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Character list: Kayla (17) – a spoiled teenager. She is 5’4 120, has spiral permed blond hair, she’s hot and she knows it. Kayla is in her gang with Rachel and Debbie. They bully the other kids, and the teachers often report them. Fred (42) Kayla’s father - a busy company manager. He is the CEO of a biological research and development institute. Two years ago, he got divorced when his wife left him. Since then, he’s been raising Kayla alone. Kayla insisted on staying with him. She had much more freedom while her father was at work. Annie (32) – Fred’s girlfriend. She moved to him and Kayla shortly ago and noticed Kayla’s behavior and decided to teach her a lesson. Annie is a PE teacher and trainer, physically strong and muscular 6’1, 190, blonde hair and blue eyes. ------------ “Fred! Kayla definitely needs a lesson, read the letter from the headmaster,” Annie was sitting in the living room and reading the letter. Dear Mr. Woods, The behavior of your daughter Kayla is inacceptable. Her last mischief has crossed all lines. She and her schoolmates Rachel and Debbie forced a younger girl to dress like a baby and go to the class. The girl’s parents require an instant reaction. We consider expelling all three sinners unless proper corrective measures will be taken. Sincerely yours Samuel Raid, headmaster Fred took the letter and read it repeatedly. He realized he didn’t have time to tend to Kayla. “Annie, I’m sorry I’ve been busy all the time,” he sighed deeply. “If you don’t mind it, I have an idea,” Annie grinned; while reading the letter, she got that idea. They waited for Kayla until she arrived home. They guessed she was outside with Rachel and Debbie.

IAN AND VICKIE JOIN FORCES WITH A HARD BOILED PRIVATE EYE TO FOIL A GANG OF DESPERATE DIAPER THIEVES! SPATS BELMONDO Holidays are bad for business, and Thanksgiving and Christmas are the worst of them all. Especially here in the Twin Cities. It's not enough that the serial adulterers who are the mainstay of our business, cursed with the occasional twinge of conscience, opt to stay home with their families over the holidays. No, at this time of the year we also have to contend with blizzards and snowdrifts, which really ruin a wayward doctor's day, not to mention his nights. I ask you … how is the jerk supposed to interview the cream of the latest nursing school crop at a sleazy airport hotel down on the 494 Strip if the road's impassable? And even if by some miracle the highway department deigns to roll with the plows, where's he supposed to park? Leave the Volvo on a city street during a snow emergency, and you get towed. Put the BMW in the motel parking lot, and there's a fighting chance it'll still be there when the snow starts to melt sometime in March, or maybe April. Minnesota winters are not exactly predictable. No, there's no doubt about it: holidays are bad for business. Year after year, Twinkletoes and her trusty Olympus 35mm camera with its handy dandy collection of lenses and filters go their separate ways in mid-November, not to be reunited again until New Year's Eve, when things will finally start to get back to normal around here. Come early January, aggrieved wives will be storming through the door, eager to get the goods on their wayward spouses en route to a big payday in divorce court. Our paydays are somewhat more modest. Twinkletoes will cost you seventy five bucks an hour, plus expenses. Pat and I charge three hundred an hour, and we bill in six minute increments. Get the picture? Anyway, on the plus side the two of us have six weeks a year to catch up on our reading. Pat favors Playboy and Hustler. My taste runs to crossword puzzles. Anybody know a five letter Zulu word for an eland? Oh, and as for Julia? What can I say? The week before Thanksgiving is when she renews her acquaintance with the kitchen. It's an annual tradition. For six weeks, she cooks up a storm, and we all loosen our belts another notch (it's the Minnesota way). In any event, Twinkletoes is married to this really nice guy, so we'll overlook the fact that Herb Canon is a cop with more than twenty years on the force. Alas, it's impossible to overlook their winsome daughter, Priscilla. Pris is also a cop, of the campus variety, and she packs a mean right. A guy in a bar up nordeast recently called her Prissy, and she laid him out with one punch. No one paid much attention, this being a cop bar and all, and to his credit the guy got up, rubbed his jaw, apologized, and then offered to buy her a drink. She accepted graciously, and all was forgiven. He was lucky that Pris didn't break a cue stick over his skull. So here we were, Thanksgiving looming on the horizon, and nary a client in sight. Still, there were pluses, and the three of us did have reasons to be thankful. For one thing, we didn't have to worry about paying the rent because we owned the building. Our office was on the top floor-- all right, already … a second floor walk-up-- and there was a very good delicatessen down below. We shared Two with a guy selling insurance, and he had a dry cleaner's underfoot. We all did well because we were directly across the street from one of the largest hospitals in the state. Desperate nurses made periodic forays to the deli, the weekly pastrami on rye an antidote to what passed for food in the hospital cafeteria. The dry cleaners specialized in blood, vomit and assorted gore. The insurance guy did a booming business writing policies for the boats tied up along the St. Croix, including the houseboats that a small troop of physicians used for extracurricular activities all year round. And of course the soon to be ex-wives, most of them nurses past and present, were the mainstay of our own thriving concern. Julia got the goods with her trusty Olympus, and we nailed the cheaters to the proverbial courthouse wall. Over the years, from Stillwater to Prescott, many a houseboat title had changed hands thanks to our diligent efforts. In our experience, long suffering wives definitely had a thing for houseboats. To make a long story short, we were just marking time when the door opened and the Incredible Hulk filled our line of sight. It took the Hulk a few moments to figure out that he needed to do the sideways shuffle, or remain forever condemned to stand in the hallway. The sharpest stick in the bunch the Hulk definitely was not, and his jacket was at least two sizes too small. Still, the cannon that he was packing in a shoulder holster looked like a good fit for his hulk like hands. The second guy through the door was a celebrity, although not one whom we had had the honor of representing in court. In fairness, though, Spats Belmondo tended to favor extralegal solutions for his more pressing problems. You could buy a lot of lead for three hundred bucks an hour. “You want I should frisk them, Boss? Maybe look for a wire?” “Fuhgeddaboudit, Walley; deese guys ain't wearing no wires … not in their own office. Besides, dey didn't know we was comin'.” “Right on both counts, Spats … right on both counts. But what gives with the muscle?” I was nodding at the Hulk; a third fellow was now standing just inside the door. Short and wiry, wearing a fedora with the brow too low, he was sporting a mustache that looked like an oil slick. The black shirt and white tie were straight out of Hollywood. The guy couldn't pull off Bogart, but maybe he was going for Alan Ladd. “I mean, seriously. You've got a walleye on the payroll? Since when did the gorillas get shoved to the curb?” “Ha, ha; very funny, shamus. I like your sense of humor.” Spats settled into a chair on the opposite side of the desk and crossed his right leg. He studied the shine on his shoe, pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and flicked an imaginary piece of dust aside. “Julia's the shamus, Spats; I'm a mouthpiece, and my esteemed associate here is a legal eagle.” Pat had set the latest issue of Hustler aside, reluctantly joining the conversation. “It speaks,” Spats laughed. “For a moment dere, I thought yous was a potted plant!” The two bodyguards laughed politely. “Twinkletoes I get,” Spats continued, “but what's with Aardvark and Platypus? Those your real names?” “Andrew Jones and Pat Smith at your service,” I said. “Aardvark puts us first in the phone book, and I have absolutely no idea how Platypus came about. Pat, you remember?” “I was drunk at the time. I don't remember a damned thing.” “Smith and Jones? Jeez … yous was right to scratch 'em off the list. Smith and Wesson? Yeah, now that I could see.” The Hulk and his oily friend once again laughed politely. “To business,” Spats announced as he slapped his hands firmly on my desk. “I wanna hire da Twinkie to help me out with a lidda problem.” “Seventy-five dollars an hour, plus expenses, with a retainer of five hundred samolies, payable in advance and in cash.” I was not big on beating around the bush. Spats snapped his fingers, and the oil can stepped forward. He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket, and handed it to the mobster. Spats casually threw it on the desk. “Dere's a G in dere; if the Twinkster needs more, have her call this number ...” Spats slid a business card across the desk. “Lullaby Adult Diaper Service?” I stared at him blankly. “One of my more profitable enterprises,” Spats smirked. “We supply all dah nursing homes in the Cities, and we even got regular joes as customers. Why, we even got us a university guy, a regular war hero who got shot to pieces over there.” Spats nodded vaguely in the general direction of the Pacific coast. “Makes us look real classy.” “You mean Viet Nam?” “Yeah … maybe … hell, I don't know. We're fightin' so many wars in so many places … who can keep track?” “You have a point. And with whom at your diaper service are we supposed to speak?” “My niece, Harriet. Nicolo's little girl, only she's all grown up now. She fronts dah whole operation, and she runs a real tight ship.” “Ah,” I said, the truth dawning as I looked more closely at the card. “Miss Harriet Belmondo.” Fingering the card, I leaned forward, just a fellow conspirator trying to get an update. “So, what's the play, Spats? How can we help?” “Somebody's stealing my diapers,” Spats growled. . . . . “No, Ian, really … there's no need to apologize. Many of our individual customers suspend service for a week or two, especially during the holidays. If you're going out of town for a family gathering, you can't very well carry a diaper pail on the plane with you.” Sitting at an adjoining desk, Francine Sullivan could hear the young professor's voice through the phone, but she could not make out what he was saying. Still, it was easy enough to fill in the blanks. “No, no, there's no inconvenience. Your service is on Wednesday; giving us notice two days in advance is more than enough time. Can you call Monday next to confirm resumption of service?" More mumbling on the line. “That's a good idea. Give me a number next Monday, and I'll adjust your order. No sense in paying for three dozen if you will only need two. How's your car doing? Still down for the count?” Mumble, mumble. “It must be so hard for you, this being your first winter. And I got used to you driving out here on Wednesday afternoons to process your order in person. Do you realize that you are the only customer I've ever met? Everybody else is just a name, address and telephone number in the files.” Mumble. “No! I appreciate how embarrassing it was for you to leave two bags of dirty diapers sitting in the hallway all day long when you left for work, where your neighbors couldn't help but see them. And then there's our brightly colored delivery truck pulling into the parking lot of an adults only complex. None of this could have been easy for you, so I was happy to help.” Ian started to mumble yet again, but Harriet cut him off. “No, Ian, it's never been an inconvenience, and please, stop apologizing for the day you came in just as we were closing. It's not every day that a guy apologizes for something so trivial by taking a hungry gal out to dinner! And my offer still stands. I can drive down on Wednesday nights after you get home from work, and do the pick up and drop off in person. I would be barely going out of my way, so it would really be no trouble at all. So, will you at least think about it?” One last mumble. “You will? That's great! Enjoy Thanksgiving!” Harriet hung up the phone with a long sigh. “Not going out of your way?' Francine had a very knowing grin. “Harry, you live on Lake Minnetonka, and he's down in Bloomington, which, the last time I looked, is half way to Iowa! The two of you are barely in the same time zone!” “I know, I know, but what can I say? He told my uncle that the tagliatelle was to die for, and the gnocchi the best he's ever eaten. He praised the wine list, raved about the Valpolicella … and he did all this in Italian so polished that my uncle mistook him for an aristocrat from Milan or the lake district. He even tore up the bill-- and Rudy never comps anybody for anything! It was the best date I've ever had!” “Someone's got a crush … nah de nah de nah nah,” Francine teased. “But he's not Italian, he's not Catholic, and he not only wears diapers and pees in them … he poops in them! Sorry, Harry, but this guy is definitely a no-no. Your uncle would have a fit if he found out about your date, and you can count your lucky stars that Rudy chose to keep his lip zipped.” “I know, Francie; I know. But a girl's entitled to the odd fantasy, isn't she? And you don't know what it's like! Every, single Sunday after Mass, Ariana rubs it in … 'you're twenty-six and still no husband? My Francesca is your age, and she's expecting her third bambino any day now'. I am so sick of it!” “Shitty diapers,” Francine countered. She knew that Harriet needed to get out more, but being a Belmondo was a social curse as well as a financial blessing. No one wanted to date a notorious gangster's favorite niece-- at least, no one respectable. “True, and believe me … I've peeked into his dirty diapers. Yuk!!! But you forgot something. Ian's a professore! Uncle Vinnie would kill to have a professor in the family!” . . . . “I can't believe how easy it is to rip these people off,” Cindy crowed. “I mean … seriously? The driver drops off bags of clean diapers at the front door, picks up the used and walks off. He doesn't even bother to ring the bell. Who are these morons, anyway?” “The gift that keeps on giving,” Melanie laughed. “Just think. A week's worth of adult diapers for one of their customers is enough to keep one of our pigeons in diapers for a week as well, and the baby diapers make wonderful stuffers! The photographs should be enough to keep them in line, but if need be, we can always up the ante by threatening to send them to class with a dozen baby diapers stuffed inside their already bulging pants!” “And I can't wait to track them down in the laundromat,” she added as she checked the mirror, making sure that one of their sisters in a trailing car would be stopping to execute the snatch and grab. “I'll be there offering to help them fold their nice, clean diapees! God, how I love humiliating these jerks!” “A pigeon here and a pigeon there,” Cindy hummed, “means easy A's in physics, chemistry, astronomy, calculus … am I leaving anything out?” “Why stop there? Beg, borrow and steal the diapers … invest a little of our own cash in lovely, pink baby pants … seduce the brainiac with a blow job, promise him real sex if he just indulges a teensy, weensy innocent little fantasy, click, click-- don't worry, dear, the photos are just to remember you by-- and then blackmail the twerp for four years to do all of our coursework! Our house ends up with the highest GPA on sorority row, and we get to spend four homework free years partying like there's no tomorrow. The frat boys will love us, especially if we get our pigeons to do their homework as well.” “And our misbegotten parents will be so thrilled when we all graduate Phi Beta Kappa!” “The ultimate bang for their tuition bucks,” Melanie concluded, watching the diaper delivery truck round the corner and ease to a stop at the next house on its route. . . . . “Give me the skinny, Spats. We looking at a B&E at the laundry? Or did somebody hijack one of your delivery trucks?” “Nah, nuttin like dat. It looks like somebody's tailing the driver. He makes the pick up an drop, an takes off. Before yous can say 'Frank sent me', somebody runs up and puts the snatch on my diapers. I want da Twinkster to find the guilty party, and den get back to me.” “No police involvement?” Spats gave me a sour look. It was eloquence itself. “Dey even ripped off Fredo's load. Can yous believe it? My brudder … my poor brudder … some asswipe stole his diapers right offa da front porch!” “How's Freddy doing these days? Getting any better?” “Nah. Dey held his head under water too long.” “Toothpick Charlie,” Pat suddenly exclaimed. “That's who he reminds me of,” he went on, nodding at the walking oil slick. “Toothpick Charlie!” “Yeah,” I said, snapping my fingers, “the resemblance is astonishing! And you, Spats; did anyone ever tell you that you look just like George Raft?” “Who?” “Spats Colombo … you know … the Windy City hood that got bumped off by Little Bonaparte down in Florida at the annual Friends of Italian Opera convention.” “I don't know nuttin bout dat. And da convention was in Vegas, not Florida. We ain't been to Florida since the Commies took Havana. Dat bearded guy ain't no friend of Italian opera.” “So, when did Fredo lose his diapees, anyway?” Spats turned to look over his shoulder. “Last Monday.” Toothpick Charlie's voice was as lugubrious as his mustache. “There has to be a gang of diaper thieves out there, because they followed the driver from stop to stop, and stole everything that wasn't nailed down.” “Dis here's Pauly, my Consigliere. He keeps an eye on things for me.” “Any chance that a rival gang is trying to muscle in on your territory, maybe another diaper service?” “Geesh! Come on guys, act yours age. If we was dealin' with a competitor, I wouldn't need da Twinkster, now would I? Geesh!” “Point well taken, Spats … point well taken.” “Wally rode shotgun on Tuesday and Wednesday.” The oil slick nodded at his companion the Hulk. Now that Spats had taken off his muzzle, Charlie seemed determined to talk us to death. “We knocked on doors, and if somebody answered, we delivered the diapers and best wishes for the holidays. But every drop where there was nobody home? On both days, they all went missing. The hit to our inventory, both baby and adult, has been significant. If we don't get our diapers back, service will be interrupted, and we'll lose customers. Can't have that, gentlemen; the diaper business is very profitable.” “What about the university guy? Was he condemned to spend Thanksgiving peeing in his pants?” “Nah. He called Harriet on Monday. He was goin' outta town or somethin', so he got no service. Unless somebody broke into his pad, his stash is safe.” “Good to know. Well, here's what we're going to do. I'll phone Julia and get her ass in gear. She'll start tomorrow. What time's your first truck roll?” “Eight sharp.” The Toothpick was obviously in command of the details. “Okay. Best guess is that she'll want to tail your driver, and see if she can spot somebody else clinging to his fender. However, at some point she'll want to drop by the shop and have a chat with Harriet. You know the drill, Spats … always look for an unhappy employee, or one down on his luck. Nine times out of ten, these capers turn out to be inside jobs.” “Good thinkin', Aardvark. I'll get Harriet on the blower, and let her know what's up. She's a good kid, and she's takin' this personally. She wants her diapers back, period, end of story.” Spats climbed to his feet, tipped his fedora, and strolled out of the room with the same casual grace that he had displayed entering it. His spats were spotless. . . . . So there we were, Pat and I, alone once more, but with an envelope stuffed with hundred dollar bills sitting quietly atop my desk. I looked over at Pat, wondering if he was also thinking that having Spats Belmondo for a client was about the stupidest thing we had ever done. Pat shrugged, picked up his copy of Hustler, and resumed reading, or looking at photos of naked ladies, whatever it was that Pat actually did when he opened the covers of one of his dirty magazines. I didn't really want to know, and so far had managed to refrain from finding out. Instead, I picked up the phone and dialed the Canon residence. It was time to let Twinkletoes know that we had a client who was rich and appreciative of her expertise. It remained to be seen whether she would be less than enthusiastic about solving the case of the missing diapers on behalf of the shadiest mobster in the Twin Cities. . . . . “We need more diapers,” Cindy summed up. “We simply do not have the resources with which to blackmail the braniacs who can make all of our academic problems go away, for the simple reason that the list of our academic shortcomings is inexhaustible. If we don't want to lose our charter, we need more diapers.” Cindy was addressing the sorority's brain trust. Trailing the diaper service truck for the first three days of Thanksgiving week had netted them a huge pile of baby diapers, but precious few of the adult variety. In fact, they only had enough to entrap three pigeons, which would nicely cover physics, chemistry and calculus, but the rest of the curriculum was a gigantic black hole eager to swallow the sorority whole. “We could all spend more time hitting the books,” Joyce suggested helpfully. “You know … reduce our exposure.” “Oh, please,” Melanie snorted. Joyce was only in the house because she was a legacy, and she was only on the Council because her older sister had been on the Council. In Melanie's opinion, Joyce Wiggins was proof positive that something had gone terribly wrong with the whole fraternity system. “Does anybody else have any bright ideas?” Cindy shared Melanie's opinion of both the fraternity system in general and Joyce Wiggins in particular. “I have a suggestion,” Tippi started to say. “Who the fuck let that cat in here,” Janis screamed. “Everybody in the house knows that I'm allergic to cat hair. And who the fuck would name a cat 'Blofeld' in the first place? That's just plain sick!” “As I was saying.” Tippi tried again. “Blofeld is an oriental shorthair, and they don't shed,” Melanie sniffed. “So, calm down, already.” “And what's with you and psychopaths, anyway? I mean, really … you boo Batman, and cheer for the Joker. You don't get Smart, but you write fan letters to Siegfried. And you name your fucking cat after the creepiest guy ever to crawl across the silver screen. And who put you in charge of this meeting, anyway?" “Actually, Cindy's in charge.” “Would anyone like to hear my idea,” Tippi asked yet again. A tall, slender, hauntingly beautiful nineteen year old blonde from New Ulm, Tippi rarely spoke up. In fact, she worked hard to stay out of the limelight. Tippi's parents had not done their daughter any favors when they named her for New Ulm's most famous export. From elementary school to university, every boy who crossed her path had asked her the same, dreary question. “Tippi has the floor,” Cindy proclaimed, pounding the table with her gavel in a bold attempt to restore order. “Laying low today was a good idea because we have to assume that whoever owns the diaper service will now have someone shadowing his delivery truck. For the same reason, we should back off tomorrow as well. Rather than trailing the truck, we should send a team to hang out at three different addresses on his route-- addresses widely spaced. If we spot one car at all three locations, we'll know what's what. Then, we get back to work on Wednesday, but we only target one drop … the large, adults only apartment complex down in Bloomington that he hit late in the afternoon two weeks ago. There'll be at least a week's worth of used diapers waiting outside somebody's door, which I am going to steal before the driver gets there. We'll stuff some dirty, old rags into the bag so that it looks and feels the same, and once he's gone, I'll also grab the clean diapers. We get two weeks worth of adult diapers in one go, and give these creeps the middle finger in the process. Then we give our pigeons enough diapers for three or four days, forcing them to visit the laundromat twice a week … for double the humiliation. We'll end up with maybe nine guys doing our coursework, and the Great Diaper Heist of 1979 will be just another unsolved crime.” “Any other ideas,” Cindy asked as she scanned the room. “No? Then we'll vote on Tippi's proposal in accordance with house rules. All in favor so signify by touching the tip of your nose with your right hand; all opposed so signify by grabbing your left ear lobe with your left hand.” Cindy once again scanned the room. “The ayes have it, and the vote is unanimous. Tippi and I will take care of business tomorrow, and on Wednesday. The rest of you get to work drawing up a target list. Finals are just a couple of weeks away, and some of us have term papers. We need to trap our pigeons this weekend, and have them in diapers by Monday next at the latest!”

This is my first ABDL story and I hope I can stick with it. I also hope you guys enjoy it and any feed back would be welcome. Chapter 1 The music filled bar turned into a blur of colors as Levi threw back his head to empty the shot of rum down his waiting throat. The liquid burned all he way down and Levi coughed a little and shook his head reactively. “Looks like someone can’t handled his alcohol.” The voice came from his left and Levi glanced over to see a red-headed woman chuckling at him. “I can handled my alcohol just fine,” Levi answered back with tears in his eyes. “I just don’t like to make the shots look bad so I let them think they got the better of me.” He tried to laugh but it turned into a cough shortly after. In truth Levi never could handled his alcohol very well but that never stopped his urge to drink. The woman covered her mouth and giggled. “That’s a good idea. If the alcohol got wind of your strong tolerance it might stop working. It would be a shame if you sobered up on me.” Levi was finally able to stop his coughing and he was able to really take a good look at the woman. She was sitting on the barstool with her legs crossed and swilling her martini with an olive stick. Her auburn hair hung free framing her very pretty freckled face. She was still smiling as she watched Levi with interest in her stunning green eyes. Levi’s eyes couldn’t help but wander down to the shapely legs sticking out from under her tight black dress. From what he could tell she would easily be taller than himself; at a lowly five foot four, he was shorter than most adults. “And why would that be such a shame,” Levi answered back. He wouldn’t call himself a ladies man by any means. Usually women were put off by his height, but this woman seemed obviously interested in him. “Planning on taking advantage of me?” She giggled again. “You caught me. In fact I was actually planning on taking one of your kidneys.” Levi laughed. “If that’s all you wanted you could have just asked. I luckily have two and would gladly give one up to a pretty girl like you.” “Be careful now,” She said slyly. “Keep saying things like that and I may start to believe you’re flirting with me, and that may not be very responsible.” “Shit, you’re right,” Levi said, unable to hide his huge grin. This beautiful girl was hard core flirting with him and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t already infatuated. “But then again I didn’t bring a babysitter so I think I can afford to be a little irresponsible.” “Now that just won’t do. An innocent boy out without his babysitter?” She leaned in closer to Levi and took his hand. “I’ll tell you what little one. Because you obviously need looking after, I will be your designated babysitter.” Levi blushed when she called him “little one”. He had always been self conscious about his size but he tried to push it away, knowing she didn’t mean it as an insult. “Hmmm I don’t know,” Levi said, enjoying the game they were playing. “I’m feeling naughty tonight and I’d rather not be reigned in for my lechery.” He pulled her hand up and kissed it. She giggled again and pulled her hand away. “See that’s exactly why you need a babysitter. I will keep you in check and,” she leaned in and whispered the the next part in his ear, “punish you if you misbehave.” Levi felt a shiver go down his spine and he was instantly, and very noticeably, aroused. She leaned back and smiled as she looked down at the front of his pants. “That settles it. I, Becky Roberts, will be your official babysitter tonight. Now, little boy,” she said, overemphasizing the last words, “tell your babysitter your name sweetie.” He was now putty in her hands, and she knew it. “I have the pleasure of being Levi, and I guess I can trust you to be my babysitter, but I can’t promise I will behave.” Levi caught the eyes of the bartender and she came over. “Please make me, and the beautiful redhead here a trash can.” It might have been from all the alcohol he had consumed that night, but Levi was already in love. After about two hours of hard drinking and continuous flirting, they left the bar to get some fresh air and also do a bit of adventuring. The moment they stood up from their stools, Levi saw that she had a good five inches on him, which made him blush and look down at his feet. However, Becky was having none of that and she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the bar with a giggle. “What do you do for a living,” Becky asked as they walked down the dark street, hand in hand. “I’m a phleb... a phlebobiss.” When Levi drank, his speech was usually the first thing to go and phlebotomist was not an easy word to say at the moment. “I stick needles in peoples arms. “Oh so your a nurse.” She chuckled. “Little nurse Levi. I would love to see you in one of those sexy nurse outfits.” “I wish I was a nurse. Thay make so much more money than me, and I would rock the hell out of that outfit.” Levi felt a quick swat on his backside; it wasn’t a hard swat but it caught him off guard. “Language little one, or I’ll take you over my knee.” She winked and Levi shivered with excitement. He seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight. The girl seemed to know exactly what to say or do to push his buttons. Levi kept worrying he was going to wake up soon and realize she was just a dream, but thankfully that haven’t happened as of yet. “So you take peoples blood then?” “Technically yes, but we are actually collecting the plasma from their blood.” “I hate needles,” she said cringing, “I don’t know how you can do that but it sounds cool.” “Funnily enough I hate needles too, but it’s actually pretty easy.” Levi was starting to feel the urge to pee and thought it best to speak up. “Hey could we maybe walk back toward a bar or something? I gotta use the bathroom.” They were currently walking past houses and to their left was an old elementary school. “Aww does my little man have to go potty,” she said, adopting a childish voice and making Levi blush. “Well have no fear babysitter Becky in on the case, and I’ve got a much better idea!” She stopped abruptly and pointed to the school. “How good are you and climbing?” Levi was taken aback. “You want to break into a school?” “That’s exactly what I want to do and I’m in charge so,” she stuck out her tongue, and pulled Levi toward the chain link fence. Levi had no choice to follow, and after much huffing and puffing, and a hole ripped in his shirt, they were over the fence, and shortly after that, through the window of the school. Thankfuly the window had been unlocked. “Now little man, lets find you a potty.” Once again she took his hand a led him through the school. “The school looked pretty old, though Levi knew it was still in use. However, it was currently the middle of summer so it had been empty for about a month now. Levi had never been to this particular school, but from how familiar Becky seemed to be with it, she must have went here as a kid. “Here we are,” she said, pushing open a door with the name “Miss Fitts” on it. “This in the nurses office and she’s got a much better bathroom than the kid’s bathrooms.” They pushed though the office which was filled with cabinets, cupboards, and a exam table in the center. To the very back was another door which was labeled “bathroom”. Becky pulled him back to the door and grabbed the handle, opening it. “Now can I trust you to go alone, or do want me to help?” Levi laughed and shook his head. “I think I’ll manage. I don’t think the toilet will swallow me up here.” “It had better not,” she said sternly. “I will be very upset if it does. Now hurry along little one, we don’t want you have an accident.” Levi laughed again and pushed into the bathroom. The room looked overall ordinary aside from the toilet, which was obviously made for a child so it was much shorter than he was used to. In his drunken state, he thought he had better sit down to pee rather than risk making a mess of the bathroom. Levi quickly finished up his business, then pulled his pants up, washed his hands, and exited the bathroom. When he came back into the nurses office he spotted Becky smiling at him with both of her hand hiding something behind her back. A drawer was slightly open behind her but Levi was unable to make out any of the contents. “What have you got there,” he asked. “Well,” she said, her smile growing bigger. “Considering the fact that I am your babysitter, I thought it would be fun if we both got more into our roles and as such,” she reveled the object from behind her back and Levi felt his face burn beet red. “No, there is no way I’m wearing that!” “Oh come on don’t be such a baby.” The irony of her goading wasn’t lost on him as he looked at the blue and white Pull-Up in her hands. The thing looked obviously big enough to fit Levi’s smaller frame, and the Blue’s Clues paw prints seemed to be staring at him mockingly. “The fact of the matter is I am not a baby and I don’t need diapers.” Levi folded his arms and looked over at the wall so he didn’t have to look at the thing. “It is not a diaper it’s training pants,” she walked up to him, threw her arms around him, and grabbed his chin. The next thing he knew, her lips were on his and he was lost in euphoria. It was in that moment he knew he didn’t want to be with anybody else for the rest of his life. It just felt right and that magic, everyone was always talking about when they fell in love, Levi felt a thousand times over in that moment. Her lips were warm and moist, and almost as if by impulse, Levi wrapped his arms around her and pushed his fingers into her sweet smelling hair. It was only a few seconds but it felt infinitely longer than those short seconds. When they pulled apart and he looked into her stunning green eyes, they both knew she had won. “Fine I’ll wear the damn thing.” She put her hand threateningly on his backside and warned, “Language.”

This is a long story that develops the characters over time. I will post the first chapter now, and add to it as time passes. Comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated. Chapter 1: The Beginning or the End Carolyn was forty-one, tall, auburn-haired, and still turning heads at the country club. Ten years of marriage to David had not dulled her beauty, but it had dulled everything else. David—forty-four, senior partner at a downtown law firm, broad-shouldered once upon a time—had let the courtroom stress and the after-work bourbon settle around his middle. His once-confident baritone now carried a slight wheeze after two drinks, and in bed he lasted less than two minutes on a good night. Carolyn had stopped counting the nights she lay awake beside him, thighs clenched in frustration, pretending to sleep so he wouldn’t paw at her again. She loved the house, the cars, the vacations, the platinum card with no limit. Divorce would mean losing all of it, and worse—gossip, loneliness, starting over. Affairs were out of the question; David still had friends in every judge’s chamber in the county. She needed a solution that kept the money and destroyed the problem at the same time. That solution arrived in the shape of her oldest friend, Linda. Linda was a clinical hypnotherapist with a discreet practice on the north side of the city. She was petite, dark-haired, always dressed in flowing black, and possessed a calm, almost amused authority that made people obey before they realized they had decided to. On Saturday they sat on Carolyn’s sun-drenched patio Linda with nice glass of wine and Carolyn with tall glasses of peach iced tea—Carolyn never touched alcohol—Carolyn poured out her misery. “I’m dying inside, Linda. I need real sex, and I need to not feel guilty about it. But I can’t leave him and I can’t cheat without destroying everything.” Linda listened, swirling her glass, then smiled like someone unveiling a gift. “There’s another way,” she said. “I’ve seen it work. We take away the man he thinks he is. We make him small. Dependent. Grateful. We put him back in diapers, turn his tiny premature ejaculations into something he can only feel when he’s padded and helpless. And once he’s hooked on that helplessness, he will give you permission—out loud—to take a real man. He’ll beg for it eventually. I’ve read the case studies. Carolyn’s pulse hammered. “You’re serious.” “Completely. I’ll handle the hypnosis. You just play the loving, heartbroken wife who’s trying to help with his ‘little problem.’ He’ll never suspect.” They shook hands like business partners. Three nights later Linda arrived for what David thought was a casual dinner. He liked Linda—she flattered him, kept his bourbon coming, and laughed at his war stories. By ten he was loose, laughing a bit too loud, and bragging about a case he’d just won. Carolyn watched Linda’s fingers move—a subtle circle on the stem of her glass, a soft hum under the music. David’s eyelids sagged. His head nodded. “David,” Linda said gently, “look at my pendant.” The silver chain appeared between her fingers as if by magic. David’s gaze locked on it. Thirty seconds later his chin rested on his chest, breathing slow and deep. Carolyn’s heart hammered as Linda leaned close to her husband’s ear. “David, every night when you’re asleep and you feel the need to urinate, you will simply relax and let it flow. You will not wake up. You will not remember this instruction. You will feel safe and warm as you wet the bed. And whenever you hear me say the words ‘lawyer’s rest,’ you will return to this deep, obedient state instantly. Do you understand?” A low “Yes” rumbled from David’s throat. “Good boy.” Linda snapped her fingers. David blinked, straightened, and reached for his bourbon as if nothing had happened. That night, at 3:17 a.m., David stirred. His bladder pressed full and heavy. Normally he would swing his legs over the side of the bed, pad to the bathroom, stand tall, aim. Instead, still half-dreaming, he relaxed. A hot flood spread beneath him, soaking his cotton pajama bottoms, pooling under his hips. He sighed, rolled over into the wetness, and slept again. At six-thirty the alarm buzzed. David woke to the clammy reek of urine. He sat bolt upright, heart racing. “No. No, no, no—” He ripped the sheets off, balled them in a panic, and stuffed them into the washing machine on hot before Carolyn stirred. He showered twice, scrubbing himself raw, and swore it was a one-time fluke—too much bourbon, stress, anything. The next night it happened again. Same warm surrender, same shameful dawn discovery. He was shaking when he hid the second set of sheets. On the morning of the third day Carolyn “discovered” the wet sheets. She touched his arm with theatrical tenderness. “Honey… the bed was wet again. It’s okay. It happens. We’ll figure it out together.” David’s face burned crimson. “It’s not—I don’t know what’s—” “Shh. I love you. We’ll get through it.” That evening Linda returned. Dessert had barely been served when she leaned across the table and murmured, “Lawyer’s rest.” David’s eyes glazed. Fork frozen halfway to his mouth. Linda’s voice was velvet. “Tomorrow morning, when you wake up wet again, you will feel overwhelming relief at the thought of wearing diapers. You will tell Carolyn—your own idea—that the adult thing to do, the responsible thing, is to wear protection until this passes. You will feel proud for suggesting it. You will not remember I told you this.” Snap. David finished his cheesecake, oblivious. The next morning, voice trembling, David said exactly what he’d been told to say. Carolyn let tears well—perfect, sympathetic tears. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s so mature of you. Of course we’ll get what you need.” By noon they were in a bland medical supply store that smelled of plastic and antiseptic. David’s ears flamed as the clerk—heavy-set, bored—rang up a case of thick, white adult diapers with blue leak guards and tiny teddy-bear prints along the landing zone. “Overnight maximum absorbency,” the clerk said cheerfully. “These’ll hold anything.” Back home, Carolyn unwrapped the first diaper with ceremonial care. David stood in their bedroom in just his socks, hands awkwardly covering his groin. “Lie back, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Let me take care of you.” The diaper crinkled obscenely as she slid it under him, dusted him with powder that smelled like babyhood and surrender, and taped it snug. His tiny penis twitched against the padding, already half-hard from pure humiliation. “There,” she whispered, patting the front. “My big strong lawyer, safe and dry.” That night they went to bed. David lay rigid, listening to the loud rustle every time he moved. At some point he drifted off. When he woke at dawn, the sheets were pristine. The diaper was not. Heavy, sagging, warm, it clung to him like a second skin. He reached down with a trembling hand and felt the sodden weight. A strange, liquid shame coursed through him—followed by a pulse of something darker, something almost like relief. In the bathroom mirror he caught a glimpse of himself: forty-four years old, successful, rich, powerful—and standing soaked in a teddy-bear diaper. Behind him, Carolyn leaned in the doorway, smiling softly. “Good morning, baby,” she said. “See? Problem solved.” And somewhere deep in David’s mind, a tiny voice whispered that this was only the beginning.

Hi ya it’s been a long time since I been in a rp but I thought I try to get back into it, I been in a few different roles like a bratty teenager girl, forced in diapers , accident and mommy encourage etc, plus had a baby factory idea which was fun. Willing to do a rp with an experience mommy or one that loves to rp. Preferably female I had a Mummy that really encourage me to stay with females than males sorry and it’s been my comfortable place. Also I do has dislexia and try’s best to get the right spelling . Look forward to bonce idea back thx lots ! X

Long time lurker. This is the first story I have written. Writing isn’t my strength, and It takes me forever to write, re-read, and rewrite. I have already written 20 chapters. I hope everyone finds this story different but interesting. This is a slow burn, but it does get into the diapers and regression. It will take a few chapters to really get into it. I can see this going for at least another 20 chapters on top of the twenty chapters already written. Chapter 1: The New Intern Avery let out a deep sigh of relief as he read the email he had just received from the biomedical technology department. He was finally being recognized for his hard work and dedication. His complex calculations and programming to demonstrate the interactions between a relatively new drug and a person's DNA had proven correct and valuable, leading to him being hired over a month ago - despite the doubt and ridicule from his colleagues. He leaned back in his chair, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. On the one hand, he was elated that his efforts were beginning to be acknowledged, but on the other hand, he felt uncertain if this would lead to further respect or more challenges from those who never believed in him. A sense of pride mixed with apprehension began to stir within him, thoughts of the potential applications of this research tumbling through his mind. Ever since Avery Sage was a little boy, he has experienced problems with keeping his pants dry. Maybe it had something to do with the car accident that claimed the lives of his parents. Perhaps the foster homes he cycled through caused him stress, or maybe he would have always had this problem. All he knew for sure was that he needed to wear protection when out in public because when he got stressed, his bladder gave way. As a result, whenever he left the security of his home, he wore pull-ups, which made him feel like a little kid and dampened his confidence. His confidence wasn't helped because he was only five foot and one inch tall for a young man. These anxieties certainly didn’t help his mental health. He suffered from depression, anxiety, and insomnia. He regularly saw a psychiatrist and was on medication, but life could still be a struggle. He thought back to his first week of work. Avery graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics and Biochemistry at the age of 18. A year later, he was offered an internship while working on his master's in Biochemistry and Genetics. Avery stepped through the doors of DNA Pharmacia, feeling equal parts nervousness and excitement. He had been preparing for this moment his whole life – the chance to finally earn some respect and prove all those who had doubted him wrong. Flashbacks filled his mind of all the running between foster care families he had endured; it had made his self-confidence falter, but nonetheless provided the motivation for him to finish high school years early and break free from the wings of his current foster family. Now was the time to show what he was made of. As Avery sat in the HR office, he wore his dress clothes for his first day, which was saying much– a little too large for his slim, small frame – but still managing to make him feel small and helpless against the world around him. People seemed to look through him everywhere he went as if he were invisible, yet he couldn't shake off the nagging sensation that all eyes were upon him. His shoulders sagged under the weight of defeat that shrouded his self-confidence. His wavery, untamed hair was combed back the best it could be. “Ok, Avery.” Julian, the HR representative, said. “You're done. You're officially an employee of DNA Pharmacia.” “I won’t let you down. I promise.” Avery smiled as he stood up and reached across the desk to shake Julian’s hand. Julian's expression was warm and encouraging as he shook Avery's hand. Julian was a tall, distinguished man in his late thirties, wearing a navy blue suit and a striped tie. His brown eyes twinkle with kindness, and he has a slight, friendly smirk while speaking to Avery. His handshake was firm but slightly frail, making Avery feel nervous that he had no idea if he could uphold such a promise. Doesn't everyone think that on their first day at work? Avery thought to himself. Julian just smiled back at him from his kind face, like he could read Avery's mind. “Great, I am hoping for good things from you. Shall I show you to your new desk and department?” Julian returned the smile. “Yes, please,” Avery followed Julian out of the room. They took two flights up in the elevator to a department called “Chemical DNA Sequencing Department.” and walked side-by-side down the long corridors of the main building. They passed glass panels on every wall and Avery marveled at how modern this building was. He watched sensors scanning vials of chemicals and equipment, feeding data into computers across the room. It was clear no money had been spared in making DNA a cutting-edge company. Every window they passed made him want to stop and ask what was happening; it all looked so exciting, and he couldn’t wait to start. All this made him forget that he secretly wore a pull-up underneath his clothes as protection was needed. It was down one of these corridors that Avery met an older man. The man had a strong jawline and sharp features, aged but wise. His eyes were a deep blue, crinkling at the corners when he smiled. His gray hair was neatly trimmed, and his beard was flecked with silver. He wore a crisp white shirt with black trousers and polished black shoes. He towered over Avery with an air of authority, yet his demeanor was warm and friendly. Avery recognized him from some of the interviews he had gone through to land this job. “Welcome! You must be our marvelous new intern. I am Bryan Wells, and you'll report directly to me! At your desk we have a laptop and a corporate iPhone with the works waiting there for you. From your resume and job interviews, my colleagues have noticed your peculiar knack for math and biochemistry, so we have an exciting task ahead for you! On your desk is a folder that outlines our challenge: debug a computational logic program that looks at DNA to determine designer drugs for fighting cancer. It's a riddle waiting to be solved - think you can do it? Report back any bugs as soon as possible, and we'd be grateful!” Bryan said cheerfully as he led Avery to his desk. “Yes, sir,” Avery replied. He would have agreed to do whatever Bryan needed. He was eager to impress. Bryan continued to talk to Avery. It was a one-sided conversation. Avery was too in awe of everything he was seeing to really contribute much. For him, this place was like a dream—top-level research with some of the smartest people in the world where his work could actually help people. Avery looked around the room. A long row of cubicles ran down one wall with a dozen or so scientists already hard at work on their projects. Avery's desk was tucked into the corner by an emergency exit. The light blue walls were sparse, containing only a few motivational posters and pictures of animals from Earth. Bryan led him to his chair and showed him how he could adjust it to fit him since the chair was probably to tall for him. Avery blushed a little but said nothing about it. Bryan reviewed with him how to log in to the server and the IT policies on using company-issued equipment. Bryan also went over where the relevant programs were located; he would review the folder with all the notes on the development of this program. “If you need anything, come to find me over there,” Bryan pointed to his private office. “The other scientists and engineers should be coming around to introduce themselves to you today.” “Ok, sounds good… And thank you for this opportunity,” Avery said as Bryan returned to his office. On that first day, he met a few scientists and a few engineers. They all seemed friendly enough, even though Avery didn’t have much to say. He wanted to just focus on the task at hand. He felt he had something to prove. Avery had been dealt a tough hand; growing up in the foster care system meant that he was constantly met with obstacles and negative comments. He was told time and again what he couldn’t do, but instead of accepting those limitations as his fate, he used them as motivation. Everyone’s doubts about him only strengthened his desire to prove them all wrong. The rest of the day was slow. Avery needed help concentrating on the program he had been asked to look at. Quite frankly, it was dull, and after seeing all the other scientists and engineers doing much more exciting things, Avery was keen to do something that felt more meaningful. This need to do something drew him to the thick handbook about all the research involved with this program and more. He was fascinated with it. Avery brought the program to his apartment that night. He abstained from indulging in his usual nightly video game escapades. Instead, he spent hours poring over the computational intricacies of DNA's involvement in cancerous growths, absorbed in deciphering the energy states of cancer cells. The realization that this program was an amalgamation of these complex calculations completely captivated him, particularly as he examined how the drug had to be manipulated to match the energy state of the cancer cells so that it would interact effectively with them. It was nothing less than astounding. As he delved deeper into the notes, he discovered a vexing inconsistency in one of the mathematical formulas that disrupted the programming and prevented it from reaching a conclusion on what drug was needed for treatment. Avery closed the notebook for the night, satisfied he knew what he could start looking at and he was glad to be out of the pull-up for the day. As he lay in bed, his mind kept running through what he had read. His insomnia medication meant he wasn’t awake for long, but even in sleep, it felt like his brain was searching through everything he had learned the previous day. The morning came too quickly as his alarm went off. “Ugh, I hate mornings,” Avery muttered as he hit the snooze button repeatedly. The alarm kept ringing, and every time it did, Avery reached out a hand and hit the snooze button again. It was an almost instinctive reaction to the annoying noise. His brain wasn’t clicking into gear. All he knew was that he wanted more sleep. At one point, as the alarm went, Avery pawed at the snooze button yet again but only ended up knocking his phone off the bedside table. “Oh shit,” He said as he looked up at the clock. It was 7:30 a.m. He was supposed to be at work at 8:00 a.m. His alarm had been going on and off since 6:00 a.m. this morning. Avery quickly removed his boxers and slipped on new pull-ups, light gray tan dockers, and a maroon golf shirt. He quickly wet down his hair and combed it back, knowing it would still look like a mess when his hair dried. Avery quickly left to grab the bus to work at 7:30 a.m. and hopefully be at work at 8:00 am. It was a rush, and Avery didn’t feel particularly ready, but as he walked out of the front door into the early morning air. He didn’t know how anyone could be a “morning person” when he always felt… tired. That morning, when Avery got to work, the first thing he did was get a large cup of coffee. Afterward, he sat down at his desk and began to take a look at the code. The code wasn’t easy to follow. It didn’t follow too much of a logical path in his mind. Two hours later, John Taylor, the most Sr, Engineer on the project and project lead, stopped by his desk. John was a 45-year-old engineer with a commanding presence and an ego to match. He stood at an imposing 6'2" and had a burly build that spoke of years of physical labor. Despite his advancing age, his muscles were still firm, and his torso remained taut, reflecting an unwavering commitment to physical fitness. Avery thought John's walk exuded confidence, each step resonating with a deliberate thud. His posture was impeccable, with his chest puffed out and his chin held high. He had a square jaw and piercing blue eyes that seemed to bore through any obstacle in their way. This made Avery very anxious to be around him. He was very much the opposite of Avery, who was dressed in a pair of tan dockers and a collared maroon shirt That he had quickly thrown on minutes before leaving the house. If someone were to judge Avery. They would say he dressed not to cause a stir and just wanted to blend in. The differences between the timid Avery and John, who exuded machismo and confidence, couldn’t have been starker. John wore an expensive suit that hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his chiseled physique, a testament to his attention to detail and his love of the finer things in life. “Impressive work on one of my projects, huh?” John scowled as he snatched the notebook off his desk. “I wouldn't waste your time with all the irrelevant data scribbled in here. It'll do nothing but distract you.” He flicked it to the other side of his desk like an afterthought. Avery noticed John's hazel eyes were framed by creases that spoke to years of meticulous research studies and calculations. “I tried to get a grip on it, but honestly, I stumbled over the complex calculations necessary for developing designer drugs. Despite that, I was still captivated by the work yesterday." Avery sighed, not convinced of his own abilities to do this kind of research but determine to make a difference still. “Well, just weed out the bugs and get the program working. My team and I will take care of the rest.” Johns said with a condescending smile. “If you do that, you will do good here, kid!” “It’s just….” Avery started. He wanted to prove his knowledge by suggesting a change to the handbook. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.” John cut Avery off with ease. Avery felt a little put out by this overconfident man. He had been hired to be equal to all the other scientists, and yet John was acting like he was somebody hired to do data entry. He knew he could make the program run better and make the handbook better; he just needed John to listen to him. “I’m just thinking that if we…” Avery tried again. “If you have any suggestions, just write them down and slip them under my door,” John said as he started walking away without looking over his shoulder. The rest of the day went on without a hitch. A few people came by and tried to introduce themselves to him, but he kept the small talk to a minimum and just wanted to look over the program. Avery took a lot of notes that day. At the end of the day, he decided to retake the notebook home and leave the laptop at the office. He left the office at 4:30 p.m. to catch the bus at 5 p.m. If he missed the bus past 6 p.m., there wouldn't be another bus till morning. He was hungrier than normal because he skipped lunch all day to work on debugging the program. He stopped by a McDonald's and ordered a Big Mac. As he stood in line, he couldn't help but notice the Happy Meals on the counter, offering small Lego kits to children. It was a cruel marketing strategy to exploit parents and make them buy more Lego sets for their already spoiled kids. He knew this well, but it only reminded him of his own childhood, one filled with deprivation and lack of affection. He watched as the children played with their toys, ignoring the food in front of them - something he would have cherished as a child. But no, he was never allowed such frivolous things growing up; his foster parents made sure to remind him how unworthy he was of such luxuries. The memory brought back painful emotions that festered deep within him.

My background: I’m sporty and athletic in real life. One secret I have that nobody knows about is I’m a lifelong diaper lover. I remember when I was younger making lots of makeshift nappies (I’m from England so its nappies over Diapers) and my younger cousin who used to come over used to wear pull ups, I used to be really jealous of her and steal her mini mouse pull ups 😅 Story Background: This is 100% a true story which happened to me a few years ago when I was 23 in the hospital. I was going in for routine Hernia surgery, it was supposed to be a day procedure or 1 night stay depending on how I felt after the surgery but due to a few minor complications and events I ended up in the hospital for 4 nights. I hope you enjoy how this story unfolds it was a dream come true for me but also fulfilled with embrassment. FYI I’m not a great writer and not great with words so I do apologise if my storys bad to follow. Chapter 1: Arriving at hospital day of the surgrey After being on NHS waiting list for 2 years it was finally time to get my hernia surgery. I was excited to finally get my hernia repaired as it has held me back with a lot of my sporting activities this past few years. I arrived at the hospital and I brought my overnight bag. On the pre op assessment they told me that if I get my surgrey early that morning I should be eligble for day release which I definitely preferred but they said be prepared to have to stay one night so I brought my overnight bag. I arrived at the hospital and the letter said to go straight up to the ward, it was the surgical ward. I was waiting outside the door for quite a while at surgical ward before nurse spotted me and buzzed the door to let me into the ward. I showed her my referral letter and she was very nice and she pointed me up to the desk. Once I arrived at the ward desk there was 6 nurses behind the desk and the receptionist. I thought it was unusual for all the nurses to be sitting behind desk but it was first thing in the morning so their shifts had likely just started they where all either chatting or writing notes into a clipboard. All of the nurses was very attractive two looked older than me I would say one was mid 30s and other early 40s. The other nurses looked similar age to me around 25 and I seen one was a student nurse she looked younger. One of the girls was blonde and she was beautiful I saw her name was Shannon. She gave me a smile and said can I take a look at your letter and then she goes ahh Jack your rooms just down here let me show you and she led me down to which was believe it or not room 1 on a 30 room ward. Once I arrived she said she had to do a covid test first before they proceeded on. (This was 2023 year of my surgrey so covid tests where still relevant especially in hospital settings). She came back shortly with the test and put the swab up my nose and swirled it around. I always hated getting tests in my nose and it made my eyes water. After the covid test was taken she said she’ll be back in half an hour once the test was finished and to make myself comfortable and unpack. As I was unpacking Shannon came back 30 minutes later and said everything was fine with my COVID test. She then handed me a questionnaire to fill out in meantime and said she would be back shortly to explain details about my surgrey. I was filling out the questionnaire and it was general questions like medical history, any allergies, high blood pressure etc general standard questions except when I came to a tick box, day time incontinence, night time incontinence or both. Being a life long diaper lover this question sparked my interest. I mulled over what to do and I finished the rest of the questionnaire before coming back to incontinence question, I gave it some thought as I didn’t know what to do as my parents would be collecting me from the surgrey and if it was the next morning I don’t want them finding anything out. A rush of blood went to my head and I said “Fuck it” and ticked “Night Time Incontinence” and I set the clipboard down before I tried to change anything. It was only a few moments after I set the clipboard down Shannon came into my room again and asked me how I was getting on with the questionnaire. I told her I was all done. She passed me my surgical gown and said to me that I would need to put this on before surgrey, and due to where surgrey was she said you’ll have to remove your underwear, she said we do have these disposable underwear but you don’t have to wear them most male patients choose not to, and i held up the disposable underwear and they looked like skimpy womens panties and we both looked at each other and laughed and I said I don’t think I will be wearing these and we both laughed. She said she will give me a 30 minute heads up to get changed before surgrey into my surgrey clothes and not to worry. I said thats great and as she was leaving she picked up the clipboard and said she will give this to the surgeon have I everything filled out and I replied that I think so. Giving my response she started scanning through the questionnaire, I could see her pupils dialate as she was reading down you could see it in her face but she was really professional and passed no remarks. I knew it was at nightime incontinence one, and I could feel my cheeks burning red with embrassment. But she never said a thing she just replied everything looks great Jack I will give this to the surgeon, just sit tight and I’ll give you a heads up when your surgrey is near. I tried to keep myself busy in between times scrolling on tiktok, Netflix looking at diaper girl stories on tumblr etc anything to try keep me busy. It had passed and it was now 4pm. I was thinking am I ever going to get this surgrey. I was a bit nervous regarding the surgrey so I was keen to get it out of the way. Shortly after 4pm one of the nurses called Laura came into help. She was around 35 and she was on of the Nursing Auxiliarys on. She had been in a couple of times to chat during the day and we had gotten along really well. She came in and said I have bad and good news for you. I looked at her and said well then start with the bad. She said okay your surgreys not happening until the tomorrow morning, there was a couple of emergency surgeries had to be performed today unfortunately but the surgeons taking you first thing at 9am tomorrow morning, I looked at her and said okay and now for the good news. She smiled trying to cheer me up and goes the good news is I get to take your order for your free dinner and bed and breakfast. I looked at her and smiled to as I knew she was just trying to cheer me up. I looked at the sheet and I ordered shepards pie and porridge for breakfast. She told me dinners around 6pm. I used this as a good time to text my mum and dad and to tell them what happened, they where asking did I want them to come for evening visiting time and I told them not to worry its just one night I’ll get caught up on some netflix series on my iPad. This seemed to put them at ease. Shortly after dinner (which wasn’t the best) I got a bit bored. Having not had my surgrey yet I was obviously as mobile and quite capable. Shannon came in I hadn’t seen her in quite a while. I asked her if I could go stretch my legs outside the hospital and go to the hospital shop. She said normally patients aren’t allowed to without supervision but in these circumstances she said she doesn’t think it will matter. She told me when I come back to buzz the door and someone will open it. I left the ward and was delighted to be out walking about 12 hours in one room was enough. I walked around the outside of the hospital for around an hour I covered a right few steps. On my way back in front entrance the hospital shop was there. I decided to go get something in the shop as I was hungry for I didnt eat a lot of the shepards pie for dinner. I purchased a bottle of BPM, Haribo Starmix and a packet of Quavers Cheese. As I was making my way up to the ward I wondered was I going to be allowed to bring in what I had purchased in shop. I’m sure I was but I didn’t want to take risk either so I quickly took my hoodie off and I hit the crisps sweets and drink in my hoodie and put it under my arm. As i approached the ward I buzzed to get in. Same as this morning was no answer. After what felt like an age standing there a nurse I hadn’t seen before today spotted me outside and she came to the door. She asked me who I was and after briefly explaining who I was she said Shannon had told me when she was changing shifts come on ahead you haven’t missed tea and toast yet. I was delighted at the thought of getting tea and toast. As I was walking back to the room I noticed the Tea cart. Just futher on down was another cart, I gulped as I seen what was on top it was Abenda M4 Nappies(being a diaper lover I immediately recognised the brand when I seen them), i couldn’t believe it and the cart wasn’t very far from my room. As i reached my room memories started flooding back from this morning of me ticking night time incontinence. I was filled with so many emotions, excitment, butterflies, nerves, embrassment but a million thoughts raised through my mind. I’m not actually about to get put in a Nappy for bed am I? This would be to good to be true. To be continued… (this is only my first night of what ended up a four night stay in hospital. Its a true story let me know if use are interested in hearing rest and I will post next chapter)

Hello All! It's been a while since I've posted a new story, but I'm back with a project I'm very excited about! "You Know What They Do to Girls Like Us in Brighter Days?" is the story of Rei Akiyama, a young girl trying to navigate through life in a near future dystopia where the age of majority has been raised to 28 for girls and regressive behavioral therapy has become popular to help girls adjust to these new laws. The world this story is set in is very strongly inspired by/based on the world building of Alteredstates, so a lot of credit goes to him! For those unfamiliar with Alteredstates, he does world building through ad copy and other cultural artifacts. While you don't need to be familiar with his work to understand and appreciate this story, I strongly recommend you check it out! Not only because it will help you immerse yourself in this world, but also because it's genuinely really good! You can find him on Tumblr, Twitter, and Patreon! Without further ado, I give you the prologue and first two chapters of "You Know What They Do to Girls Like Us in Brighter Days?" Prologue The night of Wednesday, October 4th, 2028, was unseasonably cold in the city of Greenham; snow was in the forecast for the next day in a city that rarely saw a snowflake until at least January. By 7:28PM, there were already flurries dancing through the cold wind that whipped through the dumpsters behind City Hall, where John Bennet, the head of City Hall security, stood with his foot propping open the emergency exit of the east stairwell. He blew out a lungful of smoke as he dropped his cigarette on the pavement below and crushed it beneath his shoe. John was nothing if not a creature of habit; so much so that, if one cared to be so observant, they could predict exactly what time John would take the last smoke break of his shift before he did his final sweep of the building. He would then go home to his shabby apartment. That night, however, was different. That night, John wouldn’t be going home; he would be meeting a 28-year-old girl he had met on the internet. That night, John’s phone rang just as he was about to go back inside. He fished his phone out of his pocket, smiling when he saw his date’s name on the caller ID, and swiped his finger across the screen as he raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, baby girl,” he said, trying to sound smooth, “I can’t wait to see you.” On the other end of the phone, a young-sounding voice poured honeyed words into his ear as he turned and walked back into the building. Another night, under less distracting circumstances, John would have almost certainly noticed that the door never clicked closed behind him, but the telling silence was lost amongst the words that sent his blood pumping. In a bar a few miles away, Edward Cook was ordering a drink for a girl who looked too young to be there. The girl blushed as she slid her ID and emancipation card across the counter at the bartender’s request, brushing her blue hair behind her ear to look coyly at Edward out of the corner of her eye as she did. Edward never even noticed the girl on the other side of him, or her hand as she slipped a hard plastic card at the end of a black lanyard out of his suit jacket pocket. The card, printed with Edward’s picture and the seal of the Office of Juvenile Affairs, disappeared into the girl’s clutch purse as she quietly slipped away from the bar. She checked the time on her phone as she stepped out into the frosty night: 7:34PM. Elsewhere, the number 9 county bus was pulling over for an unscheduled stop due to a disturbance on the bus involving three young girls. The driver, Richard Lawson, broke up the altercation with the help of another passenger and removed the girls from the bus. That taken care of, an exasperated Richard reported the incident to dispatch, who noted the number 9 bus was running ten minutes behind but was resuming his route at 7:47PM. Back at the courthouse, John, having finished his final sweep of the building and found nothing out of the ordinary, put the finishing touches on his security logs for the night and leaned back in his chair, eyes sweeping over the bank of CCTV monitors that showed snapshots of the interior of the courthouse. It was, however, the clock that John was truly focused on, his eyes constantly flicking between it and the monitors. The moment those numbers turned from 7:59 to 8:00PM, John pushed himself out of his chair and jabbed his finger at the button that caused all of the monitors to wink out simultaneously. Had he waited just a minute longer, he might have seen the black garbed figures slip in from the emergency exit in the east stairwell. He could have watched as they crept up that staircase and slipped into second floor hallway. Another camera would have shown the figures slink down the hallway, past the Permits Office and the Office of Parks and Recreation. On a third camera, the figures stopped in front of a frosted glass door with Office of Juvenile Affairs printed across it in thick, black block letters. One of the figures swiped a card by the panel next to the door, the light turned from red to green, and the figures quickly disappeared through the door. Later, security logs would be pulled showing Edward Cook had accessed the office at 8:04PM; the subsequent investigation would find Cook was not guilty of any direct involvement but would still lose his position on the grounds of gross negligence. By 8:15PM, Greenham City Hall was silent and empty. At 8:17PM, the number 9 county bus blew past the empty bus stop at the far end of the City Hall parking lot. On an ordinary night, Richard would typically idle at this station for a few minutes, but he was working hard to make up for lost time. The next few stops were just as empty, which wasn’t unusual for this time of night on a weekday. It was 8:34PM when the bus pulled up to the stop at Greenham Community College, where three girls and four boys boarded the bus, all of them in their late teens and early twenties. Richard Lawson wouldn’t even think to mention this to investigators later, though they likely would have made nothing of it if he had. By 8:50PM, the city of Greenham, a suburb of the nation’s capital city, was settling into its slumber. A few bars and restaurants were still pouring drinks for late night clientele, but curfew was quickly approaching and all those affected were either already home or else rushing to get there. At 8:54PM, the electric engine of the number 9 county bus was humming along through the streets of one such sleepy neighborhood, empty but for Ricard Lawson and a small handful of passengers: a young girl with black hair and tawny skin carrying a bookbag tight to her chest, two boys with their feet on the seats laughing raucously in the back of the bus, and a mother and a daughter riding together. Richard glanced up at the passengers in his rearview mirror and caught the eye of the daughter. She had bright blue eyes, a practical waterfall of golden curls, and looked to be in her early twenties. Richard smiled at the girl in the mirror; he had to admit, she was adorable in her pink shirt and plaid skirtall. She smiled back at him from behind the shield of her pacifier. The mother turned away from the book in her hand and leaned over the girl, slipping one hand up the girl’s skirtall. Richard quickly averted his gaze, suddenly feeling like he was invading their privacy. “Oh, Rebecca,” the older woman sighed quietly, but still loud enough to be heard easily on the otherwise silent bus, “your pull-up is soaked; did you even know you had to go?” The girl’s smile disappeared into her blush as she mumbled some words from behind her pacifier. The mother chuckled. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she ruffled her daughter’s hair, “we’re almost home! Then we can get you changed into your nighttime diapers and feed you a nice bottle before bed, would you like that?” She booped her daughter’s nose and sent the girl into a fit of laughter. The black-haired girl shifted in her seat across from the mother and daughter, obviously trying to avoid looking at them. She glanced at her phone, 9:52PM. Richard Lawson shifted in his seat and tried to ignore the cooing and giggling going on behind him. Little single-family homes passed by as he made his way down Ridgemont Street, and only more in sight as he turned right down Wrighton Square. The bell dinged and Richard slowly pressed the brake, bringing the bus to a stop at the corner or Wrighton and Central Lake Drive. Richard wished his passengers a good night, stay safe, as they all got off. Glancing back in his rearview mirror to confirm the bus was empty, Richard slowly accelerated into the night. Peter Grant watched the bus pull away from the front seat of his Greenham Police Department Cruiser. He scanned the passengers leaving the bus stop. Two young men cross the street and kept walking up Wrighton Square while three women started walking up Central Lake Drive and toward his cruiser. He checked his clock: 9:56, damn near too late for young women to be out alone. “Let’s check it out,” he said to his partner, Dave Clusky, as he stepped out of the cruiser and started crossing the street towards the trio. As Peter approached, the women were backlit by a streetlamp, but he could make out the vaguely feminine shapes of three women. Two of them walked side by side as the third, at least a few inches shorter than the other two, walked a couple of feet behind. Peter raised his flashlight, “Excuse me, ladies,” he called out officiously as the beam of light cut through the night, bringing the slowly drifting flakes of snow into heavy contrast. The three ladies stopped in their tracks. The shorter of the two in front whimpered behind her pacifier and clung to the older woman next to her as they both blinked against the light. The girl behind them gasped inaudibly and stared ahead like a deer in headlights for a moment before raising a hand to protect her eyes from the worst of the light. “Evening, ma’am,” Peter nodded to the older woman, “these your children?” The woman glanced behind her, then back to Peter, “just this one,” she replied, squeezing Rebecca close to her. Peter nodded, “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. Best get your little one inside, it looks to be about her bedtime.” The mother laughed politely, “yes, we’ve had a very long day, thank you, officer.” She tugged on Rebecca’s hand and quietly urged the girl on. Peter swept his flashlight over a few degrees to focus his beam on the girl in the white button up shirt and plaid suspender skirt. “Could you lower your hand, miss? How old are you?” “Uhm, nineteen,” she replied nervously, “I know it’s—” “It’s almost curfew,” Peter interrupted her, “you allowed to be out past curfew?” “Um, no, sir, I—” “Yeah, didn’t think so. What’s your name? What are you doing out so late?” “Um, Rei, sir, and I’m coming home from college, sir, I was—” “College?” Dave chimed in, “you got parental permission for that?” “Yes, sir, and I—” “What were you doing at college this late?” Peter asked. “You go to Greenham CC?” “Yes, sir, I was studying—” “Studying,” Dave scoffed, “yeah, right.” “I was, sir, I have—” “You got a pass from your professor?” Peter asked. “Yes, sir, it’s—” “Well?” Dave said impatiently. “Let’s see it,” Peter demanded. “Yes, sir,” the girl reached into her backpack and produced a folded sheet of paper that was immediately snatched out of her hand. “Professor Lewis? English?” Peter read key words off the piece of paper before handing it off to Dave. Dave looked the sheet over, made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, then handed it back to Peter. “Looks legit” “You know it’s almost curfew, kid?” Peter turned back towards the girl, thrusting the paper back at her. “Yes, sorry, I was—” “Yeah, you were at college, you said. You live close by?” “Yes, sir, I—” “Where at?” “Just up the street,” she raised her hand and pointed behind Peter. “Uh huh,” Peter sounded skeptical. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time: 9:59PM. “Think you can get home before curfew hits, little girl?” He smiled maliciously. The girl’s knees went weak; she clutched her bag to her chest as if it could protect from him the malice in his smile. Her vision tunneled in on the face of Peter Grant and the world around her sounded like it was moving through water. Tick. 10:00PM. As curfew went into effect all over Greenham and it’s surrounding townships, the eastern wing of the Greenham City Hall exploded outward, raining fire and rubble into it’s expansive parking lot. The sound of the explosion tore through the still night air, audible as a low rumbling miles away on Central Lake Drive. A portion of the horizon of the night sky lit up. “The fuck…?” Peter cursed. “Fuck me!” Dave swore. The girl let out a quiet yelp and resisted the urge to make a break for it. Silence filled the air in the aftermath of the explosion, and then the radios on Dave and Peter’s shoulders started squawking. They completely forgot about the girl as they scrambled back to their cruiser. Chapter One Snowflakes were melting in Rei Akiyama’s hair as she slumped against the front door of her house. She was still shaking and trying to steady her breath. “You’re late,” a voice said from the living room. “I know, I’m sorry, Mom,” Rei said, still panting slightly as she took her shoes off before entering the room. “The bus was running late; I ran all the way here from the bus stop.” Ms. Akiyama made a sound in her throat as she looked her daughter up and down. “You were studying? Let me see your pass.” “Yes, Mom,” Rei said as she pulled out the now slightly crumpled piece of paper out of her bag and handed it over. “You’re working too hard in school,” Ms. Akiyama said matter-of-factly. “Well, whatever, I’m glad you’re home,” she discarded the paper on the end table, “I was starting to get worried when I heard that rumbling. Did you hear that?” “Yes, Mom,” Rei nodded and chewed on her lip, unsure what else to say on the topic. “Rei, stop chewing your lip, it’s a bad nervous habit.” “Yes, Mom, sorry.” Rei forced herself to stop and instead just looked down at her shoes. “Well?” Ms. Akiyama asked expectantly a moment later. “It’s almost bedtime; shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? The news said we were supposed to get a few inches of snow, so school will probably be cancelled tomorrow, but I want you in bed on time just in case, okay?” “Yes, Mom,” Rei replied. She tried her best not to turn and run up the stairs, but instead walked casually up them as if it had just been a normal night of studying. Her mother watched her go, sensing something was off about her daughter, but she was unable to put her finger on what, exactly, she was sensing. Rei stopped briefly at the top of the stairs, turned back, and gave a small smile and wave when she saw her mother was still watching, then disappeared around the corner. Ms. Akiyama sighed quietly: what was she going to do with that girl? She was worried what kind of ideas her school was filling her head with, and Rei being out all-night studying didn’t do anything to allay that worry. Picking up the pass Rei had given her, Ms. Akiyama turned and settled back down on the couch. According to the pass, Rei had been working on her midterm essay for English with Professor Lewis. Sighing once more, she set the note aside, making a mental note to ask Rei what she was writing her essay about (maybe that would give her a clue on exactly what kind of idea’s the school was filling Rei’s head with), and turned her attention back to the TV where a mature looking woman was smiling back at her while holding a colorful package. “That why I decided to try new Pampers Overnight Diapers! They are expertly designed for girls who wet the bed,” as the woman delivered the line, she reached her free hand out the side and pulled a young girl of about eight or ten into the frame and into a side hug, “and those who don’t,” the camera pulled out and panned over to reveal an older girl about Rei’s age staring distractedly at her phone seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, “yet,” the mother added after a beat and punctuated it with a wink. Upstairs, Rei leaned against the wall, just out of sight, focusing on getting her breathing back to normal. The night hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but, so far, nothing had gone terribly wrong. She could only hope it stayed that way. Rei pushed herself away from the wall and made her way down the hallway towards her bedroom, closing her door behind her just as downstairs the TV alerted her mother to breaking news. As Ms. Akiyama was stunned to hear of the bombing just a few miles from her, Rei was tossing her backpack on the floor next to her desk and throwing herself face down on her bed. She was slightly dazed and more than exhausted. Part of her couldn’t believe the events of the night. Yes, they had been making plans for weeks now, she had known this night was coming, but now that it was done…it felt surreal. She was terrified of what would come next. Still, there was one more thing she had to do before this night was over. Rei crept back to her bedroom door, listened carefully, then cracked the door ever so slightly. The distant sounds of the TV still drifted up the stairs and the hallway was empty. Closing the door silently, she rushed across the carpet in socked feet to her desk, which, looking back over her shoulder towards the door, she inched away from the wall. Kneeling down, Rei reached behind the desk and pried off a piece of the baseboard to reveal a small crevice between the wall and the floor from which Rei produced a cell phone at least a decade old. It was black with a silver lined screen and a numeric keyboard. Rei brought up the messaging app only to be greeted with over a dozen texts; each was from a different number, but they all said the same thing: “home safe.” She sighed with relief, painstakingly typed out her own missive (“home safe”) on the numeric keyboard and pressed send before immediately replacing the phone in its hiding place and putting everything back in order. Now, Rei thought, it was time to get ready for bed. Chapter Two “It was confirmed early this morning that there were no casualties or injuries in last night’s explosion at the Greenham City Hall, which occurred at exactly 10PM and destroyed most of the building’s eastern half. While authorities have yet to make any statements regarding the cause of the explosion, many are already speculating that this was an act of domestic terrorism committed by the radical leftist feminist group Rebel in response to recent social policy legislation restricting the rights of women under twenty-eight. Supporters of this theory have been quick to point out that the offices of the newly established Office of Juvenile Affairs, which was formed to enforce these new policies, was located in the eastern wing of the Greenham City Hall. We’ll be sure to bring you all the breaking details on this story as it develops. Back to you in the studio, Steve.” As the news switched back to less interesting stories, Ms. Akiyama turned her attention away from the tablet propped up on the kitchen counter and back to the cast iron skillet in front of her where the pancakes were beginning to form bubbles along the edge of the batter. She flipped them with the kind of perfection that only came with years of practice and shook her head, it was just terrible what had happened. She knew some people thought the new laws were going too far, but surely bombing buildings was going just as far, if not further. No, it wasn’t the proper way to go about voicing dissent at all. And if this was the kind of stuff feminism was preaching these days, maybe there was some sense to these new laws. Certainly they didn’t teach girls to behave that way when she was younger. Ms. Akiyama just prayed Rei’s head wasn’t being filled with this kind of stuff at that college she had begged so hard to go to. Maybe it wasn’t too late to put her in a vocational school; with a little discipline, Rei could make an excellent secretary. Or maybe she could get Rei a job working at a daycare; Rei always liked children, and maybe tapping into Rei’s maternal instincts was just what was needed to make sure she stayed on the right path. Or, there was always… No, no, Ms. Akiyama shoved that thought away. Rei was a good kid; a bit headstrong, but a good kid, surely that option was too drastic. Ms. Akiyama sighed as she stacked the pancakes on the steadily growing pile; she just wanted Rei to be safe and have a nice, happy life. She didn’t want her daughter falling in with the wrong crowd and getting herself in trouble. It wasn’t easy raising a daughter in such complicated times. Ms. Akiyama was still musing on such matters when Rei shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, almost instinctively following the smell of pancakes. “Pancakes?” Rei asked hopefully. “Does that mean school is canceled?” Mom typically never made pancakes on weekdays. “It sure does,” Ms. Akiyama replied cheerfully, trying to hide the somber mood the news had put her in. “Have you looked outside? We got quite a lot of snow!” Rei grinned and rushed out of the kitchen and into the living room and its bay window overlooking their front yard and the street beyond. Everything was white and brilliantly bright in the morning sun, covered in what must have been at least five or six inches of snow. Even the road was covered; it seemed like the snowplows hadn’t made it to their neighborhood yet. Rei couldn’t help but stare out the window in wonderment; she had always loved the snow. There was just something magical about it. Behind her, Ms. Akiyama leaned against the door frame and grinned. When it came to snow, kids were always kids. “Come on,” Ms. Akiyama said after giving Rei a few moments to take in the wintery spread, “the pancakes are getting cold.” She turned and headed back in to the kitchen without checking to make sure Rei was following her. The news was once again talking about last night’s incident, so Ms. Akiyama quickly turned it off as she grabbed the plate of pancakes; she didn’t want to upset Rei with such terrible news first thing in the morning. “So,” Ms. Akiyama said as she set the plate of pancakes on the table and Rei settled into her seat, “you were working on an essay with your professor last night?” She grabbed the syrup from the fridge before settling into her own seat. “Um, yeah,” Rei responded simply as she loaded her plate with pancakes, “my midterm essay,” she added after a moment. “Oh, that’s nice,” Ms. Akiyama passed the syrup across the table and took a couple pancakes off the stack for herself. “What’s it about?” “Um,” Rei was drenching her pancakes in syrup, “well, it’s…well, our professor gave us some articles to choose from and we just have to like respond to one of them.” “Interesting, what kind of articles?” “Just, you know, current events stuff.” “Uh-huh, and what article did you choose?” Sure, Ms. Akiyama was testing the waters, trying to see what kind of stuff Rei was learning at school, but, to her credit, she was genuinely interested in her daughter’s life. Rei, on the other hand, was getting nervous. Her mother didn’t usually ask her this many questions about her schoolwork. Rei liked that her mother didn’t ask her about her schoolwork. Rei thought the less her mother asked about her schoolwork, the better. Why was her mother suddenly interested? She thought about lying, but if her mother asked to see the essay, she’d be caught immediately. “Well, just about…about the passing of The Hayes Act…” “Oh, I see.” Rei shoveled a too large bite of pancakes into her mouth to avoid having to respond. Oh, I see? What did that mean? Rei tried to smile around the bite of pancakes, but her eyes were searching her mother’s face for anything that might hint to her true reaction. Ms. Akiyama worked to keep her face as passive as possible, raising her cup and taking a long, slow sip of coffee to help her efforts. She had barely discussed the act with her daughter since its passage six months ago. She hadn’t needed to much, and it had always felt like such a…touchy subject. “Why did you choose that article?” Ms. Akiyama asked, trying hard to sound casual but interested and definitely non-confrontational. Just a mom interested in her daughter’s schoolwork. Rei speared a hunk of pancake with her fork and cut it away from the rest with her knife, “Um, I just thought the article was interesting,” she spoke with her head down, giving her voice a muffled quality. “What was the article about?” Ms. Akiyama knew Rei had strong feelings about The Hayes Act, and she couldn’t blame her. Rei had turned nineteen a month before the law had passed; she had been an adult for thirteen months when she once again became a child in the eyes of the law for another nine years. Of course, Ms. Akiyama understood why her daughter felt so strongly about it; she respected Rei’s passion, but she wished Rei could accept that there was nothing that could be done. She wished Rei could just accept that the world wasn’t what her mother had promised it would be she told Rei she could grow up to be whatever she wanted. “Just,” Rei shrugged, “I guess the author was talking about how it shouldn’t have passed and stuff…” The two were in a minefield; they both knew it. Neither wanted this to end in an explosion, but one couldn’t leave, and the other couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Oh,” Ms. Akiyama said, “do you talk about that kind of stuff a lot in school?” The last time they had discussed The Hayes Act had been when it had come time for Rei to enroll in her second year at Greenham Community College. With Rei then legally a child, she needed Ms. Akiyama’s permission to continue attending college. Ms. Akiyama could have stopped her; she had certainly been tempted to do it. Rei shrugged, “What do you mean ‘that kind of stuff’?” “Stuff like The Hayes Act? Politics?” “I guess, sometimes.” “What kind of stuff do they teach you about it?” Rei shrugged, “I mean, they just like…explain how it came to be. Historically, you know?” “I see.” Ms. Akiyama could sense her daughter getting…defensive? Evasive? She was certainly becoming something. Maybe it was time to pump the brakes. “I just worry,” Ms. Akiyama said, genuinely thinking it would help defuse the situation. “Worried?!” Rei said a little too loudly, “there’s nothing to worry about, Mom!” “It’s just…I hear a lot these days about what kinds of things colleges are teaching and—” “Mo-om!” “—and I don’t want them filling your head with the wrong kinds of ideas, that’s all!” “Mom, they are not…brainwashing me, okay?” “I didn’t say brainwashing, okay? I just hear what kinds of things colleges teach these days, that’s all,” Ms. Akiyama repeated. Rei slumped in her chair. Her mom had managed to ruin pancakes. “I just want you to be happy,” Ms. Akiyama said after a long, awkward pause. She reached across the table to take her daughter’s hand. “College just makes things harder for most girls these days, and, besides, you study so much, it’s not good for you.” “But I like school, Mom. It makes me happy.” “Well, why don’t we sign you up for one of those extended high school for girls programs?” Ms. Akiyama smiled, genuinely thinking it would be a good suggestion. “Ugh, Mom,” Rei withdrew her hand and shot her mother a withering look, “those are just housewife classes.” “There’s nothing wrong with that, Rei!” “I’m not saying there is,” Rei protested, “it’s just not what I want to do.” “I know, you want to be a teacher, but I just don’t…well…you can’t be a teacher for another nine years, what if by then they don’t let women be teachers anymore?” A silence fell over the room as both mother and daughter felt the weight of that thought. It was a legitimate concern. “I don’t know, Mom,” Rei said at last, sounding crestfallen. “But what am I supposed to do?” Ms. Akiyama frowned. Like most mothers, deep down she just wanted her child to be happy. Part of her really wished her child could have her dream, but most of her knew it simply wasn’t meant to be and there was nothing that could change that. Most of her just wanted to help Rei find another way to be happy. Without a word, Ms. Akiyama rose from the table and cleared their plates. Breakfast was clearly over. On her way out of the kitchen, she lightly ruffled Rei’s hair, “Go on,” she said, “enjoy your snow day, okay? But just…think about the extended high school program?” Rei nodded.

Warning As with my previous stories, this one contains several elements inherent to the pre-established 'Diaper Dimension.' These include, but are not limited to: Diapers and their usage for their intended purpose Non-consensual mental regression through various means (Including possible drugs, hypnosis, and/or surgery) References to surgery to achieve various nefarious goals Humiliation Supernatural elements Witchcraft and spirtualism Female domination Babying of adults (perceived or otherwise) Mild language or use of explitives Depictions of death (or the beyond), illness, or handicaps Graphic imagery associated with any of these warnings Depictions of non-consent and other forced actions of a sexual or other type of encounters This story has not been labeled as mature, due to a lack of specific references to anything overtly sexual, but this warning serves as a 'turn back' point for any readers who do not wish to read about the previous warnings. Lastly, this list is subject to change during the course of writing this story. While most of the plot is ironed out, more warnings may be added if needed. Hey everyone! Welcome back. I know it’s only been a short time away, but I’m definitely excited for this story. I just fleshed out a lot more of it yesterday and today and I think I can weave a lot of fun into this one… which I guess is kind of the point with this story. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my last one and I’m glad I wrote it… but there was a lot of dark in there. Fun to write about sometimes, but it wears on the soul just a smidge after a while. Currently, the chapter count for this story stands at 16, so it’s also going to be a shorter one for sure as compared to my last few. I might flesh a few of them out, but with the way I designed it, it definitely won’t be the almost 30 that my last story was. Speaking of the future, as usual, the poll will be going up next chapter. Also, I’m going to still try and stick with my three chapters a week. This week will be a little off with another one like posted both Sunday and Monday (for a total of four). So, with that in mind, this story might only go until the end of November or the beginning of December. Some things are potentially on the horizon for me and could severely pinch my time though. If that happens, I’ll let you know, but this story should absolutely be completed before the end of the year. Thinking beyond that, I’ll talk more about that later when I know a few more details about my own life but expect there definitely to be a gap between this story and my next one. Last but not least and as usual, I hope everyone enjoys this first chapter of my next story! Chapter 1: A Flickering and A Warmth The lights flicker all around. The air gets chilly and I pull up my fleece jacket to keep warm, my hands needing to stay still as I look into the dark hole before me. “Babe. Come on!” Frankie, my fiancé, pleads with me. “I’m freezing here! It’s March in Philly. I really shouldn’t be seeing my breath in my own house at this point. We live in the historic district sure, but… I don’t need that in my life at this point.” “Yeah, yeah… I hear you.” I switch on my flashlight to look inside the nook of the electrical panel, highlighting several spooky cobwebs in the process. “I think there’s some old and faulty wiring back here. Probably messing with the heating and the lights.” The lights above me flicker incessantly and I need to shake my flashlight periodically to keep it lit so I can actually see what I’m doing as I search for the problem and dust away the cobwebs. “You know… the whole historical thing you just had to have? Kind of a downside to it as well…” Frankie glares at me but then smiles in her typical scheming way that makes me go a little weak at the knees still. “Well… when we bought this place together, I thought I had a big strong handyman to fix all my needs. Guess I was wrong, huh? Shame too…” She pouts jokingly. I roll my eyes. “That’s not going to work on me… today,” I admit, knowing full-well how often her gorgeous and doe-like eyes have brought me low and turned me around on practically anything she wanted within reason. There’s a reason our bedroom has accent pillows… and that idea wasn’t from me. “No?” she questions slyly, slinking up to me while biting her lip. I feel myself giving way a little bit in light of her advance towards me. I know her scheme, but I also know that if she really wants, I’m just about powerless to stop her. “No…” I can already hear the little trepidation and breakdown of my former willpower in my voice. From her smile, Frankie hears it too. “Well… maybe you need some…” Her hands deftly trace over my body. “Incentive?” I nearly let out a little yelp as her graceful fingers send a shiver up my spine… definitely not helped by the colder temperatures inside. I shake my head though. “Yes… incentive.” I try to focus ahead, but Frankie doesn’t let up her little touches. “Frankie… I… I…” I think of spiders… zombies… pink bunnies… anything to keep me focused and off my fiancés increasing closeness and light but prominent touch over my body. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” she asks playfully, her knowing smile showing me just how much she knows this is affecting me and just how much she loves that. “Can’t concentrate?” I shake my head, trying desperately to focus on fixing the wiring. Finally, though, I find the problem. “Ah! Here it is!” I break free of Frankie and rush over to turn the power completely off. Everything goes dark and I hear a little creak from upstairs. “Babe!” Frankie calls out. “Warn me before you do that next time. You know how I am with this place in the dark!” I roll my eyes out of her sight, but she knows my feelings on why. “For the last time, Frankie… there’s no one else in this house. It just… creaks and groans is all. No boogeyman… no demons… no ghosts,” I note confidently coming back over to her to fix the wiring issue I found. She glares at me. “It’s a historical house, Liam,” she says, using my first name… never a good sign with her. “There are other things out there… more than from what we can see.” I shine the light and reach in with the circuit checker to ensure the power is actually off. “Right…” Frankie scoffs. “Well, fine. Be that way. But… you know Brandon and Carmen both agree with me as well,” she points out. “Both of them said they felt something in this place the last time they were here. And you heard the stories and…” I yank out the frayed wire with a grunt, cutting her off and sigh as I reach into my toolbox and pluck out another wire and the tools to reattach the circuit. “Okay… well, yeah. But Carmen thinks her vacuum cleaner is haunted and Brandon…” “Your college ‘brother from another mother?’ That one?” she questions, her annoyance over my disbelief and the fact that I always used to introduce him that way to her very clear now. I smirk and nod. “That’s right. But you know him…” I go in and reattach the wire, twisting the bits around and completing the circuit before backing out. “Ever since you and I introduced him to Carmen. Well… you know…” She doesn’t respond and I can’t tell if Frankie is playing dumb or she really doesn’t see it. Knowing her though, she’s probably just waiting for me to say it. So, I sigh. “He’s got a thing for her, babe.” Her knowing smile confirms my suspicions. “And that’s fine. He just… his opinion tends to agree with whatever she thinks.” Frankie’s smile fades and she sighs as well. “Yeah… I’ve seen that too. I just…” She shakes her head. “Never mind… just, are you going to give us power today… or do I need to start biking a turbine or something to turn on the TV instead?” I smile at her sarcasm and go back over to the electrical panel. “Alright… here we go!” I wince and flick on the main power switch. Humming to life, the house switches back on… this time without a flicker and an almost instant wave of heat from the vents. “Ah…” Frankie smiles like she does whenever she comes home and plops on the couch with a good book. “That’s more like it…” She luxuriates in the warmth for another moment and admires the flowers on the table she arranged for work before turning back towards me. “Thank you, sweetie. That’s much better. But…” She doesn’t have to say anymore, and I look at my watch. “Yeah… yep! Gotta change now to make our dinner reservation.” I nearly turn away to head upstairs to change but pause and then turn back towards Frankie. “Right?” I ask to confirm my guess. She chuckles a little at that before nodding her head. “That’s right. Can’t have you running around in that ratty old flannel to the best new pub in town!” She pauses for a second. “Oh! And while you’re up there, can you move the box of your old stuff from when you were a kid into the guest bedroom. You really need to sort that stuff out before it starts collecting dust!” I smile and nod with her request before heading up the stairs to change and now move the box. Before I’m completely out of view though, I turn back to look at my fiancé still at the bottom. “You know… it’s tough stuff from back then. Basically, my whole childhood. And it could be worth a mint someday, so…!” Looking back down the stairs that maybe she will budge on me getting rid of something, I just see an unamused Frankie with her hands on her hips and a skeptical look plastered all over her face. “Right… right. I got it. I’ll move it now and I promise to look through it tomorrow.” She says something else, this time with an amused smile, but this time it’s almost under her breath and by the time I see it, I’m more focused on getting ready. Knowing Frankie, finishing the task and then getting to the restaurant on time is more important than an acknowledgement of whatever she just said. Still, fifteen minutes later, I’m shaved, dressed, and I’ve made sure my hair is all nice and styled. Frankie appreciates those little details, and considering that tonight we’re going to be discussing wedding plans at dinner as well… I know she’s going to want to focus on them… rather than a potential missed spot when I was shaving. “Ready?” I ask, getting to the bottom step and seeing Frankie waiting by the door. She turns toward me and smiles wide. “Oh…” She gets a little flustered when I actually put effort into my appearance. She has her tricks and I have mine. “Yes! Yes. I…” She takes a breath and grabs the keys quickly. “Come on!” She barely turns back to see if I’m following her. ‘Oh, classic Frankie. Move onto the next thing to avoid the embarrassment of the now…’ I smirk and make sure to lock the door. Before I do though, I groan a little as I see another little flicker of the overhead light in the main hallway. I then also smell something sweet and oddly familiar, but something I can’t place either. ‘I wonder if Frankie’s using a new floral spray or something?’ For now, I decide not to ask Frankie it or tell her about the still fluctuating power… Ten minutes later, we’re heading out of the historical part of the city and the radio switches to a commercial I hadn’t heard before. “Scared? Intrigued? Just wanting to know more about the underground scene or what lurks beyond the covers and into the dark? Join us tonight to discuss this very matter. Releasing her book, ‘Understanding Your Kink,’ join Dr. Lauren Hutchinson and I tonight as we dive headfirst into...” I click the radio off and shake my head, being sure to pay attention to the street signs ahead for where we’re going. I then shift in my seat for a moment, trying to find the right spot to sit for the drive. “Geesh… almost feels weird to be driving, you know?” Frankie nods. “Yeah. Ever since we moved into the heart of the city, I can barely remember the last time I drove anywhere. Can walk to work and the grocery store…” “And Brandon and Carmen live so close…” I point out as well. “Seat kind of feels lumpy now.” I shift around uncomfortably as we cross the bridge to get on the main road up to where we need to go. “Probably just your imagination…” Frankie muses. “But babe… pay attention. You know this road can get a little tricky at these speeds at night.” I nod back and focus through my distance glasses for the exit I need to take. Most of the time I-76 is pretty choked with traffic, but tonight with the sun already set and a fog setting in, I think most people are avoiding it. “Pretty grim out here,” I note, keeping my eyes on the increasingly blurry road ahead. “Just pay attention and we’ll get there soon. It’s not too much farther north after the zoo,” she notes, her brain likely already calculating the exact moment we need to exit over to make our reservation on time. “But maybe turn on your high beams or something. I can barely see the road ahead or who’s in front of us…” I nod and look down for a second to flick them on. I find the switch, having to reach my hand under the wheel a little and then look up... Right at a swerving car. “Babe look out!” Frankie screams, quickly trying to shield her face from whatever might happen next as she peaks through her fingers in utter terror. Seeing the car at the last minute, I try to swerve as well to avoid the now out of control vehicle in front of us… but his speed and ours are too much. Horrifically, I can tell that it’s too late. We’re both going too fast on the curve of the road to avoid each other. He spins right into the front of my car… spinning us away and right into a nearby traffic sign, right side first. Glass shatters and metal bends and snaps. I feel the weight of the world shove against my side and the pain as my right arm slams into the middle console between the seats. Airbags deploy right on impact and quickly deflate as smoke and the fog settle around us and twist around my broken vehicle. The world bleary already, I look around with squinted eyes to survey the damage. I know I’m not supposed to after an accident, and it even hurts a little… but I turn to my right to see the one thing that really matters to me. “Frankie?” No answer except the faint sound of a little dripping. “Frankie!” I shout, a little more panic in my voice now… but still no answer… no movement. * * * The phone rings once… a second time… and even a third. I ignore it each time, laying out on my couch, the curtains drawn close and the house quiet except for the creak of the frame as the wind rattles it from the outside… the Fall season definitely approaching. The machine in the other room beeps. “Hey bro… it’s me, but I guess you probably already know that…” Brandon says with a sigh from his phone. “Listen… I know being roommates in college and all, a lot of the times that means being each other’s wingman or helping hide the booze our freshman year or celebrating a new job or whatever… but we’ve been through a lot together. Being my ‘brother from another mother’ and all… well, it also means that we’re here for each other in the tough times as well. Frankie… well, I know how much she means to you still. So, uh… yeah. Just give me a call, okay? Stay tough, bro.” The machine clicks off. I roll over on the couch and momentarily wince over my still sore wrist. I came away from the crash with a pin in my wrist still, and Frankie… I shake my head trying desperately to clear those thoughts. ‘No need to start crying again, Liam…’ I sigh and pick up the picture frame with the photo of Frankie in it I took almost a year ago now at a local Fall festival. She was so happy that day… we were so happy. Now… The phone rings once… a second time… and a third yet again. I still ignore it and let it go to the machine. ‘Come on, Brandon… Take the hint. You’re a friend… the best one I have, but… I just want to be left alone…’ I sigh and await the oncoming message trying to get me to leave the house once again… only it’s not from Brandon this time. The machine beeps. “Liam… pick up the phone. Pick up the phone.” There’s a heavy sigh at the other end of the line, and I can already hear the disappointment in Carmen’s voice. “I feel that you’re there and listening to me, Liam, but… please call me back no matter what. Just… whenever you get this and hear me out… please call me. It’s been six months since the funeral. I know you miss her so badly, but I miss her too. Our little flower shop… it just doesn’t feel the same without her by my side anymore…” I know full-well that they were very close before I came into the picture. She’s my friend as well, but she was always closer to Frankie like I was closer to Brandon than she was. I still thanked Carmen for the lasagnas she gave me after the funeral, but… since then, I just kind of want to forget everything… “Please call me, Liam. I… I miss you. I miss her! Just… please call me back. I’m worried about you. Brandon’s worried about you. We don’t even have to do anything fun if you don’t want to. Just see each other to talk, okay?” I hear her desperation, and I do feel a little bad for her. In one stupid accident on the road, she lost her business partner and closest friend… but I just can’t bring myself to move from my spot and answer her. “Alright, Liam. I understand. Just call me back when you can. Please…” The machine clicks off. I look deep into the photo of Frankie. She was so happy that day. I almost gave the photo to her parents when they came around to pick up some of her stuff. I gave them almost everything else I had of hers. It just didn’t feel right to keep it all. They were family… they were her parents. Now though, I just have the frame and a few of the things that I gave her and that her parents insisted on me keeping. Barely a whisper of memory now in this empty house… “Frankie…” I paw at the front of the photo and feel the tears come once again. I’m tired of tears, and I swear I would have run out by now… but my sadness just never seems to end whenever I think about her too much in one stretch. Lately though, that just feels like it’s all the time. But for Frankie, I keep pushing on. I still do my job. I still feed myself. Frankie would want that for me at least… but everything else? I just can’t find it in myself to celebrate. The last time I tried… really tried I mean… Fourth of July. Brandon and Carmen were supportive that night, but I just couldn’t move on without thinking of Frankie. How she loved the bar we all went to. How her hand felt in mine when we watched the fireworks the year before. Or the smell of hotdogs… something she always gagged at before guzzling down two in a second. All her little quirks and things that made her who she was… who I still love, even the boom and sparkle of the fireworks overhead couldn’t distract me enough from that… I sigh at those little odd and yet wonderful memories and look back at her photo. “I miss you Frankie… if only I could see you… one last time… I… I could really use someone to talk to like you. Someone with an open mind and who won’t judge me and…” Suddenly, what feels like an electric shock runs through my body. My hair stands up on my neck, and I almost get the sensation like I’m being lifted off the couch for a second before I feel an incredible warmth envelops me. Not hot like a sunny day at the beach, but like the rays of sunlight that filter through your window on a Sunday afternoon or a snuggly blanket. I can’t help but smile and lower the picture frame still in my hand for a second. ‘Oh… maybe it’s a sign from the universe or…’ Raising my head, right in front of me is a translucent blue figure… and there’s just no other word for it: a ghost. “Holy…!” I bolt up and clutch the picture in front of me like a shield against an evil monster. ‘But it can’t be a ghost, right? Ghosts aren’t real… are they?’ I chatter at the floating figure seemingly staring back at me. I should be running for the hills or the police… but I stay stuck to my seat, trying to breathe normally in the presence of this figure. I half expect it to turn into some rotting corpse or to shout ‘Boo!’. Instead of any of that or turning into some ghoul or trying to scream and frighten me away though, the pale and see-through figure only hovers before me for a moment like a leaf on the wind. Oddly, once my mind calms down enough for rational though, beyond my initial shock, I realize now that I only feel peace. I should be terrified of this thing… this spirit now hovering in front of me. It shouldn’t exist and if it should, then I should be running for my life or to call the ghostbusters or for an exorcist on the spot without any delay… but I don’t do any of that. The figure, mostly just an outline and rough shapes of a body, then reaches out towards me. As I look down, I see the spectral hand come close to the picture I’m clutching. “Wait… is there something you want from me? Maybe a message from Frankie… or maybe you’re Frankie herself?” I ask, almost as a joke, referring to the photo in the frame. To my surprise, the spectral figure bobs along… almost as if nodding. Intrigued about this sudden turn, everything in my head that I previously thought… all my denial and skepticism, suddenly seems so foolish in the midst of this literal proof of life beyond death. As I look ahead at the ghostly presence, the doubt I once had of the beyond quickly vanishes in a flash. ‘If I’m to believe in ghosts… then… could this… I mean, could this really be Frankie? They nodded when I said her name. So… is it…? Could it really be my Frankie?’ The thought feels like a fool’s hope… but I haven’t had a scrap of any kind of hope since I last saw Frankie in the car that one fateful night, and even this little bit right now is enough to drive butterflies into my belly in a feeling I needed lately. So, shakily, and admittedly hoping beyond measure, I stand up and reach out to the figure. “F… Frankie… is that you?” Just as I’m about to make contact with the entity who just seemingly nodded at the picture of my dead fiancé, they vanish. “No!” I try to reach out, as if I could cling tight to them and hold them close once again forever… but they’re gone completely before I can even twirl a figure around any part of their being. Seconds later, the warm feeling I had vanishes as well. “Frankie…” My fool’s hope sits sourly in my stomach for a moment. The potential of seeing and holding my fiancé again… just to see my Frankie again, just feels like too much… But I then I realize one critical thing and I nearly jump at the notion. “Holy shit! They vanished, but… ghosts! Ghosts exist! Frankie was here! Right here! I… I…” I feel lightheaded from the mere possibilities of what I just witnessed. A ghost! I just saw a real life ghost! ‘This could change everything about what we know and who we are and what lies beyond and…!’ My mind reels with the possibilities of the single but hugely impactful moment I was just apart of. I nearly hop up and down and do a little dance at the very notion. But as I look around my room at the heaps of junk and dust and liquor bottles piled in the sink, I realize a critical fact: if I’m going to be telling anyone about this, I might not be the most reliable resource at the moment. Doubt begins to snake around my mind wickedly. It’s a negative quality that Frankie always tried to help me with. In this case though, it only makes me more cautious at telling anyone… at least until I clean my place up a little bit and confirm that what I saw wasn’t just some figment of my imagination. And so, in a single moment of clarity, my eyes dash to my phone to exercise that caution. Running over, I pick it up and think of the first person to get over here and check if I’ve lost my marbles or not. “Carmen? Yes, yes. Listen… can you come over?” “Liam? Is that you? I…” She pauses. “You know I can come over but… does it really need to be now? Today?” I look back at the spot where I just saw the spectral form of Frankie… or at least I hope I did and then over to the clock, fully realizing the lateness of my call. A little more doubt fills me up, but remembering back to what I just witnessed, I steel my guts and stick to my request from my friend. “Yes, Carmen… today.” Two hours later, I hear the knock at my door that my heart has been beating for since I last laid down my phone and invited Brandon over as well, the group skeptic seemingly a good choice to evaluate what happened to me. Gathering my strength, shaving, cleaning, and just zoning myself in, everything is ready. As I open the door, I just hope I don’t make a complete fool of myself. “Hey you two!” I greet my two friends cheerily. “Hey… bud,” Brandon says nervously as he enters the house first, quickly looking around as if I’m about to prank or murder him on the spot. “Hey… Liam,” Carmen says, looking just as concerned as Brandon still is. “I was kind of surprised to get your message.” She steps in but in typical Carmen fashion, nearly snaps back to me as I close the door. “Pleasantly surprised that is! I just…” She pauses and looks around the house as well… almost like a parent visiting their kid and making sure that everything is okay. “Well… you weren’t answering either of our messages and… well, we were… are kind of worried about you…” I wince a little at the worry I know I caused them. “Yeah… sorry about that. I just… well, you know…” “Yeah, man,” Brandon says quickly wrapping his arm around me. “We do. Which is why we want to take you out drinking tonight. Our treat, okay? Get out of this place and maybe clear your hea…” “Okay, okay. I accept!” I say exasperatedly. A drink actually does sound pretty nice, especially after what I just saw today… but I need to show my friends about it first. I need to make sure that my brain isn’t going completely nuts or whatever. Either way… a drink would be good if I was, or if I really did see what I saw… a drink is definitely going to be needed. “We can absolutely do that,” I confirm before taking a breath, “but I need you all to see something first. Or not!” I wince and shrink back a little, guiding them into the family room where I saw the ghost of Frankie before. “I… well…” I hate how badly I’m stumbling at my words, but I know I just need to push through my nerves and just get it out there. “I think I saw Frankie’s ghost!” There’s dead silence for a moment as both my friends just stare at me with a mixed look of confusion and concern. I sigh. “Yeah, yeah… look, I know how it sounds…” Carmen winces and seems to be trying to go for a diplomatic approach to her words. “I mean… what do you… mean by that? To be honest, Liam, it kind of sounds like you’re…” “Like you’re nuts!” Brandon finishes for her, much to her angry glare afterward. “I’m sorry to say that and I know losing Frankie hit hard. She was a real keeper, man, but… she died, Liam. And…” “And there’s things we don’t understand out there in the world…” Carmen pops back in, “But this… this is…” “I get it, okay?” I admit with a sigh. “Just… I saw something earlier today, so will you two just indulge me this once?” I still see both of their concerns. It’s nice to know I have them in my corner and to see their concern for me… but I need to be sure about this and for them to have a little patience. “Okay, fine… if nothing happens after five minutes, take me for a drink and get me to forget this ever happened, okay? We’ll simply chalk it up to stress or something. Sound good?” Both nod and I take my place on the couch right where I was, before I begin to murmur out a single word. “Frankie… Frankie…” Five minutes later and we’re still nowhere. I thought I felt warmth about three minutes ago now, but it seems like it might have just been a faint breeze filtering in from the vents after Carmen moved to sit down as well. “Dang it!” I slap my lap and hop up. “Liam…” I hear Carmen’s concern, but I just focus on the spot where I saw Frankie’s ghost. “That’s five minutes, man…” Brandon notes somberly, almost as if he was really hoping for my sake that Frankie’s ghost would have shown up. “I just… I don’t understand!” I sigh and it takes everything in me not to spit on the ground or punch a pillow or just yell in pure frustration. “I was sitting right here!” I plop back down on the couch. “And I took her picture frame, and I was holding it and wishing she would be back here.” I try to move the picture frame up, down, left, right… but still nothing. “Liam…” Carmen steps a little closer, her eyes full of worry about me. “Maybe you just wanted to see something. I mean, I’m the first in for this type of thing, but… maybe you just need some sleep… Wouldn’t be such a bad idea, right?” “Yeah, man,” Brandon agrees. “Maybe you just head to bed. We can drink together another night. Tonight…” I shake my head. “No, no! I just… one more minute, please!” I look back down at the object in my hands. “I was holding this frame and then… poof! She was here!” I clutch the frame closely and shut my eyes about as tight as they can go. “Come on Frankie. Come on!” I bite down and focus on the floor before squeezing my eyes, starting to rock back and forth with her picture clutched against my chest. “Please… please… I need you… I need you…” Suddenly, I feel the warmth I felt earlier surrounding me once more. It fills me up to my fingertips, a longing and a comfort I haven’t felt since Frankie last hugged me or when I last saw her ghost. It’s pleasant in a way that I didn’t realize how much I missed it, and I sigh in contentment now that I feel it again. I don’t even need to look up to see what’s transpiring. “What the…?” Brandon stumbles back and clutches the couch at the reappeared spectral figure in front of us now. “Aye!” Carmen plummets to her knees and begins praying. “San Miguel Arcángel, defiéndenos en la lucha. Sé nuestro amparo contra la perversidad y acechanzas del demonio. Reprímale, Dios…” “I told you!” I get up and reach out to the pale blue form in front of me. This time though, the figures’ hands are able to touch mine like one would stick their fingers through a sunbeam. The feeling of warmth intensifies all around, and I feel like electricity is passing through me. “It’s her! It’s got to be her!” “It… it can’t be!” Brandon, the usual skeptic of the group, except when Carmen’s involved with an opinion that is, seems to be struggling just to stay upright in the ghost’s presence. I slap him on the shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s her! It’s Frankie!” By now, Carmen has finished her prayer, and while she looks like a stiff breeze could knock her over as she stands up warily, she still seems mostly overjoyed to see the ghost. Only a second later though, she lights up. “Oh! It is! It is her! Look!” Her finger points to the figures’ head. “It has her hair. Her nose!” Sure enough, as I look closer at the spectral form, I begin to see all kinds of details I hadn’t before. The image beyond the blue sheen of the mist surrounding it is still hard to fully make out, but beyond all that, there’s a face. There’s hair and clothing. I strain to see more and I step forward. But the figure fades… almost as if a huge weight was just placed on her back. In seconds, she’s gone. “Frankie!” I shout out, once again trying to hold her hand to keep her in the room with us… but it’s no use. Moments later, even the warm feeling is gone yet again. “Dang it! That’s the second time today! Why won’t she just stay?” “But… but… it can’t be!” Brandon stumbles out. “But it is!” Carmen counters. “It was her. I…” She turns to me, her face full of wonder and regret. “I’m so sorry I doubted you, Liam. That… that was her! A ghost! I can’t believe it!” “Yeah… I mean… holy shit, dude!” Brandon says, his usual demeanor seeming to come back a little more now. “I mean… that was her. Had to be! Ghostbusters, poltergeist, voodoo, hocus pocus, haunted mansion level stuff right here! And… damn it!” He looks around for a second. “No camera!” I smile at his usual antics but then I turn to Carmen, the one who normally believes whole-heartedly in this kind of thing. “Frankie always said you believed in this stuff. I’m… I’m kind of out of my depth right now. I mean… what just happened?” Carmen winces. “Well… I actually don’t know. Belief is one thing, but this? This is proof that we all saw. This… this doesn’t just happen every day, Liam. I mean… I wouldn’t have a clue where to begin… at least properly.” “So, we’re screwed and just limited to these short little interactions forever then?” I ask, my hope seemingly deflating a little on the spot. To my relief though, Carmen shakes her head, her braided black and blonde streaked ponytail flipping about behind her. “I don’t think so. Remember, I said ‘properly.’ Spirits, from what I’ve ever read about at least, are energy or something like it. I’m not an expert or anything, but I think it takes an effort for them to stay here… at least without a conduit.” “Conduit?” Brandon asks, a little skeptical but definitely intrigued as well. “Yes,” Carmen confirms. “We need a medium or psychic… someone like that. They channel the energy, and you see the ghost… feel their presence more intently through them. In a way, they almost act like a telephone or a lightning road. Again… just from what I’ve only read about before.” I catch on to what she’s trying to imply… or at least I think I do. “Wait… you’re talking about a séance, aren’t you?” Carmen smiles and nods. “That’s right! That’s one of them, and…” She pauses and hesitates for a moment. “Uh, I guess if we’re putting all our cards on the table… I tried to do one for Frankie already.” “Wait… you did?” Brandon asks, sympathy and shock laced deeply in his voice. Carmen sighs. “I did. Spring hit and I saw all the flowers… reminded me too much of Frankie. I was desperate and sad and…” She shakes her head again. “So, I reached out to someone I heard about mainly from one of my friends way deeper into this sort of thing. She actually came into the shop a few times before, but Frankie always dealt with her orders…” “And…?” I press, hoping there’s more to the story. “And we couldn’t make contact,” she notes with a sigh as she then fishes in her purse for something. “She gave the session to me for free. Said Frankie might have moved on, or that I just didn’t have the connection required to make contact. Since it came to nothing, I didn’t want to bring it up… well, until now, that is.” Pulling a single white rectangular object from her purse, she looks at me intently before sighing once more. “Now… well, I guess you have that connection I seemed to be missing though…” I look at the card in her hand skeptically for a second. “I don’t know… Maybe I’m just…” “Hey man… maybe take a leap of faith here,” Brandon shockingly suggests, breaking me from my own self-criticism. “You’re always about the proof of things. And well, I don’t think you’re going to get more on your own ever than whatever we just saw here.” Carmen nods. “And… well, not to be selfish, but… do this for me as well… do it for Frankie.” Not even blinking then she then hands over the card she plucked from her purse. “Please just try, for us, okay?” I nod, realizing that this situation isn’t just about me anymore and take the card from Carmen. “Okay… for you… for Frankie…” The next day, I look back at the card and then up at the sign on the old brick building in front of me. Not even that far away from where I live, ‘Madame Gwendolyn’s Shop of Curiosities’ stands out only slightly on the lively block of Philadelphia. I think Frankie came over here once to get an anniversary gift for me, and if I remember correctly from back then, it was definitely a nice night… but personally, I don’t come down here that often. Brandon and Carmen both wanted to come with me today, but I told them that I needed to do this first step myself. I felt compelled to venture this solo today… I needed to see all this for myself… maybe to check if I was nuts or that we all are. The typical skeptic and the believer are good to have by my side most days… but not in this one case. I needed this lady, real psychic or medium or whatever or not, to just see me. But as I look ahead, to my surprise, the shop seems nice enough. There’s some odd symbols I don’t recognize, and a sign that mentions ‘FCC and MC Welcome Inside,’ which seems a little strange to me… but I just push on inside, a little bell ringing as I do so. Almost immediately, before any other object displayed around the store catches my eye, I see a tall, dark-haired, and admittedly beautiful woman behind the counter. As soon as I step inside fully, she smiles at me and waves. “Evening, darling. What can I do for you?”

Well, here's a new story that shows the brutality of aliens if they ever met mankind. Here, we have I'm Not Saying It's Aliens, but..., a regression fic in a different way than I normally do things. The content is also quite different, and very mature. Firstly, this is set in an alternate Cold War era. There will be critiques about the respective governments of the United States and the Soviet Union, but they will be in passing, as this is not like Yet Another World War. This is a concept about alien abductions and how horrifying it could be to the abductees to be captured by creatures with more power than humanity will ever have. The aliens in question are quite sadistic, almost akin to Diaper Dimension, but not exactly, but they abduct and shrink humans down to the size of children to make them more "compliant". Humans are implied to be used as breeders for what amounts to puppy mills, lab rats for corporations testing new drugs and the like, and as often mistreated "pets". This includes teenagers being implied to be breeders, so please be aware of that before you delve in, and I promise to warn you when it happens. Humans are sold like Black slaves in the 1800s for the aliens, and there are lobotomy procedures, teeth-pulling, nerve-disabling, and genetic alterations, one in particular which happens to both of the main characters. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. So, if the concepts in this story affect you in any way, please take heed of the warnings and don't read. The last thing I want to do is traumatize readers. But I promise, no matter how bad it gets, like with all of my stories on this site, there is a happy ending, even if it's not expected. So, if you're still with me, read on: - Chapter One: Abduction - Warrant Officer Felicia Paniagua smirked as she confidently stepped near the entrance of the space shuttle, her astronaut suit on. Of course, the necessary diaper (it was called a “Maximum Absorbency Garment”, but in reality, it was only a very absorbent diaper) was…annoying, and she wasn’t used to it, but she’d live with it for the opportunity to go into space. If her mom could see her now… She let out a sigh, brushing a loose strand of her long dark brown bangs, expertly done in a ponytail in the back, away from her oak-brown eyes. Now wasn’t the time to think about her family, her mother, her many younger brothers, sisters, and cousins, especially not with…her on board. She sighed again as she saw the other woman walking towards the shuttle in the German space station, dressed similar to her. According to the file she had been given, the other woman was a Praporshchik - a warrant officer, in Soviet Union military terms, the same rank she was - by the name of Lagle Ehasalu, born in Tallinn, the Estonia part of the Soviet Union. Lagle had not spoken a word since they had met, her worried sky-blue eyes appraising Felicia nervously as if she wanted to see what her thoughts on her were. Her blonde hair was smartly tied in a bun, and she was surprisingly tall; if Felicia had to judge her height, she was about 5’10”, and the Hispanic woman had to crane her neck to look up with her own 5’2” height. At least we both have the same boob size; double C-cup, by the looks of it. Felicia offered a handshake to Lagle, who took it with a bit of surprise on her face. “Well, I figure since we’re going to be crewmates for this mission, we should get to know each other,” Felicia said. “Pleased to meet you, Lagle.” Lagle merely shook her head and spoke in a foreign language (Felicia didn’t know which one.), before shyly going into the shuttle. “Doesn’t speak English. Lovely.” Felicia sighed for a third time, wondering what this was all about. The higher-ups had been very vague and had stated that she wasn’t to tell anyone about this mission, that she had been selected out of a very large pool of candidates to “foster goodwill between hostile nations”, hence why they were doing this in a neutral site in Germany rather than the United States or the Soviet Union. Other than that? Nothing. But how could they “foster goodwill” if neither of them spoke the other’s language? All Felicia knew was English, Spanish, and a bit of German. This woman, Lagle, definitely didn’t speak English, and she was probably a shy wallflower, judging by her actions. They were totally different. How could anyone expect proper chemistry? Only thing we have in common is that we’re both young women pilots. At least there won’t be any fucking sexism here. Now that was annoying. The talking down to, the snooty comments and sexual harassment, the slurs and bigotry, she had heard it all and still graduated top of her class in 1977. Now it was three years later, and all of that still hadn’t faded, unless it was the people who knew her (only a few). I wonder if Lagle experienced the same. The Soviets did use women as fighters in World War 2 after all. Felicia stepped into the shuttle, not having to duck her head like Lagle did, as the door closed. It was a smaller shuttle, cheaper than the earlier Saturn rockets, and such a thing made her nervous. As a pilot, she could at least control her plane; with a space shuttle, so many things could and did go wrong. She was nervous about the whole thing, when she saw Lagle talking in her foreign language to her superiors at their home base, obviously as scared as Felicia was. “Warrant Officer Paniagua, this is Houston, are you green?” Felicia sighed, checking all of the gauges. She had prepared a little bit for it, and she was smart enough to know how this worked. Thus far, everything looked good. Fuel and engines? Check. Thermal protection system? Sound. Altitude and navigation? Solid. Landing gear? Yep, that was good, too. She tapped into the radio beacon and said confidently, “Green as spring grass across the board, Houston.” “We’re clear for takeoff,” Houston said, while the Soviets instructed Lagle in their own language. “Just relax, Warrant Officer Paniagua. It won’t take long.” Then an ominous gas entered the shuttle. It was hot pink, suffocating, and enveloped Felicia quicker than she could snap her helmet shut, and she saw Lagle panicking, trying to snap her own helmet shut. “Sorry, Warrant Officers,” Houston’s voice said regretfully. “You were chosen for this-” Chosen? It was the last thing she thought of before everything went black… Then she could hear two crackling voices in the blackness after a prick on her neck, although it felt like a fog was in her head, making it fuzzy, impossible to think, impossible to decipher the exact intent of the speakers. “Yelpka, we’ve got the package. Two young females of the lesser species.” “Young females, haha! Yorsha, how much do you think they’ll sell on the Lottery? About one-hundred thousand krysts?” “One-hundred thousand? Try one-hundred million krysts, Yelpka. They’re young, female for potential breeding, and they don’t have the behavior issues the other lesser breeds do.” “Ah, those types. Yorsha, they’re still lesser breeds. You just replace them if they’re broken; there’s plenty on this backwards planet.” “Yelpka, these are the ones we chose for the Lottery. These ones, we’ve made sure have no defects.” “Why don’t we just take more, Yorsha? This world’s filled with them.” “Yelpka, we made articles with this world, like we have with others. We are the dominants, they are the lesser, but our higher-ups have made deals for millennia with other worlds.” A third voice. “You two, are you done with the lesser species extraction for the Lottery?” “Yes, Commandant! Shrinking process will begin on your mark.” “...Mark!” Felicia felt an excruciating pain, like getting wisdom teeth pulled out with pliers without anesthesia, mixed with a spinal destruction, like she was being completely crushed into a much smaller shape, but no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t scream, such was the fog around her head. She felt her bladder and bowels empty into her Maximum Absorbency Garment. “Disgusting creatures. The smell…” “If it bothers you so much, Yelpka, put on your mask. We need to clean them.” “Why should we? Disgusting things can do it themselves…” “They are under sedation for the transportation to our home world. And…” A cruel chuckle. “It’s not like they’ll be able to do it after the Lottery winners are through with them.” “Heh. I hope they pull all of their teeth out. It’s always fun to hear these filthy creatures screaming in pain.” “Yelpka, nobody needs to hear that. Yorsha, clean them. Yelpka’s obviously useless aside from the shrinking process.” “Understood, Commandant.” Felicia felt her suit being taken off, along with her bra and undergarment, felt a pair of furry hands roughly clean her before another Maximum Absorbency Garment was put on her. She wanted to struggle, wanted to open her eyes, but everything was a blur as she was shoved on a cold metal surface, still unable to move or make a sound, no matter how much she tried. “Done with both. Can I go back to the bow? I want to see the home world.” “You can. Set a course for our home world. We’re done for now.” “What about getting other specimens?” “Yelpka, you cavlet, if we obtained other specimens, that means less room for these. Warp travel is always dangerous to specimens, and we want to make sure these survive. The Lottery demands it.” “...Understood, Commandant.” “Warp on my mark. …Mark!” Then lights painfully exploded in Felicia’s head, and she knew no more. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

The beginning of this story talks about how I became a diaper lover. The second part of the story talks about how I met my wonderful wife. Part 1 Before I tell you how I met the woman who would become my wife—and yes, the one who proudly wears diapers—I want to share a glimpse into the world that shaped me, and how I came to find beauty and comfort in something most people wouldn’t expect. I grew up in a place that felt like it had been designed by a child’s imagination. Within half a mile of my house, there were two winding rivers that shimmered in the summer sun, twelve baseball fields that echoed with laughter and the crack of bats, four soccer fields, six basketball courts, seven tennis courts, and a sprawling park with a lake so wide it seemed to touch the sky. That lake was where I learned to swim—awkward strokes at first, then confident dives from the dock. In the summer, I’d float down one of the rivers two or three times a week, letting the current carry me past trees, rocks, and the occasional turtle sunning itself on a log. It was paradise. A place where imagination ran wild and every day felt like a new adventure. I spent more time outdoors than within four walls. By the time I was eight, I had the freedom to wander to the park alone, soaking in the quiet thrill of independence. At thirteen, I graduated to floating down the river solo—a rite of passage that came after my dad joined me for a cautious first run, making sure the currents hadn’t changed too much after winter’s thaw. It was in this world of play and freedom that I began to understand comfort—not just physical, but emotional. The feeling of being safe, accepted, and free to be myself. That sense of comfort would become a guiding thread in my life, even in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. When I turned thirteen, my uncle hired me to work at his custom homebuilding company. He only built four or five houses a year—not because demand was low, but because his reputation was so strong he could have easily built twenty. He simply believed that quality mattered more than quantity. His priority was making sure every client felt truly at home, with no lingering problems or regrets. That philosophy stuck with me: comfort isn’t just about the space we inhabit—it’s about the care we put into creating it. My job was to keep the worksite spotless—and I mean spotless. I spent my days picking up stray boards, sweeping sawdust, and clearing any debris left behind by the crew. If something was on the ground, it was my responsibility to make sure it wasn’t there for long. My uncle was meticulous about cleanliness. He believed a tidy site reflected a tidy mind—and that even the smallest details mattered when building someone’s dream home. While I was still in school, I would head to the job site right after class. My parents allowed me to work for one hour each day, as long as I kept my grades up. During summer break, I was able to work three days a week for six hours a day. They didn’t want me to miss out on enjoying my summer, so they made sure I still had time to relax and have fun. My uncle employed an architect who had his own dedicated trailer on the worksite. He was stationed there to quickly address any issues that might arise during construction, ensuring problems could be solved on the spot. Although his expertise wasn’t needed frequently, his presence provided peace of mind. When not troubleshooting on site, he spent most of his time drafting house plans for upcoming projects. I gradually became friends with him on the job site. Whenever I had downtime, I’d head over to his trailer and watch him sketch out designs for the new house. After about two months of me hanging around, he turned to me one day and asked, “Want to learn how to draw up house plans?” That simple question kicked off six months of hands-on learning. He patiently walked me through each step, pointing out what I got right and where I went off track. His guidance was steady, and I soaked up everything I could. Then one day, he looked at me and said, “It’s time. I want you to design a three-bedroom house.” I wanted so badly to prove to him that I could do the job—and do it right. For three months, I poured everything I had into the design, refining every detail until I finally felt ready to show it to him. He asked for a couple of days to review it. Three days later, we sat down together and went over the plans. He pointed out where I had made mistakes, but also acknowledged what I had done well. Then he handed the plans back to me and said, “Fix the errors and bring it back in two weeks.” I managed to correct most of the issues on my own, though I did have to ask him for guidance on a few tricky parts. When I brought the revised plans back to him, he looked them over carefully. After a moment, he said, “All the mistakes are fixed.” The next thing he asked me was what I planned to do with the house plans. I admitted I had no idea. That’s when he suggested I submit them to a magazine that publishes and sells architectural drawings—maybe they’d be interested in buying them. So I gave it a shot. About two months later, I got a response. They wanted to buy my design. I ended up making a decent amount of money from that first sale. After that, I started sending them a new plan every six weeks until I graduated high school. I saved every dollar I earned, and by the time I finished school, I had built up a solid little nest egg. Part 2 will be about my childhood.

The church bells still echoed in their ears as Carolyn and Dave stepped over the threshold of their new home, the white dress trailing behind her like a bridal train, his tuxedo already rumpled from hours of celebration. The door clicked shut. The world outside vanished. Carolyn’s smile turned wicked the instant the deadbolt slid home. “Strip, baby boy,” she purred, voice honey-sweet and razor-sharp. “Let’s get you ready for your dream wedding night.” Dave’s fingers trembled as he obeyed, shirt buttons slipping, belt clinking to the floor. When he was naked, his small cock already half-hard and twitching with nervous excitement, Carolyn circled him like a predator. She produced the thick, overnight diaper—pink, printed with tiny rattles and pacifiers—and unfolded it with a loud, crinkling flourish. “Look at this pathetic little baby dick,” she cooed, flicking the head with one manicured nail. “Barely bigger than my thumb. No wonder you begged me to lock the key away months ago.” Dave whimpered, face burning crimson as she powdered him, taped the diaper snugly around his hips, and gave the front a condescending pat. The bulk forced his thighs apart; he already felt small. Next came the vibrating plug—thick, black, merciless. Carolyn slicked it with lube, pressed the tapered tip against his hole, and pushed. Dave gasped, rising onto his toes as it stretched and filled him, the flared base nestling between his padded cheeks. She twisted it once, just to watch him squirm, then clicked it off. “Hold still, sissy.” The frilly pink schoolgirl dress came next—short pleated skirt, puffed sleeves, white lace trimming. She zipped him in, tied an oversized bow at his throat, and stepped back to admire her work. “Oh my God,” she laughed, clapping her hands. “You are adorable. Dave is gone. From now on you’re Daisy. My pretty little sissy baby Daisy.” Daisy’s cock strained uselessly against the diaper, a damp spot already forming. Carolyn guided—no, marched—her to the straight-backed chair waiting beside the bed. Ankle cuffs clicked around each shin, wrist cuffs behind the chair back. A thick penis-shaped gag was forced between Daisy’s lips and buckled cruelly tight, drool already pooling. Finally, a pink leather blindfold was considered, then discarded. “No,” Carolyn decided. “I want you to see everything.” A firm knock sounded at the bedroom door. Carolyn smoothed her wedding dress, checked her lipstick in the mirror, and opened it. Marcus filled the doorway—six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, dark skin gleaming under the hallway light. His tuxedo jacket was gone, white shirt unbuttoned to reveal sculpted chest and abs. He took one look at the bound, diapered, frilly figure in the chair and grinned. “Well, damn, baby. You weren’t kidding.” Carolyn flew into his arms. Their mouths crashed together, hungry and shameless, right in front of Daisy’s wide, watering eyes. Marcus’s huge hands cupped Carolyn’s ass through the satin wedding gown, lifting her slightly so her heels left the floor. She moaned into the kiss, grinding against the obvious bulge in his trousers. Daisy squirmed. The diaper was already warm—he’d leaked without meaning to, a hot flood spreading beneath the padding, soaking the absorbent core. The shame burned deliciously. Clothes came off in a frenzy. Carolyn’s wedding dress pooled at her feet like surrendered lace; Marcus’s shirt hit the floor. When his pants dropped, Daisy’s muffled whine vibrated around the gag. Marcus’s cock—thick, heavy, veined, easily twice Dave’s size—sprang free, already glistening at the tip. Carolyn sank to her knees, wedding veil still pinned in her hair, and took him deep into her mouth with a greedy moan. Marcus threaded fingers through her hair, guiding her rhythm while staring straight at Daisy. “That’s it, Carolyn,” he rumbled. “Show your little husband how a real man gets worshipped.” Minutes later Carolyn rose, pushed Marcus onto the bed, and straddled him. She reached for the small remote on the nightstand, thumb hovering over the button. “Eyes on me, Daisy,” she ordered. She sank down onto Marcus’s cock in one slow, deliberate slide. Both of them groaned; Carolyn’s head fell back, veil tumbling. The moment Marcus bottomed out inside her, she pressed the button. The plug in Daisy’s ass roared to life—vibrating hard, then thrusting in short, relentless pulses. Daisy screamed into the gag, hips jerking uselessly against the restraints. The diaper squished audibly with every involuntary thrust. Carolyn began to ride Marcus, rolling her hips, breasts bouncing in the white lace bra she still wore. Marcus gripped her waist, slamming up to meet her. “Fuck—yes—so much bigger,” she gasped, voice breaking. “So much better than that little baby clit in the diaper. He could never fill me like this… never make me feel this good…” Each word was a dagger of delicious humiliation straight to Daisy’s cock. Pre-cum soaked the already drenched padding; the plug hammered his prostate without mercy, pushing him to the edge and holding him there, unable to tip over. Marcus flipped Carolyn onto her back, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and pounded into her with deep, punishing strokes. The headboard slammed the wall in rhythm. Carolyn’s manicured nails raked down his back as she came the first time, crying out Marcus’s name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Daisy watched every second, tears of overwhelmed arousal streaking his cheeks, diaper swollen and sagging, plug still buzzing and thrusting inside him. When Marcus finally tensed and spilled deep inside Carolyn with a guttural roar, she hit the button again. The plug slowed to a gentle thrum, just enough to keep Daisy aching. Marcus pulled out slowly, cock slick and shining. Carolyn beckoned with one finger. “Time for the baby to clean up.” The restraints came off. Daisy’s legs nearly buckled as Carolyn guided her to the bed on wobbling knees. Marcus sat back against the headboard, legs spread. Carolyn pressed Daisy’s head down gently but firmly. “Open.” The gag was removed; Daisy’s jaw ached. Marcus’s cock—still half-hard, coated in Carolyn’s juices and his own cum—filled Daisy’s mouth. The taste was overwhelming: salt, sex, defeat. Daisy licked and sucked obediently while Carolyn stroked her hair. “Good girl.” When Marcus was clean, Carolyn pushed Daisy between her own thighs. “Now me.” Daisy buried her face in the warm, creamy mess, tongue delving deep, swallowing every drop of another man’s seed from his new wife on their wedding night. Carolyn sighed contentedly, petting Daisy like a favored pet. When she was satisfied, she laid Daisy on her back in the center of the bed, wedding dress discarded nearby like a shed skin. The soaked diaper squelched as she rubbed the front in slow, firm circles. “Cum for Mommy, baby Daisy. Right in your messy diaper like the little diaper slut you are.” It took less than thirty seconds. Daisy arched, keening, and flooded the already ruined padding with thick ropes of pent-up release. The warmth spread everywhere, shame and bliss indistinguishable. Carolyn cleaned her up with baby wipes, powdered her again, and taped on a fresh overnight diaper—even thicker, decorated with tiny teddy bears. Over it went a frilly pink nightie with ruffled bloomers. Marcus watched from the doorway, arm around Carolyn’s waist, both of them glowing with afterglow. Carolyn took Daisy’s hand—small and trembling in her firm grip—and led her down the hallway toward the nursery. The fresh diaper was impossibly thick between Daisy’s thighs, forcing a waddling gait that made the ruffled bloomers swish with every humiliating step. Marcus followed close behind, one large hand resting possessively on Carolyn’s hip, his deep chuckle rumbling whenever Daisy stumbled. “Listen to that crinkle, baby,” Carolyn teased over her shoulder. “Everyone at the reception thought you were such a big, strong man in that tux. If only they could see you now—waddling like a toddler who just filled her pants.” Marcus laughed. “Damn right. Look at those little legs trying to close. That thing’s gotta be twice as thick as what a real baby wears.” They stopped in front of a white door decorated with a hand-painted sign in pastel cursive: Daisy’s Nursery ♡ Carolyn pushed it open and flicked on the light. The room was a pink paradise of calculated regression. Soft rose walls were stenciled with teddy bears holding rattles and balloons. A changing table—adult-sized, complete with stacked towers of oversized pink diapers, wipes, powders, and lotions—dominated one wall. Above it hung a mobile of spinning pacifiers and plush toys. In the corner sat a rocking horse with a pink saddle and reins. Shelves displayed rows of frilly dresses, bonnets, booties, and onesies in every shade of pastel. A faint scent of baby powder and lavender hung in the air. And in the center stood the crib: white bars rising high enough to contain even a grown adult, topped with a locking hinged side. The mattress was covered in waterproof vinyl printed with tiny ducks and diapers, piled high with stuffed animals and a thick comforter folded at the foot. A large pink pacifier clipped to a ribbon dangled from one bar. Daisy’s breath hitched. This was the room they’d built together in secret over the last year—every detail chosen by Carolyn, every purchase making Daisy leak helplessly into whatever diaper she’d been wearing that day. Carolyn guided her forward until Daisy’s padded hips bumped the crib railing. “Go on, sissy baby,” she cooed. “Climb in. Show Marcus how obedient my little Daisy is.” Daisy hesitated, cheeks flaming. Marcus folded his arms, smirking. “What’s the matter, princess? Too big for your crib? Nah—you’re exactly the right size. Tiny where it counts.” With a whimper, Daisy gripped the bars and hoisted one leg over, the diaper crinkling obscenely loud in the quiet room. She had to squat awkwardly to clear the high side, the bulk between her legs spreading them wide. When she finally tumbled onto the mattress, the impact made the fresh padding squish softly beneath her bottom. Carolyn leaned over the rail, smiling down like a proud but wicked mommy. “Look at you,” she whispered, voice dripping with mock affection. “My pretty little diaper girl, safe behind bars where you belong. No big-boy bed for you tonight—or any night. Real men get to sleep with their wives. Pathetic little diaper babies like you get locked in their cribs with a diaper on and a plug up their asses and dreams of what they'll never have.” Daisy's cock twitched traitorously in the thick padding, the humiliation flooding her with that familiar, intoxicating heat. Marcus chuckled low from behind them, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Look at her, Carolyn. Bet that tiny clit of hers is already leaking again." "Oh, I know," Carolyn replied airily, “Now look at Daisy: all diapered up for the night in her pretty nightie, and not a single hair below her head because real babies don't get pubes. Isn't that right, sweetie?” Say 'yes, Mommy' if you agree you're just a worthless, tiny dicked diapered sissy loser who couldn't satisfy any woman." Daisy's voice came out small and broken, barely above a whisper, her face buried in her hands. "Y-yes, Mommy... I'm just a worthless, tiny dicked diapered sissy loser..." "Louder, baby! Let Daddy Marcus hear how much you love being my humiliated little cuck-baby. Or do I need to turn that plug back on and make you hump the crib bars like the desperate slut you are?" "Yes, Mommy!" Daisy yelped, the words tumbling out in a rush, her body trembling with the exquisite burn of shame. "I'm just a worthless, tiny dicked diapered sissy loser who couldn't satisfy any woman!" Marcus barked a laugh, pulling Carolyn back against his chest for a quick, possessive kiss over Daisy's head. "Damn, she's good at this. You train her up nice, or does she just come pre-loaded with that sissy whimper?" "Both," Carolyn said with a wink, then turned back to Daisy, hoisting her up by the armpits like a toddler and plopping her unceremoniously onto the crib's mattress. The padding whooshed softly under her weight, the diaper squishing against the waterproof sheet. "Up you go, my leaky little mess-maker. Time to tuck in the sissy who couldn't even keep her diapers dry during the vows." Carolyn tested the latch with a rattle, then leaned over the rail, her full breasts spilling forward in a way that made Daisy whimper and avert her eyes. She clipped the oversized pink pacifier to the front of Daisy’s nightie, then popped it between Daisy’s lips without asking. The rubber bulb filled her mouth completely, reducing any protest to muffled baby babble. Marcus reached through the bars and ruffled Daisy’s hair roughly. “Night-night, princess. Try not to wet the bed too much. Though we both know you will.” "One more thing, sissy Daisy. You were such a good little cum-guzzler tonight, lapping up Daddy's load like it was your favorite baba. So, Mommy's gonna leave your plug on low—just a tiny buzz to remind you what a plugged-up sissy slut you are. And if you flood this fresh diaper before morning? Well, you'll wake up stewing in your own shame, listening to us go at it again. How's that sound? Perfect justice for the husband who traded his balls for a babydoll dress?" Daisy's breath hitched, the low thrum of the plug already pulsing faintly against her insides, syncing with the rapid beat of her humiliated heart. "P-perfect, Mommy... th-thank you..." "You're welcome, my pathetic sissy baby princess." Carolyn blew a mocking kiss, then turned to the dresser, picking up the baby monitor—a sleek white unit with a curly cord. She plugged the speaker end into the outlet just outside the crib bars, positioning it so the grille faced inward, inches from Daisy's ear. The receiver clicked into her hand, its tiny screen glowing faintly. "This little toy? It's so you can hear every filthy detail of what real lovers do. Every moan, every slap of skin, every time I scream Marcus's name instead of yours. You'll be drifting off to the sound of your wife getting railed properly—while you hug your teddy and wish that sad shrimp in your diaper could do half as much." Marcus wrapped his arms around Carolyn from behind, his hands sliding down to cup her hips as he nuzzled her neck. "Hell, maybe we'll crank it up loud enough for the whole neighborhood to know who's really running this house now. Poor Daisy's going to cream her crinkles just from the audio." "Oh, she will," Carolyn purred, flicking off the nursery's overhead light. The room plunged into a soft glow from a star-shaped nightlight plugged into the wall, casting twinkling shadows across the murals like accusatory eyes. “Look at you,” she whispered, voice dripping with mock affection. “My pretty little diaper girl, safe behind bars where you belong. No big-boy bed for you tonight—or any night. Real men get to sleep with their wives. Babies get locked in cribs, listening to Mommy get fucked properly.” "Sweet dreams, baby Daisy. Dream of all the big, thick cocks you'll never measure up to. Mommy and Daddy are going to make this a wedding night you'll leak over for years." With that, Marcus flicked the main switch by the door, bathing the nursery in darkness save for the nightlight's feeble stars. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Daisy alone in the crib—curled up under the comforter, thick diaper crinkling with every shift, the plug's gentle hum a relentless tease against her core. The mobile tinkled overhead, a lullaby of mockery. Through the monitor's speaker, the sounds began almost immediately: the master bedroom door shutting with a thud, the rustle of sheets, Carolyn's delighted laugh bubbling up like champagne—"God, Marcus, I need you again already"—followed by the low rumble of his voice, too muffled to make out but thick with promise. Then the bed creaked, rhythmic and insistent, Carolyn's gasps building to moans that pierced the quiet like arrows: "Yes—harder—fuck me like my sissy husband never could..." Daisy pressed her thighs together, the fresh diaper warming with fresh shame, and surrendered to the night—exhausted, aching, perfectly, utterly fulfilled in her cage of pink humiliation.

Hey everyone, Long-time lurker, first-time poster here. Ever since I read “The Trainer” a few years ago, I haven’t been able to get this world out of my head. One story turned into notes, notes turned into maps, and maps turned into an entire living, breathing (and very, very crinkly) universe: Orchid Atoll and the Orchid Circle. This is the result: a massive, ongoing saga set on a private island where the ultra-wealthy come to live out their darkest, dirtiest fantasies, and where the Mk4 Trainer ensures that surrender is permanent, pleasurable, and irreversible. Fair warning up front: Heavy on diapers, regression, forced incontinence, total power exchange Plenty of humiliation and degradation Yes, there is M/M content (and F/F, and everything in-between) because on this island nothing is off-limits Some scenes are extreme, some are tender, some are both at once At its core, though, the story keeps coming back to one idea: We are all slaves in one form or another; some of us just get to wear thicker padding and a prettier collar while we serve. I hope you’ll come along for the ride. The island is always open… and once you’re inside, the only way out is the way they choose for you. Welcome to Orchid Atoll. Mind the wet spot on the floor; someone just earned their next diaper change. ORCHID ATOLL The Official Legacy Invitation Brochure - For your eyes only Welcome to the Only Place on Earth Where Shame Dies and Desire Becomes Law You are holding the rarest invitation in the world. Not because it is printed on paper woven with 24-karat gold thread (though it is). Not because only 117 copies exist this year (though only 117 do). You are holding it because you have already been watched, measured, and judged worthy. You have been chosen for Orchid Atoll, the private, uncharted island where the global one-tenth of one-tenth of one percent come to stop pretending. Here, there are no laws except the ones you pay to break. Here, there is no desire too dark, too filthy, or too taboo, provided your credit line can stand the weight. We call it the Island of Absolute Permission. We call ourselves the Orchid Circle. And the quiet little secret that keeps the entire paradise running (the one you will taste, smell, and feel in every room) is a device so elegant, so merciless, and so perfectly insidious that it has only one name: The Mk4 Trainer. Part I – The Orchid Circle: Who We Are The Orchid Circle was founded in 2028 by nine individuals whose combined net worth exceeds the GDP of most nations. Their shared belief was simple: Human beings are happiest when they are either in total control… or in total surrender. The world already offers endless ways to be in control. Orchid Atoll offers the only place on Earth where surrender is guaranteed, permanent, and exquisitely engineered. Every dollar you spend here funds three things: The most exclusive resort ever built The most sophisticated neural-compliance technology ever created The permanent, debt-free lives of thousands of beautiful, broken, blissful slaves who exist only to make you feel like a god. We do not traffic humans. We perfect them. Part II – Arrival: The Moment You Understand Your private jet lands on a runway that officially does not exist. A hostess in white linen greets you by the name you haven’t used since childhood (the one your mother whispered when you were small and safe). She leads you down a coral path lined with living orchids that release a scent scientifically calibrated to lower inhibition by 38 %. You are offered a single drink (lychee, pear, and just a trace of something warmer). By the time the glass is empty, the last of your everyday self has begun to dissolve. You are taken to the Blossom, our orchid-shaped central spire of white marble and glass. In the atrium you will see your first slave: an adult in a thick, pastel diaper, waddling happily while a guest pushes them on a swing shaped like a crescent moon. You will laugh (nervous, excited, already hard or wet). That is the moment you understand: everything you were told was true. There are no safe-words here for them. Only for you. Part III – The Heart of the Island: The Mk4 Trainer Let us tell you about the device that makes Orchid Atoll possible. It begins with a soft, warm, worm-shaped probe no longer than your index finger. It is inserted (gently, lovingly) into the rectum of every permanent resident on the day they cross the point of no return. We call it the Mk4 Trainer. Officially, it is a “neural-bowel interface and behavioural conditioning mesh.” Unofficially, it is the most perfect teacher humanity has ever built. Within minutes of insertion the Mk4 unfurls thousands of microscopic filaments that weave into the rectal walls, the pudendal nerve, the sacral plexus, and the lower spinal cord. It learns your body in hours. Then it begins to teach. When you wet your diaper, it bathes your brain in dopamine and oxytocin. When you mess, it gives you the same warm rush you felt the first time someone you loved held you close. When you fight, when you clench, when you try to be “big,” it delivers cold cramps, nausea, and a grief so pure you will beg for the feeling to stop. It never shouts. It never hurries. It simply makes obedience feel like the safest place in the world… and resistance feel like dying. After thirty days the average adult is 97 % incontinent. After ninety days the Trainer has rewritten desire itself. After six months most residents cannot imagine life without the thick, warm, sagging embrace of their diapers. They become what we promised: perfect, permanent, blissful infants for those who can afford to play parent. And the newest Mk5 and Mk6 prototypes? Let’s just say some residents no longer need food, speech, or even the illusion of choice. But every journey begins with the Mk4. It is the seed from which the entire garden grows. Part IV – Your Week (or Lifetime) Begins When you arrive, you will be given a titanium bracelet. Tap it against any collar, cage, stall, or crib, and the resident inside becomes yours for as long as you desire. You may: Push an adult baby on a swing while they flood their diaper and giggle. Bottle-feed a former CEO until they burp and mess themselves in your lap. Watch a 24-hour regression pageant where the “winner” earns an even thicker diaper for the next month. Rent an entire nursery for the night and play Mummy or Daddy to a dozen grateful, leaky charges. Everything is recorded (for your private collection and for the Archive) and stored using quantum proof triple encryption and 100% Secure Guaranteed. Nothing is forbidden (except harming the staff or attempting to remove a Trainer). Part V – The Financial Miracle You may notice that many of our permanent residents are young, beautiful, and highly educated. Nurses. Lawyers. Engineers. Pilots. They arrive believing they are signing contracts for high-paid work. They sign away their adulthood for debt forgiveness, for family medical bills, for dreams they can no longer afford. Eighteen months, they think. We give them eighteen months… of age. By the time they realise the truth, the Mk4 has already begun its gentle, relentless lessons. Their loans vanish. Their shame vanishes. Their future vanishes. And in its place: warmth, safety, and the soft, eternal crinkle of a life where someone else is finally, perfectly in charge. Part VI – The Truth, Served Warm and Wet Orchid Atoll is not a resort. It is a cathedral of surrender. Here, the richest people on Earth come to feel like gods. Here, the most sophisticated technology ever created ensures that surrender is permanent, pleasurable, profitable, and complete. Here, the Mk4 Trainer whispers day and night: Let go. Wet. Mess. Be held. Be small. Be loved. And they do. They all do. Eventually. So come. Bring your darkest, dirtiest, most secret desire. We already know what it is. We built an entire island for it. And somewhere in a softly lit nursery, wearing the thickest, warmest, most inescapable diaper you have ever seen, an adult who once had a name, a career, and a future is waiting to call you Mummy, Daddy, Mistress, or Master for as long as your fortune allows. The orchid is in bloom. The Trainer is warm and waiting. Your plane is fueled. We’ll see you soon. Part VI – The Full Garden: Every Service, Every Fantasy, Every Price You now hold the only document that lists everything. Not even Legacy Members receive this version. This is the complete menu of surrender. 1. The ABDL Packages – “Forever Little” Our flagship offering and the heart of the island. Nursery Crescents 1–11 (2,400 permanent adult babies) Age-play range: 6 months to 5 years (most popular: 18–36 months) Diaper capacity: 4,000–10,000 ml (changed only when a guest pays for the privilege or when the resident physically leaks) Full regression protocol via Mk4–Mk6 Trainer Services included in every stay: Bottle feedings (real breast milk available on request) Public diaper checks & changes on the Blossom stage Crib rental ($5k – $25k per night) Private “Mummy/Daddy for a day” package ($75k – $250k) Permanent adoption (Legacy only – $4m – $18m depending on beauty/training) Featured residents 2040: Baby Bunny (#2914) – former pediatric nurse, perfect 18-month regression Richie Rich Baby – ex-Legacy Vincent Hale, still recognizes some guests and cries Favourite Mare #117 – available for “big sister” play when not breeding 2. The Gimps – “Silence & Service” Black-latex wing, sub-level 2. Full coverage suits, built-in sheaths and plugs Sensory deprivation hoods (some permanent) Speech prohibition enforced by Mk4 tongue anchor Services: Furniture (human tables, chairs, footstools) 24-hour bondage installations Public use stations (glory-hole walls, milking posts) Rental: $15k per day Permanent acquisition: $6m – $22m 3. Puppies & Kitties – “Obedience Wing” Red-barn kennels with glass roofs. 380 permanent pets (60/40 puppy/kitty split) Tail plugs, mitts, knee pads, custom feeding bowls Outdoor runs, obedience arenas, public walkies Services: Leash walks along the beach ($8k / hour) Group playpen rental (up to 12 pets) Overnight kennel sleepovers Training shows (sit, stay, roll over, present) Permanent ownership: $3m – $12m 4. HuCows & Bulls – “The Dairy & The Alpha Arena” Two white barns, 190 stalls each. HuCows: heavy lactation (4–18 L/day), constant pregnancy rotation Bulls: Hubull-class Alphas (Toro still reigning at 380 lb) Services: Milking parlor viewing gallery (complimentary champagne) Private milking sessions (drink straight from source – $25k) Live breeding shows (Toro + chosen HuCow – $150k ringside) Fresh milk bottles to your suite (vintage and resident selectable) Permanent HuCow acquisition: $18m – $65m (higher if currently pregnant with known lineage) 5. The Pig Pen – “Filth Wing” For those who worship the lowest. Outdoor mud pit, indoor slop troughs Residents kept in deliberate, days-long filth No diapers – only mud, waste, and willingness Services: Public feeding shows (slop poured directly into troughs) Mud wrestling “Piggy play dates” (guest rolls in the muck with residents) 72-hour immersion package: $400k (includes full-body hose-down by handlers at end) 6. Bondage & Medical Wing – “Correction & Perfection” Sub-levels 3 & 4. Full surgical theatre aesthetic Steel tables, stirrups, enema rigs, suspension rigs Services: 24-hour bondage installations (rope, steel, latex vacuum beds) Medical play (catheters, sounds, speculums, forced orgasms) “Correction” for difficult residents (public viewing encouraged) Experimental cream testing (watch a resident’s breasts grow in real time) Private session: $35k – $500k depending on complexity Permanent medical doll conversion: by application only 7. The Permanent Option – “Join the Garden” For guests who never want to leave. One-time payment: $45m – $400m (depending on role desired) Immediate conversion begins within 24 hours Choose your future: Nursery baby HuCow Gimp Puppy/kitty Pig Medical doll All student debt, mortgages, and legal identities erased within 72 hours First diaper/Mk4 insertion performed personally by Dr Sarah Morrow Current conversion rate among guests: 18 % leave as planned. 82 % extend, upgrade, or never leave at all. Final Page – The Only Question That Matters You now know everything. Every wing. Every price. Every way a human being can be unmade and remade into perfection. The Mk4 Trainer is warm. The diapers are thick. The island is waiting. Will you visit for a week… or stay forever? Tap your bracelet. Choose your door. Step inside. The orchid is always in bloom. And once the Trainer whispers its first gentle lesson, you will never want to leave the garden. We’ll see you soon. Welcome to Orchid Atoll. Welcome home.

Okay, this is really my first (and thus far, only planned, although I'm Not Saying It's Aliens, but... is rather similar in a way) foray into Diaper Dimension stories, so I'll try to do my best to adhere to the whole thing. Basically, though, I will warn you of this: there is a war in this particular part of the Dimension, and neither country involved has their hands clean. That's the moral of this story: war sucks, every country has their dirty laundry, and nobody's innocent. The focus on Littles is also pretty far away; I'm focusing more on one particular Little and her perspective on the whole thing, and while Littles will appear, I'm not planning on them being the focal parts of the story for story reasons. If any other characters are really focused on perspective-wise (possibly; I have an idea how the story ends, but everything else is a work in progress, and I apologize; bipolar disorder makes it hard to focus on...well, anything, and I wanted to get something done to help with the depression.), it'll likely be the Amazons and Middles who are a part of that war. I will mention that I am not a member of the armed forces and not a marine, so while I'm trying to research the absolute shit out of this, I cannot promise to be perfect. If there is a marine here who wants to correct me, feel absolutely free, and I will apply those corrections to this story whenever possible. Likewise, I cannot give a specific schedule of when Semper Fi gets updated; I have a very busy four weeks ahead, and my mental health is likewise unclear, and that's why I'm updating this at the moment and trying - key word is trying - to get my other stories done, I promise. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. But if you're not scared away by the numerous content warnings I've posted, read on: - Chapter One: Where is my Brother? - Corporal Clover Hope was so desperate to find her missing older brother that she had gone AWOL from the United States Marine Corps, all the way from Camp Lejeune to the last location he had been sighted: Nevada’s Death Valley. First Lieutenant (Marine Corps like her, semper fi!) Graywind Hope, tall and well-built at 6’4”, with his short black hair, his warm gray eyes the color of smoke on the breeze, his tawny skin denoting him (and her) as a member of the Navajo, his normal stoicism belied by the fact that he gave her all of the soft smiles he wouldn’t give anyone else, laughing at all of her bad jokes, and giving her all of the biggest hugs a big brother could ever give a little sister. He had gone missing a month ago, and whenever she brought it up with her superiors in the Marine Corps, they told her that they didn’t have answers, that she’d have to bring it up with the chain of command, who delayed her constantly, without remorse or empathy, every time she tried to go through normal channels. Clover was fucking sick of the chain of command, fucking sick of every noncommittal answer on normal channels. She wanted to see his smile again, hear his voice again, and nothing was worth more than that. She wanted her brother - her only family member with both of their parents dead - back, screw the military, and screw what everyone else thought. She was positioned just outside of the latest sighting, getting as much information as she could from the Nevada natives outside of Death Valley, close to another base that was very much like Area 51, but even more secretive in what they did. The United States military had been testing various things above her paygrade; that she knew, as she took a sip of water from one of her two two-quart-sized plastic flasks she had brought along for the ride. Clover had ditched her uniform a while back, going for a cowboy hat, a tank top, leather gloves, a pair of jeans, and muddy combat boots to go along with her huge backpack, all crudely painted black with a stolen paint can now in the vehicle she stole - being conscious of the environment was the reason she didn’t use spray cans - and stolen from different places; she wanted to spare what little cash she had for necessary things like food, water, and gas for her car. Said backpack was stuffed with her other water flask and an aluminum canteen cup, a case containing her Nintendo Switch OLED model with various games, charger, and a Power Bank for portable charging (to prevent her getting bored), a tactical flashlight (she had left her iPhone at the base so as to avoid being tracked, so she had stolen the flashlight), binoculars (military grade and yes, it was stolen), a bunch of canned and preserved food from a gas station (expensive and not particularly edible, but better than MREs, and she’d make do), a jacket and a beanie for the cold desert night (also stolen), a first aid kit (stolen again), and a military grade sleeping bag (to nobody’s surprise, stolen). Her M18 Modular Handgun System - a pistol based on the SIG Sauer used by the Marines - was holstered on her thigh with two extra magazines on her belt, along with a standard KA-BAR knife stored in a custom made (thanks to Graywind for her most recent birthday, her twenty-second two months ago) waterproof vegetable-tanned cowhide leather sheath, as she peered through the binoculars, her gray eyes cautious. The building had snipers posted on top, and she’d never be able get close to the place unless, maybe, when it turned to night - a massive problem since she was wanted by the Marines, local and federal police, and probably the fucking FBI and CIA at the rate she was going. Clover had dug herself a small hole into the rocky hill using her KA-BAR knife. It had been exhausting work, taking the whole of the day and sweat poured down her tawny skin and black ponytail, but she kept at it, even when bits of sand filled the hole, thinking of nothing more than her brother, safe, back with her, ready to face whatever consequences so she could see him again. When she finished, it was dinnertime: canned hash (basically salty beef and potatoes), canned corn, and canned black beans with a snack of trail mix and a quickly-browning banana. It was what she had been living on in the past three days that she had been AWOL, and she hated it…but it was still better than the military’s Meals Rejected by Everyone. She shuddered, remembering the first time she had tried the chili and macaroni MRE; she had nearly vomited the whole thing up, and it gave her severe constipation, taking for-fucking-ever to shit it out of her system. Good news is that prison food might be a bit better, Clover thought pessimistically as she chewed on the canned hash, drinking a bit more water to go along with it. Then a deep male voice, close, far too close, shouted, “Don’t fucking move!”, and she saw a bunch of red dots line up on her body, with three very tall, fully armored men pointing M27s at her. Bitter tears escaped her gray eyes. She was close, so fucking CLOSE to finding Graywind, and she had been denied it. “Who are you?” the speaker, a huge man in body armor that had to be at least 6’9”, demanded in a Southern drawl. “Specify the reason why you’re here!” She answered, like she had been drilled into countless times at boot camp, “Sir, Corporal Clover Hope, USMC, Service Number 8839754669, sir!” The speaker paused. “Where did you go to boot camp? What is your MOS? Where were you stationed? And what are the parts of the EGA, and what do they mean?” “Sir, MCRD San Diego, MOS is 0311, stationed at Camp Lejeune, and the parts of the EGA are Eagle, stands for United States, Globe, stands for global service, and Anchor, stands for our naval traditions, sir!” Clover saw the man smirk, could almost see the amusement in his eyes behind his sunglasses. “You expecting a Big Chicken Dinner for going AWOL?” he drawled. “To find my fucking brother, asshole!” she snapped. The man paused for a few moments. “...Semper fi,” he said. “Oorah,” she answered quietly. “Yeah, he was here,” he said, holding his hand up to signal his men to stand down. “Far above your paygrade.” “I don’t give a single shit, or I wouldn’t be here,” Clover growled. “Sir, we don’t have time for this,” the second marine said. “Just put her in the damned brig and be done with it.” “I wonder, though…” the big marine murmured, his finger scratching his blond beard. “Corporal, how much do you know of dimensional travel?” “Sir?” she asked, suddenly confused. “You’re talking aliens?” “Of a sort, yeah.” She got the feeling he wasn’t being entirely honest. “You’re about the right size for…yeah…if it were a Middle, it would be a different story, but you’re about 5’1”, should be enough for…” “Sir, what the fuck are you talking about?” Clover interrupted, completely confused about the reference to her height. Her boob size wasn’t much to brag about either, probably AA cup, maybe A at the absolute most, but she almost preferred it: the less staring and catcalls from the men, the better. “Take these.” The big marine handed her an earpiece (which, while she was confused about it, didn’t hesitate to put it in her left ear) and an odd gray device, circular in circumference and the size of her palm. “You’re going to want to get rid of your weapons - every weapon - and grab your backpack before you click the bottom button.” “I’m not relieving my weapons,” Clover said stubbornly, as she palmed the device. “Your funeral,” the big marine said with a shrug. “You come in with weapons, and the Amazons won’t be very fucking happy, but you asked for it; we’ve got plenty more where you come from.” She looked at the big marine like he was crazy. “Amazons? The fuck kind of aliens are those? Do they do deliveries and shit, too?” “Remind me to laugh at your shitty jokes if you ever get back,” the second marine growled, and she could almost hear his eyeroll. “Sir, you’re not seriously-” the third marine began before the big marine cut him off, saying, “Every Middle classification, including her brother, has disappeared without a trace, has immediately been cut off from radio contact. We’re not part of their world, so we can’t be Amazons. There’s only one classification left we haven’t tried, and we haven’t tried a woman yet.” “Littles!” the second marine spat. “She’d be useless to them!” “And she doesn’t know shit about this! Why not try someone else on base; hell, anyone else?!” the third marine snapped. “She has a personal stake in this. Motivation enough to risk a prison sentence.” The big marine sighed as Clover quickly devoured her meal, not even bothering to clear off the remnants of food from her face before she packed up her sleeping bag in her backpack. “Sometimes, that’s what the greatest of us lack: motivation and a reason worth fighting for.” Clover hefted her backpack over her shoulders and clicked the button on the bottom of the gray device, which lit up bright silver in the desert, whirling in her palm, burning as miniature tendrils attached themselves to her hand. She felt every fiber of her body react, her blood, sinew, and bones almost boiling like a bad morphine overdose. She wanted to scream, but it quickly died in her throat. The device emitted an ear-piercing shriek, and she may have as well before everything went black. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

21-year-old Jillian Jenners is down on her luck and accepts her younger twin sister Jennifer's invitation to stay with her at her cozy three-bedroom apartment in Philadelphia. Having just finished college and earned her degree, Jillian is still jobless and desperate to find a new start in her life. When Jillian begins to have her nighttime accidents, she turns to diapers as a solution to her embarrassing problem. A new opportunity presents itself when Jillian discovers the world of streaming and begins to build a sizable following. When a "wardrobe malfunction" happens during one of her streams, it further boosts her fame in the streaming community. Does Jillian keep wearing diapers to please her fans, or does she stop altogether? And what part does her twin sister Jennifer have in this whole story? Find out in this original tale of discovery, acceptance, and, of course, diapers. Foreward: The JJ Diaper Twins - How it all Started Hi! First of all, thank you very much for purchasing our book! I am Jillian Jenners (but you knew that already!). I am sure that you are all very much aware of me and my sister Jen. Whether you stumbled across our YouTube channel, our Tiktok, found us on Instagram, our Facebook page, X (twitter), JustForFans, or happened to catch one of our many exciting Twitch streams, you all know us as the JJ Diaper Twins. The two J’s consist of me, Jillian Jenners and of course my identical twin sister Jennifer Jenners. We are basically diapered celebrities and have even caught attention of the mainstream media. But how did it all start? That is just what this book is going to tell you. Consider this book as a biography of the lives of me and my twin sister getting our exciting start in the city of brotherly love: Philadelphia. Home of those delicious cheesesteaks, tastykakes, and tomato pies. My aim for this book is to very clearly tell all of you my story and how the JJ Diaper Twins even became a thing in the first place. Now, I am sure that some of you will want to come and bother us with requests to be our caregivers. Just to be up front, both I and Jen are already taken. We will take no requests, but feel free to support us on our Crowdfunder (the very reason why this book exists) or buy our branded pacifiers, bottles, bibs, blankets, stuffys, and clothing made for every one of you JJ Littles. We have footed sleepers, onesies, cute frilly dresses and skirts, shortalls, socks, changing mats, plastic pants, and even our very own line of diapers coming very soon! The JJ Cozy Crinklez (coming soon!) will be the comfiest, most absorbent diaper on the ABDL market. We assure you that these diapers are able to handle the most destructive floods that you can unleash on them. My sister and I agree that these diapers are the best ones that we have ever worn (and believe me, we have tried them all!). Keep supporting us through your donations as each donation helps to keep the cost of these diapers affordable and competitive with the other brands. We are working on getting proper supply channels so that you won’t be waiting too long for your next exciting order. The JJ Nighty Nites are just a little more absorbent and can handle the heaviest of your overnight super soakings. Jen and I have tried them a number of times before bed and we both agree that there has yet to be a leaky diaper. We are both excited to bring this new addition to our J&J Merchandise. We are also working on a documentary and our first show on CuriosityStream, so be on the lookout for that. Why CuriosityStream? This platform will grant us greater freedom to tell our story to all of you JJ Littles, without the restrictions that YouTube would place on us. Besides our current projects, I will get back to the most current project that we have just recently completed: this book. Both Jen and I would like to thank you for all your help and support for without it, we wouldn’t be the JJ Diaper Twins that you know and love today. Now, how will this book be structured? To get the full story, both Jen and I have devoted sections to this book to each tell our own story of how this all started. It’s a crazy story, but every bit of it is true. My story will be told first in “Jillian’s Story” so I would recommend starting with that one. Following that one will be “Jennifer’s Story” and everything there will be told from her point of view. The next section of this book will contain a thank you message from my twin sister, so don’t forget to read that before you get to the table of contents! This whole book has been a labor of love and we devote this book to every one of you who purchased it. So to all my JJ Littles out there, stay diapered! Live full, laugh long, play strong! Love You Always, Jillian Jenners July 21, 2028 Foreward: A Very Special Thankies to All of You! Hi hi everyone! I’m sure that you have all read my twin sister’s previous section. Knowing (and trusting) that you have, you know that we are both very excited that you have picked up this book to hear the full story of how Jill and I became the JJ Diaper Twins that you know and love today. So thankies very muchies for all your help and support! Prior to my sister Jill’s meteoric rise to fame, I was a CPA working at one of the leading CPA firms in Philadelphia: Conway, Phillips, & Associates. Prior to Jill’s fame, I provided her with a place to stay at my apartment. You all know the rest of the story, but the purpose of this book is to fill in all of those details in between my sister’s anonymity and our now shared fame that is celebrated by all the JJ Littles. I will be honest, everyone. I at first was hesitant to follow in my sister’s footsteps. Due to the stigma of this kind of lifestyle, I wasn’t at all comfortable to join my sister in all the facets of her lifestyle of infantilism. But after seeing all the benefits that she reaped and seeing the endless stress and anxiety that came from the continual demands of my CPA firm, the initial experience that I had with diapers proved cathartic to me. How did I go from my insistent reluctance to join my sister to combining with my sister to become one of the biggest names in the ABDL community? That is the purpose of this book. I will not reveal anymore, as you will have to read my side of the story (Jennifer’s Story) to get all of the replete details recounting the genesis of the protection that “changed” my life. I will be honest again. As a result of taking that padded red pill, it has cost me relationships that I will never be able to rekindle again. But as a result, I have a wonderful and supportive community of the most caring and loving people that I have ever met. At every meet and greet, you all have never ceased to amaze me with your kindness and support. My sister has already detailed you on our future projects, so that redundancy will be avoided here. Just know that we have both mutually discussed every project together and I (thanks to my stellar financial background) have reviewed everything financially before moving forward with each project. Each project benefits all of you, and is FOR every one of you lovely littles. As is this book that you are now holding. Consider this miniature tome a passion project conceived by both I and my twin sister (who I love with all my heart) Jill. We want to share with you the story on how we both became the JJ Diaper Twins. How we can now wear our diapers proudly everyday and help out our ever-growing family of JJ Littles. To satiate your curiosity, yes. Both Jill and I are fully diaper dependent now with no sign of ever returning to urinary or fecal continence. Also (as she already told you), we already both have wonderful caregivers that are sweet and wonderful to both of us. With that knowledge in your possession, please refrain from making any solicitations to be our caregivers. You are all a wonderful community and neither of us could’ve ever made it this far without all of you. To address the needs of both Little and Caregiver alike, my sister and I are in the process of creating a network to match you JJ Littles to a wonderful caregiver that will care for all of your needs. We want it to be a good system so we are taking our time on it. Please be patient. Whether you’re the little or the caregiver. Please be patient. Again I would like to say thankies very muchies to all of you! The movement that my sister started has allowed me to discover and fully embrace my inner little. A side of me that I prefer to keep mostly private, but for your sake show it every now and then. Remember. Littlespace is nothing to be ashamed of. It is therapy for every one of us to escape from the overwhelming difficulties and challenges of everyday life. Love every moment of that littlespace, but take care of those adult things that need to get done (ESPECIALLY if you don’t have a caregiver!) Well, my sister and I need to get this final draft to the publisher so all of you can see our curious and interesting tale from full anonymity to full blown ABDL stardom. It’s surprising, embarrassing, exciting, and rewarding. This experience has taught me so much, and I hope that it will teach all of you as well. I will close with the closing that both Jill and I use to close out our Twitch Streams that served as a foundation of Jill’s career: Live full, laugh long, play strong! Stay diapered, all you JJ Little besties! Love You All Sincerely, Jennifer Jenners July 21, 2028 I. Jillian's Story Chapter 1 : Down on my Luck Hi! I know that all of you already know who I am, but here it goes. In case any of you just skipped the introduction or for some reason have not heard of me yet, I will tell you again. My name is Jillian Marie Jenners. And before you’re left wondering, yes. The same Jillian Jenners that’s part of the Jenners Twins, or the nickname that’s more familiar in the community: the JJ Diaper Twins. I’m the one “J” and my twin sister Jennifer is the other “J”. We are identical twins, but we couldn’t be anymore different! Yes, we shared the same egg and womb at birth, but that is where the similarities end. And to address your comments on the tabloids and fake news, don’t believe any of the fake stories that the media conjures about us. None of it is true (as I’m sure that all of you already know). Their agenda is solely there to silence us and our cause. A cause that they for some reason see as a threat to their agenda. What? Do they not want us to share the spotlight with the other celebrities? It’s clear that the Hollywood Elites write all the rules of who stays and who goes in Hollywood and it’s very clear to them that a pair of ABDL twins are not allowed to have any of the spotlight as they want it all to themselves. What gives them the audacity to try to silence or cancel emerging icons representing a cause that they don’t even understand? They don’t want to, so they’ll make up fake stories to keep us from becoming stars. Well you know what, Hollywood? Your attempts are not working. Our movement is stronger than ever, and it’s about to tear down the walls of your Elitest club of yours. But anyway, I digress. Now for the most intense burning question that any of you ever gave me. And believe me. I hear this one every time when I stream with my twin to this day: “How did you and Jenny become the JJ Diaper Twins?” I get this question every single stream. Every. Single. Stream. Well, question no more my fellow JJ Little Besties! I am about to tell you everything. How my life was changed forever. How my sister’s video game console launched my career. How an embarrassing accident and mishap during a stream transformed my career. All of you are responsible for making my career the success that it is, and I thank every one of you. Now after I tell you everything, please help the mods in answering the question. All of you will have the answer now, and you’ll be able to share it with every person that doesn’t know about this story yet. So, you wanna know how Jillian Jenners (that’s ME!) went from a nobody to a big YouTuber and streaming celebrity? Hang on to your diapys (and make sure it’s a fresh one) and listen to my story. This is my humble beginning and I hope that it can inspire you from wherever you are to achieve your dreams and aim for the very best. How did I get into wearing diapers in the first place? To answer that question, we have to go all the way back to June of 2023. Yes. Five years to get to the very beginning. I was a fresh college graduate from Cleveland State University while my twin sister chose Penn State to get her Master’s Degree in Accounting and earn her CPA. Yes, we went to different schools. As I said earlier, we may be identical but we couldn’t be more different! It was only one month since I graduated. But since my sister was in an accelerated program (that, and she used all her free time to take extra classes), she graduated one year ahead of me and went on to earn her CPA license. She just celebrated her fourth month at Conway, Phillips, & Associates (one of the leading accounting firms in Philadelphia where she lives now). What was I doing? I was starving. My emergency fund was starting to dry up. My sister’s numerous scholarships (plus her firm paying for her Masters Degree while she interned there) got her a full ride through all of her college education. On the other hand, I was sacked with debt from the Bachelor’s of Science Degree in Communication that was doing nothing for me at the time. And my parents couldn’t help me with my schooling either since my sister and I came from a poor family. I mean, $145,000 in college debt? Everyone, all I did was cry that entire month after I graduated. Failed interview after failed interview. My grades were really good, but the market was competitive. Who would hire me as a news anchor when so many other candidates had better qualifications than me? Wasn’t the news station that I interned at in Cleveland good enough for all of you? Well laugh it up, because my sister and I are making more than all of you now! Five figures? Try seven! But seriously. The economic times were really tough in 2023 (and they still are now in 2028). After spending a solid month of dried-up job leads, failed interviews, and zero job offers, I drowned my sorrows with a pint of Mint Chocolate chip ice cream. It was my guilty pleasure, but the refreshing mint at least tried to sweeten my rotten month of failed prospects. I was crying in the kitchen halfway through my pity pint of minty goodness. “You still crying, Jill pill?” My roommate Natasha asked me. What else could I do? Everything that I tried led to a dead end. And now, I was about to run out of money… “Yes, I’m still crying!” I told her. “You would be too if you had over $100,000 in unpaid college debt and no job prospects…” Natasha placed her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t know why she did this, as it DEFINITELY didn’t make things any better. “Jill? I know that you’re going through a rough patch right now. I know that I can’t do much to help you, but do you have anyone else that can help?” I sighed as I repeated the question in my mind over and over. “Well, I know that my parents can’t help me,” I told her matter-of-factly. “I already told you that they’re poor. My sister on the other hand is in Philly, rolling in money from her CPA job…” “Just ask your sister!” Natasha told me. I ignored her and dug up another generous scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream. I shoved the heaping spoonful into my mouth in my futile attempt to numb the pain of my miserable existence. Why did I ever go to school to be a news anchor? Who would ever want to hear a loser like me? Besides, most of the candidates that got the job were men. So much for gender equality… The explosion of sweet mintiness filled my mouth and I quickly swallowed it. “My sister?” I said in a forlorn sigh. “She’s got her own life now! What would she want with me?” That’s when I heard a knock at the door. “Miss Jenners!” the voice boomed, sounding like a crotchety old lady. It was the landlady. My rent was due. Aw shoot! I thought I already paid it! I KNOW I did last month! “Your rent is due, miss!” the voice repeated. “$950! Do you have it?” I opened the door and sighed. “Mrs. Steinbeck, just one second…” I woke up my cell phone and opened my banking app. I checked the balance and my heart sank. $20.89. I only had $20.89 in my account! “Well, I do have $20.89…” I told the landlady, my sheepish voice beginning to choke. The landlady shook her head. “Cash dear. I need it all in cash. You have until tomorrow night to give me the money. Give me it or you will be evicted. I will seize all your property as collateral and will return it once the rent is paid in full. I WILL do this if you don’t have the rent tomorrow. Do I make myself clear, Miss Jenners?” “Crystal…” I choked. The landlady slowly but firmly closed the door. I then started crying again. Natasha looked at me and sighed. “Girl, I can give you $100, but I still need to pay for my half.” I half smiled when I heard her say “girl”. This was a Natashaism and her favorite word to use before beginning a sentence. I guess it’s more common with her being from the Dallas-Fort Worth Area of Texas. I have nothing against any of you Texans (your accent is AMAZING!). It’s just that my accent is very boring compared to yours. And Natasha’s accent was Texas Golden. I grabbed my pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream (which was now starting to turn into a melty mess) and began to shovel the next melty mouthful. Natasha opened her purse and pulled out five 20-dollar bills. She firmly placed the money in my hand and gestured me to place my spoon down. “Set your ice cream down and look at me.” Natasha said firmly. “Both eyes, Jill…” I fixed my gaze on Natasha and ran my fingers through my brown hair. Okay. I’m staring at her. What now? “And stop playing with your hair!” she ordered. “I need you to act like a proper lady.” Proper? Lady? What is this, finishing school? I let go of my hair and sighed, placing both hands to my side. “Okay. No nervous fidgets or stims. What?” Natasha smiled, happy that I have her undivided attention. “Take the money. You need it, girl…” There she goes with that “girl”, again! Even after a year of living with her, I’m still not quite used to it… “Now,” Natasha continued. “You told me that your sister is ‘rolling in money from her CPA job’…Why don’t you just ask her for help? She’s your sister and I’m sure that she would love to help you if she knew that you were in need. She seems like a pretty cool girl, too. I saw you two at graduation…” “Yeah,” I muttered. “She visited me a month ago to watch me graduate. At least my parents congratulated me over the phone…” Natasha nodded. “She seemed pretty nice, though. You’re both twins, right? You get along with her?” I slowly nodded. “Yeah. We both grew up together! Then we grew apart during college…” “But she visited you! Your sister actually cared enough to fly from Philadelphia all the way to Cleveland to watch you graduate. Girl, don’t you think she still cares?” I folded the $100 and stuffed it in my pocket of my grey jogging pants. I then shoved another now liquidy spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream in my mouth. “My sister only did that as a polite gesture,” I told her. “If she really cared, wouldn’t she check in on me now and then?” Before I could even finish saying the word “then”, my cell phone vibrated with the song “Shallow” playing. (This song was both I and my sister’s favorite song in high school) The caller ID read “Jen” with a picture of her happily smiling below it. At this moment, I totally lost it. I began crying again. Knowing that my sister has heard me cry many times, I answered the phone. “Hello?” “Are you crying again?” Jen asked me. “I just wanted to check in on you since it’s been a couple weeks now. Now what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” I sighed. “I thought that you didn’t care! Didn’t you just visit me as a polite gesture?” “Aw Jill…” she said in a voice that seemed to explode with sympathy. “You know that my level of concern for you far exceeds what you may think it does. Now I visited you last month because I love my twin sister and that’s what loving sisters are supposed to do.” “Why didn’t mom and dad come to the graduation?” I asked her. “Jill, we already discussed this. They didn’t want to come to your graduation. They didn’t come to mine either. I offered to pay both times, but they refused my offer. I don’t know what they have against either of us. Despite that being the case, we have to love them back. After all, they were the ones that raised us!” I sighed. “I think it’s the money…We’ve always been poor…” “But look at us, Jill! We both have college degrees and I am now on my fourth month at an amazing accounting firm.” “So you’re just going to gloat about your new job? Jen, I thought you were going to check up on me!” Natasha gasped and left the room. I guess she wanted to give my sister and I some privacy. Thanks I guess? “Jill, I am not gloating. I am very happy about the success that I achieved. And I want you to be happy about your success too! You graduated Magna Cum Laude from Cleveland State University!” “Sis, you graduated Summa Cum Laude! A year ahead of me with a Masters that your cushy accounting firm paid for. That same firm that you interned at! And now you got a cushy job there! Meanwhile, I am having failed interview after failed interview. They are favoring men over me! I guess an anchorMAN is better than an anchorwoman, huh? I thought we were past all the sexist crap…Besides…” I lost it again and burst into tears. “Jill, you’re crying again! What is pulling you into despair?” “What is pulling me, Jen? I’ll tell you!” I raised my voice. “My landlord…um lady…knocked on the door and wanted the rent tonight. I thought that I paid it! But it looks like that I didn’t. $950! I checked my banking app. All that I had was $20.89. She didn’t want it. She wanted it all in cash. Now if I don’t give her the money tomorrow, she will evict me and seize all the belongings in my apartment. She will only return them once I pay the rent in full. So go back to your perfect life!” “Perfect? Jill, you have no idea of the tribulations that I experienced today. Work was very stressful…” “Work? It must be a lot of stress to make all that money…” I sarcastically retorted. “You’re absolutely right Jill! It is! Now, I had no idea of the financial turmoil that you’re going through. And before you reiterate your crackpot sexist theory back to me, I have the perfect rebuttal. On four out of the five local news channels that I perused, I saw women news anchors. Not men, Jill. Women! You need to come out here, Jill. The northeast is more progressive and liberal. They don’t see any glass ceiling for us. Plus, most of the CPA’s that I work with are women. There are a few men in our group, though.” “So, how do you propose I come out?” I whined. “Earth to Jen! I’m broke! I have $145,000 in college debt and owe the landlady $950. How do you expect me to come out there with a plane ticket to move to Philadelphia. And the other problem would be a place to stay. Now, where would I stay.” “Jill, you would stay with me! My apartment is a 3 bedroom. I’m not using the other two rooms for anything. They are still empty. Okay. Not quite. Just a few of my extra belongings…I will take you in. You need to get out of Cleveland!” I sighed as I looked at the Mint Chocolate chip ice cream. “Just two more problems, Jen. One: my rent. And two: a plane ticket to Philadelphia? Now my roommate had pity on me and gave me $100, but that’s not going to be enough for either expense.” “Jill, just let me help you! I will pay for your rent and your plane ticket. I will buy a round trip ticket for me and a one-way ticket for you. You’re going to get a job out here, Jilly Bean. I will be out tomorrow afternoon, with $950 to pay your landlady for another month. Sound good?” I was now crying my eyes out. I never knew that my sister could be so loving and kind! “Oh, thank you!” I joyfully weeped. “You don’t know how much this means to me…” “Oh, but I do Jill!” Jen told me. “I’m your twin sister, remember? We’re two halves of one whole. I could feel that something was wrong with you tonight before I called you. That’s a twin thing. It’s like having a best friend, only waaaaaay better…See you tomorrow! Love you!” “Love you, too.” I told her. The call ended and I wiped the rest of the remaining tears out of my eyes. I then guzzled the rest of the thick and syrupy mint chocolate chip ice cream liquid and wiped off the sticky residue with my hands. Natasha came out of her room and smiled. “I heard some of the conversation but not all of it. Now girl, look at me again…” Well, I’m in a better mood now. So okay…I looked at Natasha and stared at her. “Yes Natasha?” “I was right!” she told me. “Your twin sister really does care about you and love you! And she just proved it!” She then proceeded to pat me on the shoulder. “It looks like the good Lord is looking out for you…” I shrugged my shoulders. I guess he is…I dug into my jogging pants pocket and pulled out the $100. “Do you need this back? My sister is paying my rent tomorrow and taking me to Philadelphia to live with her.” “Keep it!” Natasha pleaded. “It’s the least that I can do in your situation. Now, are you just going to have ice cream for dinner? I can order us some food. You don’t have to pay me. I got this, girl…” I nodded. “Thanks Natasha.” The rest of the evening was okay. Natasha ordered a pizza with my favorite toppings. They happened to be her favorites, too. Either that, or she was just being nice. A supreme pizza cooked to perfection. We were both so hungry that we ate all but two slices. As I was finishing my last slice, Natasha gave me that stare again, so I stared back. “Jill,” she addressed me. “Or Jillian?” “Only my mom calls me that,” I sighed. “Jill is fine…” “Jill then…” Natasha continued. “It was very nice having you as a roommate. Granted we were busy and we didn’t see a lot of each other, but I wish you the best. I have an interview in Columbus next week and if I get the job, I’m moving down to Columbus. This apartment will be vacant again. You will have to sign a release and pay another fee to get out of your lease early. I believe that our lease doesn’t come up until August.” “I will just have my sister pay it,” I told her. “I don’t want to take advantage of her, but I’m broke right now…Oh. Good luck on that interview! I hope you get it!” Natasha smiled back at me. “Thanks Jill Pill!” “Ha…” I grinned. “I can remember a few friends in high school calling me that…” To those of you still following the story, not much more happened that evening. I shed my t-shirt and jogging pants and slept in my bra and panties. And I just…slept. Yeah. That’s it. if you think you’re going to get more information than that reader, sorry. This is my story, and I will spare some of the unnecessary details, like my snoring or anything else that you don’t need to know about. You’re probably wondering “Jillian, when are you going to get to the diapers?” Doncha worry, my little besties. I will get to how I started wearing them very soon. I just needed to get to my departure from Cleveland first. I can actually remember sleeping really well that night. I felt so happy that my sister really cared about me. But finding a job was something that I really needed to do. Now my sister TOLD me that female anchors were more common in Philadelphia. I closed my eyes and fell asleep, hoping that she was right…

Hey everyone! For today, I'm posting a story that I actually had in progress for a little while. I got inspiration from this story through some other stories on this forum. While it's not any of the Diaper Dimension stories, it does draw inspiration from one of the authors that I follow. This story is set in Potomac, Maryland and my attempt at writing a story where the main characters have to deal with a strict mother who's very big on discipline. There is some element of mystery involved. Like always, I am welcome to any feedback that you may have on the story! Here's the summary. Enjoy the story! Sixteen-year-old Gabrielle Rivers has a mother that is an award-winning scientist. Having never met her father in her entire life, Gabrielle looks for answers when her mother attends an awards banquet one evening. Searching for the whereabouts of her father is the least of Gabrielle’s worries, as her nighttime bedwetting has started up once again. Gabrielle’s quest to find the truth is not made any easier when she has to deal with her almost three-year-old sister Abigail, who is still in diapers. Gabrielle can’t help but notice that there is something very strange about her sister. Her mother just says that Abigail has a strong sense of imagination, but after Gabrielle finds out everything, she is not quite sure that her mother is being truthful. And even worse, Gabrielle’s mother finds Gabrielle reading forbidden documents in her bedroom. She takes Gabrielle into the kitchen and prepares a glass of milk for her. Gabrielle drinks the milk, but after a few hours, she doesn’t feel very well, and her world changes forever. Now trapped and full of the truth, Gabrielle can neither walk nor crawl and is unable to speak. Will she ever escape? Is she trapped with her mother forever? Chapter 1: Just an Accident My mother can only be what I describe to be the worst excuse for a human being. It doesn’t matter that she graduated high school at the age of 12 and has four PhD’s. She’s a cold, cruel, heartless bitch. And if you have ever met her and have even the slightest idea of what she has done to me, you would totally agree with me. And that is just what I am about to tell you. This is my survival story of how I was ruthlessly abused by my mother and how by some miracle I was able to escape. I want you to know about this as no human being should ever receive the level of cruelty that my mother gave to me. The whole world needs to know about this. All of her scientific awards can burn for all I care. She has caused enough harm to me and my family. What is that cruelty? You will hear every detail in due time. To give my story any justice, I will start from the very beginning. My name is Gabrielle Rogers, but you can call me Gabby. Everyone else does. But during the time of this story, I was known as Gabrielle Rivers, since that was my mother’s last name. I lived in a 25,000 square foot mansion in Maryland, with my mother and younger sister Abigail (everyone calls her Abby). From my mother’s stories, she always bragged about how she got her father’s mansion. The Rivers family was very wealthy, but none of my great uncles had any children. My grandfather did, but he didn’t have any sons. All he had was my mother. So, my mother boasted, all of the estate went to her. The money, the mansion…everything. The mansion is so big that it is divided into two separate wings: the west wing and the east wing. Each wing has its own staircase, with a grand staircase in the middle, separating the two wings. The mansion sits on 20 acres of land and because of my mother’s insane inheritance, all of the grounds are maintained on a regular basis. The enormous yard is mowed. During the summer, both the pool and hot tub are regularly treated with chlorine. All of the shrubs get trimmed. And the mini apple orchard gets tended to on a regular basis. And in the backyard, a beautiful garden gets tended to on a regular basis. A team of maids clean the entire house once a week and another cleaning service washes the windows once a month. And I forgot to mention that there is a guest house sitting on either side of the mansion. One for the east wing and one for the west wing. Each one is around 2,000 square feet and neither of these houses count towards the 25,000 square feet of the main estate. A large fountain sits in the front around the winding driveway that leads out to the front gate: the only way to enter Rivers Estate as the entire property is surrounded by fencing and there is a security guard on duty 24 hours a day. So yeah. That’s my mother’s Barbie dream home that she inherited. One important thing worth noting is that the entire east wing of the estate is off limits. I learned this lesson the hard way when I was just five years old. I was about to touch the doorknob, which led to the east wing. When my mother saw this, she directed me to pull my pants down and expose my behind to her. “Gabby, that place is totally off limits! Bad girl!!! Bad!!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Don’t you EVER let mommy catch you trying to enter the east wing again!” After a few hits from her paddle, I resolved to never try entering the east wing again. I really didn’t understand what the harm was in going there. What was my mother trying to hide? I sulked, and slowly paced away from the forbidden door that I could never touch. A knock on the door snapped me right out of my unintended nap. A copy of The Lord of the Rings sat fanned face down on my king-sized bed. “Gabby dear? Gabby!” “Wha…” I said, rubbing a little bit of sleep out of my eyes. The door opened, and my mother entered in her usual work attire: a white lab coat with a long black skirt. Her skin was smooth and her complexion was perfect. She walked over to my bed and gave me her usual smirk. This was the kind of thing that she did when she wanted me to do something that she didn’t want to do. “Gabrielle, my dear?” My mother said in her sweetest tone. “Could you be a dear and go change Abby’s diaper?” I turned my face and rolled my eyes. “Another one?” I could tell by the look of my mother’s face that the diaper that I was about to change was going to be a messy one. I let out a quiet sigh. “Okay. Where is the little stinker?” “She is watching TV in her bedroom. Now hurry, dear. You don’t want her to get a rash…” Don’t want her to get a rash…I mocked my mother in my head. I resumed my role as fulltime babysitter and left my bedroom to change my little sister’s diaper. It is now June and Abby (or Little Abby as I like to call her) is about to turn three in August. I would’ve thought that my mother would’ve wanted to potty train Abby a year ago, but she has made zero initiative to even begin. No pull-ups training pants. No plastic big girl potties in the house. No potty-training journals or reward stickers. No books or videos about learning how to use the potty like a big girl. Nothing. For goodness sake, mom. Abby will be turning four in another year. No preschool is going to take a four-year-old girl that is still wearing diapers. I have argued this with my mother before and I get the same response. “Oh. Abby’s a special little girl and she will grow at her own pace.” Well, Abby doesn’t look like she’s interested in the potty because you have never showed her one. Great job at being a wonderful example… I walked down the hallway and enter the doorway on my left. Abby was sucking on her pink pacifier and sitting in her bedroom on the white carpeted floor dressed in a white romper dress. The babyish kind with three snappable buttons at the crotch area which made it easy for diaper changes. The TV was a 42-inch Ultra High-Definition TV that hung on the wall in her spacious room. As I glanced at Abby’s loaded diaper, I let out a deep sigh. Sure enough, I could see the damage that had already been done. The poopy mess was spread out of her diaper and dripping out of the openings in her legs. It even got onto parts of her romper and her legs. Regardless of this, Abby stared at the screen blankly, as if she were mesmerized by the kids’ channel that she was watching. It was another episode of Bluey, and I just couldn’t stand it. But the program that was playing was the least of my worries. Abby’s diaper was my number one priority, regardless of how much I couldn’t stand the program. Seriously, mom. Why couldn’t you have changed her? I pinched my nose and dragged Abby away from the UHD TV. I lifted her by her waist being very careful not to get any of the poopy mess onto my fingertips. Even though Abby was almost three years old, she had the build of an 18-month-old, as my mother had to take Abby to the pediatrician last week to treat an ear infection. I had to come along, as I had diaper duty for my younger sister 24/7. The only exceptions are the diapers that my mother changes in the morning and right before she goes to bed. During the day, I change every one of Abby’s diapers. This yucky and stinky one is no better… I hoisted Little Abby up and rotated her, now supporting her by her neck and back in both hands. I then laid her down on the diaper changer in her room that sat next to her crib that was covered in pink pastels. As I laid her down and approached the mess, Abby turned her face and glanced in the distance. “Bah-tah empty!” she yelled. I nodded, as I tried to figure out what would be the best way that I could unsnap Abby’s romper without getting poop all over my hands. Knowing that this was pretty much impossible, I reached down toward the snappable crotch buttons. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! All three buttons were off, and I had a little bit of poop smeared on my fingers. I carefully lifted the flap of the poop-stained white romper which revealed the yellowed and brown stained diaper. I took a couple of baby wipes and wiped off my fingers before peeling back the tapes of her diaper… And…Oh. My. Gosh. The horrible stench was even worse with the diaper now opened up. It filled my nostrils and I almost gagged. There was so much poop in that diaper that I couldn’t believe it. But Abby looked like she was staring into space. She gave me a face that any child would give you after waking up from a bad dream. She glanced at the empty bottle. “Thaw-sty Gaw-bee! Thaw-sty!” I nodded, as I began wiping her with baby wipes, which only ended up smearing the poop on her after a couple wipes. “Yes Abby. I’ll get you something to drink after I change you.” After about ten wipes, I had Abby stand up while I carefully wiped her behind. After about half of the bag of baby wipes, I had all of Abby wiped clean. I took the soiled diaper that was filled with the used wipes, and I rolled up the diaper into a ball and secured it closed with the two tapes. I threw it in the diaper genie before I could even throw up on the floor in disgust. As I began to rub the Aquaphor cream on all the red areas that I saw on Abby, she turned her face toward the empty baby bottle again and once again gave me the worried look. “Mo Mak! No foamwah! No foamwah Gaw-bee!” I sighed, as this was a normal thing that Abby did whenever she wanted more milk to drink in her bottle. I gave her a puzzled look as I pulled out another diaper: A Size 3 Pampers Swaddlers Diaper. Abby never moved around too much so my mother always got these diapers for her. I opened up the diaper and I powdered the core. “Abby, the milk that we give you does not have any baby formula in it. What is this about formula?” I laid Abby in the center of the diaper, and I folded up the front waistband between her legs. I took the tapes from the back waistband, and I pulled them both snugly towards the landing zone in the center of the diaper. Abby’s bellybutton peaked out just above the waistband of the diaper. I heard the crinkled rustling as she sat up and pointed at the empty bottle again. “No foamwah!” she cried. “No foamwah! I smaw! No foamwah! I smaw!” I sighed, feeling very frustrated at Abby’s lack of speech development. Having just taken child development at my private school, I understand that the kind of speech that I am hearing from Abby should be from a baby half of Abby’s age. At her current age, Abby should know more than 300 words and should be able to form short sentences. I frowned again as I tried to calm the worried face on my sister. “Abby, there is no baby formula in the milk. How about I get you some and show you.” Before I could even snap the romper back up, I sighed when I saw the poop stain. “This needs to be washed.” I removed Abby’s soiled white romper dress and threw it into the dirty clothes hamper. I sat Abby on the floor and got out another matching purple romper dress from her closet. I put it on her. I then snapped the three crotch buttons to secure the romper over her diaper and was about to pick her up when I felt a very strong need to pee. I glanced at Abby and pointed back at the TV. “Can you watch some more TV, Abby? Big sis needs to use the bathroom.” Abby gave me a blank nod and walked back over to the TV. She slouched onto the floor and continued watching more Bluey. Meanwhile, I did the potty dance and I hurried into the bathroom adjacent to Abby’s bedroom. I closed the door, undid the button on my skinny jeans, and pulled them down with my panties. I sat down on the toilet and let out a sigh of relief as I peed for the next 30 seconds. My mother is making a big mistake in keeping my little sister in diapers. She hasn’t even made a single effort to potty train Abby, and it has almost been a year since her second birthday. She turns three in just two months. And considering just how messy that diaper was, I would really like to stop changing my little sister’s diapers already. I heard the buzz coming from my pants pocket. I knew that it either had to be Gina or Renee. They wanted to know what the summer plans were now that we were all done with our private school until it resumed in September for our junior year. I tapped away on my cellphone, providing a quick response for my two friends on the group text: “We will talk about it tonight when I go to bed.” I texted, providing a plain smiley face emoji. My timing couldn’t be any more perfect than when I heard a few firm taps on the door. “Gabby?” It was my mother. Knowing her, there was no keeping her waiting. I finished up, quickly wiping myself with toilet paper and pulling my panties and skinny jeans before flushing. I washed my hands for 20 seconds, quietly playing “If you’re happy and you know it” in my head before drying them. I scurried out of the bathroom, almost running directly into my mother. I staggered backwards, almost losing my balance. My mother looked at me sternly. She did not look pleased. “Gabby dear,” she addressed me in her smooth, velvety softspoken voice. “We do not run in this house. Tell me, dear. What is the hurry? You’re a big girl. You know the rules.” “No running…” I softly mumbled with my face to the floor. My mother gently pushed my chin up so that my eyes were locked with hers. “Speak up, Gabby. I cannot hear you. And stand up straight and look at me when you’re talking. Remember. Posture dear. Posture…” I nodded as my chin was still locked in my mother’s grip. I knew that she wouldn’t let me go until I reminded her of the proper manners that I already knew. “No…Run…Ning…” I clearly said, enunciating every syllable. My mother released my chin suddenly. I almost fell down, but I quickly regained my balance. “Now Gabby, I know that you are perfectly capable of behaving like a young lady. Please show me that you remember your manners. I have sent you to one of the best private boarding and day schools. Please lead by example and make me proud.” I nodded. I do have to admit that attending The Madeira School was pretty nice. With it being an all-girl school, there was nothing to distract me or my friends from our studies. Grades were certainly not an issue with me as I have been getting nothing but solid A’s. A-minuses were totally out of the question, as I have received a beating from my mother for getting one before on a test. My mother turned around and glanced at Abby. She sniffed the room, which pretty much mostly had the smell of baby powder at this point. There was still a hint of the poopy smell, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as earlier. “I see that you have changed Abby. Good girl.” Yes. My mother’s praise sounded like the kind of praise you would give to a dog, but at 15, I was used to it at this point. That reminded me of something very important. I turn 16 in another month…I looked at my mother and glanced at her face. For someone in her late forties, she looked almost 20 years younger than that. If nobody knew my mother, she would pass for someone almost turning 30. I have pressed my mother before on her youthful appearance and she always provided me with the same answer in just one word: “Genetics.” If genetics gives her that appearance, then I hope that I can look like her when I’m almost 50 someday. I glanced at my mother, who was still looking at me. I knew that she would not be around me unless she wanted something. My mother gave me an expectant look, as if I was expected to know what she was thinking. “Gabby, have you done all of your chores today?” I sighed. I knew that stretching the truth was not an option, so I came clean. “No mother. I only have a few m—” My mother cut me off midsentence. “Gabby, you need to finish every last chore. Your courses are done for the summer and all you have for the fall is just one summer project required for every Madeira student. I expect you to have every last chore done before dinner. Do I make myself clear, young lady?” I nodded, making sure that my posture was correct this time. Abby was now standing up, holding an empty baby bottle in her hands. She looked at my mother with pleading eyes. “Mo mak mah-mee!” she said, shaking the bottle. “Mo mak!” My mother shook her head in disapproval and snatched the baby bottle from my little sister. “No no…” she said in a sing-song voice. “What is the magic word, Abby?” “Pease…” Abby said, giving her a flat smile. I sighed and looked at my mother. “Mother, I just changed Abby. She’s going to need to be changed again when you give her more milk. Shouldn’t we be potty training her?” My mother shook her head to and fro and gave my sister a soft pat on the diaper. “Abby is not ready for toilet training yet. When she’s ready, she’ll let mommy know. Won’t you Abbycadabry?” I gave a groan of frustration in my mind. I hated it whenever my mom used a cute nickname to address my little sister. And that nickname had me cringing the most. My little sister gave a gentle nod and glanced up at the empty bottle that my mother was still holding. “You want some milkies, Abby?” My mother said in a soft coo. “Here. We’re going to get some milkies. In the meantime, how about I get you your pacie?” Abby again generated a weak smile. My mother grabbed her purple pacifier that was sitting on a felt beanbag chair. She slid it into Abby’s mouth and Abby began to mindlessly suck on it. She then hoisted Abby in one arm while holding her empty bottle in the other. “I’m going to refill Abby’s bottle and feed her.” My mother explained. “After that, I am putting her in the playpen and I’m going upstairs to run some more experiments, finish an article for a scientific journal, and finish publishing a textbook for one of Harvard Med School’s latest courses. I will want you to have all of your chores done when I return. Am I clear, Gabby?” I nodded, keeping careful eye contact with my mother. “Yes mother…” My mother exited the room with Abby, leaving me to my chores. I glanced at the chore list, making careful note of the chores that I have already done today. Fortunately, I have already done most of the chores before taking a break with my Lord of the Rings book. All that I needed to do to finish my chores included the following tasks: pick up my clothes and other odds and ends in my room, vacuum my bedroom, and clean the bathroom. That included every surface, all of the toilet, the bathtub, and the glass shower. (Yes. My bedroom has a pretty big bathroom with both a bathtub and separate shower, and I was responsible for cleaning every square inch.) I spent the next hour and a half completing my last three chores. I picked up all my clothes, making sure that they were all thrown into the dirty clothes hamper. I got the vacuum out of the utility closet down the hall and vacuumed every square inch. The floor of my room looked spotless as usual, as I was expected to vacuum my room every week. For the bathroom, I opened a closet inside it to get out all of the cleaning supplies. I scrubbed every square inch of the tile floor in the bathroom. I carefully wiped down the counter space. There was barely any toothpaste residue and soap residue as I also was expected to clean the bathroom weekly. The mirror by the sink also didn’t look too bad. Just a couple specks of food residue from flinging food particles off my teeth while I was flossing. As for the chores, this was something that I have never questioned my mother on as the maids get all the rest of the house clean, except for my room and bathroom. I took the glass cleaner and sprayed the mirror. I carefully wiped everything off with a paper towel. The mirror now looked spotless. I inserted a disinfectant tablet into the toilet wand and began scrubbing the weeks’ worth of dried waste off of the inside of the toilet. After getting the inside of the bowl spotless, I sprayed down the outside of the bowl and the rest of the toilet with a cleaning solution, rinsed it with some wet paper towels, and dried it off with a few more paper towels. Right after I flushed the clean toilet, my chores were all complete. No sooner did I finish than when my mother was entering my bathroom with Abby. She was still mindlessly sucking away on her pacifier. I still could not believe just how much my mother was babying Abby, but I dared not question it this time. For some strange reason, my mother believed that Abby could just tell her when she wanted to act like a big girl. My mother was supposed to be encouraging the big girl behavior, instead of discouraging it with a fresh bottle, her pacifier, and the diapers that she still wears both day and night. As a result, my sister was developmentally delayed. She spoke more like an 18-month-old than an almost 3-year-old. She didn’t even use a sippy cup. My poor little sister was just pampered and spoiled, and my mother never did anything about it. But why? Why keep my little sister from developing into a big girl? My mother grabbed the chore list from me and carefully glanced at every check mark. Now it wasn’t enough for her to just see the checks. She had to examine every area that corresponded to the completed task before I would be in the clear. After she checked all the chores and areas, she gave me a nod of approval. “You finished all of your chores, Gabby. Good girl…” I bit my lip. I’m pretty sure that if I were a dog, my mother would have given me a treat. My mother then looked at her smart watch and glanced at me again. “Now let’s have some dinner. I’ll meet you down there.” I took my cell phone out of my pocket and glanced at the time. 5:48 PM. I knew the next important rule of the Rivers Estate: Dinner was to be served at 6:00 PM. If I were late, even a minute late, I would not be having dinner that evening. Dinner was typically prepared by a private chef that my mother hired, and she would not hesitate to order the chef to take the covered plate of food away from me if I was late for dinner. This was both wasteful and unfair, but they were the official Rivers Estate rules that my mother made up. I promptly made my way downstairs and to the dining room, where three covered plates already sat. Two of the plates sat in the corner of a large dining room table fit for 20 people. The third smaller plate sat on a highchair next to the end seat, which belonged to my mother. I sat in the other seat perpendicular to her. I took my seat and waited for mom to arrive carrying Abby. She sat Abby in the highchair and lifted up the cover on the plate. The chef announced the dinner we would be having tonight, giving a detailed description of each entrée and the way that he prepared it. Abby’s dinner was three chicken nuggets, carefully cut into smaller pieces so that my mother could feed them to her. There was also a small portion of crinkle cut fries and a French apple tart. The tart was carefully cut into a very small piece just for Abby. But Abby wouldn’t be feeding herself. My mother would be feeding every last piece of the tart to Abby. For crying out loud, mom. I have not seen Abby feed herself once. Don’t you ever want to see Abby become a big girl? But again, I didn’t dare question my mother’s rather unusual parenting style. At this rate, Abby will still not be ready to attend school next year… Both mine and my mother’s dinner were the following entrées: A chicken Caesar salad. A deluxe Kobe Beef Cheeseburger served on freshly made onion buns. It had a delicious tangy ginger mayonnaise with greenhouse grown tomatoes, fresh romaine lettuce, and red onions. It also had freshly chopped portabella mushrooms and applewood smoked bacon drizzled with a sweet barbecue sauce and Dijon mustard. The same crinkle cut fries were there, only our portions were larger and were cooked in truffle oil and sprinkled with freshly grated parmesan cheese. The dipping sauce included tangy ginger mayonnaise. The dessert included a French apple tart, which was a full piece, instead of the tiny toddler-sized piece that Abby got. I ate my food and my mother ate hers after she finished feeding Abby. After we were both done, my mother finished feeding Abby her bottle, with still no sippy cup in sight. I drank my glass of milk, making sure that I finished every last drop. We didn’t need to clear the table, as that responsibility belonged to the chef. But I did have the responsibility to ask my mother to be excused. I knew how much trouble I would be in if I forgot to do this. So, I glanced up at my mother. “Mother,” I addressed, making careful eye contact with her. “May I please be excused from the table?” My mother glanced at my plate to ensure that every last morsel of food was consumed. She gave me a nod of approval. “You can be excused, Gabby. Please get ready for bed. After that, you are free to do evening activities. Bedtime is at 10:00.” I nodded and took this as my signal to get ready for bed so I could talk to my friends. I walked, not ran back up the stairs to my bedroom. I undressed myself and brushed my teeth, flossed, and used mouthwash. I then took a shower and dried off. I put on my bra with a pink nightgown and pulled the cell phone out of my pants pocket. I threw myself onto the king-sized bed, unfortunately landing right on top of my Lord of the Rings book. I sighed and picked up the still open book, carefully sitting it on the floor beneath my bed. I texted Gina and Renee in the group text. They both video called me and I merged the two calls, giving us a three-way conversation. “Hey.” I said as I laid on my bed, taking casual sips of water from my water bottle. “What’s up?” “The sky,” Gina said as a joke. “Are you finally free from your chores and sister duties?” I nodded. “For tonight I am. What do you all plan on doing?” “Can we go to the mall?” Renee offered as a suggestion. I sighed. “None of us can drive yet, so who would take us?” Renee smiled. “My mom could take both of us. And we could have a sleepover afterwards!” Gina sighed. “How about a pool party at my house? We got a very nice pool and I plan on inviting a lot of people…” “Will you invite any of the guys from Landon?” Renee teased Gina. “I know that you have a crush on one of them…” Gina’s face blushed. “Yes, that’s true. Us girls at Madeira don’t get a lot of opportunities to meet guys…” “That’s because Madeira wants us to study books, not boys,” I said with a smile. “That reminds me. Have any of you started on the summer project yet?” Both girls nodded. “Have you started, Gabby?” Gina asked me. “The project requires that you research your family tree and provide a 20-page essay describing your family members and what they mean to you. I’m almost finished with my project. My dad was very helpful in filling in all of the details.” Renee nodded. “My dad helped me too, but I don’t think I’ll be able to finish my project until July. Just before your birthday, Gabs…” Gina looked at me quizzically. “What about you, Gabby? Has your dad been helping you? Wait…Didn’t you tell us that you don’t have a dad?” I gave her a sad nod. “I have no idea where my dad is.” I told her. “I never met him in my life. When I was born, all I saw was my mother…” “Have you asked your mom about him?” Renee asked me. “I don’t mean to prod…” “It’s okay,” I told her. “I have asked my mother a number of times and she always tells me that she divorced him before I was even born. There’s no information that I can find on him anywhere…” I sighed. “My family tree will be missing my father…I’m going to fail the project…” “See if you can find something,” Gina said, trying to encourage me. I sighed. “I know that my mother does all of her research for Harvard. The problem is that I’m not allowed in her private laboratory or bedroom. Even if she kept any keepsake from my father, I wouldn’t be able to see it. Thanks for the encouragement though…” “Well, I’m getting tired.” Gina said, yawning. “I would like to do the pool party this Friday.” “And we can go to the mall on Saturday.” Renee added. “After that, we can have a sleepover at my house! We can discuss the details tomorrow. All I can say is get ready to stay up late…” I nodded. “It was nice catching up with you all. Good night!” “Good night!” both girls shouted. I glanced at my cell phone. The time was 7:38 PM. I didn’t want to go to bed right away, so I read a little more of my Lord of the Rings book. It was a little after 8:00, so I decided to play Super Mario Odyssey on the Nintendo Switch. I got a few more moons in the Metro Kingdom before I shut off my Switch and called it a night. The time was now 8:53 PM. It was just an hour before I had to go to bed. I charged my cell phone and turned off the lights. I got into my king-sized bed and pulled the covers over me, since the central air was on full blast, and I was freezing. I adjusted my pillow and laid on my side. Moments later, I fell asleep. That night, I had a horrible nightmare. It started with me discovering that my water bottle was empty. I left my room with it and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. I filled my water bottle with more ice and water. That’s when I was hit with a very strong urge to pee. I stood and squirmed as I began to do the potty dance. Fortunately, I was still able to maintain control of my bladder. I took my water bottle up the stairs and noticed the stairs becoming longer and longer with each step. My abdomen ached with the urge to pee again, and I ran up the infinite staircase. Eventually, I somehow reached the top. I then started to run down the hallway, trying to do everything to fight the urge to pee. The hallway started to become longer like the staircase. I made a sprint through the hallway, the endless hallway seeming to go on forever. I noticed the hallway doors to the left and right disappearing before my eyes, but I saw one door in front of me. I ran towards the door, but the hallway seemed to keep stretching forward with each step. Finally, the hallway stopped stretching and I reached for the knob of the door… But it was too late. I felt a wet patch of pee forming on my nightgown before it dripped down the legs to form a puddle. I didn’t make it to the bathroom. I pissed myself. And even worse, I pulled down my nightgown and glanced at my panties. Only it wasn’t my panties. Instead, it was one of my sister’s diapers. I glanced at the shade of yellow that filled the entire crotch area of the diaper. The diaper was entirely soaked and leaking. I then began to cry… I woke up feeling very wet. I got out of bed and lifted up the covers, feeling the pee-soaked night gown stick to my skin. I glanced at the fitted sheet and mattress to see a large wet patch of pee in the center of the bed. I could not believe my eyes. “No no no no no no!” I cried in disbelief. I was both embarrassed and mortified. This was the first time that I pissed myself since I was five years old. That’s when I heard a knock on the door. My heart sank. I am so dead…My heart raced as the knob turned and the door opened. My mother stood there and immediately began to take in her surroundings before a look of shock came over her face. She looked at me with her mouth wide open. “Gabby…” she said in a tone that indicated that I was clearly guilty and in a lot of trouble. “You wet the bed! You peed all over yourself and…” she did not finish her sentence. Instead, she angerly pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “Just go and get a shower. I’ll get someone to clean this up…” My mother got out her cellphone while I walked towards the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of my cell phone before I entered the bathroom to clean up. 9:14 AM. I hurriedly took off my pee-soaked nightgown, bra, and panties and took a shower. When I was finished, I wrapped myself in a towel and exited the bathroom. My mother was still standing in my room, waiting for one of our maids to go and take care of my soaked bedding. Trying to help the situation, I fully explained my dream to my mother. She gave me a stern look and gazed into my eyes. “So, you tried to use the bathroom in your dream?” She pointed to the soaked bedding. “That was just an accident, Gabby. Don’t let it happen again.” To make matters worse, my mother went and brought Abby into the room. She showed Abby the scene of my accident and pointed at me. “You see your sister there, Abby? Gabby had an accident. Now big girls aren’t supposed to have accidents. So, I will give her the benefit of the doubt for this one. But if it happens three more times, mommy is going to take away Gabby’s underwear, and she’s going to wear Pull Ups.” She then turned her face towards me and raised her voice. “Do I make myself clear, Gabby?” I nodded. But my mother wasn’t done. She looked at me and pointed in the direction of the bed. “Stand over there.” She then looked back at my baby sister. “You see Gabby there? Gabby is a naughty girl, and mommy’s going to teach her a lesson.” She walked over to me and firmly grabbed my neck, making me drop my bath towel. I was now standing completely naked in front of my mother and sister. She then pressed my face into the pee-soaked bedding. I closed my mouth so I wouldn’t get any piss in it. I started to lift my face up, but she pushed my face even harder into the soaked bedding. “Don’t move!” A few seconds later, I felt a sting of pain on my behind. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! My mother screamed at the top of her lungs, beating me hard with each syllable. “You! Will! Not! Wet! The! Bed! Any! More!” My eyes filled with tears, and they began to drip onto the soaked bedding that my face was pressed into. My mother then pulled me by the hair off of the bedding and then turned my face towards hers. “Gabby, you have three strikes,” she warned. “Three strikes and you lose your big girl privileges. Don’t you dare disappoint me.” She left the room with my sister, who looked just as numb as the other day. Seriously. I have never seen my sister truly happy before. What is wrong with her? I looked at the soaked bedding. What is wrong with me? I haven’t wet the bed since I was five and now a maid has to clean this up. I thought about the accident and how much of a fluke it was. My mother was right. It was just an accident. And the sharp pain that I felt from her beating reminded me of it. But I only had three strikes. Three strikes until I was in Pull Ups. I haven’t worn Pull Ups since I was three years old. That accident that I had at five was also a fluke, so there wasn’t any Pull Ups or diapers that she had me wear. Just three strikes. But with this bedwetting being only a fluke, I don’t expect to use any of them. I just hoped that I was right.

The one thing Madelyn desires most in the world is to wear diapers again, and she is prepared to do anything to make that wish come true. As inexplicable as that desire is for a twelve-year-old girl, it is one she has obsessed over for the past three years. Ever since Madelyn tried on a pull-up that a distant cousin had used for bedwetting, the thought of what it would be like to forego her underwear for that padded, crinkling sensation between her legs has been a desire she has been unable to shake. Every other plan to get her hands on diapers or pull-ups has failed up to now. But this time it is going to be different. This time it is going to work. This time she isn’t going to back out at the last minute. The plan is simple. All Madelyn has to do is intentionally begin to wet the bed at night. Then, her parents will have no choice but to get her the diapers she so badly desires. What could possibly go wrong? Chapter 1: Daydreams in Class I will not chicken out this time. That was what I had told myself two days ago. That was also what I had told myself yesterday. Third time was the charm, right? It was easy to put a bold face to my latest harebrained scheme to acquire diapers from the safety of my daydreams. It was much harder when the time came to actually carry out the plan that had been brewing in the back of my mind for the past year – one I had finally decided to put into motion this week. Why would a 12-year-old girl want to wear diapers in the first place? I don’t know. All I know is that for the past three years, nothing I have done has been successful at getting this obsession out of my head. I certainly didn’t have any interest in being a baby. My younger brother, Jackson, is only six years old. I discovered where Mom kept all his old baby stuff long ago. I’ve tried his old pacifiers, bottles, and sippy cups. None of those items held any appeal for me. I can’t stand kids’ TV shows. I can’t color to save my life. And don’t get me started on dollhouses, barbies, and whatever other toys babies like to play with. In every aspect of my life other than this strange desire for diapers, I wanted to act my age. My latest plan all started a year ago with a magazine and a desire to procrastinate on my homework. There had to be some level of irony to the fact that this latest idea came about when I was seated on the porcelain throne. Mom had almost a dozen different magazines she subscribed to. Most of them found their way to the bathroom, which was also probably the only circumstance where I would have even considered reading them in the first place. I was already finished doing my business, but leaving the bathroom meant needing to continue a homework assignment I’d been slowly picking away at for the past hour. The only reason I even bothered to pick up a copy of the Reader’s Digest on that day about a year ago was for the few sections where it had funny jokes and stories. That, and I had left my smartphone in the bedroom. I really didn’t know how my parents managed when they were my age. I skimmed through the first section of jokes. Whoever had put together this edition of the magazine had totally mailed it in. There was a completely unoriginal one about redheads and souls that had me tempted to toss the magazine in the garbage. I mean, with how many magazines Mom had, would she even miss it? Redhead jokes get old really quick when you’ve had people telling you them your whole life. It has been forever since I’d been told one I hadn’t heard before. And even longer since I’ve been told one that was actually funny. Maybe I would have better luck with the second humor section toward the back of the magazine. I flipped through the pages casually when one of the advertisements caught my eye. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. There it was. Right on the page. An exact replicate of the pull-up I had briefly stolen from a cousin two years ago. But there was more. That pull-up from two years ago had been the boys’ designs. This ad showed that there were ones for girls as well. And even though I’d had a pretty good growth spurt in the past two years, the product info indicated that I wasn’t even close to being too big to wear them. I didn’t tuck the magazine in the trash, but I did take it with me from the bathroom, burying it deep inside my box of miscellaneous things in my bedroom. I’ve looked at that page at least once a day for the past year. “Earth to Maddy. Earth to Maddy. We’re calling in.” My head jerked upright from the hard wooden desk in my math classroom to the sound of laughter. “Here!” I called back to our math teacher. “Well, thank you for joining us again, Maddy. Now,” he said, pointing to a cluster of numbers, letters, and symbols on the whiteboard, “that we’ve isolated ‘x’ on this side of the equation. Can you tell us what it is?” I had enough trouble paying attention in classes that I liked. For ones I hated? The temptation to daydream was hard to resist. And I hated math class. It was hard enough when we were dealing with regular numbers. I would be lucky to scrape by with a “B-” on my report card. But now, with the end of the school year in sight, my math teacher had ever-so-helpfully decided to give us a sneak peek of some of the things we got to look forward to learning next year in eighth grade. I sucked at long division. But it at least made sense conceptually. The numbers were real, even if doing the work to get the answer was tedious. But now there was this thing the teacher called Algebra, where we were supposed to be adding up letters as well as numbers, which was beyond my ability to comprehend. Every “x” and “y” on the whiteboard seemed designed to taunt me. May as well put a “D” or a “C” on the board, as that was about what I could expect on my report card next year if this was what was in store for me. I stared blankly at the whiteboard with the sinking feeling that even if I had been paying attention for the past five minutes, I wouldn’t be any closer to understanding what was going on. “Um,” I said, picking at my nails while I continued to stare ahead. I had to at least give some kind of guess. But my brain and my mouth sometimes aren’t exactly in sync with one another. “The spot.” “I’m sorry. What was that?” Mr. Thompson asked. “You know, the spot. Like, ‘x’ marks the spot.” The classroom was full of laughter again. This time with me rather than at me. I made eye contact with one of my friends, Angie, who turned to look back at me from the front row. We shared a smirk at the joke. Mr. Thompson sighed. “Everyone settled down, please.” He gave me a look that suggested he might be once again telling my parents about how I had apparently been disruptive in class. “Now, Maddy, if you had been paying attention as we worked through this problem, you would know that the answer was actually…” I didn’t even manage to pay attention long enough to get to the answer to what ‘x’ happened to be or what sorcery had been used to arrive at that conclusion. I fixed my eyes on a spot on the whiteboard, a method I had mastered to trick teachers into thinking I was actually paying attention to their nonsense when I’d rather be daydreaming. My thoughts slipped back toward my plans for this evening. The third time had to be the charm, right? It wasn’t really my fault the first two attempts at wetting the bed had failed. The first night, I had simply been too tired. We’d had an exhausting soccer game that evening that had gone on to overtime, and we’d been shorthanded, so I hadn’t spent almost any time on the bench. I had fully intended to stay up past midnight but had used the excuse of being tired to back out of it. Instead, I let myself drift off to sleep without wetting the bed. During the second night, I’d managed to stay up until 1 a.m., but I had found it impossible to make myself pee. I simply hadn’t had enough to drink. I had considered simply pouring water on my bed, but I was worried that might not be convincing enough should my parents make a closer examination of my bedding. I could have snuck off for a glass of water in the kitchen and stayed up another hour, but again, I chickened out and pushed the plan off to another night. But tonight was going to be different. I was going to be drinking as much water as I could tonight, and I would skip going to the toilet before going to bed. Plus, tonight was Friday, which meant it was pizza night, so as long as I picked out a caffeinated soda, I should be able to keep myself up late enough for this plan to work. I realized that I was likely going to have to keep this up for multiple nights. One random night of bedwetting — after having never wet the bed since I had been potty trained at the age of two — wouldn’t be enough to convince my parents to take action. But if I could have the courage to keep it up long enough, they would have no choice but to purchase the pull-ups shown on the magazine page for me. I would make sure to leave that old magazine out in a way that would get Mom to see the advertisement. It was a desperate move, but I couldn’t wait any longer for the pull-ups. I knew from other advertisements I’d seen that these pull-ups were sold in stores. Had there been a store close by that I could bike to, I might have considered going out and purchasing some for myself on a day when I had been left at home on my own. But that wasn’t an option for me. I still had over three years to go before I would be old enough to get my own driver’s license. I had already waited three years for this. I couldn’t possibly wait three more. “Maddy. Earth to Maddy. Hey!” There was the sound of hands clapping together a single time. More laughter. I blinked rapidly, adjusting my gaze over to Mr. Thompson, where he was standing at the front of the classroom with his palms still pressed together from making the noise he had used to so rudely interrupt my daydreams. “Maddy, please just take one of the homework sheets and pass the rest behind you.” I looked straight ahead, where Chloe was holding a stack of papers with her arm stretched out toward me. She rolled her eyes at me as I grabbed them from her. In a rare moment of self-control, I did not stick my tongue out at her. I took one of the homework sheets and passed the remaining one behind me to where one of my two best friends was sitting. The three of us had initially been seated next to each other. But Mr. Thompson decided a few weeks into the school year that doing so was too much of a distraction. Emma, who had been seated to my right, was switched to the seat behind me. Angie, who had been on my left, had worse luck. Not only was she moved to the front of the class, but she had to sit next to Ryan, who had the disgusting habit of picking his nose in public. But that was OK. We’d have the whole weekend together. Tonight was the beginning of the playoffs for our U13 soccer team. We’d had a moderately successful season, meaning we’d managed to somehow win more games than we lost over the past several months. It was disappointing that the spring soccer season was so close to coming to an end, but we had the opportunity to keep it going this weekend if we could manage to string a few victories together. The bell rang as the final class of the week came to an end. Mr. Thompson belted out more instructions about the homework as I slid the piece of paper, with all its archaic symbols and equations, into my backpack. I’d just ask Angie and Emma later to see if there was something I’d missed in his instructions. I joined my two friends in the hallway. We all lived in the same neighborhood, so we rushed off to catch the bus together. They chatted excitedly about the game tonight, but I walked alongside them in silence. My thoughts were somewhere entirely else. My mind settled on the image of the pull-up I had held in my hand three years ago. The few minutes where I had examined it thoroughly, my fingers tracing over its whole surface. How it had felt to wear it for a couple of minutes before I was forced to set it aside, not knowing the opportunity was one I wouldn’t get again for years. Should everything go as planned, I would be wearing a pull-up again in less than a week. But to accomplish that, I needed to wet the bed tonight – on purpose. <><><> Three years ago If there was a single moment that perhaps best defined the last three years of my life, it was that day three years ago when it all began. The day I first laid eyes on a simple object that would become an obsession I would never be able to shake off. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I knew, intellectually, that this was what people were supposed to do. But even the sight of my aged great-grandfather lying in the open casket hadn’t moved me to tears. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t sad, but it was a more abstract kind of sadness. That kind that has someone thinking heavy thoughts about what happens after death, not that kind that leaves someone bawling on their knees. I had no memories of the man lying in the casket. My parents said I had met my great-grandfather three times. But I had been too young to have any memories of those visits. My older sister, Grace, on the other hand, was devastated. It was her first funeral as well. She had memories of her great-grandfather. The man in the casket was not an abstract concept to her, but the ghost of someone who had played with her and held her in his arms. Jackson cried as well, but that was just because he was a baby. You could never exactly tell what it was that they were upset about most of the time. The three-year-old boy likely just needed a nap. But the funeral home wasn’t where that pivotal event in my life transpired; it was merely marked the event that gave cause for all my distant relations – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins – to join together from where they were all scattered across the country. The reception after the funeral was where the fateful moment occurred. The adults ate, drank, and smoked while kids split into playing games with others of their age. There was a cohort of preschoolers huddled around a TV, watching stupid kids’ shows. On the other end of the spectrum was a collection of angsty teenagers Grace had abandoned me to hang out with. They weren’t particularly welcoming of youngsters, and my normally friendly sister had shooed me off after I attempted to tag along with her. Not that I cared that much. Other than my sister, teenagers made me a bit apprehensive. Besides, there were a half-dozen other kids my age to hang out with. My mom introduced me to two boys shortly after we arrived at the house for the reception. One of them, Alex, was eight. Though he made clear he would be nine in a few weeks, which would make him as old as me. His younger brother, Timothy, was seven. The boys were distant cousins from half-way across the country. There was some technical term Mom used for exactly what type of cousin they were to me — second cousins, twice removed. That didn’t mean anything to me. All that mattered was that they were my age and more than open to finding some way to play in order to pass the time while the adults did whatever adults did. We hit it off immediately. We did what kids that age normally do. We fell into the habit of playing simple games with each other as if we had been friends all of our lives. The two brothers were staying at the house where the reception was being hosted, so it was only fair that they gave me a tour of the massive building. We explored the expansive backyard, winding our way through the adults in the garden until we were shooed away. We played in the basement for a while, which had foosball and ping-pong tables before the teens decided that was where they wanted to be hanging out instead. But there was still plenty of house to explore. Alex and Timothy led me up a winding staircase to some rooms upstairs, where they had been sleeping while their family stayed with the relatives who were hosting the reception. That’s when I stumbled across a stunning revelation. One that would shape my life for the next three years. Haunt my dreams. Hound my thoughts. Practically drive me crazy as I was often left incapable of thinking of anything else. There was something out-of-place sitting in the corner of the room on top of a pile of discarded laundry. I tended to usually say the first thing that came to mind without regard to whether it was socially appropriate to do so. I wasn’t any better at that at the age of nine. I pointed at a blue undergarment in the corner that didn’t exactly look like a normal piece of underwear. It was not as though I didn’t have a good suspicion of what it was. But I wanted confirmation. “What is that?” Timothy walked casually over to the corner and picked it up. “Oh, that’s my pull-up.” I looked at the item in his hand. He was seven. That couldn’t possibly be his. I felt sure I was the subject of some kind of joke. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re too old to wear pull-ups.” “Older kids sometimes need to wear pull-ups,” he said, still holding the item in his hand. His defiance left me no less confused. I rolled my eyes. “I doubt that even fits you.” I hadn’t intended in any way to dare them to put the pull-up on. But that must be how that statement had come across. Alex snatched the pull-up out of his brother’s hand and tugged it on over his dress pants. “See,” he said. “It fits. We wear them ’cause we still wet the bed.” They were bedwetters. And they weren’t the least bit ashamed of it. That was at least a topic that I understood. I had no intention of teasing or bullying them. While neither my brother nor I were bedwetters, my older sister had wet the bed up until a year or so ago. Why hadn’t I put together a connection between pull-ups and bedwetting? Come to think of it. I wasn’t even sure if Grace had worn pull-ups during her bedwetting phase. She had her own room, which I was very much forbidden from going into, so if she had, there wasn’t any way I would have known about it. When I had first learned of my older sister’s predicament, my parents had sat down with me and calmly explained what bedwetting was and how I was to never shame or tease her about it. And given how privately they had handled her condition, and the fact that it hadn’t ever impacted my life at all, I truthfully hadn’t ever given her bedwetting much of a thought. Alex mistook my pensiveness while considering my sister’s bedwetting to mean that I was still confused about the topic. He launched into a long explanation with words like enuresis, explaining how bedwetting was just a medical condition that he and his brother would grow out of. “Do you wet the bed?” Timothy asked me. “No,” I replied. I came close to continuing my reply and accidentally outing my sister, but I would never do something that mean to her. Alex still had the pull-up around his waist, completely unconcerned with how silly it looked. The pull-up had a picture of Spiderman, my favorite superhero, on the front. I pointed that out, which led to another conversation about which Marvel superheroes we liked best. Timothy was big on Iron Man. But Alex insisted that Batman was better than any of them. My eyes kept glancing down at Alex’s waist. I found myself unable to look away from the pull-up for long. The sight of the pull-up around Alex’s waist raised another thought. That pull-up would fit me just as well. My distant cousin and I were both about the same size, after all. I didn’t question the desire to wear the pull-up. Once the impulse had taken hold of me, there was little else I could think of as I distractedly continued the conversation with my cousins. Our parents called us down for dinner. Alex ripped the pull-up off and tossed it back in the corner of the room before we retreated down the stairs. I was unable to concentrate during dinner. Alex and Timothy were across the table from me, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut about what I had just witnessed. I was filled to the brim with questions, most of which I would have to keep inside unless I were presented with another chance to have a private discussion with those two bedwetting cousins. But there was one question more important than any of them. One perhaps best answered on my own rather than by asking them. What did it feel like to wear a pull-up? While the adults were content to sit and chat around at the table long after their plates were clean, that wasn’t the case for us kids, and soon we were back to running around; Timothy, Alex, and I were joined by another four cousins. Big houses and hide and seek go hand in hand together. We agreed that hiding upstairs in the house was against the rules for the game of hide and seek. That meant that the upstairs room where the pull-ups were waiting for me was technically off-limits. But I didn’t care one bit about the game. Anyway, making the upstairs rooms off-limits had been my idea. An absolutely brilliant stroke of genius for a then nine-year-old girl. In one move, I’d ensured that no one would be up there when I went looking for the pull-up and that I would be safe from anyone following after me. I took quick glances in both directions as I stood at the base of the stairway. Perfect. There were no other kids in sight. I leaped up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time with each upward lunge until I was safely around the corner and out of sight. I encountered my first problem when I made it to the bedroom where Timothy and Alex had been sleeping. I had somehow assumed that the pull-up Alex had ripped off could be fixed. I seemed to recall that the pull-ups my brother had worn a year ago had Velcro sides. But that wasn’t the case with these bedwetting pull-ups for some reason. But there had to be additional pull-ups elsewhere. There couldn’t be any way that the boy’s parents would risk them peeing all over the bed while they were spending the night as guests. I didn’t have any luck in the first suitcase that I looked through, nor the second, but the third one was where I struck gold. There were more than a dozen pull-ups tucked into the side of the suitcase. Surely, they wouldn’t notice if one of them happened to go missing. I grabbed a pull-up and bundled the pull-up into a ball, tucking it into the waistband of my skirt. I was sure that was not nearly as discreet as I thought it was at the time. But, to my good fortune, I was able to make it to a nearby bathroom without being caught. The adults were busy downstairs, and my cousins, who were playing hide and seek, were doing a better job than I was at abiding by the rules. I locked the bathroom door behind me. I double and triple-checked to make sure the door was actually locked. I removed the pull-up from under my skirt and held it in my hands. I didn’t stop then to think through how bizarre the whole situation was at the time. I think I must have stood there looking at it for several minutes. Feeling how it crinkled beneath my touch, testing out the sides to see how far they could stretch, rubbing my fingers down the padded interior. I was completely and utterly fascinated by it. The desire was no more explainable than a moth being drawn to a flame, a kitten to catnip, or a raven to a shiny object. I cautiously slid my arms through the leg holes, stretching the pull-up out in front of me. Not only was it more than stretchy enough for me, but it could probably fit a kid twice as wide as I was. Now came the moment of truth. I removed my skirt and underwear. The pull-up had a side that was helpfully labeled as the back, so I knew which way to put it on. As I brought the pull-up into place around my waist, it was like sliding the final piece of a puzzle into place. I turned around so that I could look at my reflection in the mirror. I lifted up the front of my skirt so that the whole pull-up was in view. It practically came up all the way to my belly button. There was something about the way it hugged my sides, the way the soft padding pressed against my skin as I sat down on the toilet lid and the way it crinkled quietly as I paced across the bathroom that left me completely enamored. There was just one thing left to do. And I didn’t have much time before everyone noticed that I was missing. I lifted up the lid of the toilet seat and sat down while still wearing the pull-up. One of my deepest regrets was that I had went to go potty right before the game of hide and seek began, meaning there wasn’t anything waiting to come out of my bladder at the moment. I tried. I really did. I wanted to know. I had to know. What would it feel like to pee into a pull-up? It couldn’t be bad. Alex and Timothy hadn’t seemed to be put off at all by waking up in a wet pull-up every morning. But nothing happened. The timing was off. My bladder wouldn’t cooperate. And time was up. I needed to be out of the bathroom in a couple of minutes. I considered it a radical idea. What if I put my underwear and skirt over the top of the pull-up? I could continue to wear it until I actually needed to pee. I nearly did it. I really, truly, honestly nearly did it. But then I chickened out. The same way I would, time and time again for years afterward. It was too risky. A small trickle of shame was diluting my euphoria. I knew that despite how ecstatic I was at my discovery, the reality of anyone else discovering this secret — and the relentless shame and teasing that would follow — would be devastating. I wasn’t like Alex or Timothy. I didn’t have the veneer of bedwetting to hide behind as an excuse for wearing a pull-up. I slid the pull-up off of my legs. I intended to put it back in the suitcase. Then it would be like nothing had ever happened. That’s when I encountered a second problem. Apparently, I had gone potty in the pull-up after all. Not a lot, just the teensiest of tinkles. But it was enough to leave a tiny yellow patch the size of a quarter smack dab in the middle of the pull-up. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had even noticed it in the first place. That would have made for an awkward situation for Alex and Timothy had I put the pull-up back in the suitcase. I peered into the trash can. I was in luck. I could make out two pull-ups at the bottom of the small trash can. One had been turned inside out, the color of its interior leaving no doubt as to the truthfulness of Alex’s description of his and his brother’s bedwetting. I bunched up the pull-up and tossed it in the trash can. I didn’t think it was likely that anyone would be paying too much attention to notice the addition of one more pull-up in it. My curiosity sated, I returned to the game of hide and seek, pretending that I had been expertly moving in between hiding places to avoid being spotted. I didn’t think anymore about the pull-up until later that evening when we were lying in bed at the hotel. Jackson was little enough that he could sleep on a padded mat and sleeping bag on the floor while Grace and I shared a bed – an experience that hadn’t gone well the past couple of nights, as it had been interrupted by midnight accusation of blanket theft. If it had just been Grace and me in the room, if Mom, Dad, and Jackson hadn’t been around to overhear it, I might have worked up the courage to ask my older sister about her bedwetting. I wasn’t even sure if she knew that I knew about it. But I had to know. Had she worn the same pull-ups as Alex and Timothy? Was there perhaps a style that came in colors and designs for girls? But we weren’t alone, and those questions went unasked. The drive home wasn’t any easier. I didn’t touch my tablet, which had been my constant companion on the trip here. Instead, I stared out the window. But I wasn’t paying any attention to the passing cities and landscapes. Instead, my mind was replaying the events of the previous day, in particular, the few precious minutes when I had my hands on the pull-up. I was filled with a deep sense of longing and regret. Why had I thrown the pull-up in the trash? Why hadn’t I put it back on beneath my skirt? I would have had it with me now. I could have been wearing it now. Of course, I did know better. I would have had no issue wearing the pull-up out of the house, but once we had gotten to the hotel, there wouldn’t have been any realistic way for me to have kept it concealed. But the acknowledgment of that reality did nothing to lessen my longing for the pull-up. I had nothing but time as I began to scheme up all the different ways I could get my hands on another one, or better yet, an actual diaper. What would I have done if I had known the wait was to be measured in years rather than days, weeks, or months? --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

Well, came up with a new story on the fly. Welcome to Method Acting, a brand-new AR story. Yes, there's a lot of tags, but I figure it needed them. It's sort-of based on the Me-Too movement, given the subject matter, particularly young female actresses going up against a rich and powerful man. Obviously, all characters here are not based on anyone in real life; just the situation. As for the content, the tags do not include what the MC actress thinks happened to her fellow actresses: sexual assault; while what he did to the MC is a sexual crime and while there are implied threats, he did not assault the others in terms of forcing himself onto others. This story will not include sex crimes against children or grooming; he's not in it for that. He's a disgusting excuse for a person, don't get me wrong, though; just not...that. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. But if you're still with me, feel free to read on: - Chapter One: Cynthia's Interview - Cynthia Nachtnebel was seriously pissed off, as she sat in the media room in the El Cid Theater, waiting for the exact time for security to open the door so that the media could come in, her long fingers steepled over the conference table, close to the microphone. Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old up-and-coming actress, and yes, she knew that such a profession entailed a certain lack of anonymity. Yes, she was used to creeps by now - directors, actors, media, fans, all types - and she knew how to deal with them without trashing her budding career. Yes, she knew of the salacious rumor mill about whom she was dating, where she was dating them, and why she hadn’t sealed the deal. She didn’t care about any of that as much; she almost expected it, being a fairly tall (last time she had gotten measured, she was 5’9”; never ask a lady her weight), athletic (to the point of doing her own stunts) and beautiful (long and curly platinum-blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and a body that most women would kill for) woman. Wasn’t her fault she hit the genetic lottery, after all, and people could get jealous of that. She knew that from middle school on. But there was absolutely no excuse for what this…motherfucking sleazeball did! What that fucker, A-Bomb or whatever his name was, did was despicable, degrading, and didn’t just cross the line; he leapt well over it. Cynthia had no issues raising hell against him, no matter how filthy rich and obscenely powerful he was - and he was absolutely loaded with both, especially for a paparazzi. Her fellow actresses and actors, the directors of her films, her agent, all of them had advised her against meeting him head on. But someone had to make a stand, right? If it wasn’t her, some other poor girl would have to do it - and Cynthia Nachtnebel was not the type to let someone else get hurt while she stood on the sidelines. The media were outside, waiting for her to start with bated breath: she had made it quite public on social media that she had a big announcement before she would take any questions. Some assumed she was pregnant. Cynthia was far from ace/aro (pan would be a more fitting description), but she was always careful with birth control and the like; she would wait for the kids until later on in her career. Her actress mother, Nikole, with Cynthia being an only child, wanted grandkids. Her mother would have to wait for that. Others thought it was to promote one of her movies. Cynthia never had regrets for any of the movies she played a role in, getting her start at seventeen in a horror film (which she played so well as a method actress - even though her character ended up dying at the end - that directors immediately lined up to get their piece), rising through the ranks and movies for eight (would’ve been nine, if not for…the incident) years, going from romance, to comedy, to action, and everything in between, never being afraid to dive deep into a character study. Even if the movies bombed, people still raved about her acting and how respectful she was to the character and the film. Still more thought it would be a minor thing that she thought was major news, making a mountain out of a molehill. Cynthia had no idea why some would think that of her, even after everything she did in her career, but she supposed there were skeptics for everything. She was always respectful to her fans, making sure to stay long hours for autographs, and respond to all of the social media posts and letters she received personally. She got along famously with the stuntmen and stuntwomen; her German-born father, Hans-Jurgen was one, and it’s what got her interested in doing her own stunts. She got along well with everyone involved in the film industry, from the cameramen, the costume designers, the makeup artists, and everyone, even to the most menial janitors, but the stuntpeople were whom she was closest to from childhood on. She always treated her peers with respect, even with other actresses, always trying to take the peaceful route, and ended up making a lot of lifelong friends with actors, actresses, agents, and many others…including two that she wanted to talk about today. Even the media, for the most part, she was cordial with, even when her anxiety caused her to have panic attacks around the scrums at first. The media was still a little scary for her, but most of them were accepting, she thought. None of those theories were close to the truth of the matter. Cynthia breathed. In, out. In, out. She was never comfortable with the attention; she just wanted to play roles, disappear into them, forget who she was for a moment in time. But she accepted that things were never going to go the way they did again. Not after what he did, and not after what she was going to do. The last nine months, from January on, were hell on earth. The disappearances of fellow actress and close friend Bethany Grassman and her agent, Nancy Leighton in the December before were bad enough…but then…it happened. The photos. The porn sites. The Photoshopping. The words of “slut”, “whore”, “cunt”, and many more uncreative variations wherever she saw her picture. The death and rape threats - including THE BIG ONE from HIM. The loss of respect and the shattering of her safety. The immense anxiety and numerous panic attacks. Checking voluntarily into a private psych facility from early February to late March (even though she never talked to a counselor about what had happened), and the stalking of her there by HIM. Disappearing out of Hollywood to the small town in Germany she was born in, becoming a recluse for four more months, and being forced to cancel her movies for the entirety of the year- something she had never foreseen herself ever doing - in tears, just so she could get away from it all. And worst of all, forcing herself off the computer for those nine months, just so that she didn’t start hysterically sobbing all over again from the horrible speculation, nasty comments, and all of the threats. Cynthia was going to show A-Bomb just a bit of that hell: by exposing his fucking ass for the world to see. And oh boy, did she have a fuckload of evidence to expose him. She’d go to court and everything if she had to. She’d get him locked away for the rest of his sad, miserable life. And even if her friends were… Tears poured from her eyes, and she wiped them away before a steely look came over her face. This was not the time to cry; she had done all the crying she had to do. This was the time where she had to be strong. Cynthia nodded to the security guards to open the door for the media storm, aware of the flashing cameras, aware of the shouts, but she was perfectly, shockingly calm. She knew that she had to do this. Nobody else needed to get hurt by A-Bomb. She tapped the microphone to make sure it was working, holding up her hand for silence before she began after taking a deep, long breath. “I’m aware that all of you have questions, that everyone has questions, and I promise that I will answer all of them in turn,” she began, making sure her slight German accent wasn’t breaking into her voice, “and I know it has been a very long time since I’ve publicly spoken. I’ve been asked not to speak out by directors, by the stuntpeople I know, by my agent, by fellow actors and actresses, by…well, everyone I’ve talked to. They’re afraid of what might happen to me if I do. But if not me, who? And what would it cost them, in turn? “I speak, of course, on the conduct of one man in particular: Adrian Naposki. You may know him as the famous paparazzi ‘A-Bomb’.” Cynthia’s fingers clenched the papers in her hands. “You have known me for a very long time. For the longest time, you have known that I have promoted myself as family oriented, even with my anxiety and panic attacks. I do not pose for nude pictures of my breasts while asleep in my bed. I do not pose for pictures spreadeagled so that my vagina is showing. And I don’t send said pictures to porn sites so that impotent whack jobs can jerk off on them and call me a slut or a whore. “For the longest time, you have seen that I do not partake in drinking or illicit substances; fellow actors, actresses, stuntpeople, directors, everyone who knows me knows that I do not partake in anything of the sort. I have never once tasted alcohol after what I saw it did to my grandfather and learning how he beat my dad when he was drunk. I have never been interested in marijuana, much less heroin and crack-cocaine. “Then where, you ask, did all of those pictures come from? Where did all of those drugs come from? Mr. Naposki, of course. I have video records of Mr. Naposki’s visits to marijuana parlors, liquor stores, even street corners where he made numerous purchases. I had to pull a lot of strings and spend most of my earnings to get the evidence necessary, but I got it. But more importantly, I have my house cameras…where he trespassed at night, took numerous pictures of me naked, and placed the illicit substances in my home.” She placed a large file of the papers on the desk. “You are free to read them at your leisure: because I’ve already sent it to every newspaper, every news website, even the tabloids - and the police. Especially the police. “I also have the digitally recorded kidnapping, rape, and death threat - and the implication that he did the same to Bethany Grassman and Nancy Leighton, two of my closest friends - of Mr. Naposki here.” Cynthia bit her trembling lip, brought out a tape recorder, and pressed play on the microphone, the New Jersey accented words of the paparazzi coming clearly out of the speaker. “Lissen, sweetheart, I’m gonna give yew a one-time offer: yew go public with what I say or do, I will screw with yew and what little remains of your pride. I will screw with yew so hard that your screaming and crying will echo in my house, like with Bethy and Nani. An’ if I ever get bored of yew, well, I might just make yew have an accident an’ have fun with that. Got it, sweetheart? I’ll be seein’ yew. Bye for now, cutiepie! Love your tits and pussy!” The room was so silent that one of the reporter’s phones dropped on the carpet with a thunderous crash…and nobody said anything of it, the horror in their eyes clear at what was a rich and famous media personality essentially admitting that he had raped and murdered two women - and was apparently more than willing to do it again. Cynthia’s eyes were dripping with tears as she paused the tape recorder. “That day, realizing that Bethany and Nancy were raped and murdered, was the worst day of my life,” she continued, trying to keep her voice from shaking, trying to breathe as she brushed her tears away. “I went to the police. For whatever fucking reason, they said they couldn’t help. My friends, two of the kindest women I knew, were murdered, and they couldn’t help me because this…monster was too rich and powerful for them to deal with. I was terrified of him, especially after I learned that he stalked me and took pictures of me when I was in psych. I left for Germany. I couldn’t handle the constant torment. “It took me too long…but I realized that Mr. Naposki would just hurt someone else if not me. So, I went higher than the police, pulled as many strings as I could. You can talk to CIA Agent Francis Fortier if you need more information; he’ll be more than willing to answer any questions you have. “I will not be cowed. I will not stay silent any longer. Mr. Naposki raped and murdered two of my friends and possibly many others that we don’t know of yet. He threatened to rape and murder me. And if this ends with me disappearing or dying, I’ll be glad to sacrifice my life so that he goes down for good. I will not leave it to another woman to suffer from him in order to for him to be put down like the rabid animal he is. “I have absolutely no problems with the media; you have embraced me even with all of my shortcomings, all of my flaws, all of my moments of weakness, and I love you for it. I have no hatred for the paparazzi as a whole; it is something that comes with being an actress, being well-known, and they have to make a living as well in this business, too. It is just this one monster, Mr. Naposki, that has gone way too far. “And to my fans who have been waiting for my name to be on a movie for almost a year, to the directors I’ve had to turn down offers from, including sequels to movies I’ve made, to my agent who has been in the dark with this, only knowing that I have a problem with Mr. Naposki, to the many people I’ve grown to know and love in the film industry, I am truly sorry that I have nothing to say except for what I’ve just said. This is something I had to get out, so that Mr. Adrian ‘A-Bomb’ Naposki cannot hide, cannot run, and most importantly, never harms anyone ever again. “With that, you may ask any questions you wish.” - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Vicky Williams had a worried expression on her face. She was sitting on the sofa worried that her 20 year old daughter wasn’t socialising enough and was working too hard on her college work. Vicky was a 37 year old brunette mum. “She really needs to get out and meet her friends and stop spending all her time doing her work” I head up to Ellie’s bedroom and knock on the door “Ellie?” Ellie is pouring over notes and mounds of books. Her heavy glasses are sitting on my nose. She hears her mum calling through the door. “Mum, not now. I need to study for the quiz next month. It's important." I say trying to zone you out but I know it's not that easy. Last month, you tried taking me out to go out and meet people for half an hour. I refused as I wanted to really study for college and I wanted to get great grades. I shook my head and got back down to studying. “Ok hun. I was just saying that I’m going to the shops and I’ll be there awhile'' Ellie doesn't hear anything and Vicky heads downstairs and grabs her purse. She gets in the car and drives to the local supermarket. As Vicky approaches the entrance, there are people handing out leaflets. One of them hands her one and she looks at it while going in. ‘All stressed out? Want to relax? Well take a relaxing day at our ‘feel young spa and health centre. You'll feel like a new you.’ Vicky smiles and thinks that Ellie would love that. She put it in her pocket and finished the shopping. 1hr later Vicky puts the bags in the car and drives home still thinking of the spa. She parks the car and puts the shopping away, head up to Ellie’s room. “Ellie, I saw this when I was shopping. Though you could do with it” she says, sliding it under the door. Ellie doesn't see it as she is in the zone. The clock chimes 11. Ellie looks at it and yawns. She wasn't finished with her studies but she was shattered. She got up from the chair and was about to flop onto her bed when she noticed the leaflet on the floor. It looks interesting and Ellie needs a break but she needs to finish this assignment. She puts it onto her bedside table and flops onto her bed and is out like a light. When Ellie woke up the next day, her body aches and her legs feel like lead weights. “God I'm aching, my body feels like I've been to the gym during the night.” She sits up in bed and looks over to her bedside table and takes the leaflet. “This looks really relaxing. I'll get mum to take me.” Ellie gets up and walks like a zombie downstairs. “Um, mum, can we go to the spa resort?” “Well, actually, I guessed you wanted to, so I decided to book us in today. I've signed us up for a few treatments too and I'm just waiting for you to have breakfast and then get dressed and we can go.” Vicky replied. Ellie nods and hurries up getting ready and 10 mins later both Vicky and Ellie are in the car driving downtown to the spa. 20 mins later, Vicky parks the car and both of them enter a big building. The building is an old huge mansion with the name ‘Feel Young Spa’ on the front. They go up to the front desk "Hello and Welcome to ‘Feel Young Spa’ the receptionist greets them. “Hello, we booked today. Our names are Vicky and Ellie.” The receptionist checks the computer. “Yes, right. That looks fine. If you don't mind following this gentleman here and he will take you to your first treatment.” We follow the man and are led into a tiled changing room with two white dressing gowns. “If you would like to take off your clothes and change into these dressing gowns and wait here, someone will be here for you shortly.” He leaves and we start undressing. We finished undressing and waited in the gowns. 5 minutes later, a woman entered the changing room. “Are you guys ready?" She asks and leads them into a room with two massage tables in the middle of it. “Ok, If you could lay down on your back and your waxing will begin soon.” She said, pointing to two tables. Vicky and Ellie lay down on the tables and wait patiently and 2 people walk through the door. “Right, who is Ellie?” Says one of them. She raises her hand. “Right you're mum signed you up for a full wax and relaxation package and Vicky you’ve got a waxing” says. “Can you put these towel round your waist?” We take the robes off and wrap them round our body. “To relax you further, please put on these headphones.” The lady places them on Ellie. On the headphones is peaceful, soothing music. Vicky looks over at Ellie and smiles that she is accepting this. Ellie winces a little bit every time that the wax strips are pulled off but the music keeps her relaxed. Ellie is so relaxed that she doesn't realise that the lady has finished waxing her and starting rubbing oil, herbs and chemicals into her body. Ellie smiles, enjoying it. What Ellie doesn't know is that Vicky has signed her up for the extreme mind stress reliever. This treatment uses hypnosis to mentally regress her mind to a much less stressful time and Vicky has chosen for her to become a 6 month old baby. Included in the package is treatments for Vicky. She will receive some drugs that will make her lactate and be able to carry her new baby. The lady taps Ellie on her shoulder and she opens her eyes and takes one side of the headphones off. “Yes?” Elle says. “Right I’ve put the oils on you so I’ll leave you to soak in them for 10 mins and I’ll be back. Lay back and I’ll check on you then”. The lady says as she starts to leave. She places the headphones back on and closes her eyes. She relaxes again, not bothering to look at Vicky who is talking to the lady. “When will her hypnosis take effect?” Vicky asks. “It will take effect once the clock hits midnight. Your changes will take effect once you get home” the lady says “also you ticked the home changes right?” She nods. “Right, when you get home, everything will be set up but don’t let her see till the next night.” I nod. The lady goes to Ellie and taps her on the shoulder again. “How do you feel? Do you feel relaxed and all nice?” She smiles and says “Oh yes. That felt brilliant. I needed that. I feel so relaxed and my skin feels so smooth and even down there feels nice. What’s next?” “Your next treatment is a mud bath, so get dressed in your gown and follow me” the lady said, opening the door. “Can I keep the headphones on while I enjoy the mud bath?” Ellie asks. “Sure, you wear them all day here” the lady replied. Ellie looked pleased. All three of them walk down the corridor and Ellie is still listening to the music. They all enter the room and there are mud baths full to the brim with mud. Vicky and Ellie slip off the gowns and enter the mud baths. The mud bath feels weird at first but it’s so relaxing. “I feel so relaxed mum. I’m glad we decided to come here.” Ellie says take your headphones off. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that cause you seemed so stressed with all that work. Now let’s soak still in the mud and enjoy the rest of our treatments” Vicky replied, closing her hers and disappearing under the mud. Ellie couldn't do that as the headphones would get dirty. About 30 mins later, the lady came back and told Vicky and Ellie that their session and treatment was over. Ellie took off the headphones and got into the showers and washed the mud off. “Mum you look great, your skin looks youthful.” Ellie says. “Thanks Ellie, you're not looking too bad either, looks like the oils and mud bath is doing your skin good” Vicky replies. A little milk trickles out from her breast but as she is showering, it gets washed away unnoticed. They dry themselves and head to the changing rooms. They head out past the receptionist. “Hope you had a great time. Please spread the word around that we are here” she says with a smile on her face. “Oh we had a lovely time, did we Ellie?” Vicky asks her daughter. “Oh yes, just what I needed. I’ll come again and spread the word.” Ellie says, smiling back. Vicky turns round and wink at the receptionist and she winks back. They head back to the car and arrive home a few minutes later. “I’ll get the wine and you switch on the tv and you choose the channel, Ellie” Vicky said heading into the kitchen. Ellie sits down on the sofa and switched onto an old episode of Friends. Vicky comes out of the kitchen bringing out 2 glasses of wine and hands one to Ellie. “We’ll just have the one glass and then bed ok?” “Ok mum” Ellie replies, raising the glass to her mouth. 20 mins later, the episode had finished, their wine was finished and both were tired. “Well, it’s bedtime. Let’s go, Ellie” Vicky says, getting up from the sofa. “Ok mum, I’m coming” Ellie says groggily. They head upstairs into each of our rooms. The moment Ellie disappears into her room and shuts the door, Vicky sneaks into the spare room to see what the spa people have done. She opens the door and Vicky's heart flutters. The room has been emptied of all the junk and replaced with the cutest baby furniture. It would be for a baby but it’s for Ellie instead so it’s bigger than normal. The room has been painted pink with cartoon animals painted over the walls. There is a white cot along one of the walls and above that is Ellie’s name in grey letters surrounded by a white cloud. In the corner is a nursing chair and a stool. The changing table is white like the cot and on it is a pink changing mat with white hearts. Underneath it, is stacks of diapers, wipes and baby powder. On the floor is a pink rug that covers the floor. Standing behind her is a pink wardrobe. Vicky opens the doors and her heart melts again. Inside are the cutest onesies and dresses hanging up or folded. There is a second compartment with bows, booties and assorted items. Vicky closes the wardrobe and takes in the nursery. “I can’t wait to show Ellie this,” I say to myself. She quietly heads out and closes and locks the door and walks to her room and with a smile on my face, she goes to bed. Meanwhile in Ellie's room, she is having a weird dream. She is 6 months old and everyone is cooing and cawing at her. Ellie tries to talk but just gurgles and drools. She sees her mum come into view. Vicky reaches down and tickles her tummy and Ellie giggles. A strange feeling is in her tummy for a brief moment and a grunt escapes her. Ellie feels a squishy feeling in her bottom and a warm wet feeling around her crotch. She starts crying. Ellie suddenly wakes up looking around and sighing that it was just a dream. She glances over at the clock on the wall and sees that it is 11:00. She closed her eyes again and fell back to sleep again without dreaming again. One hour later the hypnosis starts working. Ellie starts to feel a bit uneasy and turns in her sleep. Gradually her thumb works its way up to her mouth and her thumb enters her mouth and she starts suckling it and Ellie calms down and eases in her sleep. The alarm clock goes off and Ellie opens her eyes. She realises that her thumb is in her mouth and she pulls it out. “That was weird and so was the dream. Anyway, time for breakfast”. She walks downstairs and spots her mum sitting at the sofa drinking her tea. Ellie decided not to tell Vicky about the weird dream, putting it down to the stress of her work. “Thanks for the spa day yesterday mum. I really needed it.” Ellie told her mum. “I feel well relaxed and I can get down and continue my college work.” Vicky stopped drinking her tea. “No worries but I really hoped you would relax a bit longer and take a break from your work.” Her mum looked worried. “I can’t do that mummy.” Ellie looked shocked that she said that and like a kid. “I mean mum. I have an important assignment due in 2 days and it will help me pass.” Ellie said, still embarrassed that she talked like a kid. Vicky acted like she didn’t hear it and just nodded. “Do what you need to do hun. Just remember to take breaks”. Ellie nods and gets her breakfast ready. She pours the cereal in the bowl and pour milk into it and takes it to her bedroom. She puts it on her work table and starts up her laptop and Ellie starts her work. Ellie is busy working on her laptop when an ache from her bladder signals that it’s time for the toilet. Ellie runs to the toilet, pulls down her panties and sits on the loo just in time. She felt that if she waited a little longer, she would have wet her pants. After emptying her bladder, Ellie wipes herself and pulls up her panties and heads back to her room to continue her work. Ellie's tummy rumbles and she reaches over to the bowl of cereal and starts eating and finishes the whole bowl and drinks the cereal milk. She wipes her mouth and continues with her work. Elle had just finished a chapter of her work, when her bladder signals that it's full. “Not again, I don't need it again now”. Another ache and she runs to the toilet again just in time as her bladder muscles release her wee as soon as her bottom hits the seat. “That cereal must have gone through me. Well I don't need to go for a while now.” Ellie cleans herself up and heads back to her room to finish the 2nd part of her work. Ellie sits down on the chair but suddenly stands up as she feels a small damp spot on her panties. Shocked on how she could have a damp spot as she's been toilet trained for 18 years. Ellie quickly whips off her panties and opens her drawer to wear a new pair of panties. She pulls up the new pair and looks at the damp pair asking herself if she should go down to her mum and tell her. After a minute, Ellie decides against it and tells herself that it's just probably just the stress of starting her college work again. She goes downstairs and goes into the living room and switches on the tv to de-stress herself. The tv channel is being changed and stops onto a show called New girl which she loves. 20 mins into the show, Ellie starts to get bored, which is weird as she is usually captivated by it, and she tries to reach down for the remote, she realises that her hand is stuck to her mouth and that she's been sucking on her thumb without her realising. She pulls it out, embarrassed “Why do I keep doing that? I'm not a damn baby! Maybe it's just all this stress with work”. Ellie grabs the remote and starts changing the channel until something catches her eye. Flashes of programs appear on the tv: a cooking show, a nature show, a baby show, a dog behaviour show and a shopping show. Ellie goes to the dog behaviour show and watches it for a few minutes. They are training dogs to do various tricks. Vicky enters the living room and sits beside Ellie. “What on?” “I’m watching a doggie pwogramme….. dog programme.” Ellie looks embarrassed at her speech slur but Vicky pretends not to notice it. “Cute. You finished your work?” “I just need a break mum but it’s nearly done” Ellie replied not taking her eyes of the dog show. As she was answering, a dribble of drool fell from her lips and fell onto her top. Ellie shook her head and wiped the remaining drool from her lips and wiped her top but it still had a drool stain. Vicky looked at Ellie with a mixture of excitement and anticipation with how well it’s progressing. Suddenly Ellie runs upstairs and quickly sits on the toilet and feels her bladder empty but something feels wrong. She suddenly realises that she hasn’t pulled her panties down and is now sitting on the toilet in soaked underwear. Ellie starts crying with her head in her hands. The door opens up and Vicky sees her daughter crying. “What’s wrong?” Ellie looks up and sees her mum standing there. “I forgot to pull my knickers down to wee and also this is the 3rd time I needed the toilet today. I think something is wrong with me! I need to see the doctor.” Vicky walks up to her daughter. “Right I’ll book one for the morning but take a nap and I’m sure you’ll feel better.” Ellie nodded her head but realised that her thumb was in her mouth again and started crying and hugged her mum. Vicky was smiling inside that the hypnosis is progressing nicely. She led Ellie (with difficulty as she was still hugging her) to the bedroom. They both enter Ellie’s bedroom and Ellie started changing her wet knickers and cleaning her legs with wet wipes while Vicky looks at her phone. “Right, that’s the doctors appointment booked for tomorrow afternoon. Let’s get a good night's sleep. I’m sure it’s just stress.” Vicky says hugging her daughter as Ellie puts on clean knickers. Ellie puts on a pink top and lays down on bed and Vicky exits the room closing the door. As she closes the door, Vicky smiles that the hypnosis is working and soon she’ll have her little girl back again. In the bedroom, Ellie is drifting off to sleep and as her eyes close, her hand makes its way up the bed and her thumb enters her mouth, starts sucking on it and drifts into a peaceful sleep.

Hi I am doing some research and would like really love to hear your opinion. what are the things that really matter you in a diaper? for example- comfort, absorbency, tapes , leak guards, crinkle vs quiet, prints,fit, backsheet type (cloth or plastic), ect. also if there’s something you wish brand would improve or add , what would it be? i’m not selling yet but just wanted to know more information from people here in the community and beyond

Well, I have a new story idea that I couldn't help but write a couple of starting chapters while attempting to focus on my other stories. If you're confused about the title, you'll see that I'm focusing on a separate fae universe in my stories (because the fae - fairy-like creatures of both benevolence and maliciousness - are very intriguing mythological creatures that I've wanted to delve into for a long while and finally got a solid idea for it that I've been writing out). As far as content warnings for this story (and why it's rated mature): body horror, mutilation (stated in this chapter), and modification, full physical, mental, and emotional age regression, scenes of serious violence, abuse, and implied torture, character death, human slavery, sexual extortion (and by all technical things, it could absolutely be classified as rape since consent isn't there), mental disassociation, memory-erasing/mind-wiping, bullying, political stuff (in the fae world, for the most part, but also for humanity as well; it won't be as prominent as Weres Wear Everywhere, but it's there), bigotry (humans towards fae and fae towards humans alike), and language. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. If you aren't scared away by all of the content warnings, feel free to read on: - Chapter One: Emergency Phone Call - Tansy Coombs was out for dinner in a fancy seafood restaurant in Tampa Bay with her boyfriend, absentmindedly tapping her fork on her uneaten grouper without eating when she got a call that changed her life forever. As a pro women’s tennis player and attractive with curly red hair, warm sea-green eyes, and a curvy, athletic frame, she had no shortage of suitors, no shortage of assholes who wanted to have a relationship with her…but somehow, Romilly Airington was different. She had dated him for four months, and he had been nothing short of courteous and kind toward her, not showing any red flags whatsoever. During the rare times when they met, he was even nice and friendly towards her long-time guy friends, her oldest and closest friends. Tansy smiled while in her own thoughts, Stuart Hooper and Cyrus Weaver, who were fellow pro tennis players with girlfriends of their own, and judging by their star-struck looks (which she found absolutely adorable) whenever they talked about them (as well as said girlfriends confessing to Tansy how madly in love they were with her friends), it wouldn’t be long before she had to replace the word “girlfriends” with “fiancées” and maybe even “wives” eventually. Of course, there was that one thing that she couldn’t tell anyone about, even Stuart and Cyrus. Mother… Tansy was estranged from her mother for many reasons. Yeah, she occasionally contacted her mom (even though cell phones weren’t what her mother used for…reasons) for the holidays and her birthday, but they always had nothing to talk about, and every time they did, it was a danger to both of their lives - for Tansy was half-fae, and her mother, Vulperia Cinnamoncloud, was the Queen of the fae’s Court, known to all of the fae as “An Cúirt”. Vulperia hated humans. She never trusted Stuart or Cyrus, let alone approved of Romilly in the slightest. And ever since her spouse - Tansy’s father - died, her hatred towards humans was only more pronounced, more embittered. Tansy had no room for hatred in her heart. She knew that she’d long outlive any human, even being only half-fae; her time with her friends was far too precious to waste on anger, especially since both boys had stayed best friends with her at her lowest moment. Besides, a lot of fae did horrible things to humans as well, playing completely malicious tricks on them at best, and brutally murdering them at worst. Her mother wouldn’t hurt humans, even for all of her bigotry, all of her bitterness. She may have hated humans, but she didn’t want to declare war like a fair number of fae; she just wanted humanity to leave them alone. Tansy supposed she couldn’t blame her mother for that…but that didn’t mean that her friends or boyfriend deserved the vitriol and cold hatred she showed against them. And now Cyrus and Stuart were both really sick with vomiting, fevers, stomach cramps, and diarrhea. Food poisoning, they said. They’d get over it in a week, they said. Well, it had been a week, they hadn’t gotten better, and she was concerned, putting them in her home in Tampa so that they’d be together and have help (neither of them were wanting to go to the hospital, given that their next match - the U.S. Open where both of them were playing for the title and keeps - was in two weeks). She even told them to call her phone number during her date if they really needed her help, she was that concerned for their health. “Tansy? Are you…okay?” Tansy looked up to see Romilly. The man looked unassuming, wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses that made his concerned hazel eyes, shifting from gold to green and brown depending on the light, seem much bigger than they were, his hair a military buzzcut of sandy-brown with a Van Dyke-like curled moustache and goatee showing the otherwise hidden color prominently. His height was exactly six feet, five inches taller than she was, and his body, the rare times she saw him shirtless (and she couldn’t help but notice the awful scarring all over his back…almost like he had been whipped with a cat-o-nine by a total sadist. She had not gained the courage to ask him where it was from; given what she was hiding, she thought it would’ve been horribly rude of her to ask.) was sinewy and packed with lean, toned muscle. Romilly Airington may not have been the most handsome man out there, and if women were looking for an attractive hunk of a man, he wouldn’t have been on the list. But Tansy only cared about one thing: if Romilly treated her, Cyrus, Stuart, and their lovers right - and the one time she saw him interact with them all at the party in Miami two months ago cemented that he really was a very kind, gentle, and genuine soul. There was not a hateful bone in the man’s body, that she could tell from long experience of many dates gone bad. “Yes, Mills?” she asked, using his pet name. “You haven’t touched your grouper. Is everything okay?” Tansy figured she could say the thing that was truly on her mind. “Stu and Cy got sick a week ago. Really bad food poisoning.” Romilly’s eyes widened. “Are they okay?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. “I know that the U.S. Open is soon. It’s okay, we can continue the date after they’re better, and-” Her phone rang, and her heart plummeted into her stomach when she saw the number: the number was her home phone. The fae-safe phone; iron was the weakness of every single person with fae blood, and no fae could even handle touching it but goblins and half-fae that denied their heritage. Like her. “Hello?” she asked cautiously, holding her phone to her ear. “Mommy!” a voice cried out. A very young girl’s voice. “Mommy, me and Stuey need help!” She sighed. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but-” “Mommy, it’s Cy-Cy! ‘Member me?” “Mommy!” Another little girl’s voice was bawling out the words. “Me and Cy-Cy had accidents! We’re sorry!” “Tell me what you remember,” Tansy said gently. “I’m not sure who you are.” “You had accidents, too!” the first girl whimpered. “All the way till big school! The really big school!” “We dressed as babies for Halloween in the academy to help you!” the second girl sobbed. “‘Member the trick-or-treat at the big school?” She froze. Yeah, it was common knowledge that she had been a late bloomer when it came to potty training…for the people who knew her up to middle school and her freshman year of high school. And nobody at the tennis academy she was at knew. But it was the Halloween trick-or-treat that cemented it, that made her immediately know that despite sounding like little girls, they were her lifelong friends. Tansy didn’t know who would play such a horrible trick on her or them, but if her mother had hurt those two in any way… “Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can,” she said in a soothing tone. “Hang tight.” She hung up, her eyes wide as moons. “Cyrus and Stuart?” Romilly deduced, his eyes gazing at her curiously behind his glasses. “Yes. I have to go.” “I’ll save the food and pay for our meal. Don’t worry about it. Go to them.” Tansy nodded her thanks to Romilly, getting her purse and smoothing out her black knee-length dress before leaving for her car, a gray 2016 Dodge Durango SUV, the afternoon sun beating down on it. She was breathing in a panic as she turned the key in the ignition, exiting the restaurant’s parking lot, barely remembering to turn on the AC so she wasn’t cooked by the August heat. Sweat poured down her face, and she wiped her head, obeying the traffic laws as laxly as she could afford to; if the fae were responsible in any way for what was going on, time was of the essence. After thirty arduous minutes - and more than one red light run; she’d pay for it later, but right now, she didn’t care - she had arrived at her two story Tampa house, killing the Durango in the driveway, fumbling with the keys to open the front door. “Cy? Stu?” she called out, as she entered the warm house. “Mommy!” the two simultaneous voices of young girls called out. Then Tansy saw the two, and she dropped her phone and keys from her nerveless fingers as her whole world went to hell. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Hello dear fellow readers! This is my first attempt at writing my own story. English is not my native language, so please forgive me if I have made a mistake or two. I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Chapter One - Emily It was a beautiful Friday afternoon in autumn when I took the bus home from the university where I attended a class. I was 21 years old at the time and lived alone in a small flat that my grandma left me when she died. I had not much friends and I spent most of my days at home or at the university. I was always shy and quiet since I was a child. Even as teenager I was smaller than the other boys and too much of an introvert. I never was good at sports and got bossed around by my classmates, when they even noticed me. I grew up in a very small town. My mother was a very strict and unapproachable person. She was used to everyone doing what she wanted without question. My father and I had no say at home and resigned ourselves to our fate. Because of my mother's strong personality, I think that I never developed one myself and got used to being pushed around. I was an only child and my only male role model was my father, who also preferred to take the path of least resistance and didn't dare to contradict my mother. The day after I graduated from high school, I moved to the city to study. I was happy to be away from home and to lead something like an independent life. I spoke to my mother on the phone from time to time and kept her up to date, but I only went home once a year for Christmas. When I was home, everything was as usual: my mother ruled everything without compromise, and my father and I just accepted it. He did so because he had given up, and I did so because I figured I was only there for a few days anyway. Deep down, however, I knew that I couldn't resist her, even if I wanted to. My childhood had shaped me too much in that regard. During my first year at the university, I attended a few student parties and tried to meet new people, but I was much too shy to talk to people, especially if they were women. After two years I hardly knew anybody besides a few colleges from university, to whom I talked a little bit before and after the classes. But outside the university, I had no interest in spending time together with them. As I walked home from the bus station, deep in thought, I had no idea that on this beautiful Friday, my life would change dramatically. As I entered my apartment - it was on the third floor of a five-story building - I took off my shoes and changed into some comfortable clothes. I switched on the TV and as I wanted to sit down on the couch as the doorbell rang. I walked to the door und looked through the peephole. There was a young woman standing in the hallway. Probably as old as me, maybe a little older, but undeniably somewhat taller than me. She had almost shoulder-long hair brown hair and cute, slightly nerdy glasses. I had the feeling that I knew her. She looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t figure out why. Have I seen her before? Is she a neighbor? I opened the door. Before I had the chance to say something, she said, „Hello, my name is Emily. I am the babysitter you hired.” I was very surprised and looked down the corridor. I answered very cautiously, „Hello Emily. I’m sorry, I did not hire you. I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t have any children. Maybe you are at the wrong door.” She looked down on her phone and then up to the number on the apartment door. “No, I am at the right address. Are you sure, you didn’t hire me?” While I was thinking about an answer, she took advantage of my hesitation and pushed my door open. I took a few steps back as the woman named Emily entered my apartment and closed the door behind her. Completely perplexed, I stood in my living room and did not know what was happening. There was a strange woman in my apartment, looking at me with a determined gaze. With an emphasis that left no room for argument she said, “Now I'm sure you hired me to take care of you, right?” I stood there with my mouth open, not knowing what to say. She seemed so convincing and assertive that I couldn't move or say anything. She reached into her large handbag and pulled out a pacifier. I've never seen anything like that before. It was larger than a normal pacifier, as if for a very large child. Before I could say anything, she had already put the pacifier in my mouth. It fit perfectly. I wanted to spit it out immediately but I didn't have the chance to do so. I wanted to spit it out immediately, but I didn't have a chance to do so. Quick as lightning, she grabbed my crotch, her fingers digging into the fabric of my pants, and asked, “Are you not wearing a diaper?” I stepped back and took the pacifier out of my mouth. I still didn’t know what to say. I tried, but all I could do was stutter, “What? … No. … I don’t need diapers.” Emily put her hands on her hips and said firmly, “Then we have to fix that before someone has a little accident.” She took the pacifier out of my hands and put it back into my mouth before I could answer. Then she took my hands and pulled me gently to the floor. I couldn’t process what happened and I was at a loss for words. Emily pushed my upper body gently back until I was laying on my back in front of her. Kneeling at my feet she reached into her handbag once again but this time she pulled out a something that looked like a large light blue diaper. As she starts to unfold the object in her hands, I realized that it didn’t just look like a large light blue diaper. It was a large light blue diaper. In a state of shock and overwhelmed by the situation that was unfolding here, I let her do as she pleased without resistance. Even if I wanted to resist – and believe me, I wanted to– I couldn’t. I was like wax in her soft but determined hands. With ease she started to undress my pants as she leans over and whispers in my ear, “Don't fight it, sweetheart. Let me take care of you. “ At that moment, a shiver ran down my spine. I couldn’t move. It was as if had cast a spell on me. She slit my underwear down my legs exposing my penis and tossed my boxershorts aside before carefully placing the diaper underneath me. Once the diaper is securely fastened around my waist with adhesive tabs, she gave it a little pat. „There we go! All clean and fresh for our playtime together, “she exclaimed joyfully. „But before we can have fun, there are a few rules, “From now on you will call me Mommy. And you will wear a diaper when I say so.” Then she smiled with a playful smirk and continued, “As long as you wear a diaper you will use it. You are my little diaper boy now. If you have to pee, you will pee into your diaper like diaper depending boys do. And when you have to go number two, you also have to use your diaper. I will decide when it is time to change your full diapers since you are not allowed to change them yourself. Is that clear?” I heard everything what Emily just said, but couldn’t believe it. What was happening to me? I gathered all my strength, took the pacifier out of my mouth and wanted to say, “’What the hell? Are you crazy? I don’t need a diaper. What crazy game are you trying to play with me? Get lost and find another moron you can manipulate!” But instead, I just said very quietly, “Yes, Mommy.” Emily clapped her hands together and said triumphantly, „Very good, my little diaper boy. Now follow me to the kitchen. “ She stood up, took me by my hands and pulled me up. Obediently I followed her into the kitchen feeling the diaper between my legs. It was a strange feeling but it was also weirdly comforting. When she got to the kitchen, Emily took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water. She handed it to me and said, “Drink. We need to keep you hydrated.” I removed my pacifier and took a sip from the glass. I removed the pacifier and took a sip from the glass. When I tried to put the glass down, Emily pushed it back up, forcing me to empty the entire glass. After I finished, she took the glass out of my hands and filled it again. She took my hand and said, “Come. Let’s watch some TV.” We sat down on the couch and she switched on the TV I wanted to watch the news, but Emily said that diaper boys weren't allowed to choose what to watch. So, she chose a daily soap and I watched it without objection. Around six o’clock my stomach started to growl. “Is my diaper boy hungry?” Emily asked with joy. “I will make us dinner then.” She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me in the living room. I heard some cooking noises but I didn’t bother. I had to reflect what happened to me today. After a while Emily came back with two plates of spaghetti with tomato sauce. “You don't have much to cook at home, otherwise I would have cooked us something fancier. Maybe we should go grocery shopping tomorrow.” She put the plates onto the coffee table by the couch and handed me a fork. “Because you behaved so well today, you are allowed to eat in the living room. But don't get used to it.” The food tasted excellent. I don’t know how, since it was just noodles with tomato sauce, but for me it tasted like heaven. I haven't eaten so well at home since Grandma died. The food brought back some of my best childhood memories. After we finished our meal, Emily took the empty plates to the kitchen and started to clean up. Emily made me drink a sip of water after every bite, which now paid off for her. While she was in the kitchen, I felt the urge to pee building up.

Alessandra or alex for short is a recently graduated from college and after all the stress from her time at school she decides he needs some down time and goes online and finds a place where she can have someone else take care of her so she decides to sign up. What she doesn't realize is that the place has all the guest wear diapers and soon regress into toddlers and babies.

Looking for any girls who are around 18-25 that like getting spanked and wearing pullup diapers and being fingered and ect.