knees with my legs bent backward behind me. I leaned forward to rest on my elbows, with my face hanging downward, resting on my pillow. Tears streamed out of my eyes, transferring directly onto the pillow, which began to feel wet against my cheek. Several minutes of cramping, followed by an explosive burst of shit into the diaper. The process repeated itself over and over and over again, as the diaper began to sag further and further away from me. I had naively thought that laxative would simply cause one extra-large bowel movement and then be done with it. I understood now why Mom hadn’t taped the diaper on as tight as normally. The looseness of the diaper allowed it to expand as my bowels continued to empty. Eventually, the cramps began to lessen, and the next couple of bowel movements were quieter and not as strong. The smell wasn’t all that bad, but my nose had also gotten all kinds of runny and stuffy from the crying, so perhaps I just wasn’t able to smell it at the moment. I normally would have wanted to grab a tissue from the bathroom to blow my nose to clear out all the mucus that had built up during my crying, but I expected it might be better to put that off until after I had gotten changed out of the diaper. Had an hour passed already? Time had lost most of its meaning while I was kneeling on the bed and messing myself. With the cramps no longer keeping me upright, I laid down face-first on the bed, my legs spread apart as far as they could to avoid squeezing that mass of poop now deposited in the diaper. I thought the situation couldn’t get any worse. Then I began to pee. I don’t know what had taken all the orange juice so long to come out. Maybe the laxative had put my bladder on pause while it was working on getting the poop out. Either way, this was the longest piss I had taken in quite a while. It came and came as the front of the diaper filed up. I had never desired a diaper change so badly in my life. That the idea of being put into a fresh diaper could be made to sound appealing was proof of how bad the laxative had been. I inched myself off of the bed, a difficult task to accomplish, as I had to keep my legs spread apart and couldn’t roll over onto my back. With a wet diaper, the waddle is created because the diaper itself has expanded from soaking up all the urine, making it so you can’t physically place your legs together. With a messy diaper, the waddling isn’t a result of any physical limitations, I could squeeze my legs together if I really desired to, but I didn’t desire to find out what would happen to all the poop that would be displaced if I were to do that. I had managed a few tentative steps toward the door when I heard the sound of Mom walking toward me. Mom entered the room with Emilia in her arms, but my sister wasn’t cuddled close into Mom’s shoulder. Mom was gripping Emilia under each of her armpits with Emilia facing toward Mom, but held about a foot away from her. Mom’s shoulder, where Emilia had likely been resting her head for the past hour, was soaked. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had spent most of the past hour crying. Apparently, toddler laxatives are as awful as their adult variants. “Sarah, crack the window open. Now,” Mom said, with a sense of urgency in her voice. Mom needn’t have bothered with telling me to hurry. The smell coming from Emilia’s diaper was way more nauseating than my own. I took two steps as quickly as I dared to get to the window nearest to the bed while doing my best to ignore the sensation of poop smearing around my bottom. I unlocked the window and then lifted the glass pane up as high as it could go before locking it again in that position. When I turned around, the reason for the odor became clear. Emilia’s diaper had not been up to the task of containing the results of a laxative. Light brown poop was smeared out of the top of her jean and onto her shirt. The way the diaper caused her jeans to bulge outward around her bottom suggested the laxative had been highly effective on her. I thought perhaps that Mom would want us both on the changing mat together, like she had done before bed last night, but she instead ushered me into the hallway so I wouldn’t be in the way as she got Emilia cleaned up. Walking with poop on my bottom was difficult. With each step, I could feel the stickiness of it as it came in and out of contact with my bottom. I decided to wait while standing near the bathroom sink until it was time for my diaper change. I didn’t want to have to walk all the way to the living and back in this condition, and it wasn’t like I was going to be sitting down on the couch when I got there either. As I waited for Mom to change Emilia, the smell from the diaper was finally beginning to get to me in the worst way. The most terrible part about it was that there was nothing I could do and nowhere I could go to avoid the smell. The door to our bedroom creaked open finally, followed by Emilia’s tiny footsteps as she exited the room. She peaked her head around the bathroom door to look at me. A pacifier that looked a little too small for her was stuck in her mouth. “Mommy said it’s your turn,” Emilia said, taking the pacifier briefly out of her mouth as she delivered the missive from Mom. I returned to the bedroom at as fast a pace as I could manage. The room smelled strongly of air freshener when I entered it, an odor that was almost as overwhelming nauseating as a messy diaper, just in a different way. Getting onto the changing pad was the worst part of it. There simply wasn’t a way I could do so without putting weight on my bottom. I set myself onto the bed as slowly as I could manage, but that only served to extenuate the poop being forced to spread further through the diaper. Mom had taken a wad of either toilet or tissue paper and stuffed it up each of her nostrils, grimacing as she pulled back the front of my diaper. I understood now what Lisa meant the other day, when she had told me how there were times she had experienced a sense of schadenfreude over making her mother have to clean up a messy diaper. I didn’t have to see my bottom to imagine what it must look like, having changed more than my fair share of Emilia’s messy diapers. It must have taken Mom at least five minutes of thorough wiping to get me cleaned up, and it felt as if she had gone through an entire package of baby wipes in the process. We didn’t speak at all during the diaper change. Maybe it was because Mom was needing to concentrate so much on getting me cleaned up. Or maybe the total awkwardness of the situation had finally gotten to her. At least I knew I wasn’t going to need to poop at all the rest of the day. I couldn’t imagine possibly having any more left in. For the remainder of the day, Mom didn’t bother ever asking me or my sister if we needed to get changed. She let several hours pass between each diaper change, at which point there wasn’t any question as to if the diapers were wet. Each time she would direct us to the bedroom without so much as taking a peek at either or our diapers to check their condition. Not that it mattered. Neither of us had the ability to hold on to to our bladder for nearly that long. I tried to recall if the toilet training articles I had found online made any mention of exactly how long it was supposed to take to get more control of your bladder after going through with the laxatives. Sooner would be better than later, but I wasn’t going to get an actual chance to test it out until tomorrow.

I agree. And I think there are two things that are equally true. Parents should always follow through on discipline, but they also shouldn't ever make outlandish threats of discipline that they would regret having to follow through on. Sarah's mom is in the position of having a pretty severe threat (treating a 15-year-old like a baby) that she probably hadn't planned on even needing to do in the first place, so in the initial surprise of needing to put Sarah in a diaper (she had to at least follow through on that part of the discipline) didn't have her go full out with that punishment. Mom's reputation, up to this point, is that she doesn't deviate from the rules, so we'll have to see what tomorrow (in the story, I don't think I'll have the next chapter done quite that quick) brings.

Oops. But on the bright side, with Lisa's backstory now complete, I should be able to do more frequent updates to this story. Thanks! I think that is answered already to an extent. Lisa had gotten back to wearing panties before school started and set her back. I think the combination of things like the Kegel exercises and being able to leave a stressful environment played a large role in those improvements. We'll have to see how things go for her as the school year continues. Sarah is a bit surprised at that as well. I think one way to explain that is how parents will sometime threaten extremely crazy punishments (i.e. like threatening to throw the PS4 away in the trash of they don't finish their homework) and then, shocker, the kid ends up not doing what they were asked to do and the parent has the choice between following through with a punishment they didn't intend to do or actually doing it. Remember, up until this point, Sarah's mom has only noticed three of her daughter's many daytime accidents. We'll see how she handles things with Sarah once she has had a night to let the situation process.

All good, I've done that before as well. Probably should have a fancies avatar than the letter M, that might help some too. Hmm. That would be quite the extreme schedule. I probably will be taking a bit of artistic license in not having the laxative use be for that long of a period. It will still make for some fairly intense scenes though. Thanks! I'm glad you've found it helpful. Lisa has not had issues with bowel incontinence. The times where she has messed a diaper have had much more do to with specific circumstances or not being allowed access to a toilet. She probably experienced some issues with that following the medication overdosing, but nothing permanent

Yep. I like to play the long game. Thanks! Yeah, laxatives are... interesting. I do have some experience having a sub using them in real life, so I'm drawing on that a little bit. I've never taken any myself. I will say though, getting 30 chapters into a diaper story without any messy diapers happening to the protagonist is pretty impressive. Though the laxative was foreshadowed in one of the earlier chapters. It's all good. People speculating on what will happen in a story gives good feedback to authors. I have a certain direction I'm taking things, so it is always good to see if people are picking up on it. Thanks! Oops. Good catch. I think I'll settle with spaghetti. Don't forget about the mom too. Someone is going to have to be changing those diapers. Yep, I wasn't expecting anyone to realize they were they same person. A name change, while slightly hinted at in Diapers Never Lie (Chapter 7 when Annabelle is mentioning the dislike of her name), isn't something one would expect. That said, I was a little surprised no one called me out on a lot of the similarities between Annabelle/Lisa. Some were pretty obvious, others were a bit minor. Both live with their Aunt/Uncle (to me, this was the biggest give away, as that is a fairly unusual circumstance.) Both were homeschooled, 14, and about to be freshman at a public school for the first time Both enjoyed videogames (I was tempted to have Annabelle explicitly play Fortnite, but figured that would be too much) Both have a similar setup in their bedroom (the connection I pointed out the most was that they had their own private bathroom) Both were shy, not very social Both lived in a hotter climate (Lisa/All My Mother's Rules is set in New Mexico. I don't give a location for Annabelle/Diaper's Never Lie, but mention that is it really hot) Both live on the outskirts of the town, mention that it is rural, gravel road, etc.

A couple notes before this chapter begins. It's mostly been covered in the comments, but I'm putting it here so it is easy to find as well. Lisa's backstory is covered by another story that I've finished, Diapers Never Lie. Lisa's birth name was Annabelle, so that story begins with her under that name until she decides to have it changed to Lisa. It is a bit of a darker story, so if that is outside of your comfort zone, the relevant details are mentioned in this next chapter as well. Chapter 30: Diaper Twins I continued holding Lisa’s hand as her meandering story arrived at its conclusion and transitioned into a lengthy, silent pause. Lisa had rarely stopped to take a breath as she went through an almost monotone recitation of the events that had led up to her coming to live with her aunt and uncle earlier this year. Never before had I had someone share something so deeply personal with me. I’d known my closest friends — Samantha and Desi — since our days together in kindergarten. We of course had confided in each other as young girls are prone to do, swapping tales about our crushes, both real and fantasy. Who we had kissed. Who we wanted to kiss. And the creeps we wanted nothing to do with. Had I been asked before today, I would have been inclined to say that I knew everything there was to know about my friends. Now I wondered how superficial our connections were, and if there were parts sunk beneath the surface that had yet to emerge despite all our years together. I thought about Samantha, and how, in my quest to take one of her younger brother’s pull-ups during the sleepover, I had come across her pranking him into wetting himself in his sleep. What other secrets do my friends keep? After the initial uncertainty of how to respond to Lisa during the first several minutes of her tale, I ended up grabbing hold of her hand, our fingers intertwined. Her grip got stronger as the story reached its climax, as she described the night she nearly killed her mother, my fingers squeezed painfully by her hands. I didn’t dare interrupt with the many questions her story inspired, and she didn’t leave me with any opportunity to do so. I wasn’t sure what had shocked me most about Lisa’s story. The death of her father and younger sister in a car crash. How she had never once in her life been fully toilet trained. Her parent’s abuse and torment over her incontinence. How she had barely managed to escape her mother’s grasp to come live with her aunt and uncle. Or the fact that she told this entire story without shedding a single tear. All my problems seemed to pale by comparison. Mom was strict, but her rules were also clear, and you could count on her to follow them both fairly and scrupulously. As much as I disliked some of Mom’s methods, her intentions nonetheless had me and my sister’s best interests at heart. My mind darted forward to thinking about the next step that Mom was planning on taking to resolve all the toileting issues once and for all, for me and my sister. True, the laxatives had been my idea, but she had gone ahead with buying them and the plan was to try them tomorrow. Mom would make me and Emilia wear diapers or pull-ups when she thought we needed them, but she was still intent on doing what she could to get us to no longer need that protection. With Lisa finished with her story, I didn’t make any attempt to fill her in on any more of the details of my toileting struggles. I didn’t want to minimize what Lisa had experienced by bringing up my own minor problems. “You’re the first person I’ve told this to, I mean, besides my aunt and therapist,” Lisa said unprompted. I took a look at the clock after releasing her hand. We’d talked for over an hour, and it was nearly time for dinner, though Lisa’s aunt hadn’t made any mention of it yet. And my pull-up was wet. I had been so engrossed in her story that I had managed to completely ignore my bladder. That made it three accidents today. Twice at Lisa’s house and then once previously in the morning when I hadn’t been able to get to the toilet because mother had been taking a bath. At least Lisa had extra pull-ups for me to change into. The initial mix of embarrassment and awkwardness of having Lisa be aware of my bladder problems had gone away, and I didn’t feel any discomfort letting her know about the accident. “Can I have another pull-up? I need to get changed again.” “Of course. I... need to get changed as well.” Lisa grabbed two of the cupcake pull-ups from the drawer, surprising me since she had mentioned how they weren’t as reliable for her. “We can be twins for a bit,” she said. “You can have the bathroom first to get changed. It’s better to change in there so that there aren’t any leaks onto the carpet.” “You don’t have to wait. There’s enough room in there for both of us to change at once.” “Sorry, I’m not used to dressing in front of other people.” “Oh yeah, I do that so much in the locker for cheerleading that I don’t think much about it.” Lisa hesitated for a bit and then walked over to the bathroom to join me. The reason she was wearing skirts became clear as we each exchanged our wet pull-ups for dry ones. I had to completely remove my jeans in order to get a new pull-up on. All she had to do was slip the used one off, clean herself with a couple of wipes, and then pull the new one on. We were interrupted by the sound of Lisa’s aunt knocking on the door. “Girls, dinner is nearly ready,” she said, her knuckles tapping on the bedroom door. I pulled up my jeans hastily, confirming that the pull-up wasn’t sticking out the top. I hurried out of the bedroom behind Lisa. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I hoped it was something good. As I got a foot out of the bedroom door, Lisa stopped me in my tracks with a look of concern on her face. “Sarah. Your zipper,” she said in a hushed voice. I glanced down. Sure enough, I had somehow forgotten to zip my pants up. That would have been a disaster. I took a seat at the dinner table between Lisa and her aunt. Mr. Higgins, Lisa’s uncle and my history teacher, was sitting across the table from me. I take back anything I thought about the awkwardness of having Lisa reveal that she knew about my pull-ups. Eating dinner at your teacher’s house is worse. Dinner was simple: spaghetti, Texas Toast with garlic butter lathered on it, and steamed broccoli. Lisa had insisted that she hadn’t shared her discovery of my pull-ups with anyone else, not even her aunt and uncle. I believed her, but I also hoped we had remained out of earshot of them during our discussions of that topic. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins had left us alone the entire afternoon, but I belatedly realized that I didn’t have any idea of how far sound carries in their house. The dinner proceeded normally. Lisa’s aunt and uncle asked some basic questions about me, which I answered between bites of food. Family. What things I like do to. How our project went. They gave no signs that they had discovered that Lisa’s invitation to visit had been about much more than the project for the history class. Lisa stood up from her chair so suddenly it was almost as if she had jumped. Both her hands rising to cover her mouth. The front of her dress was wet. It wasn’t as wet as might happen when someone pees themselves while wearing panties; the pull-up had caught at least some of it before overflowing. I felt bad because it was partially my fault for inspiring Lisa to wear a different pull-up than she normally did. “Um, excuse me,” she said, pushing the chair back and beginning to turn around to walk over to her bedroom. “So, Sarah, Lisa sometimes...” Mr. Higgins said, clearly attempting to perform some damage control for his niece. “It’s fine, she already knows,” Lisa said, cutting her uncle off as she continued to walk toward her bedroom. Lisa’s aunt and uncle both turned to look at me. I had no clue about what I should say. I certainly wasn’t going to tell them about the fact that I was also wearing a pull-up. I ended up simply shrugging, doing my best to indicate that I didn’t feel like Lisa’s incontinence was that big of a deal to me. What was strange was that for all Lisa’s talk about having nearly gotten herself toilet trained, she wasn’t doing a good job of it today. Lisa’s aunt broke the ice by taking another bite of spaghetti. Everyone resumed eating a few moments later, and no comments were made about Lisa’s leaky pull-up when she returned to the dinner table in a new dress. --- “I don’t know what is with me today,” Lisa said, after shutting the bedroom door behind her. “I haven’t had this many accidents in one day since the first week of school. And at least then I had the excuse of having to get used to only being able to use the toilet on a set schedule between classes.” “It’s OK. Today’s been a bit of a rough day for me as well.” “So, can I tell you something else?” “Sure,” I answered, a bit wary of being on the receiving end of another long story. “So, this is a bit embarrassing, but sometimes when I play video games, I just go ahead and wear a diaper. Otherwise, I end up having to quit half my Fortnite games before the round finishes so that I can go to the toilet.” In comparison to everything else I learned about her today, that revelation wasn’t all that shocking or embarrassing. “I can change standing up, but it’s easier to do it when I’m laying down on the bed. And, you don’t mind, you know, if I do that now?” “I don’t mind.” I turned away as Lisa got on the bed and proceeded to exchange her pull-up for the diaper. Changing our pull-ups together had been one thing, but this felt too personal to watch, not that I was judging her for it. I heard the now familiar sound of the tapes getting attached to the diaper, and an unmistakable crinkle as she got off the bed and walked over to me. Lisa offered to let me play Fortnite with her on the Nintendo Switch, but I’m not good at using those types of joysticks, so she let me log into my Fortnite account from her computer while she joined in from the gaming console. We had wrapped up our third Fortnite round when I heard the sound of Mom’s car pulling into the driveway. She had arrived precisely on time, and I knew she expected me to come out right away. Lisa gave me a brief hug before I stepped out of her bedroom. “I’m so glad to have someone who can come over and just hangout without having to worry about hiding my incontinence,” Lisa said. “I know. I just wish you hadn’t frightened me so much when you asked about the pull-up.” “See you Monday.” Lisa remained in her room as I headed toward the front door of the house. I suppose she didn’t want to risk my mother coming in and noticing the diaper. I stopped to thank Lisa’s aunt for having me over. She was seated in a reading chair, and her husband wasn’t anywhere in sight. “I’m really glad you were able to come over,” she said. “It means a lot. Just how understanding you’ve been.” She didn’t make any mention of Lisa’s pull-ups or the accident. But we both knew that was what she was referring to. “Of course,” I replied, not wanting to go any further into the topic for fear of what it could reveal about myself. Mom didn’t come in to chat with Mr. and Mrs. Higgins, leaving the car parked in the driveway. I guess she was in a hurry. Emilia was strapped into a car seat directly behind me. The tip of a diaper sticking out of her pants indicated that toileting had been just as much of a challenge today for her as it had been for me. I didn’t know what would have happened had Lisa not had extra pull-ups for me to use. “You have a good time with Lisa?” “Yeah, we managed to get our presentation completely ready.” I didn’t make any mention of how we had spent have the time talking and playing video games. That didn’t fall into Mom’s view of what a studying meetup would entail. I knew, though, that being able to tell Mom that I was ahead of schedule on a homework project was something that would never fail to put her in a good mood. I hadn’t given much thought to how long the drive home would be. Lisa’s hour had been about twenty minutes from the school. My commute to school was only half of that during times where I wasn’t taking the bus. About ten minutes or so into the drive, my bladder began sending me a clear signal that it was time to get to the toilet, pronto. “Mom, how much longer till we get home?” “Another twenty minutes or so.” Shit. Seriously? Why did Lisa have to live on the exact opposite side of town? If video games were her toileting kryptonite, long car rides were mine. I knew better than to ask Mom to stop at a gas station to let me run into the bathroom. She wasn’t going to agree, and it would likely get upset at me for even needed to ask. Emilia didn’t get potty breaks in the middle of car rides, so I couldn’t expect to receive one either. The willpower I exerted to keep the pull-up dry gave out another five minutes into the drive, and I regretted having forgotten to use the toilet in my rush to get out to the car. I thought I could almost hear the stream of urine hitting the inside of the diaper, or maybe that was my mind playing a trick on me. Either way, Mom didn’t react, sparing me the indignity of revealing the accident for now. My heart sank when I realized that this would be the second accident Mom would find out about today. I knew what Mom’s rules were for that situation. What was going to happen when I got home? The remainder of the ride home went much faster now that I didn’t have a full bladder slowing down the clock. No sooner had I taken off my shoes inside the front entrance had Mom requested that I take my jeans off. Having spent almost the entire day away from home on a Saturday hadn’t thrown her off her toilet training routine. “But Mom, it’s cold in here.” “Of course it is cold. I’m not going to pay to heat the house while we are gone. It will warm up again in a bit.” “Then can I wait and take my jeans off when it is warmer?” I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, but I did think it was at least a reasonable enough request. If I could keep Mom from seeing the wet pull-up, just maybe I would be able to sneak into a dry one for a change without her noticing that an extra diaper had been used. That was not to be. “You know the drill, young lady. Pants down.” I paused for as long as I could to delay following through on her request, but I at last unbuttoned the front of my jeans. The wet pull-up bulged out unmistakably as I unzipped the front of my pants. What I would give for a brand of diapers or pull-ups that you could wet without them blaring out that you’ve had an accident. I tugged the jeans off and left them in a pile near the front entryway. Mom rested her hands on her hips and gave a sigh of resignation. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, grabbing me by the hand and leading me into her bedroom. As unnerving as her exasperation was, I was glad to have been so far spared a lengthy lecture about my toileting. I kept my eyes closed as Mom changed me. Instead of ripping the sides off of the pull-up, she grabbed it and pulled it all the way down my legs till it was past my feet and off of me. “Two accidents in one day. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you. You need to be setting a better example for your sister. What’s she supposed to think when you come back home with a wet pull-up on?” I didn’t answer. I knew it was a rhetorical question. I shivered as Mom wiped me clean. I had yet to get used to the feeling of baby wipes. They weren’t so bad when you were using them on yourself, and could anticipate the cool sensation against your skin, but not having control of when the wipes would touch you almost made it a form of torture. Mom stepped away from the bed, presumably to toss the used pull-up in the garbage and return with a fresh one, but she was away longer than it should have taken to do that. I held my feet together, waiting for her to slip the pull-up around them and slide the undergarment up my legs. Instead, Mom grabbed hold of my legs and started to push them back to lift up my bottom. “No NO! Please, no.” I tried to get up from the bed, but Mom pressed her hand firmly against my chest, preventing me from rolling over or sitting up. “You know exactly how the rules work, Sarah. Two accidents in one day means you’re going to spend a day taking a break from toilet training. I’m not changing the potty-training rules I’m using for Emilia, so you’re going to have to follow them as well.” “But Mom, the accident happened while I was in the car. I would have gone to the toilet if I had one to go to.” “That doesn’t matter. Part of being toilet trained is being able to hold your bladder when a toilet isn’t immediately available.” I gave up my resistance, letting my body go limp on the bed. Mom grabbed my legs and rolled me slightly backwards to make room under my bottom as she slid the back of my nighttime diaper beneath me. The rest of the diapering passed by in a blur. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t want to look ahead to see Mom’s hands as they pulled the front of the diaper up over me and positioned the tapes on either side. At last, she was finished. The fit of the diaper snug as always as Mom grabbed my hands and helped me off of the bed and onto my feet. “Go get your jeans on.” I didn’t bother returning to the bedroom to put my jeans on there. I tried to pull them on while still standing in the entryway where I had left them. While I was able to wear the jeans on top of pull-ups without any issues, I had a harder time pulling them up over the much thicker diaper, and I couldn’t quite manage to get the zipper up. I didn’t have any looser pairs of jeans I could try, either. All of mine were fairly form fitting, so I made do with a pair of pajama pants instead. The looser material made the outline of the diaper much less visible, but did nothing to reduce the crinkling sound that came with every movement I made. I had to think back to what Mom’s potty-training rules were for Emilia. Two accidents in a single day meant being put back into diapers for a break from using the toilet, but Mom had always treated that as spending the entirety of the next day in diapers. Besides the diapers, Mom had a tendency to also treat Emilia like a baby during those toilet training breaks, complete with making her use a pacifier and drink from a bottle. Mom at least hadn’t shown any inclination to do that with me, and I wasn’t going to do anything that might remind her. My mind flooded with a bunch of questions. How often was Mom going to change me? Would she check to see if it was needed, or would I have to go through the humiliating ritual of informing her about the contents of the diaper? And what if I need to poop? Surely she wouldn’t want to have to clean up a messy diaper? My only saving grace was that tomorrow was Sunday so I would be spared the indignity of having to wear a diaper to school. Would Mom have made me do that? The idea terrified me. I could manage hiding a pull-up at a school. I had done that successfully for about a month, but a diaper would be impossible. Even if the other students were to somehow not notice the obvious crinkling sound, the bulge from the diaper beneath my clothes and the waddling while I walked would be signs that couldn’t be ignored. The remainder of the evening was normal, or at least as normal as an evening of wearing diapers could possibly be. The house didn’t warm up quickly, so getting to wear the pajama pants rather than go around with bare legs was a plus. Having spent the day doing homework, Mom left me free to do what I wanted, so I sat down to play some games of Fortnite myself, as I would need to get that in before I was booted from the bedroom when it came time for Emilia to go to bed. As I started the solo match, I realized that Lisa was probably still wearing a diaper as well, though at least she had chosen to wear one herself. I remembered what she had said about how the doctor had given her these Kegel exercises to do. Lisa was certain they had produced a noticeable improvement on her bladder control. I wish I had asked her to give me a demonstration about how to do them. As much as I tried to put the thought out of my mind, my natural bodily urges weren’t to be suppressed. The need to urinate arrived. My first reaction was to be grateful I noticed it. My second reaction was to stand up from my chair at the computer desk in my bedroom so that I could make a beeline to the toilet. My third reaction was to remember I had a diaper on and to utter a word I was extremely grateful Mom wasn’t present to hear. I needed to ask Mom if I could take the diaper off to go to the toilet. Maybe she wasn’t serious about this whole diaper thing? Could it just be an attempt to scare me straight after having two accidents? Certainly, she could appreciate not having to change a wet diaper? With my bladder’s clock already ticking away, I rushed into the living room where Mom was sitting on the couch watching the evening news. Emilia was seated on the floor, guiding her dolls through a miniature dollhouse. “Mom, can I take the diaper off to use the toilet?” “No.” “But I need to go now.” “The toilet is off limits while you have a diaper on. You know how that works.” Shoulders drooping, I sulked my way back toward my bedroom. Why had I even bothered to ask? If Emilia could get stuck using diapers for a day, of course I could as well. Once I was around the corner and out of Mom’s line of sight, I tried to make myself pee in the diaper. Nothing came out. I squeezed every pertinent muscle, but despite the growing need to urinate, I wasn’t having any success. It was so silly that it was easier for me to wet myself on accident than on purpose, though it wasn’t like I hadn’t purposely used a pull-up before. I checked to make sure I couldn’t hear Mom coming down the hallway before I stepped into the bathroom. I lifted the toilet seat cover — Mom was finicky about making sure that got closed after each use — and took a seat on the toilet while still fully clothed. I couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous. I was sitting on the toilet. I needed to pee. And I was supposed to pee in a diaper instead. The temptation to rip the diaper off, use the toilet like normal, and just deal with whatever consequences Mom dealt out was really strong. But I knew better. If there was one thing Mom had no tolerance for, it was the outright disobedience of her rules. It was one thing to get a bad grade on a test or to wet your pants. Those at least weren’t intentional. Flagrant disregard for her rules would lead to a level of punishment I was sure to regret. Sitting on the toilet proved to be a wise decision, as I managed to trick my bladder into releasing into the diaper. I hesitated for a moment before pulling down the front of my pants to take a look at the diaper. Did I really want to see this? But my curiosity overrode my shame, and I tugged my pants down enough to receive an unimpaired view of the front of the diaper in the bathroom mirror. The wet spot wasn’t nearly as large as I would have guessed. I estimated that the diaper would take at least three or four similar sized wettings before overflowing. I didn’t bother with asking Mom for a change. The wetness in the diaper was barely noticeable, so it made no difference to me whether I was in a fresh diaper or not. I returned to my bedroom but started up a game of Minecraft rather than Fortnite, aware that Mom might put Emilia to bed at any moment, and she didn’t give any weight to the importance of being able to be allowed to finish an online game. In her mind, when it was time to be done gaming, it was time to be done gaming now. Sure enough, Mom entered the room a few minutes later, carrying Emilia in her arms. I got a strong, pungent whiff of my little sister’s diaper as she passed close by my desk. I didn’t envy the diaper change Mom was about to have to do. I saved my game, turned off the computer, and walked out toward the living room without needing to be asked. I was rather eager to not be present when Emilia’s diaper was opened. “Young lady, you come to the bedroom right now. I’m not asking another time.” “Sorry, I’m coming.” The waddle was more pronounced as I speed walked around the corner and down the hallway back to my bedroom. Emilia was already laying on her back on the changing pad Mom had placed on top my bed. Mom had already removed my sister’s pants, which were now hanging out of her hamper. Her soaked diaper sagged off of her and onto the changing pad with a lumpiness to it that told me my nose hadn’t been mistaken about the contents of the diaper. Not a part of the diaper hadn’t been overtaken by the unique hue of urine. Instead of centering Emilia on the middle of the changing pad, Mom had placed my sister to the side, leaving room for me to join her. “On the bed,” Mom said. “You need to be in a clean diaper before you go to bed.” “It’s not my bedtime yet.” “It is tonight.” Using both hands, Mom spread the waistband of my pants and let them drop to the floor in a heap around my ankles. My diaper wasn’t in nearly as bad a state as Emilia’s was. Mom changed Emilia first. I wasn’t sure why I had to be lying down next to her during. I had to pinch my nose when Mom undid my sister’s diaper, and even then, the smell nearly made me gag. As much as I had objected to being diapered for the evening, there weren’t any objections I could raise to being diapered for bed once my turn came around. Unless my bedwetting was to come to a miraculous halt tonight, the diaper was going to be soaked when I got up in the morning. Mom let me off the bed to go brush my teeth in the bathroom, with an admonition that I was to go immediately to bed as soon as I was done. I spent the next five minutes giving my teeth the most thorough brushing they had received in years. Even though I was in bed a couple hours earlier than I normally would be going to sleep on a weekend night, I felt exhausted. I wasn’t physically tired yet, but the day had worn me out emotionally. Between the stress of all the accidents and being put back in a diaper to the revelations about Lisa that I hadn’t been fully able to process, my mind was simply worn out. The sound of Emilia’s breathing slowed to a familiar rhythm. I was on my back. I didn’t prefer to sleep on my side and would normally have opted to sleep on my chest, but for some reason, the way Mom had taped the diaper tonight made it cut painfully into my skin when I attempted to lie down in that position. But not even the dread of what tomorrow would entail could keep me awake forever.

That could work as well. I may end up doing that and just post the link before the next chapter. And I think the order works either way. Obviously, knowing Lisa wears diapers/pull-ups at the start of the story when Sarah first meets her definitely provides another perspective, and some more anticipation of when Sarah will make that discovery for herself. But keeping the backstory until Sarah and Lisa finally have that discussion also works, cause then you're seeing the story progress completely from Sarah's timeline, and you probably don't pick up on Lisa's pull-up usage right away. Good question. Might be answered in the next chapter.

A quick story note: To keep everything in one place for future readers. I'll be copying over Lisa's story from Diapers Never Lie and posting that here before Chapter 30 is posted. Not going to remove that post, but it will make it easier for people coming through this later. You're welcome! Yep, about half-way through the next chapter. It's going to be pretty fast paced from here. There's been a lot of setup for some things that will be quite interesting.

Yep, that's typically what an epilogue means ? But, Annabelle/Lisa's story will continue as part of All My Mother's Rules, so it isn't completely at an end. That analysis does make sense. And yes Redemption was a major one. Another story that had some influence was Mimi's Struggle. More so for the dynamic of a diapered older sister and a non-diapered younger sister. For sure. I liked the format of alternative between present and the flashbacks. And yeah, Lisa does stand to play an important role in the other story, part of why I was interested in giving her a fuller backstory.

For those are you who may not have been following my other story, Diapers Never Lie, you will want to check it out. I had initially planned a couple of chapters for Lisa's backstory, but that ended up being more to write for it, so I decided to write it as a separate story. Lisa's birth name was Annabelle (which is how she is referenced at the beginning of Diapers Never Lie). Since we hadn't gotten to the point in this story where Lisa had clearly been identified as using diapers, I felt it was best to write her backstory in a way that didn't spoil that secret. You're welcome! Absolutely. Diaper brands aren't something you'd ever really think about unless you had a serious need to use them.

Oh, yeah, there's a lot that is going to happen in the next couple chapters of All My Mother's Rules. Thanks. Yes, Annabelle is Lisa from my other story. For sure. As I was writing this, I wasn't sure if I was being too obvious, or not obvious enough. I ended up cutting out a couple things that would have made the tie to my other story more clear. Yes, as everything that happened in this story is what is being conveyed to Sarah. You're welcome! I think the argument more was Annabelle was a potential dangers to others, not so much that that aunt and uncle weren't dangerous. I went with the ending I had planned out from the beginning. In retrospect, there was a twist that would have been nice to have been included, but since the story was published in a serial format, I couldn't go back to previous chapters to set it up. I think the next time I write something of this length, I may at least get it fully drafted before I begin posting. I think part of the difference is writing a character from their own perspective, and from how another character perceives them. That said, the time game from when Diapers Never Lie ends and from Chapter 29 in All My Mother's Rules is roughly five-six months. So it would be safe to assume as well that Lisa has matured in the additional time she has been free from her mother. I tried to make a lot of the character details between Lisa and Annabelle the same, but it's always hard to judge how much readers may or may not pick up on it.

Pity, you would think that a company, which makes bedwetting products marketed at the idea of helping kids avoid the humiliation of being discovered as a bedwetter, would send samples in much more discreet packaging. Oh well, I'll have to make due with pictures and YouTube reviews until it is available in march. From one video I came across on YouTube, the size difference is substantial. Here's to hoping that this new size sells well. Money talks, so if this ends up being profitable for Kimberly-Clark, it could encourage them to move forward with other diaper or pull-up innovations.

Did the samples come in discreet packaging? From what it looked like on the Goodnites website, it seems like the envelope itself is an advertisement. If so, I'll just wait until March and hope that I get can a pack before ABDLs make a rush on them.

Epilogue “Sorry, we don’t accept credit cards,” said the woman behind the counter at the courthouse clerk’s office. The portly woman tapped a pudgy finger against the glass barrier that separated the county workers behind the counter from the public, alerting us to a small sign stuck to the glass that did clearly state that credit cards weren’t an acceptable form of payment at the courthouse. Uncle James returned his credit card to his wallet, which he flipped open to check if he had enough cash to cover the sixty-five-dollar fee required to file the form. “All I’ve got is a twenty,” he said. “Honey, can you check your purse?” Aunt Lydia lifted her faux leather purse onto the granite countertop before unzipping it. Sixty-five dollars was such a small fee for something so life changing. I really hoped my aunt had enough cash on-hand to cover the remaining forty-five dollars. We lived all the way on the opposite side of the county from the courthouse. I didn’t want to have to come back another day. My aunt discovered a wad of bills in her purse, sifting through them until she had the right amount. She slid the money to the clerk through a small gap beneath the glass divider. The woman flipped through the bills, counting them out loud as they smacked against the counter. Twenty. Forty. Fifty. Sixty. Sixty-five. With the bills inserted into a cash register, I watched through the finger-print-smeared glass as the clerk went to the back of the room, where gray, metal cabinet files lined the walls. She pulled open a couple of creaky drawers before at last finding the form we were requesting, sliding it underneath the glass to my aunt, who handed the single sheet of cream-colored paper to me. “A little young to be doing that,” the woman muttered to no one in particular. I ignored the remark. What does she know, anyways? The title of the form was listed on the top left side of the paper in a blocky typeface: Request for Name Change. I grabbed a pen from the jar on the counter, removed the cap, and filled out the first few spots in blue ink with relative ease, listing today’s date, my address, and my birth name. I paused and took a deep breath as I reached the end of the form. My fingertips were beginning to get sweaty. Why am I so nervous? This is what I wanted, after all. A clean break. Severing the one remaining public tie I had to mother. I had thought carefully about what I wanted to change my name to. I wanted something shorter and simple, without any obvious negative associations. Annabelle was too long. Too formal. I also didn’t want to use a nickname. I’d made a list and settled on my choice several weeks ago. I had wanted to go to the courthouse right away, but Aunt Lydia insisted that I wait to make sure I wasn’t having any second thoughts about my choice. Steadying my hand at last, I held the pen above the section where it asked me to fill in my new first name. I wrote four letters in a neat, printed script: Lisa.