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I wrote this story. I am not sure if I will continue but I wrote it out to a good stopping point. It is 27.5k words and about 90 pages. I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I did writing it. I really enjoy feedback, comments etc so if you provide feedback it will inspire me to write more. Chapter 1 The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall front windows of the living room, spilling golden stripes across the hardwood floor like a sleepy tiger stretched out in light. The house smelled of lemon furniture polish and faint espresso grounds, the kind of calm, lived-in scent that settled like warm breath on wood and woven blankets. Samantha sat half-curled on the couch, bare feet tucked under her, her laptop propped up by a couple of old engineering textbooks that made a makeshift desk on her thighs. Her eyes flicked across equations and circuit diagrams, her fingers occasionally tapping a note or rearranging a symbol, and every so often she muttered a correction under her breath, brows drawn, hair falling into her face. The front door clicked open. Samantha didn’t glance up. “Hey, Hol,” she said lazily, voice muffled by her focus, her tone light but warm. There was the soft shuffle of sneakers on the entry mat, the rustle of a backpack being dropped to the floor—then something else. A quiet, rhythmic swish, like thick fabric against a nylon strap. Samantha didn't look until she heard the refrigerator open. “Hey, Sam,” came Holly’s voice, smooth and slow like melting wax, tinged with that ever-present easygoing edge. “How’s the world of voltage and suffering?” Samantha smirked. “Still shocking, thanks. You?” Holly’s laugh was low and breathy, a quiet thrum in the room. “Mmm. Survived a senior project meeting with only minor existential damage.” The fridge door thumped shut and the soft pop of a soda tab filled the space. “What are we doing for dinner?” “Anything that isn’t ramen,” Samantha said, finally glancing up from her laptop—and pausing. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Holly had moved into the kitchen, out of view again, but something had caught Sam’s eye. Something... odd. Near the wall by the hallway, set down like a casual afterthought, was a bag. But not just any bag. It was pastel mint green and white gingham, soft-looking with wide shoulder straps and a ridiculous pattern of cartoon Snoopy and Woodstock dancing over it like some nostalgic relic of 90s childhood. The kind of thing you’d expect to see slung over the arm of a mom chasing a toddler, not the chilled-out, all-grown Holly. Something about it buzzed wrong in Samantha’s brain—not just because she’d never seen it before, but because of what it looked like. It wasn’t quite a gym bag, not a backpack, not really a tote either. It was... structured. Reinforced at the corners. Padded-looking, like it had compartments for delicate things. Maybe insulated? Could it be for lunches? But it was so... big. “What’s that?” Samantha asked, gesturing toward the bag. Holly’s voice drifted from the kitchen. “Hmm?” “That bag by the hallway. Snoopy one. Is that new?” There was a pause. Just the briefest flick of silence that wasn’t quite long enough to be suspicious—but not short enough to be forgotten. “Oh. Yeah. Picked it up at a vintage shop,” Holly replied easily, the clink of a glass setting down following her words. “Isn’t it wild? Totally cute.” “It’s... something,” Samantha said, her tone light but confused. “Never seen it before.” “Just got it today. Thought it’d be funny.” Another pause, then, with an airy chuckle: “Anyway, I’ve gotta take this call, sorry! Be back down later.” And with that, footsteps padded up the stairs. The sound of a bedroom door clicking shut echoed faintly. Samantha stared at the hallway. The silence that followed was the familiar kind, wrapped around her like a blanket—still, calm, the steady hum of her laptop fan and a distant birdcall outside the window the only interruptions. She blinked, took a sip from her water bottle, and tried to return to her notes. Thirty minutes later, she realized she hadn’t added a single line. Her attention kept snagging. Every time her eyes dropped to the screen, her mind looped back around. The bag. That damn bag. It was too cute. That was the thing. Too deliberately cute. It was almost performative in its charm. Like, a grown woman with a pastel cartoon Snoopy bag? That wasn’t just quirky—it was curated. Intentional. And she’d never seen it before, even though they lived together, shared groceries, cleaned the same house. Holly didn’t usually hide her thrift hauls. She was proud of them, always swinging a new find into the room with a grin, showing off a weird lamp or a floral jumpsuit like it was high art. But this? It had just... appeared. Samantha finally closed her laptop with a sigh, the click echoing into the quiet room. She stretched her arms overhead, bones crackling, then stood, toes flexing against the rug before she padded barefoot toward the bag. The closer she got, the stranger it felt. The bag was definitely high-quality, well-made. The kind of stitching that didn’t fray. It smelled faintly of something floral—baby powder? No, softer. Maybe lavender detergent and plastic. There was a faint sheen on the zipper pulls, polished silver catching the light. She crouched beside it, one hand reaching out, fingers brushing the textured fabric. Not insulated. Not a cooler. Her brows knit together, curiosity growing sharper. There was a front flap. Wide. Snapped closed. She glanced up, then back toward the stairs. Still silence. She hesitated a breath longer, then tugged open the flap with a soft fwip. Her eyes flicked down. Inside were smaller pouches, all neatly arranged. One was mesh, containing a small bottle of baby oil. Another had what looked like wipes—actual baby wipes, unscented. Then there was a folded changing mat, mint green, clean and new, tucked against the back wall of the bag. Samantha blinked. There was another compartment. A zipper this time. She slid it down slowly. The teeth parted with a gentle hiss of nylon. Inside were folded, sealed plastic packages—thick, soft-looking... what even were these? She reached in, brushed a finger against one. It crinkled under her touch. Smooth plastic, cartoon patterns—little stars, teddy bears, crescent moons. Thick, absorbent padding? Diapers. Big ones. Not for babies. Samantha froze. Her breath caught in her throat, every neuron lighting up at once. The bag hadn’t been left there by accident. Holly had just... set it down. Like it was nothing. Like it belonged. But nothing about this felt casual. Nothing about it made sense. It was both completely innocent in appearance and impossibly charged in implication. Her heart was suddenly in her ears, pounding like it was trying to escape. She leaned forward, fingers trembling slightly now, and peeled back another soft flap, peering deeper into the bag. What else was in here? The first thing Samantha pulled free was the wooden hairbrush. It wasn’t just for brushing hair. That much was clear the moment her fingers wrapped around the worn, smooth handle. The grain of the wood had been polished by use, not vanity. The back was broad and flat, the kind of surface that wasn’t really meant for detangling anything. It was the kind of brush meant to make a sound when it hit skin. She stared at it for a moment, blinking slowly as she turned it over in her hands, reading the glint of wear in the lacquer, the slight round of the bristles long ignored in favor of the brush’s other, more intentional use. She set it down beside the bag and kept going. Next came a soft rattle of metal against nylon—she reached into the corner pouch and her hand closed around something cool, hard. A pair of handcuffs, not the plastic fuzzy kind from a party store, but real ones, heavy and silvery and compact, like something clipped to a belt in a dark alley. Her breath hitched just slightly. She set those down too, beside the brush, like puzzle pieces in a game she didn’t know the rules of. The rustling of the main compartment brought her next find into view. It was pastel blue. Silicone. An adult-sized pacifier. Her fingers hesitated above it for a long second before she dared to touch it. It lay there nestled in a mesh pocket like it belonged—clean, deliberate, with a little plastic loop and a curve wide enough to press into a full-grown mouth. Her lips parted slightly, her tongue flicking unconsciously across them as her mind spun out in a dozen different directions, none of them landing anywhere solid. There was a rustle of soft plastic again as she shifted the flap and found—no way. Samantha’s fingers curled around something glossy, slippery, and pulled it free: a diaper cover. The same pattern as the bag. Gingham mint green. Dancing cartoon Snoopy and Woodstock in gleeful ignorance of context, the elastic bands puffed and pristine like they were waiting for a storybook child to come running through a field. But this wasn’t for a child. The waistbands were too big. The hips too wide. This was adult-sized. Designed, cut, and stitched for someone fully grown. Her pulse thudded at the base of her throat as she reached further. A sippy cup. The kind with a soft silicone mouthpiece and two grip handles on either side, but adult-sized. She tested the weight, disbelieving, then found a baby bottle next to it—also grown up in scale, the nipple longer, thicker, the bottle built to fit full meals of liquid, not formula. Its surface was printed with tiny clouds and smiling stars. Samantha stared at it, transfixed. This wasn't a joke. None of it was. The smell inside the bag had deepened—a faint powdery sweetness and something else she couldn’t place, like warmth and safety and a memory she couldn’t name. Her heart was in her ears again, cheeks warming with a blush that had no name, just heat and confusion and something that felt like falling— SMACK. A firm, open-palmed swat landed directly on her butt. Not hard enough to hurt, but definite enough to jolt her entire body like someone had plugged her spine into an outlet. “Hey now,” came Holly’s voice, low and laced with a smirk, “didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through someone else’s things?” Samantha yelped—actually yelped—and dropped the diaper cover like it burned, spinning upright so fast she nearly tripped over herself. Her hands shot behind her, palms awkwardly covering the spot Holly had just smacked as if she could erase the moment from existence. Her face was flushed, her mouth trying to form a sentence and failing at every attempt. “H-Holly! I—I didn’t, I mean, I was just—” Holly stood in the archway, one hand on her hip, the other holding her now-finished soda can, a lazy, amused glint sparkling behind her blue eyes. Her golden hair was tied back messily, a few strands stuck to the curve of her cheek, and she looked infuriatingly calm. “Curiosity,” she said with the long, teasing drawl of someone who knew she had the upper hand, “is very cute, Sammy. But you know what happened the last time someone poked around in that bag without asking?” Samantha blinked, heart still racing. “I—what?” “They got in trouble,” Holly said, her grin widening like a crescent moon, “and ended up in timeout.” Samantha’s brain short-circuited. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. She gaped at her roommate like she was hearing her speak Martian. The idea—her, in timeout? Her, over this? She wasn’t a kid, she wasn’t—wait, why did that idea make her stomach do flips? Holly tilted her head and took a step closer. “Hmm. Do you need a timeout, Sammy?” Her voice went singsong on the name, like she was addressing a disobedient preschooler. “I think someone’s been naughty.” Samantha’s entire body flushed. She had no idea what to say, what to think—what to feel. The tension between them thickened, but not in a hostile way. It was charged, electric, like static before lightning. Holly’s grin didn’t waver for a second. And then, after exactly five seconds of eye contact so potent it could’ve started a small fire, Holly laughed. “Relax. I’m just kidding.” She put everything back in and scooped up the diaper bag in one fluid motion, slinging it back over her shoulder like it was just a yoga tote, and padded off toward the stairs. Samantha didn’t move. She just stood there. Frozen. Heart pounding. Mind spinning. Watching the sway of that ridiculous bag disappear around the corner, her ears ringing with the sound of her own pulse and the echo of Holly’s voice whispering Do you need a timeout, Sammy? in the back of her head like a spell cast and still sinking into her skin. Dinner was quiet—but not in the peaceful, shared-comfort kind of way. The kind of quiet that pressed against the walls like rising steam, curling around the silverware and the low hum of the ceiling fan overhead. Forks clinked against ceramic. The smell of baked garlic and roasted vegetables hung thick in the air, layered over with the buttery heat of toasted bread, but Samantha barely tasted a bite. She stabbed a piece of zucchini, chewed, nodded absently at something Holly hadn’t even said. Her eyes drifted—not directly at her roommate, but in her orbit. Holly sat across the table, long legs crossed at the ankles, her plate half-finished, posture easy and a little slouched, like someone completely unaware or unbothered. Her blond hair was twisted up into a messy bun that swayed gently every time she tilted her head to sip her sparkling water. She looked... like she hadn’t a care in the world. And Samantha hated how much that made her feel like she had every care. Holly hadn't said a thing since earlier. Just came down for dinner, dished out portions like everything was normal, and sat. Smiling. Not smug. Not teasing. Just... watching. Patiently. Like she was waiting for something to bloom. Samantha cleared her throat, pushing her food around as casually as she could manage. “So... how was your day?” Holly didn’t miss a beat. “Not too bad,” she said, scooping up a bite of roasted sweet potato with the same grace she’d use to tie a flower into her hair. “Had a couple early morning classes. Worked for a bit. Came home. Nothing too exciting.” Samantha blinked. “Wait—you worked?” “Mmhmm.” Holly popped the bite into her mouth, chewed slowly, calmly. Her blue eyes lifted just slightly to meet Sam’s across the table. “I babysit sometimes.” Samantha paused. She blinked again, as if that might clear whatever fog had slipped into her brain like gas under a locked door. “Since when?” “Oh, on and off,” Holly said, waving a hand lazily. “Helps pay for the expensive cheese I keep buying.” It should’ve made sense. Holly would babysit. She had that kind of presence—calm, nurturing, surprisingly firm when she needed to be. Samantha could absolutely see some exhausted couple handing their toddler over to Holly with a sigh of relief. It made perfect sense. Except for the contents of that bag. Pacifier. Sippy cup. Handcuffs. And that brush. Samantha could still feel the polished curve of it in her palm. “So...” Samantha kept her voice light, casual, so casual she could barely recognize it herself, “that’s why you had that bag with you today? The, uh. Diaper bag?” Holly didn’t even look surprised. In fact, she smiled. Not a big, wide, “gotcha” smile. Just a tiny, slow-curling, quiet kind of smile. Like she’d been waiting for this very question, like it was the blooming of a flower she’d planted hours ago and watered with nothing but silence and that one swat earlier. “You seem awfully interested in that diaper bag,” she said, tone feather-soft but unmistakably sharp around the edges. Samantha flushed. “What? No, I was just... I mean, it was just there, and I hadn’t seen it before, and it’s—” “Sure,” Holly said, cutting her off with a grin and another sip of her drink. “Sure you’re not.” Samantha’s face burned. She fumbled with her fork, glanced down at her plate, then back up. “Well, is that why you had it?” she asked again, louder this time. “You were babysitting today?” Holly nodded. “Mmhmm.” And nothing more. No elaboration. No explanation. Just that single sound, calm and content, like she was answering whether or not she’d watered the houseplants. But Samantha had seen what was in that bag. Those weren’t toddler-sized diapers. That wasn’t a normal hairbrush. Pacifiers weren’t sold with adult-sized bottles unless someone meant them to go together. She wasn’t stupid. She was an engineering student, for god’s sake—she’d spent three days debugging a fluid dynamics simulation but she could not compute what she’d seen upstairs and the words now coming out of Holly’s mouth. She tried again. “Oh,” she said, stabbing her food again, voice trying to sound curious but not too curious, casual but not disbelieving. “So... why, uh... were there some... unusual things in the bag?” She was proud she managed to get the sentence out. The word “unusual” hung in the air like a helium balloon caught in the rafters, dangling just out of reach. Holly didn't speak immediately. She chewed a slow bite of asparagus. Swallowed. Set her fork down delicately beside her plate. Then she leaned back just slightly, one arm draped over the back of her chair, eyes locked on Samantha like a cat watching something twitch under the couch. “Unusual?” she asked, voice soft and blank like the space before a storm. Samantha’s face went crimson. “I mean—just, like. Stuff I didn’t expect,” she said quickly. “In a diaper bag. That’s all. Just... you know. Not baby stuff.” Holly raised a brow, and Samantha hated the way that one tiny movement made her feel like she was back under a microscope in chem lab. Heat clawed its way up her throat. “Oh?” Holly said, tilting her head slightly. “You went pretty far in there to figure that out.” Samantha dropped her gaze. “I wasn’t snooping, I was—” “Exploring,” Holly offered, a wicked glimmer in her eyes. “Curiously. Like a little scientist.” Samantha wanted to crawl under the table. But she didn’t. She stayed right there. Her thighs pressed tightly together under the table. Her fingers clenched in her napkin. Her heart beating a little too fast, not because she was afraid, not exactly—but because she didn’t understand what was happening inside her, didn’t understand why that quiet teasing voice and those perfectly normal words were making her feel like the floor was shifting beneath her. Holly didn’t say anything else. She just smiled. Bit into a carrot. Samantha swallowed, trying to act normal, trying to pretend this was just dinner and nothing more, trying not to think about the adult pacifier and the mint-green diaper cover with cheerful Snoopy prints tucked into a bag that had definitely not been packed for a toddler. She shifted in her seat. And somehow, despite herself, despite the confusion still swirling like smoke in her chest, she asked: “So... why were there... handcuffs in a diaper bag?” Chapter 2 Holly didn’t even blink. She just leaned back in her chair with the kind of smug grace that came from knowing exactly what was coming next and watching it unfold, like a magician watching her cards flip one by one in someone else’s hand. That slow, dangerous smile crept back onto her face, the one that made Samantha’s stomach twist and heat curl low in her spine. “I’ll answer your question,” Holly said, picking up her water glass and swirling it absently, “but only after you answer mine.” Samantha blinked. “Wait, what?” Holly tilted her head, golden strands falling loose from her bun as she pinned Sam with that maddeningly calm stare. “When I came home,” she said softly, “I put the diaper bag over there—” she gestured lazily toward the corner of the living room, the spot still faintly marked by the square of sunlight that had caught the edge of the gingham pattern earlier, “—not exactly in your path. Not next to the fridge. Not near the couch. But somehow, when I came back downstairs, you had managed to go through it so thoroughly that you found the handcuffs.” She let that hang in the air. Samantha's throat was dry. “They were at the bottom,” Holly continued, smile not breaking. “Of a side pocket. Not exactly visible at a glance.” She leaned forward just slightly, the edge of her voice sharpening like a knife being gently honed on a whetstone. “So I’m just curious, Sammy. What was so interesting about a diaper bag... that got you to examine it like you were prepping for an experiment?” Samantha’s mouth opened. Closed. Her hand tightened around her fork even though she wasn’t going to eat another bite. “I—” she started, then stopped. “I don’t... I don’t know.” And she didn’t. Not really. She didn’t know why the mint-green gingham pulled her eyes like a tractor beam. She didn’t know why her breath caught when she touched the brush, or why Holly’s words earlier—Do you need a timeout?—had curled around her brain and refused to leave, echoing back again and again like some childish mantra cloaked in something darker, something hotter. She didn’t know why the plastic crinkle of those diapers made her thighs tense under the table. She didn’t know why she was flushed just sitting here. All she knew was that something had clicked open inside her, and she wasn’t sure whether she was terrified or fascinated—or both. Holly watched her flounder. Didn’t press. Just sipped from her glass again. Samantha sat in silence. And then Holly said, casual as you please, “You remember earlier, when I asked if you needed a timeout?” Samantha’s breath caught. She looked up. Holly set the glass down. Her fingers traced the condensation on the rim, slow and idle. “If you can’t answer my question, maybe a little time in timeout would help you figure it out.” That landed like a thunderclap. Samantha blinked. Her heart tripped over itself. “I—” she sputtered, a flush racing up her chest. “I don’t... I mean, what if I don’t want to go to timeout?” Her voice was smaller than she meant it to be. Not quite scared, but uncertain, like she was stepping into water she couldn’t see the bottom of. Holly’s grin widened. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, voice velvet and honey and mischief. “If you don’t answer my question, you don’t get a choice.” Samantha’s whole body tensed—but not in fear. Not in the way you brace for impact. It was a tension like a wire being drawn tight, humming with energy. She couldn’t explain it. Didn’t have the vocabulary for the sensation blooming under her skin. It wasn’t just embarrassment. It wasn’t just confusion. It was heat. It was interest, messy and tangled and unknown. And Holly knew. Of course she knew. She could see it in Samantha’s eyes, in the pink blooming across her cheeks, in the way she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs under the table like she couldn’t get comfortable. Samantha swallowed. “I’m... I’m not going to timeout.” It came out a whisper. Defiant, but weak. Like a kindergartener standing up to the teacher and regretting it halfway through. Holly let out a soft laugh—that laugh, the one that made Samantha’s stomach do backflips. “Then answer the question.” Her tone shifted again—gentle but firm, like she was speaking to a stubborn child. There was something coiling in the words, something almost parental in the cadence, and it made Samantha feel eight inches tall. And then Holly dropped her voice further. “Unless,” she said, tapping one manicured finger against her glass, “you’re going to throw a tantrum in timeout too. In which case, I might have to think about... further consequences.” Samantha stared at her. Mouth dry. Heart racing. Body hot all over. She had no idea what to say. She didn’t even know what she wanted to say. Her lips parted. Closed again. Her thighs pressed together beneath the table like they were trying to hide the swirl of heat gathering between them. She wanted to ask. Wanted to know what this all meant. Wanted to know why Holly had that bag, why the things inside didn’t match the story she was giving, and why every word out of Holly’s mouth made her feel like she was slipping into some deeper current she didn’t understand. But all she could do was sit there. Frozen. Confused. Burning. Not sure what to do. Samantha’s voice barely broke the space between them. “I... I don’t know why I was so interested.” The words floated across the table like a secret dropped in the middle of dinner. Her eyes didn’t quite meet Holly’s; they hung somewhere near her fork, focused on the reflection of kitchen light on steel tines. Her shoulders curled slightly inward, instinctively shielding herself from something she couldn’t name. Holly, of course, grinned. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, drawing the syllables out like they were dipped in molasses. “That’s not gonna cut it.” Samantha’s cheeks burned, a vivid pink blooming across her skin, and she squirmed slightly in her chair. Still, there was something in the air—something stronger now than earlier. Like a rope wrapping slowly around her, drawing tighter with every sentence. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin, just a little. “I really don’t know,” she said again, but it came out softer than intended—whinier. The sound made her freeze in place. Holly’s lips twitched upward. “Mm-mm. That’s not a good enough answer,” she said, her voice honeyed but firm, like a mother gently chastising a child who knows exactly what they did wrong. “Now, it’s time to decide, Sammy.” Samantha’s stomach fluttered at the way she said her name. Not “Sam.” Not “Samantha.” Sammy. Diminutive. Intimate. Dangerous. “The next words out of your mouth,” Holly continued, pointing slowly toward the living room corner where the diaper bag had once sat—“are either going to be your actual answer, or you’re going to get up, walk over to that corner, and stand there until you can come up with one.” Samantha's lips parted. She stared at Holly, stunned. Was she serious? Her heart thudded. She couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed, panicked, or something far stranger, something warmer. Her mind raced, trying to parse the space between play and punishment, between teasing and command. Holly’s expression didn’t change. Still that soft, knowing smirk. Still that quiet control behind her voice, effortless and absolute. Samantha swallowed hard. She wanted to push back. But she didn’t. She took a deep breath instead, every muscle tensing with the effort of keeping still. “I just... I don’t know,” she said, slower this time, honestly. “I’d never seen you carry a bag like that before. And then when I looked in it, I noticed the diapers were adult-sized.” She hesitated, and when she continued, her voice dipped further, not quite ashamed but certainly shy. “And then there was the sippy cup. The big one. And the bottle. And it just kept getting more... weird. And more... interesting.” She looked up quickly, trying to read Holly’s face—only to find her roommate wearing a grin, not wide and wolfish, but tight and secretive, like Samantha had whispered something forbidden and Holly was delighted by it. That look made Samantha feel exposed in a way her words hadn’t. Like Holly knew what was unfolding inside her long before she did. Like she’d been waiting for this moment, for the truth to slide out from between Samantha’s defenses. But what had she revealed? Samantha didn’t know. Only that the air felt thick, and her own heartbeat had become thunder in her chest. Holly leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the edge of the table, and asked, ever so softly: “What did you like about the diapers?” The question hit like a slap made of silk. Samantha’s breath caught. Her entire body tightened. “I—I—” she started, eyes wide, skin hot. “You—you promised to answer my question first!” Holly burst out laughing. God, she was beautiful when she laughed like that. Not mocking, not cruel—just amused, utterly and completely enjoying herself, like a cat toying with a ribbon that had tied itself in a knot. “Alright, alright,” she said, catching her breath, eyes sparkling. “Fair’s fair.” She leaned closer, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze never leaving Samantha’s face. “The handcuffs,” Holly said, her voice suddenly huskier, lower, like she was telling a dirty secret, “are for restraining people. Silly.” She let the word silly land with playful cruelty, as if Samantha had asked what a fork was for. Then Holly straightened just a little and fixed her full attention—all of it—on Samantha’s eyes. “They’re especially effective,” she said quietly, “at keeping curious hands in place.” The words slammed into Samantha like a gust of wind, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her thighs pressed tighter together beneath the table, heat rushing through her so fast she nearly gasped. And Holly just stared at her. Waiting. That same question still hanging in the air. What did you like about the diapers? Samantha’s voice came fast, rushed, defensive: “There was nothing I liked about them.” Holly tilted her head. Her smile spread, slow and catlike. “Mm,” she said, as if weighing the words like fruit in a market. “Now that’s awfully naughty of you.” Samantha froze again, skin flushed hot all over. “To lie to me like that,” Holly continued, her voice going light again, teasing, but with a current running beneath it—something darker, something in control. “I thought you were supposed to be the good one, Sammy.” Samantha didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to look. Her hands fidgeted in her lap. She wanted to bolt. She wanted to stay. Her pulse was hammering and her throat was tight and Holly hadn’t moved an inch but it felt like she was drawing closer with every word. Then, after a small pause, Holly said it—soft and wicked, casual as a comment about dessert: “Maybe I should just put you in a diaper.” Samantha’s eyes widened. Holly went on, like she was talking about the weather. “Might help you figure out what you like so much about them.” Samantha didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. Didn’t know what to do. Samantha sits in her chair, paralyzed in a blur of dread and heat, as Holly rises and leaves the dining room. Her bare feet whisper against the hardwood floor as she walks away, the sound impossibly loud in the silence that follows. Samantha’s eyes are locked on the hallway, watching Holly disappear into the shadows of her room. Her heart is beating like it’s trying to outrun her chest. She should leave. Get up, laugh, brush it off, do something. Instead, she sits there, knuckles white on her thighs, the silence thick around her as a wave of shame crashes over her. But something else is tangled up in it. Something not shame. Something deeper. Older. She doesn’t know what it is, only that it roots her to the seat like she’s being pulled down. Thirty seconds later, Holly returns. She’s carrying a thick white diaper, colorful and cartoonish—its landing zone covered in cheerful foxes, sleepy clouds, and balloons with smiling faces. Alongside it, Holly carries a pack of baby wipes, and a large bottle of baby powder with a pink lid, all nestled neatly in the crook of her arm like a diaper-changing caddy straight out of a parenting commercial. Samantha’s stomach drops into her shoes. She watches every step Holly takes, her body coiled so tight it hums. As Holly passes her on the way to the table, she swings the diaper lightly against Samantha’s shoulder with a papf—playful, harmless, but thick and soft enough that Samantha flinches like she’s been branded. She jolts back in her chair with a gasp and nearly topples over. “Oh my god,” she squeaks, hands gripping the edges of the table like a lifeline. Holly cackles. “Relax, Sammy. You act like it bit you.” Samantha’s face is crimson, and she knows it. Her thighs are pressed together so tight it hurts. Holly drops everything on the table—the diaper unfurling a little as it lands, its pastel foxes smiling up at them both—and sits again with that maddening calmness, that queen-in-her-throne energy. She taps a finger against the powder bottle like she’s checking the weather. “Well,” Holly says brightly, “are you ready for your diaper?” She says it just like that. Like she’s asking a sleepy toddler if they’re ready for naptime. Samantha swallows a noise that wasn’t quite a gasp. “I—I don’t want to wear a diaper,” she mumbles, her voice as weak and unconvincing as a toddler caught stealing cookies. Holly roars with laughter. “Oh my god, that was adorable,” she says, wiping the corner of her eye with a knuckle. “That was the most pitiful little ‘no’ I’ve ever heard. You sounded like you were begging me to put it on you.” “I wasn’t,” Samantha says quickly, but her voice is too tight, too breathy. “Oh, but you are going to wear it,” Holly says simply, almost sweetly. “And you’re going to spend a little time thinking about why you’re so fascinated with this whole thing.” Samantha opens her mouth, but Holly holds up a finger. “But first,” she continues, “I need to know something important.” She leans forward, eyes locked on Samantha’s. Her voice softens, curling like satin. “Can I trust you to behave during your diaper change and timeout?” Samantha stares at her. She doesn’t answer. She can’t. Her brain has completely shorted out, her body burning up with something wild and inexplicable, like every nerve has been set to vibrate. The room tilts slightly. Her heart thunders behind her ribs. Holly nods slowly, knowingly. “That’s a no, huh?” She clicks her tongue once. “Well, I know you found that hairbrush in the bag, Sammy.” Samantha stiffens. “I also know you know exactly what it’s used for.” Holly smiles, sweet and sharp like candy glass. “It’d be unfortunate if I had to make an introduction between the two of you.” Samantha gulps and nods, quickly. “Good girl,” Holly says gently. Chapter 3 Holly stands, lifting the diaper from the table with one hand, and moves to the open area of the living room where the sunlight’s grown dim and golden. She crouches gracefully, unfolding the diaper on the floor with the ease of long-practiced hands, smoothing it out flat with her palm, fluffing the thick padding so it puffs open wide. “Come here,” she says. Samantha doesn’t move. Not until Holly looks up and says, a little differently, “Sammy.” The tone. Commanding. Serious. Not loud. Just final. And Samantha moves. Each step feels impossible. Her knees weak, feet bare on the cool wood. She walks like she’s being summoned by magic, a sleepwalker stepping into a spell. When she reaches Holly, the world feels smaller. Warmer. Intimate in a way that defies explanation. “Good girl,” Holly whispers again, gently taking Samantha’s hand and guiding her down. Samantha doesn’t resist. She lies back on the open diaper, the thickness puffing beneath her. The soft crinkle of it is deafening in the quiet room. Her heart pounds as Holly gently lifts her skirt. Fingers hook under the waistband of her panties. Samantha gasps softly as Holly slides them down and off with practiced grace, folding them and setting them aside like laundry. Samantha’s bare bottom rests against the soft, dry padding of the unfolded diaper, and every part of her is flushed so hot it’s like her blood has turned to fire. Then come the wipes. Cold. Startling. Holly wipes her with slow, deliberate care—clinical but gentle, like she’s changing someone she cares about. The wipe slides along her folds, her thighs, her skin prickling under the attention. Samantha bites her lip and closes her eyes, the humiliation soaking into her like water into cotton, but there’s a flutter in her belly she can’t name, a twist of something deep and shivery that she doesn’t want to stop. Then comes the powder. The scent is soft, floral and sweet, like clean laundry and childhood. Holly dusts it liberally across her skin, patting it in with practiced hands. “There we go,” Holly hums, as if she’s narrating this for no one at all. Then, with practiced efficiency, she folds the diaper up between Samantha’s legs. It cradles her. Pillowy. Warm. The padding presses against her with a shocking intimacy. She opens her eyes just in time to watch Holly smooth the front down, centering the foxes over her tummy, and then—rippp—one tape is pulled, pressed, sealed snug against her hip. Another. Then another. Four in all. Tight. Secure. Samantha’s legs tremble slightly. She can feel the diaper all around her, thick and inescapable, the soft crinkle echoing every breath she takes. Holly helps her sit up. Then pats her diapered butt. Samantha whimpers. Actually whimpers. “That’s a good fit,” Holly says with a pleased smile, smoothing the waistband at the back with both hands, like she’s checking the snugness on a toddler before nap. “Nice and tight. No leaks.” Samantha can barely breathe. The padding muffles everything. Her movement. Her thoughts. Her pride. But her skin is electric. Holly stands in front of her, hands on her hips, eyes sparkling with satisfaction. Then she tilts her head and says, in a syrupy singsong: “You look so cute like that, Sammy.” Samantha's eyes dropped, slowly, as if dragged by invisible hands. She looked down at herself—at the thick, puffy white bulk between her thighs, pastel foxes grinning up from her hips, cheerful and oblivious to her shame. Her skirt, once modest and loose, now rode up helplessly over the diaper’s curve, barely covering anything. The hem sat halfway up the padding, fluttering with every little movement. She could see it. Feel it. Hear it. And Holly didn’t give her long to sit with it. “Come on,” Holly said softly, her tone somewhere between coaxing and commanding, and she took Samantha by the wrist—not hard, not dragging, but firm. Unmistakable. The kind of grip that said you’re coming with me, now. Samantha rose without protest, her steps stiff, her balance thrown slightly off by the thick new padding forcing her thighs apart. She waddled as Holly led her across the hardwood floor to the same corner where the diaper bag had first caught her attention, like a trap baited with mint gingham and innocent nostalgia. Every step made her flinch with a soft crinkle, and she knew Holly could hear it too. When they reached the corner, Holly turned her gently and pressed one firm palm against her back. “Face the corner,” she said, voice low and syrup-sweet, like she was talking to a child who’d been sent there many times before. Her other hand landed on Samantha’s padded rear with a few brisk pats. “Hands at your sides. No fidgeting. No turning around.” Samantha’s cheeks burned so red she thought they might melt right off. “And if I see you doing anything but standing here, if I see you twitching, playing with your diaper, wandering off, whatever.... you will regret it. Understand?” Samantha nodded, the sound of her hair rustling against her shoulders loud in the still air. “Good. Because when you come out of timeout...” Holly’s voice dipped closer to her ear, warm breath teasing her neck, “you’re going to tell me exactly what you find so fascinating about those diapers.” And then Holly was gone....walking away, back toward the table. The sound of plates clinking together, silverware gathering in soft piles, drifted through the room like background noise from another world. Samantha stood frozen. Her forehead hovered inches from the wall, her arms hung at her sides, her fingers twitching slightly but otherwise still. Her whole body buzzed with awareness. She felt the diaper like it had become part of her, a second skin, alien and thick and impossible to ignore. She couldn’t stop thinking about how visible it was, how nothing but that tiny bit of skirt stood between her and total exposure. She felt ridiculous. She felt humiliated. But most of all—most of all—she felt something she couldn’t name. Something wicked and warm and wrong in the best possible way. Because the truth was, it didn’t feel bad. The shame was like a drug. The helplessness, the control Holly had over her, the soft, crinkling echo of every breath she took in that padded prison. It was doing something to her. She wasn’t supposed to like this, and maybe she didn’t. But her body was responding. Her thoughts spiraled in circles, back and back and back to the moment Holly unfolded the diaper, the way her fingers smoothed the powder into her skin, how secure the tapes had felt, closing her in. Fifteen long minutes passed like that. Her mind roamed everywhere and nowhere. She didn’t want to wet the diaper. She told herself that at least a dozen times. But her bladder was definitely sending signals now. Gentle ones, but getting stronger. And she couldn’t help it, her mind kept dancing with the possibility. With the question: What if I just... did? The image flashed across her vision—of standing here, blushing, as the warmth spread between her thighs, absorbed silently by the padding Holly had put her in. She shuddered, just slightly. Behind her, dishes clinked one last time. And then: footsteps. Holly’s bare feet padded softly across the floor, and before Samantha could brace for anything, a hand was on her shoulder. Not hard. Gentle. She turned her slowly. Holly’s expression was warm. That teasing smile was still there, but there was a softness to it now, an intimacy. “You ready to talk?” she asked, like she was checking on a toddler after a tantrum, like she already knew the answer. Samantha nodded, eyes cast down. “That’s my girl,” Holly said, and took her hand again leading her not back to the table, but to the couch. Samantha waddled quietly beside her. Every step made her wince. The crinkling was so loud now in the quiet living room, like thunder in her ears. She could only imagine how she looked from behind—her skirt riding up her back, the cartoon foxes on full display, her butt puffed out like she was wearing a pillow. Holly sat first. Then, gently, she guided Samantha down. The diaper crunched as she sat. Loudly. She froze halfway down, horrified—but Holly pulled her the rest of the way with ease. Samantha’s butt sank into the cushions, the diaper spreading under her with a fwump, warm and soft and thick beneath her. Her legs splayed slightly on instinct. Her cheeks burned hotter than ever. And Holly looked down at her with that same infuriating grin. Her eyes roamed openly over the diapered girl beside her. And then she said it, like she was commenting on the weather: “You look so cute right now.” Samantha didn’t feel cute. Not in the way Holly said it, like it was some adorable, saccharine moment meant to make her blush and smile. She didn’t feel small and pretty and precious. She felt small, yes, but raw with it. Like all her armor had been peeled away, inch by inch, until she was nothing but exposed nerves and crinkling plastic and this impossible pressure curling tighter and tighter inside her. Every time she moved, the diaper whispered around her hips. Every shift of her thighs pressed thick padding between her legs, keeping them apart. Her skirt might as well have not existed—at this point it did nothing, just a frilly suggestion flared out around the massive bulk taped around her. She could feel it everywhere. She couldn’t not feel it. Worse, she could feel her bladder. And it wasn’t just a background pressure anymore. It was growing. Pushing. Tapping at her awareness like a persistent knock on the door she didn’t want to open. And she knew. She knew what Holly’s solution was going to be. There was only one way this ended. Holly leaned back on the couch beside her, long and languid like a sun-warmed cat, clearly enjoying every flicker of emotion that played across Samantha’s face. “So,” she said with a grin, “how do you like your diaper?” “It’s not my diaper,” Samantha mumbled immediately, eyes dropping to her lap, her voice sharp with shame. Holly laughed. Not cruelly, just with that effortless amusement that made Samantha want to squirm more. And of course, squirming only made the crinkle crinkle crinkle worse. She shifted on the couch. The diaper flaared audibly under her. She blushed so hard it made her ears buzz. “Why did you put me in a diaper?” Holly tilted her head, smile still dancing at the corners of her mouth. “You practically begged for it, baby girl.” Samantha opened her mouth and then closed it. Then opened it again and stopped. She looked at Holly helplessly, searching for the right words, any words, and none came. Only heat, and pressure, and the faint sweet scent of baby powder rising from her thighs. Holly smirked. “Take your time. We’ve got all night.” She stood and padded back to the kitchen, the click of the fridge door and the fizz of two beers cracking open filling the air. When she returned, she handed one to Samantha, who took it gingerly with both hands like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to hold anything adult anymore. Holly sat beside her and said casually, “I thought about pouring it into one of those bottles you were so fascinated with. But maybe next time.” Samantha’s stomach fluttered hard. Then Holly added, offhand, “If you’re a good girl.” The words dropped like a stone in a lake. Samantha nearly choked on the beer as she sipped it. Her hands trembled slightly. Good girl. The phrase made something inside her twist, sweet and dangerous and unknown. She drank again, just to hide it. “The diaper’s... loud,” she said finally. “And thick. I have to waddle.” Holly chuckled into her bottle. “Of course it’s thick, silly. It has to be able to do its job.” Samantha shrank under the weight of that sentence. Her cheeks lit up. Her legs pressed closer, but the diaper refused to let them meet. She drank more of the beer, hoping it would dull the nerves coiling in her belly,but it only added to the growing tension in her bladder. The pressure was intense now. She fidgeted, her diaper crinkling with each movement, but Holly didn’t need to say anything. Her glance was enough, eyes sliding down, reading Samantha’s body like a chart, recognizing the subtle shifts. Samantha whimpered slightly. “I don’t know what I feel,” she said at last. “But I don’t like the diaper.” Holly’s smile faded. She shook her head slowly, like a disappointed teacher. “Sammy... you know what happens when you lie.” “I’m not lying,” Samantha said quickly, but the crack in her voice betrayed her. “Mmhm,” Holly hummed, setting down her beer and standing smoothly. “Then I guess you won’t mind going back to timeout for a bit. Since you clearly need more time to think.” “No Holly! I don’t want to go to timeout,” Samantha said, shrinking into the couch. But Holly had already taken her by the wrist again, standing her up with practiced ease. The crinkle of her diaper was deafening in the room as she was pulled to her feet. Her skirt barely covered anything now, just the top edge of the waistband, the foxes in full display. “If your naughty little butt doesn’t want to be in timeout,” Holly said, her tone syrupy and edged with steel, “maybe it’s time you stopped lying to me.” “I’m not!” Samantha started, but Holly was already walking her back to the corner. Her steps were hesitant, heavy, and the beer in her belly did not help. Every step made her bladder twinge harder, every foot closer to that wall another nail in her control. When they reached the corner again, Holly turned her and gently took both of Samantha’s wrists. She raised them up and placed her fingertips against the wall. “Touch your nose,” she said, “both hands. Just like that.” Samantha obeyed, trembling. “Good girl,” Holly said softly. Then came another pat on her thickly padded butt, firmer this time. “Stay like this. No fidgeting. No dropping your hands. If you move them? Timer starts over.” Samantha swallowed hard, her legs shaking. “H-Holly... I really have to pee,” she whispered, barely above a breath. Behind her, Holly’s voice drifted from the couch, sweet and smug. “You’re in a diaper, baby girl.” And just like that, Holly sat down, opened her beer again, and watched. While Samantha stood there in the corner, trembling, blushing, needing to pee more by the second, and knowing exactly what Holly expected her to do. Samantha stood trembling in the corner, nose to the wall, fingers pressed dutifully against it, toes straining forward, posture locked in enforced stillness. Her padded backside jutted out beneath her skirt, now nothing more than a crumpled veil barely concealing anything. Behind her, Holly lounged on the couch like a queen admiring the stillness of a captured moment, sipping her beer, eyes fixed on Samantha’s quivering form. The diaper made everything visible. Not just physically,though the thick pastel bulk bulged from beneath the hem like a balloon inflated with shame,but emotionally. Every twitch, every fidget, every little rock of the hips gave away Samantha’s growing desperation. Holly saw it in the way her thighs squeezed tighter, then looser, then tighter again. The soft padded wiggle of her bottom told a story her mouth refused to. And Holly loved every second of it. Samantha felt like she was crumbling. The pressure in her bladder was unbearable now, a steady, throbbing ache that made her knees knock, her fingers tremble. She tried not to move, tried to obey, but her body betrayed her with tiny, helpless motions—one heel lifting, then the other, her hips rocking back in a useless attempt to hold it all in. SMACK. She gasped. A firm hand landed square on her diapered butt, sending a wave of shock,and something else—up her spine. The padding softened the blow, sure, but the surprise of it made her jump, and in that instant of surrender, a hot, wet trickle escaped her. She whimpered. Hands still to the wall. Mortified. SMACK SMACK. Two more, quick and purposeful. The sudden swats, though still muted by the thickness of her diaper, shattered what control she had left. Her body gave out. Warmth surged between her thighs in an unstoppable flood. She moaned..... a soft and ashamed moan. Confused, as her bladder emptied into the waiting diaper, heat pooling, soaking, thickening. The padding swelled around her, growing heavier, puffier, impossibly more pronounced, and still it drank up everything. From behind her came Holly’s calm voice. “Quit fidgeting, hands back where they belong.” Samantha barely managed to adjust her hands, fingers brushing the wall again, heart pounding so hard she couldn’t hear anything else. Her face burned red hot. Her eyes welled up, though no tears fell. She was standing in a wet diaper. And it had absorbed everything. No leaking. No mess. Just... swollen warmth wrapped around her like a silent secret. Holly sat back down on the couch. Another sip of beer. Another long moment of watching Samantha writhe silently in the corner, the shame and heat settling deeper into her bones with each passing second. Ten minutes passed like that. Ten minutes of damp, squishy silence. And then Holly got up again. Samantha held her breath as she approached, body stiffening with dread. Holly crouched behind her with a slow, deliberate rustle of fabric and plastic, and then without asking her, fingers slipped under the edge of the diaper. A humiliating diaper check. “Hmm,” Holly said cheerfully, “You’re wet. But this one can hold a little more.” Samantha groaned, nearly collapsing in shame. But Holly just gave her another playful pat on the back of her diaper and guided her toward the couch. The diaper sagged heavily between her legs as she waddled. The squish was undeniable now, muffled with every step, and it took effort to sit. But Holly helped her down, and Samantha sank into the cushion with a loud, telltale crinkle. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay. That’s enough,” she snapped, squirming. “Let me out of this thing.” Holly looked over at her with the same amused glint she always wore when Samantha tried to reclaim even a shred of control. “I’ll change your diaper in a minute,” she said, tone light, teasing. “But only after you start telling the truth.” “I am—” “No,” Holly said, cutting her off with a single finger raised, “you’re not. You’re acting like a cranky little girl demanding a diaper change, but you’re not being honest.” Samantha’s shoulders slumped. She didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. The warmth between her thighs, the weight of the diaper, the way Holly looked at her, it all dissolved her will like sugar in hot tea. “I’m... I’m sorry for lying,” she said, barely above a whisper. Holly said nothing. Just waited. Samantha stared down at her knees. At the swollen, pastel foxes stretched tight across her diaper. “When I saw the diaper bag,” she said slowly, “and the diapers inside it... I—I immediately wondered what it would feel like. To wear one.” Holly’s smirk returned, soft and victorious. But she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Holly didn’t push. She didn’t tease, didn’t interrupt. She just waited, leaned back on the couch beside Samantha, beer balanced casually in one hand, that calm unreadable smile resting on her lips. Her silence pulled the rest of it out of Samantha like a tide dragging secrets to shore. Samantha swallowed, the wet bulk of her diaper squishing softly beneath her as she shifted. The warmth, the weight of it—it was still there, like a second skin that wouldn’t let her forget what she’d done. “I…” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “When I was going through the diaper bag…” Even saying diaper made her flinch. The word burned like embarrassment held too long in the mouth. “…I found the bottle,” she continued. “And the pacifier.” Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. “And I........I wondered what it’d be like. To use them.” Holly just smiled, didn’t say a word. Samantha went on. “And then I saw the… the hairbrush.” Her breath hitched at the memory. “I knew it wasn’t for hair,” she confessed, voice trembling but honest. “It frightened me. But it also… thrilled me. I didn’t want it to, but it did.” Holly turned her head slowly, that teasing grin curling again. “And how would a good little girl like you know what a spanking brush looks like?” Samantha’s eyes widened. Her face flared so red it looked sunburnt. She didn’t answer. Just stared at the floor, lips parting, then shutting, then parting again. But she couldn’t say it. So she kept going instead. “I couldn’t help myself,” she whispered. “I kept looking. That’s when I found the handcuffs.” Holly raised a brow. “Mmm. And what did you think about those, little miss curious?” Samantha’s voice went even softer. “I wondered… what they’d feel like. On me.” The moment hung in the air like fog. Thick. Charged. And then Holly stood, set her beer down, and leaned in wrapping Samantha in a warm, lingering hug that pressed her cheek to her shoulder. Samantha froze at first, overwhelmed, then slowly relaxed into the softness of it. She smelled powder, her own shame, and that faint hint of Holly’s skin. “You’re such a good girl for telling the truth,” Holly murmured, brushing a hand through her hair. “Shame you had to spend so long in timeout to get there.” Then she sat back down, picked up her beer, and took another sip, completely calm again. Samantha sat there, stunned. The diaper shifted with her every movement, an ever-present reminder of just how far things had gone. “Are you going to leave me in this?” she asked at last, squirming. Her voice was hesitant, fragile, colored with surprise that she even had the nerve to ask. Holly didn’t even look up. “I’ll change you,” she said lazily, “when I finish my beer.” She gestured toward Samantha’s bottle. “Drink up, baby girl.” The words landed like weights. Samantha took her beer, held it in both hands like she didn’t trust herself, and sipped slowly. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Each minute passed with the thick, swollen diaper pressing between her thighs. Every crinkle, every squish, reminded her of her place. The warmth wasn’t unpleasant, exactly. It had stopped being gross a while ago—it was just real. And the heaviness made her feel small, grounded, like she’d been wrapped in something that didn’t let her float away from her thoughts anymore. Holly stood eventually, brushing the front of her shorts. She stretched—arms over her head, back arching—then looked down at Samantha with that same soft mischief in her eyes. “So,” she said casually, “would you like your diaper changed? Or do you want to go back to your big girl clothes?” Samantha opened her mouth, then closed it. Everything had caught up to her now. The corner. The wetting. The touch of the tapes against her skin. Her head spun, not from alcohol but from being seen. Not judged. Just… known. “I want my big girl clothes back,” she said finally, voice quiet. Holly nodded, starting to turn. But Samantha wasn’t done. “And…” she said quickly, then stopped herself. Her chest rose and fell. She bit her lip. Looked up at Holly, suddenly vulnerable again. “Can you…” she exhaled, eyes lowering to the crinkling swell around her hips. “Can you… diaper me again? Another time?” Holly turned slowly, and the smile that bloomed across her face was gentle, knowing, radiant. She leaned down, tucked a finger beneath Samantha’s chin, and said sweetly: “I’ll think about it.” Chapter 4 Two weeks. Fourteen long, over-analyzed, heartbeat-counting, torturously ordinary days. Samantha had memorized every hour of them. The way nothing had changed, and yet everything had. Since that night—the night, when Holly had stripped her of her words, her adult pride, her clothes, and had taped a thick diaper around her hips like it was the most normal thing in the world. However, Samantha’s world had felt off-axis. They hadn't spoken of it again. Not directly. Holly had returned to her normal rhythm: classes, study groups, late-night coding sprawled across her bed with her laptop balanced on her knees. Samantha had hoped....assumed........there would be another conversation, a teasing jab, something. But Holly had given her nothing. Nothing except the torment of waiting. And the worst part? Samantha had started looking for signs. Like a junkie waiting for a hit, she watched Holly like a hawk every time she came home. She kept peeking near the door, under the coat rack, even near Holly’s laundry pile just to see, maybecatch a glimpse of that mint green gingham bag. Something. Anything. But the diaper bag hadn’t surfaced once. By Friday, she was practically vibrating from the tension of it all. She’d spent the whole day studying, which meant pretending to read the same three pages over and over while fighting the itch in her brain that had become Holly shaped. The living room was too quiet. Afternoon sun angled through the blinds in soft golden stripes, and the air carried the faint scent of old coffee and the lemon cleaner Holly liked. And then, the door opened. Holly walked in like she always did, long strides, relaxed posture, that lazy confidence trailing behind her like incense. She wore her usual Friday getup: jean shorts, a vintage tee knotted at the waist, and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She dropped it by the door without ceremony. No diaper bag. Samantha’s eyes zeroed in on the empty space beside it. Her gut twisted. Holly caught it. Of course she did. She didn’t say anything, didn’t smirk yet. Just walked to the fridge, opened it, bent down, the hem of her shorts riding up just enough to make Samantha want to squirm and pulled out a can of sparkling water. She popped the tab with a hiss and took a long sip, her eyes flicking toward Samantha as she leaned casually against the counter. Then she moved to the couch, sat beside her with her legs tucked under her, and looked at her roommate like a cat watching a caged bird peck at its own reflection. “How’s the studying going?” she asked, tone light. “Fine,” Samantha muttered, eyes back on her book, though the words were a blur of abstract math. Holly tilted her head, feigning a frown. “Why’s someone being so grumpy?” “I’m not,” Samantha shot back too quickly. “Ohhh,” Holly said, drawing the word out like warm taffy, “sounds like someone’s a little Grumpy Gills.” That line,the voice, the cadence,Dory from Finding Nemo, the singsong condescension, it all set something off in Samantha’s gut. Her whole body bristled. “I’m not being fucking grumpy,” she snapped. Holly’s eyebrows lifted. “Oof,” she said, half-laughing, but her voice gained a different tone. It was firmer, more commanding, wrapped in velour but edged in steel. “Grumpy and naughty?” The words struck a chord so deep in Samantha’s chest she felt it pulse between her legs. She looked at Holly, really looked. The casual posture, the amused eyes, the way her fingers wrapped around the can of water like she was holding the leash and waiting for the dog to realize it had nowhere to run. And Samantha remembered. The corner. The diaper. The wetting. She swallowed hard. Holly tilted her head again, slower this time. “Sounds like someone needs a nap,” she said in that infuriatingly sweet voice that made Samantha want to scream. “I don’t need a nap,” Samantha said, closing her book a little too fast and tossing it onto the coffee table. “I’m not a child.” Holly laughed. Really laughed. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, brushing a curl from her face like it was the easiest thing in the world, “I seem to remember a certain naughty little girl who had to stand in the corner. Twice.” Samantha looked away. Her chest flushed, and her hands curled into fists. Holly wasn’t done. “And if memory serves…” Her grin stretched wider. “That same naughty girl couldn’t keep her diaper dry while she was there.” Samantha’s breath caught in her throat. Her skin went electric. Holly took another sip, watching her. “Yep,” she said cheerfully, “definitely needs a nap. Grumpy little ones always do.” “I’m not” Samantha blurted, then caught herself. She shook her head. “I don’t want a nap. I’m not going to take a nap.” Holly turned to her fully now, setting the can down on the table with a delicate clink. “Oh, baby girl,” she said, voice warm with mock pity and amusement all rolled into one as she leaned in just enough to make Samantha feel like a deer caught in headlights. “I think you will.” Samantha’s pulse picked up the moment Holly leaned in and spoke those seven devastating words. “I think you will,” Holly had said, like it was already decided, her voice that same syrupy mix of smug authority and faux concern that had left Samantha speechless more than once. But this time? This time her whole body tensed with the knowledge that Holly wasn’t bluffing. She could see it in her eyes, the shift, subtle but final. Holly wasn’t teasing anymore. She was handling. Samantha’s mouth opened in protest. “Holly, please,” she said, her voice trembling, not with fear but something tangled and confused, an odd mix of dread and anticipation. “Don’t make me take a nap. I’m not......I don’t want to. I’m not even tired.” Holly stood, smooth and graceful, like she’d done this before. She reached out and took Samantha gently by the arm, her grip light but firm. This was the kind of grip that didn’t pull, didn’t drag, but guided with quiet command. Samantha stood reluctantly, her body moving before her brain could argue. “Come on,” Holly said, her voice soothing. “You’re just going to lie down for a bit, baby girl. One hour. If you’re a good girl, I’ll come get you.” Samantha’s stomach did a flip at the phrase good girl, and she hated how her skin warmed instantly at the sound of it. She tried to resist, just a little. A slow dig of her heels. A slight stiffening in her arm. That was all it took. SMACK. A hard, open-palm swat landed square on her butt, not a warning tap this time but a spank. The padding of her jeans didn’t soften it much. The sound cracked in the air like a firework, and Samantha jumped, yelping softly. “Ah—!” Holly didn’t pause. Her grip tightened slightly as she walked Samantha down the hallway, voice sharpening just enough to make her breath catch. “If you make a fuss about naptime,” she said coolly, “then someone might just find herself grounded tonight.” Samantha blinked, confused, stammering. “Wait, what the fuck does that mean?” SMACK. Another spank, this one harder. More deliberate. Samantha gasped. Her face flared with heat. The burn from Holly’s palm lingered through her jeans and shot a jolt straight down her spine. “Language,” Holly said firmly. “You do not speak to me like that, little girl.” Samantha’s knees buckled slightly at the words. “‘Grounded’ means no going out tonight. No phone. No screen time. You’ll stay home, and I might even decide bedtime comes early.” Samantha opened her mouth to argue, but Holly cut in, her tone even sharper. “And if that little mouth of yours doesn’t clean itself up, I might have to wash it out with soap.” That shut Samantha up. Her breath came quick and shallow now, not just from the escalating tension, but from something she couldn’t name,something pulling her down into the exact place Holly clearly wanted her: off-balance, blushing, compliant. They reached her bedroom. Holly didn’t wait. She turned, and with that same infuriating calm, she reached for Samantha’s waistband and began to unbutton her jeans. Samantha jolted. “Wait! What are you doing?” “You can’t nap in these,” Holly said smoothly, as if it were obvious. “Too stiff. Too uncomfortable. You need to relax.” “But I—” Samantha started to protest again, but Holly was already working the jeans down her hips. She wasn’t rough. She didn’t yank. But she moved with the quiet certainty of someone who wasn’t asking permission. In seconds, Samantha stood there in just her t-shirt and underwear, arms crossed awkwardly over her chest, eyes darting to the side. Holly didn’t mock her. She just stepped over to the bed, pulled back the covers with a rustle, and patted the mattress like she was coaxing a sleepy toddler onto it. “Hop in,” she said, smiling. Samantha hesitated. Every cell in her body screamed don’t do this, but her feet betrayed her. She climbed into the bed, cheeks burning, crawling under the covers like she was five years old again. Holly tucked the blanket around her with shocking tenderness, then leaned in and brushed her hair off her forehead. And kissed her. Just a soft kiss, pressed to her brow, featherlight. “I’ll come get you when your nap is over,” Holly whispered. “That is, if you’re a good girl and stay in bed.” Samantha stared up at her, heart pounding. “What if I—?” “Nope,” Holly said, cutting her off. “No getting out of bed. Not for any reason. You move, you get up, you break the rules?” She smiled. “We’ll deal with that when it happens.” And then Holly turned. She walked out with the same graceful calm she always had, pausing at the door. She looked back once, her eyes twinkling. And then she closed the door behind her. Warmth. That was the first thing Samantha felt. Something soft, hazy warmth that wrapped her like a blanket before the rest of the world returned. Her limbs were heavy, the mattress clinging to her like it didn’t want to let go. Then she felt fingers, light and slow, brushing gently through her hair. She stirred, a quiet sigh slipping from her lips as the soft voice followed. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead.” Holly’s tone was low, sweet, almost sing-song. Samantha groaned softly and rolled onto her side, trying to burrow deeper into the covers. But the strokes to her hair became a gentle touch down her back, coaxing. “Nap time’s over,” Holly said again, chuckling softly. “You sure blew past your time limit for someone who definitely didn’t need a nap, hmm?” Samantha blinked her eyes open, slowly rolling onto her back. Her lashes fluttered, and she mumbled, “How long did I sleep?” “Two hours,” Holly said, standing up beside the bed and stretching slightly. “Guess you needed it more than you thought.” Samantha sat up with a dazed blink, rubbing her eyes. “No way…” “Mhm,” Holly confirmed. “Come on, sleepy girl. Brush your teeth, then meet me in the living room. We’ll figure out what we’re doing tonight.” Still not fully in command of her thoughts, Samantha slipped from the bed in nothing but her oversized T-shirt and underwear, padding barefoot into the bathroom without protest. She moved through the routine with autopilot grace..... toothbrush, toothpaste, water, a soft hum of bristles. And then Holly’s voice floated down the hallway, chipper and far too amused. “Do you need to go potty while you’re in there?” Samantha froze, mid-brush. Her eyes went wide in the mirror. Foam gathered at the corner of her mouth as her cheeks flushed deep red. “I do not need to go potty,” she snapped around the toothbrush, trying for indignation but muffled by bristles and bubbles. There was a pause. And then Holly’s voice again, laced with laughter: “Okay, okay.” When Samantha finally returned to the living room, Holly looked up from her phone and smiled warmly. “Good girl,” she said easily, “for taking your nap without any fuss.” Samantha’s lips twitched. She said nothing, but her eyes rolled with exaggerated annoyance even though deep down, buried under the layers of her pride and confusion, something in her chest fluttered at the words. Good girl. It echoed in her head like a bell, making her heart beat faster than it should’ve. “Anyway,” Holly continued, sitting up straighter, “you’re staying in tonight.” Samantha raised a brow but didn’t protest. “I was thinking,” Holly went on, “we could hang out, maybe order some takeout, watch a movie, just have a chill night. Sound good?” Samantha smiled for real now. “Yeah, actually. That sounds nice.” “I thought you’d like that.” And then— asual as anything, like she was suggesting socks over slippers Holly dropped it. “Since we’re not going anywhere, I’m just gonna go ahead and put you in your pajamas now.” Samantha blinked. She turned her head toward Holly slowly, confusion spreading across her face like ink in water. “…Wait, what?” Without a pause, Holly turned on her heel and started walking, not to Samantha’s room, as expected, but toward her own. Samantha blinked in confusion and followed. Her steps slowed as she realized where they were going, but she didn’t protest. Something inside her told her not to. Not yet. Holly’s bedroom door creaked open and in they went. The lighting was soft, the bed perfectly made, and everything smelled faintly of lavender and citrus,Holly’s signature scent. Before Samantha could process the shift, Holly turned to her and, with the same nonchalant authority she’d used countless times before, reached for the hem of Samantha’s shirt. “Arms up.” Samantha hesitated only a second before obeying, cheeks already warm. Holly lifted the shirt over her head and tugged it free, leaving her standing there in nothing but her underwear, arms folded over her chest like a nervous child. But Holly didn’t even blink as she was already moving toward her closet. And that’s when Samantha saw it. The diaper bag. Tucked neatly on the top shelf, the same mint gingham, the same ridiculous nostalgia. Her eyes went wide. Holly casually unzipped it and rummaged through its contents, her fingers moving with ease, familiarity. Then she pulled it out. A diaper. Not just any diaper but a monster of a diaper. Bigger, puffier, louder looking than anything Samantha had seen before. Its thick white body was patterned with barnyard animals, smiling cows and chickens, the logo Mega Barnyard stretched across the front. Holly also pulled out a fresh container of wipes and the same pink capped baby powder from before. “Okay,” Holly said, turning to face her. “Lay down on the bed.” Samantha froze. Just for a second. But the look Holly gave her, one brow raised, that patient, dominant stillness, broke through her momentary resistance like glass under a boot. “Quit playing games and get on the bed.” Samantha moved. She crawled onto the bed, heart hammering in her chest, and lay back with her eyes toward the ceiling. She heard Holly step closer. Felt fingers at the waistband of her underwear. Then the tug. The slide. They came off in one smooth pull and were set aside like they were nothing. Samantha’s thighs clenched reflexively. She couldn’t help but gasp when Holly unfolded the Mega Barnyard diaper. The crinkle of it sounded enormous, like plastic echoing in a cathedral. Holly fluffed it expertly, shaking it once to puff it up even more before slipping it beneath Samantha’s hips. “Lift up,” she said simply. Samantha did. The diaper slid under her, wide and padded and humiliatingly secure. Holly settled it beneath her, then reached for the powder. She applied it liberally, cool and soft against heated skin, dusting her inner thighs and across her mound. Samantha’s breath hitched. Holly didn’t rush. She folded the diaper up between Samantha’s legs, gently pressing it to her stomach, sealing her in with practiced care. The tapes followed—one, two, three, four, each one pulling snug, each one declaring the same thing: you’re not in charge here. Then Holly leaned down, her voice warm but firm. “Since you can’t be trusted to use the potty—even when I ask, I don’t really have much choice, do I?” she said. “Until I can trust you again, this is how it’s going to be.” Samantha said nothing. She couldn’t. She lay there in stunned silence, the thick diaper wrapped around her, her body tingling with a thousand unnameable feelings. Holly turned and went back to her closet. When she returned, she was holding something folded in her arms. A one-piece pajama sleeper, soft pink with white stars on the fabric and cuffs at the wrists and ankles. “What… what is that?” Samantha asked, her voice hushed. Holly laughed. “Pajamas, silly.” She unzipped the back, a long pull from the base of the neck to the lower back. “Come on. Stand up.” Samantha obeyed, legs awkward with the new bulk between them. The sleeper was pulled over her head, arms guided into sleeves, legs into legs. Holly zipped it up slowly, carefully. Samantha didn’t notice anything until she heard a a subtle snap that made the zipper vanish under a flap of fabric. And with that, she was sealed in. No way out. Not without Holly. Samantha barely had time to process it before Holly gave her a few soft pats on the diaper’s rear......pat pat pat, each a reminder of how thickly padded she was. “I’m going to watch some TV,” Holly said, turning away. “I’ll order food in a bit. Be good.” Samantha stood there for a moment, stunned, before waddling, actually waddling, into the bathroom. She closed the door and looked into the mirror. The sleeper hugged her body in all the wrong ways. The diaper forced her legs apart, bulging through the leg cuffs, rounding her hips and puffing her bottom so much it was comical. The thick plastic rustled with every step. She looked like an overgrown toddler in adult-sized footie pajamas, something for children or toddlers, not something real, not something she should be in. But she was. And seeing herself like this, seemingly trapped in the soft fabric, sealed in a diaper she couldn’t escape, made something inside her ache and hum. Humiliation. Heat. A dark, strange pleasure. She stood there, staring at herself in the mirror, cheeks flushed, heart pounding, not knowing if she wanted to cry or curl up or… or something else entirely. All she knew was that she was humiliated. And, despite herself, maybe because of herself, she liked it. Chapter 5 The bathroom door creaked softly as Samantha stepped out, the heavy warmth of the sleeper clinging to her body like velvet. She waddled, there was no other word for it,down the hallway, each thick step muffled by the plush carpet and underscored by the soft, plasticky crinkle crinkle crinkle that followed her like a shadow. She stepped into the living room. Holly was already sprawled on the couch, legs tucked up, sparkling water in hand, watching some half-awful reality dating show where the contestants were clearly either paid actors or had lost a bet. She didn’t look up immediately......didn’t have to. Samantha’s approach announced itself in sound and shame. Still, Holly smiled when she glanced over. “There’s my little star.” Samantha sank down beside her, the diaper squishing out under her weight, the unmistakable noise practically echoing off the walls. The sleeper strained gently at her shoulders as she settled in, the back zip tugging slightly against her movement. She tried not to think about it. She tried harder not to think about how good it felt to be sitting here beside Holly. Warm. Not fighting. Just… being. The show played on, two women arguing over a guy with teeth too white to be real. Samantha found herself getting sucked in, mind drifting from her diapered state for a moment. Then Holly stood. “I got something for us,” she said over her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen. She opened the fridge, pulled out two beers, popped the caps with a practiced flick of the wrist. One went into a frosty pint glass. The other? Into a big pastel adult-sized sippy cup. Pink, with tiny clouds and stars dancing across the lid. Samantha’s jaw dropped as Holly approached and handed it to her with a straight face. “Really?” Holly smiled sweetly. “Don’t want you spilling on my couch, now do I?” Then she raised her own glass and tapped it lightly against the sippy cup. “Cheers.” Samantha, mortified, took a sip from the soft mouthpiece. It wasn’t bad, she had to admit. It was cold and bubbly and exactly what she needed to settle her nerves. The show continued, more drama unfolding on screen. And still, the diaper never let her forget. With every shift of her legs, every lean or laugh, it crinkled, loud and unrelenting, and Holly’s occasional sidelong glances only deepened Samantha’s squirming. She tried to sit still. Couldn’t. It was like her body was rebelling. By the time the final rose ceremony of the episode began, Samantha had finished her beer, the sippy cup resting empty on the end table. Holly drained her own glass, stood up with both, and walked to the kitchen. Samantha leaned her head back against the couch cushion, relaxed for a split second until Holly called over her shoulder, “I’m just refilling yours. I’ll be right back. I’ve got to grab the pizza.” Samantha sat bolt upright. “Wait! You’re leaving me like this?” Holly came back just long enough to bend down in front of her, both hands resting gently on Samantha’s knees. Her voice softened, almost affectionate. “I trust you to be a good little girl while I’m gone,” she said, smoothing a hand up Samantha’s thigh. “No trouble, no touching, no unzipping. Just stay on the couch and be good.” Her smile widened slightly. “Because if there is any trouble… if I come home and find you’ve been naughty…” She leaned closer, her mouth brushing Samantha’s ear. “I will give you a spanking you won’t forget.” Samantha gulped. Her skin prickled. “I.....I won’t,” she said quickly. “I promise. I’ll be good.” Holly leaned back, amused. “Good to hear.” She stepped back, picked up her purse from the hook, and glanced toward the front door. “But,” she added suddenly, “if you don’t trust yourself to behave, I could always go next door and get Mrs. Keller to come over and keep you company.” Samantha’s eyes went wide. “No!” she blurted. “I—I’ll behave. I promise. Please don’t…” Holly’s smirk was devilish. “That’s what I thought.” She slung her purse over her shoulder, gave Samantha one last pat on her diapered bottom, and walked out, closing the door behind her. Silence settled in. The TV played on in the background. And Samantha sat there on the couch, stiff, blinking, her pulse thudding in her ears. Her legs shifted again. The crinkle echoed. Her diaper was swollen with padding, her sleeper snug, her dignity clinging by a thread. She sighed. And then it hit her.........hard. Her bladder. She shifted in place again, frowning slightly, hand reflexively moving to her stomach. All that beer… Her mind raced back to Holly’s voice, teasing and light. Do you need to go potty while you're in there? She’d said no. Of course she had. Because she was still trying to pretend. Now, sitting there, in pajamas with a zipper she could not reach, trapped in a diaper thicker than anything she'd ever imagined, Samantha groaned quietly and let her head fall back. “Oh god,” she muttered under her breath, “why didn’t I go when I had the chance…” And she cursed herself for drinking the beer. Fifteen minutes. It felt like an eternity compressed into a single, desperate thought: Don't pee. Don't pee. Don’t. Samantha sat on the couch, squirming in the thick embrace of the Mega Barnyard diaper beneath the pastel sleeper, every slight shift releasing a chorus of humiliating crinkles into the quiet living room. Her legs pressed tightly together, crossed like a vice, but it did nothing. The pressure in her bladder was rising like a tide, constant and unrelenting, until even breathing too deeply seemed to make it worse. She bit her lip. The worst part wasn’t even the urgency, it was the knowledge that she couldn’t do anything about it. That helplessness, thick and soft and taped around her hips, wrapped in a one-piece sleeper zipped up safe and secure was starting to gnaw at her. Not just physically, but mentally. She stood with a groan and twisted her body around, reaching behind her back, fingers stretching desperately toward the zipper. She could feel the fabric strain, her muscles flexing, but no matter how she bent or contorted, she couldn’t reach it. Her fingers brushed uselessly at the upper back of the sleeper, nowhere near the actual closure. Frustrated, she waddled to the bathroom, hoping the mirror might help. She turned around, looking over her shoulder. What she saw made her stomach drop. The zipper was gone, completely hidden beneath a wide flap stitched seamlessly into the fabric, sealed by two thick black snaps. The message was clear: she wasn’t getting out of this unless Holly wanted her out. And if she was being honest with herself, that realization was half of what made her bladder threaten to give in right then and there. She shuffled back into the living room, cheeks burning, her waddle even more pronounced. She tried to sit, to act normal, tucking her legs up awkwardly and squeezing tight again, willing the pressure away. It wasn’t working. Five minutes later, the front door opened, and in walked Holly, smiling as casually as if she’d just come back from a jog instead of leaving her roommate trapped in a diapered onesie like a misbehaving toddler. She placed the pizza box on the kitchen counter, tossing her keys in the bowl, and turned toward the couch. “How’s my good little girl doing?” Samantha flinched at the words. But somehow, impossibly, they triggered something deeper, familiar, and instinctive. The words good girl slipped under her skin, making her mouth move before she could second guess it. “I was,” she said quietly, “a good girl.” Holly beamed. She sauntered over and knelt next to the couch. “Let’s find out.” Samantha’s heart jumped as Holly’s hand slipped around her thigh and pressed against the front of the diaper, squeezing gently, then patting. The check was methodical like she’d done this before. She had. Samantha felt her cheeks blaze as she stared forward, her entire body tensing with shame. “Awwww,” Holly cooed. “Still dry! You are a good girl, huh?” Then came the tickling. Two hands, suddenly under her arms, fingers dancing along her sides, over the fabric of the sleeper. Samantha shrieked, laughing helplessly as she squirmed, trying to twist away but there was nowhere to go. “Tickle tickle tickle,” Holly sang in full on baby talk. “Who’s a dry little diaperbutt? You are! Who’s my big girl in her clean diapee?” Samantha howled, thrashing And then she gasped. The laughter stopped mid breath as warmth bloomed between her legs. “Oh no oh my god!” The flood started slowly, just a trickle, but the moment she tensed, trying to stop it, it broke loose completely. The diaper drank it in greedily, swelling, the padding expanding even more around her hips as her control slipped through her fingers like sand. Holly froze, then burst into laughter. “Oh my god I literally spoke too soon!” she giggled, standing and ruffling Samantha’s hair like she’d just spilled juice, not just humiliated herself completely. “My big girl couldn’t hold it!” Samantha was mortified. Holly, meanwhile, was already turning toward the kitchen. “Just sit tight, puddles. I’ll get us some plates.” Samantha sat there, lips parted, heart pounding, legs spread slightly from the thick, wet mass between her thighs. She could feel the diaper cling tighter now, the weight undeniable, impossible to ignore. The onesie made sure of that. She tried to breathe. Tried to stay still. Tried not to cry or smile or moan or think. Holly came back in a minute later, carrying two plates stacked with slices, a fresh napkin tucked under her arm. She sat back down beside Samantha and placed one of the plates in her lap like she was feeding a child. Then she leaned back, grabbed the remote, and said with an easy grin: “Alright. What do you want to watch, little one?” Samantha sat still, frozen in the wreckage of her dignity. The diaper was heavy now, swollen and thick between her thighs, forcing them apart even as she tried to pretend it wasn’t there. But there was no wetness against her skin, no leaking, nothing to remind her of the humiliating loss of control except the pressure of the padding itself, which had only grown more suffocating, more present. She couldn’t ignore it anymore than she could ignore her own breathing. It was part of her now. And Holly… Holly didn’t seem the least bit concerned. Samantha was lost in her thoughts, trying to process how her night had spiraled so far beyond her expectations, when a soft tap landed right on her nose. She blinked and looked up into Holly’s grinning face. “I asked what you want to watch, silly girl.” Samantha lowered her gaze again. Her voice, small and tight. “Anything’s fine. You pick.” “Okay,” Holly said breezily, already reaching for the remote. She queued up another episode of the dating show, more over-tanned twenty-somethings, more fake tension, more wine-fueled drama. Samantha tried to focus. She chewed her pizza slowly, tried to watch the screen, but the swollen mass taped between her legs made every position feel awkward. She shifted constantly, the diaper crinkling with each motion, drawing her attention back to herself again and again. Holly didn’t seem to care. She was laughing at the show, sipping her beer, completely at ease. And Samantha felt… trapped. During the first commercial break, she found her courage. “How long are you going to keep me in this?” she asked, voice hushed but pointed, poking at the diaper’s edge with the side of her hand. Holly didn’t even look at her at first. She just reached over casually, as if checking the weather, and pressed two fingers into the thick padding between Samantha’s legs. Gave it a gentle squeeze. “You barely even wet it,” she said lightly, eyes still on the TV. “That’s a nighttime diaper, Sammy. It’s made to hold a lot.” Samantha’s stomach dropped. She had expected something like that, but hearing it out loud made it worse. She scowled. “Aren’t you supposed to change it immediately after it’s wet?” Holly laughed. A real, belly-deep laugh that made Samantha’s ears burn. “No, honey,” she said, turning to her. “You’re in a super thick diaper with a ton of baby powder. I checked it. You’re not gonna get a rash.” Samantha pouted. But Holly wasn’t done. “That diaper will be just fine for a few more wettings, trust me.” She leaned back into the couch and added with a smirk, “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” Before Samantha could respond, Holly reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled something out. A pacifier. She didn’t give Samantha time to protest. Just reached over and popped it right into her mouth, a single smooth motion like she'd done it a hundred times before. Then she tugged gently on Samantha’s arm, guiding her down until she was curled in Holly’s lap. Holly’s arms came around her, one hand settling on the curve of her diapered rear. She began to pat softly, thump, thump, thump, a steady rhythm. The kind of motion you’d use to soothe a sleepy baby. Samantha wanted to get mad. She wanted to bite out a sarcastic comment, push the pacifier away, remind Holly she was twenty-two, not two. But her body had other ideas. The slow, rhythmic pats. The warm beer fuzzing in her veins. The soft suckling of the pacifier,her lips had instinctively accepted it and the thick mind-numbing padding hugging her hips… It was all too much. She melted. Fully relaxed, head on Holly’s chest, eyelids fluttering. Her body had stopped fighting. Holly reached for the sippy cup with her free hand and brought it to Samantha’s mouth. She tilted it slightly, letting a sip of the chilled beer trickle into her lips past the pacifier. Samantha drank lazily, her cheeks flushing as she suckled from the babyish spout. “Good girl,” Holly whispered, as the next scene of the show lit up the screen, and she gave her another soft pat. Then another. And another. Samantha had never felt anything like this. Not in her twenty two years, not in childhood, not in dreams. The warmth of Holly’s arms around her, the slow, steady rhythm of soft pats against her thickly padded butt, the soft suckling on the pacifier gently bobbing between her lips every sensation swirled into something that shouldn't have been relaxing but somehow was. It was blissful. Exhilarating in the way roller coasters were exhilarating terrifying, impossible, and yet so right once you let go. And Samantha had let go. Literally. Samantha didn’t know exactly when it started. An hour had passed, maybe more since they curled together on the couch, lost in the glow of terrible reality TV. And somewhere in that stretch of time, as her head rested against Holly’s chest and the rhythm of the pacifier matched the rhythm of the show, her body had just… relaxed. The warning signals never flared. The tension in her bladder hadn’t risen to a breaking point. She’d just suddenly felt it: warmth blooming between her thighs, slowly and steadily, the thick padding swelling further to absorb it all without complaint. Her diaper didn’t leak, didn’t even squish much beneath her. It just took everything. And Holly’s hand kept patting her. Gently. Comfortably. As if nothing had changed. Samantha sat up sharply, her breath catching. She pulled the pacifier from her mouth, fingers trembling, her face flushed with something deeper than embarrassment........shock. “Holly,” she whispered. “I just… I just had an accident.” Holly didn’t look away from the screen. “Okay,” she said lazily. “You’re not getting changed until bedtime, remember?” “No,” Samantha said, a little more forcefully, turning fully toward her. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even notice it was happening until I was already doing it.” That got Holly’s attention. She turned her head, slow and calm, her eyes meeting Samantha’s, then she laughed. A light, breezy sound, like Samantha had told her she forgot to wash her cup. “Well,” Holly said with a shrug, “good thing you’re wearing a diaper.” Samantha’s heart dropped. She stared at Holly in disbelief, the weight of her accident and the weight of Holly’s total nonchalance colliding inside her like sparks in dry grass. “Let me out of it,” she snapped. “Let me out of this now.” Holly didn’t respond. She just turned back to the show, unbothered. That was it. Something inside Samantha snapped. “PAY ATTENTION TO ME DAMNIT!” she shouted, fists clenched, her voice pitched high, trembling with a mix of rage and panic and shame. The moment the words left her mouth, she knew. She knew. Holly paused the show with a quiet click. The screen froze on a contestant mid sob. Then she turned. Slowly. Her face no longer wore its usual teasing smile. Her voice dropped—calm, low, and laced with steel. “What did you just say to me?” Samantha’s mouth opened, but the words caught in her throat. Holly stood up. “You wanted to be in a diaper,” she said, her tone quiet and sharp. “You asked for it.” Samantha shook her head weakly. “I didn’t mean—” “And you know what?” Holly interrupted. “Little girls in diapers do not get to yell at adults. Ever.” Her eyes narrowed, and for the first time, Samantha felt small. Not in the cute, safe, swaddled kind of way. In the you are in trouble kind of way. Holly pointed toward the wall next to the entryway. “Go stand in the corner. Right now.” Samantha stared at her. “Now, Samantha. And you do not come out until I say so.” Samantha froze. Every nerve screamed at her to move, to obey, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She stood trembling at the edge of the couch, glaring at the corner, willing it to vanish. Her pride clung tight, even as dread pulled her down like an undertow. She knew she was in trouble. Knew what Holly had said. But something about choosing to go to that corner, waddling there in her swollen diaper like a scolded toddler, felt impossible. Holly, still eerily calm, met her eyes. “You have five seconds to get up and go to that corner, or I’m giving you a spanking,” she said, her tone like iron wrapped in silk. “And after the spanking, you’re still going to the corner.” Samantha’s chest tightened. Her mind scrambled. Every route she imagined ended the same way: her, standing nose-to-wall, humiliated—and in most of those versions, her butt stung. She hesitated. Just a moment too long. From the couch, she heard Holly sigh. “Well,” Holly said, her voice light but firm, “spanking it is.” That broke her. “Wait!” Samantha cried out, the word sharp with panic. “I’ll go........I’ll go to the corner!” But it was too late. Holly reached down and took Samantha’s arm, not hard but with undeniable authority. Before Samantha could make sense of what was happening, she was draped across Holly’s lap, her face toward the floor, her padded rear raised high in the air. “Wait—Holly—what—” She felt her body tense, pressed against the warmth of Holly’s thighs. Her diapered bottom perched perfectly over Holly’s lap, exposed, helpless, and trembling. She heard the fait pop of snaps being undone. Holly murmured something under her breath and gently pulled the flap open at the back of the sleeper. Then came the zipper, slow and deliberate, running down her spine. Samantha swallowed hard, heart pounding so fast it felt like a drumbeat against her ribs. The onesie parted open. And then the worst part. The tapes of the diaper rustled loudly as Holly peeled them free. The cool air hit her bare cheeks. The shame of it all, a full-grown woman, laid bare across her roommate’s lap, waiting for punishment like a naughty little girl seared into her like fire. And then it began. Smack. The first spank landed solid and sharp. Samantha gasped, jerking against Holly’s grip. Smack. Smack. Smack. Four. Five. Six. Tears stung her eyes as the heat bloomed across her cheeks, each strike building upon the last. Holly didn’t pause, didn’t lecture just delivered each swat with unwavering rhythm and firm conviction. By the seventh, Samantha was crying. “Please!” she whimpered. “Please, I’m sorry! I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good!” Smack. “Are you going to listen next time?” Holly asked, her voice even. “Yes! Yes!” Smack. Smack. Smack. Three more. Each one sharper, each one scorching. And then it stopped. Holly’s hand rested gently on her back for a moment before she spoke. “Corner. Now.” Samantha didn’t argue. She sniffled, tears streaking her cheeks, and shuffled to her feet, her opened onesie hanging around her knees, her thick diaper sagging loose at the bottom of her legs, still half-attached, swinging with every awkward, waddled step. She didn’t even bother pulling it up. She just waddled.......exposed, punished, and sobbing—to the corner. The next thirty minutes stretched on endlessly. Samantha stood trembling in the corner, arms limp at her sides, her nose inches from the wall. Her face burned almost as hot as the skin on her bare, freshly spanked bottom, still glowing red and aching from every one of Holly’s deliberate, punishing spanks. Her onesie and diaper sat bunched around her ankles like discarded pride, every shifting breath, every twitch of her legs reminding her of just how exposed she was. Her mind raced. Was Holly still angry? Was this it? Would she forgive her? Was she about to be punished again? That uncertainty, paired with the raw sting still pulsing with each heartbeat, left her adrift in her own spiraling thoughts. The corner became a mirror. Every second she stood there, she replayed what she’d done. The yelling. The refusal. The tantrum. She felt small. Regretful. Ashamed. And very alone. Then....finally..........she heard footsteps behind her. Soft. Steady. She didn’t dare move. Without a word, Holly knelt behind her. Samantha felt her touch at her ankles as the swollen, used diaper was gently lifted from where it hung limply around her legs. Holly folded it like muscle memory, sealing the tapes together into a neat, practiced bundle. Next came the onesie, tugged from her feet and legs entirely. They were gone before Samantha could think, leaving her completely bare, flushed from head to toe. And then Holly wrapped her arms around her. No scolding. No commands. Just warmth. Just the comfort of two arms pulling her in, holding her tight. Samantha collapsed. The tears came fast and deep, shuddering sobs wracked her as she buried her face into Holly’s shoulder. Her hands clutched at her shirt, needing to hold on to something solid, something safe. “I’m sorry,” she choked out between sobs. “I didn’t mean to yell. I didn’t mean to be bad. I just…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. She just kept crying, saying “I’m sorry” again and again into Holly’s neck. Holly said nothing at first. She simply held her tighter. One hand rubbed soft circles on her back, the other resting against the curve of Samantha’s shoulder. Her voice, when it came, was gentle and steady. “Shhh... it’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re forgiven, sweetheart. I’m not mad.” That undid Samantha all over again. For three full minutes, she cried in Holly’s arms, melted into her, every bit of tension wrung out with each tear. Eventually, her breathing slowed. Her sobs faded to hiccuped sighs and sniffles. She wiped at her eyes clumsily, still cradled in Holly’s arms. Then, softly: “What now?” Holly smiled against her hair. “Well,” she said calmly, “that’s up to you.” Samantha sniffled again, looking up at her. Holly’s voice stayed soft, patient. “If you want, you can go put on your big girl clothes and come watch a movie with me. Or I can put you to bed now if you’re tired.” She gave Samantha a knowing look. “Or... I can get you into a clean diaper and you can watch the movie all cozy on the couch.” Samantha blinked at her. The words hung in the air. She didn’t know what she wanted. The offer to choose made her heart twist in new ways. Holly kissed her forehead. “Take your time, baby. I’ll go toss the diaper and set your jammies aside.” Samantha stood quietly as Holly left the room. She didn’t rush her decision. Her body still felt raw. Her heart, too. The idea of changing and pretending nothing happened felt hollow. The idea of more TV felt... too much. When Holly returned, Samantha was waiting for her at the door, wrapped in uncertainty but finally sure of one thing. “I... I want to go to bed.” Holly nodded. “Okay, honey.” She stepped closer, brushing a damp lock of hair from Samantha’s cheek. “Do you want me to put you to bed?” Samantha nodded again. “Yes.” Holly paused, eyes searching hers. “Do you need a diaper before bed?” Samantha’s voice was barely a breath. She shook her head no. Holly smiled gently, took her hand, and led her down the hall to her room. Once inside, she pulled back the covers, helped Samantha climb in, and tucked the blankets up around her shoulders. She leaned down, kissed her forehead again. “Sweet dreams, my good girl.” Then Holly turned off the light and left the room, leaving the door cracked just slightly—soft, warm light spilling in. Samantha lay still beneath the covers, still red from earlier, eyes puffy from crying, but her chest finally still. Safe. Watched over. Home. Chapter 6 The sunlight filtering through the living room windows cast a warm golden glow across the hardwood floor, pooling like syrup over the rug where Holly sat cross-legged on the couch, one hand curled around a mug of coffee, the other idly flipping through channels with the remote. The house was still, quiet—serene in the way that only a lazy morning after a long night could be. Samantha padded into the room slowly, blinking away the last clinging threads of sleep. Her hair was a tousled mess, and she was still in the oversized shirt she’d slept in, bare legs brushing against the cold floor. She said nothing as she made her way to the kitchen, grabbing her own mug and pouring herself a cup, steam rising and curling in the air between her hands. When she sat beside Holly, the couch dipped slightly, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Holly glanced over at her, smile gentle, voice warm with that same motherly tone she’d used the night before, equal parts affection and soft authority. “Good morning, baby,” she said sweetly. “How are you doing?” Samantha curled her fingers around her mug and stared into the dark swirl of coffee. “I’m doing much better,” she said, voice quiet but sure. Holly nodded and took a sip of her drink, letting the silence stretch just enough before saying, “Would you like to talk about last night?” Samantha hesitated, then gave the smallest nod. She wasn’t angry,not at all,but something about the question pulled at the center of her chest. Vulnerability didn’t come easy, and now it sat heavy on her tongue. Holly smiled again, softer now. “I imagine last night must’ve felt like a bit of a rollercoaster, huh?” Samantha gave a tiny laugh and nodded once more, her cheeks pinking at the memory. “I was hoping timeout would help you calm down a little,” Holly continued, her voice never once rising above that calm cadence. “Give you space to breathe, to feel what you were feeling. But… I know the spanking was probably intense.” Samantha lowered her gaze, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “I get it,” she said sheepishly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t listen. I said no when I knew I shouldn’t have.” “You made it hard for me to give you a choice,” Holly said gently. “I didn’t want to do that, sweetheart. But I needed you to understand that choices have consequences.” Samantha’s eyes shone, not with tears, but with the weight of acknowledgment. She just nodded again, and Holly reached out, her hand resting warmly on Samantha’s leg, her thumb stroking slow circles against her bare skin. There was something grounding in that touch. Something steady. “I love you,” Holly said softly. “And you’re a very, very good girl. I hope there aren’t any more spankings in your future, because I’d rather just cuddle you all day long.” Samantha gave a tiny smile. “I’ll be good next time.” “I know you will.” A few quiet moments passed as the TV played forgotten in the background, the world shrinking to just the two of them and the low hum of everything unspoken. Then Holly asked, “Do you like it, sweetheart?” Samantha blinked. “Like what?” “The diapers. The cuddles. The babying,” Holly said, her voice unflinchingly gentle but firm. “All of it.” Samantha hesitated again, fingers tightening around her mug. She gave a small nod. Holly leaned in, brushing a bit of hair away from her eyes. “I need you to say it, honey. It’s important. You have to be able to tell me what you like.” Samantha licked her lips, cheeks flushing pink again. “I… I like it,” she whispered. “I like… the diapers. And the cuddles. And how you take care of me. I like all of it.” Holly’s smile blossomed like spring sunshine. “Good girl,” she whispered, her hand slipping up to stroke through Samantha’s hair. She leaned in, kissing her temple softly, just once, and Samantha leaned into her touch with a quiet exhale she didn’t realize she’d been holding. They sat that way for a minute, unmoving. Content. Then Samantha glanced up at her, brow furrowed in hesitant curiosity. “Are you ever…” she began slowly, “...going to tell me why you have all this stuff?” Holly gave Samantha a knowing smile and a slow nod. “Sure,” she said softly, as if she’d been waiting for the question. She set her coffee aside and turned slightly on the couch, one leg tucked under her, so she could face Samantha more fully. “Okay. So... while I’m a full-time student, I also do a little work on the side.” She smiled again. “Babysitting.” Samantha opened her mouth, brows raised in disbelief, ready to jump in with something but Holly raised one hand and gently pressed a finger to her lips, eyes twinkling. “Shhh. Let me finish.” Samantha, still stunned, closed her mouth and nodded. Holly leaned back, brushing her thumb across Samantha’s knee like she was grounding her. “I’m not a regular babysitter. I’m an ABDL babysitter.” She let that hang in the air for a moment. Samantha blinked. “ABDL?” Holly nodded. “Adult Baby Diaper Lover. It’s a kink community, mostly, but for a lot of people it’s also about comfort and security. Not just sexual, sometimes it’s therapeutic. Some people just like feeling small and taken care of. Sometimes it’s about regression. Sometimes it’s about trust. There’s a lot of nuance to it, more than people realize.” Samantha just stared, absorbing it, eyes wide with a dawning sense of realization. “The diaper bag you found,” Holly continued, gesturing vaguely toward her room, “that’s the bag I use when I go on babysitting sessions.” Samantha’s lips parted, but she hesitated, then asked, “Do you, um… do it a lot?” “I get more requests than I can handle,” Holly said with a laugh. “So yeah. I’ve gotten a little picky. I only work with clients I feel good about. People I trust not to be weird or unsafe. It’s all very professional.” Samantha gave a half-laugh, half-exhale. “What’s it… like?” Holly’s smile curled wider, a bit sly. “A lot like watching you last night.” Samantha groaned and hid her face behind her coffee mug. “For most of them,” Holly went on, “it’s about being safe. Being small. Letting go of control. They want to feel accepted. Seen. Diapered,” she added with a chuckle, “but also, you know, emotionally held.” Samantha nodded slowly. It was starting to click now, the pacifier, the bottle, the sippy cup, the quiet control in Holly’s voice. All of it. “Sometimes,” Holly added, voice light, “they get a little bratty. Mess with their diapers, try to test limits. Then I have to step in. Handcuffs. Locking mittens. Diaper covers. And sometimes,” she paused, smiling sweetly, “sometimes they need a spanking.” Samantha blinked. Then mumbled quietly, “Like I did…” Holly reached over, brushing her hair softly, combing through the strands with her fingers. “Yes,” she said warmly. “Like you did.” Then her grin turned a little wicked. “Although… you got off easy.” Samantha’s head snapped up. “Trust me,” Holly said with a laugh. “Some of the naughtier littles I watch? When I bring out the paddle, they’re not sitting right for days. Not even in diapers. They learn fast.” Samantha sat very still, not entirely sure whether to be horrified, intrigued, or just completely fascinated. Then Holly’s tone softened again. “I knew the second you went snooping through my diaper bag,” she said, “how interested you were.” Samantha flushed but didn’t deny it. “You were curious. You didn’t even realize how much you wanted it. But I could see it all over you.” Samantha stared down into her coffee, silent, absorbing everything. Every word. Every strange, bizarre, oddly comforting truth about Holly she’d never imagined. And still, all she could do was sit there, trying to process just how deeply down the rabbit hole she’d already gone and how much further she might be willing to fall. Samantha took a deep breath, her fingers tightening slightly around the warm ceramic of her mug. She glanced sideways at Holly, her eyes soft but open, unsure of how else to say what she was feeling. “Thank you,” she said finally. “For... everything. For last night. For, I guess, babysitting me.” Holly’s smile bloomed instantly, easy and bright, as if she’d just been waiting for Samantha to say it. She reached over and ruffled her hair like she had a hundred times, affectionate and effortless. “No problem, sweetie,” she said with a laugh. “Honestly? I was already planning on staying in, binging trash TV, eating pizza. I think I spent, what...... ten minutes diapering and dressing you? Maybe ten more giving you that spanking and tucking you into bed?” Samantha groaned softly and rolled her eyes, a flush blooming high on her cheeks. The way Holly said it, so casual, so matter-of-fact, made it sound like last night was just a normal part of the evening routine. Like brushing her teeth. Like folding laundry. Like giving her twenty-two year old roommate a bare bottom spanking and putting her in diapers was nothing more than a mild deviation from an average Friday. And somehow… that made it even more intense. But still, there was something simmering just beneath the surface of Samantha’s embarrassment. A question that had rooted itself in her mind sometime around midnight, now desperate to be asked. She set her coffee down. Took another breath. “So… if I wanted to, you know… explore this more,” she said slowly, “could I maybe… hire you? Like, professionally?” Holly raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. She studied Samantha, her expression unreadable for a second, and then she nodded slowly. “We can work something out.” She took another sip of her coffee and crossed her legs. “Usually, I charge between three and five hundred dollars an hour.” Samantha coughed. “Yikes.” Holly smirked. “Yeah, I know. It’s not cheap. But it’s work, not just play. What we did last night?” She motioned with her hand like she was brushing crumbs from a table. “That was fun. Sweet. Roommate shenanigans. But when I’m babysitting for real? It’s different.” “How different?” Samantha asked. “It’s intense,” Holly said simply. “Not because I’m mean. But because people pay me to take them somewhere they can’t go alone. A place where they feel small, or safe, or vulnerable, or punished, if that’s what they’re looking for. And it’s my job to get them there. Even if they resist a little.” Samantha’s breath caught. “But everything’s consensual,” Holly continued, “always. We agree on boundaries, use safe words, check in. But within those rules? I push people. I know what they need before they can admit it to themselves. And when I say I’m good at it…” She gave a little shrug. “Let’s just say, I’ve got more clients than hours in the week.” Samantha was quiet, absorbing every word. Her stomach was fluttering, her fingers twitching slightly in her lap. She stared into her mug again, trying to sort out the cocktail of anxiety, excitement, and curiosity swirling inside her. “Yeah…” she said finally. “I can’t afford that.” Holly let out a soft laugh and reached over, brushing her knuckles against Samantha’s cheek. “I figured,” she said gently. “But if you really want to be babysat, we’ll figure something out. You’re not a client. You’re my friend.” Samantha’s heart thudded. But then Holly leaned in slightly, and her tone shifted. A touch darker. Playful. But not joking. “Well,” she said, “not only my friend, maybe. Especially if you keep testing me the way you do.” Samantha blinked. Holly’s grin widened, that familiar glint of authority slipping into her voice. “You like to push,” she said softly. “You like testing the water. Seeing what I’ll do. How far I’ll go. I see it. You might not even realize you’re doing it sometimes, but you do.” Samantha opened her mouth to protest but closed it. She couldn’t deny it. Not really. “And that’s fine,” Holly said, standing from the couch and stretching her arms over her head, her shirt rising just enough to tease. “Just be ready to accept the consequences when you do.” She winked. Then she turned toward the hallway, coffee in hand. “I need to get ready for the day,” she said over her shoulder. “Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone.” And with that, she disappeared into her room, the door swinging half-shut behind her, leaving Samantha on the couch—blushing, flustered, and absolutely buzzing with thoughts. ----------- A week later Holly and Samantha were sitting down for dinner. The evening had been calm, easy, like most of their dinners lately. Two plates of stir-fry sat between them, the smell of garlic and ginger still lingering in the warm kitchen air. Dull clinks of forks against plates were punctuated by the hum of casual conversation—class updates, campus gossip, a professor who still couldn’t figure out how to share his screen over Zoom. And then, in the lull between sentences, Samantha looked up. “Can we talk about babysitting?” she asked, her voice soft but sure, eyes meeting Holly’s across the table. Holly set her fork down with a gentle clink, giving her full attention. “Of course.” Samantha shifted in her seat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I… I want to do an actual session. Like a real babysitting session. Just like what you do with your clients.” Holly’s brow lifted slightly. “Yeah?” Samantha nodded quickly. “Yeah. But the thing is, I’ve been trying to figure out how to pay for it. I can’t afford $500 an hour.” Holly didn’t flinch. She waited. “So I was thinking…” Samantha went on, “What if I made dinner for the next two weeks? And I paid for groceries? Would that cover, like… an hour?” There was a beat of silence. Then Holly smiled—bright, fond, amused. “That’ll work.” Samantha visibly sagged in relief, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “You okay?” Holly asked, watching her closely now. “Yeah,” Samantha said, nodding. “I just… I’ve really wanted to try this. For real. And I didn’t know how I was going to make it happen. I’ve been nervous to even bring it up.” “Aww,” Holly said, her voice slipping into that teasing sweetness. “Sweet little girl.” The words landed softly but deeply. Samantha could feel them ripple through her, genuine affection wrapped in just enough condescension to make her shift in her chair. Holly meant it, and that only made it more powerful. Samantha swallowed and continued. “I don’t really know what I want out of it though. I just know I want… something. I was hoping you could help?” Holly leaned back in her chair, that familiar mischievous smile curving slowly across her lips. “You like humiliation,” she said, ticking off each point like a checklist. “You’re a little scared of discipline but very into the idea of being held accountable. You definitely enjoy being made to feel small. And you’ve got a praise kink a mile wide.” Samantha stared at her, blinking. “How.......how did you just—” Holly laughed. “I watch you, sweetheart. You show me everything.” The more Samantha thought about it, the more the list clicked into place. All of it had been true. Every word. She hadn’t said any of that out loud. But Holly knew. Holly always knew. “So…” Samantha asked, voice smaller now, “Do you think you could help me explore that stuff?” Holly’s grin deepened, a glint of excitement sparking in her eyes. “Oh, I’m confident I can come up with something.” Samantha nodded slowly. “How does this work, then?” Without a word, Holly picked up her phone, scrolled briefly, then turned it toward Samantha. “I’m free Tuesday evening,” she said. “Just be at the house. Ready. I’ll take care of the rest.” Then her smile faded, just a little, replaced by something serious. Her voice, when she spoke next, was calm, firm, and absolute. “Samantha. This will be a real babysitting session. You are the baby. I am the babysitter. That means I’m in charge. I make the rules. I decide how things go.” She leaned forward slightly. “Do you understand?” Samantha swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry, but she nodded. “Yes.” Holly’s smile returned like sunshine. “Good girl.” Then, casually, as if she were reminding Samantha of the Wi-Fi password, she said, “Your safe word, if things get too intense, is ‘fraggle.’” Samantha blinked, head tilting. “Fraggle?” Chapter 7 Tuesday evening settled over the house like a weighted blanket, soft, warm, and heavy with anticipation. Samantha stood in the living room, frozen in place. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, and she kept glancing toward the hallway where Holly’s door remained shut. She'd already been through two experiences with Holly, but this felt entirely different. This wasn’t play. This was a session. Official. Deliberate. Controlled. And the weight of that knowledge had her stomach flipping. Her thoughts scattered the second Holly emerged. Hair neatly done, a serene smile on her face, dressed like she hadn’t a care in the world. She moved with calm and purpose, composed, graceful and the moment her eyes landed on Samantha, they twinkled. “Hello, little girl,” Holly cooed sweetly. Samantha opened her mouth to respond, but Holly didn’t give her the chance. She stepped forward with practiced ease, plucked an adult-sized pacifier from her pocket, and gently pushed it into Samantha’s mouth, silencing her mid breath. Samantha’s cheeks flushed immediately, and she let out the softest whimper behind the pacifier bulb. “There we go,” Holly said with satisfaction. She placed one hand gently.....firmly....... on Samantha’s bottom and gave it a soft pat. “Now let’s get you dressed properly.” With that, Holly began guiding her down the hall, a gentle but inescapable pressure at the small of her back pushing her forward. The short walk to Holly’s bedroom felt like a march toward total surrender. And the second they stepped inside, Holly’s gentle hands became purposeful. She stripped Samantha without hesitation. One item at a time, peeling away her clothes until Samantha stood naked save for the pacifier in her mouth and the flush painting her cheeks. Holly moved like she’d done this a hundred times, unhurried, confident, completely in control. Then came the diaper. Holly reached into the cabinet and pulled out one of the thickest, most brightly decorated diapers Samantha had ever seen. It was the Mega Safari, patterned with grinning lions and baby elephants. Holly gave it a little shake, fluffing it out, then laid it flat on the bed. “Up you go,” she said, guiding Samantha gently backward until her butt settled on the waiting padding. The powder came next. It was cool, sweet-smelling, clouding the air as Holly dusted Samantha’s hips and inner thighs liberally. Then the front of the diaper was pulled up over her stomach, and one by one, the tapes sealed her in. The sound of each tape locking in place echoed through the room like thunder in Samantha’s ears. “There,” Holly said with a grin, giving her a light tickle on the tummy. “Such a good girl for your babysitter.” Samantha squirmed under her touch, both humiliated and oddly comforted. But Holly wasn’t done. She walked over to her closet and pulled out a folded onesie. It was baby blue with soft little bunny prints, adult-sized, tailored to fit perfectly. She helped Samantha up, guided her arms through the sleeves, and tugged it down before snapping the crotch closed with a trio of tight little clicks beneath the bulge of her thick diaper. Samantha looked down at herself, stunned. “They make these with snaps?” she mumbled around the pacifier. Holly chuckled. “Of course they do, silly girl.” Then she turned, grabbed a pair of shortalls, light denim with adjustable straps, silver buttons, and stepped Samantha into them with practiced care. She pulled the straps over her shoulders, buckled them tight, and gave her a final pat on the front. Samantha blinked, barely able to process how she’d gone from nervous college student to fully dressed overgrown toddler in under ten minutes. But Holly wasn’t finished. She reached into the closet again and pulled out the mint gingham diaper bag. She made a show of checking the contents, powder, wipes, extra diapers, a folded change of clothes, and then glanced back at Samantha with a grin. “And yes,” she added casually, pulling the wooden spanking brush from one side pocket and slipping it back in. “She’s in there too. But we won’t need that tonight.” Samantha’s blood ran hot at the mention of that. Holly slung the diaper bag over her shoulder with ease, took Samantha’s hand in hers, and began leading her toward the front door. It was only then, as her shoes tapped softly against the hardwood, that the realization hit Samantha like a slap to the face. They were leaving. Her hand jerked. The pacifier dropped from her lips. “Wait! What the hell is going on?” she demanded, eyes wide. Holly didn’t even flinch. With practiced ease, she bent down, scooped up the pacifier that had fallen to the hardwood floor, and gave Samantha a look that was half bemused, half motherly disappointment. Before Samantha could say another word, Holly popped it right back into her mouth with a soft plop. “There we go,” Holly said, her tone chiding but gentle, as if she were talking to a particularly messy toddler who’d just thrown their snack on the floor. Then she reached into the diaper bag, humming softly to herself as she rummaged. A moment later, she pulled out a pink pacifier clip—a length of soft, silken ribbon with a plastic clasp on each end. She clipped one end to the pacifier, then guided the other to the chest strap of Samantha’s shortalls and fastened it there with a quiet snap. “You need to be more careful with your binkie,” she said, tapping Samantha lightly on the nose. “We can’t have you dropping it like that, baby girl.” Samantha blinked, cheeks burning, the pacifier already affecting her ability to speak. “Whaph... whaph goin’ on?” she tried to say around the bulb in her mouth. “Whah... hell ish dis?” That was as close as she could manage to what the hell is going on, and Holly knew it. She grinned and tapped her again, this time a little firmer. “Uh-uh. Naughty language like that isn’t allowed.” Samantha’s eyes widened. “We’re going to run some errands,” Holly said casually, as if she hadn’t just announced the most horrifying possibility imaginable. She tugged gently on Samantha’s hand, and when Samantha hesitated, frozen, Holly didn’t even break stride. She simply guided her forward, fingers warm and firm around her palm. The front door opened, and cool evening air rushed in. Samantha’s stomach dropped. She waddled behind Holly, unable to keep up with her usual stride due to the sheer bulk of the Mega Safari diaper between her thighs. It forced her legs apart, every step cushioned, swishing slightly beneath the denim of her shortalls. Her heart was racing. Each tap of her feet against the driveway sounded like a drumroll in her ears. Covered or not, she felt exposed. The outfit, the onesie, the pacifier, the clip bouncing lightly with each step. She might as well have had a sign above her head saying BABY ON BOARD. Her eyes darted around, half expecting a neighbor to step outside, to wave, to see. But no one was around. Then she saw the car. Holly unlocked it with a beep, the lights flashing briefly but when Samantha moved to head for the passenger side, Holly’s hand gently steered her away. Toward the back. Samantha blinked, confused. And then she saw it. An adult-sized car seat. Her mouth dropped open around the pacifier, her eyes wide with disbelief. The seat was oversized but unmistakably modeled after a child’s safety seat—high back, cushioned sides, deep bucket seat, and a full five-point harness with black nylon straps and a center buckle shaped like a ring. “What… what is that?” Samantha asked, trying to move the pacifier aside without taking it out. Holly laughed. “The appropriate seat for a little one like you,” she said brightly. Before Samantha could argue, Holly opened the rear door and gently pressed on her lower back, guiding her into the seat. The soft cushions hugged her hips, the wide, scooped sides pressing snugly against her body. She tried to adjust, but the diaper made everything feel tighter, puffier, like she was already two sizes too big for the space. Then Holly went to work. With smooth, practiced movements, she reached around Samantha’s shoulders and pulled the two chest straps forward, guiding Samantha’s arms between them before clicking both ends of the harness into the D-ring over her chest. The click was loud.....final...........and Samantha’s body stiffened as she realized she’d just been secured. “Wait! Wait!! Holly!!!!!” But Holly was already reaching down. The crotch strap came up next—threaded carefully through the leg openings of the shortalls, then guided between her thighs. It pressed up against the thick, crinkly mass of her diaper, then connected to the same central buckle at her chest. Another solid click. Samantha shifted in protest, but she couldn’t move much at all. And then Holly reached behind her and pulled. The tightening strap. Samantha let out a muffled squeal as she was tugged backward into the padding, the nylon biting lightly against her chest and hips as the entire harness drew tight around her. “H-Holly!” she cried out, now fully restrained, arms pinned at her sides, the seat hugging her from every angle. “I can’t move!” She tried to squirm. Nothing. Tried to wiggle a leg—just met resistance. Tried to sit up—no chance. Holly shut the car door, walked around the front, and slid into the driver’s seat. She adjusted the mirror, giving Samantha a calm, amused look. “I know you can’t get out, silly,” she said, voice full of teasing warmth. “It’s a car seat. You’re not supposed to be able to get out.” Samantha whined in frustration, tugging helplessly at the harness as it held her firmly in place. The diaper squished beneath her with every motion, and the pacifier clip tugged at her chest every time she tried to protest. Her cheeks were on fire. Her limbs pinned. Her dignity nowhere to be found. Holly buckled her own seatbelt, turned the key, and the car rumbled to life. Samantha squirmed one last time, mouth around the pacifier, and whimpered: “Mmmmph! Hahwy…!” But Holly just smiled into the mirror, full of smug satisfaction, and pulled out of the driveway like nothing in the world was unusual at all. The soft hum of the engine blended with the faint crinkle of plastic and fabric as the car sped down the road, the city lights just beginning to flicker on against the dusky sky. In the backseat, Samantha sat locked in place. No, trapped by a car seat clearly designed for someone far younger than twenty two. Her shortalls tugged slightly under the straps, the diaper beneath them swollen and immovable, pressing her thighs apart with that constant, muffled rustle every time she so much as shifted a toe. The pacifier, knocked loose by her earlier protest, dangled from its ribbon, bobbing lightly against her chest. Samantha could feel the outline of the bulb against her skin through the fabric of her onesie, mocking her with every bump in the road. Then Holly reached one hand behind her, still driving with the other, and pulled something from the diaper bag at her side. A pastel sippy cup, filled with bright orange juice. “Here you go,” Holly said sweetly, reaching back and expertly tucking it into the cupholder attached to the side of Samantha’s car seat. “Drink up, baby.” Samantha huffed, lips parting in defiance. “I don’t want anything to drink,” she snapped, her voice edged with frustration and embarrassment as she wiggled again, another wave of crinkle crinkle crinkle punctuating her every futile movement. Holly, completely unfazed, reached into the diaper bag again and pulled out a second sippy cup, this one filled with what looked like apple juice. She leaned back and deposited that one in the opposite cupholder. “You’ve got twenty minutes,” she said, her tone shifting—soft but firm, threaded with authority. “Both sippy cups better be finished before we get there.” The way she said it like it was a fact, not a request—sent a shiver through Samantha. And she knew. If she didn’t drink them, she’d be punished. Maybe not right away. Maybe not obviously. But Holly would make sure she felt it later. So she reached for the first cup. The spout felt soft and rubbery against her lips, and the juice flowed slower than she liked forcing her to suck, to work for it like a child too young for a bottle. Her cheeks hollowed slightly as she drank, the apple flavor sweet and far too strong, cloying in that toddlerish way meant to appeal to someone with no palate. She stared down at herself as she drank. Shortalls tight around her waist. Onesie snapped securely beneath the thick, puffed shell of the Safari-print diaper. Her legs spread and immobile. Her arms pinned under the harness. The constant press of the straps across her chest and shoulders. The lingering weight of the pacifier resting against her like a claim. She was helpless. She had never felt this confined. And she loved it. The humiliation twisted deliciously with a sense of safety, a dizzying cocktail of embarrassment and surrender that left her breathless even as she nursed the sippy cup. She liked that Holly didn’t ask what she wanted. She liked that Holly had made the decisions for her. All of them. She knew what would happen if she pushed back. Holly would just tighten the straps, find something more ridiculous to dress her in, and probably, no definitely threaten another spanking. Or worse. And Samantha would still do what Holly said. She sucked the last bit of juice from the first sippy cup and, after a glance at the mirror where Holly’s eyes met hers with calm satisfaction, switched to the second. As she drank, she twisted slightly in her seat again—crinkle crinkle—and the thick bulk of the diaper reminded her, with almost cruel precision, how far she’d fallen. How thoroughly she’d been stripped of control. By the time they were fifteen minutes in, she could feel the tightness in her belly building. She knew what two full cups of juice would lead to eventually. And she knew what would happen when it did. But there was no choice. Just the warm praise waiting at the end. Near the final turnoff, Holly’s voice floated back with syrupy cheer. “Almost there, sweetheart. Be sure to finish those drinks. You’re so close.” Samantha sucked harder, cheeks burning, the last few sips harder to get out. But she did it. She let the second cup fall back into the holder, swallowing thickly. “I finished them,” she said quietly, pacifier still swinging at her chest. Holly clapped her hands once, excitedly, like a mother congratulating a toddler who just used the potty. “Oh, good girl!” she exclaimed. “You finished both your drinks? I’m so proud of you!” The words shouldn’t have hit so hard. But they did. Samantha’s face flushed deep red. The praise curled around her like a hug, warm and powerful, overwhelming in a way she didn’t know how to process. She felt… small. And yet so seen. And then the car slowed. Turned. Pulled into a parking lot. Samantha’s heart jumped. Rows of lights. Shops. People. Public. An outdoor mall. Chapter 8 The car eased into a space and stopped, and the reality hit her like a punch to the stomach. They weren’t just out. They were going out. The safety of the car,of being confined, yes, but hidden—was gone. And what waited on the other side of the door was the world. The real world. Her lips parted, trembling. But no words came out. The car engine clicked softly as it cooled, but to Samantha, it sounded like a countdown to doom. Outside her window, people strolled between rows of parked cars, shopping bags swinging at their sides, talking, laughing, living normal lives. Meanwhile, she sat in the backseat locked into a massive toddler style car seat, legs spread by the thickest diaper she’d ever worn, shortalls pressing against her belly, a pacifier dangling from her chest, and two empty sippy cups beside her like damning evidence. Then the door opened. Samantha turned her head just in time to see Holly swing it wide, sunlight pouring in and cutting across her face like a spotlight. Holly leaned in, a diaper bag now slung over her shoulder, expression glowing with calm amusement. “There’s my good girl,” Holly said cheerfully, her voice too sweet, too public. “Okay, baby, we’re just going to run a few errands, that’s all.” Samantha’s stomach dropped. Holly continued, completely unfazed by the world around them. “Now while we’re out, you need to stay with me at all times. That means holding my hand unless I say otherwise. Got it?” Samantha’s breath quickened. Her fingers clutched uselessly at the harness. “Holly,” she hissed, trying to wriggle. “I can’t....let me out.......please” Holly placed a firm, grounding hand on Samantha’s thigh. “Shhh. Deep breaths, little one.” Her voice softened but never lost that edge of control. “Can you follow the rules? Can you be a good little girl for me?” Samantha hesitated, chewing on her lip, heart hammering like a drumline in her chest. She didn’t want to answer. But her body was buzzing with adrenaline and submission and something else she couldn’t name, and the reality was she had no choice. “…Yes,” she whispered. Holly beamed. “That’s what I like to hear.” She leaned in closer, lips near Samantha’s ear, her tone turning playfully wicked. “Because if you try to run off, I’m not above putting you on a leash.” Samantha's eyes went wide. “I won’t!” she blurted, the words tumbling out fast and high pitched. “I promise! I’ll be good!” “Of course you will,” Holly said, clearly pleased. “You’re my sweet little girl.” She reached into her purse, pulled out her car keys, and with a series of smooth motions, undid the D-ring holding Samantha’s chest and crotch straps together. The harness slackened, and Holly unbuckled her like a pro, helping her swing her legs out of the car seat one by one. Samantha stood shakily, heart in her throat. Then it happened. Without any hesitation, Holly crouched slightly, reached her hand around to the seat of Samantha’s shortalls, tugged the fabric tight, and did a full, unmistakable diaper check in plain daylight. “Oh good,” Holly said, voice way too loud for comfort. “Still dry! Such a good girl.” Samantha nearly died on the spot. Her entire face flushed a violent crimson. She looked around wildly, certain someone—everyone—must have heard. Her hands clutched the front of her shortalls instinctively, but Holly just stood and gave her a soft, playful pat pat pat on her diapered backside. “Come on,” Holly said brightly, taking her hand. “Let’s go.” And they started walking. Hand in hand. In public. Each step Samantha took brought with it that cursed crinkle......faint, yes, but to her ears it was screaming. The diaper between her thighs forced her to waddle just enough to feel ridiculous, every movement a humiliating reminder of what she was wearing, of how small Holly had made her feel. And then there was the diaper bag. Holly carried it with ease, the mint gingham pattern standing out like a beacon of shame. Samantha couldn’t stop staring at it, certain that every passerby would know immediately that it was for her. That she was the diapered little girl tagging along. That she had needed to be checked, and praised, and strapped into a car seat like a toddler. She tugged on Holly’s hand. “Everyone can tell I’m in a diaper,” she whined, barely able to meet her eyes. Holly burst out laughing. “No they don’t,” she said breezily. “You’re just being dramatic.” And with that, she pushed open the door to a large department store, the blast of air conditioning hitting them like a wave as Samantha’s humiliation took its next inevitable step into the real world. The blast of cold air inside the department store hit Samantha like a wall, crisp and sudden, and with it came an unwelcome jolt to her bladder. The pressure, once manageable, surged forward. Instinctively, her hands drifted toward her crotch in a protective reflex but she caught herself, pulling them away quickly, cheeks already burning. Holly noticed, of course. She said nothing, but her smirk deepened as she tightened her hold on Samantha’s hand and casually guided her toward the baby section. Her pace was unhurried, almost leisurely, as though this were just another peaceful shopping trip between caretaker and child. They passed racks of bibs, bottles, and binkies before turning down a long aisle lined with baby wipes, powders, and oils. Holly grabbed a hand basket and began plucking a few packs of wipes off the shelf, humming softly to herself. Samantha glanced around, nerves fraying. “What are we doing here?” she whispered, trying to keep her voice low. “Just need to pick up a few things,” Holly replied breezily, smiling like she wasn’t leading a fully diapered adult in shortalls through a public store. They moved further down, and Holly stopped at the baby powder section. She studied the rows of containers like she was comparing fine wines. Then, far too loud for Samantha’s liking: “Do you like the baby powder I used to diaper you today, sweetheart?” Samantha’s eyes widened in horror. She glanced down the aisle. A couple with a stroller strolled past. A teenage girl was flipping through the labels on a nearby shelf. No one was looking but the threat that they could was enough to send a spike of panic through her. “Please,” she hissed under her breath, “don’t be so loud.” But Holly’s smile widened as she turned a container over in her hand. “Well, I think I’ll just get the regular one. Seems like it’s doing a good job keeping you from getting a rash.” She dropped not one but two large containers of baby powder into the basket with a loud thunk. Samantha’s knees pressed slightly together, as if that would ease the pressure in her bladder. It didn’t. The urge had transformed from a warning to a demand. But Holly was already on the move again, guiding her out of the baby aisle and into the women’s clothing section. Samantha waddled slightly now, every step making her more aware of the diaper between her thighs, soft, thick, and soon to be tested again. They barely made it a few feet into the clothing section when a woman with a wide, friendly smile and a nametag reading Karen approached them. “Hi there!” she said, beaming. “I’m Karen. Let me know if you two need anything!” Then she turned her attention to Samantha. Her expression shifted. She was still friendly, but softer, warmer, sweeter. She bent slightly at the waist to look Samantha directly in the eyes. “And how are you doing today, sweetheart?” Samantha froze. Her mouth moved, but no words came. Samantha's heart pounded in her chest like a drumbeat of panic. Holly leaned down slightly and chided her in the same patient tone she might’ve used on an actual shy toddler. “It’s not polite to ignore people, Sammy.” Samantha swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” she said quickly, barely above a whisper. Holly smiled at Karen. “She’s just a little shy.” Karen chuckled. “Nothing wrong with being shy.” Then she looked directly at Samantha, her voice pitching higher, babyish, syrup-thick. “Isn’t that right, cutie?” Samantha wanted to disappear. She felt like her skin might burn through her clothes. Her hand tightened around Holly’s, but Holly’s grip held firm, grounding her, anchoring her in place. There would be no escape. “I’m looking for a few tops for her,” Holly said, still cool, calm, like this was perfectly ordinary. Karen nodded enthusiastically and crouched again, this time speaking directly to Samantha with the same patronizing warmth. “And what kind of designs do you like, sweetie? Bunnies? Butterflies? Maybe something with sparkles?” Samantha hesitated, her face still on fire. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Smack. Smack. Two quick, unmistakable spanks landed on the seat of her diapered butt. Not hard, not painful but enough to jolt her body and send a shock of embarrassment so intense she almost cried out. The result was immediate. A sudden warmth bloomed between her thighs. The pressure released involuntarily. She gasped softly as her bladder gave way, hot liquid flooding the thick padding, swelling it even more. The diaper soaked it up expertly, but the sheer helplessness of the moment shattered her. “I—I’m not picky,” she stammered, face twitching as she struggled to stay composed. “You could… just show me some options.” Karen smiled brightly. “Of course!” She turned to Holly. “Mind if I take her over to look?” “Not at all,” Holly replied, slipping her hand from Samantha’s grasp with infuriating grace. Karen reached out and took Samantha’s hand in both of hers, gently but without hesitation, and led her like a toddler down the aisle. Samantha waddled after her, the diaper now noticeably heavier, the thick plastic squishing with each step. Her legs couldn’t quite close, and every sound she made in motion felt like it echoed through the entire store. Karen brought them to a rack of brightly colored tops. “How about this one?” she cooed, holding up a soft pink shirt with cartoon strawberries and frills at the sleeves. “You’d look so adorable in this.” Samantha tried to reply, tried to focus on the question—but her legs were clenched, hips slightly rocking. She couldn’t hold it anymore. A soft hand landed gently on her shoulder from behind. Samantha flinched. It was Holly. The surprise and the sudden loss of focus was enough. The rest of her bladder let go, warmth pooling again inside the already damp padding, her face twisting in horror and surrender at once as Karen continued holding up shirts beside her. “You’d look so cute in this one, too!” Karen chirped. Samantha stood there, mid wetting, unable to do anything but nod slowly heart racing, lips pressed shut, and her diaper quietly expanding beneath her shortalls, holding her secret… for now. Karen held up one shirt after another, her voice a soft stream of praise and sweetness. Samantha stood stiffly beside her, trying to breathe, trying to ignore the warmth between her thighs and the swollen diaper pressing heavily against her with every breath. She had just wet herself. Not just that—she had done it in front of someone. While someone was talking to her. Complimenting her. She felt hollowed out. Shaky. Completely overwhelmed. But Holly, ever poised, ever unfazed, stepped in with a calmness that somehow only made it worse. “Do you like any of those, sweetheart?” she asked, voice light, hand still resting reassuringly on Samantha’s shoulder. Samantha blinked. Swallowed. Tried to nod. “I… I like these two,” she murmured, holding up a pale yellow tee with a bunny and a soft lilac one with glittery lettering. Her voice barely held together. Her hands were shaking. “They’re cute,” Holly said with a smile. “Good choices.” She turned to Karen. “Where’s your dressing room?” Karen brightened. “Oh! Just this way. Come on, cutie,” she said, looping her hand gently around Samantha’s arm and beginning to lead her across the floor. Samantha had no choice but to follow, her wet diaper squishing with each step, the dampness making her waddle more pronounced than ever. Karen didn’t mention it. Didn’t flinch. Just walked with her, cheerful and kind, like this was totally normal. “Those shirts are gonna look adorable on you,” Karen said kindly as they passed a rack of skirts. When they reached the dressing rooms, Karen turned back to Holly. “If you need anything, just holler, okay?” she said with a wink. Then, lowering her voice with a playful smirk, she added, “And feel free to change her in there if she needs it. There’s a trash can just outside the door.” Samantha’s stomach dropped, but before she could react, Karen had unlocked a room, smiled again, and walked away, humming to herself. Inside, the quiet of the dressing room wrapped around them. Samantha stood frozen for a moment, her eyes welling with tears. She couldn’t speak. Could barely think. The humiliation, the reality, the fullness of her diaper it was all crashing down on her at once. “I wanna go home,” she whispered, voice breaking. But Holly was already pulling wipes from the diaper bag, moving efficiently, calmly, as if none of this was out of the ordinary. “No,” Holly said gently. “We’re going to change your diaper, try on the shirts, and then we’ll leave.” Samantha opened her mouth to argue, but the look Holly gave her stopped her mid breath. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t cruel. It was just… final. Firm. Caretaker certainty. A look that said you will obey me because you want to be my good girl. Samantha deflated. Nodded. Holly patted the bench. “Lie down, baby.” She did. Holly’s hands moved quickly, unsnapping the shortalls, tugging them down, followed by the onesie. In moments, Samantha was lying on the bench in nothing but her very wet diaper and socks, the crinkled tapes peeling open with loud, unmistakable rips. Holly cleaned her with practiced ease—wipes cool, deliberate. She dusted Samantha with far too much baby powder, the scent billowing in the air, making her wrinkle her nose. “Too much,” Samantha mumbled. “You’ll be fine,” Holly said sweetly, taping up a fresh Safari diaper with that same casual authority. She folded up the used one, sealed it tightly, and set it aside. “Better powdered than rashy.” She helped Samantha back into her onesie, fastened the snaps, tugged the shortalls back up over the thick new diaper, and adjusted the straps. Then she held out the two shirts. “Try them on. Let’s see.” Samantha numbly pulled them over her head, one at a time, her arms sluggish. Holly nodded approvingly at the lilac one and handed it back. “That one. Let’s go.” She tossed the rolled up diaper in the trash can outside the door without hesitation and led Samantha by the hand to the front counter. Samantha didn’t look up. She just kept her gaze fixed to the floor as Holly paid for the shirt and said thank you to the cashier like it was the most ordinary transaction in the world. Outside, the sun was lower. The heat of the day was gone, but Samantha’s face was still burning. The sound of her shortalls brushing her thighs. The weight of the diaper. The ghost of the change room. It all clung to her. They reached the car. Holly clicked the remote. Samantha turned to her with wide eyes, voice cracking. “What the hell, Holly?” Holly didn’t miss a beat. Without a word, she reached down and took hold of the pacifier clipped to the front of Samantha’s shortalls, lifting it with two fingers and gently placing it back in her mouth like it belonged there. Then she stepped around to the backseat, opened the door, and pushed the buckles of the oversized restraint system out of the way, creating an inviting if incredibly humbling space for her passenger. “Hop in,” Holly said sweetly, her tone filled with faux patience. Samantha took the pacifier out, defiant. “No. I don’t want to get in.” Holly tilted her head, expression calm but unyielding. “You need to be a good girl and get in the seat. Now.” “I said I don’t want to.” Holly’s smile never faded. “Last chance to climb in like a big girl.” Samantha hesitated, thinking maybe if she just stood there long enough, the moment would pass. She stayed frozen. Holly moved. With surprising strength and the confidence of someone who had done this before, Holly placed one hand under Samantha’s backside and the other against her back, scooping her up with efficiency that startled Samantha. Samantha gasped, shocked as she was physically lifted, cradled just long enough to be set down squarely in the waiting seat. “What the—Holly!” But it was too late. Holly slid the chest straps around Samantha’s shoulders and clipped them together at the central buckle, the sound of the *click* slicing through her daze. That sound—the cold finality of it—snapped Samantha out of her stunned silence, and she began to fight. She squirmed, kicked, twisted. But Holly, calm as ever, simply maneuvered the crotch strap up between her thighs, threaded it through smoothly despite the resistance, and clicked it into the center ring. Another sharp *snap*. Then came the final insult: the tightening straps. Holly gave them a firm pull, securing everything, pinning Samantha down snugly. There was no give, no freedom. Only containment. And Holly, still silent, closed the door. Samantha could do nothing but squirm in the heavily cushioned restraint, rage and panic bubbling up until she exploded into a full on meltdown. “Let me out!” she snapped. “Holly, I swear to God, let me out!” But Holly said nothing. She climbed into the driver’s seat, set the diaper bag down in the front, buckled her seatbelt, and simply sat there. Samantha thrashed. Tugged at the harness. Writhed. But it didn’t budge. Her limbs grew tired, her breath short, her chest heaving as the reality settled into her bones. She wasn’t getting out. Not unless Holly said so. Five long minutes passed. Maybe more. Then silence. Samantha’s body finally stilled, limbs limp in the tight, unyielding grip of the straps. Her breathing slowed. And then, casually, Holly reached into the front pocket of the diaper bag and pulled out a bottle—sleek, oversized, filled with golden juice—and turned halfway to set it into the cupholder next to Samantha’s thigh. “Here,” she said gently. “Drink. It'll help you calm down.” Samantha didn’t argue. Didn’t snark. Didn’t protest. She just picked up the bottle, pressed the rubber nipple to her lips, and started to drink. The juice was cool and sweet. The sucking sound seemed louder now. The crinkling of her clothes, the pressure of the seat, the rhythmic pull on the bottle—it all conspired to remind her just how small she felt. How completely helpless. How much she had surrendered without ever really intending to. And Holly smiled, satisfied. “You done with your tantrum, sweetheart?” she asked, her tone saccharine, measured. Samantha, flushed and out of breath, nodded once. “Yeah.” “Okay,” Holly replied, calm and clear, as she started the engine. Chapter 9 The hum of the engine filled the car as Holly merged smoothly onto the road, one hand steady on the wheel, the other occasionally tapping along with the music playing low from the radio. “We’re gonna grab some food before heading home,” she said calmly, as if they weren’t both still processing everything that had just unfolded. In the backseat, secured tightly in her harness, Samantha didn’t argue. Her voice was quiet, soft, her earlier resistance wrung out of her. “I think I can handle that,” she said, almost more to herself than to Holly. Holly reached back with a glance in the rearview mirror, her hand brushing lightly along Samantha’s thigh through the denim of her shortalls. “I’m proud of you,” she said gently. The words hit with a strange warmth, unwelcome, comforting, humbling. Samantha didn’t respond right away, but the tight knot in her chest loosened just enough to breathe again. “You’ve done pretty well,” Holly added, her voice still even, but edged now with something more deliberate. “I know today’s been a lot. But I’ll be very clear, if there’s another outburst like that, where you ignore me or try to push back like earlier… you’ll be in real trouble. Understand?” Samantha nodded instinctively, but Holly’s voice sharpened just a little. “I need you to say it. “…I understand,” Samantha murmured. Holly smiled, her gaze flicking back again through the mirror. “Good girl.” That did something. Again. Samantha sat straighter in the seat, feeling a flutter of something that wasn’t quite shame or pride—but something. Ten minutes later, Holly pulled into the Chik-Fil-A parking lot, the golden glow of the red signage lighting up Samantha’s face. Her mood flipped on instinct. “I love* Chik-Fil-A,” she said, smiling for the first time in what felt like hours. Holly gave her a knowing look as she put the car in park. “I know, silly. That’s why we’re here.” She stepped out, came around to the back, and with the efficiency of someone who had done this many times, undid the straps, opened the door, and helped Samantha out of the seat. Her legs wobbled a bit due to part exhaustion, part lingering awkwardness from the still-present padding—but she followed along without protest as Holly led her inside. The smell of fried chicken hit them immediately. They stepped up to the counter. Holly placed their order without asking. “One chicken sandwich meal,” she said for herself. “And a twelve-count kids’ nugget meal.” Samantha blinked. She opened her mouth slightly but wisely said nothing. She caught Holly’s side glance and decided not to press her luck. The cashier handed them a placard for their table, and they made their way to a booth near the window. As they sat down, Samantha slid into her seat with a soft huff, leaning slightly across the table. “I can order my own food, you know,” she mumbled under her breath. Holly tilted her head. “Oh really?” she said with exaggerated curiosity, already reaching into the diaper bag perched beside her. Before Samantha could answer, Holly pulled out a bib and with a practiced flick draped it around Samantha’s neck, fastening it in the back like it was the most natural thing in the world. Samantha opened her mouth to protest, cheeks heating but Holly touched a finger lightly to her lips. “Would you rather eat in a high chair?” she asked sweetly. “I’m sure we could find one that fits.” Samantha immediately closed her mouth, shifting awkwardly. She didn’t know if that was a bluff or not, and she didn’t want to find out. Just then, a smiling team member approached with their food. “Here you go,” the server said cheerily, setting the tray down. Holly smiled and thanked them, then immediately went to work opening up Samantha’s sauces. First the ketchup followed by the Polynesian lining up the box of nuggets, the waffle fries, and the kid-sized drink in front of her like a curated display. Samantha watched silently, equal parts mortified and, inexplicably, a little warm inside. Holly leaned forward, elbows on the table, and tilted her head. “So,” she said, voice syrupy-smooth. “Can you feed yourself like a big girl… or do you need a little help?” Samantha didn’t know why she said it. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the lingering cocktail of embarrassment, defiance, submission, and something deeper—some barely understood craving for boundaries and care. Or maybe she just wanted to push, to see how far she could go. When Holly asked her if she needed help eating, Samantha met her gaze and replied with a bratty tilt of her head, “What do you think?” Her tone wasn’t loud, but it carried—playful, challenging, tinged with heat and tension. Holly raised an eyebrow. No immediate reaction. Just a quiet blink as her expression slowly morphed into something unreadable. She stood up. And switched seats. Now seated beside her, Holly reached into the diaper bag with unhurried purpose and pulled out something Samantha recognized immediately—an oversized bottle with a pastel cap. She unscrewed the top without saying a word, picked up the small carton of milk from Samantha’s tray, and poured it in. Then, loud enough for the booth behind them to hear: “Oh, sweetheart, if you needed help, you could’ve asked your babysitter.” Samantha froze, her eyes darting to the side to see if anyone had noticed. A couple was seated across the restaurant, not looking. Maybe they hadn’t heard. Maybe. But it didn’t matter—because Holly had already lifted the bottle and placed the silicone nipple to Samantha’s lips. “Open,” Holly said softly, firmly. Samantha shook her head. But Holly gently pressed the bottle forward until the nipple slid past her lips and she had no choice but to start sucking—or let it leak down her chin. The milk filled her mouth, warm and slightly sweet. She tried to push back with her tongue but Holly held the bottle steady, her other hand softly brushing the back of Samantha’s neck in a gesture that felt simultaneously intimate and dominating. Every slow, rhythmic pull from the bottle made Samantha more aware of how completely the control had shifted. Not just the feeding. Not just the public. Everything. When the bottle was empty, Holly smiled—too brightly—and, with that same exaggerated tone, said, “There’s my good girl. Drank her whole bottle like a champ.” Samantha’s cheeks burned hot. Then Holly opened the nugget box, dipped one into sauce, and without hesitation, brought it to Samantha’s mouth. “Open up. Here comes the train,” she cooed, her voice dancing on the edge of mockery and affection. Samantha hesitated just a beat too long—so Holly tapped her chin with the nugget. “Open.” She did. The sauce smeared the corner of her lip as Holly fed her nugget after nugget, switching between fries and chicken, sometimes double-dipping, sometimes smearing extra sauce on her cheek on purpose. She didn’t wipe it away. She just smiled, watching Samantha's composure drip slowly away. Samantha didn’t think she could sink deeper than she had at the department store. She was wrong. When the tray was nearly empty, Holly stood and wiped her hands with a napkin. “Sit tight, baby.” Samantha nodded, mute. She didn’t dare move. Holly returned a minute later with another bottle, this one fuller, colder, condensation clinging to the plastic. “Round two,” she said gently, sliding in beside her again. The nipple pressed to Samantha’s lips. She didn’t resist this time. She drank. And drank. By the time the bottle was empty, she was squirming in her seat. The pressure in her lower belly had grown to something uncomfortable. She shifted slightly, trying to find relief, but the bulk of her padding and the tightness of the shortalls made it impossible. Then Holly did something unexpected. She slipped her hand behind Samantha and began patting—slow, rhythmic. Samantha stiffened, immediately understanding what it was meant to mimic. “Don’t” she started. But it was too late. A belch escaped her lips. It was loud, involuntary, humiliating. And right behind it, a slow, warm release that she couldn’t stop. The pressure in her bladder gave out, flooding the already thick padding of her diaper. Her thighs trembled. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself as the wet warmth spread, absorbed, pressed back against her. Holly just smiled. She wiped Samantha’s face calmly with a napkin, collected the trash, and tidied up their booth. Before leaving, Holly reached down the short tails driving her fingers to the leg cuffs of the diaper announcing loud enough for anyone to hear, “You wet your diaper. But it should be fine until we can get home and change you”. Then they left. Samantha followed, quiet, heavy between the legs, unsure whether she was numb or soaring. It was a strange in-between. Back at the car, Holly opened the back door and helped her into the seat again. Then she buckled the chest strap, then the crotch, pulling everything tight again with a tug that pressed the damp padding snugly into place. The door clicked shut. Samantha exhaled. And the car began to roll. The car slowed to a stop in the driveway, and the familiar quiet of home settled over them like a blanket. Holly stepped out first, then opened the back door and began unbuckling Samantha from her harness. There was no struggle this time. Just silence, and a calm that settled between them in the cooling air. Once the final strap clicked free, Samantha climbed out on her own. The wet padding between her thighs made her walk stiff and slow, her shortalls pulled awkwardly by the weight of it. Still, she followed Holly to the front door without a word. Inside, the house was quiet and dim. Holly dropped the diaper bag on its usual spot by the door and turned to face her. She didn’t say anything right away. Just stepped forward and pulled Samantha into a long, warm hug. “You did great,” Holly murmured into her ear. “Really, really great.” Samantha nodded against her shoulder, a small, almost bashful smile on her face. The hug wasn’t just comforting. It anchored her, reassured her that the whirlwind of the day had a soft landing. “We’re done for the evening,” Holly said as she pulled back. “Do you want help getting changed?” Samantha shook her head. “No… I’m tired. I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” Holly nodded with understanding, then reached into the bag from earlier and handed her the new shirt they’d picked out. “Here. This can be a little keepsake from your session.” Samantha took it in both hands, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric. As she turned to leave, Holly smirked and walked past her until she felt a sudden, firm swat land squarely on her backside. She stopped, slowly turning with an exaggerated arch of her brow. Samantha stood there, trying to look innocent. Holly gave a sly smile. “Good night, you naughty girl.” Then, as she walked off toward her own room, she called over her shoulder, playful and amused: “If I didn’t know any better… I’d think you were trying to earn yourself one last spanking before bed.”

I started writing about a new OC a while ago, finally found this so I am going to repost it here! ------------------------------------------ Thorn Thorn was just your average college freshmen with a secret. She wore diapers. She had to wear diapers after all. She was completely bladder incontinent. She had unfortunately been for as long as she could remember. She had tried so hard to keep the secret from her friends. For the most part of her life, her mother was the only one that knew about her issue. It wasn’t that she had to have her mother change her diapers. But it was easier. This arrangement was favourable up until she left her home to go live on her own. Thorn was currently living in a dorm on her new college campus. She supported herself by working at the local college library. It was good work, but to avoid any suspicions from people she took frequent trips to the bathroom, even though she didn’t know when she went- it was, for most of the time to change her own diapers. The woman in charge of the library, Ms. Smith eventually got suspicious of her running in and out of the bathroom every hour and confronted her about her odd behaviour. Well, it looks like the cat was out of the bag. Thorn begging her not to tell anyone, it was already embarrassing that she had to wear diapers, let alone someone or everyone else knowing. Ms. Smith didn’t react in the way that she thought she would. Instead she was very understanding and compassionate about the whole situation. “As long as it doesn’t effect your work anymore then it shouldn’t concern me”. She said. Thorn was almost revealed about it. But she had to work her schedule around it, still checking her diaper from time to time while she was working. Eventually Ms. Smith told her not to worry about bathroom breaks and just work through them. Thorn was reluctant at first, telling her that she would need a change at the end of her shift. To her surprise- Ms. Smith agreed! Even going so far as to check her diapers for her and change her if she need be! But thorn refused, telling her that she didn’t anyone else to change her diapers or look after her. “Now don’t be silly, I don’t want you to walk around with a smelly wet diaper all day because you forgot to change yourself!”. She explained. Thorn told her that she was being over protective and that she wasn't her mother. So it came as a surprise when she had forgotten her offer. Thorn turned around at the end of her shift to find Ms. Smith there, holding a ruler in one hand. Ms. Smith would lift the front of Thorn’s skirt up with the end of the ruler without a word, causing the young woman to blush. “Hey! C-cut that out!”. She replied. “Ah I thought so, you are wet again young lady!’. The librarian replied. Thorn pulled her skirt back down, her face bright red. “T-thank you… let me go change…”. She said, excusing herself to the bathroom. To Thorn’s surprise, Ms. Smith followed her to the bathroom. She looked at her as she got a spare diaper from her backpack. “I told you, I can do this myself!”. Ms. Smith only smiled. “I know you can dear.”. She replied. Much to her surprise Ms. Smith took her spare diaper and proceed to lay it out on the floor. “But never turn down help where it comes!”. She said. “Besides, I can keep a secret!”. She said, giving a warm smith at Thorn. Thorn gave an inwards sigh as she removed her wet diaper. It was going to be a long year, that was for sure. It was a cool Saturday evening when Thorn got home to her apartment. She immediately ran to her bathroom and took a shower, but not before removing her diaper and preparing a new change of clothes for herself- along with a fresh diaper. She was finally home, and she was going to relax the only way she knew how. Thorn stepped out of the shower after a few minutes- or until she decided she was relatively clean for her standards. She looked over her change of clothes, a simple teeshirt with a pink dress and pink stockings, a pair overalls, fuzzy white slippers and of course the brand new diaper. It was time to relax. One she was changed into her new clothes she sat in front of the television. Her eyes glazed over the flashing cartoons as she immersed herself into the channel she was watching. It was time to just completely shut her brain off as she took a sip of a juice box that was next to her on the coffee table. A small smile fell across her face as she begun to relax. Her thumb going reflexivity up to her mouth as she begun to suck on it. The weekend was the only time that she could actually have time to herself and not worry about anything. This was her routine, it was her only bit of peace of mind in this crazy world, and no one was going to judge her- at least no one was going to know that she secretly enjoyed this lifestyle. But yes, not even the people closest to her knew it. Honestly that was how she liked it, it was her private life. No one needed to know about her private life after all. That was the way it was, and it always has been for as long as she could remember when she first indulged in this type of thing. Thorn got a little bit too relaxed it would seem and she felt her diaper getting warm and tight against her crotch, but she didn’t care- she was too busy watching treehouse, watching the backyard creatures play pretend. A knock on her front door snapped her out of her little-space and she felt her face going red hot. She quickly stood up, and made her way over to her door. Thorn looked through the peephole in her door. “Who is it?”. She asked aloud. “Its Ms. Smith, dear!”. A voice replied back to her. Ms. Smith was standing in front of her door, and she appeared to be holding something in her hand. Thorn felt her heart beat in her chest, she tried to speak, but it was hard to find her voice. “What do you want?”. She said, unintentionally sounding more rude than she meant to come off as. Thorn stared though the peephole, and tried to see what the Librarian was holding in her hands. Ms. Smith gave a clear of her throat, holding up a textbook in front of the peephole, assuming that she was looking through it. Thorn was surprised to see it. “You left your textbook in my office, dear!”. She responded to Thorn. Oh crap, she did leave it at the college’s library. She panicked, not sure what she should do. Should she asked her to just leave it? Should she lie? Say that she was sick? A lot of ideas raced through Thorn’s head. There came another knock at the door as the librarian called out again. “Thorn, are you still there?”. Ms. Smith asked, placing her hand on the handle of the door only to find that was in fact open. “Thorn, I-“. She was just about to say as she opened the front door to her apartment. What she saw stood in front of her was something she didn’t expect to see. It was Thorn. She was dressed in a childish outfit that appeared to be way too young for her. “MS. SMITH! I CAN EXPLAIN!!!”. Thorn cried out, placing her arms over herself to try and hide the outfit that she was wearing out of desperation. They didn’t say anything for a solid thirty seconds, and just stared at each other. A small warm smile laid across the librarians face, simply handing Thorn the textbook as her other hand went up to her mouth. The book was quickly snatched up by the young woman and held against her bosom. “Please don’t tell anyone about this…”. She said to Ms. Smith. The older woman only placed her hands on either side of her hips and shook her head. Her face was bright red, and she couldn’t hold back her true feelings anymore. “Dear, I thought I told you…” She wiped at her eyes, removing her glasses as she did so. Thorn looked at her offended. “Your secrets are safe with me!”. She said, reassuring the girl that she was not making fun of her. Ms. Smith took a step back, and thorn looked up from hugging her textbook. “T-thank you…” She said, turning around and placing the book on her coffee table. She turned back to look at Ms. Smith. “Do you have a fresh diaper?” The woman asked. Thorn gave a tiny yelp as she realized that she had in fact wet herself again with realizing it. The librarian gave a smirk. “Do you want me to help you with that?”. She asked. Thorn blushed, but gave a nod of her head, realizing that she would need help getting out of all these clothes.

Would love to do a roleplay slightly based off a video I watched. This guy was diapered and breastfed forcefully by two girls but I would switch it up and have it being a girl with two other girls. I will be playing the one that's babied and I will play one of the girls. My character is gonna be a highschool student at a college sorority party and two students find out that my character is in highschool not college. So to teach her a lesson about going to a party you weren't invited to and because she's young, they pull her into a private nursery and force her to be their baby.

Hello everyone, This is the first chapter of my latest story. This is currently being published chapter by chapter on my Patreon and will be available in its entirety later this year. You can find the latest chapters at patreon.com/alex_bridges. All characters are 18+ Chapter 1 It’s not like I did it on purpose. I’m not sorry, but it’s not like I did it on purpose. I babysit three times a week on average, more like five times in the summer. I want to pay for as much of college as I can in cash, and childcare pays better than retail or waiting tables. Especially now that schools keep opening and closing, parents are desperate for a night away. For me, an opportunity to make more money, which I need. I’m not going to risk my reputation as the best sitter in town just because of a little mix up. “Hi, Mrs. Rooney,” I said when she opened the door. “Hi, Sally. Come on in. Thanks for coming over on short notice.” I followed her into her kitchen; the Rooneys always have good stuff in the fridge. I didn’t get where I am as a sitter by abusing fridge privileges, but I don’t pass up the benefit either. She was dressed to the nines. I never asked, but it always seemed like she and Mr. Rooney must be going someplace expensive. Just based on their house alone, they must be one of the richer families I sit for. They’re not wealthy, but they got the upper-middle-class thing down pat. Literally the only people I know whose entryway it an actual room. “Always happy to when I can,” I replied, “I like Jamie and Jackie.” Well behaved kids, easy to get along with. “O, they’re both at friends’ houses tonight. It’ll just be you and Gordy tonight. Is that okay?” Like I couldn’t tell this ‘misunderstanding’ was totally on purpose. She had this guilty, pleading look on her face, but that was so beside the point. “Gordon? Really?” I knew Gordon. More specifically, I’ve known him since kindergarten, which would make fourteen years we’ve known each other. We graduated a little over year ago in the same class; we were even in the same twelfth grade homeroom, and now we’re both sophomores townies at the same college. I’ve sat for the Rooneys more than a few times, and Gordon was, obviously, never one of my charges. I just figured that was because he was the same age as me. Come to think of it, he was never even home when I sat for the kids because if he was, why would they need me to watch the kids? “I wouldn’t ask. Normally he spends the night at my sister’s or a friend’s house when you’re over, but he can’t tonight.” Like, but he’s … “But why does he need a sitter? He’s twenty. He’s, like, a month older than me, right?” And I’m also twenty. “Yes, but I don’t like leaving him alone if it can be helped.” “O … kay. So we’ll just watch a movie, I guess.” Get paid a hundred bucks to watch a movie with one of my peers? Weird, but fine by me. We’re not friends exactly, but we’re friendly. We were sorta friends when we were younger, but less so once we got to middle school. Gordon’s not exactly Mister Popular. Everyone’s nice to him, though, and he seems nice enough too. Just … different crowds. “Not exactly. I can explain fast, but we’re running late.” “That’s fine. I’ll stay.” “O, thank you. We just really need a night out, and since he got in trouble on campus today, he’s not allowed to go to his friend’s house and my sister already had plans and …” Didn’t really need her life story. “Whatever. It’s fine. Just tell me what’s up,” I said with a dab of false cheer to cover my WTF. She’s running late; I’m getting paid whether she tells me all this other stuff or not, so hey, let’s skip to the part I need to know, right? “Gordy,” Mrs. Rooney said, “come sit at the table with us. I want you to hear all of this so you can’t say you didn’t know later.” I followed her eyes, and color me surprised to see Gordon – Gordy at home, apparently; he always hated being called that in school – standing in the corner in his pajamas at six o’clock. I know the difference between lazy around-the-house-clothes and jammies, and those were definitely jammies. He shuffled over blushing all the way to his ears as he kept his eyes pointed at the floor. We all took a seat at the table. I couldn’t tell if he as about to cry, tantrum, or both, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did. If I were him, I’d probably have broken something and peeled out of the driveway while flipping the bird. I mean, we’re not kids. We’re not even teenagers. We’re way too old for a babysitter by about eight years. “First off,” Mrs. Rooney said, “do you know about Gordy’s issue?” “His diapers? Yeah.” Like he could keep that a secret for since literally the entire time I’d known him. No one made fun of him for it, not in a long time. Kindergarten and maybe first grade a little, but even in kindergarten it quickly became normal: our class had a kid in diapers. An adult in diapers now. And he’s not on the spectrum or delayed or anything. I don’t know what the issue is cuz it’s none of my business, but he’s always been in diapers, at least so far as I know. You’d have to be dense to have not figured it out within the first week of kindergarten. And if even if you were dense, when we got to middle school and had to change for gym, I think they let him change in a private stall or something, but you could totally hear him crinkling through those shorts. And no one teased him. Gordon wears diapers, always has; he went to the nurse a couple times a day, and we all knew why. If anything, people in school were kind of protective of him even though he didn’t need it. I even heard a rumor that when a new kid asked about it in tenth grade, the biggest bully in our class hauled off and punched him just to make it perfectly clear no one bullies Gordon. “You’ll need to check and change him tonight.” Just when I thought Gordon – well, when in Rome – Gordy couldn’t bow his head any lower. “Uh, he doesn’t do that himself? Or can’t he?” You don’t get to be the most sought-after babysitter in town by being squeamish about changing diapers, but one fact I do know: toddlers make bigger messes than newborns, and twenty-year-old Gordy has about a hundred and five pounds on the average two-year-old. Though come to think of it, I didn’t know if Gordy needed diapers for that or just for wetting accidents. In the brief second I had to consider that, it occurred to me even a toddler who still has wetting accidents is usually in a pull-up, not a full blown diaper. Our school’s gym shorts covered everything, but there was no mistaking Gordy’s underpants for a pull-up. He wears diapers. “Gordy got a diaper rash last week. If he wants the privilege of changing his own diapers, he needs to be responsible about it, which means no rashes. I’m sorry to even ask you to change him, but I like to be very consistent with the rules, and the rule is if he gets a diaper rash, no changing his own diapers for a month.” Not surprised exactly. She’s one of the stricter parents I sat for. So yeah, she’s his stepmom, but she’s not really an evil stepmom. She’s just a stickler for rules. I was afraid to ask this and very sorry to have to ask it in front of Gordy, poor little guy, but I had to. “Um, does he … both ways?” I guess I could’ve asked him, but he seemed like he’d rather have a hole swallow him than answer any questions. “He doesn’t usually have a dirty diaper in the evening.” “Still …” “Two hundred for the night,” Mrs. Rooney said before I could finish the sentence we both knew I was in the middle of saying. “Two-fifty.” Hey, I’m not one to miss an opportunity. Do you know what books cost for just one semester? “Done.” “Sorry,” I said under my breath to Gordy. I felt bad enough for him that she was making him have a sitter, but how much worse for him to hear what it costs to get someone to look after him, which he doesn’t want anyway, and pretty obvious why anyone would want extra to sit for him. So yes, I felt bad for him, but it’s just … the ‘usually’ in ‘doesn’t usually have a dirty diaper in the evening’ sorta stands out like sore thumb in that sentence, right? It would if you were me, and I am me. “And another thing,” Mrs. Rooney said. “Mommmm,” he whined. A little spark of rebellion flashed in his eyes. I didn’t know about what, but that’s what you expect from someone his age. I guess I understand if life’s circumstances made him a little more likely to give in than lash out even when any of the boys we graduated with most of the girls would’ve told their stepmom where to go by now. “Gordon, last warning.” I looked from her to him, and that little spark turned into a little water, and he looked back down at the table. “As I was saying, Gordon got in trouble on campus today and is grounded, so he’s not spending the night at a friend’s like he normally does. Why don’t you tell the story, Gordy, since you think you’re old enough to say anything you want?” Did I say ‘stepmom’, cuz I meant ‘bitch.’ And Mrs. Rooney is not normally a bitch, so that got me more than a little curious what exactly he’d done to piss her off so mightily. On top of which, it’s not exactly easy to get in trouble on campus. I mean, we’re adults. You can do some seriously stupid stuff on campus without getting in trouble. He sighed and answered, “I called called someone … a name.” “The ‘C’ word,” his stepmom clarified. Or should I say his very reasonable, no more pissed off than she had a right to be (but could still be a whole lot more chill and even more thoughtful) stepmom clarified. “Gordy actually called a woman the ‘C’ word.” “But she …” Gordy tried to defend his actions. “I know what she said, and you had every right to be angry with her, but that is not how you talk to or about women. You know that, and losing your temper is not an excuse for using a slur.” She turned back to me. “I already washed his mouth out, but that language also earned him a bedtime spanking.” “A sp … O … kay.” Of all the ways my day could’ve gone, didn’t see this one coming. Like, at all. I personally never got why some parents get so bent out of shape about bad words (how bad can they be when you can turn on network TV and hear most of them?), and I didn’t really get why she cared given that – did I mention it six times already? – Gordy is twenty years old. On the other hand … now I understood why Mrs. Rooney was taking it so seriously. It’s not that big a deal if you think of the ‘C’ word as a swear, but if you think of it as a slur, yeah, much bigger deal. I guess it depends on how you use it, cuz I could see how it could be a slur, but I’ve always thought of it more as a swear. Not that my opinion meant anything in the circumstances. I’m the babysitter – I literally just work here. “I’m too old,” Gordy interjected probably (more like definitely) more loudly than someone in his position should’ve. I mean, I agree with him, but he still should’ve just kept quiet. There’s standing up for yourself, and then there’s digging the hole deeper. If she had already washed his mouth out (ick!), not let him go out with friends, and hired a sitter for him, I couldn’t imagine any argument, not matter how obviously valid, changing her mind. Mrs. Rooney is a fit woman; I’ve seen her play a heckuva game of tennis at the club, so not a surprise she could be on her feet and have her stepson by the ear so damn fast. Gordy’s not the first kid I’ve gone to babysit and found standing in a timeout; or the first kid I’ve gone to sit and seen spank-marched to the nearest corner for corner time; or even the first kid I’ve sat for who earned a spanking on my watch. But he was the first kid I’ve sat for who wasn’t, ya know, an actual kid. He may have crinkled all the way to the corner; he may have eeped a little when she tugged his ear; he may have tried to get out of the way of her hand as she delivered those underhand spanks; and he may even be kinda cute in a boyish kind of way, but definitely an adult. One whose birthday actually comes before mine. Diapered or not, adult. “Not another word,” Mrs. Rooney warned him, “or I’ll take your pants down right here. You just stand there and listen.” And damn did she mean it, even in evening wear. That tone? Enough to make me almost jump out of my chair to find my own corner and listen. “Are we ready, honey,” Mr. Rooney asked as he appeared from somewhere. Not that I wanna be that babysitter, but Mr. Rooney can take me anywhere so long as he’s wearing his tux. Shawl collar? Makes him seem even taller. No mistaking him for your waiter. And who even goes places that are black tie? “Just a minute,” Mrs. Rooney replied and picked up the pace; they probably had a reservation at one of those places you have to reserve six months ahead of time. Anyway, she continued quickly with, “He takes a bath on Fridays, not a shower. When he gets out of the bath, please give him his spanking. His diaper comes down, and he goes over your knee. He knows where to the hairbrush is. Then it’s straight to bed. Lights out at 9:30. That means no dawdling in the tub, Gordy. Out at 9:15. Understood?” He either understood or he didn’t want to risk saying anything he had every right to say but shouldn’t unless he wanted two spankings in one day. “Any questions,” she asked me. “So … on his … bare?” “Have you ever given a spanking before?” “Yeah … Well, a swat on their reset button,” I said, oddly embarrassed. I mean, most parents don’t even spank anymore, let alone allow – let alone ask! – a sitter to do it. I’ve tapped a tantruming toddler on the bottom before, but that’s not even a spanking. “Are you okay doing it? I wouldn’t ask, but the rule is a bedtime spanking. It’s best for them to get their consequence as soon as possible, and Gordy really needs the structure.” I guess that was all Gordy could take. “But she can’t! She’s the same age as me!” There was silence as Mrs. Rooney turned and looked at him like he was out of his mind. I thought he was in his exact right mind, but if I had to live with her, always strict like she is and and just then downright exuding this weird kind of determined, calm-but-pissed-off vibe she was giving off, I think I’d have kept my mouth shut. I think he realized that too cuz he didn’t say anything else or turn around. So that was two outbursts (justified if unwise) since I’d gotten there plus calling someone the ‘C’ word all in one day. Talk about your verbal incontinence. I don’t feel very strongly about spanking one way or the other. It didn’t do me any harm – though the last one I got was in third or fourth grade, and it was pretty rare before then too – but I’m not one of those crazy people who thinks you can’t possibly raise godly tomatoes (or whatever asinine phrase the bible bunch uses) without it. Still, I was the babysitter. It’s kind of my critical to my job to not let “you’re just the babysitter so you can’t XYZ” slide. On the one hand, pick your battles. On yet another hand, some battles you gotta fight. So I got up and connected that hand hard with Gordy’s butt. “I’m the babysitter. I’m in charge. And if your stepmom says you’re getting a spanking, you’re getting a spanking.” Two bonuses to stepping up like I did. First, and this wasn’t the main thing but was intentional, Mrs. Rooney smiled thinly and stood up, not to follow up on her threat to spank Gordy but to leave. Good riddance. Who needs those vibes around? Second, unintentional bonus: holy crap did I feel more powerful than I ever have in my life. And turned on. My promise ring didn’t make the journey from youth group to my mom’s car, but never I felt the way I did right then without a D or a D-cell battery before. Downside? Gordy finally lost it and started sniffling. I know the two spanks I landed didn’t actually hurt through his diaper, but I’m sure he was feeling about two inches tall having his college classmate spank him on his diaper while telling him she could and would give him a real spanking later that same night. I hated that I made him feel that way, even if I was just his stepmom’s instrument in this case. But also, and I feel guilty for saying this, it kinda added to the whole arousal hearing him sniffle. So … there’s a thing I learned about myself that night. Mrs. Rooney said to me, “I think you’ll do fine, but if you have any questions, Gordy will answer them. Not his first trip over a knee.” “Another fifty.” Did I say that? Good for me! “That’s fair. Edward,” she called out to wherever Mr. Rooney had gone, “ready when you are.” To me she said, “Thank you again and sorry for all the fuss. I didn’t want to call just anyone over. I trust you. He may not want you here, but I told him you’d keep everything between us, won’t you?” “Of course.” Also, ‘may not?’ Try resented the hell out of it, understandably so. And I resented the hell out of her asking me to sit and springing this on me. “We’ll be home very late.” “I know. I’ll probably be asleep on the couch when you get home.” I stood against the doorframe and watched Mr. Rooney count out three hundred dollars and put it next to the pizza money. I told them to have fun. She called me a godsend and barely avoided the door hitting her on the butt on the way out. To my right, Gordy in the corner, no longer sniffling but still staring at the wall on his naughty spot. To my left, three hundred dollars on the counter just for spanking and diapering a grown man. If I’d only known about this cottage industry sooner! Heck, I’d have paid off my car by now. Go to patreon.com/alex_bridges to continue reading