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Part 1: The bell rang and the little Amy hurried up to the door followed by her mother. “Hi Peggy,” the little girl stretched her hands to the tall girl standing in front of the door. Peggy lifted her in her arms and got a tight hug from Amy. “Hello Amy,” Peggy kissed Amy’s forehead. She was Amy’s babysitter and now they had the whole afternoon and evening ahead; Amy’s parents went to a party and they had to return about midnight. Amy was a cheerful and intelligent little girl; she knew the alphabet and numbers at the age of three and she was able to read simple sentences but, on the other hand, she still was in diapers. Amy occasionally asked for potty to poop but she mostly used her diaper. It was unclear if she refused potty training out of some kind of rebellion or she considered diapers comfortable. She always knew when she needed a change and she was able to prepare everything for the change. Amy also was too clumsy to dress and undress herself. Peggy was a social sciences student. She lived in an apartment together with two roommates; they also were social science students and they supported each other. Peggy considered babysitting a part of her practices; Amy loved her and they had lots of fun together. Peggy’s roommates teased her about her idea but she ignored their comments. “Peggy, Peggy, would we go to the playground?” Amy made puppy eyes at her babysitter. “Of course, Amy. It’s a sunny day today. Let’s go inside now,” Peggy carried Amy and put her on the floor again. “Okay, we can leave now and we’ll be back at midnight,” Amy’s mom smiled at Peggy and the little girl. Amy apparently ignored her parents and focused on Peggy. “Amy, you are wearing your pajamas; did you wake up from your nap?” “Yeah,” the little girl nodded and yawned. “Well, you should get dressed then. Let me check your diaper now.” Peggy reached down and felt the heavy and soaked garment between Amy’s legs. Amy turned around and ran away; she headed towards her bedroom. Peggy smiled only and followed Amy slowly. The little girl was carrying a clean diaper and she hopped onto the changing table and relaxed. “I need a clean diaper,” Amy grinned at her babysitter and spread her legs. Peggy pulled down the pajama pants and untaped the wet package. “Amy, you are a clever girl and you even brought me a clean diaper. Wouldn’t you like to potty train?” Peggy was cleaning Amy’s crotch. “Why? You change me when I need it, don’t you?” “Are you about to wear diapers forever?” “Why not?” Peggy shrugged only; Amy apparently didn’t intend to potty train. She took the clean diaper from Amy, diapered the little girl and dressed her into a T-shirt and jeans. “Well, let’s go,” Peggy took the diaper bag, a bottle of juice and some small snacks along with the toys. While walking through the park Amy turned to Peggy: “Peggy, do you know what I want?” “No idea.” “I’d like to be the big girl like you are.” “Why?” “I’d like to know how it is.” “Wait and you grow up.” “No, I want it now.” “How do you want to do it? It has to be a miracle.” “Yeah; let’s find a magic gem.” “What? Magic gems don’t exist.” “They do. Didn’t you read that fairy-tale?” “Yeah but this is a fairy tale. The magic gems exist in fairy tales only.” Amy shrugged and they got to the playground. She headed towards the sandbox and Peggy gave her the toys. Peggy sat down on the bench, pulled out her mobile and started chatting with her friends while watching Amy and the other children. Amy seemed to have fun. “Peggy, I’m hungry and thirsty,” Amy interrupted Peggy’s chatting. “Hey, Amy; didn’t you forget something?” “Oh, sorry. Can I have some snacks and juice please?” “Of course, here you are,” Peggy gave her a snack and the baby bottle. Amy was able to drink from a cup but it was better to use the baby bottle outside. Amy ate the snack, took the bottle and started sucking on the nipple. Sucking was pleasant and comfortable but it made Amy pee instinctively. She felt the diaper getting warm and heavy; however it wasn’t soaked yet. She passed the bottle back to Peggy and ran away to the sandbox “Thanks Peggy.” About an hour later Amy ran to Peggy again: “Juice please, Peggy.” “Of course, princess,” Peggy passed her the bottle. “Peggy, I’m all wet,” Amy announced when she finished the bottle. Peggy smiled only and put Amy onto the bench to change her. “It’s getting late Amy; we should go home.” “Five minutes please,” Amy begged and Peggy smiled only. However the other children left for home and Amy was alone. Back at home Peggy led Amy to the bathroom to wash her hands and face. “Amy, do you need a change?” “Not yet,” Amy shook her head. “Okay, let’s have our dinner now.” Peggy helped Amy eat even if Amy was quite capable of eating on her own. Amy somehow liked the care and Peggy also liked to feed her. After dinner Peggy washed the dishes while Amy watched a child show on TV. She felt the pressure in her guts and considered asking Peggy; however she didn’t want to miss the show and relaxed plainly. When Peggy came to the living room, the smell revealed the condition of Amy’s diaper. “Hey, little princess; time to have a nice warm bath and go to bed.” Amy shook her head but she yawned at the same time. Peggy lifted her and carried her to the changing table. The diaper was overfilled and Peggy had to clean Amy thoroughly before putting her into the bathtub. Amy seemed to be tired and Peggy lifted her from the bathtub, put a thick night time diaper on her and dressed her in a pink onesie. “Good night, princess,” she put Amy into the crib and took Amy’s clothes. The T-shirt was dirty and she put it into the laundry basket. When she took the jeans, something fell out of the pocket. Peggy lifted it and stared at a small pendant with a green glistening gem. “Amy, what is this?” Peggy asked the little girl. “Where did you find it?” “It was in the sand.” “Somebody has lost it, I think. However it looks expensive. I never saw this kind of gem.” “Is it the magic gem?” Amy jumped up in the crib and clapped her tiny hands. “Amy, this is not a fairy-tale. The best we can do is show it to your mom. Maybe somebody is looking for their lost pendant already and we can give it back to them.” “No, no,” Amy pouted. “Let’s play for awhile; this is a magic gem while we are playing. Can I have a single wish? I promise I’ll go to sleep and you can give it to my mom.” “Okay, little princess, why not? After all, nothing can happen,” Peggy laughed and gave the pendant to Amy. “Dear pendant, I want to be a big girl,” Amy put the pendant to her mouth and whispered her wish. The gem changed its color and turned red. All of sudden Amy’s view got blurred and seconds later she was standing in Peggy’s clothes in front of the crib and looking at herself. Somebody was standing in the crib in Amy’s onesie and holding the pendant. “It worked!” Amy exclaimed. “I’m a big girl but … are you Peggy?” she asked the little girl in the crib. “Yeah, I am Peggy. You are a big girl but I turned into a toddler.” “Isn’t it fun?” “I’m not sure Amy,” Peggy sighed; she had to recover from the shock. Although she never believed in miracles, one of them just happened. “Amy, we should change back. It isn’t as fun as you think.” Peggy tried to convince Amy. “Wait a bit please … please. We change back before my mom and dad come back.” “Okay, take the pendant and put it onto the table.” Peggy passed the pendant to Amy. However she noticed that the gem wasn’t red anymore; it also wasn’t green; it was dark gray. “Peggy, what would you do while waiting for my mom? What do big girls usually do?” Amy suddenly got confused. She didn’t have any idea what to do in her new role. Playing with dolls didn’t seem to be the right option. “I’d watch TV or browse the internet or chat with my friends.” Amy realized that the idea wasn’t as good as it seemed to her originally. Anyway she still was curious. “Come with me and we can watch TV,” Amy knew how to switch on the TV but she was disappointed by the program; no child programs were running already. “I’m thirsty,” Amy announced but she realized she should drink on her own; big girls didn’t need assistance though. She headed towards the kitchen. At that moment Peggy realized that something was wrong. Her big girl’s bladder was a bit full before they exchanged their bodies and Amy would pee soon. “Amy, wait; you aren’t wearing a diaper. What if you have to pee?” “Big girls don’t wear diapers,” Amy protested but she stopped; Peggy was right. She always used her diaper and didn’t have any idea what else to do. “What do big girls do if they don’t wear diapers?” “They have to go to the toilet, pull down their panties, sit down and pee.” “No, it’s unpleasant and difficult,” she reached down and tried to pull down the jeans she was wearing. “Diapers are better.” “Don’t you know how to unbutton your pants?” Amy shook her head. Peggy sighed only; she had to help Amy. “Let’s play a game; you are the big girl and use the toilet.” “Okay,” Amy shrugged, “What should I do?” “Come with me,” Peggy headed to the bathroom “Turn back.” Peggy unbuttoned Amy’s jeans, pulled them down along with the panties. “Sit down and pee.” Amy sat down on the toilet bowl but she was confused about what to do. She was used to a diaper, she never tried to control the bladder muscles and didn’t feel the urge yet. No pee came out. “Sorry, Peggy, I didn’t pee.” “Bring your night time diaper and lie down on the floor,” Peggy pulled Amy’s panties and jeans back. Amy brought the diaper and lay down. Peggy pulled down her jeans and the panties. Amy instinctively lifted her behind and Peggy slid the diaper underneath her. The tapes hardly reached the front but she somehow managed to tape it shut. She pulled up the panties and pants and buttoned the jeans as well. There was a bulge on Amy’s crotch. Amy jumped up and headed to the kitchen again. However she faced another problem. She always got her juice in the baby bottle or in a cup; now she had to find it and pour it into the cup. It was a new task and she spilled a little of the juice until she managed to fill the cup. Peggy also was thirsty and she poured the juice into another cup. Amy watched her and she was taken aback how quickly Peggy filled her cup. “Peggy, will I learn it?” “Of course you will; it is quite simple.” Peggy smiled. Amy drank up the juice and turned to Peggy: “What will we do now? I’d like to play.” “Aren’t you tired?” “No,I’m not.” Amy’s teeneager body wasn’t tired and Peggy also wasn’t tired out of excitement. The toddler body was a bit tired but she had to stay awake and convince Amy to change them back in time. “Okay then,” Peggy sat down and Amy joined her and pointed at the dollhouse. The scene looked normal even if their roles were switched. While they were playing, Amy’s bladder filled up. This time she felt the familiar diaper on her crotch and peed instinctively. However she had a big bladder and the diaper got soaked by a single wetting. Peggy realized she also had to pee but the overall had the zip on her back and she wasn’t able to reach it. Peggy shrugged and decided to wait until they would change back. However the weak bladder muscles betrayed her and Peggy peed herself like an actual toddler. All of sudden they heard key in the lock: “Amy, we are too late; your parents are back.”

The Price of Innocence Chapter 1: The Proposition The air in the old antique shop had been thick with dust and secrets the day eighteen-year-old Sarah found the orb. Its silver surface was cool in her palm, humming with a faint, unsettling pulse. It was a peculiar thing, and as she examined it, the elderly shopkeeper, with eyes that seemed to hold ancient secrets, leaned in conspiratorially. "That one," he rasped, "has a touch of old magic to it. They say it can let you see the world through different eyes... feel what it's truly like to walk in another's skin." Sarah dismissed it as an old man's whimsical sales pitch, but a seed of curiosity was undeniably planted. Tonight, babysitting four-year-old Lily, a tangle of energy and vulnerability, seemed the perfect time for a daring experiment. Lily was a sweet girl, but she struggled with potty training, navigating her days in Pull-Ups and needing thicker diapers for bed. Sarah, with the reckless confidence of youth, saw a unique opportunity. It wasn't just about the thrill of a potential magical swap; it was a chance to step inside Lily’s world, to understand her struggles, and perhaps, to prove that mastering something like potty training wasn't so difficult after all. "Lily," Sarah whispered, a spark of wild excitement in her voice. "Forget boring games. This is my magic toy. The shopkeeper said it might let people swap bodies. What if... you could be a big teenager, and I could be little you? Just for pretend, of course! We could see what it's really like!" To a four-year-old, the idea shimmered like a fairytale. "Really? Be like you?" Lily breathed, her usual bedtime anxieties replaced by awe. "Yep! Just for pretend," Sarah confirmed, holding out the orb, a thrill of anticipation mixed with genuine skepticism. The weight of it suddenly felt significant. "Just touch it with me." A shared touch sent the room dissolving into a nauseating rush of light. When it cleared, Sarah gasped, utterly stunned. She was small, looking up at a world that had quadrupled in size. Her own body stood before her, animated by Lily's delighted giggles. "I'm Sarah! It worked!" squealed Lily, the voice her own teenager's but pitched with a child's pure glee. Inhabiting the taller form, she bounced on the balls of Sarah's feet, unsteady but thrilled. She marveled at her newfound height, the effortless reach to the top of the bookshelf, the simple grace of her long limbs. A wide, childish grin spread across Sarah's face as Lily twirled, her arms outstretched. "It... it actually worked!" Sarah whispered, her tiny hand flying to her mouth in disbelief, her mind reeling from the impossible reality of it. The casual "just for pretend" had evaporated, replaced by a surge of adrenaline and a thrilling, terrifying wonder. "Okay! Game on!" Sarah cheered, her own voice now a reedy, high-pitched sound that felt utterly foreign. A strange mix of fascination and unease churned in her gut. Her hands were impossibly tiny, her movements clumsy in this miniature body. The world had become a towering landscape of giant furniture and distant doorknobs. Yet, beneath the initial shock, her adult mind remained sharp, frantically trying to process the surreal change. For the next couple of hours, Sarah led the play. "Come on, Lily-Sarah! Let's build a tower!" she instructed, her tone firm despite her chirping voice. Lily, surprisingly adaptable, followed her lead, her oversized hands fumbling with blocks and cars. Sarah, enjoying the novelty, patiently demonstrated how to maneuver her own longer limbs, how to open child-proof cabinets, and how to balance on one foot. Lily (as Sarah) stumbled a bit, her stride awkward, but she seemed to enjoy the novelty of her new size and strength, trying to mimic Sarah's (as Lily's) movements. As dusk settled, Sarah felt a growing urgency. She needed to make her point about potty training. "Okay, Lily!" she announced, her voice a little more strained now. "Time for a new game! I'm going to show you how easy it is to go potty!" She looked up at her own body, which now held a familiar four-year-old pout. Her heart sank. This wasn't going to be as simple as she'd hoped. Trying to sound encouraging, she scrambled off the floor and headed for the small bathroom. She pulled down the dry pull-up and used the potty without help, a triumphant smile on her small face. The simple act felt like a victory, a clear demonstration of capability meant for the girl watching from Sarah's height. She emerged moments later, beaming up at her own towering form. "See, Lily?" Instead of inspiration, she was met with a stubborn frown twisting her teenage features. "Hmmph," Lily grumbled, the sound a deep vibration in Sarah's chest that felt deeply wrong. "I don't like that game. You're not playing 'little Sarah' right. I think it's time for bed, and I'm the big helper." Her voice firm with childish authority, Lily declared, "First, let's get your big clothes off and put on your pajamas." She began to gently but firmly undress "little Sarah," praising her for the dry pull-up, like her own mother would have done. Sarah stiffened, humiliation creeping in as her clothes were efficiently removed, her mind racing with desperate strategies to get Lily to swap them back. Lily's gaze then fell on the package of Pampers Baby-Dry diapers next to the bed—the bulky, taped ones used only at night. Seeing this as the ultimate act of control in her game, she insisted on the routine. With Sarah's own surprisingly capable hands, she laid "little Sarah" down on the changing pad. The cool plastic was a shock against Sarah's skin. "No, wait!" she protested, her small voice barely a squeak, tinged with growing panic. "I don't need that! I'm not a baby! We need to switch back now!" But Lily merely smiled, a soft, indulgent expression on Sarah's features. "Silly little Sarah," she cooed. With practiced motions, she unfastened a fresh diaper. The plastic rustled loudly in the silence as the thick, padded bulk was secured around Sarah's waist. The unfamiliar fabric was alien and infantilizing. Every instinct in Sarah's adult mind revolted as her own hands, controlled by a child, secured the tapes. Lily then pulled a soft, pink nightshirt over Sarah's head, the cartoon character on the front another sting of humiliation. "There we go," Lily murmured, echoing her own mother's soothing tone. "All snug and ready for sleepy time." She patted the diapered bottom with a sense of accomplishment before tucking Sarah into the small bed. "Need a song, little Sarah?" Lily asked. Sarah wanted to scream, to demand they switch back. But a heavy, insistent wave of sleepiness, the natural fatigue of a four-year-old's body, washed over her. Her eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Lily began to sing a nursery rhyme in Sarah's alto voice. It was surreal, the familiar melody in her own voice feeling both alien and compelling. Despite her fear and distress, Sarah felt herself being pulled down, deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. The singing, the warmth of the covers pressing down, the exhaustion from the long, strange evening, all combined, pulling her down. She drifted off, trapped, the sound of her own voice singing her to sleep. A short while later, Sarah heard Lily's parents' voices. "She's fast asleep," Lily (as Sarah) said brightly. "And she was very good tonight!" Lily's mother chuckled. "Oh, that's wonderful, Sarah! Thank you so much." With a final "Goodnight, sweetie," directed at the sleeping form in the bed, they left, taking Lily and, implicitly, the silver orb with them. Sarah was left alone in the darkened room, the weight of the diaper a tangible, undeniable truth against her skin, the sound of her own voice fading with her fading consciousness, leaving her truly abandoned. Chapter 2: The Unraveling She woke with a gasp to immediate disorientation. The room was vast, the ceiling impossibly high, the furniture looming like giants. Then the physical reality hit her: a heavy, cold dampness pressed against her skin. The crinkle of plastic followed as she shifted. The distinct smell. She, Sarah, had wet the diaper. Shame, hot and immediate, flooded her. A burning tide rising from her chest and spreading through her tiny limbs. It wasn't a dream, was it? No, this was too real. But how could it be? The shopkeeper's words had been a sales pitch, her game with Lily just pretend. Yet here she was, in Lily's four-year-old body. Panic clawed at her throat, a silent scream trapped inside her small chest. Every instinct screamed for escape, for the familiar ease of her adult body, for the autonomy she’d taken for granted. Was she going crazy? Was this some elaborate hallucination? But she heard movement outside the room – Lily's mother's soft, approaching footsteps. She had to play the part. Trapped, helpless, she forced herself to make a small, sleepy whimper, acting the part of a wet four-year-old waking up uncomfortable. "Time for a change, sweetie," Mrs. Gable said with her usual morning kindness, but for Sarah, the routine words were a fresh wave of mortification. This was the start of a brutal routine. The dread intensified as she was lifted onto the changing pad. The sound of the tapes peeling open seemed to echo the tearing of her own sanity. Was this truly happening? Was she really trapped? Or was this just a vivid, prolonged dream from which she couldn't wake? She lay stiff with shame while her body was cleaned. The cool wipe a stark sensation against her skin, a grotesque parody of the self-care she'd taken for granted for years. She was handled like an infant, passive and utterly helpless, her eighteen-year-old mind screaming protests no one could hear. After being cleaned up, she was put into a fresh, relatively thin pull-up for the day, a stark contrast to the thick night diaper. The morning routine continued, a bewildering immersion into the life of a four-year-old. Breakfast was a struggle with tiny utensils and food cut into miniature pieces. Mrs. Gable's patient encouragement felt condescending to Sarah's adult mind. After breakfast, driven by a desperate need to assert some control, Sarah made her way to the bathroom. Her steps were clumsy, her balance still off, but her adult mind was sharp. She managed to pull down her pull-up and used the potty successfully, without assistance. A small surge of triumph went through her, a whisper of her adult self screaming, "I'm still here! This isn't real! I'm Sarah!" But it was fleeting, quickly overshadowed by the looming dread of the rest of the day. The day passed in a surreal haze of childish activities. Sarah played with toys she hadn't touched in years, endured a nap she desperately didn't want, and had to navigate a world built for people half her mental age. Each interaction was a performance, a constant act to hide her true self. But how long could she keep this up? Would she ever wake up? Throughout the day, Mrs. Gable would occasionally chime in with a cheerful, "Time to try the potty, sweetie!" or "Do you need to go potty, Lily-bug?" Each time, Sarah's adult mind would bristle. Of course I know when I need to go! I'm not a baby! The reminders, though kind, felt infantilizing and deeply annoying. She'd dutifully try, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, but the constant questioning grated on her adult sensibilities. When evening came, the dread of bedtime returned. After a quick bath, Mrs. Gable began the familiar process. Despite her successful use of the potty throughout the whole day, Mrs. Gable simply smiled. "Time for your night-time diaper, sweetie. Just to make sure you stay dry and comfy all night." Sarah’s internal protests were silent. She was laid down on the changing pad again, the familiar plastic rustle and the weight of the thick diaper being fastened around her a physical embodiment of her helplessness. This was Lily's routine, and Lily's mother wasn't going to deviate from it just because "Lily" had a surprisingly good day. The sheer, utter helplessness of being treated like a child, as a child, was soul-crushing. Maybe this was real. Maybe she was Lily. The thought was terrifying. The next few days were a blur of growing despair. Waking up as Lily morning after morning, the undeniable physical sensations confirming the persistent reality, extinguished any last hope that this was merely a dream. Throughout the day she tried to control her tiny bladder, but the body felt alien, its signals more muddled with each passing day. Then, it happened during playtime—a sudden, undeniable warmth spreading through her pull-up. She froze, her small hands clenched into fists. A silent scream tore through her mind, overwhelming all other thoughts. It wasn't just observing Lily's accidents anymore; this was her experience, her body, Lily's body, betraying her adult mind with a sudden, uncontrollable warmth that seeped through the fabric, shockingly hot against her skin. The primal humiliation was sickening. Mrs. Gable, ever patient, simply noticed the faint smell, led her to the changing pad, and quietly changed her. "Oopsie," she murmured, a phrase that made Sarah's adult mind scream in silent agony. Amidst the bewildering immersion into Lily's routine, Sarah's adult mind frequently grappled with the limitations of her small body and muddled senses. Once, when attempting to explain how to make a sandwich, she found her small tongue struggling, her adult vocabulary failing her. The complex thoughts dissolved into simple, fragmented sounds. "Bread… peanut… jelly… squish!" was all that emerged, the infantile words mocking her intellect. It was a terrifying sign of the disconnect, a chilling internal battle she fought alone. Was this real? Or was she simply Lily, a very confused Lily, who imagined things? As the days blended, the accidents became more frequent, each one a fresh assault on her dignity and a chilling sign of her losing battle. She’d make it to the potty sometimes, only to lose control just as she sat down, the desperate urge simply overwhelming her. Other times, the urge would simply come too late, or she wouldn't even notice until the tell-tale warmth spread. The feeling of the wet pull-up, then the clean change, became a grim, relentless cycle. She found herself waiting, with a desperate, growing anticipation, for Lily to appear, to return, to somehow bring the silver orb and switch them back. Every morning, she woke with a flicker of hope, her eyes darting around the room for the familiar teenage figure, only for it to be crushed by the familiar dampness of her diaper and the endless, infantilizing routine of Lily's life. Chapter 3: The First Visit Days bled into a week, a monotonous cycle of living in Lily's small body. The world seen from this height felt different, more intimidating. Her thoughts, once sharp, were drained by the sheer effort of controlling Lily’s uncooperative body. Then, one afternoon, the front door opened. Seeing her own body, animated by Lily's innocent energy, sent a jolt of desperate hope through Sarah. "Hi Lily! Ready to play?" Lily asked, her voice Sarah's, a sound both familiar and alien. Seeing her own face look so relaxed, so at ease, twisted something inside Sarah. "Lily! It's me, Sarah! We have to swap back!" Sarah cried, scrambling toward her own body. Her movements were clumsy, her small legs pumping furiously. Lily tilted her head, a look of simple confusion on Sarah's face. "Swap? What are you talking about, sweetie?" she asked, her tone that of a child patiently correcting a confused playmate. "Was that part of our pretend game? It didn't really work, did it?" She giggled, a light, airy sound that was Sarah's laugh. "You have such a big imagination!" "No! It wasn't a dream!" Sarah insisted, her voice too high and reedy for her adult distress. "Remember the silver orb? We touched it together!" Lily just patted her head. "Aw, Lily, you're getting too worked up. It's just a game, remember? I'm the big girl, you're the little girl." She tried to pull Sarah into a hug, but Sarah squirmed away, her eyes wide with a terrifying mix of fear and frustrated rage. Desperate to prove herself, to show Lily the truth of her adult mind trapped in this body, Sarah quickly stood up. She marched to the bathroom, pulled down her pull-up, and used the potty successfully, making sure Lily was watching. She emerged moments later, hands on her hips, a defiant glare fixed on her own teenage body. "See?! I can do that! I'm not a baby! You have to switch us back!" Lily beamed, a wide, innocent smile that held no understanding. "Oh, Lily, you're such a big girl!" she praised, her voice Sarah's, warm and encouraging. "You went potty all by yourself! Good job!" She clapped her hands with genuine enthusiasm, as if Lily had just achieved a major milestone. Sarah felt a fleeting flicker of hope, a desperate spark that perhaps this demonstration had finally broken through. But then Lily continued, utterly oblivious to Sarah's true plea. "Now come here, I'll give you a carry!" Before Sarah could object, Lily casually bent down and scooped her up, tucking her against her hip with an effortless strength that felt utterly wrong. Sarah squirmed, pushing against her own chest, but Lily's grip was firm, her focus already on the dolls she was moving towards. "Big girls carry little girls sometimes!" After they played a while with the dolls, Lily announced, her tone shifting to playful authority, "It's almost bedtime, and big girls like me help little girls get ready. Come on!" she lifted Sarah onto the changing pad and began to efficiently unfasten the pull-up. At that moment, Mrs. Gable appeared. "How's my little Lily doing?" Lily looked up, a bright, triumphant smile on Sarah's face. "Just getting her ready for bed, Mrs. Gable! She was so good today!" Lily patted the pull-up she had just removed. "See? She even kept her pull-up dry almost all day! And she went potty all by herself!" Mrs. Gable cooed, genuinely pleased. "Oh, that's wonderful! My big girl!" she said, kissing Lily's forehead. "And you, Sarah, you're such a great babysitter. Thank you so much for taking such good care of her." Lily beamed, basking in the praise. Then, with calm, practiced movements, she fastened a fresh, thick Pampers Baby-Dry diaper around Sarah's waist. The familiar rustle and weight were a physical embodiment of her helplessness. Sarah lay stiff with rage as her own body, controlled by a child, completed the ultimate act of infantilization while her mother praised the performance. Lily (as Sarah) then gently led Sarah (in Lily's body) back to the bed, effortlessly laying her down and pulling the covers up to her chin. "Goodnight, Lily," she murmured, a sweet, possessive tone in Sarah's own voice. "You played so good today! And learned so much." She chirped again, before walking out the door with her parents. Sarah was left behind, a horrifying uncertainty solidifying in her mind: was this just part of Lily's game, or was she genuinely convinced the "swap" was only pretend? Chapter 4: The Deepening Normalcy Days blurred into a monotonous, unending loop. The initial terror of waking in Lily’s body had dulled, replaced by a deep, insidious weariness. Time itself seemed to warp, stretching out in endless stretches of play and routine, punctuated by the familiar, humbling moments of being changed. Her sense of when things happened, or how long they lasted, began to dissolve. Was it morning or afternoon? Had she been playing with these blocks for minutes or hours? The sharp edges of her eighteen-year-old mind, once so keen and defiant, felt as though they were being relentlessly sanded down by the sheer, unyielding force of childhood. The daily rhythm was inescapable. Mornings began with the rustle of a thick wet night-time diaper being removed, followed by the insertion into a fresh, daytime pull-up. The periodic "Time to try the potty!" from Mrs. Gable, once irritating, became a necessary spark of awareness. Sometimes, in the midst of her increasingly muddled thoughts, the reminder would spark a flicker of awareness, a vague urgency that allowed her to make it to the bathroom, avoiding an accident. She found herself, almost imperceptibly, relying on them. The relief of a dry pull-up, even if prompted, became a small, secret victory. But the victories were hollow, followed by inevitable accidents. The initial burning shame of wetting herself had faded to a dull ache. It wasn't the sudden, shocking gush she first experienced. The pull-ups were so absorbent, so efficient, that the immediate sensation of wetness often didn't even register. She’d be playing, or listening to a story, and then she’d notice it – a slight shift in weight, a subtle sag, the once vibrant patterns on the pull-up faintly blurred or faded where the wetness had spread. The terrifying part wasn't just the physical loss of control, but the erosion of her awareness. Sometimes, she wouldn't even know an accident had happened until Mrs. Gable would gently ask, "Are you wet, sweetie?" and lead her to the changing pad. The process of being changed felt almost automatic now, a familiar ritual that bypassed her conscious mind. The subtle shift in her center of gravity as she was lifted, the cool brush of the wipes, the familiar stretch of a new pull-up being pulled up her legs—these were sensations she had come to accept, rather than actively resist. The initial sharp pang of mortification was dulled, replaced by a hazy, almost uncomprehending embarrassment. Her attempts at complex thought, at recalling memories from her past, were also increasingly fragmented, often interrupted by simple, immediate distractions – a bright toy, a catchy jingle from a TV show, the taste of a sweet snack. The world, once vibrant and intricate through adult eyes, now felt simpler, louder, brighter, pulling her into a child's unfiltered perception. The endless stream of childish conversations, the repetitive games, the constant supervision – it all began to wear down her resistance. The fight she waged internally, the silent screams for her adult self, were slowly being drowned out, pulled under by the sheer, insistent current of childhood's simple demands. She still longed for Lily to return, to reverse the swap, but the desperate anticipation that had once consumed her had morphed into a more resigned hope. Every morning, she still looked for her own teenage form, a fleeting moment of clarity in the soft morning light, but it was always the same: Mrs. Gable, a small, absorbent diaper, and the start of another day in Lily’s endless childhood. The new normal was setting in, and Sarah, trapped, could feel her own self beginning to fray at the edges. Then, one sunny afternoon, the front door opened, and Lily (in Sarah's body) arrived. "Hi Lily! I came to play!" she chirped, her voice Sarah's, but the inflection undeniably that of a joyous four-year-old. She bounced a little on Sarah's feet, then knelt, her eighteen-year-old frame easily reaching Lily's height. "Want to build a super-duper tall tower?" Lily (as Sarah) asked. Sarah felt a vague impulse to create something complex, but her small hands felt clumsy, the blocks slipped from her grasp. She tried to coordinate her movements, but her focus wavered, drifting to the dust motes dancing in the sunbeam. She managed to stack two blocks, then stared at the next, her adult thought to add three more dissolving into a simple urge to knock them down. She knocked the blocks over with a giggle. Lily laughed, a warm, genuine sound from Sarah's own throat. "Silly Lily! That's okay! We'll just build it again! You're so funny!" She easily re-stacked the blocks, her own large hands surprisingly adept, showing a patience that bordered on condescension. "You know, big girls can draw really good pictures too! Want to draw with me?" Lily produced crayons and a coloring book with large, simple shapes. Sarah found herself wanting to sketch a complex landscape, a memory from her past life. But when she grasped the crayon, her small fingers felt clumsy, her drawing amounted to only frantic scribbles outside the lines. The frustration bubbled, but the intensity quickly faded, replaced by the simple satisfaction of the crayon's waxy feel on the paper. As the afternoon wore on, Lily suggested, "Hey, Lily, wanna play tickle monster?" she giggled, her eyes wide with childish mischief. Before Sarah could respond, Lily pounced, her large hands digging playfully into Sarah's sides. Sarah squealed with delighted surprise, her small body writhing playfully. The unexpected laughter, the sudden movements, the sheer sensory overload of the tickling — it was too much for her already regressing control. Her bladder, forgotten in the moment of pure, innocent fun, simply let go. The warm rush spread through her pull-up, a sensation her overstimulated mind barely noticed. The playful squeals continued, now tinged with a raw, almost primitive joy, utterly oblivious to the growing dampness. During the bedtime routine, Lily unfastened the pull-up and paused. the familiar, tell-tale warmth and faint smell of urine became apparent. "Oh, Lily," she murmured, her voice soft with a childlike concern. "Your pull-up is all wet! Were you so busy playing you didn't even notice?" Sarah blinked up at her, a look of simple confusion on her face, a faint flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks, her small hands fluttering nervously. She simply shook her head, flustered and unable to comprehend the question beyond the feeling of being exposed. Just then, Mrs. Gable entered the room. Lily turned to her, her voice bright yet tinged with feigned concern. "Lily had another accident! I don't think she even knew it happened. She was just playing so hard with me. Maybe we should stop trying with the potty for a little while, so she doesn't get sad?" Mrs. Gable looked from the genuinely worried expression on Sarah's face to the small, lost form of Lily, who now looked utterly lost and ashamed, her eyes wide and confused. A faint sadness settled in Mrs. Gable's eyes. "You're probably right, honey," she sighed. "We don't want to make it too hard on her, do we? We can try again later." She gave a comforting pat. "Good thinking, Sarah. Thank you for helping so much." And so, the explicit reminders to go potty from Mrs. Gable ceased. The implicit pressure of potty training was removed, replaced by a resigned acceptance. The constant, physical reminder of the pull-up was there, and while her adult mind still registered the humiliation, it was increasingly muffled by the growing haze of resignation. Without those occasional prompts, Sarah's accidents became noticeably more frequent. Her small bladder simply emptied, often before she even registered the urge. The fight was leaving her, piece by agonizing piece. Chapter 5: The Cognitive Battle More days passed, filled with the ongoing physical humiliation of more wet pull-ups and diapers, a constant need for changing, and the growing confusion of living with a mind that felt increasingly... not her own. Sarah's vocabulary shrank, her patience thinned, simple things fascinated her. She was becoming more and more like a four-year-old. The memory of being Sarah felt distant, like a story she'd once been told. When Lily arrived, a desperate, fleeting hope stirred in Sarah. "Lily! It's me, Sarah! Swap us back! Please!" she pleaded, trying to infuse her small voice with all the desperation of her trapped adult mind. But the words came out sounding rushed, high-pitched, more like an insistent whine. Lily knelt, a parody of thoughtful concern on Sarah's face. "Aw, sweetie, you're still playing that game? It's just pretend. I'm the big girl, remember?" She chuckled, and the familiar sound, coming from herself, twisted in Sarah's gut. "You know, big girls know lots of things. Do you want to learn something with me today instead?" Before Sarah could react, Lily (as Sarah) produced a handful of colorful blocks. "Okay, Lily, let's do some numbers!" she announced, her tone shifting into a playful 'teacher' mode. "If I have two blocks," she carefully placed two red blocks on the floor, "and I add two more," she added two blue blocks, "how many do I have?" Sarah’s adult mind screamed the answer: Four! It’s four! The knowledge was immediate, crystalline. But when she tried to vocalize it, her small tongue felt thick, clumsy. Her mouth formed the sound, but it came out slurred, incomplete. "F-fou... uh..." she stammered, her tiny brow furrowed in frustration. Lily waited patiently, a small, genuinely proud smile on her face. Then she shook her head gently. "No, silly Lily, that's not quite right. Look!" She meticulously counted each block with her own finger. "One, two, three, four! See? It's four!" She looked at Sarah with an innocent expectation, as if Sarah was just a slow learner, not a trapped adult. "Okay, let's try another one! If I have five blocks," she placed five blocks, "and I take away three..." She dramatically swept three blocks aside. "How many are left?" Two! It's two! Sarah’s mind screamed again, the answer burning, clear, obvious. She focused every ounce of her will, every shred of her adult intellect, to articulate it. "T-too!" she managed, a triumph of effort that sounded barely recognizable. Lily giggled. "Almost, Lily! It's two! You almost got it that time! You're getting so smart!" She clapped her hands with genuine enthusiasm, patting Sarah's head. The praise, meant for a developing child, was a fresh wave of humiliation. Sarah's attempts to express complex thoughts, to demonstrate her true intellect, were consistently misinterpreted as childish efforts, met with innocent condescension. The gap between her internal reality and her external presentation was growing wider, a terrifying chasm. "Okay, last one!" Lily chirped, her voice light and innocent, oblivious to the anguish brewing beneath the surface. She counted out ten blocks, then added two more with a flourish. "Now, if I have ten blocks, and I add two more, how many do I have in total, Lily?" Sarah's mind seized. Ten plus two... The numbers were there, but the sum eluded her. She knew it was simple, a basic math fact from her childhood, yet the connection refused to form. Her attention began to fray, the brightly colored blocks before her blurring, replaced by a sudden, intense focus on the warmth of the sunbeam filtering through the window, or the distant chirp of a bird. She tried to pull her thoughts back, to force the answer, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. Panic began to bubble, a hot, frantic feeling that clawed at her throat. She could feel the pressure building within her, a visceral response to the mental block and the unbearable stress of the moment. Her tiny hands clenched into fists, her breath hitched. And then, the ultimate betrayal. A subtle shift in the air, a faint, undeniable odor. This was different. This was new, horrifying, and utterly irreversible. Her bowels, under the immense mental and emotional strain, had simply given way, the soft, thick material of the pull-up doing its job discreetly, containing the mess without visible seepage. She, Sarah, had soiled herself for the first time in years. Lily tilted her head, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly. She glanced down at Lily’s pants, then back up at the little girl's strained face. "Oh, Lily! I think you made a really big mess," she exclaimed, her voice not angry, but a touch grossed out, like an older sister whose little sibling had done something truly unexpected. "Pull-ups aren't for poopy messes. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." A wave of heat washed over her, so intense it felt like her skin was dissolving. The world narrowed to the stifling confines of the soiled pull-up, the clinical gaze from her own eyes in Lily’s face, and the undeniable proof of her complete and utter regression. Not only had she failed the test, not only had her mind betrayed her, but she had regressed in the most primal way imaginable, in front of the very person who held her identity. As Lily led her towards the bathroom, Sarah's small body felt heavy with shame. Mrs. Gable was called, her gentle hand now a source of deep mortification as she efficiently removed the soiled pull-up. The warm, wet cloth against her skin, the intimate process of being cleaned, felt utterly dehumanizing. Lily watched with a detached, clinical interest, occasionally offering a helpful wipe or a sympathetic murmur. Once she was clean, Lily held out a thick, white Pampers Baby-Dry diaper, its plastic crinkle a loud pronouncement of Sarah's new reality. "Pull-ups are just for pee," she explained. "But sometimes little girls make big messes when they're learning new things, so I think, Lily needs a real diaper now, just in case!" Mrs. Gable nodded understandingly. "That's a good idea, Sarah." she agreed, fastened the bulky diaper securely around Sarah's waist. The padded bulk beneath her day clothes was suffocating, a constant, physical reminder of her regression. After the change, Lily abandoned the math questions entirely. "Okay, no more numbers today, Lily! Let's play babies!" she chirped, picking up a soft doll and rocking it. Sarah was then subjected to a series of baby games, being cooed at, rocked, and treated with an infuriatingly innocent infantilization. The attempts at adult thought became even harder, replaced by a dull, almost passive acceptance of the play. As evening approached, the familiar bedtime routine began again. Lily led Sarah to the changing pad. Sarah felt the usual faint dampness in her diaper as it was removed, a wetness she hadn't even consciously registered accumulating throughout the afternoon of baby games. Sarah was trapped, truly trapped, and a cold dread seeped into her bones. The physical proof of her regression – her failing mind and body's loss of control – and the casual, matter-of-fact way Lily handled it, delivered by her own hands, was devastating. It cemented the horrifying thought: maybe she was Lily. Chapter 6: The Choice Another week later. The world had shrunk to the size of a playroom. Time was a fluid, meaningless concept, marked only by the gentle hands of Mrs. Gable, the rustle of a fresh diaper. The daily routine of thick diapers for both day and night had become normal. Mrs. Gable, on Lily's recommendation, had given up on potty training, and Sarah now simply wet her diaper whenever the urge came, often without conscious thought. Sarah's adult mind was a flickering ember, occasionally catching a fleeting glimpse of her past life, but mostly lost in the soft, undemanding routines of toddlerhood. The "swap" felt like a vivid dream. She was Lily. One afternoon, Sarah (in Lily's body) was playing quietly with blocks, stacking them into a small, colorful tower, when Lily (in Sarah's body) entered the room, holding the silver orb. Her expression was different—thoughtful, almost solemn. "Want to play pretend again?" she asked. Sarah felt a ghostly echo of a memory but reached out, eager to play. With a shared touch, the world swam, and she was back. Standing tall. In her own body. A wave of profound disorientation hit her, followed by a terrifying sense of wrongness. This is too big. Too high. She looked down at her long, alien limbs. Her soft silk panties felt impossibly thin, offering no security. A raw sense of vulnerability flooded her. Panic flickered, a childlike fear in a teenage form. "Whee!" she chirped, the sound alien in her teenage voice. She did a clumsy hop, like a four-year-old exploring new limbs, trying to make sense of this strange, oversized body. Her regressed mind, traumatized by weeks of involuntary release, reacted instantly. Her bladder let go, the warm liquid soaking through her jeans. The overpowering smell, the utterly mortifying realization of what she had done—it all flooded her senses. She, Sarah, eighteen years old, had just wet herself. Lily, back in her own small body, watched with a calm expression. Seeing Sarah so panicked and lost in the big body—her body—a strange pity stirred in Lily. "It looks like the pretend game is making you feel funny. You're in a big body but still acting like a little kid. You should be you again." She held out the silver orb, not as a trick, but as a simple, honest solution. "We'd better swap back to make you feel normal again. Like you were before this pretend game made you so silly and sad." Sarah, confused and distressed by the alien tallness and the wrongness of her limbs, didn't hesitate. The inexplicable accident was terrifying, proof this tall body was broken and wrong. Swapping back felt like the only way to return to 'normalcy,' to the body where accidents were just a part of being Lily. "Yes! Swap back!" she cried, reaching for the orb with desperate, oversized hands. With a final flash, Sarah was back in Lily's small body, settling into the familiar, slightly damp diaper she wore. Lily, holding the orb, was back in Sarah's original body, a subtle, unreadable maturity now resting on her features. She looked at the small girl before her, who now seemed content. A faint, sad smile touched her lips. She didn't understand everything, but she knew her friend wasn't scared anymore. The game was over. The switch was complete. Sarah was permanently in Lily's body, her mind regressed, the month of intellectual decline and loss of continence solidifying her new, false identity. She would live Lily's life, wearing Lily's diapers, enduring Lily's accidents with the innocent, uncomprehending shame of a child who genuinely believes she is Lily. The price of her game was the permanent, tragic loss of herself, having chosen her fate because the alternative felt more terrifying—a prisoner of her own making in a gilded cage of childhood. The End

The Importance Of Being Specific By: The Unknown Author I “My Ass Has Grown And My Dreams Have Shrunk” It’s funny that with all the advancements in society and technology that people still fit into weird molds, that they still end up embodying these weirdly specific archetypes that you think is just something you attached to them as a high school student, but then as an adult you see someone else that checks certain imaginary boxes in your head and you assign that person a nickname or descriptor based on that fact. Larry Conrad was the kid in my school who’s mom still cut his hair, we’d laugh at him getting dropped off in the morning, his mother fussing over some unimportant detail about his appearance and blowing him kisses as he stepped out of the car and hurried into the school to get away from the eyes and snickers of his peers. Michelle D’Angelo was the girl that took an inordinately long time to understand the basics of hygiene so she didn’t smell like roofing tar all day when she was on her period. Cameron Lance was saddled with the unfortunate rhyme of ‘Cameron Lance shits his pants’ during a field trip to the zoo in second grade and nearly eradicated the memory until a repeat performance in the lunch room freshman year brought it back to life. Weird is weird, and we as a society, whether we admit it or not, base our assessments on people by what our senses tell us about them when we first encounter them. Am I proud that I laughed at these people? No. Do I think I’m better than them as a person? I did back then, but now, no. Larry Conrad became an internet billionaire, wrote a book and made more money, bought an island and fucked off from society. Michelle D’Angelo just wrapped up filming on the third season of the show she created and directs, a show that everyone is watching and that everyone loves. Cameron Lance, ironically, owns and operates the largest chain of dry cleaning stores in the continental United States and leaned into his shameful past by calling them “Lance Cleans Pants”. I’m not without my own successes, I mean, in comparison I’m average, but I was prom queen and married my prom king a little after graduation. We have three kids, Beckah is our oldest and is nearly done with high school herself and has decided arguing with me is her extracurricular activity of choice when she’s not sneaking out to go party with friends and do God knows what else. Jeramiah is thirteen and has mastered not only computers and pretty much anything digital you put in front of him, but also hiding the articles of clothing he masturbates into in all kinds of fun places around the house. Molly is our youngest at four and is, let’s say, ‘taking her time’ with the whole big girl thing, her room is still decorated the way it’s been since she was born and we’ve gone from training pants to diapers more times than I can count. Jason, my husband, works at the factory he got a job at when he graduated and spends most nights glued to his phone, but when he finally unplugs for the night, then he complains about the younger generation that’s starting pay is almost as high as his and that more and more robots are being installed at the plant and he’s worried they’ll replace him. Once a week I try and get him hard and more often than not he ends up pushing rope inside me for an embarrassingly short amount of time before he finishes and passes out, leaving me to wonder just how I managed to lose control of my life so completely that I’ve ended up as the married mother of three that fingers herself to grocery store romance novels in the tub, the woman that imagines being married to Larry Conrad or Cameron Lance and cries at how pathetic and unsatisfying her life has become. My typical day revolves around getting everyone where they need to go once Jason leaves for work, Beckah rides shotgun with her headphones in, Jeremiah is always holding some kind of device and toiling away on cracking some code or what have you, and Molly is in her car seat looking out the window at the world while I absently wonder if I’ll have time to dig the stretch pant wedgie from my ass before anyone in the general public notices. Because of her delayed potty training, we haven’t been able to get Molly into daycare, something that frustrates me more when the car begins to fill with the odor of a messy diaper and my errands for the day haven’t even begun. The one week out of the year that everything becomes bearable is when the carnival comes to town. I love it because Jason becomes his old romantic self again, winning me a stuffed animal at a cheesy game, holding my hand as we walk beneath the strings of lights while the kids fuck off to the corners of wherever to entertain themselves. Jason loves it because it reminds him of when we were dating, and two of our three kids were conceived on a night the week of the carnival. Beckah loves it because she can sidle up to a carny running one of the rides and score free sips from his flask and maybe some pot. Jeremiah loves it because there’s games and rides, and not because he can see up girl’s skirts on the Ferris Wheel. Molly loves it because she’s a baby, and bright colors and lots of sound are exciting, I could shine a flashlight at her and jingle some keys in her face and she’d probably love it equally if I’m being honest. It was the last night of the carnival and we’d gone every previous night with the desired results of peace and happiness among every member of the family, but tonight was the best night because it was mostly empty. Beckah and Jeremiah had gone off on their own, and Jason had stepped up to take Molly back to the car for a clean diaper and I was sitting on a bench waiting for his return, wondering if I could seduce him into fucking me somewhere moderately secluded after we found Beckah and pawned Molly off onto her for a little while. I got up and wandered a little, walking past the rows of arcade games, claw machines, and sawdust covered pools of vomit when I saw a fortune telling machine with a creepy animatronic Gypsy head inside hovering over a crystal ball. “Wishes granted for $1.50” I read off the gold and ruby colored sign on top of the machine. I smirked and checked my purse, finding exactly six quarters in the small change pocket of my wallet and fit them into the slits on the metal protrusion in the front of the machine before pushing it in and watching as the machine sprung to life. “Madame Zelna is here to grant your wish!” the robot Gypsy declared in a warbly sounding voice that was probably as culturally insensitive as it was technologically impressive for the time period it was made in. The lights inside the glass case Madame Zelna inhabited dimmed and the crystal ball filled with white mist as the robot inside jerked and noisily looked down into it. “Close your eyes and speak your wish and Madame Zelna will make it come true!” she said, sounding like an old drive thru speaker. I didn’t close my eyes at first, but I did look around to make sure no one was nearby to film the middle aged woman about to make a wish at a crappy carnival game or someone lurking in the shadows to rape murder me and when I was satisfied that I was well and truly alone, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “I wish I could trade places with my daughter.” I said longingly. “Your wish will be granted at the stroke of midnight!” Madame Zelna proclaimed before launching into a wheezy sounding cackle that ended abruptly when the machine went dark. I chuckled and opened my eyes, patting the glass with my hand, “Thanks a bunch, Madame Z.” I said to the lifeless robot head before I headed back to the bench to wait for Jason. We as humans are very inattentive, so focused on our own things that we fail to see what’s all around us. In my defense, my eyes were closed, so the shooting star that passed over me as I spoke my wish went unnoticed, and I can be forgiven for assuming the fairy gorging himself on discarded cotton candy was a moth, his chuckle going unheard thanks to the distance between us and the difference in our size, the fact that it was exactly seven o’clock on the seventh day of the seventh month was a minor detail that passed by without notice, the point is that a few things happened when I made my wish, and none of them were noticed by me. ********** “God dammit, Hannah!” the distant raised voice of Jason stirred me from my slumber. “What happened?” I asked dreamily as I rolled over and banged my elbow into something I wasn’t expecting to be where my elbow was heading. I opened my eyes and gasped at the tall bars stretching upward around me and the mobile of stuffed stars and rainbows and clouds dangling high above me. Somewhere I heard myself crying, though it was a form of crying I never did, the anguished wailing of someone very young being very scared that someone was yelling at them and they didn’t know why. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I repeated as I sat up and felt my stomach drop as I looked through the bars at Molly’s room beyond. I pushed the blankets off of myself and shuddered involuntarily at the sight of pink footed pajamas with a distinct bulge in the crotch on my little body, looking at my hands and wiggling my feet to verify that the absolute worst thing in the world had happened. “Jason!” I yelled, more than slightly panicked. “What the hell is happening?” Beckah asked in the hallway. “I don’t know, your mom pissed the bed and now she’s screaming and crying and Molly is yelling my name.” Jason grumbled before he pushed the door of the nursery open and came to the side of the crib. His pajamas were drenched, the smell of pee radiating off of him, “Jason, I made a wish last night to switch places with Beckah but it got messed up and I switched with Molly instead!” I explained, standing up in the crib and holding the bars to steady myself on the mattress. He blinked at me, opened his mouth and then closed it and then looked at me in disbelief, “What?” he asked. I groaned, “I fucked up, honey, but I need you to help me fix it.” I said. He grumbled something about coffee as he sighed and rubbed his temples before turning around and leaving the room. “Hey!” I shouted, rattling the bars angrily. “What’s wrong with Molly?” Beckah asked Jason as he left the room. “Ask her yourself.” Jason grumbled. Beckah poked her head in the doorway a moment later and came over to the crib, “What’s wrong, Molly?” she cooed, letting down the side of the crib and picking me up to set me on her hip. Internally I was mortified at the girl I’d intended to switch with holding me like the baby I now was, “Beckah, it’s me, your mom.” I said, my cheeks burning with shame. Beckah practically dropped me in surprise but managed to regain control of me, holding me away from her so she could look into my eyes, “Mom?” she asked. I repeated my explanation to her and had to endure her laughter as she set me back down on the mattress to keep from actually dropping me as she held her stomach and wiped a tear from her eye, “Why did you want to be a baby?” she asked. “I didn’t!” I argued, “I wanted to switch with you!” I told her. She stopped laughing, “You wanted to be me?” she asked. I nodded softly. “Wait, so I’d be stuck in your body?” she sneered. “Don’t say it like it’s so terrible.” I said, “You’d be an adult!” I offered. She shook her head, “Yeah, but what’s the point when you’re an adult that’s like given up on being hot?” she asked. That hurt. “Hey!” I snapped, “I’m still your mom, Beckah!” I added. She smirked and patted my head condescendingly, “And I’ll bet widdle Mommy needs her diapie changed, doesn’t she?” she cooed. I batted her hand away, “It’s not my fault Molly isn’t potty trained!” I snapped. She put her hands on her hips, “Isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, you never really tried with her, you just kind of gave up because she didn’t seem interested.” she pointed out. I groaned, “Look, you’re not a mom, you wouldn’t understand.” I sighed. She lifted the side of the crib back up and locked it in place, “You’re obviously cranky because you need more sleep.” she said, a wicked smile on her face, “We’ll see if some more time in your crib doesn’t improve your mood.” she added, heading to the door. “Wait!” I called out, but she was already shutting the door behind her, leaving me alone with an unpleasant clamminess in my diaper. ********* “So, you were so unhappy with your life that you wanted to trade places with your teenage daughter?” Jason asked me later once he’d had his coffee and dealt with our wet bed and calmed Molly me down with a bath and a pacifier and then changed my diaper and dressed me for the day. He’d foregone a diaper for me at my insistence, but Molly’s lack of underwear meant that one of the training pants she’d given up wearing was under the denim shortalls he’d put on me. Beckah was on the couch with Molly me, stroking the girl’s hair as she lay with her head on Beckah’s lap sucking softly on her pacifier, the sight of me being lovingly soothed by my teenage daughter was weird, but the pacifier and the towel she’d laid out beneath Molly me to avoid ruining the couch were making my head spin. “How was I supposed to know the wish would come true!?” I exclaimed. He shook his head, “The point is that you wanted to be someone else, Hannah.” he said calmly, “I want to know why.” he added. I chewed my lip softly, “I don’t know,” I said, “I miss being young and hot and partying.” I said, avoiding talking about sex with my four year old daughter’s voice and my teenage daughter present. He sighed, “Well, you’ve fucked everything up six ways from Sunday, Hannah.” he said, “First, Molly is stuck in your body and that means that I need to go get adult diapers for her so we’re not living in a piss and shit stained house until we can fix this.” he said, “Then, I need to come up with some excuse for work that allows me to be a stay at home dad to my baby brained wife and my adult brained baby daughter.” he continued. “I can stay home and watch them, Daddy.” Beckah offered. I shook my head, “No, you need to go to school, young lady.” I said, not realizing how ridiculous my toddler voice sounded trying to be authoritative. “Actually, I have the credits I need to graduate already, and I’m sure a call from Daddy about a family emergency would allow me to miss the rest of the year without any issue.” Beckah explained. “Then you can keep going to work and I can make sure Jeremiah gets to school and that the babies are taken care of.” she explained to Jason, smiling at me when she said ‘babies’. “I’m not a baby!” I reminded her. Jason sighed, “Alright, I’ll call the school and tell them your mother had some kind of stroke or mental breakdown or something so that if someone comes by to check they’re not surprised to find her in diapers carrying on like a four year old.” he explained. I fumed at being left out of the discussion, “Don’t I get a say in any of this?!” I yelled. Jason shot me a glare that made my blood run cold and my training panties run warm, “No.” he said simply, “You didn’t include me or Beckah in your little wish making decision, so we’re not including you in this.” he explained. “You’re Molly now, and until we can figure out how to fix this you’ll be treated exactly as she was.” he added. I looked at him in stunned silence and then at Beckah who merely smiled at me in the most sincere looking insincere smile I’d ever seen. “I think it would be best for Jeremiah if he didn’t know about the wish and the switch.” Jason said, “I’ll make up a story to explain why his mother is behaving like a baby, but you need to act like Molly around him, is that clear?” he asked. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing, you want me to pretend to be a baby?” I asked incredulously. He nodded, “I do.” he said simply, downing the rest of his coffee and setting the cup on the table, “You’ve turned enough lives upside down, Hannah, spare Jeremiah the weirdness that our life has become and pray that Molly isn’t permanently scarred because of this.” he added. The small dribble of pee that had escaped me when glared at me was cooling rapidly and I didn’t look forward to Beckah discovering my accident, but Jason was standing and going to collect his keys and wallet from the bowl by the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can with the diapers, do your best, Becks.” he said before heading out the door. Like a cat that ate a canary, Beckah turned and smiled at me, “I suppose I should make breakfast for my hungry girl’s, huh?” she asked in that bubbly babytalk voice we all used with Molly. I watched as she sat Molly me up and took her by the hand and led her to the table where I was already seated in Molly’s highchair, my blush at having to endure the conversation that had just concluded while seated in a highchair and now with damp training panties had almost subsided until I watched Molly me be sat in a chair by Beckah and kissed on the top of her head as she sucked her pacifier and my cheeks were burning hot once more. “I know you probably think I’m going to abuse you or something.” Beckah said as she got out the eggs from the fridge. I shook my head, “No, why would you think that?” I asked. She turned and looked at me, “Because you think I’m all about partying and fucking guys or something.” she said, “That’s why you wanted to be me, right?” she asked. “I don’t-” I started to say. “Doesn’t matter!” she cheerfully interrupted, “What matters is that I’m going to show you how wrong about me you were.” she said as she got out the orange juice and filled two sippy cups up and screwed on the tops before bringing them to the table and setting them in front of myself and Molly me. “Can’t I have a normal glass?” I protested. “If you can’t have it when Jeremiah is here then you can’t have it when he isn’t.” she said as she started cracking eggs to make breakfast. “I’m going to show you that Molly is ready to be a big girl and potty train her, or you, you know what I mean, and you’re going to see that everything runs smoothly with your hot, smart, capable daughter at the wheel.” she explained. I sighed and watched Molly me pick up her sippy cup with both hands and lean back in her chair to guzzle her juice and picked up my own sippy cup and started sucking juice down, secretly relieved that Beckah wasn’t planning to humiliate me while I was stuck in Molly’s body, I just had to hope that I didn’t have to do anything to humiliating to pass off that I was Molly to Jeremiah. To Be Continued…