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  1. Big shoutout to BabySofia for allowing me a special journey at Emerson… Prologue Prologue I double-checked the stack of papers on my desk, the sheen of the ticket to Amazonia catching the afternoon light filtering through the window. My thumb brushed over the official seal stamped on the invitation from Emerson University. It was real, as real as the hum of excitement in my veins. "Hey, Bix, look what happened!" Eric's voice, laced with a hint of mischief, pulled me from my reverie. I turned to see him holding up a mangled action figure, its arm hanging by a thread. "You didn't 'accidentally' step on it again, did you?" I arched an eyebrow at him. His sheepish grin betrayed him. "Maybe it fought one too many battles?" With a chuckle, I took the toy from his outstretched hand. "Superheroes need a break too, you know." In no time, I had the arm secured back in place. Eric snatched the figure back with a grin. "You're the best, Bix!" The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room. "Alright, time to gear up for bed." He groaned, dragging his feet like he was wading through mud. "But I don't wanna…” "You know the drill," I said firmly. "No discussion." Pouting, Eric trudged off to his room and returned moments later, his posture slumped but his Drynite in place under his pajamas. I gave him a quick once-over. "Good job." A nod of approval and he beamed like he'd won a medal. We settled into the couch as the screen flickered to life with his favorite animated adventure. Our mom would be home soon to join us—just another evening for us Echavoyen boys. —— Eric snuggled closer, his head resting against my side. The heroes on screen leaped and dodged with impossible grace, but I could feel the tension in Eric's small frame. "Bix," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the action unfolding on TV. "You're gonna be so far away. What if I can't talk to you?" I pulled out the sleek, dedicated phone from my pocket and waved it gently in front of him. "Got this just for us, kiddo. We'll chat every day. Pinky promise." His eyes lit up, reflecting the colors dancing across the screen. "For real?" "Cross my heart." I hooked my pinky with his, sealing the deal. As the show reached its climax, I glanced down at Eric's waistline. Absently, my hand patted his hip, checking the Drynite beneath his pajamas. Eric caught my motion and giggled. "Still dry, Bix! No leaks!" "Good job, little bro." My words might've been casual, but pride swelled in my chest. It was one less thing for him to worry about with me gone. He beamed up at me, all worry momentarily forgotten as we lost ourselves in the world of capes and daring rescues. The credits rolled, and the room was filled with a silence that seemed louder than the show's final explosions. I glanced down at Eric, his eyelids heavy, fighting the inevitable. "C'mon, time to hit the hay," I murmured, scooping him up in my arms. He mumbled a protest but nestled into my shoulder, his breaths deepening. As I carried him to his room, the softness of his hair against my cheek reminded me how much I'd miss these little moments. His room was a fortress of blankets and plush toys, a sanctuary for a ten-year-old with an imagination as vast as the sea outside our door. Gently, I laid him down on his bed, the action figure from earlier clutched in his hand like a talisman. With practiced ease, I checked his Drynite one last time—no dampness, no telltale warmth of an accident. A small victory for him and a relief for me. "Stay dry for me while I'm gone, okay?" I whispered more to myself than to him. His response was a sleepy nod as he turned onto his side, still half in the realm of dreams. Leaning over, I planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Eric," I said softly. I flicked off the light and closed the door behind me with a quiet click. My room awaited me—a tangle of clothes and scattered textbooks. The weight of my upcoming journey pressed on my shoulders like the gravity of another world. Collapsing onto my bed, thoughts of Amazonia and its giants swirled in my mind. But as I lay there in the dark, exhaustion crept over me like an incoming tide. My eyelids grew heavy and soon, without even intending to, I slipped into sleep's embrace. The illusion of normalcy Chapter 1 The hum of the car's engine played a soothing backdrop to my racing heart. Every kilometer we covered, the weight of my anticipation grew, pressing against my chest like a physical force. Mom's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, her eyes flickering to the rearview mirror to catch glimpses of Eric and me. "Almost there," she murmured, as much to herself as to us. Eric, perched on the edge of his seat, clutched the contraption I'd given him. His fingers danced over the gears and levers, eyes narrowed in concentration. I couldn't help but smile at his determination. "What does this do, Bix?" he asked, fumbling with a particularly stubborn cog. I leaned back, crossing my arms behind my head. "You've got six months to figure it out." He huffed, a playful scowl forming on his face. "That's not fair! Give me a hint!" "Nope," I replied with a smirk. "Where's the fun in that?" Mom chuckled, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror again. "Bixente, don't tease your brother too much." "Aw, come on, Mom. It's part of the charm of being siblings, you know big bro little bro thingies” Eric finally managed to rotate the cog, which triggered a series of clicks and whirrs within the device. His face lit up like he'd discovered fire. "Did you hear that? It did something!" I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "The first secret unlocked." Mom took a turn into the University of Bordeaux campus with practiced ease. My heart leapt; this was it—the gateway to Amazonia was just within reach. "You sure you packed everything?" Mom asked as she parked. "Three times over," I assured her. "Can't be too careful when stepping into another universe." Eric snorted and muttered something about forgetting my brain. I ruffled his hair. "Better not forget your padding at night while I'm gone." It was an old jab but delivered with affection that only brothers understand. Eric swatted my hand away but couldn't hide his grin. "Yeah? And you better not wet yourself from excitement over there." We all laughed—a mixture of nerves and joy—as I shouldered my bag and stepped out of the car. Mom followed suit and wrapped me in a hug so tight it could've rivaled any Amazonian embrace. "Be safe," she whispered. "I will." I hugged her back just as fiercely. Then it was Eric's turn. He looked up at me with those big eyes that held worlds within them—worlds I was about to leave behind for a while. "I'll figure this out before you're back," he said, holding up the contraption with determined pride. "I don't doubt it for a second," I replied, giving him one last squeeze. With their goodbyes still warming my ears, I turned towards destiny—towards Amazonia—and didn't look back. I tread across the university courtyard, each step echoing with the promise of the unknown. The scene around me buzzes like a beehive on a summer day. Students clutch their loved ones in drawn-out embraces, murmurs of encouragement blending with the rustle of luggage and the soft thuds of back-pats. I drink it all in—the poignant mix of excitement and sorrow that hangs heavy in the air. Some, like me, are solo travelers, their eyes reflecting a fierce kind of solitude. It's in these solitary figures I find a kinship, each of us about to step into a world that'll stretch our very sense of self. A group of girls nearby giggle nervously, one biting her lip as she scans a holographic checklist projected from her wristband. Her gaze catches mine, and for a brief moment, we share an unspoken understanding before she turns back to her friends. Taking a deep breath, I adjust my backpack and head towards the portal's entrance. The building looms ahead—a fusion of stone and steel cradling the gate to Amazonia within its modern embrace. My hand grazes the sleek surface of the door as it slides open silently, welcoming me into its depths. Inside, the air is cooler, tinged with an electric charge that makes my hair stand on end. I follow the signs to the departure lounge, my steps measured and deliberate. Walls adorned with vivid murals depict scenes from Amazonia—towering figures walking alongside lush vegetation that dwarfs even them. A voice breaks through my reverie, "You look ready for an adventure." I turn to see an attendant with a knowing smile. She hands me a pamphlet—'Your Guide to Amazonia: What to Expect.' I offer her a grateful nod and tuck it into my pocket for later. Ahead lies the portal corridor; it beckons like an outstretched hand. The threshold pulses with energy that seems alive, whispering secrets of what lies beyond. I pause at its entrance. This is it—the cusp of everything new. My pulse quickens as I step forward into the corridor's embrace, leaving behind the echoes of farewells and stepping toward a chorus of hellos that await in another world.
  2. (Yes, I know I should continue my Dragon Quest AR story, but three ideas for this site have really struck me lately - one of which, thus far, is eighty-four Google Doc pages thus far, and likely will push into the 500-page range. No, this is not that story; I want to absolutely finish it before posting here - and this is the one I've found the most time working on lately, so this is the story I'm gonna post here. I don't know at what intervals I can post it; I thought I had it with the Dragon Quest story, but I have three chapters done so far, and I'm closing in on a fourth and more. Let's just say a monthly updating schedule?) (Anyway, this is Salutatorians! It's a much darker spin on a Daddy Dom-Little Girl story, not because of any punishments or sexual stuff in particular - the former because I'm not into punishments by a parental figure because I've had those punishments done as a kid for no reason in the past and I'm averse to it, and the latter because I'm a virgin and won't write sex scenes when I have no idea how to write them - but because of just how dark this story gets for the characters. As trigger warnings, suicide, mental illness, violence, abuse of children (including sexual (not shown), physical, and emotional), domestic violence, cursing (including sexist rhetoric), and explicit description of injury (including blood, broken bones, and torn ligaments).) (If you haven't been scared off yet, I promise to write this story to the best of my ability, and I promise that, while I will not shy away from any of those trigger warnings, I will write it as tactfully and as respectfully to those who still wish to read it as I possibly can. These things are not in the story for anything other than plot reasons; this, I swear with all of my heart and soul. But I've said my piece. It's up to you if you want to read or not. I hope you'll read, but I won't be upset if you don't; I'm writing this story as much for me as for you.) --- Chapter One: Yet Another Date. --- Eiluned Mostyn was silent as she prepared her large black tote bag, black gloves, an ankle-length black hooded down coat, and a hot-pink scarf for the cold February Minnesota weather, ready for another dinner date. The college sophomore - formerly from Torfaen, Wales (Cwmbran, if one wanted to get personal) - had tried for a fair few dates with men on Tinder. Those fair few had claimed they were Welsh, claimed they knew her from school or whatever, claimed a lot of things that, after she dug deeper, weren’t true. She always ended up swiping left for most of the cases, and the few dates she had gone for had gone nowhere. This new guy seemed interesting…because she remembered him from a long while back. Ifor Sealy. Just a month older than she was, both of them being twenty years of age. Moved to Tennessee from Wales like she had (except he had been from Bridgend). She remembered him from middle school in eighth grade before she moved away to Minnesota the following year, and lost contact with him. And now he showed up? Out of the blue? Like nothing ever happened? Sure, Eiluned had done her research; the profile proved that he was exactly who he said he was, and for some reason, according to his Facebook and Twitter pages, he had transferred to Minnesota - THE University of Minnesota, where she was studying mechanical engineering - for reasons all his own (i.e., football). But why? Why had he moved here, of all the places he could’ve moved? Surely it didn’t have to do with…her, right? No, couldn’t be. Absolutely couldn’t be! She shook her head and shivered as she stepped into the chilly evening air, got into her car - a beat up Honda - turned the key into the ignition, and drove off to the meeting site: Hell’s Kitchen Minneapolis, a popular hotspot for the college crowd. It wasn’t that far, but she didn’t feel comfortable walking to dates. Too many horror stories, and she was smarter than that. She was one of the best students, a salutatorian in her Minnesota high school. She worked hard for everything she had. And yet… Eiluned froze, trying to drive…it out of her mind. It was her own horror story that made her this way. She didn’t want to think about it. It was something she had worked hard to get rid of, and yet, it was always at the back of her mind, and it stayed there on the short drive to the place, all the way until she pulled into the parking lot, where Ifor was already there, apparently waiting for her. The first thing about Ifor that she noted was that he was a lot bigger than her (although she shouldn’t have been surprised; he was an offensive line transfer from Vanderbilt). She was small at 5’1”, 105 pounds, and he absolutely dwarfed her, like a full-grown redwood tree would dwarf a sapling; he had to be 6’7”, 295 pounds. His hair was down past his shoulder blades, a curly ginger mop that he had tucked away from his gleaming ocean-blue eyes; he wouldn’t have looked out of place in a movie about Celtic warriors, except for his gap-toothed grin showing a playful side of him. He wore a coat that was a surprising fit over a black dress shirt, khaki pants, and a pair of worn brown boots that looked like they had at least been cleaned for the date. Well, you certainly dressed to impress, Ifor. Now what do you want? Eiluned sighed, brushing her dark-brown bangs away from her sage-green eyes. "Helo, Ifor,” she began calmly. “Shwmae?” "Da iawn, diolch, Eiluned,” he replied with an accent that was decidedly not Welsh, yet somehow seeming natural to those words; he was a man who had obviously grown up in a Welsh family. She gestured to the sign. “Why here?” Ifor shrugged. “I hear they make a nice Lucy burger, and I’ve never had one before,” he said in a surprising Southern drawl; she had expected him to speak more…Welsh-ly. "Why do you have a Southern accent, Ifor?” she asked, a little more sharply than intended. To his credit, the harshness of the question seemed to roll off him. “I’ve lived in Tennessee since I was almost seven. Sorry, I bet you expected a Welsh accent?” "Then how do I know you’re actually Ifor Sealy and not some creepy imposter?” He sighed before reaching into his pants pocket for his wallet and giving his ID to her. “If there’s a creepy imposter my size using my name, I’d definitely be scared.” She looked at the ID, noted that it was undeniable proof Ifor was who he said he was. “Fine. I apologize for misunderstanding; you can never be too careful.” "If the situations were reversed, I’d do the same thing. So, are we going to stand in the cold for the night or do we go in?” Eiluned nodded. “Let’s go in.” --- (So, this is the first chapter. As a note, those supposedly unpronounceable words are Welsh (which is admittedly not a language I know, so please forgive me if I don't get them right, I tried my best and looked up as much as I could, and I promise to correct them if they're wrong.). I'll give you a quick translation and pronunciation (from what I could find on Google Translate and various sites): (Helo = Hello. Pronounced "hello", obviously.) (Shwmae = How are you? (informal). Pronounced "shoo - mai.) (Da iawn, diolch = Very good, thanks (Pronoucned "da - yaown - dee - och (ch is the same as in "loch".) (Cwmbran = Kuum = brawn) (As for how the story goes...well, we'll certainly see what happens, won't we?)
  3. Hello everyone! After some time I've decided to start posting some of my still in progress stories. Fair warning : these stories are not completed and they might never be., but I thought it would be interesting to share. I don't want to clog the group with incomplete stories (I already have two of them, sigh...), so if it's a problem for anyone just tell me and I'll take them down in a second . Enough chitchat, let's start with this one. The Treatment “You can try, baby girl, but you can’t hide from the…Tickle Monster!” Emma heard Mommy’s voice chime from above her. She tried to raise her hands to cover her naked body, but Mommy was an Amazon and her hands were too big and too strong to be kept away. She rapidly found herself laughing uncontrollably, trying to roll off the huge changing table, luckily for her the Velcro trap that Mommy had tied around her waist kept her from falling, she would have hurt herself pretty bad if it wasn’t for it. “Pwease stopp!” she pleaded, still laughing as the giant fingers poked and prodded her in every sensitive spot she had, but Mommy kept on going until she had her lying motionless on the padded surface, desperately gasping for air. Emma used her hands to clear her eyes from the tears, her body still quaked by spasms after the relentless attack. What was she thinking before Mommy started playing tickles with her? She remembered feeling strange… but… She thoughtfully put her index finger in her mouth, trying to concentrate. She was feeling…sad for something…but what? “Ohhh somebody’s still frowny even after the tickle monster! Well, let’s see…” Emma found herself giggling in anticipation. What had Mommy in store for her? “PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR” the amazon woman suddenly grabbed the little girl’s thighs, pulling her closer to her giant face, before blowing a labial fricative on her bare belly, producing another set of uncontrollable laughs from the squirming little underneath her. “Now now Emmy!” Mommy started, making a more serious face as she rapidly caught the kicking little girl’s ankles in one hand, easily lifting her lower half in the air. “Our guests are about to arrive, and we can’t have an unhappy little girl greeting them now, do we? What would your little friends think, huh?” Emma this time stuck her thumb in her mouth. Mommy was right, Mommy was always right. Littles were supposed to be happy. They were the happiest creatures in the whole world! She stayed still as Mommy slid the huge diaper beneath her. Her smile faltered briefly, her legs lightly kicked as she almost imperceptibly withdrew from Mommy’s huge frame and, for a moment, the little girl felt the incomprehensible urge to run away. Like if there was something dangerous or terrible in what was happening. Mommy’s satisfied smile never faltered as she dusted the little girl’s privates with sweet smelling baby powder before pulling the front of the diaper up and tightly secured the straps around her waist, checking with her fingers that she had made a good job sealing the diaper around her efficiently, but without making her uncomfortable. “Puffy!” Emma giggled as she felt the padding making contact with her skin. She tentatively squeezed her thighs. Mommy had chose her favourite diapers for her today. They were similar to the plain white ones, only decorated with strawberry designs all over. Emma loved those diapers, even though they made it difficult to walk right. But it was worth it, after all strawberries were her favourite fruit! “Look Mommy! Stwawbewwy!” she yelled, sinking one tiny finger in the thick padding to show her the design of a larger one that almost occupied the entire crotch area. “I know baby, a cute strawberry for a cute girl!” Mommy chimed tickling her chin “But you know you’re not allowed to touch your diapers…” she admonished. Emma lowered her head as a strong sensation of shame washed over her… Mommy was right, good babies didn’t touch their diapers, they needed a grownup to do that for them. But even worse, the sensation she was experiencing started mixing with a non-identified fit of rage. She felt that she had to be angry about something…that something was wrong… but she couldn’t manage to identify what it was … “I’m sowwy Mommy!” she managed to say, her voice already chocked by the lump in her throat. In seconds she was completely overwhelmed. She started banging her tiny fists on the changing table’s mattress, her eyes quickly filling with tears as she fought the turmoil of emotions that confused her so much. Then, she felt the warm touch of Mommy’s hands as they reached under her armpits and picked her up like she was nothing. Between her sobs and the tears that clouded her eyes, she managed to distinguish Mommy’s frame as she lifted her more until she was level with her face. “Shhh don’t cry baby. Mommy forgives you. It’s ok…” Mommy whispered, her face getting closer and closer, until Emma felt her full lips pressing on her forehead in a delicate kiss. The little girl felt Mommy’s arms closing around her, the warmth completely encircling her tiny body as the giant woman tightly embraced her. She felt herself cry a little more, barely capable of stopping the flow of the tears, and she buried her face in the ample bosom in front of her as her agitated squirming movements rapidly abated, until she laid limp in Mommy’s arms. They stayed like this for a few minutes. The warm, wet darkness of mommy’s breast helped Emma calm down, and she only re-emerged from it when her tears had dried. She slowly lifted her head, craning her neck to look up. Her eyes were puffy and she felt her face was sticky and stiff. When she slowly opened her orbs, Mommy’s smiling face greeted her. She was so beautiful, so strong… to the little girl it was as a ray of pure sunlight had hit her, and she stopped in awe before that magnificent view. For her part, Mommy smiled. It was enough to make the little girl’s heart fill with joy. Mommy wasn’t angry at her… “There’s my little girl!” she chimed, bouncing her up and down. “Now let’s dry those tears and get you all dressed up, huh?” Emma found herself laid again on the changing table, this time Mommy didn’t use the strap, but she gently held her down with one hand, as she produced the outfit that she’d be wearing that afternoon. It was a pink princess dress composed by the upper part that resembled a sleeveless t-shirt decorated with a motif of pink roses, the lower half was a light-pink semi-transparent ballerina skirt which’s hem would have barely reached the upper limit of her knees. She squealed, watching Mommy unfold it before her. But again, she felt that strange sensation of uneasiness warning her that something was wrong. The smile left her face, leaving her with a pouty perplexed expression, as she hastily put her thumb in her mouth. What was wrong with her? Mommy quickly ensconced her in the infantile dress, stopping only to admire the result of her work as she adjusted the ruffles of the skirt. “Here you go baby! You look so precious I could eat you up!” she said lifting her up and putting her in a standing position. “Ummmhh” Emma mumbled, observing the dress she found herself in, her thumb again making its way in her mouth. “Mommy…” “Yes sugar?” “Muh diapew is showing…I don’t wike it” she meekly said, pointing at her crotch. It was true, the bulky garment clearly showed it’s outline through the light fabric of the dress, and not the body, but also the ample leakguards could be seen tightly adhering to her lower thighs. The diaper was so evident that Emma could even see the blurred strawberry designs through the dress. Plus, she hadn’t noticed before that the hem of the dress had been cut shorter on the back, and strangely stiffened in a way that made it turn upwards, showing almost completely her diapered bottom to the observer. “Nonsense baby. Don’t you like your diapers?” “Uh-uh!” she nodded, she liked and needed her diapers “But… uhm…I-I don’t wike if…if…” she stammered, struggling to find the correct words to express her thoughts. What she wanted to say was that it was okay if mommy saw her diapers, she just didn’t like when others did. Why was it so difficult? Her hand travelled upwards to scratch her hair while she battled with the tangle of words and thoughts that was forming in her head. That was when she felt a strange thing near her right temple. She felt it… It was crusty and stung a little bit when she touched it. “No!” Mommy scolded swiftly slapping her hand away from it. “What did we talk about Emma? That’s your owie. You don’t touch your owie or it will never heal up.” “Uh-uh. Sowwy!” why did she have an owie? Did she bump into something and didn’t remember? She started fidgeting again, growing more and more exasperated with her thoughts, until Mommy intervened, sticking her paci in her mouth. Sucking the silicone teat immediately helped her calm down. The mess in her head disappeared, replaced only by the slow sucking sound. She didn’t even notice Mommy tying something under her head. A pink baby bonnet. “There you go.” Mommy said planting a firm kiss on her forehead, before readjusting the frilly cover on her head. “That should keep your hands away from your owie. You don’t need the mittens, do you baby?” “Nu-uhh! I good giwl!” she said through her pacifier. Mommy used the mittens when she touched something she wasn’t supposed to. She didn’t like the mittens. They were soft and pretty but she couldn’t grasp her toys when Mommy put them on her. “That we will see” she said with an amused expression. Then, a knocking sound could be heard coming from downstairs. “Oh that must be our guests!” Mommy declared with a smile on her face.
  4. Ill be alternating between this and "even heroes can be infantilzed." This is to explain how this works before I write the chapter this Saturday. The facless mother never visits those who are sinners. Only the innocent will know her malicious intent. The facless mother never harms, but instead crafts a world the child will hate. The children may think themselves adults. But soon they will find that once graced by the facless mother they are no more then children doomed in her neverland. ... hope yall enjoy. The first chapter is "disability"
  5. Child’s Play A Story of Yayoi Yamamoto, Operative of SLA Industries by InkuHime (aka Incognito Himitsu) This is one of my favourite stories. I've done some rewriting on it since I first posted it years ago. This is an action adventure dark (grim dark?) science fiction story based on the TTRPG SLA Industries. There is a strong, central plot line that involves diapers, but it is not a conventional ABDL diaper story. Chapter 1 Here Comes the Rain Again A long, narrow truck pulled to a stop on the Lower Downtown raised walkway. The vehicle shifted back and forth as three men climbed out of the cab. Two were rather large, one husky, the other fat. The third was a thin man, covered from head to foot in leather. The one in leather was a Prop, a mercenary and killer for hire. He was known on the streets as ‘Bent for Leather’. They had stopped for the girl sitting on the edge of the walkway. Small, thin, covered by a dirty, plastic poncho against the ever-falling rain of Mort. It was hard to tell much about her, hunched over with her head resting on her chest as she was. Still, she looked young; the Skin Trade's biggest seller was youth. And if it turned out she was not young, well, pretty, still sold. And if not pretty… that was one of the things the Prop took care of. The fat man approached her first; he held a hypo-gun loaded with Bio-block in his chubby hand. It was a bold move, but it was dark, and the high, wet walkway was deserted. The girl did not even look up as he approached. She might have been already drugged out of her mind. So much the easier for them if that was the case. He was beginning to reach forward when the girl did something totally unexpected. She kicked back and rolled backwards off the walkway's side, dropping out of sight. The three men looked at each other, surprised, though it was difficult to tell with the Prop as his face was masked by leather strips. "Must've known what we was planning," the husky man said. "Chose death over getting caught." "Stupid little bitch," the fat man said. "Now we got to find another one to meet quota." He moved to the walkway's edge, looking down, expecting to see the girl's broken body forty meters below. A hand grabbed him around his ankle. A quick pull and he was falling, screaming all those forty meters to the ground. The other two had not seen what had happened; to them, it looked like the fat man had jumped. They stood there, trying to figure out why two people had just decided to throw themselves from the walkway. The muted rumble of a pair of fusion turbines made both men look upwards. Above them was a figure in a suit of Silverback armour. As the armoured angel tossed away a plastic poncho, the Prop understood. The girl had not jumped from the walkway, and it was very likely his fat companion had been pulled. That realization had him going for the pistols at his side. Before he could reach them, a knife—hurled with exo-armour-assisted strength—punched through his throat. Even as the Prop’s corpse hit the ground, the armoured figure alighted on the walkway and grabbed the husky man around the wrist. She hyperextended his elbow, twisted his wrist, and forced him onto his toes. He screamed in pain and then screamed louder as she jerked him around, flinging him over the side of the walkway and then holding him from a fall by his injured arm. There was something of a cat tormenting a small rodent in the actions. "Shut up," she snapped, giving him a shake. Her words and the agony cleared his head for a moment. Adrenaline flooded his body, chasing away the pain and giving him clarity. He knew he was in great danger and that his only chance of living rested in the hands of the small, armoured girl holding him. "That's good," she said as he stopped screaming. "Tell me, who you’re with?" "Slap and Tickle," he said, breathing hard, trying not to start screaming again. "And where are you operating?" "I can't tell you?" She let go of him, allowing him to fall for a moment before leaning forward and snatching him again by the wrist, bringing him to a painful stop. "You can." Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he had lost bladder control. He was close to passing out from the pain. "They'll kill me," he sobbed. "What makes you think that I won't?" "Down at the old Handara warehouse, Level Three. That's where we were supposed to bring this load. I swear that's all I know." "Thank you," she said and then released his hand. He screamed until he stopped. She did not even watch. "This is Operative Yamamoto; I need a Shiver team at Walkway One Fifty-Six, Sector 7B, Lower Downtown, immediately," she said into her helmet's microphone. As she spoke, she stepped over the dead Prop and walked to the truck. "Roger that Operative Yamamoto," the voice on the other end replied. "Expect a team to arrive in five minutes." "That's too long.” She pulled open the rear doors of the truck. "I need them here now." "I'm sorry, Operative Yamamoto," the operator on the other end said calmly and politely. "There are no teams closer to your location." Yayoi keyed her microphone off and made a rude noise before turning it back on and saying, "Understood." Her tone was despondent; she could not help it, not when looking into the truck. A metal bar ran the length of the roof. Plastic ties around their wrists and over that bar, twelve people, very young men and women, girls and boys, were hung like meat. Few were tall enough that their feet reached the rusty metal grate beneath them. All so sedated that they might as well be dead. The desire to move caused her heart to race. Always before, when she learned of some processing centre, she would arrive too late. The big players who knew the names and had the client lists would be gone. There was a mole somewhere, leaking information to the Skin Trade. There had to be. Someone was getting in the way of the investigation, maybe even slowing the response time. Five minutes felt too long. She wanted to go but would not leave the victims there, where anyone, or anything, could get at them. So she waited until the Shiver unit showed up, rolling onto the walkway in one of their APCs. She gave them a quick briefing on what had happened. Made sure they knew what to do. Satisfied that the victims were in good hands, Yayoi leapt from the walkway, slowing her fall with her armour’s turbines. She landed gently on the rain-soaked road below, not far from the two dead men. Nearby, hidden under a pile of garbage, was her SCAF bike. The armoured security plates slid back at her command, the engine roaring to life. She straddled the vehicle, gave it power, and roared out of the alleyway and onto the street. Once she got some speed, Yayoi activated the main turbine, lifting the bike into the air. The hydraulic system pulled the wheels into the main body, changing the motorcycle into a one-man helicopter. Speed was of the essence now. Any chance of getting her hands on someone important depended on how soon she could get there. If they knew she was coming--and had to know she was coming--they would be clearing out. Seconds. She believed that it always came down to seconds. She would arrive to hear the echoing of a door slamming somewhere, the smell of cigarette smoke still in the air. Those who might know something already clear. The opportunity to score a telling blow to the Skin Trade was always out of reach. Maybe it was already too late, but she had to try. Go Fast. Go Faster. This time, it might be different. If only she could go faster. Soon, she was dropping below the raised streets, speeding among the web of walkways and roads, nearly scraping the buildings as she went. Three levels under the so-called surface of Mort was not too deep. Not when it was possible—if suicidal—to travel down 285 levels. Still, it was deep enough for her. She hated Lower Downtown for so many reasons, only partly because that was where her prey lived and thrived. Ahead of her was the warehouse, an old, supposedly deserted building. It looked abandoned, but the Skin Trade did not survive by making their presence visible. The SCAF landed on the roof of the building, the turbines throwing up a cloud of grit and dirt. She jumped off the bike, moving quickly, just in case anyone started shooting at her, making her way to a doorway on the roof. As it was, there was no threat there. There was not much of a threat anywhere in the building. As before, Yayoi had arrived too late, perhaps by less than a minute. That was all it would take for the people in charge to scatter and hide, going deeper into the shadows. There were always a few people who would remain behind. The stupid or the desperate, trying to salvage something of value. A kick of her exo-armour tore the door from its hinges. Yayoi followed, diving over the walkway and dropping to the warehouse floor, her automatic pistols ready. She ordered all there to put their hands on their heads and not move. Those too foolish to listen, she shot. It was a waste of bullets, but dealt with the problem quickly. Those that remained did as she ordered and, therefore, were just maybe smart enough to be worth questioning. There were also about sixty victims there, nearly half of them already dead. The Skin Trade was like any other business. They got rid of inventory that did not sell. She had to keep her temper as she questioned those she had left alive. They knew little, could tell her even less and were not nearly as bright as she had hoped. Hangers-on, temp work, just people looking to make a little extra money and not interested in asking too many questions. Mort was full of people like that. When the Shivers arrived, she turned the scene over to them and trudged her way back up to the roof. Looking around, making sure she was alone, Yayoi took off her helmet and screamed as loud as she could, as long as she could, until her throat began to hurt. She coughed for several seconds and then wiped some tears from her eyes. After taking a deep breath of the bad air, she put her helmet back on and got onto her SCAF. Time to go home.
  6. I thought it was time for a Christmas story. I've got a good bit worked out already. This is just a teaser for the first chapter. Before every part I will try to post triggers that will appear. This will either go really well or really bad. If the latter happens I'll probably stop. These stories have all affected me in my past. My fantasy or fancy is that great can come from grave. We have to hold those things in our hearts, the things that are good. I won't call it easy or simple but when the world shows how cruel it is we can show the good. It's not to say scars won't remain, but we can use those scars to remind us of exactly what we refuse to ever be. -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- Everyone knows the story of Saint Nicholas. Yeah, yeah, jolly old man, with the jello belly. Laughs like he's insulting the world. You know the 8 tiny reindeer dragging around his overly puffy, wrapped in red velvet self. We all know that story, it's been drilled into us since birth. We've grown up on his kindness and his joy. His mystery feeds us as we try to understand how he manages such feats year after year. Truly, we all know that story. We may even recall his famous little Rudolph. With his nose all aglow. Guiding the sleigh to safe harbor in storms. His fame may even rival Santa Claus. He stands among the greats, saving Christmas time and again. Yes, even his accomplishments have breached the isolation of the north pole and made it to the mere mortals. These stories we know by heart, they sing us to sleep through the year, and for one night they rouse our excitement and refuse us rest. Yes we know these by heart…. But there is a story that is not told often, one that often is overlooked, or worse…. wrongly told. This is a story of another great good. For only good things are allowed at the north pole. Only pure hearts, honorable intentions, these things are allowed in this place of wonder. However, Selfless love is desired above all others in the North Pole. In reality, all of the greatest stories here are rooted and built on selfless love. The story, our story, is all about finding that one virtue. Finding it where it has held strong, held strong against tyrannical monsters, against overbearing circumstances. Where it has stood as a bastion of hope for the weak, refusing to die amidst the suffering. This story is about bringing that selfless love to the place where it will be grown and nurtured. Where it will be celebrated and cheered. Warmed and cherished, much to the dismay of the oppressive envious ones who witness the miracle of our story. It is true our story always begins in the ruins, it will, however, always end in a palace. You see, for those to be given the honor, there must be proof. It must be evident that their hearts do not waver. Even in the darkest nights, the lowest valleys, the coldest winters, or the loudest tempest. Yes, our story may not be widely known, nor is it famous from the songs sung by millions of children, but we know, yes we know the story. We know it all too well, we have lived it, and with each new face it is refreshed in our minds and hearts. Now you will know it too, hereafter, Yes you will know it too. You see, it is time we like all the other immortals tell the story, the great story, the story of our greatest benefactor. The story of Mrs. Clause...
  7. The LETO Syndicate A girl wakes up on a bus on it's way to a large, windowless building in the middle of nowhere, strapped to a large car seat, alongside a couple dozen others like her. No doubt you've heard this story before. But I hope I can still surprise you all with my own little twist on the much loved scenario! This one is a lot shorter than my usual stories (mine are usually 40 and an epilogue, though some go way above that), at around half my usual length. It's also very different from my usual stories, but I won't spoil anything. Regression, humiliation, strong Nannies, a strict Headmistress, lesbian romance... it's got it all! Two chapters per week, as usual. Every Wednesday and Sunday. And as usual, if you want two weeks early access to chapters of my current ongoing story, you can sub to my Patreon. You'll also get access to my discord server to discuss chapters there and stuff. And also to tease me apparently. Grr. I hope I've covered everything that needs saying and I hope everyone enjoys this story as much as my other stories! Please feel free to leave comments and feedback, I love reading it all! Also, please link to my stories rather than posting them as files when sharing with others! Chapter 1: Arrival The LETO Syndicate – LittleFallenPrincess Pulling against the straps holding me in place, strapped tightly into this stupidly comfortable seat that felt more like a baby’s car seat than a normal bus seat, I wondered to myself how I got into this position. I struggled against the wrist straps first, hoping they would give way, even if only the tiniest amount, to allow me to attempt to escape. But alas, they were on as tight as possible. So when that failed, I tried my legs. I quickly found they too were secured to the seat and I was unable to move them. The best I could do was wriggle, and the only part of me that wasn’t completely secured was my head and neck. They even put a strap around my waist, holding me back in my seat. Thankfully, as I stopped focusing on myself, and started focusing on my surroundings… I saw I wasn’t the only one. And just like me, they were all wearing identical white scrubs. Turning to my immediate left, sat next to the window, I saw what looked to be an angel. Beautiful long, blonde hair… shining blue eyes… petite and looking she was around her late twenties… this girl was beautiful. Like the kind of girl I always dreamed I’d be with, but knew I had no shot with. Not that I’m a bad looking gal, just… this girl was gorgeous. Those dazzling blue eyes were concentrating on the window, looking out into the barren green fields, out into the middle of nowhere. “There’s nothing out there. Plus the windows are tinted…” I said to her, trying to initiate conversation. “Sorry?” She said, quickly turning around to look at me. “If you think you’re going to flag someone down to rescue you… no one can see in. I saw this van from the outside before I was taken.” “Oh… no… it’s not that. I just… it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She asked, sounding so… carefree right now. I looked out of the window at the picture-perfect country scene. “I suppose it is. You… you don’t seem worried…” I said, suspicious of why she sounded so carefree right now. “Neither do you…” She replied. “Oh I am, believe me. But my Dad always taught me to keep calm if anything like this ever happened. To not antagonise your kidnapper. What about you, why aren’t you worried?” “I figured this would happen to me.” “Wait… what? You figured you’d be kidnapped by some shady, burly men in guard uniforms and shoved on a bus with tinted windows?” “Not exactly that… but…” She took one long sigh and looked me in the eyes. “My sister went missing last year. She looked just like me. Only a year older than me too. And out of nowhere… vanished. I spent the last year worried that it’d happen to me too. You hear about all these girls going missing in town… I knew it would happen sooner or later.” “Where are you from?” I asked her, wondering what town she had been taken from, which town she was talking about. Her accent sounded Northern, but I was useless with accents so couldn’t pinpoint exactly where she was from. “Sheffield. Why, what about you?” She asked. “I’m from Bath. Sorry, I was just wondering where your accent was from.” “So… so we’re completely different ends of the country. That’s weird.” She said, rolling her eyes towards the window again. “Yeah… they must take girls like us from all over the country and take us to… wherever they’re taking us. Do you recognise any of the landscape?” “Nope. It’s nice though. Very nature…y.” She smiled, making my heart flutter. “Yeah it’s quite nice. I… I wonder where they’re taking us though, out in the middle of nowhere.” “Probably some secret facility.” She whispered, grinning. “And how do you know that?” I asked. “Just a guess. It’s what I’d do.” I laughed, causing me to gain the attention of one of the guards at the front of the bus. “What you’d do?” I whispered. “Yeah, if I kidnapped a bunch of pretty girls, I’d take them to a facility in the middle of nowhere.” ‘Wait… does she think I’m pretty?’ I thought to myself, my heart aflutter. “And what would you do with them? Sell them? Experiment on them? Fuck them until they’re your obedient little whores?” I joked. She paused for a second, thinking, making me worry I had gone too far with the joke. “Probably just play video games with them and eat pizza.” She grinned. “Remind me to get kidnapped by you next time.” I replied, smiling. She smiled back in what looked to be a flirty manner. But hey, what do I know? I haven’t done the whole dating game thing in a while. “So… what were you doing when you were taken?” She asked. “I was at a bar, getting hammered with my mates. Susie had just ordered another round, and I got a phone call. So I went outside, out into the back alley to take the call, and… that’s when I was taken. Bag over head, injection in my neck… world went black. Woke up slightly as they were loading us all on, that’s when I saw the outside of this bus, but quickly went under again. Then, like you, woke up on this journey to nowhere. What about you?” “I had just gotten off from a late night at work. Walking home… I was followed by a couple of rough-looking guys. Tried to dodge them by heading down another street… but they had backup. Grabbed me, shot me with something in the neck, bag over head just like you. Fun times.” “You’re awfully more relaxed than everyone else on here…” I commented. We both looked around at the other passengers. The ones currently in the same predicament, tied to these ‘car seat’ things. Three guards patrolled the aisle, keeping an eye out on each person. Upon closer inspection, some passengers were still asleep. Obviously whatever drug our kidnappers had used worked differently depending on the person. Some were wide awake… but were gagged. They had probably tried to fight back or argue… or even bite. Some were just like me and my new friend, chatting and trying to keep calm, but there were only a few of those. Most were panicking. “I’m not exactly a glass-half-full kinda girl. Not exactly optimistic in the first place, even before being kidnapped.” My new friend shrugged. “Ah… same.” “Sorry, Where are my manners…” She said, “I’m Sarah.” “Judy.” I replied. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Judy.” Sarah smiled. “It’s nice to meet you too, Sarah. Hey… just wondering…” “What?” “Can… Can we try to stick together, whatever happens? I think it’ll improve our chances of getting through this in one piece if we watch each other’s backs.” I suggested. “I mean… sure? I don’t know how easy that will be though… We still don’t know what they have planned. And they could easily split us up.” “QUIET!” One of the guards shouted, the one at the front. “We’re arriving…” “Arriving where?” I whispered to Sarah. “I guess we’re going to find out…” Sarah replied, shrugging her shoulders. The bus turned off the main road, down a private road leading to a large prison-like gate. Stopping at what was probably a checkpoint, the front door of the bus opened and the bus driver started chatting to one of the guards outside. I tried to listen to what they were saying, but I couldn’t make out anything at this distance, it’s a shame we weren’t sitting closer to the front. “What are they saying?” Sarah asked. “No idea. Probably just checking in.” I replied. The doors closed suddenly and I saw the gate in front start opening slowly, rattling the whole way. “Looks like we’re here…” Sarah said. My heart was racing as we slowly drove down the long road, towards what looked like a prison complex. At least that’s what it looked like on the outside. But not one of those usual old prisons we have in the UK, but a much more modern one. One that looked more like a billionaire’s nuclear bunker or something, or a super modern art gallery. Just big blocks of white stone with no windows and only one door on the front. That probably isn’t the only door, but that was the only one in view. “That… is an evil villain’s lair…” Sarah commented. “Yeah, not the friendliest-looking place…” I replied, smirking. “Maybe it’s all kittens and rainbows on the inside?” “Oh and teddy bears and hugs?” She laughed quietly, as to not alert the guard. “And pillows and sweeties!” “That wouldn’t be so bad…” “QUIET!” The guard shouted again. The whole bus then slowly came to a standstill, and not a single noise was made as the engine calmed down. “No talking. Or else. No resisting. Or else. No trying to escape…” That’s when I fucked up. “Or else?” I asked. A gasp of around a dozen people or more filled the bus as the guard who was talking stared directly at me, clearly pissed. “What was that?” The guard growled as he walked slowly down the aisle towards me. “I… I…” “I said ‘or else?’” Sarah said from beside me, as if she was willing to take the blame for it. I turned to my side and looked Sarah in the eyes. She just stared back and smiled. “We stick together.” She whispered to me. “Oh, it was you was it?” The guard asked, looking at her. “Yes. I was just confirming…” “It was me. I was just confirming…” I interrupted, before being interrupted myself by the angry-looking guard. “You both want to own up to it? Big mistake. One strike for both of you.” He growled. “And three strikes and we’re out?” I asked, in a cocky manner that I quickly regretted as the tall, muscly man looked down at me. “One strike equals one punishment.” He grinned, cockily. “Ooooh punishment! What, are you going to spank us?” Sarah joined in, laughing. “Have fun later, girls…” He said as he walked off to the front of the bus again, pulling out what looked to be a computer tablet and pressing a couple of buttons on it. I swear I could see a picture of me and a picture of Sarah on it as he closed it down and slipped it back into his large pocket. “That… wasn’t that bad. Though we really shouldn’t have pissed off that guy… it could backfire on us.” Sarah said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m pretty sure it has. But thanks for sticking up for me back there.” I replied, smiling up at her sweetly. “Hey, you said we stick together, right? I’ve got your back, if you have mine.” “Of course. I wonder what punishment we’ll get…” “Well we still don’t know if this is like a sex thing or a prison thing or an illegal experimentation thing. Either way… I’m not looking forward to seeing what we get.” Sarah sighed. “RIGHT! ONE BY ONE. LETS GO BOYS.” The main guard said, as the other two went to the front seats and then just as I thought they’d undo the restraints to get the first passengers off… they just lifted the whole damn seat out and carried it out of the bus! Like… how freaking strong are they? As they carried the first two victims off, out of the bus, my hopes of trying to escape whilst I was unrestrained were dashed. And then a minute later… the guards returned. Taking the next two… they did this a bunch of times, making their way from the front of the bus to the back end where me and Sarah were sitting. They slowly removed each and every victim that they had most likely kidnapped and took them off the bus, without removing them from these weird baby-car seat things. I counted along, seeing how many they had taken, as I couldn’t tell on the way here from where I was sitting, but it looked to be about twenty in front of us… and I had a feeling there were maybe six behind us I think? And before long… It was our turn. “Time for the troublemakers…” the main guard said, taking over from the guard who was doing our side. “I’ll get little miss trouble, you get the bratty little princess.” The other guard didn’t say a word, he just nodded. Uncoupling my seat from the bus, the main guard lifted me up with no effort and carried me towards the front of the bus. And that’s when the pit of dread started forming in my stomach. But nothing would have prepared me for what I saw next. ========================================================= So... thoughts so far? I know it's only the first chapter, but it's not my usual kind of story and so far those on my patreon are loving it, so I hope you all love it too! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! Thank you to all my patrons for their support! Don't forget, the next four chapters are available on my Patreon which can be found here if you go for the second tier. New chapters of LETO Syndicate every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post! Thanks!
  8. The Grand Sky Cathedral, an ominous structure erected in the heart of the Amazonian city, exuded an uncanny sense of foreboding that was impossible to ignore. This imposing sanctuary was built at the city's peak, casting long, eerie shadows that crept through the streets below. It seemed less a divine place of worship and more a spectral monument, symbolizing the Amazonians' relentless pursuit to reach the realm of their goddess, Kenari. Crafted from starstone, a mineral renowned for its unnatural luminescence under the pallid moonlight, the cathedral loomed, a ghostly silhouette against the inky night sky. Its spires punctured the darkness, creeping towards the heavens as if yearning to pierce the celestial veil itself. At the heart of the cathedral lay a vast chamber dominated by a towering statue of Kenari. Her stone arms were outstretched as though she herself longed to flee the confines of her earthly prison, reaching for a freedom found only in the stars. Chains, symbols of the Amazonians' twisted dominance, hung ominously around the altar, a chilling testament to the cathedral's darker purpose. Branching off from the central chamber were the cathedral's wings, each one a haunting reminder of the Amazonian society's principles - Growth, Protection, and Control. The cathedral's stained-glass windows bathed these wings in an otherworldly light, casting kaleidoscopic shadows that danced and twisted with an uncanny life of their own. "Ladies and Gentlemen, towering Amazons of our brooding society, we gather today in this uncanny Cathedral, beneath the chilling gaze of our exalted Goddess Kenari. We gather to bear witness to our divine duty, the macabre dance of dominance and protection we perform for our Littles. Consider, my dear brethren, the parable of the Mighty Oak and the Sapling. In a desolate, whispering forest, a monstrous Oak stretched its gnarled limbs towards the ashen heavens, its roots burrowing deep into the cold, unforgiving earth. A helpless Sapling struggled nearby, its feeble life teetering on the razor edge of existence, drowning in the shadow of the giant. The Oak, witnessing the Sapling's plight, spread its massive canopy over it, providing a shield from the biting elements and the prowling horrors of the wild. Cocooned in the Oak's dark embrace, the Sapling found the strength to grow, to flourish, to survive. Now, the Oak in this tale, my dear brethren, is us - the monolithic Amazons. The Sapling, trembling and vulnerable, represents our Littles. We are the grim guardians, the shadowy sentinels. We must cast our intimidating shadow over the Saplings, a duty that has been forced upon us by divine decree, a duty we are bound to perform, even if the Sapling recoils in fear or resists. Among the crowd, a couple - Xara and Zorix, two towering figures of our society, seemed to resonate with the words. Their eyes sparkled with a macabre excitement, their bodies tensed in anticipation of the duties they were to fulfill. Their hearts fluttered at the twisted sweetness of the dominance they would exert, the love they would bestow on their potential Littles. The path of love we tread, my fellow Amazons, is not a path bathed in the warm embrace of sunlight. It is a path that plunges into the darkest corners, where harsh decisions are made, where our love manifests as a terrifying form of dominance. But fear not, for our Goddess Kenari guides us in this twisted journey. She has burdened us with this responsibility, and so we shall rise to the challenge. We shall spread our shadow. We shall rule. We shall love. Therefore, let us stand tall, casting our gloomy shadows across the land, forever reminding our Littles of our looming presence. For in the Sacred Height, we find our grim purpose. We are the Amazons, the protectors of the Littles!" Xara and Zorix, overtaken by the intensity of the sermon, rejoiced. A chilling silence followed the conclusion of Axl's sermon. The echoes of his deep, resonant voice reverberated around the cathedral, etching his words into the hearts of his listeners. As they digested his twisted message, a sense of fear and respect filled the cathedral, a testament to Axl's authority and power.
  9. Hi everyone! I am back from my writing slumbers and have a story that I had a dream about the other day that had somehow turned into 100+ pages. Please forgive me for not writing actively on my other stories... I have a bad habit of writing for stories and then pausing as I actively write for another. Hopefully this story doesn't put me in the writer's time out corner🪑😇 This is definitely a 'slow burn' story that sets the stage for the rest of the book and the payout may just be worth it, you'll just have to find out for yourself. *cue the evil laughter behind computer monitor* I hope you enjoy my story of warlocks, creatures and diapers as much as I have writing it and I love hearing theories and comments along the way in posting. Enjoy!💖 The Synopsis No One Asked For[but I wrote it anyways]: Wren Smith gets accepted into a 4 year international college exchange program that she had always dreamed of her whole human existence called Dragonstone School of Warlocks & Creatures located in the country of Centaurus. In her journey to a completely different world of warlocks, werewolves and vampires, she meets Nate Seastone who has unusual relationship goals, a psychopathic ex and a dark past. Things take a sinister twist as she navigates being a human in a mostly all creature and warlock school as she unlocks secrets to sinister things she didn't ask to discover between the school's history and her kind. Warnings: Dark nature content[not sure how to word that], bullying and detailed sexual scenes[smut] Does contain in later chapters: Diapers, CGL relationship, ABDL, BDSM, spanking Book of Warlocks, Creatures & Diapers : Vol I PRELUDE It’s incredulous to think that for a good few centuries, the rest of the world didn’t know the United Lands existed. The continent of Centureon, comprised of the countries of Centaurus and Rune, were stumbled upon in 1492 by Christopher Columbus, yet never spoken about in human history books because a historical warlock known as Theadore Stonewall II found him, erased his memory and sent him, his crew and his boat to North America instead. It wasn’t until the next century when people began migrating from Europe to America that Centureon lost its anonymity the warlocks and creatures wanted to keep as long as possible, yet it was inevitable that a country with millions of creatures and beautiful lands would be found eventually. From the dawn of time, warlocks, witches and creatures had always been mistreated, murdered and misunderstood that the old warlocks and creatures knew if word got out to the human race, their existence may be compromised. Little did they know, it was bound to happen that the human race would find them and try to make them close to extinct. Warlocks and creatures already lived amongst the human race all over the world, but the countries of Centureon knew about the horror stories and spread of misinformation about their kind that made the human race fear them. It was better, to the Centaurus and Rune countries, to hide for as long as they could and keep the peace within their own lands. As time went on and the United Nations and other countries found out about Rune and Centaurus, both countries were kept top secret in all countries. The United Nations wanted to hide the creatures that inhabited the lands as they thought revealing them would create mass panic and threaten the human race as it was. Warlocks and creatures didn’t want to fight, they asked for peace multiple times and the United Nations was ignorant to the possibility of creatures, witches and warlocks living peacefully among humans. Yet… these creatures already lived among them, much to the human race’s fears of inability to cohabitate that had little to no evidence to support. As the humans found out creatures were living amongst them, many altered, misinformed and over dramatized stories in newspapers released about witches, werewolves, vampire killings and abductions. These fictionally based stories spread like wildfire around the United States of America in the 1600’s and the United Nations came together and agreed that if these newfound ‘creatures’ survived any further they could threaten the human race’s very existence. Widespread panic circulated around to other countries and the whole world began fearing creatures that supposedly could be humans next door neighbors one day. The decisions were based on ignorance, fears and prejudice as the United Nations decided to invade Centaurus and Rune in 1702, historically termed in Centureon the Human Invasions of 1702, without warning, terrorizing the continent with ships docking and pillaging of its lands. At this time, the human race was much larger than all the warlocks and creatures combined. The only thing that made sense for most creatures was too either migrate or protect the land from the sudden killing, raping and torment of its innocent civilians. Many of Centaurus and Rune’s inhabitants decided to flee the country. This caused the Great Migration of Creatures in 1702 where millions of witches, warlocks and creatures as they fled the countries to live in hiding all over the world as Rune was put close to extinction within a few years. Although they had warlocks, witches and creatures, Centaurus and Rune were both peaceful lands that practiced magic to protect and help others, not to hurt as they were attempting to show the human race they should not be feared. There were always dark blood warlocks and witches who were of the evil kind, but few and far between that when armies of human troops came in with muskets, rifles, canons and unknown weapons to Centaurus and Rune, the native creatures to the lands had never seen such weapons, let alone know what they did until they were wounded or killed. Due to Centaurus’s large warlock and witch demographics, they were able to protect most of Centaurus in the 1700’s. Centaurus lost a tenth of their population and lands but quickly reclaimed their lands. Rune, however, could not protect itself as the population of warlocks was low, the magical creatures who were there were a majority of peacemakers or healers. When they attempted to ask for peace, it was quickly denied to their dismay as whole towns and villages were shocked by the merciless invaders. Villages and towns across Rune were pillaged, raped and burned down over a stretch of a few weeks time. Innocent civilians and their children were burned on stakes or hanged and those spared from the mass murdering of Rune’s population were kidnapped and put into labor camps. The rest of it’s demographics were harmless creatures without magical abilities that were slaughtered without reason. A good two-thirds of Rune’s creatures were killed from the invasion that silently spread across the country. More troops of the British and United States came over to Rune and terrorized the creatures on it’s soil along with the few witches and warlocks that remained after many years of fighting. Parts of Rune were colonized in the 1710’s by the British until the United Lands armies grew in the larger country of Centaurus and reclaimed the land with their most powerful warlocks, witches and creatures protecting Rune. After years of hearing of the pillaging, terrorizing and mass murders of Rune with two-thirds of the population either migrating or being slain, Centaurus decided to stop protecting without harming the invaders and go on the defensive to push the invaders out of their Lands. The first World War, that was unknown to most of the human race, started and ended in 1713 when the United Lands decide to fight back from Rune reclaiming what was left of its lands. In Centaurus history books, there was a distinct shift in the war and who was winning when the most powerful Centaurus and Rune warlocks and witches came together to create the Magistrate’s Army. They fought back in large numbers and reclaimed what was theirs within months of combat with the human race. Rumors got out about a group of witches and warlocks comprised of both white and dark blood magic descent that were stronger than any other type of magical beings coming together to end the suffering of the United Lands. It was unheard of for white and dark blood witches and warlocks to work together, yet this special circumstance created an alliance that warlocks and witches all over the continent talked about for centuries. The UN troops began retreating as they realized quickly that Magistrate Army was much stronger than any weapon possessed in the 1700’s. The armies couldn’t even kill a witch or warlock without putting them on the stake and burning them. News got back to the United Nations as the Magistrate Army became tremendously powerful and the US army along with the British armies were sent back home in small quantities of survivors with gruesome stories of watching warlocks, witches and creatures mercilessly terrorizing soldiers, bending swords and stopping bullets, pikes and cannon balls mid-air. The horror stories of witches and warlocks performing full moon rituals on soldiers were spread rampant along with other horrors following the war with the warlocks and creatures. The human race learning that although small in numbers, the United Lands showed they were a force to not be meddled with ever again. In 1730’s, years after the war ended, Magistrate Gildroy III the Great made a peace treaty with the United Nations and the United Lands. The United Lands agreed that migration to or from Centaurus or Rune was forbidden. Both groups agreed to keep Centaurus and Rune separated from the human race. Gildroy was able to keep sailors and migrators away from the country with his fleet of mermen and army of warlocks who protected the United Lands. The United Nations and surrounding countries were able to hide creatures for a few years from the human race, stating that newspapers of werewolf, vampires and witches were made-up stories. Although both the United Lands and United Nations tried to hide Centaurus and Rune, it was not possible anymore to keep hidden a whole country that spanned half the Atlantic ocean as a secret to the human race. After many sightings of ‘aliens’, lost ships in the Bermuda Triangle, witch trials, books written about witches and wizards, newspaper articles, police cases, tales of vampires or werewolves and other incidences in the early 1800’s the countries of Rune and Centaurus were rediscovered by the human race in newspapers around the world. The world became a huge panic where allover people were afraid from the misinformation about vampires, witches, mermen, werewolves and other creatures. The general population did not want anything to do with these creatures or to even visit Centureon in the 1800’s. The creatures that had migrated to the US and other countries who did decide to reveal themselves were segregated, taken into slavery, locked up in prisons, hung, experimented on, abducted or murdered. The whole response to any creature or warlock was of pure anger and hatred that caused a huge rift between the human race and creatures from Rune and Centaurus. Up until 1853, immigration to and from Centureon was banned for creatures and humans. During this time, millions of creatures and warlocks that had already migrated found home to many parts of North America, Asia, South America and Europe as they lived in hiding. From those in hiding, it was discovered in the mid-1800’s that so many creatures and warlocks had carried children with humans. Half-humans were at high risk as not only did the human race fear or hate them, but so did creatures. Migration was finally allowed after so many hate crimes were made against creatures or half-humans and the United States and other countries found there weren’t only a few, but millions of creatures already living amongst them that wanted to visit back home or move back to Centaurus or Rune. Little did these countries know, these creatures inhabited the world for thousands of years amongst the human race. This movement of human race acceptance was called the Creature Awakening where humans finally acknowledged the creature race and began to start accepting creatures into their cultures. Although there was still a long road ahead in progression of views and stifling racism, this was a huge push forward in peace between races. By the early 1900’s after migration to and from the United Lands was allowed in most countries, World War 1 happened and the United Nations grew a relationship with the United Lands, enlisting the Magistrate’s Army into the war. In every war following, the United Nations and United Lands worked together and slowly built trust between the two once opposing forces. Many years passed and from millions of mixings of creatures, warlocks and humans, hatred between the human race and creatures or warlocks had calmed down quite a bit, yet the racism never went away fully as it was still taught in most continents. By the end of the 1900s and early 2000’s, many programs were instated to mix the cultures of humans, creatures and warlocks. Although things have calmed down between the races, there is still a large mountain to climb in racism between creatures and humans. As time has gone on, the pendulum of hatred has swung more for the hatred of the human race, as they had almost made Rune extinct of it’s creatures and endangered trolls, pegasai, dwarfs and it’s rare magical creatures with one invasion in the 1700’s that had almost wiped out the creatures of Rune’s existence entirely. Chapter 1: Warlocks, Creatures and Humans, Oh My! Wren’s moss green eyes looked out the airplane window to the beautiful hills, valleys and mountains of Loch Valley, Centaurus of the United Lands. Her curious eyes grazed over the distant hills and valleys where she could see a flight of witches and warlocks gliding above the trees together in a pack. Wren smiled in awe and wonder, always wishing since a little girl that she could fly like a witch. She always, admittedly, envied her neighbor down the street who was half witch and had flying lessons with her dad. She ended up in a tree her first flight but Wren would have paid anyone in the world to be just like her neighbor, even if she’d ended up in a tree or with a broken arm. She frowned and looked back down to her history book of Centaurus, knowing that would never be her fate. All she ever wished growing up was to be some sort of creature, whether that had been a mermaid, witch, dwarf, gollum, fairy, vampire or even a troll. Wren just wanted to be something that wasn’t a human. Gross. That was probably the worst race to be in this day and age. As she read her history book, she couldn’t imagine how it was like as a creature to feel such fear of being kidnapped or killed for being something that’s not human. There are hundred of documented real life horror stories in America, where Wren was born, about witch trials, murders of full werewolf or vampire families, abductions and experiments on creatures. That’s only one country and the stories across the world are equally as volatile and despicable. Luckily, those things didn’t happen anymore, at least not often. There’s always some Ted Bundy who has a weird thing for creatures or witches unfortunately. Also, creatures aren’t victims, they’ve killed humans too. However, the millions of creatures and warlocks slaughtered for pure racism of creatures will always supersede the current day issues. Millions were killed at the hands of the human race in 1702 in genocide by the US and British army human invasions. Millions. Wren was disgusted by that thought alone and that her ancestors could do such things to innocent creatures. To say she hated her ancestors was an understatement at this point after traveling 10 hours on the plane and rereading the dark history of Centaurus and Rune inflicted by the human race. Wren could see why creatures and warlock have been known to be rude to humans. Lucky for Wren Smith, she decided to do an international exchange program for 4 years at Dragonstone School of Warlocks & Creatures. Maybe not so lucky... yet Wren’s deep desires to be close to warlocks and creatures ran so strong she’d put aside everything to be where she felt she belonged. Ever since Wren was a young girl, she knew that Idaho, United States was not where she belonged. It was true as everyone presumed of Idaho: all we have is cornfields and potatoes out there! Wren thought. She absolutely despised everything there and found herself bored 9 times out of 10. The one fun thing was having a neighborhood friend who was part witch. Her name was Jade who Wren went to school with. They eventually blossomed into best friends throughout the years until their friendship abruptly ended when Jade and her parents moved to Glades, Rune when the girls turned 12. Wren remembers crying for almost a month straight when Jade moved and as dramatic as that sounded, losing your best friend was a big deal as a kid. It felt like the end of the world to Wren and she had close to no friends after Jade left. Wren was always the ‘weird girl’ who had a ‘witch friend’ and Wren knew the small-minded classmates would never understand her the way Jade did. The day she moved, Wren remembered writing in her diary, “When I turn 18, I’m moving the HELL out of Idaho and going to Centaurus! Idaho can kiss my ass!!” If you’re wondering, yes Wren did, in fact, write those curse words when she was 12 and luckily her parents never read her diary… or at least she thought they didn’t. “Flight attendants, prepare for landing.” The pilot stated to the passengers and attendants. Wren sighed as she closed her book, stowing it away in her backpack. She looked to her right where a pair of eyes were glancing at Wren and she met them. A part werewolf part human woman's dark brown eyes were looking at her. Wren smiled politely to her as the woman looked forward with a small huff in annoyance. Creatures really hate humans still, huh? She was half human, where does she feel the right to judge! Wren thought to herself and frowned, looking back out the window. It was weird leaving home, the United States. Wren had never left the US, let alone to a country that hates the human race, even more so Americans. Wren didn’t think most countries liked Americans to begin with, let alone human Americans to further complicate things for her. In Centaurus, it’s a known fact humans are more susceptible to hate crimes and harassment. Creatures don’t like humans and humans don’t like creatures. That’s been a known conflict since the beginning of time. Wren knew that just maybe she was the weird human that liked creatures and wanted to be one. The best person Wren ever knew was a witch, after all. She saved Wren’s life once and Wren would never forget that day. When Wren was 11 about to turn 12, the girls were playing on the bridge in the forest near their houses. Wren jumped on the railing of the bridge and stuck her arms out, yelling, “Maybe I can fly like you Jade!” Jade’s dark brown eyes looked concerned as she tugged on the hem of Wren’s blue jeans, “Don’t be stupid, get down from there!” “I just want to be a witch like you one day, Jade. Maybe I can if I try! Don’t you remember that book we read about the girl who didn’t know she was a witch and found out by falling? Maybe that’s me!” Wren said, walking one foot in front of the other on the railing as she swayed, almost falling to the side with the river below. “Wren! Stop it! You’re scaring me and I want to have an ALIVE best friend, not a DEAD best friend!!”Jade said frantically on the bridge below Wren. “I’m going to tell on you if you don’t come down!” She stomped her foot bossily while crossing her arms. Wren smiled, knowing she was the brave, bold but stupid friend in that moment. She stood there, looking behind her one last time before deciding to get down. As she began lowering her foot, Wren’s heel somehow caught the nail of the bridges railing and it caused her balance to falter. She felt myself quickly lose gravity as her whole body fell backwards and Jade screamed, “WREN!!!” Her stomach tickled as she fell through the air. She closed her eyes as she awaited the cold water, yet time stood still and she felt nothing. Did I die? She thought as she opened her eyes and was levitating up and over to where the trees and grass was near the side of the river. She toppled onto the ground and rolled a few times. Wren got up, dusting off the dirt from her sweatshirt as Jade ran over and hugged her. “You dummy!! You almost died!” Jade said as she hugged Wren hard. “Thanks for saving me Jade, I’m so sorry!” Wren said, feeling a few tears go down her face from the stupid thing she almost did. Jade blinked at Wren as she pulled back and shook her head, “I, uh, didn’t do anything Wren.” She said, looking humbly down. Wren winked at her, “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.” Jade was quiet about her magic abilities. Her parents didn’t want anyone in their school or neighborhood to know she was a witch. Most creatures kids from Centureon were bullied and that was the main reason her family kept it hidden. It was a secret Wren only knew about because Jade flew into her tree one evening with a yelp and that was the first time Wren and Jade met when her dad ran over to our house and apologized for Jade climbing on Wren’s backyard tree to Wren’s parents. Little did her dad know that Wren was on the second floor bedroom and was looking outside when Jade struck the tree near her bedroom. It looked like it hurt, that was for sure. Wren still didn’t know to this day who hurt worse that day, Jade or the tree. The airplane glided down as Wren gasped in awe at the city below of Aeradon, Dragonstone in Centaurus. She had only read in books about how beautiful the city was with it’s ancient skyscraper castles on hills that overlooked hundreds of villages, rivers and the water to the side of the city. Wren was sad to not see dragons circling the castles like in the childhood books she read as a kid but the beauty was enough to take her breath away. The plane passed over Dragonstone’s other outskirt villages further to the edge of where the cliffs met the sea. She felt the plane hit the ground as Wren smiled, getting giddy with excitement of the new life she had just began. Wren had been waiting for her entire human life to be in Dragonstone, Centaurus, let alone to be accepted to a school in Dragonstone School of Warlocks & Creatures for a 4 year international exchange program. She frowned, remembering how sad her mom got when Wren told her. Her mom didn’t look at her and just went into her parent’s bedroom as Wren’s dad looked at her in the eyes and said, “I thought you were going to Harvard, you got accepted and the chance that people would die to have! I can’t believe you’re throwing away your life like this.” He said in disappointment, shaking his head and sighing. “Dragonstone School of Warlocks & Creatures is a much more prestigious acceptance dad. Only 4 foreign exchange students are accepted per year and they hardly ever accept a full-blood human exchange student!” Wren grumbled, crossing her arms and shaking her head, annoyed with her parents and they’re obvious disappointment. Can’t they let her have one happy moment?! “Dragonstone is a dangerous place for humans, Guinevere. You never listen to me or your mother.” Wren knew it was serious disappointment when her dad said her real name that she hated hearing. Guinevere Smith. Ugh, she hated that name, reasons why she went by Wren. Her classmates growing up couldn’t say her full name so they called her Gwen, which Wren hated even more. That’s when she read a kids book in elementary school with a witch named Wren. That’s when she told her classmates and teachers that she went by Wren. Ever since then, Guinevere had been Wren, although her parents didn’t jump on board with the name change until a few years later. Now they only used her full name when she was in trouble. Her dad stood, not having any more of this conversation. Wren’s parents and her never saw eye to eye on things like this. They always warned her of creatures and magical beings, stating that they were malicious and hated humans. They never knew Wren’s best friend growing up was a witch, and she didn’t think she’d ever tell them. The more they warned me growing up about Centaurus and Rune, the more Wren knew she had to visit it to see herself. For 18 years Wren grew more and more curious, just wanting to prove her parents wrong about creatures and warlocks. Her best friend and her dad were creatures and she would not allow a stigma decide her own opinions. Wren finally was able to stand after ten minutes of waiting for the passengers to file out of the plane. She began to gather her items from the overhead compartment. Unfortunately, Wren was short and small framed that it didn’t help when she reached for her suitcase, struggling to grasp it. She stood on her tippy toes and grunted as she grabbed her suitcase handle and pulled, the momentum of her pull swinging Wren to the left a bit as she accidentally nudged the person directly behind her. The person muttered, “Fucking rude humans.” “Um, sorry.” Wren looked back at the middle aged warlock man behind her who had a satin black cloak and a dark brown disheveled pointed hat on. She blinked back her awe of being near a warlock and walked forward to out of the plane through customs and baggage claim as she tried to shake off the odd exchange. “Guinevere Marie Smith, what’s your purpose here and how long is your stay?” The merman customs officer asked as his light sea blue eyes shifted to Wren’s eyes, studying in curiosity. Wren pulled out her file from her backpack that her international counselor told her to show to customs, “I’m an international exchange student for Dragonstone School of Warlocks & Creatures and will be here for 4 years.” She said a touch boastfully, handing him her files. He looked them over with an annoyed glance and handed them back to her with her passport, waiving Wren away, “Next.” Wren shoved her file back into her backpack and grabbed her luggage, shaking off his rudeness as she walked between throngs of people. She tried not to glance at the different creatures of mermen, trolls, gollums, warlocks, witches, vampires, dwarves, fairies and werewolves that threaded through the area or gawk too long. A lot of people looked like humans or half-humans that walked past as she went to the outside to find the shuttle to the train. A hour passed filled with wrong turns and Wren finally found a train car that directly took her to Dragonstone School of Warlocks & Creatures. She stowed her items away and sat as someone poked their head into the car, “Do you mind if I share a car with you? It’s kind of full everywhere else.” Wren nodded with a smile, meeting a set of light blue eyes that looked human. She was a bit relieved that she was human, given that all Wren’s other encounters were rude with anyone who wasn’t also human. That was becoming more apparent the more minutes she spent in Centaurus. As the girl was putting away her items overhead, another knock sounded and a large guy who had to duck into the car peaked in, “Can we join you? If there’s room, uh, of course.” His eyes were a light yellow and his skin was a slight tint of green with bumps over his arms. He was part troll from what Wren could tell but very polite with a thick Scottish accent. “Of course.” Wren tried to give a friendly nod to the seats in front of her as he ducked to get inside and helped the other human girl with her items overhead. A smaller fairy girl, about Wren’s height, with light glowing skin came inside behind him. She had light pink almost white, long wavy hair and quietly trotted behind the half troll guy as he helped her with her luggage storage too. He sat down on the farthest corner from Wren and the fairy girl sat next to Wren. A floral scent reached Wren’s nostrils and she smiled in nostalgia of going through gardening shops as a kid with her mother. There's an awkward silence in the train car until the half troll spoke, “My names Frederick Ploffploof. Half-troll if anyone’s wondering, first year and from Luss, Scotland. Nice to meet everyone.” He says with a deep voice and heavy accent, awkwardly looking between the three girls who are silent. He has a humor about him when he talks that Wren almost wants to giggle at but decided not to as she didn’t want to come across as a ‘fucking rude human’ again. The human girl across from Wren went next, “Hi, I’m Olivia Appleton, from Virginia, the States. First year, human.” The fairy girl spoke with a bubbly voice, “Hai hai! I’m Pixie Lightwood and I’m a fairy from Glowfield, Centaurus and second year.” A lot of fairies came from Glowfield or suburbs surrounding, Wren was going to guess that but didn’t want to say it or presume anything. Wren smiled, trying to be friendly and hopefully not weird by how giddy she was to meet others, especially who were creatures, “Wren Smith. First year, human unfortunately as well.” The group laughs as Wren spoke and she continued, “From Idaho, the States.” “Against most judgements cast against humans, I quite prefer them over witches any day.” Pixie said as she touched Wren’s arm in a friendly nudge and Wren looked down at the gentle touch that glistened after her hand left Wren’s skin. “Oops! I haven’t had that happen before besides in my community, I’m so sorry!” Pixie said, trying to wipe off the glisten and light glitter that was on Wren’s skin from her touch, yet, when she tried to wipe it off it caused even more glitter. Frederick rumbled in a laugh with Olivia as Wren tried dusting off the literal fairy dust, “It’s fine I got it! No worries.” Wren giggled with Pixie as she met her light pink and slightly yellow-green flecked eyes that glowed to Wren. She paused, “You said that doesn’t happen often?” “No, I mean, only to other fairies or pure people. If you're full human, that means I can trust you is all.” Pure? What did that mean? Wren thought. “I wouldn’t say I’m pure, maybe just dumb. Also, I’m for sure full human.” Wren says with a last giggle as she dusts off the glitter that doesn’t seem to go away. If she wasn’t human, she’d know for certain by this point in her life. She could not even count how many spells and potions she’s tried to cast in her life. Also, not to mention how many times she’s ran and jumped with a broomstick, only to face plant completely. If she were a fairy and could fly, Wren would have by now. She’s 100% human, which was unfortunate to Wren to say the least. Wren chalked it up to maybe that she was ‘pure’… whatever that meant. Olivia squeals from across from Wren, “Touch me next! I want to know!” “Me too!” Frederick rumbles as he sticks out his arm with Olivia and the group all laughs in the train car together. Pixie touches Olivia and Frederick and nothing happens. “Isn’t ‘purity’ like a virginity thing?” Frederick asks in his thick accent to Pixie. The train finally begins moving as it seems the train filled fully and students are walking in the hallways trying to find seats still. Wren blushes for a moment, hoping no one can see as she felt called out. Luckily, Pixie’s answer comes to her rescue. Pixie begins laughing loudly and shaking her head as her eyes are watery from laughing when she calms down, “No, purity is by-“ Someone open the car door and cuts Pixie off, “Excuse me, sorry to bother but-“ A very tall, handsome human-looking man with medium to long copper brown hair pushed back but falling carelessly to the side of his head enters the car. His sea blue eyes meet Wren’s and she almost drops her jaw and drools by how gorgeous he is. He was one of the most attractive men Wren had ever laid eyes on from his strong jawline down to his biceps and muscles carved through his black long sleeve shirt he war wearing. Why was Wren so suddenly flustered as he locked eyes with her? She had never felt so off-put by a simple question. Wren already assumed he was so far out of her league that she kept her mouth closed as his eyes left Wren’s and looked around the car, seeing it was full. Frederick took two seats easily and the other 3 seats were taken by the girls. Wren wished it was a six seat car to invite this mysterious man inside. Wren gulped, knowing that a beautiful fairy was next to her and another attractive girl sat across her way. Wren looked with a fleck of jealousy to Olivia who had light brown, long hair and beautiful blue eyes. In comparison, Wren had long dark brown, almost black hair and moss green eyes that she always felt she looked so plain and never anything special. She couldn’t help feeling like she was but a speck in the sea of women in that moment. She never even had a love interest before, yet for some reason this random beautiful man shows up and she was instantly into him. Never had she ever gotten so flustered by 6 words. God help her. “It looks like this car’s full, maybe next one.” He murmured to the person behind him in his slight Centaurus accent. He looked back over to the group and somehow his beautiful sea blue eyes fell to Wren instead of anyone else in the car, as if she were the only one inside it, “Sorry again.” He nodded to the rest of the group with a charming smile and closed the door. Wren blushed down at her hands, feeling dumb that she just stared at him without responding once, how could she be so stupid! That’s how Wren successfully doesn’t get a boyfriend. It wasn’t like she was looking to have one these next four years but she wouldn’t have been against having one if it were with someone as attractive as him. “Who was that fine piece of man?” Olivia blurted after he left and they all burst out laughing. “Looks can be deceiving, trolls are much better specimens of men just so you ladies know.” Frederick spoke and paused for a moment as he sighed, “Gentle giants as some would say.” He straightened out his shirts as they all laughed at his gentle giant comment. Pixie stopped laughing, the only second year among them, and said, “That’s Nate Seastone. I’m not sure if he’s single though, last year he was with one of the Sinister Twins which is, honestly, a huge red flag.” Olivia crossed her arms, “Bummer, he was hot.” Wren gulped, not saying anything as she now knew she wasn’t the only one who had a thing for him. “Who’s the ‘Sinister Twins’?” Wren asked, looking to Pixie. Pixie shook her head, blinking back a serious flicker in her eyes that Wren caught, looking down, “Sorry, I just don’t want to spread anything about them or gossip. They are just not good witches and I suggest steering clear of them. That’s all I’ll say.” An awkward silence took over the car as she said not good witches. Wasn’t it illegal to us magic to harm others? Wren thought to herself, hearing that Dragonstone kicked out people for that. She thought she was going to a safe school, not a we’ll-sweep-things-under-the-table type of school. Wren gulped, looking out the window as the train went over the edge of the cliffs that looked out to the sea. Her mind couldn’t help but wonder if she made the right decision going to Dragonstone School of Warlocks & Creatures considering she was not, in fact, a warlock nor creature and was getting the impression humans really didn’t belong there.
  10. One pill makes you larger, And one pill makes you small I lay on my unmade bed, the sunlight filtering in through the curtains and casting a warm glow over my room. It was a mess, with clothes strewn across the floor and posters peeling off the walls. My eyes were fixed on the letter in my hand, my mind racing with excitement and fear. The invitation to the exchange student program in another dimension was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a way to break free from the shadows of my father and brother. I had always lived in their shadow, always felt like a disappointment. But doubts swirled in my mind. What if I failed? What if I didn't fit in? Despite my fears, I needed advice from someone who understood the weight of this decision. Despite our complicated relationship, I decided to call Alex, my older brother and the heir to our father's corrupt empire. "Hey, it's Eric," I said, my voice trembling with nerves. "I received a letter about an exchange student program in another dimension. I wanted to know your thoughts on it." There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Alex spoke. "It might be worth considering. It could be a chance for you to grow up a little." I bristled at his words, but I knew he was right. I had been living a reckless and aimless life, and this program could be the opportunity I needed to find a sense of purpose. After the call, I decided to speak to my father. I walked down the long hallway to his office, my heart pounding in my chest. He was a distant and imposing figure, always focused on business and the success of his corrupt empire. But I needed to know what he thought about the program. As I entered the room, my father's eyes locked onto mine. He was surrounded by his business associates, his face stern and unyielding. "What do you want?" he asked sharply. I handed him the letter and said, "I received an invitation to an exchange student program in another dimension. I wanted to know what you thought about it." He scanned the letter, his expression unreadable. "It's your decision to make, Eric. But remember, you will be representing our family. Make sure you conduct yourself accordingly." "I understand," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "I just wanted to know if you thought it was a good opportunity." My father hesitated for a moment before saying, "It could be. But it's up to you to make the most of it." I nodded, feeling a sense of relief. My father had never been one for words of encouragement, but his neutral response was better than a negative one. As I left my father's office, the letter still clutched in my hand, I felt a new sense of purpose. This was my chance to break free from the expectations of my family, to find a path of my own. It was a risk worth taking. The days between the acceptance of my application and my departure for the exchange program were both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. I spent hours poring over travel guides and packing and repacking my bags. My father didn't say much about my upcoming journey, but I could tell he was secretly pleased. Perhaps he saw this as an opportunity for me to make something of myself and shed the reputation of being a disappointment. "Make sure you conduct yourself appropriately," he said gruffly, as I sat in his office going over my travel documents. "I will, Dad," I said, trying to keep my voice even. Alex surprised me with a thoughtful gift - a new set of tools to work on my beloved car. It was a reminder that despite our differences, he still cared about my passions. "Make sure you take good care of it," he said, handing me the toolbox. "And be careful out there. It's a strange world in that dimension." "I will," I said, surprised at the show of concern from my older brother. As the day of my departure drew near, I couldn't shake the nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. The idea of leaving everything I knew behind and entering a completely new dimension was both exciting and terrifying. "I don't know if I can do this," I said to Alex as we sat in the living room, surrounded by my bags. "What if I don't fit in? What if I'm not good enough?" "You'll be fine," Alex said, clapping me on the back. "It's scary, I know. But you're brave, Eric. And you're smart. You'll figure it out." I felt a warmth in my chest at his words. Perhaps our relationship wasn't irreparably broken after all. On the morning of my departure, my father gave me a curt nod and wished me luck. Alex gave me a rare smile and a pat on the back, wishing me well on my journey. As I made my way to the portal that would take me to the new dimension, I felt a mix of excitement and fear. But I knew that this was my chance to break free from the expectations of my family, to find a path of my own. It was a risk worth taking.
  11. Chapter 1 I find myself wandering in a dark forest, one with which I was told has many a rumor upon it. “Those who enter the forest alone will never find their way out.” Honestly I didn’t put much weight into it, having been told such things since I was but a child, and as with most things we are old as children, it's just one more “white” lie to assist in the exhaustive task of child rearing. The other rumor from childhood was just as outlandish, “A witch lives in the forest, if you go to see her she can grant any wish.” Granted I’m not sure where that one fits in my previous theory. Of course as an adult I was past such fantasies, instead worrying about the much more concrete fears of bills and long work hours. Horrifying. I stop for a moment taking in my surroundings, a misty twilight forest lit by the little light that makes it through the expansive canopy above me. The bark around me is well worn with age, gnarled roots popping out of the ground as so many grasping arms reaching out to trip. Heh, I suppose with a forest like this such rumors might well be warranted. Brushing aside a lock of ginger red hair, I peer down past my blue dress, worn by my time in the forest. I examine my bare feet, heels long abandoned, that continue to make themselves known. The dull ache is a constant reminder of just how long I have been walking. I suppose I just need a little more time to make up my mind, although I am plainly aware of just how certain my decision was. I move to continue, it’s not time yet for what I came here for, a step later I see the floor fast approac- __________ “Hello?” A dull ringing sound is still echoing in my ears as my consciousness slowly awakens. ‘What happened?’ I wonder as memories flood back unbidden. Perhaps my metaphor of grasping arms was a little too on point, or perhaps my clumsy nature was to blame, irregardless I feel the soft plush earth propping up my head. ‘Plush?’ My eyes shoot open. A pink blob is what greets me, followed by a pair of concerned pink eyes. I leap away from my impromptu lap pillow immediately wary of this stranger. “Ah!” the stranger lets out a squeak not prepared for the sudden movement. Taking a moment to step back I focus my blurry eyes and take in the stranger’s bizarre appearance. The first thing that comes to mind is just how accurate pink would be as a general description. A young woman stands before me wearing what could only be described as a strawberry dress. It is completely pink with strawberry accents upon its puffed out sleeves, a strawberry apron, and a big poofy red bow tying it together pops out from behind her. Looking up I see that her hair is also pink covered in a pink bonnet accented with, what else, but more strawberries a small red bow adjourning either side. She looked like a kids cartoon character popped out of a television set. Smells just as sweet as she looks. “Are… you all right?” She asks, staring apprehensively, her voice melodic. “I found you knocked out and was just trying to rouse you when you woke…” “Wh- Who are you?” I ask with a cough, my voice hoarse. “And why did you have my head on your lap?” Trying to keep suspicion out of my tone, people did not just conveniently wander through forests for no reason. She blushes at my accusation, at least having the common courtesy to feel a little embarrassed at offering such an intimate act to a complete stranger. “Ah, I was just propping your head up so that I could bandage the wound, sorry…” She trails off with an awkward giggle. At that my hand shoots up to feel some sort of makeshift bandage upon my temple. It is slightly damp with what must be blood. “Oh! Where are my manners, My name is Strawberry the Strawberry Witch. I live out in these woods. I have a small bakery a little ways from here, but I’m getting ahead of myself, what’s your name?” She beams a genuine smile towards me gesturing for me to answer. “...I would have never guessed.” I deadpan. If not for the pain from my forehead I might have thought I was having some sort of weird fever dream. Besides that, her ridiculous outfit and claim are putting me on edge, my rule of never trusting anyone with pink hair forthright in my mind. She continues to stare at me expectantly, her smile dampening slightly with the long silence. “Maira. My name is Maira…” I mutter out, suddenly aware of just how thirsty I am. “Well it is nice to meet you Maira, I’m not sure why you are out here, but you must be awfully thirsty given how deep you are. If you want we could go back to my bakery and get you something to drink!” “Hold up! What do you mean you are a Strawberry Witch, are you messing with me?” I ask incredulously. “It’s just what it sounds like, I'm a witch specializing in all things strawberries. I use my magic to bake sweet treats to make people smile!” She finishes with another bright smile. “Uh huh…” Who am I to judge people for being crazy? “So how about it, would you like to have something to drink? I could whip up some strawberry lemonade or strawberry milk in a jiffy!” My immediate gut response was to scream no as loud as I could and hightail it away from this obvious lunatic. But given why I was here, I suppose that the worst that could happen would be expediting the reason I was here. “Uh, sure that sounds good.” I started unevenly, tensing as Strawberry’s smile expanded. “Ok! Follow me, it's close by!.” Despite myself I began to follow the suspicious person I had just met further into the forest, already aware of how bad an idea this would certainly turn out to be. Author's Note: Based off a small indie game called berry-witched, I wanted to get the first bit out promptly so that I don't get dejected about not reaching word count goals and so that I can, in theory post more often. Who knows how that will go, but hopefully I can get a chapter out every couple of days. It will be a little bit until diapers become prevalent. Thanks for reading and hopefully I can post again.
  12. Hello everyone! This is the first part of my story. I apologize for any mistakes but this is the first time I'm writing something, and English is not my first language. So don't judge me too harshly. That said, any criticism is welcome, I want to improve my writing. Tell me if you want the story to go on, I have a couple more chapters ready ? Enjoy! Chapter 1 The Rapture The air in the night was cold, but Jenny didn’t mind. She liked going running late in the night, when the city was almost deserted. It gave her the time to really think about her life. The 25 beautiful blonde lawyer was on a road to greatness. The legal studio she had inherited from her retired father was going to assure her success and wealth for her entire life, and the shunning look she possessed would guarantee her a plethora of friends and lovers. Yeah life was good, she thought closing her eyes and letting the fresh air fill her lungs and the endorphins run in her blood. She was running through the city park when a strange sensation hit her. She couldn’t explain why, her skin started tingling and she felt an awkward thrill running up her spine. Slowing her pace she noticed something else was off, the tall buildings of the city seemed strange when she looked at them. They seemed… flickering and shifting. Confused, she stopped running and leaned over a tree to rest, but when she tried to touch the tree she noticed that it was…transparent?! “ Apparently I ran too much and now I’m hallucinating”, she thought, taking deep breaths to calm down. Then a ringing noise started to fill her ears, at first she heard it on the background, then it grew stronger and stronger until it became deafening. She fell on her knees covering her ears, but the sound seemed to pierce right through. “Subject locked. Initiating rapture procedure….” A metallic, cold voice announced from a non distinct point in front of her, but the park was deserted. Suddenly she was blinded by a flash of white light. She had barely the time to open her mouth to scream, then everything went black. …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… Jenny slowly regained consciousness, she was lying on a soft surface, her eyes were still closed, but she could sense the absence of light in the room around her. “That’s it, I must have slept through my evening training”, she thought smiling to herself “I’m really getting lazy over time…”. Then she noticed something was inside her mouth, a rubber object that filled almost all of it. Her muscles snapped as she immediately jumped to her feet. “What the hell? What is this thing?” She removed the object to better look at it. Due to her being still half asleep and the room being dimly lit, she took a few moments to properly identify it. It was a large pacifier, and was attached with a clasp and a plastic chain to her t-shirt. Her t-shirt?! She didn’t even remember having a shirt like that! it was pink - she hated pink- decorated with unicorns, and didn’t even reach past her bellybutton. “That’s messed up even for a dream”, then she noticed the bulk between her legs. Wrapped around her waist was a large white undergarment, It looked like a...diaper?! But it was way bigger than normal and so thick her legs were spread so wide apart she couldn’t stand and walk properly. Jenny panicked and started running -well, waddling- in the dark without any destination, her bare feet sinking in the soft surface of the mattress. She just wanted out, she didn’t know where she was but she wanted out of there. She barely made three steps when she suddenly hit a solid surface, falling onto the mattress. High wooden bars raised well over her head. She tried shaking them, but they didn’t even move, she tried to jump to reach the top, but to no use, the bars were simply too tall. Suddenly, looking through she became aware of her surroundings. She was standing in a large room, lit by only a tepid blue nightlight placed on the ceiling. Inside she saw what seemed like twenty enormous cribs, the bars raising high to prevent the occupants from escaping, only 2 of them were occupied, small immobile silhouettes inside indicated that whoever was kept inside them, was sound asleep. “What the hell is going on?! Help!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. She was scared and confused, one moment ago she was running in the park! This seemed like a nightmare. That was the moment when a door behind her opened and the room was flooded with solar light. The figure that opened the room was enormous, and Jenny couldn’t help letting a little spurt of urine into her diaper. She looked like a woman but she was more than 3 times the height of a normal person, she was overall slim but a little of muscles showed up on her arms, her red hair tied in a ponytail. She was wearing a white gown, like the one the nurses use to wear in the hospitals, embroidered to it was written in dark red letters “CrossDimension LittleStore”. The woman smiled approaching jenny’s crib. “Well hello honey! Looks like this sweet girl finally decided to wake up!” Jenny was terrified, but not entirely surprised, she had heard about them. Amazons. They lived in another dimension, and they had recently established some commercial relationship with their world. But it she had never seen one in person, the effect was utterly intimidating even though the girl in front of her was probably 23, way younger than her. “Where am I? What’s going on here?” “Well sweetie, you are so lucky! You have been chosen for our adoption program… There are so many littles like you that need someone to care for them. And there are a lot of Bigs in our dimension who are prepared to pay good money to adopt one of you. I promise everything will be alright, we just need to complete the last few steps in the inclusion process, and then you’ll be able to find a Mommy or a Daddy who will love and provide for you forever and ever!” cooed the nurse. “What?!” Jenny was shocked, her eyes wide open in horror “Adopted!? Like some kind of baby? Forget it! You are straight up crazy! Take me home right now! I swear I’ll call my father…” The nurse smiled condescendly “All of you dimension 6 littles are so feisty! I love it! Some of these days I might adopt one of you. Now come here, we have looots of things to do” “Let me go!!” Jenny screamed as the nurse lifted her by the armpits and picked her up. She was so fast and so strong… Jenny tried punching, screaming and kicking, but the giant seemed to barely feel it. She was carried in another room, this one had big windows and was brightly coloured. The walls were painted in blue, yellow and pink, plastic letters attached to the walls spelling “An adopted baby is a happy baby”, toys were scattered on the floor. It seemed like a daycare play area. Part of the room was occupied with a set of changing tables, they were enormous! The opposite part was encircled by what it seemed like a tall mesh wall that delimited a wide area where, to jenny’s horror, 10 other people like her -littles- dressed in diapers and baby clothes were sitting quietly, playing with rattles and other baby toys in a dilatory way. Some of them had pacifiers in their mouths. Jenny could see that one of two of them had red eyes, like if they had been crying their eyes out in the last few hours, the expression that Jenny red in their faces was clear : defeat. but the thing jenny noticed most, was that everyone of them had a leather collar -like the ones that were used on pets- tied to their neck, with shiny metal tags dangling, some of them wore a little bell attached to the collar too. The screaming woman was carried through the room and sat on one of the changing tables. Another nurse approached them, this one seemed a little older than the red haired one – Jenny would have guessed she was her age- her hair was black. “My my, we got another screamer here?” “Seems like it, but I will give her one more opportunity, after all I’m not THAT unreasonable.”- smiled the red haired nurse. Her tone of voice was mocking, and it infuriated Jenny even more. “Sweetie, I know this is all new and confusing to you, but you have to understand that this behaviour is not allowed in here. Littles are supposed to stay quiet, see how well the other littles are behaving? Show me that what a good girl you are and calm down for me, ok honey?” Jenny was on the verge of tears, but she kept her voice steady when she spat on the girl’s face and screamed “Fuck you! Put me down THIS INSTANT, YOU BITCH!” The two nurses smiled at each other. “Well” said the red headed wiping the spit off her face “looks like a mild attitude adjustment won’t hurt before we find yourself a mommy” With that, she swept the little girl on her knees, with a fluid move tore away her diaper and without saying anything, started raining down blows on her naked butt. Jenny was shocked how easily she had been manhandled by the giant nurse. The pain caught her by surprise, it was unbearable. She started thrashing her legs and arms, trying to get away, but not to avail, the giant held her steady face down with one hand pressed on her back, while striking her with the other. The spanking continued for what it seemed like an eternity, at the end of it Jenny was a blubbering mess, her nose running and her eyes red like she had no more tears left. “Please -sniff- stop… No more….” “You hear it Martha? Looks like this little girl is giving us orders…. She still has to understand that “WE” -THWACK!, “ARE” THWACK!, “THE” THWACK!, “ONES” THWACK!, “WHO” THWACK!, “MAKE” THWACK!, “THE” THWACK!, “RULES” THWACK! Each of her words was underlined with a hard spank on the little girl’s already blistering bottom. Jenny screamed in pain, she felt like her ass was on fire. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the nurse had spilled some of her blood during the spanking. She was lifted once again into the air facing the red headed girl. She could barely meet her gaze, her bottom hurting so much it was difficult even to think. “So are you gonna behave and be a good little for me honey? Or do you want nurse Lilith to resume the spanking?” “NO PLEASE! I’ll be good” “Very good” “Now we have to replace that diaper of yours don’t we? Our little girl got it ruined during her wittle tantrum” Smiled the nurse. “But since you were such a bad girl I think we will need to switch to the crawlers diapers sweetie, at least until I’m convinced you’ll behave for me. Can you say that sweetie?” “I- I- I’ll b-behave for nurse L-Lilith” blubbered Jenny through tears while being laid on the changing table, her legs lifted and her private areas wiped with a moist tissue. Jenny covered her face with her hands, it was so embarrassing having these two younger ladies seeing her naked. She felt totally dehumanized and humiliated. “Very good honey, I knew you were smart enough not to cross me again” nurse Lilith smiled, as she finished to wipe her, then she produced an enormous purple diaper, it had four tabs instead of the classic two, the waistband was decorated with teddy bears and pacifiers. Jenny suppressed another set of sobs as she watched the ominous garment being brought near her and sealed around her waist. The diaper covered her entire belly over her bellybutton, arriving event to touch her ribs. And it was so thick she couldn’t even close her legs enough to walk! When nurse Lilith was finished with her she tried to stand on the changing table, she barely managed, the diaper didn’t allow her to fully straighten her legs, and when she tried to take a step forward, she immediately fell on her padded behind on the frame of the changing table. “This is too thick! I can’t even walk with this thing on!” she cried. “Uh, Uh honey. Littles speak only when the adults say so. Especially bad girls like you. I was thinking that since we are here, it’s better to sort the collar thing out.” After hearing that Jenny saw the other nurse -Martha, the black haired one- approaching holding what it seemed to be one of the pet-like collars the other littles inside the playpen wore. She started to crawl backwards, away from the her, but her arms were blocked by nurse Lilith who smiled. “It’s ok sweetie. Little playthings such as you need their collars to be safe. So that everyone will know that you belong to you mommy and no one can steal you away from her!” “What?! Belong?! I’m not a pet or a plaything! Please…” But as the red haired nurse held her arms tight and prevented her from struggling, Nurse Martha sealed the collar around her neck with a “Click”. The collar wasn’t too tight, but Jenny could feel it being there, a permanent reminder of her loss of freedom and independence. In front of the collar dangled a silver tag which spelled “Baby Girl” and then there was a space left blank. When the nurses released their grip, Jenny’s hands went to the collar, trying to pry it open, but despite looking like a leather collar, it felt like steel on jenny’s hands. The poor girl tried everything to get that damned thing off, but tot to avail, under the amused look of the nurses. “Why are you doing this to me? I’m a person! I’m an adult goddammit! I don’t need diapers!” Jenny started panicking again, and after trying to remove her collar, her hands went to the tabs of her diaper. She tried peel the adhesive tabs off, but they were firmly attached to the diaper. Then she tried to tear the fabric, but the material was simply too resistant. “You can try all you want baby. But the collar and the diapers are little-proofed. They only way you can take them off is if an adult decides so.” “That’s impossible! How strong is this diaper?! I can’t…” “…And now I think our little girl has earned herself some quiet time for speaking to adults without permission.” Said nurse Lilith, pushing a rubber pacifier inside Jenny’s mouth. Caught by surprise, Jenny immediately tried to spit the rubber teat out, but the giant woman held it pressed against her. Then she flicked the ring of the pacifier, and the rubber teat started suddenly inflating, filling Jenny’s mouth and lowering her tongue, effectively silencing her attempts to speak or cry. “Mhhpph? MHHPPPHHH!!!” “There. Much better. It’s common knowledge that littles should be seen, and not heard. You’ll earn your tongue back if you’re a good girl.” Said Nurse Lilith patting Jenny’s head “But I personally like seeing you like this, with a thick diaper that paci and the collar you are the perfect little. You’re so precious I could eat you up!” “Mhhhhhphh, mhhph…” Jenny tried to pull the pacifier out but the expanded nipple inside her mouth prevented her from doing so. Frustrated, she started banging her feet on the changing table’s surface. “Speaking of eating, I guess baby Jenny hasn’t had her breakfast yet, and it’s better to put her on the same schedule as the other littles. We can’t show favouritism now, can’t we?” cooed nurse Lilith carrying the little girl, now dressed in only her thick diaper, to another room. This room looked like an enormous kitchen, there was an oven, a cooker and two fridges. A row of 10 highchairs were lined up against a wall, and the rest of the room was occupied with little-sized plastic coloured tables and chairs. It looked like a daycare lunch area. Nurse Lilith carried the little girl straight to one of the Highchairs, lowered her in, then safely strapped her body with a five point harness before locking the tray back in place. Then she brought near the highchair what looked like an IV stand with a big recipient filled with a semi liquid greyish goop. It was the most unappetizing thing Jenny had ever seen. Still she wondered how was supposed to eat that mush from her highchair and with that diabolical pacifier still in her mouth. The answer was not long in coming. Nurse Lilith produced a plastic tube and attached one end to jenny’s pacifier, and the other end to the bottom of the recipient. Jenny’s eyes widened with horror. She frantically shook her head, pleading with her eyes and emitting muffled noises to stop the nurse, who in return smiled. “We often feed our little charges ourselves, but since I don’t want to hear another word from your pottymouth for the rest of the morning, I’m putting you into the auto-feeder. And since you have been a very bad girl, I’ve added some laxatives to the mixture.” “Mhph? Mhhhhhphhh!!” “See you in half an hour little one, scream if you need me” winked Nurse Lilith flipping a switch attached to the goop-filled recipient. Immediately Jenny’s mouth was filled with a semi-liquid, sweet-flavoured substance that she had no choice but to swallow. Her tongue was kept down by the rubber teat, and the edge of the pacifier was directly pointing at her throat, making it impossible for her to do anything but swallow to avoid chocking. Jenny thrashed into the highchair, shaking her head, pounding her little fists and twitching on the bottom of her huge crinkling diaper, as the feeding mercilessly continued.
  13. Here we go again! This story takes place in the same universe as Classified: A New Life, and if you haven't read that, you should read it first. This is a much less whimsical tale, but one that I hope fleshes out the universe a bit more, as well as being enjoyable to read. It covers some pretty dark stuff as the story goes along, so read at your own risk. Here we go, and please do tell me what you think! ##### Prologue: Starquake “Fuck!” Lily Bronsen snarls. She trembles with rage, wondering how the universe could possibly be so unfair. “What’s wrong?” One of her roommates, Alex, pokes her head out of the kitchen; her blonde hair is tied up in a bun. Alex is a Neutral, and does data-entry for the CLASS branch in their area. “Did you bang your shin on the coffee table again? I keep telling Darren to pick a spot for it.” “No.” Lily snaps, swiping angrily at her eyes and pushing her strawberry-blonde hair out of her face. “I got my results today.” Alex comes over to sit next to Lily on the couch. “What’d you get?” she wonders. “I’m a Little.” Lily says bitterly. “Did you not know that ahead of time or something? I mean...most people don’t suck their thumbs when they get stressed out. Not to mention what happened last week at Shue’s place.” “I was drunk, okay? It’s not like I piss myself regularly or anything.” Lily grumbles. “What about the week before that, at the movie theatre? Or at the concert? Or the theme park?” Alex continues, listing off other embarrassing incidents, as Lily refused to call them accidents. “Too much soda, drunk again, should have gone before we got in line.” Lily huffs. “You got a fucking point to make, ‘Lex?” She growls. “I think you know exactly what I’m saying. One is an anomaly, two is a coincidence, and three is a pattern. We’re at four in the last two weeks alone. I keep telling you to wear protection--it’s not like anyone will see it anyway. Besides, I’m not a Caregiver. I don’t mind helping you out or anything like that, but I shouldn’t have to carry around extra clothes for you either.” Lily blushes. She had been wearing protection on all those occasions. Pull-ups just didn’t work for the magnitude of incidents she’d had, and she’d ended up leaking. She pats down her pockets, looking for her cigarettes and finds them empty. Fucking Darren. “First of all, I didn’t ask you to do that for me. And secondly, what are you saying then?” Lily demands. Alex sets her jaw. “You’d better watch your attitude, Lil. I’ve had a shitty day at work, and I don’t need to deal with your tantrum on top of it.” she snaps. “I’m saying you should have seen this coming miles away. I’ll go and get the ELK, and we’ll figure something out.” Alex disappears for a moment, and then returns with the ELK and a small duffel bag in the same coloring. She opens the container, revealing four tablets, one each of green, yellow, purple, and a white one. Lily tastes each of the colored tablets in turn, mostly to placate Alex while she thinks about how to proceed. She absolutely refuses to become one of them, no matter what. She’s already managed to escape one hellish environment where her every move was decided for her, and she’s not about to go through that again. The yellow candy does taste pretty good though… “So, you’re an L-3.” Alex says. “At least potty training is an option for you, that’s at least something positive…” “How do you know that?” Lily wonders, smacking her lips at the taste of the candy. “That’s literally what the candy is for. The colored coating only tastes good if your biological markers match with that Classification, or something like that, I’m not familiar with the science of it. It’s just to prevent panic attacks over the news.” Alex explains. “You just gave me drugs?” Lily wonders. “It’s just an anti-anxiety thing. Don’t worry. There’s a pull-up in the bag, and I’d like you to put it on, just in case. You’re pretty worked up right now, and I don’t want to clean up any puddles.” Lily immediately stands up, offended and angry at the implication, even if it isn’t exactly off-base. “Oh, fuck you! Really, Lex? I’m not a goddamn baby, or a puppy or whatever, I’m not going to piss on the floor.” “Lily, you’re really trying my patience. I’m only trying to help you out. I might be a Neutral, but I’m this close to taking you over my knee, I swear. If you want to be treated like an adult, then act like it, and let’s have a civil discussion without all the cursing, okay?” “Try it and see what happens, Lex.” Lily snaps, and marches across the room to retrieve her shoes and jacket. “I’m going out. I gotta talk to Bongo and Riceman.” Lily says, double checking that her wallet has actual Coin in it, and not just her card. “Why? All Bongo’s going to do is try to sell you CHITs and fake IDs.” Lily nods. “Exactly.” She zips her coat, too aggressively and makes for the door. “Lily, what the hell are you doing? I know I’m not your Caregiver, but as your friend, this is probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. Those CHITs are really dangerous, not to mention illegal, and unless you plan on hacking the CLASS database to change your results, a fake ID is useless.” “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” Lily points out. “That’s what Riceman is for.” “Are you insane? You’re trying to prevent an inevitable biological process from happening with a drug that will at best, delay it, and at worst, kill you. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you’re going to participate in cybercrime while you’re at it!” Alex’s voice gets progressively louder and she takes Lily by the arm. “Yep.” Lily replies flippantly. “I will not be a Little. Look, only like, three people have ever died from doing CHITs, and I’ll be careful. I refuse to end up as a pants-shitting crybaby who’s incapable of living a normal life. Better dead than useless.” she jerks her arm free of Alex’s grip “ I can handle myself.” She steps out into the hallway and slams the door in Alex’s face. ~CSR~ Bongo and Riceman’s apartment is surprisingly clean, Lily thinks. The furniture is old and well-used, but they take care of the things they have. She tries not to fidget as she sits across from Bongo at their kitchen table. Her bladder throbs, but not too urgently. She slides her pile of coin across the table to Bongo who counts it and nods, satisfied. “I’ve gotta go make your new ID and get the CHITS counted out. Be careful with that stuff, Lily, I mean it. Any more than one a day and you’re in for a real bad time.” Bongo say seriously, his dark eyes intense. “They’ll help with the incontinence part of things temporarily. Keeping your cool, and making smart decisions is on you. The Doctor could probably help with a more permanent solution, but he’s on sabbatical and not to be disturbed for anything. This is the best I’ve got.” Bongo says. “And some of the side effects can be pretty wicked, so like I said, one every day.” Lily nods again. “I get it.” She counts out another stack of Coin and passes it to Riceman. She’s just shelled out almost all of her savings, but if it keeps her from ending up in diapers, it’s worth it. “And I can alter some things in the CLASS systems without getting caught, but it’ll only be surface level.” Riceman explains as he scratches at his stubble, his round face serious. “Any kind of deep digging, and you’re fried. You’ll be able to buy booze and smokes, and get into clubs and shit. But buying a car or a gun or anything like that is a no-go. And, don’t get pulled over either.” “I can handle that.” Lily says, swallowing hard. “Is there anything else I should know before we do this?” Bongo stares at her. “Are you sure about this? There’s no reset button for this kind of thing. Once we do this, you’re stuck. You can live as a Neutral for the rest of your days, but if you fuck up at all, game over. And, we won’t be able to help you either, for obvious reasons.” “I understand. I’m sure.” Lily says, with a confidence she doesn’t actually feel. “Okay.” Bongo shares a glance with Riceman, and both of them stand. “Wait right here.” Riceman says. “We’ll be back shortly.” In another moment, they’re gone, leaving Lily alone with her thoughts at the table. What did I just do? Lily wonders.
  14. Hello friends, this is a repost - I was going to fill in the old thread that still had some of the comments, but that was deleted completely recently. So here we go. I'll be posting 2-3 chapters per day to allow for discussion (it'll be new for some people). When the story is done, I'll share a brand new one! ----------------------------- "No, Aimee, for the millionth time, I won't diaper you. You're my roommate, not my baby. I'm sorry your job sucks, but do you really want to just throw away your adulthood?" Fiona was exasperated at her roommate's constant attempts to get her to Amazon-up and baby her. She kept finding Little goods catalogs casually left around the apartment, showing happy Amazon mommies cuddling their fully-grown adult Littles. They watched the news together, they both knew how bad it could be on other islands. Catalon, for example, didn't even see Littles as persons. They were second-class citizens at best, pets at worst. No Little there went undiapered. Here on Gaule things were drastically different. Gaule still had a thriving native Little population, most of them fully functioning adults."Fiona, c'mon.. we've known each other forever. You can't honestly say you haven't wanted to see me in a diaper, even one time?" Aimee blinked her long black eyelashes at her roommate. She had her blonde hair in ringlets and was wearing a pink t-shirt with Tinkerbell on it, Patron Saint of Diapered Littles, under her shortalls. She purposefully dressed in a way that made her cute and vulnerable. She had the blonde hair and blue eyes that most Amazons prized, but Fiona just wouldn't budge."I can honestly say I have never wanted to see you in a diaper, you silly Little. If you want to be adopted that badly, why don't you just go stand in the middle of a store and pee yourself?" Fiona folded her arms across her chest, covering up the TARDIS on her worn t-shirt. She leaned away slightly from her pushy roomie."Owie," Aimee frowned, "I don't want just anyone, Fi.. if I did that, who knows what would happen. I could end up in an orphanage or something, I don't want that. And my job sucks more than you can even imagine. And it's not like you need my help to pay the rent! You just got promoted AGAIN." Fiona would be the perfect mommy, Aimee just knew it. She knew that if she could just get her friend to buckle once, to see how wonderful it was to snuggle someone who needed you, everything would just fall into place. She stared up into her friend's green eyes, reaching up and flipping her tight brown ponytail. Fiona hated makeup and her long hair, she'd shave it off if she could, but she needed it in her climb to the top at work."I have zero interest in taking care of someone's diapers, and you're an adult. You're my friend. We play games and watch movies. And yes, I got promoted but that doesn't mean you can just give up on being an adult. How is your job that bad?""I'm a greeter, Fiona. A greeter. I greet people. I stand on top of a big platform in a cutesy costume and I welcome people into the store. For eight hours. Each day. I already wear diapers at the store, they're not a big deal. They're actually really comfy. I hate changing myself though, and I hate using our stupid giant toilet here." Fiona didn't mind all the Little-aid devices that were around the house that allowed Aimee to live a normal, adult life. The ladder on the toilet didn't seem like it would be that bad to her."Tough nuggets, Aims. I'm not changing your diapers, you aren't my Little. If you're so keen on being a baby, why haven't you put out an ad or gotten adopted by someone while you're on the job?""Oh yeah, I want someone I don't know, or someone who works at the same awful store as I do as my mommy. No. My badge says clearly that I'm licensed, nobody can claim me without my permission. I give you permission!" Aimee flung herself into Fiona's arms, knocking Fiona's controller out of her hands, clutching at her shirt and clinging to her."Ugh," Fiona pushed the Little back onto her own couch cushion, "For the last time, no. And it's your turn to cook tonight. Finish your move in the game and go start dinner while I take my turn.""It's not fair," Aimee whined, turning back to the TV and picking up her controller, "I thought all you Amazons had crazy hormones that made you want to baby cute Littles like me." Aimee put in her orders, instructing her civilization that all Littles should be diapered no matter what, which caused her international reputation to plummet. She ended up making choices like these in most of the games they played, Littles ended up diapered like it was the way things were supposed to be. Fiona thought her dear friend should probably visit a therapist to talk about it, but any time she pressed the issue, things went very badly."You're not as cute as you think," Fiona tickled her roommate as she delivered the joke, "And who would honestly want to wipe someone else's butt? I've never understood it.""You're supposed to want to, we're supposed to be irresistible. I know it's not me, I get asked to come home with a customer at least once a week," Aimee sighed, knowing not to push this too far, Fiona would get really upset if anyone implied she was abnormal, "I just wish you wanted me that way, Fi. You're really great." Fiona allowed Aimee to lay her blonde curls across her Amazon lap. Aimee finished her turn from this odd angle, it didn't matter that they watched each others' turns - they always had it set so they were in a permanent alliance. It was always the two of them against the world.With a dramatic sigh, Aimee put the controller down on the coffee table and trudged to the kitchen. Aimee was actually a really good cook, she had this knack for knowing exactly what spices and what proportions to use, she never used a cookbook or a recipe. Tonight was chicken enchiladas, one of Fiona's absolute favorite of Aimee's dishes. Fiona chose to dream of her wonderful, gooey, cheesy chicken delights rather than focusing on how Aimee was getting incredibly pushy again. She hadn't pushed this hard in a while, things must actually be pretty rough at her job. The last time she got in a big fight at work, before she changed jobs, Aimee had actually started having "accidents" in the apartment, but Fiona had made it clear that she was either to take care of her own diapers or find another place to live. They'd been friends forever, but she just wasn't going to deal with that. Aimee's bladder control returned miraculously shortly afterward.Aimee was right, they didn't need her money to pay for anything in the apartment. Fiona had just made VP at work and money was not an issue.. but she really, truthfully had no interest in owning a Little. She never had, no one in her family did. She had grown up very nearby a Little community and had been friends with many in her youth, the thought of treating her good friend like a baby was just weird. She didn't understand why anyone would want it at all. Littles were adults, they weren't as smart or as strong as an Amazon, but they grew up and learned things and had thoughts and feelings just like anyone. They could be productive members of society, they could fall in love. Not that Fiona understood a lot about love, either.She focused on her turn, using her civilization to make peace on behalf of their alliance. The President of her democratic government was a Little, and had to spend a lot of time explaining her backwards partner's anti-Little attitudes. Honestly, it made the game more challenging. Fiona hated it when they teamed up and the game was too easy, she may as well just play solitaire. But she got to build up her military to defend Aimee's borders and work out the diplomacy, while at the same time protecting her own Littles from the worldwide attitude shift that Aimee's civ caused.Dinner was wonderful as always, Aimee put Fiona's own culinary skills completely to shame. The spanish rice and black beans were perfect. Fiona took just a moment to wipe the footprints off the countertops, it was totally and completely worth it. As was the deal, Fiona took care of all of the dishes on Aimee's night to cook. She helped Aimee down from her Littles chair and took her cartoonish pony plate and rubber fork. Aimee bought those with her own money, she wasn't going to make her get rid of them. If Aimee really wanted to wear diapers and be a baby, that was fine.. as long as she did her share of the chores, kept cooking her wonderful meals, and took care of her own diapers. In fairness, Aimee's share of the chores was smaller. She had to go to extra effort to make meals large enough to satisfy Fiona's Amazonian hunger so Fiona took care of the majority of the chores in general, especially the ones that would require more strength than Aimee had. Fiona took care of most of the dishes and the garbage, Aimee did a lot of the cooking and always took care of her own laundry.As usual, the pair stayed up a little bit too late playing their game. Aimee fell asleep on the couch during a particularly difficult turn for Fiona, who carried her off to bed and tucked her in. Aimee had to struggle very hard not to smile as her giant friend carried her, cradled in her strong arms. She "fell asleep" like this quite often, she'd hate to tip off Fiona that it wasn't always real. Being carried was addictive though, Fiona was always so careful, so gentle. Before leaving the Little's bedroom with its tiny furniture, she shook her head as she picked up a fallen pacifier and dropped it on Aimee's desk. She slipped out quietly and closed the door, then closed the smaller, Little door as well with a soft click.Fiona was pretty sure that her Little friend's longing was just a "grass is always greener" situation, she wouldn't actually like life as a babified Little. And even though she had mentioned it, she would be heartbroken if an Amazon came and took her best friend away from her. Somehow she didn't think she'd be able to go have video game playdates as a visitor in a nursery. She sighed as she climbed into her own normal-sized bed, fully expecting to wake up to Aimee snuggled in her arms in the morning. The thought brought a smile. They were best friends, but Fiona really did love Aimee in a way. She wasn't exactly sure in what way, and she wouldn't ever call the feeling "love", but she knew it was there.Her thoughts turned to the stresses of her new position. She was rubbing elbows with a different class of people now, there was a big difference between being a Senior Director in the firm and a Vice-President. Tomorrow was the start of her second week in her new office on the 14th floor, and she was still finding her footing. She wasn't used to having a secretary or having to talk to people outside the firm as part of the job. It was a new skill set she was having to hone. She had the knowledge and the expertise from the internal-facing side, but she had to succeed in this external interfacing capacity if she were going to continue her climb. It had been a long, hard road but she hadn't reached the peak yet. And she wasn't going to give that dream up for anything. Fiona was on a path to make her mark on the whole world, not just to help bring products to the market that made Little lives easier in Gaule, she wanted to reach a position where she could help Native Littles everywhere. Chapter Two Aimee struggled down from the booster seat in the back seat of the car and let herself out. She crossed in front of Fiona's car and waved to her friend to let her know she was okay. Aimee still had to go put on her uniform, it was in the breakroom with her work diapers. Fiona waved back, her hair coiffed perfectly and her dark blue suit immaculate. A gold bracelet glinted on Fiona's wrist as she waved, and then she was gone. Off to live the life of someone with power, while Aimee struggled into her diaper and her hated costume to stand and wave at people who barely paid her any mind. She wished that Fiona would change her mind, even if it was just for a week, and let her be the baby. Stay home, watch TV, snuggle... it sounded amazing. The ultimate vacation, free from all cares and worries, she wouldn't have to do anything at all..."Hey mascot," the voice snapped her back to reality. Kurt. "Need help getting into your diapers?""Kurt, that sounds suspiciously like sexual harassment to me, do I need to go talk with Helen again?" Aimee whirled on him, hands on her hips. Kurt was a jerk, he was only a couple of feet taller than her. He was one of those In-Betweeners who made themselves feel better by being mean to Littles, he was the personification of the idiom 'Shit rolls downhill'. His greasy brown mop hung down into his eyes and his face was broken out in blemishes, he just didn't seem to care enough to take care of himself. He wore the standard uniform, black slacks with a brown collared shirt. He leered at her as he responded."Offering to help a Little into a diaper isn't sexual harassment any more than offering to help a fish flopping on the ground back into the water. You know where you belong, baby girl. Like all Littles, you're just waiting for the right Amazon to scoop you up and whisk you off to a life of bottles and diapers. Everyone knows you like your work uniform.""Go fuck yourself, Kurt," the Little stormed off toward the employee ready area, Kurt couldn't see the tears in her eyes as she left. What hurt the most was that he was right, though. If Fiona offered to sweep her away to a life of cribs and bottles, she'd take it with glee. It was her favorite fantasy. But Kurt made her feel like she was betraying Littles everywhere just by having these feelings.Being Little in an Amazon's world sucks, why shouldn't I want to be cared for and loved? Work sucks, having to struggle to climb everything sucks, finding transportation sucks. Why is it so wrong to want Fiona to just pick me up and carry me? If diapers go with that, fine by me - they're cute and comfy anyway. She was consumed by her thoughts as she locked the door of the employee ready room and stripped. I should probably go to the bathroom first, she thought - she almost always did that first, but Kurt threw her routine off. She laid down and powdered herself as best she could, pulling the medical-looking plain white diaper up between her legs and fastening the tapes. She'd be standing up on the greeting platform for the next eight hours with only a few breaks and the bathroom was on the other side of the store. She had learned quickly that if she spent her break time using the bathroom... she never got a break.Aimee toddled out of the ready room in her neck-to-toe teddy bear costume, the round ear headband atop her blonde curls. The original costume had a head, but they found the customers responded much better to Aimee's bouncing locks, so the manager modified it. They'd actually done an empirical study and discovered that Aimee provided a not insignificant boost in sales when she was the greeter... but they didn't tell her that, of course."Hey Aimee," Helen's voice came from behind Aimee as she toddled toward the front of the store, "Need a lift?""Sure, I'd like that," Aimee agreed, raising her arms. She liked being carried in general, especially when she was having trouble getting around like she did in the bear costume. Helen was a true giantess, too - she was easily a foot taller than the average Amazon, so Aimee felt delightfully small in her arms. Helen scooped her up and smiled down at her as she walked toward the front of the store. "Are you okay? You look a little upset.""You mean I look like an upset Little," Aimee joked, "Kurt was just being a jerk, saying stuff about how Littles belong in diapers, his usual stuff. It just got to me today.""I can talk to him if you'd like," Helen offered, smiling down at Aimee. She had thought about offering to adopt Aimee before, but she had never worked up the courage. Aimee already had to deal with wearing diapers as part of her job, she probably hated the idea of being babied, or so Helen thought. She carried Aimee in one arm and ran her fingers through her short-cut blonde hair. She had brown eyes to Aimee's blue, but they were similar enough in complexion that you could believe for a moment that Aimee was really Helen's relative. "He's got to stop picking on you, it's unprofessional.""Thanks, Helen.. but no," Aimee declined as Helen placed her on the platform above the carts at the front of the store, "I'll handle it. I'll try not to let him get me down. Thanks for looking out for me.""Any time, Aimee. You're a good friend to me," Helen smiled warmly at the Little dressed as a teddy bear, but Aimee didn't pick up on the sad longing that hid just behind that smile."You're a great friend too, Helen," she waved as her giant friend walked away. She turned toward the people walking into the store and shouted, "Welcome to Sir Bearington's! Be sure to check out our special on Little ladders! They're beary great!"* * *Fiona pulled the sedan into her designated parking spot, close to the building. Of all the small perks that came with the new title, the reserved spot was one she enjoyed quite a lot. Her car looked a bit out of place, a simple Honda sandwiched in between a pair of BMWs. She didn't have much practice at being one of the "fancy people", but this was part of the game you had to play if you wanted enough power to make a real difference. She'd have to upgrade her car soon, after another month or two in her new job. Fiona hated buying things on credit, she had an old-fashioned philosophy of wanting pay for things outright and not be beholden to anyone.She smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt as she slid out of the car, grabbing her briefcase from the passenger seat. She sighed at the cheeseburger wrappers Aims had left in the back seat, she'd have to get her Little roommate to clean those up, she couldn't afford the hit to her image at work. They'd just have to excuse her for now, the booster seat would provide all the explanation she needed for the moment. The elevator ride to the 14th floor was pleasant, if a little lonely.. as Senior Director she mingled with her product team a lot, now that she was VP she was a little isolated up there with the executives, but this still felt like the right move."Good morning, Miss Marr," Carol's voice floated across the office as soon as Fiona stepped out of the elevator. This was the hardest thing for her get used to, having a dedicated assistant. She and several other Directors had shared an office assistant before, so it wasn't the fact that her only job was to help out.. it was just that Carol's only duty at all was to help Fiona. Carol was a little bit older than Fiona, but not by much. Today she was wearing a classic red blouse with a lovely gold necklace that matched her gold hoops, her earlobes exposed by her high braided honey brown hair. She was an earth tone and her makeup was perfect with just a touch of eye shadow ad the faintest gloss on her lips. Carol was an expert at wearing just enough makeup to look like she wasn't wearing any at all."Good morning, Carol. But please, call me Fiona," Fiona reminded her gently. She'd been with the company for a long time, almost as long as I had, but always as an executive assistant."Right, sorry Miss M... Fiona," Carol was very good at her job, but old habits die hard, "Your 11 AM called, Mr. Whitmore, he can't come to the office for the meeting today but he said he'd be happy to meet with you at the club."The club, Fiona cursed in her head. She didn't have a membership yet, but she knew she'd need one eventually. Osmium was an fairly exclusive club that many of the movers-and-shakers she'd need to interface with belonged to. A lot of business was done there, and getting on the membership roll was on Fiona's to do list. It was looking like that one would get crossed off sooner rather than later."Please confirm with Mr. Whitmore, I'll be happy to meet him at Osmium," she smiled to Carol as she strode into her office, but she wasn't exactly happy. "Please move my 1 o'clock to allow for travel time." Carol chirped a confirmation, the one PM was an internal briefing, it could wait. Getting Mr. Whitmore's agency to approve the new designs for the Little Pilot seat her team was working on for testing by actual Littles. The design was revolutionary, it used a low-latency neural interface that when installed and configured would allow a Little to drive a full sized car with no further modifications. Littles could technically drive currently, but not all roads had a Little lane, and it was still very dangerous for them, most Littles relied on ride-shares which had their own risks, or public transportation. This would give Littles worldwide more freedom than they had had... well, possibly ever. Lawrence Whitmore was the head of the LPSA, the Littles Product Safety Administration, and Fiona needed his agency to sign off on the testing before they could go any further. It wouldn't be easy due to the social ramifications of the new product, and getting to Mr. Whitmore himself was the fastest strategy.Fiona sat down at her desk and started with the emails that had piled up overnight. She knew the morning would fly by in no time and she'd have to be on her way to the club, she'd need time to do the membership application.. there was no time to waste.* * *Greeting felt like such a waste of time. She just said the same thing over and over - it could be done by a robot, why did they want an actual Little in a bear costume shouting at customers?"Oh my, the cute mascot is working again today," she heard a passing Amazon remark. "I like her much better than the one with the bear mask, she's so adorable! Did you see her ringlets.. " the conversation faded as they walked away, but Aimee felt good. She liked knowing that people thought she was cute. Of course, most of the Little customers didn't seem to approve of her getup, neither the ones who walked in of their own will nor the ones riding in the front of a cart, sucking on a pacifier. She watched jealously as an Amazon mommy pushed a Little girl into the store, the girl had very similar ringlets to Aimee's own. If only that were Fiona and me, she daydreamed for a moment, a dream of Fiona pushing her in a cart like that.. leaning forward and squeezing her diaper and remarking how she would need to be changed soon.."Gaule to Aimee," Kurt's voice shattered her daydream into a million pieces, "Helen's been calling you on the intercom, dummy. Walk your bear butt to her office and then take your break.""Ugh," she groaned, "Thanks Kurt," she said grudgingly as he helped her down off the platform."Sure thing, squirt. Hey, sorry I was rough on you this morning. I.. had a bad night," he walked off before she could respond, but any kind of apology was nice. Aimee wondered if Helen had said something to him. Waddling to the manager's office in a wet diaper and a bear costume took forever, she wondered if she'd have any break time at all when this was done."Great job representing us Littles," a Little man in a t-shirt and jeans said snidely as she passed, "I can smell your piss from here." Aimee blushed and hurried on, she knew she should have gone before putting the costume on, she was wetter than usual for this time of day and the medical grade diapers the company provided weren't the best, it was barely 11 AM - there was still a lot of time left in the workday. By the time she made it to Helen's office, she was fighting tears, feeling betrayed by her own desires. Yes, she was wearing the diaper for the job... but she'd gladly let Fiona diaper her for real, all she had to do was ask. It felt like her fellow Littles could see that hidden desire, and they hated her for her traitorous feelings.She pushed open the Little-sized door cut out in the larger door to the manager's office and closed it quietly behind her."Helen? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you calling me over the intercom, I was shouting at people to buy ladders," Aimee walked into the office looking for her giant boss, faking a smile, "What's up?""Aimee," Helen smiled from the enormous desk. She got up from her seat and crouched down to be "on the level", as they said. "I have great news! You're Employee of the Month! We've gotten so many compliments on your greeting that they're giving you a $100 gift card to the store as thanks. And I get to give it to you," Helen beamed a genuine smile at Aimee as she handed over the card in a gold holder. "Great job, Aimee. Your picture will be up in the entrance this month. Congratulations!""Wow," Aimee stammered a bit, genuinely surprised, "Thanks Helen, I had no idea I was even being considered!""Take an extra ten minutes on your break and keep up the good work, Aimee." Helen was genuinely proud of the Little, and it took everything she had not to scoop her up and give her a big hug. The smile on the girl's face lit up Helen's entire world. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to sweep up this cute thing and snuggle her, to feed her and protect her and never let anything make her sad ever again. She had really laid into Kurt this morning, she watched him like a hawk for a screw-up and nailed him to the wall for it. Something about Aimee brought out every Amazon instinct in Helen.. and it took incredible willpower to keep that in check, especially because she already knew that this wonderful Little was already diapered, and probably wet too.Aimee felt light as a feather as she headed back to the ready room to stash her giftcard and change her diaper, when she felt a hand on her shoulder."Oh, what a cute Little, where's your mommy?" the woman asked, bending over Aimee in a way that was intended to intimidate her. Her accent said clearly that she wasn't from around here, "Your diapee smells so wet, Little one. Let's get you to your mommy so you can be changed.""Back off, lady," Aimee said grumpily, holding up her employee badge, "It says clearly that I'm licensed. I'm on my way to change right now, thank you very much.""Oh," the woman practically hissed as she stormed away, "You shouldn't send false signals, brat. This island is so backwards, it's ridiculous.""Have a nice day," Aimee called after her in her most pleasant tone, but more quietly added, "I hope you trip and break a bone." She was grateful for her license, it kept her from being scooped up by just anyone... there was only one woman she wanted as her mommy. And she doesn't want me, Aimee thought bitterly to herself as she reached the ready room, ...yet, she finished the thought with a smile. Chapter Three Fiona's car was sorely out of place in the sea of Audis, BMWs, and Lexuses as she parked in the guest lot of Osmium. The grounds were enormous and the clubhouse was austere and intimidating. On her way up the stairs to the entrance, she passed a man in a power suit with a red tie talking on his phone as a Little in a poofy princess dress ran to keep up with him, the lead to her reins held in his left hand. She shook her head, feeling badly for the poor Little. This was the kind of thing she was out to fix."Good morning, ma'am," she was greeted warmly by a man in a black turtleneck behind a counter. He was balding on top, his hair shaved short to hide it, "Can I help you?""Yes, I'm a bit early for my meeting with Mr. Whitmore. I don't suppose you could help me with a membership application?" I smiled warmly to him as I strode over to the counter."Of course, madam," the man smiled pleasantly, but didn't move an inch, "I just need to know the name of your sponsor and the name, gender, and age range of your Little." The sponsor she had expected, she already worked it out with her boss that she would use his name.. the part about the Little was a surprise."Dean Jackstone is my sponsor," she smiled, handing him a card with perfect confidence."Mr. Jackstone, really! Oh he is a fine member, quite well-liked," he took the card, his demeanor warming, they went through the initial paperwork and were just about done when he asked, "And your Little?""I don't have a Little currently," Fiona stated this quite matter-of-factly."I'm afraid all members must have a Little, Miss Marr. It's part of the club bylaws. I'll be happy to let you in today for your meeting with Mr. Whitmore, but just for today. Only members are allowed is Osmium, and they expect all members to support our care facility for Littles. Adopt yourself a Little and we'll finish your application. I'm sure you could have one today in your position." He sounded a little jealous.Ugh, I don't even want a Little, what am I going to do about this membership? Fiona wondered to herself as she entered the club proper. The entire right wall of the club was glass, looking down into a giant plastic jungle. Dozens of Littles ran and played in there, obvious diapers on display. Fiona shook her head, this is what she was trying to fight, not trying to encourage. The man from the desk led her deeper into the club, she was in what looked like a large restaurant, waiters bustled about, various bigwigs were dining or drinking. Littles were obviously meant to be seen and not heard in this part of the club, the few that were in the dining area had auto-feeder pacifier-bottles strapped to their faces for their meals, or were otherwise silenced by breasts or restraining pacifiers. All conversation was done in hushed tones, silence was apparently golden.The balding man led her to a back corner, what looked like private booths.. each booth had its own curtain. She was asked to wait while he peeked into a curtain, she only waited a moment, he returned and motioned for her to enter the right side of the curtained booth. Lawrence Whitmore, a very large, very wide man sat across from her. He had tiny, round glasses perched on his nose.. they had to be for show, it was very rare that someone who needed vision correction had a condition that couldn't be solved with an easy surgery. He had a pencil-thin black mustache and a dusting of gray hair on top of his head. The position of his bushy white eyebrows indicated that he was in a serious mood at the moment."Miss Marr," he greeted me. His booth was lavish, the seats were a soft leather and there was plenty of room between the seat and the table. There was a Little in the corner, strapped into a booster seat with his elbows secured to the table, his hands forced to hold a bottle that he sucked from, his eyes closed. He was dressed in shortalls with a blue shirt underneath.. why in the world would Aimee want that? "You've got quite an interesting project that you're working on. Do you really think Littles can be trusted to drive?" He looked pointedly at his captive Little."The majority of Gaule's Littles are perfectly capable, Mr. Whitmore. They have jobs, they pay taxes, and they are perfectly capable adults. It's true that there are some Littles who shouldn't be driving," I smile at his Little, hating myself just a bit, "but I doubt any Amazon is going to allow their diapered Little to get a license, unless you intend for Little... ""Rusty," Lawrence smiled, with what looked like genuine love."Little Rusty here to chauffeur you?" Fiona finished with a smirk, hating herself just a bit more. The mental image caused the large businessman to laugh heartily, and Rusty blushed deeply, looking very much like he wished the world would swallow him whole. "We both know that Littles are big business, both in diapers and in the workforce. And giving them this mobility will increase their employability and thus their spending. I know I'll be making some strategic investments when this product is ready for market... " she finished with a sly smile.A waiter came and took their order - Fiona hadn't really intended to eat here, but Lawrence insisted. Fiona kept herself to a simple club sandwich and chips, Lawrence had quite a large steak with all the trimmings. She stayed and ate lunch with him and they talked stocks and sports while he spoonfed his Little some of what looked like yogurt. Rusty still hadn't spoken a word. This meeting was running much longer than she had intended, Fiona was very glad she had already asked Carol to move her 1 PM."You've definitely piqued my interest," Lawrence turned back to Fiona's original topic after the meal was concluded. "Unfortunately, I'm out of time for today. Would you be willing to meet me here again on Thursday? I want to review your plans personally, have you explain them, and if I'm satisfied I will personally promote your Little Pilot to the department.""That is exactly what I was hoping to hear, Mr. Whitmore," I smiled, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Rusty." His Little blushed and hid his face in his still-secured hands, which caused Lawrence to laugh. Fiona slid out of the booth with her briefcase and made her way for the exit, pondering the best way to secure her membership...* * *It was like Amazons were all members of the same club, they all seemed to have the same jokes. Aimee had just heard the, "Oh she'd look cuter in a crib," joke for the hundredth time today, but nothing was going to get her down. She was Employee of the Month and it felt great. All the cooing and fawning over her, the not even whispered questions about whether or not she was diapered under the costume only reinforced the fact that she was desirable goods to Aimee. Fiona should be begging to change her diaper! She was so cute, she was the Little every Amazon wanted, it just didn't make sense. They had been best friends forever, why didn't Fiona want to take things to the next level? Aimee shook the thoughts away, focusing on the crowd."Good afternoon sir," she greeted a Little as he walked in, "Welcome to Sir Bearington's!""Thanks," he said gruffly, grabbing a cart and heading inside."Hello pretty lady," she smiled and batted her eyes at an incoming Amazon, she didn't have a Little but seemed like the type who wanted one. She wore a simple blue dress and sandals, and had a lovely blue leather purse that matched her outfit. "Welcome to Sir Bearington's!""Oh my goodness, aren't you the cutest thing?" the Amazon cooed up at her on her platform. "Does your mommy work here, sweetie?"Normally this sort of thing annoyed Aimee a bit, but she was feeling so good today. Knowing that Helen and the company appreciated her work made all the difference in the world and she was feeling really good about greeting people. The whole day just felt brighter after the lunch break, which she spent a good chunk of the time staring at the gold envelope. She wasn't even sure what she wanted to buy with it."No pretty lady," she smiled, wishing she could curl a finger through her hair.. but all she had was a bear paw, "I don't have a mommy, I'm licensed.""Oh, such a shame. A cute little thing like you shouldn't have to work, although you're doing a wonderful job!"I know, right? Aimee agreed silently. I shouldn't have to work, I'm cute! "Thank you ma'am," Aimee smiled, "I like my job though and my Amazon bestie would be disappointed in me if I gave it up." The first half of the sentence would have been a lie just this morning, but Aimee was feeling really good about the job today, it was silly what a big difference a gesture of thanks had on the attitude."Well, not everyone can have the right opinion on what a cute thing like you should be doing with her time, I suppose," the lady smiled, "If you were my Little, I'd never let you go.""Aww, that's nice," Aimee smiled, knowing full well that the nicest gesture from the nicest Amazon could just be a trap. Once a Little was adopted, there was no way out. You only wanted to enter that kind of relationship if you knew you wanted it to be forever... like it should be with Fiona. Wonderful Fiona, Aimee fawned, who would never hurt me or make me do anything unfun. This lady seemed nice, but for all Aimee knew, she was a total sadist with a fully decked out punishment nursery waiting. Some Littles liked that, after all... Aimee, not so much."Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime, cutie?" The Amazon flashed an amazingly white smile.. it was dazzling."I uh.. " Aimee was sorely tempted, dating an Amazon while licensed was mostly safe, as long as she didn't get full-on kidnapped. This lady didn't seem like the predatory type..."Aimee," Helen's voice came from behind her, "I need your help with something. Are you available?" Helen had been watching this whole scene unfold and a cold fear gripped her heart. She couldn't bear to see Aimee get abducted, sometimes the nicest-seeming Amazons were the craziest ones. This particular lady looked like the type who wouldn't give Helen the time of day, so she was immediately distrustful. Amazon women tended not to like Helen, or so she felt, because she was so big and tall. She didn't have many friends in school and she was often ostracized as awkward. This lady seemed like the sort that would have picked on her back then. For all her trepidation regarding females, Amazon males were even worse. It was extremely rare that she could find one as tall as she was, and no one seemed to want to date someone taller than them. It severely limited Helen's fashion choices, and she was quite jealous of the lady's chunky-heeled sandals. Adding even a few inches to Helen's already above average height was awful, but she wanted to wear cute shoes too."I gotta go, sorry," Aimee excused herself and climbed down from the platform. Helen desperately wanted to scoop up Aimee and hold her close, but she had to show the lady that Aimee was a strong and independent Little, even helping her down from the platform would only encourage her to pursue. The woman lingered as Aimee toddled over to Helen. "What's up, boss?" she asked cheerfully.Helen gestured for Aimee to follow and walked slowly away from the woman, trying to think up some excuse for why she needed Aimee. She hadn't at all, but the thought of Aimee going out with that... temptress sent her into a complete panic."I um," Helen hesitated, "It's stupid, but I can't get my computer to respond." The lie was plausible, Aimee wasn't a tech wizard or anything, but she knew her way around. Helen was no dummy either, but she could claim the problem was real and had fixed itself, "I was hoping you could poke at it. I have to get a report done today.""Sure thing, boss!" Aimee beamed, toddling along next to Helen at what was a painfully slow pace for her. Aimee was overjoyed at being asked to help, today was positively fantastic. The journey to the manager's office was a long one, and neither of them noticed the lady from the entrance casually following them, looking at merchandise here and there. She only gave up once the door to the manager's office was closed."Okay," Aimee said brightly, climbing up with a considerable degree of difficulty into Helen's chair. "Let's see what we can see." She tapped the screen and the keyboard and the computer sprung to life. Aimee did a couple of standard gestures and the computer responded correctly. "You say it was frozen?""Of course it's working now," Helen smiled nervously, a tell that she was lying - one she wasn't even aware she did, "Sorry for wasting your time, Aimee. Computers always seem to do this to me, they work fine as soon as I ask for help.""I hate that," Aimee commiserated, "Well, I guess I should get back to greeting people.""Actually," Helen said a little too quickly, "I was wondering if you could do some sorting for me. It'll probably take you the rest of the day, you'll be in the back so you can switch to your street clothes." Helen was really worried about that lady, she could be lurking around, just waiting for Aimee to return to the front and Helen to walk away. "Do you mind?""Of course not, I'm happy to help you however I can," Aimee hadn't really thought much about Helen, other than as the often-hated authority figure at work, but she felt really valued today and Helen was a big part of that. She wanted to make Helen happy, and it would be nice to get out of the uniform for a while. "I'll head to the ready room and go change, and meet you back here?""Well," Helen started and hesitated, "Would you mind if I carried you?" She was terrified that she was pushing her luck, most Littles would be incredibly offended at the question. "Just to save some time, err.. not that you're slow or anything, I just walk quite fast for an Amazon.""Sure! I don't mind, having short legs sucks," Aimee turned the chair and lifted her arms up, ready to be carried... and Helen felt weak in the knees. She shouldn't fantasize about an employee, but she really wanted this. She felt her cheeks grow warm as she picked Aimee up and placed her on one hip. Helen had never walked faster in her life, it was a speed-walk, it was almost a run. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt like she might faint. "Wow," Aimee remarked, "You really are fast! It must have been torture for you walking from the front, I'm sorry.""Oh, no.. it's no big deal," Helen stammered a bit. She would need to calm herself down actively while Aimee changed. "I don't mind, it's relaxing to walk at a slower pace. My sister says I need to slow down anyway."Helen leaned against the wall with a hand against her chest, steadying her breathing as Aimee went and changed. She hoped no one else was watching.
  15. Hello Everyone! Under this thread I will post some of my incomplete stories. Don't forget to let me know what you think, I want to improve my writing and this helps me a lot! Here's the first story, it has several chapters, so don't worry, it won't be over that soon. Enjoy! Day in the Life - Part 1 Alexa slowly emerged from her slumber. The sound of footsteps on the nearby stairs approaching her room was becoming more and more clear in her ears and in her head, along with the realization that another hellish day was about to start. The little girl stretched ever so slightly but, apart from that, didn’t move. What was the point? The railings of the crib she was kept in were too high to climb, and even if she succeeded she would have had to get past the locked door of her room, the baby gate near the stairs, and finally the front door to get out of the house. If she had been dressed normally maybe she would have had a shot, but the thick nighttime diaper locked around her hips along with the stiff onesie wrapped around her limited her movements so much she would have been lucky to stand up and take a few steps. There was a time, when the start of a new day would have got her excited, even after her capture. Every new day was bringing an infinite plethora of possibilities, and she would have woken up believing anything, even escaping that place, could happen. Where was that girl now? She thought melanchonicaly, trying to squeeze her legs to feel the padding of her diaper. She gave up after a few seconds. That thing was too thick for her to win its resistance, and she couldn’t have told if she was wet anyway. Those new diapers Mommy had started buying prided themselves to be “Super Thick-Super Absorbent”, so she couldn’t even keep track of how a bedwetter she was becoming with the passing of the months. A clicking sound could be heard from the doorknob, and the little girl buried her face inside the mattress, as she heard the Amazon woman making her way into the room. “Good morning sweetie! Did you have a nice beddy-bye?” Alexa heard the singsong voice above her. She groaned, pushing her face even more against the perfumed sheets, as she felt an enormous hand rubbing her back and patting her diapered bottom. She remained motionless, eyes closed, hoping like every other time that what was happening to her was nothing but a bad dream. How nice it would have been if she really was in her little apartment in Chicago? Behind schedule with her work and with her rent… She revelled in that thought while she heard the Amazon move around the room. Alexa felt giant fingers unsnapping the zipper on the back of her outfit, and then lowering it exposing her naked back to the fresh air of the morning. Chills ran down her spine, but she remained still, as the massive woman’s hands worked around her body to get her out of the infantile garment. When the hands retracted, she was lying face down, buck naked, on the mattress… well, except for her diaper. She almost smiled, feeling the cold air on her skin. That onesie Mommy used to put on her at night was so hot and so tight she almost felt like suffocating every time. She started stretching and with some effort, managed to maneuver around her diaper-splayed thighs and gain a sitting position… only to feel Mommy’s hands behind her grabbing her by the hips and repositioning her face down on the mattress. She sighed. She had almost forgot how her mornings went… Cold air made contact with the soft skin of her buttocks, as Mommy’s fingers hooked the back of her diaper and pulled it down around her ankles. It almost surprised her every time, how the amazons managed to take those damned diapers off her so easily. When she tried, those plastic tapes and elastic band had never seemed to acknowledge her existence, condemning her to rely on the good will of her captors to remove them. It was not like she had taken a shot at that recently anyway, after all, good babies didn’t mess with their diapers if they didn’t want to be punished. Groaning, the little girl closed her eyes, feeling her buttocks being spread apart by the Amazon’s fingers, bracing herself for what was coming. A cold, uncomfortable sensation washed over her as the thermometer’s tip made its way inside her most private place. Alexa let her head crash into the mattress once more, in defeat. There had been a time when she would have trashed, screamed and protested at that degrading treatment, but the humiliations had piled up so much she didn’t know where the line to be outraged was anymore; plus it was not like would have changed much, the only difference would have been having a reddened bottom and a pacifier gag stuck in her mouth while she was carried downstairs for breakfast… It was way easier to be a... “Good girl!” praised the voice above her “Your temperature is normal, looks like that bad cold has gone away. But I don’t want my wittle baby to get too worked up, today you have a very busy day ahead.” Alexa rolled her eyes as the diaper was retaped under her hips… What her Mommy called a “bad cold” was just a few lines of high temperature the morning before. And since she was put into that padded onesie every night it was really not much of a surprise her body temperature was sometimes a tad higher when Mommy took her out from it. She had tried to explain that, of course…But the only time Mommy seemed to weight her opinion was when she asked her to pick which toys to bring with her during her bubblebath, or what she called her “quiet time” in the playpen. But there was always worse, she thought as she was carried downstairs. Mommy was a little too much apprehensive, and of course had the overwhelmingly condescending and dominant attitude all the Amazons had towards littles, but wasn’t straight up cruel. It helped also a lot that she wasn’t a fan of unnecessary medical procedures. That had surely contributed in her managing to keep her teeth from being pulled out, or her tendons and reflexes messed up in a way that only would leave her crawling, or worse, totally helpless. Her Mommy didn’t trust most of the regression techniques either. She said that all the chemicals that were put into the food were bad for littles, and the tv channels that subliminally kept most of the little population regressed were also banned in her home. Alexa wasn’t sure how she felt about that…Roughly half of the little she had seen were kept strictly regressed. She would have loathed rolling around in her crib, mindlessly playing with her toys stopping only to proudly inform Mommy she had gone poo-poo in her diapys…But, then again sometimes she envied them for how carefree they were. A numbed life without any problem to worry about wasn’t better than the constant humiliating sensation she had to endure every day that passed? And it was not like some of the regressing treatment hadn’t gone through her, she kept thinking, putting her thumb in her mouth… Soon enough she found herself tightly strapped to her highchair, a spoonful of oatmeal presented to her face. Alexa shook her head trying to erase the cobwebs from her eyes. She was always sleepy in the morning, and the fact she wasn’t allowed to drink coffee didn’t help either; there were mornings she ate the first part of her breakfast while she was asleep. She didn’t even know how she managed to do that, she just remembered waking up looking at an amused Mommy holding a empty jar of baby food, while feeling the sticky muck smeared around her mouth up to her cheeks. But fortunately that wasn’t the case that morning, she was feeling sleepy but not so much to doze off. She slowly opened her mouth, letting Mommy deposit the first load of oatmeal while looking the smiling giant woman in the eye with the half resigned/half submissive expression that had come to characterize her, hoping for the one-thousandth time one day she would just have mercy on her and let her go. The little girl kept obediently gulping down spoonful after spoonful of the goop Mommy was shovelling into her at a quickening rate. She could tell the amazon woman was in a hurry that morning, most of the times Mommy purposefully missed her mouth, ending up smearing the sticky stuff all over her face and her naked breasts. But not this time, and Alexa had first handedly learned not to make much of a fuss when Mommy was in a hurry, the feeding pacifier gag was always looming. She was just opening her mouth for the last spoonful Mommy had scraped from the jar, when she heard light footsteps and a voice behind her. "Hi Mom! Hello Dotty!" A young amazon girl said in a sleepy voice, while making her way in the kitchen under the darting look of Alexa. Dot. She had hated that name since the moment they gave it to her. It made her feel more silly and insignificant than ever. Even wearing the frilliest dress or the thickest diaper was less humiliating than being forced to answer to that ridiculous name. But after months of captivity Alexa had learned to immediately react when she was called. The memory of Mommy spanking her for an entire evening, asking after each blow what her name was, had engraved "Dot" in her mind with burning letters. Also, the fact that she had been forced to talk in third person for an entire month after that night, had made sure she'd never forget her name -or her place- in that house. "Please Mommy! Dot wants her diaper changed! Pleeeese!" She had begged her Amazon captor on her knees, the feeling of the cold sticky mess clinging to her reddening skin of her bottom. For an entire month Mommy had refused to change her diaper unless she begged for it, and she made her beg A LOT. It was only when the little girl had fully accepted her new name, that she stopped the punishment. On second thought, Mommy could be a lot meaner than Alexa convinced herself she was. “Oh hi dear!” Mommy responded “What do you want for breakfast?” The skinny amazon girl ignored her, as she opened one of the kitchen counters, retrieving bread, marmalade and a knife, then she sat at the table, facing Alexa with a smug, sleepy smile. Martha. Mommy’s teenage daughter and the person the little girl hated most in that house. Mommy could be mean sometimes, but her punishments and condescendence were at least part of a very distorted form of affection the amazon had towards her. Martha wasn’t like that, she was just plain cruelty. She just took every occasion she had to punish her or humiliate her even more than the usual. The first times had been really tough, with that giant teenager ready to swoop her on her lap and spank her just because she “Looked at her in a mean way”, and Alexa had been spanked many times for that. But now the little girl had learned the best way to survive with that psycho in the house was just to ignore her, not give her any reason to think you were fighting. Soon, with her submissive behaviour, Alexa had successfully managed to bore Martha enough to make her life a little easier. The little girl had by now mastered the art of giving innocent-dumb toddler looks and staying still, keeping her face from becoming tomato-red during her many diaper changes, no matter who changed her, no matter how many people were around. That could have been perceived as a good thing, but to Alexa was just another proof of how broken she was, and how much her sense of modesty had been crushed by the Amazons. Her ruminations were interrupted by a wet rag the size of a towel being brushed against her face, cleaning what was left of her breakfast from her cheeks. Her vision was rapidly filled with Mommy's smiling face. "Are you ready for your dessert baby?" She said, unhooking her from the highchair and lifting her up in the air. Alexa groaned and weakly kicked her little legs, as she was brought more and more near the amazon's ample bosom, an enormous leaky nipple presented to her face. She hated breastfeeding. At first, she loathed the fact she was forced to suck another woman’s teat and the humiliation that came with it. Then she came to hate the vulnerability that situation left her in every time. Amazon milk had hypnotic proprieties on littles, along with the well-known laxative effect, and she hated falling asleep while she was held in Mommy’s lap, leaving her completely at her mercy. But most of all, she was terrorized by the fact she had come to enjoy it in the past months. She used to put up a little fight just to make a scene and try to remind herself who she really was, but in reality, she craved the thick milk that her captor produced for her. The taste was absolutely amazing, well, for what she could taste the few minutes before she ended up sound asleep…and maybe, she had come to think in the past few days, dozing off wouldn’t be such a bad thing, at least helped the time pass faster. Those thoughts were whirling in her mind, as she opened her mouth with a sound “Maahhhhhh” and welcomed the fleshy nipple inside her, loudly starting to nurse, like every morning. The world around her seemed to slow down as the warm milk started flowing. Soon she closed her eyes, welcoming the blissing sensation that was enveloping her. The slow slurping sound she emitted, the soft pats Mommy was giving to her diapered butt soon became the only things she was aware of… she seemed to also hear a voice, but it was growing more and more distant by the minute. “There you go…Good girl…Mommy’s hungry girl…” …
  16. Is it haunted?! Cursed?! An SCP?! We don't know, sis, we just gonna have to find out! I hope you enjoy this tricky treat and if you do let me know and if you don't let me know, and if you think Halloween is awesome then you might be a little awesome yourself, and if you think Halloween is stupid and like Christmas is better, we can't be friends, I'm sorry. Dayscare By: The Unknown Author Ouija_Look_At_That has started streaming! “Hola, bitchachos! It’s your fine ass guide to the world of the weird and macabre, Ouija and I am here at the Glenwood Pines Mall for my fourth annual Livescream!” Ouija said in an excited tone. Ouija didn’t look like a guide to the world of the weird and macabre, she didn’t look like she should even be out of bed at nine thirty on a school night, let alone be breaking into a building that had been abandoned for longer than she’d been alive. Standing at an absolutely dizzying four feet six inches and dressed like she’d shoplifted her whole personality from a Hot Topic bargain bin, the edgy streamer made her way through the entry area of the mall as she began her highly anticipated event. “Alright, so in case you’re not hip to the story, this mall used to be THE spot for everyone in the tristate area to come and piss away their time and money.” Ouija explained as she hopped up onto one of the tile benches connected to a large planter in the middle of the entryway, “The mall was so big and so popular that it had its own daycare center, a place called Bright Beginnings.” she continued as she spread her arms out to her sides and walked along the edge of the planter like a balance beam, “The owner and CEO of Bright Beginnings was a woman named Mary Gallagher and literally the only pictures I could find of her made her look like a fucking schoolmarm ghost all full of vengeance and shit.” she said as she reached the end of the planter and hopped down. Ouija’s setup for her exploration was a camera harnessed to her chest so her face was always onscreen and allowed her hands to remain free unless she was using one of her handheld cameras, and another camera attached to her head to allow everyone to see what she saw. On her forearm was a tablet that allowed her to read her chat and switch to whatever camera she wanted as well as playback what they recorded in real time. This was her fourth “livescream’, an event where she went to spooky or allegedly haunted places and explored them with her audience overnight on Halloween. Her record was spotty at best for being the bravest of explorers, her first livescream ending prematurely when she’d tripped over a lip she hadn’t seen in the showers of a women’s insane asylum and broken her camera, her second had gone significantly better despite her wetting herself when a chunk of ceiling crashed down in the room beside her while she was exploring an old doll factory. Last year’s livescream was what had put her on the map though, a flawless exploration of a children’s hospital from around the turn of the century that saw her peak at three thousand live viewers and millions of views after that. No one knew the lengths she’d gone to to make her events perfect, the hours of research and location scouting, the equipment setup, the extra protection she now wore for the event to prevent anyone from finding out she’d wet or soiled herself out of fear, all of it was done for the benefit of her legion of fans and the sizable paycheck she got out of it was a bonus that helped her bruised ego deal with the fact that beneath her dark clothes and tattoos and piercings was a small girl wearing absorbent underwear with childish patterns on them. “Bright Beginnings was nestled between The Cookie Cookery and an upscale pen store called ‘Fountain of Couth’, which is a legit amazing name and was in operation from 1989 to 1993.” she continued explaining as she approached the dilapidated escalators ahead, “An estimated two and a half million kids spent at least one hour at the daycare in those four years, which is a metric fuckton of snotty noses and shitty diapers.” she joked as she assessed the stability of the escalator and opted to take the nearby stairs after noticing significant amounts of rust and decay in the metal steps of the escalator. “I know, you’re probably wondering why the mall itself was abandoned, and we’ll get to that, but before we do, we need to understand what happened at Bright Beginnings that caused such damage to the reputation of the mall.” she continued as she trudged up the stairs, stepping over chunks of ceiling and broken glass as she made her way to the second floor. “Ouija” was obviously not the girl’s given name, but she’d gone to great lengths to keep her identity a secret, and to even greater lengths to keep her former persona and content from being discovered. Two years before she’d “gone to the dark side” and made decaying buildings her playground, she was known to her small band of a dozen or so followers as “Snugglecorn” and focused solely on the ABDL lifestyle and being as cute and sweet as she could for her viewing audience, but then she’d picked up a creeper that had scared her so badly in his attempts to connect with her that she’d purged everything of that life, fallen into a deep depression and become a harder, darker person because of it. It was only when she started seeing success as “Ouija” that she softened and allowed herself to be less severe all the time, adding pink highlights to her ebony locks and finding cute things to wear that also happened to be on the darker side, like the skeletal cat on her sweatshirt that was dribbling milk below it from its open ribcage as it lapped at a saucer. “In 1993, an anonymous tip came in to the police about some weird sounds coming from the owner’s office and lo and behold, they found a door behind the bookcase that led to a whole section of the building no one knew existed.” she explained as she reached the top of the stairs and looked down at the first floor, the pitch black abyss making her shudder softly as she continued on. “In the hidden area they found this entire other daycare setup that was sized for adults and found almost twenty people confined in one way or another inside.” she said as she peered over the railing to the ground below on her way down the length of the upstairs area as she headed toward her destination. Something she’d never told her followers when she’d first stumbled across the Bright Beginnings saga was that she’d been enthralled by the idea that a normal daycare had had a secret adult daycare in back, something that the less than completely vanished from within her Snugglecorn had broken out her pacifier for after her very important grownup work was done, imagining herself in such a place, ignoring the awful aspects of the story in favor of happier fantasy scenarios. “Y’all, when I say shit was fucked up, I mean it was six ways from Sunday bat shit.” she told her audience as she shone her flashlight into the vacant buildings lining the upstairs promenade, “Some people were restrained in cribs, others in highchairs,” she stopped walking, “one report claimed that one of the men had been,” she made a gesture with her index finger and hand to illustrate that an appendage the man had previously had had been removed against his will, “but nothing concrete was ever really said about any of the victims, just that they never spoke again after they were rescued.” she added as she started walking again, looking at her chat as she did. DarkDesire: Hey from Ontario, Ouija! ❤️ Devil’s_Plaything: I heard the place is mad haunted. PanicWithTheCrisco: How did you even get into the mall? News said cops were guarding it because of you. Sad_Tromboner: This place is hella sketch be careful little girl BoneFairy: This better be scarier than the time you shit yourself “Hey, DarkDesire, thanks for joining the fun!” she said with a smile, “DP, I’m hoping it’ll haunted, but nobody died in ‘the incident’, so we may just have dust bunnies and disappointment.” she said to Devil’s_Plaything, a channel regular and one of her biggest supporters, “Cris,” she started, shortening the longer than she wanted to say name of the third commentor, “your girl is extremely crafty and her stealth game is on point.” she finished saying a second before she kicked a beer can she hadn’t seen and sent it rocketing forward where it clanged loudly against the metal railing and fell down to the first floor where it clattered loudly. She stood still with her shoulders hunched and teeth gritted until the sudden noise stopped, “Anyone makes a comment about that, we’re not friends anymore.” she teased as she caught her breath and took stock of just how much she’d peed when the silence was suddenly broken. She rolled her eyes at the last two comments, “I may be a smaller than average girl, but I am NOT a little girl, Tromboner, and fuck you, BoneFairy, I maybe peed a little but in my defense, a fucking whole ass ceiling collapsed like twenty feet from where I was sitting, so I’d say I handled it pretty well.” she said, trying not to get into a fight with randos on the internet, but also setting the record straight before anyone else wanted to act up about her height or the one time she’d had an accident out of fear. BoneFairy: Just saying, maybe keep an eye out for a diaper that got left behind Devil’s_Plaything: Ignore the haters, Ouija, you’re badass for doing this! More responses agreeing with Devil’s_Plaything and shutting down BoneFairy poured in as she continued to walk, “Anyone ever play the game Condemned?” she asked, shining her light into a broken store window with a battered mannequin torso laying face down in the broken glass, “It was this first person game where you go to creepy abandoned places and one of the levels was a department store and psycho ass homeless people wore mannequin masks and stood super still until you walked past.” she explained, a shiver of fear running down her spine as she remembered screaming so loud she woke her parents up and then she slept with the lights on for three days afterward. Ouija was a persona, like Snugglecorn had been, aspects of them were from her real personality, but she was nowhere near as brave in real life as she was when she was Ouija, much the same as she was far less of a baby than she was when she’d been Snugglecorn. Her true personality lived in the space between those two, she embraced her small size and liked to be seen as cute and little, but she also had a penchant for the darker things in life and she’d been contemplating finding a way to allow her to be herself on her channel, but feared losing her audience if she revealed the lighter side of herself to them. She continued forward down the upstairs promenade, shells of stores flanking her, graffiti and broken glass everywhere she looked as her flashlight beam danced over the decayed ruins of the mall, and then she saw her destination looming in the inky blackness and everything became far more real. In the mall, she was just a girl alone in an abandoned building, but Bright Beginnings was a legit crime scene, a place where truly bizarre and unexplained things had happened and somehow she was just now feeling the weight of her choice to visit this place. “Okay, I think I see Bright Beginnings.” she said, struggling to keep her nerves in check so her voice didn’t let everyone watching know that she was really scared now, “Are you guys seeing this?” she asked. The Cookie Cookery had been destroyed by vandals, the menu that had hung on the back wall behind the counter had been smashed and torn down, the counter itself obliterated by a small stack of broken cinderblocks, the appliances gone leaving hanging wires and cracked walls and tiles in their place. Likewise, Fountain of Couth looked like a car had driven through it, the display cases inside smashed to pieces, the sign above the entrance blocking most of the entryway as it dangled lifelessly from the wires that had set it aglow years prior, but Bright Beginnings was in pristine condition. “This place hasn’t been touched.” she said in a hushed tone of transfixed amazement, “I mean, every other place in here looks like it went twelve rounds with a wrecking ball, but Bright Beginnings doesn’t even have dirty windows!” she marveled as she approached the daycare. The front of the daycare had panels of glass ten or so feet high that stretched about ten feet across to allow the shoppers outside to see the playroom in front and to allow the kids to look out if they wanted to, making everything brighter and less like the prison for toddlers a daycare is. The sign above was a cutesy cartoon trio of suns, a mother and father and a baby, the mother sign hovering above pale pink high heels, her face adorned with lipstick and earrings that floated on the side of her head connected to nothing while the father sun had a hat, briefcase and tie to convey how professional he was, and then the baby sun floated between them with a diaper cupping the bottom curve of the baby’s body as he held his parent’s hands, smiling behind his pacifier. C.H.U.D._Nelson: I’m no scientician, but that building shouldn’t be in perfect condition. CrunkBunny: Right?! Even if the people that fucked the rest of this place up didn’t touch it, time would’ve done something to it. SignalFire: RUN OUIJA SHIT IS HAINTED, YO! Ouija wasn’t looking at the comments, she was looking at the front window and approaching it slowly, looking into the playroom beyond as she held her flashlight above her head to shine in. The playroom was immaculate, like normal business would begin the next morning as though decades hadn’t passed without anyone being inside. “Alright, I’m going in, so here’s the rules for the night,” she said, her heart racing with anticipation and fear, “once I’m in, I can’t leave until morning, in addition to periodic polls I’ll be putting up for you guys to vote on, donations of certain amounts will allow you to give me tasks to carry out, which, as always, does not include sex stuff.” she explained, warning the perverts in her chat not to waste their money to try and see her tits. The chat erupted in hundreds of messages of support and excitement as she took a deep breath and went to the front door, placing her hand on the handle and giving a firm tug, only to find the door locked. “Well, that sucks.” she said glumly, giving the bottom of the door a kick, “Maybe there’s an access point from next door.” she mused as she headed toward the Cookie Cookery, stepping through the remains of the splintered counter carefully as she made her way to the back to the storeroom of the bakery, the door hanging limply by one screw in the top hinge, the door itself splintered like Jack Torrence had decided he really needed cookie making supplies suddenly. The storeroom was little more than a closet, broken boxes and debris from whatever had been inside them strewn about the floor, but all Ouija cared about was the metal grate on the back wall that was miraculously undamaged. “Alright, guys, that vent shares a wall with the daycare, so it’s my best shot of getting inside.” she told her audience as she looked around for something to stand on so she could reach the vent to see what she needed to do to open it. She decided to lug a few of the more complete cinderblocks into the storeroom and use them as a base for a metal trashcan she found that was only slightly dented. “Wish me luck!” she said as she climbed up onto the edges of the cinderblocks and then shakily onto the trashcan, rising to a standing position as she balanced on the bottom of the can and reached up to the vent, “Shit, it’s screwed in and I don’t have anything with me to take the screws out!” she lamented, a sour expression on her face as she climbed back down. Defeated, she walked out of the storeroom, “I’m sorry, guys, I guess we’re not going to be able to get in tonight.” she informed her audience glumly as she saw her viewer count begin to drop as negative comments poured in slamming her for her various failures with regards to prep and scouting. QueenShark: Umm, the door is open? Ouija read the comment and the numerous others echoing it, in addition to the spams of “OMG look out behind you, they have a knife” and turned to see the front door of the daycare standing open, “What the actual-” she whispered as she cautiously approached the open door, moving far from it as she went in case someone jumped out at her as she shone her light into the building beyond, “You guys heard me try the door, it was locked.” she said. YourMomIsMySideChick: Yeah, I wouldn’t… “Okay, I know it’s super fucking weird and not at all normal, but if it means we can go in, I’m going in.” Ouija said as she took a few steps forward, scanning the area around her and looking through the front window for any sign that someone was waiting for her. The difference between the mall outside and the interior of the daycare was something she’d never experienced before, she’d gone from outside of a creepy building to inside and felt the heaviness of the place close in around her, the staleness of the air suffocate her, but this was new. The mall had felt hollow, like the decaying shell that it was, it smelled dirty and dusty and was chilly because of numerous broken windows that allowed the Fall night air to compromise the otherwise enclosed space, but Bright Beginnings was warm, like the heat was running to combat the chill. Crossing the threshold was like stepping into a hermetically sealed space that hadn’t appeared to age or decay in any way that she could see. Her light danced from place to place in the entryway, to her right was the check in counter, cream colored Formica and yellow pine waiting to receive the patrons of the establishment with messages taped to the counter’s surface and a silver bell with a little sign that cheerfully requested someone ring the bell for assistance. Across from the counter was a cutout with a narrow bench built into it, cubbies beneath for shoes, some still containing little shoes left behind when the daycare had been suddenly shut down. Behind the counter was a line of hooks for coats, with several hooks still containing small jackets of various bright colors, and even a few umbrellas and hats. “This is fucking creepy.” she said softly as she shone her light around to the other side of the entryway to the four or so foot high wall with a thin wooden top and a small door in the middle, the set up making her think of a bar or a skating rink or something, a way to keep the little one’s corralled but also allow parents to look in on the kids at pick up or drop off times. She closed and locked the front door behind her, to keep anyone from coming in from outside, and made her way to the little door, she felt her cheeks flush at the knowledge that she’d have to go through it because she couldn’t actually see over the wall to the playroom on the other side, and took hold of the knob and gave it a little turn and letting gravity take over as the door gently moved away from her to allow her access. Beyond the little wall, the playroom sat silent and dark, bins of various sizes lined the walls, some with closed lids and some with toys piled high or spilling over. The expansive open area was littered with toys for various stages of development, the little art table in the corner still had open coloring books and loose crayons on it, one of the chairs laying on its back on the floor as though the occupant had literally jumped up and run from the place. BabaYaga: It’s like a time capsule. Ouija nodded when she read the comment, “Nothing about this place feels like it’s been abandoned for decades.” she said in disbelief. The little door gently struck the wall when it reached its fully open position and she jumped and spun around to shine her light on it, chuckling nervously as she closed the door to keep it from banging again later. The thing that struck her was the smell, she’d been in abandoned buildings before, and they all had some degree of must, moldy walls or floors, standing water, something pungent that made her breathe through her mouth for the duration of her investigations, but this place smelled like a daycare, she smelled baby powder and plastic and cleaning supplies used to disinfect toys and surfaces, she smelled warmth and life and care, like a home would smell. She’d claimed the place creeped her out for the benefit of her audience, but really, apart from being dark and knowing something fucked up had happened in the back room, she felt safer here than she’d ever felt during her other investigations. Devil’s_Plaything: Heads up, Ouija, but I hit up your socials to let people know you got in, I saw that some people left after the vent didn’t work. She smiled, “Thanks, DP, I really appreciate it!” she said, making her way to the row of low cabinets to set her camera down, “I guess we’ll take a small break here to wait for people to come back.” she said, looking around the room, “I’m going to set up a few cameras in here so we have other angles and see if I can find a ladies room before we start.” she explained as she took her backpack off and set it down to get set up. ********** The audience had not just returned to its former glory, but had nearly doubled in the time it took her to set up her stationary cameras to allow for the whole main room to be visible. She’d found the staff bathroom, but the door had been locked, so she’d simply taken a moment to relieve herself in her pull-up and change into a fresh one off camera. With everything ready to go, she picked her camera back up and put her headset camera back on. “Alright, everyone, we’re here in Bright Beginnings, the abandoned daycare that allegedly housed a secret adult nursery in the back room, and I’m ready to explore this place, how about you?” she asked the audience, nodding and smiling as hundreds of comments agreeing with her poured in. Off the playroom was a corridor that led to a small kitchen/break area on the right, a bathroom for the kids on the left with a trough sink and half a dozen partitioned alcoves with plastic potties set up in them. She felt a pang of shame at having willingly wet her pull-up when she could’ve peed in either the sink or one of the potties, but shame was a big turn on for her, so she chose to enjoy the feeling rather than be self conscious about it. At the end of the corridor was the locked staff bathroom, and just to the right of that was a closet. “So, the kitchen/break area smells like burnt popcorn, fucking Deborah and her blind trust that the popcorn button on the microwave would do its job.” she joked as she panned her light and camera around the small room before making her way to the cabinets, opening the ones below that she could reach to reveal exactly what you’d expect to find, supplies for the kids meals, plastic baggies, containers of dry cereal, cans of fruits and veggies, paper towels. One of the chairs allowed her access to the higher cabinets which she found contained babyfood, coffee cups, bottles and sippy cups, nothing out of the ordinary. On the counter was a wicker basket piled high with folded bibs and in the corner beside the trash can was a stacked washer and dryer and a laundry basket with soiled bibs and blankets and even a few articles of kids clothes. She went to the fridge and opened it, shining her light into the dark appliance at the juices and veggies and things for fresh snacks as well as bottles with tape on them and names written in sharpie to denote which child got which bottle. The middle shelf was full of medicine, also labeled for the appropriate child, and the top shelf was for the workers lunches and drinks. “Shouldn’t this all be rotten and just a fucking nightmare?” she wondered, reaching in and picking up a container of juice that was shockingly still cold. “Okay, this is cold, you guys.” she said, “This place doesn’t have power though, I checked.” she explained. Comments flooded in about ghosts and someone being behind her with a knife as she left the kitchen for the bathroom across the hall, where jokes about her height and youthful appearance began, taunts about her accident prone previous adventures and jabs about her ability to use the toilet made her roll her eyes as she gave a cursory inspection of the room for the audience and continued to the closet beside the employee bathroom. She had legitimately never seen so many diapers in her entire life, unopened packages of diapers and training pants stacked on the floor below the bottom shelf, the bottom shelf designated for the largest size baby diapers and getting smaller as the shelves went up. BoneFairy: There’s the closet you’ve been looking for! BoneFairy: We promise to all look away while you change. She shut the closet door and sighed, “Look, man, I know you think you’re hilarious or whatever, but it’s kind of sad that you think it’s funny to belittle someone for something as lame as accidentally peeing her pants because she was scared.” she explained. BoneFairy: You’re right, babies like you can’t help that kind of thing, I’m sorry. She rolled her eyes, “Anyway, this is all just normal daycare stuff, nothing crazy or weird, so we’re gonna see if we can’t find that office.” she explained. SnuggleCorn: Movement in the playroom. She read the comment and was mildly alarmed at the news that something had triggered the camera in the playroom, but the name of the user was what sent a chill down her spine, someone was using her name from her AB account and sure, it might just be coincidence, but what if all the teasing about her needing a diaper was really subtly hinting at the knowledge of what she really was and had done in the past. Staying silent, she checked the camera on the tablet on her wrist, and couldn’t see anything at first, and then she noticed that the chunky little plastic chair that had been on its back near the art table was now upright and pushed in neatly. “Okay, that’s not good.” she said, heading out to the playroom to shine her light around. “Hello?!” she called out, “If anyone is here, please show yourself or let me know that you’re here in some way!” she requested. Silence filled the room and nothing moved as she continued to pan her light around, stopping on the overflowing toybox when tinny music began to emanate from within the box, muffled by all the toys on top of whatever was making the music. Her heart was racing as she approached the box, a purple stuffed rabbit on top of the pile staring vacantly at her with its hard plastic eyes. She shook her head and stopped, “No, I need to find the office.” she told herself as she turned away from the box, noting that the music stopped playing once she began to walk away. Beyond the playroom and the hallway she’d previously explored was an area behind an accordion door that was partially open, the room on the other side lined with cribs on the wall to her left and little cots with pillows and blankets on them to her right. “Okay, so this is the nap time room it seems.” she said, her light casting eerie barred shadows on the wall behind the cribs as she scanned the row and swung her light to the other side to look at the cots and the foam mats beneath them in case the kids rolled off them in their sleep. At the opposite end of the room was a closed door that had to be the office, and she found herself blindly hurrying toward it when she tripped over something and fell flat on her face on the thick foam padding she hadn’t realized extended out into the walkway creating a barrier of sorts to separate the adult traveling area and the children’s traveling area. She’d bit her tongue when she fell, and it took everything in her not to cry at how badly she’d hurt herself, but she soldiered on, getting up on her hands and knees and then to her knees and then fully upright on the squishy floor. SnuggleCorn: Careful, Ouija BoneFairy: Maybe stick to crawling? She seethed as she checked the floor for more hazards and continued on toward the door, leaving the section of padding for the normal carpeted floor as she neared the door and quickly placed her hand on the knob to open it, finding it motionless no matter which way she turned it, “Docked.” she said, blushing furiously at how stupid and infantile she sounded because of her injured tongue. BoneFairy: What was that, sweetie? Devil’s_Plaything: Knock it off, she fell, leave her alone! Ouija felt a swell of littleness at her biggest supporter rushing to her defense, her tongue injury keeping her from doing so herself without further embarrassing herself, and found herself wishing she could take a break to tend to her aching tongue and maybe find a pacifier to suck on to get herself calmed down and back to center, but she was live and the show had to go on regardless. SnuggleCorn has donated $1000 to challenge Ouija to “spend five minutes in one of the cribs” If she hadn’t already done so, she would’ve bitten her tongue to keep from laying into whoever was behind this person that clearly knew of her previous persona and wanted to humiliate her in her current one. BoneFairy has donated $500 to challenge Ouija to: “drink a bottle from the fridge” The pain of biting her tongue combined with the shock of falling, being protected from her bullies by DP, and now these humiliating challenges was too much for her to handle all at once, and she felt her bottom lip start to tremble as her vision blurred with hot tears, “Why are you doing this?” she whimpered, “You’re ruining everything!” she shouted, stomping her foot as she looked into the camera as though she were looking only at her two antagonists. SnuggleCorn has donated $1000 to challenge Ouija to: “change into a diaper” BoneFairy has donated $1000 to challenge Ouija to: “give up pretending to be an adult and accept that she’s just a stupid baby” She’d reached her breaking point with that, and cut her feed as she howled in frustration, throwing her camera onto the padded floor and ripping the headset camera from her head to do the same with it before she sat down on the padded floor and cried. ********** She pouted as she stared at the donation messages, she’d never gotten more than a few hundred dollars in her previous streams, challenges to get into closets or lay on a bed or gurney were easy money, but between SnuggleCorn and Bonefairy, she’d amassed ten times what she normally took in, but in order to collect, she had to humiliate herself. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done something degrading for views before, she’d livestreamed an enema and release into her diaper for a few hundred dollars back when she’d been SnuggleCorn, but she was trying to be something else now, trying to be legitimate in the realm of urban exploration and not some kind of whore for viewers, a clickbait abusing little girl that would do anything for money. She sighed heavily and looked around for her cameras, finding and reapplying her headset camera once she’d managed to remove all traces of the fact that she’d just spent the last five minutes crying and feeling sorry for herself after throwing a tantrum at being picked on. Crawling and stretching beneath one of the cribs, she retrieved her handheld camera and got back to her feet and took a deep breath before turning her stream back on. “Are we back?” she asked, noting the steep decline in viewer numbers, “Technical difficulties are a bitch, man!” she joked, “Umm, not sure if those donations are still valid or not.” she said, testing the waters to see if either of her bullies were still watching. BoneFairy: Mine are SnuggleCorn: Ditto Her stomach lurched as she softly nodded and sighed, “Alright then, so, what, I have to go get a bottle from the fridge and drink it, put on a diaper, get into one of the cribs for five minutes, and,” she gritted her teeth, “stop pretending to be an adult and accept that I’m a stupid baby?” she asked. Her bullies responded in the affirmative along with a few dozen teasing comments. Shuffling back to the break room, she went to the fridge and opened it, scanning the bottles for one that looked the least gross. BoneFairy: The pink one She looked and saw the bottle, a pink lamb on the side of it, the name on the strip of tape reading “Marcy”. Picking up the bottle, she could see that it probably contained milk, given the white liquid inside, but she hoped it was only regular milk and not breast milk, the latter somehow seeming worse despite both obviously being spoiled by this point. Bottle in hand, she trudged to the diaper closet, “And who will I be wearing tonight?” she joked. SnuggleCorn: Sesame Street Pampers, please Ouija looked on the bottom shelf, the largest sized diapers, and picked up one of the specified diapers, “I’m going to set you guys down while I change in the bathroom.” she said, removing her camera and setting her handheld down on the shelf in the closet with it before going into the bathroom to make use of the changing table in the back corner, stripping off her pants and pull-up before climbing onto the changing table, panicking when it creaked in protest at new weight after such a long period of peace, and quickly powdered herself and taped the diaper on, feeling herself smile as she crinkled softly when she wiggled her butt before getting down and putting her shoes back on to go back to her cameras. “Satisfied?” she asked, lifting the bottom of her hoodie to show off her diaper, turning around for the camera. SnuggleCorn: Adorable! BoneFairy: Doesn’t that seem like a much more appropriate outfit? Her audience had returned to its former glory since she’d come back, and hundreds of people agreed with BoneFairy, much to her dismay, but she put her headset camera back on and started to head back to the nap room to finish her challenges. BoneFairy: Crawl She sighed, putting her handheld camera and the bottle in her hoodie pocket as she got down on all fours and began to crawl down the hall, the soft, tinny music from the toybox playing once more as she entered the playroom and turned left to head to the nap room. She felt a flutter in her tummy as she listened to the crinkle of her diaper, crawling like a baby in a daycare center on her way to get into a crib and drink a baby bottle of some kind of milk, she hated that she was being forced to do these things on her non fetish related channel, but she absolutely loved the fact that she was living so many little fantasies all at once without having to admit anything about her kinks. Once she reached the nap room, she crawled to the furthest crib and stood up and climbed in, raising the side and securing it before pulling out the bottle and her handheld camera. SnuggleCorn: Can you attach your camera to the mobile so we can see you, sweetie? She blushed and checked the mobile, finding a spot that she could hook the strap on the camera to the mobile so it was pointed down at her and did so, “Look good?” she asked. Thumbs up and approving messages poured in. She nodded and lay down on the mattress, her diaper and the waterproof cover beneath the sheets crinkling as she moved and got comfortable, avoiding looking up at the camera above her as she sighed and brought the nipple of the bottle to her lips, guiding it in and giving a few tentative sucks on it to taste the liquid inside. She’d tasted spoiled milk before, accidentally made a bowl of cereal and taken a bite without realizing the milk had soured, but the milk in the bottle was perfect, cool on her throat, sweet to the taste like gingerbread, and she couldn’t help but smile as she gripped the bottle with both hands and closed her eyes as she nursed it in earnest. The tablet notified her that messages were coming in, but she didn’t care, she was content to allow herself this small moment of littleness and peace in a night rife with setbacks and disappointments, an escape from the pressure to put on a good show in the face of trolls, a way for her to accept some much needed little time after months of having to set everything up for the show. She opened her eyes slowly, looking up at the camera, a long dormant side of her bubbling up to the surface as she giggled bashfully and dribbled into her diaper as she nursed her bottle, this was something she could do without much effort, weeks of scouting this location and researching the history of it, breaking into the place and putting herself in danger, and in the end the thing that was going to net her more money and arguably more views, was something she’d wanted to incorporate into her streams to begin with, her baby side. She popped the nipple from her mouth and was about to bare her soul, to out herself as an adult baby, as a diaper lover, when she noticed the office door she’d tried earlier and found locked was wide open. “The office door is open!” she whispered, letting the bottle fall to the mattress and out between the rails to the floor with a dull thud as she got up onto her knees and peered through the darkness at the door. Fishing around in the bedding, she found her flashlight and shined it at the door, a desk and bookshelf beyond. Detaching the camera from the mobile, she held it up over the crib rails, “We’re going in!” she whispered. More notifications came through as she set the camera down on the mattress and tried to disengage the side of the crib so she could get out. Frustrated at her inability to successfully lower the side of the crib, she stood and put one leg over the railing, making sure her foot was nestled between the bars and on the mattress before putting her other leg over and dropping down to the floor, easily lowering the crib side from outside the crib and grabbing her camera, “If you guys are commenting right now, I’ll read them in a second, I just want to check out the office real quick.” she whispered. Her damp diaper rustled softly with each step she took toward the door, shining the light into the office and panning it back and forth to make sure no one was inside before she crossed the threshold. The office smelled like leather and books, or leather bound books, she supposed, it smelled more like a library than an office in a daycare was all she could think as she looked around. The desk was a rich Mahogany, a green mat on the surface of it with business cards and post-it notes stuck to it, a fancy golden pen holder sat beside the mat with a green shaded lamp near the corner. At the edge of the desk was a golden placard that read “Mary Gallagher” in what she assumed was the woman’s handwriting etched into the gold. The bookshelf behind the desk had child psychology books and parenting guides, but also had books about medical practices and other related things as well as general fiction peppered throughout. “Remember when you had to go to the principals office in school?” she asked her audience, “This is exactly like that.” she added, her cheeks heating up when she thought of being sent to the principal’s office dressed as she was now, bottomless save for a damp baby diaper. Devil’s_Plaything: You can take a break and change back into your regular clothes if you need to. BoneFairy: Nah, brah, I cashed in my challenge that she accepts she’s a stupid baby, so the diaper stays. Agreeing comments flooded in in support of BoneFairy. “I’m fine, DP.” she said, stopping herself from saying anything further. “Okay, if the cops and rescue workers came in and got all those people out then wouldn’t the secret room still be open?” she asked, voicing her inner thoughts. MidgetJesus: Unless the story was bullshit. She shook her head, “There were news reports about it, articles, all kinds of documentation.” she argued. BeanPole: I searched and found nothing Numerous people responded with similar claims. She shrugged, “Get good at searching then?” she said with a sneer. SnuggleCorn has donated $1000 challenging Ouija to: “pull “Understanding Infants” from the shelf” Ouija stared at the tablet screen in disbelief and shone her light at the bookshelf, “How the fuck did you pick out one title from maybe a fraction of-” she started to ask before another alert interrupted her. SnuggleCorn has donated $1000 challenging Ouija to: “Be a good girl and do as she’s told” BoneFairy has donated $5000 challenging Ouija to: “perform I’m a little teapot for the camera and poop her diaper at the end” Devil’s_Plaything: Enough with all this humiliation crap, guys, go troll some rando fetish stream if you need to jerk off or something! Ouija’s head was swimming with thoughts of what the money on offer could do for her and set her camera down on the desk, taking a deep breath with her eyes closed before she opened them and smiled, waving at the camera with one hand as her thumb went into her mouth with the other, “Hihi guys!” she squealed excitedly, finally allowing herself to share an aspect of her true personality with her audience, “Ouija here with a little intermission dance performance!” she exclaimed, bouncing excitedly where she stood and giggling behind her thumb. Her viewership numbers dropped by the tens, then dozens, then hundreds as she readied herself for her performance. “I’m a little teapot, short and stout!” she chirped, her hands on her hips as she wiggled her bottom and giggled at the soft rustle of her diaper, “Here is my handle and here is my spout!” she continued, lifting and repositioning one arm for the handle of the teapot and raising the other to be a spout. The mass exodus stopped when her audience had dwindled to two hundred, the lowest she’d had since her first live exploration back when she was an unknown internetainer. “When I get all steamed up, hear me shout!” she burbled, making a pretend grumpy face, “Tip me over and pour me out!” she exclaimed, bending to the side to pour her spout out before turning around and lifting her hoodie to show off her diaper as she squatted down and began to push down on her bowels, grunting softly and passing a bit of gas before she managed to create a nice lump in the seat of her diaper, turning around and putting her thumb back into her mouth as she rose back up and toddled to the camera to retrieve it, “Was dat a good dance?” she asked her audience. Devil’s_Plaything: I thought you were better than all those fake as attention whores SnuggleCorn: Don’t listen to the haters, baby, you did wonderful! BoneFairy: Not even a moment of hesitation, sad The minuscule audience and the flood of judgmental comments sobered her up quickly, the smell filling the room making her acutely aware of the reality of her situation. She wanted to argue, to play it all off as a joke, but who would hear her now? Instead, she sniffled softly and sucked her thumb, hating herself for ruining everything she’d built. BoneFairy: Looks like we’re done here, Happy Halloween, you pathetic fucking baby! Devil’s_Plaything: You disgust me, kill yourself With nothing but a blubbering little girl in a messy diaper to watch, the remaining viewers dropped off the stream, leaving only one. SnuggleCorn: You really should pull that book, sweetie Numb, Ouija walked over to the bookshelf and checked the chat for the book title, finding the book on the highest shelf, “It’s too high.” she whined. SnuggleCorn: Push the chair over and stand on it, baby She nodded softly and pulled her thumb from her mouth to pull the chair from the desk and position it in front of the bookshelf for her to climb up onto it and pull the book in question, a loud chunk making her jump and almost fall off the chair before she quickly squatted down and held the back of the chair for balance as she watched the bookshelf move forward a few inches before it slid to the side to reveal a door behind it. SnuggleCorn: Put the chair back and open the door, baby She got off the chair and put it back, her heart beating quickly as her hand gripped the doorknob and she gave it a turn, letting go of it as the door slowly opened and she shone her flashlight into the darkness beyond. SnuggleCorn: Three baby steps forward and you’re free, baby She furrowed her brow and started to step back. SnuggleCorn: Is it the dark that scares you? She shook her head, “What’s in the dark.” she said softly. SnuggleCorn dropped from the chat and her tablet went dark as her flashlight began to flicker, making her smack it frantically as she began to panic. “All you had to do” a deep voice suddenly said from the darkness beyond the doorway she’d just opened, “was accept my offers to be your Daddy.” the voice said as her flashlight went dark. In the pitch black, she turned to run, the corner of the desk hitting her hip and sending her tumbling to the floor as her panicked breathing came out in shrill wheezes as she looked into the darkness for a sign of the person that had spoken to her. “I sent you clothes and diapers and toys and lavished you with affection, and what do you do?” the voice asked, “You abandon your true self and put yourself in danger and pretend like SnuggleCorn never existed, didn’t you, Alyssa?” it asked. Her blood ran cold when she heard her real name spoken. “Yes, sweetie, I know who you really are.” the voice said, a malicious smile laced in each word, “You did such a good job of hiding all your personal information, except for one eensy weensy little detail.” it said, “Do you remember when you used to do your show on your playmat?” the voice asked. She’d stopped listening, rubbing the pain in her hip as she tried to get up only to have the back of her neck grabbed by someone she couldn’t see and forced against the wall of the office suddenly, knocking the wind out of her as she felt her legs give out and whimpered as she remained upright by the sheer strength of the person behind her, his other hand snaking around her waist to hold her, his hot breath in her ear. “In the background, you had a picture on your nightstand, do you remember that?” he asked. She started to cry as a choked wheeze escaped her as she tried to catch her breath. “It was you and your parents at your high school graduation.” he told her, “I know, you’re probably struggling to think of any possible way that could’ve given away anything about your identity, right?” he asked. She was seeing spots now and teetering on the brink of consciousness. “Alyssa Sharpe, class of 2020.” he said, “It took a lot of work, but I managed to clean up the screen caps I took to get your name and then when searched that and found your yearbook online, I knew I had you.” he explained, lifting her into his arms and cradling her as she slipped in and out of consciousness. “Why?” she managed to wheeze. He was chuckling softly, a brittle sounding noise that sent a chill down her spine, “Because you need a Daddy, little one.” he told her, “You’re far too little to be able to take care of yourself, tonight proved that much.” he said. She could feel that they were moving and struggled weakly in his strong arms. “Now now,” he calmly chided, patting her bottom softly, “baby is just fussy because she needs a change and a nap.” he told her as he shifted her to close the door behind the bookshelf as he carried her through it, “Once we have you all sorted out, we can begin your training.” he said, his greasy skin and prickly stubble against her forehead, his reeking breath filling her nostrils as he kissed her. “They’ll know I was here and come looking for me.” she said. The brittle chuckle returned, “Everyone abandoned your pathetic little stream, baby.” he said, “And while you’re napping, I’ll be scrubbing Ouija_Look_At_That from every platform, just like she never existed.” he told her. “Besides, this place hasn’t been relevant since the mall closed down.” he explained, “My mom owned the daycare back in the day, god was she a mean old bitch.” he bitterly spat, “But when she died she left it to me, a moldy old daycare center in a crumbling old abandoned mall, on brand, honestly.” he said. “Anyway, everything that brought you here was me laying a trail of breadcrumbs for you, BoneFairy and SnuggleCorn goading you, the pink bottle you were supposed to finish having a sneaky little dose of muscle relaxers that are probably kicking in fully now, and of course all that money you just couldn't pass up, so once that’s all gone and you’re gone, nobody’s gonna miss you, just another missing female in a sea of reckless and ignorant females that don't take any precautions to keep themselves safe." he added. She was panicking and crying as he carried her through the darkness, “Please, I haven’t seen you, you don’t have to-” she started to plead, her words evaporating as the thick bulb of a pacifier filled her mouth, too big to be comfortable, her jaw popping as it nearly choked her going in. “Lesson one, baby cannot speak.” he told her. “You’ll see Daddy plenty after your nap, but the dark is good for this situation, keeps you disoriented and malleable so you don’t act up and get hurt.” he explained. She whimpered, the pain in her jaw worsening every second the pacifier remained in place, her hands being slapped roughly when she tried to grab for it. He sighed, “I know you don’t like spankings, so I’d advise you not do anything more to earn one.” he warned. She felt herself being set down on her back on a cushioned surface and felt alone in the darkness when he stepped away “You never should’ve ghosted me.” he said, his hands suddenly ripping the tapes of her diaper, “I understand how scared you must’ve been to give yourself to me without getting to know me first, females are often quite skittish around dominant males.” he explained, “But you know what a little baby you are and how badly a little baby needs a strong Daddy.” he continued as he wiped her thoroughly, his thick fingers toying with her body in ways that would make her scream and vomit if she were able to, the smell of powder filled her nostrils and she felt her legs effortlessly lifted along with her bottom as a much thicker diaper was slid beneath her. She was hyperventilating, getting ready to pass out, or die, she hoped, just so she wouldn’t have to endure being this sick bastard’s captive any longer than she had been already. “In time you’ll learn that Daddy is all you need.” he told her as he taped her new diaper snugly onto her, then repeated the process four more times, “You won’t need to worry about talking or walking or feeding yourself or even going to the bathroom because Daddy will have all of that taken care of for you so you can just be your true self,” he said as he lifted her up and held her like a baby once more, “Daddy’s perfect little SnuggleCorn forever and always.” he whispered into her ear. The bulk of so many diapers kept her legs spread wide, rendering them uncoordinated even if she weren’t weak and disoriented and on the verge of passing out and merely remained still and silent as she was set down in what she assumed was a crib once she felt the mattress beneath her and heard the side come up and lock in place. “If you’re a good girl and take a nap without any naughtiness, Daddy will give you a special treat when you wake up.” he whispered, his thick fingers stroking her hair as she shuddered and recoiled to the other end of the crib. His hollow chuckling came around once more, “I wasn’t sure what the best part of having you would be,” he began, “I thought just having the baby I’d always dreamed of having would be it, but now I can tell that reminding you of who you truly are and returning you to your true baby self is going to be my favorite part.” he said. She whimpered and cried softly into her pacifier. “The sex might just top it though.” he added, chuckling to himself as his footsteps retreated into the darkness. Without being able to see, she was helpless and accepted that she’d have to endure some awful things before an opportunity to escape presented itself, but she really didn’t see any outcome that didn’t benefit her, either she’d escape and kill him or reach the police and send him to jail for what he’d done to her, or she’d anger him and end up dead, either way she’d be free sooner rather than later. The End Happy Halloween!
  17. “Today we bring these vile criminals and sinners to justice. Their long reign of terror and destruction ends here." The Executioner’s words don’t particularly cut me deep. I’ve heard this countless times before. He stands before a large and angry crowd he’s whipped into a frenzy. How painfully nostalgic. I am but one of the several so-called "criminals and sinners" up on the menu today, and we’re a bit tied up at the moment. A long dark cloak hides my body and the hands cuffed behind my back. My noose is just a little tight, and my short stature is forcing me to the tips of my toes to keep from choking. Surely the work of amateurs, I’ve partaken in better executions. “Here we have Arthur, a member of the insurgency working against this Kingdom. His crimes are as follows…” ... *Thunk* Ah, they’re finally getting started. Sadly my position seems to be towards the end, leaving me a bit more time. I’m tired. So tired. Mentally, physically, spiritually. I just wish they’d hurry. “Cursed [[Witch]], there is no place in this world for you.” These are the first words I remember hearing and comprehending. It was the dawn of mankind and I was an unfortunate orphan left to the whims of an uncivilized world. To avoid the abuses of my adoptive tribe I began learning from their Shaman. I excelled; weaving and working the magic in the atmosphere was as simple as breathing. However, it brought no relief, and I was used even more as a tool by the tribe. I brought ruin to many a settlement during this time. Again, and again. The death and destruction became too much for my feeble heart to bear, thus I left. Isolation is better than being used as a weapon capable of bringing only demise and despair. Or so I thought. “Next up is Justine, a murderous wench. Her crimes are as follows…” ... *Thunk* I spent too much time in the mountains, perfecting my magic beyond the limits of humanity. Delving into long forgotten taboos. Foolishly I began tattooing my body with spells using a magical but poisonous ink. And when I ran out of room, I took to my eyelids, the inside of my mouth, and even my eyes. The pain was insufferable, but it was nothing compared to the pain of being used as a tool of destruction. The spell was more of a curse. A blasphemy against the concept of [[God]] itself. My life to this point had been one of loneliness and pain. In a moment of weakness, I had a thought. “If I could live forever… Maybe something good could happen to someone like me…”. And so, I gifted myself a never aging and never dying body. It was roughly a century later, on my 125th birthday, that I would leave the mountains. My tanned skin, brown eyes, and brown hair all dyed mostly black with my immortal curse. I had stopped growing and aging at 25 and ended at a lithe 5ft tall. Hope shined in my ruined eyes, that things could be different in this second chance at life. I was a fool. For every happy moment gifted to me by eternity, I received a thousand agonies in return. New friends and family were found, giving me momentary peace. All gone in the blink of an eye as I buried loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after lov------ “Next up is Alexander, a murdering and thieving bandit caught in the woods. His crimes are as follows…” ... *Thunk* My heart is heavy. Recalling the names and faces of those I’ve left behind is worse than a thousand executions. Tens of thousands of years have passed since my birth. Happiness still out of reach. To save those dear to me I had to intervene with the world more than I’d have liked. Involving myself in political and military matters. I became a tool once more on many occasions. And when it was convenient, or I was no longer useful, they sought to end me in fear. Cruel [[Witch]] how could you poison his majesty. Abhorrent [[Witch]] you’re the cause of the crop failures. Evil [[Witch]] it was you who tempted our knights to commit heinous war crimes. Forcefully shouldering the blame again and again, I was put to death. Over and over. After my executions I would pretend it had worked. After burial I would exit my tomb and leave for the next country. Repeating this endless loop of gain and loss. The boundless hope that once shone in my eyes was replaced with bottomless despair. This was not the happiness I had wished for… Surely this is my punishment. “Here we have the vile [[Witch]], she is a plague on our kingdom. Her crimes are as follows…” This may take a while. The crimes they’ve manufactured against me are innumerable. After all I’ve done to help, we’re back here again. I see a dear friend in the crowd, Elizabeth. Don’t look at me with those teary eyes. Our time together was painfully short, but I will carry it with me to eternity. I’ve seen your pure soul with my magically infused eyes, you have a bright and pure future unsuited to this world. I try to smile at her, but it doesn’t reach my dead eyes. How much longer must I endure this? For all my power, why can I not end this bitter cycle? I don’t care to rule over anyone. I don’t care to throw about my power. I just want to love and be loved in return. “[[Witch]], have you any last words?” I have words. The unfairness of it all. This rotten world… if I had to say anything… “This world, is truly meaningless…” ... *Thunk* The floor beneath my feet falls away. My neck snaps as I gasp for air and flail my limbs, for it is all I can do. Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts. I t. H u r t s. I scream internally, the pain consuming all reasonable thought. After putting on a short show I cast a spell to put myself into a long sleep and spare myself more pain. The next time I wake, it will be in another tomb. Just once. If you’re listening. Give me a happy ending. ~~~ Time passes as it does. I wake. My body stiff and sore from its long slumber. The sun shines brightly in my eyes. This is not a tomb, but a field. I stand to gather my bearings and view my surroundings. Gone are the humble abodes of the peasantry. Gone are the cobble streets. Gone are everything I had known to this point. Before me stands a grand city. A city of metal and glass. Chapter 1: The End _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ First time writer on the board here. I've been writing DnD campaigns and thought combining a world/character of magic with the Diaper Dimension might be interesting. Sorry if the first chapter is a little dark/sad, but I felt it would be a good introduction to the character. I wrote this on a whim for the most part haha. It was an idea buzzing in my head and I had to get at least this chapter out. If people are interested in more chapters let me know! Feedback would also be appreciated!
  18. Here's a free story about a young woman who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut. Please comment or give it a like if you're enjoying the story. --- Lindsey sat in her room, staring out of her bedroom window brooding after her self imposed exile. It was her fucking birthday for crying out loud and her parents had forbade her from being able to leave the house! Unlike most twenty one year olds, Lindsey had been forced to spend her summer break from college back at home with her parents. Well, the word "forced" was a bit extreme; she had voluntarily returned home to see her parents and mooch off of them until she had to go back to school. However, things quickly changed once she got home and found out that they had a new baby in the house. "It's okay, Maddie. It's just a little bit of poopy in your pamper." Lindsey felt the right side of her head throb upon hearing her mother's sickeningly sweet voice coming from just outside of her door. She knew that voice well. It was her mom's "attempting to calm her sister tone" when the brat was screaming her head off like a teething toddler. "Don't cry, baby. Mommy's going to change your diaper once we get you down for bed." "Ugh," Lindsey subconsciously groaned. She had been stuck on diaper duty during the past three weeks whenever her mom and dad weren't at home and it was starting to grind away at what little remained of her sanity. The worst part of the whole arrangement was that she effectively being kept a prisoner in her own house. At first, it was because nobody was around to watch the baby since both of her parents still worked. Since she was watching her sister all day long, she hadn't really thought about leaving the house since caring for her sister was literally a full time job. However, as time passed and tempers flared, she finally got sick of wiping her sister's ass and wanted to go hang out with her friends. It was on her mom's first day off since Lindsey arrived home that her parents literally told her that she couldn't leave the house! It was no longer about helping out with the baby; according to her parents, it was about keeping her safe from whatever was going on around town. To Lindsey, it was as if a quiet, self contained hysteria had engulfed the small town over the past few weeks. It seemed more and more incidents were occurring around town which made her parents become increasingly protective of her. At least, that's what she was able to piece together through the few snippets of what passed as conversation during dinner. It felt so odd to be effectively ignored since she had to help feed the baby, but hearing her mom and dad gossip in solemn tones about which family around town was afflicted by this mysterious tragedy was starting to drive her crazy. It all came to a boil during the previous night's meal where her dad had casually mentioned Maddie's best friend from down the street like her disappearance was perfectly normal. "I haven't seen the Miller girl in a few days." Her mother looked up from her plate. "Is that the family with the twenty four year old daughter?" Her dad sighed. "Yeah, she went to school with Maddie if I'm not mistaken." Lindsey recalled putting down the large plastic spoon full of mashed prunes before chiming in. "Are you guys talking about Jackie Miller?" Her mother sighed. "Yeah, I think so." She couldn't believe her mother's apathetic tone. That was Madison's best friend and they were pretending like she didn't exist! "Well, what do you guys think happened to her?" "Hopefully nothing, but I haven't seen her since last Friday." Her mother replied before taking a sip off of her alcoholically enhanced iced tea. "They should've kept her in the house." "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Lindsey snapped at her father's remark causing her sister to start bawling her eyes out. In the blink of an eye, her mother had leapt up from her seat and was standing beside her daughter, Maddie. "It's okay, baby. Big sissy isn't mad at you." Her dad had cleared his throat by that point and was staring her down from his spot at the head of the table. "You know what I meant, Lindsey. The Miller's shouldn't have let Jackie leave their house which is why you're definitely not going to leave this house until the sheriff's catch the sick fucks responsible for your sister's condition!" An awkward tension had filled the air before Lindsey stood up from her seat at the table and screamed at her father. "Tomorrow is my twenty-first birthday, dad! I'm not going to just sit here like a prisoner while all my other friends are enjoying their lives!" That was the last time Lindsey had spoken to her parents. She had spent the entire day in her room, periodically walking out to the kitchen to get a yogurt or make a bowl of cereal. Just because she was pissed off at her parents didn't mean that she was going to starve herself. Their attempts at conversation were ignored. Each "happy birthday" was met with quiet indifference and indignation. Somehow she had gone the entire day without talking to either one of them, but luckily she had her friend, Gwen to chat with. They had spent the whole day planning out their night on the town. In all honesty, there wasn't much to plan since the town only had two bars and the Copper Stallion was the only thing close to a "hip dive bar" suitable to the forty and younger crowd. The Iron Spittoon was literally a Boomer bar and she wouldn't waste a minute in that shithole even if the drinks were free! The sound of her bedroom door creaking open pulled Lindsey's attention away from the window and towards the door to see her mother looking in through the gap. "I just put Maddie to sleep." Lindsey remained silent, but didn't look away. "I know you're still upset about the situation, honey, but we don't want you to take any risks. What if you end up like your older sister?" The question lingered in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time until her mother spoke again. "You're still angry, I get that, but how about we celebrate your birthday tomorrow?" It sounded less like an offer and more like a plea. "I'll take the day off, hire a babysitter for Maddie, and we can make mixed drinks all day. It'll be a regular girls day in!" Slowly, Lindsey turned away and returned her gaze to the window, peering out of it like a bird trapped inside of a cage. The sound of her mother closing the door in defeat was the only sound that pierced the quiet stillness of the house until a few moments later a digital ping came from the phone that sat on the desk by her chair. She immediately picked it up and noticed that it was Gwen. Ur parents in bed yet? Lindsey's thumbs got to work typing on the now fully charged phone. "Dunno bout my dad. Mom is prolly gonna lay down." K was the only letter sent in reply. Lindsey stared at the reply for a moment and started to get annoyed. "U gonna pick me up or wat?" Normally, she would've taken her car, but since her dad had confiscated the keys she was forced to rely on Gwen. An uncomfortable amount of time passed waiting for her reply. If Gwen had bailed on her then she'd just walk to the bar. It wasn't that far away, but the thought of someone jumping her along the way did linger in her mind until another digital ping sounded off, pulling her out of her increasingly dark thoughts. Can't take my car. No gas. "Fucking cheap cunt." Lindsey seethed under her breath. "Walking to the bar." Lindsey replied with annoyance. Don't. I got a buck for UBER to get you. "Such a cheap cunt." Lindsey chuckled to herself before typing, "Wat about beer?" I got cash. UBER is cheaper than gas. Lindsey couldn't argue with that line of thinking so she simply replied with a "K" and put her phone into the back of her ripped Jeans as she stood up. She quietly slid her window open, taking her time to push the screen out from its place, knocking it out of the frame. Flashes of sneaking out of the house during high school to smoke pot flashed through her mind as she did so, making her feel rather juvenile until her face was hit by the cold air of the night. Originally, Lindsey had wanted to wear her booty shirts and show off her body, but once her sneakers landed on the wet grass, she knew that she had made the right choice by wearing her Jeans. The minutes passed by painfully slow as the cold air made Lindsey start to question whether standing around and waiting for her friend was a good idea. Lindsey sighed, seeing her breath hang in the air for a moment before vanishing. 'Fucking bitch.' She looked down the end of the street and was just about to text Gwen when a pair of headlights appeared in the distance. 'It's about damn time!' Lindsey thought as she stood there impatiently on the sidewalk in the growing glare of the car's headlights. The black SUV crept forward until it pulled up to the side of the curb and stopped. Right when she was about to step up to the sports utility vehicle her phone pinged, notifying her that she had just received a text message. 'I wonder who that could be?' Lindsey ignored her phone, opting to approach the luxurious SUV. Before she could reach for the handle, the back door flung open revealing Gwen leaning over from her seat. The slightly older girl flashed her a smile and patted the empty seat. "Come on, Lindsey. What are you waiting for? Your birthday is almost over!" "No thanks to you." Lindsey replied in a bitchy tone while getting into the car and grabbing onto the side of the door, slamming it shut. Before Lindsey could even get comfortable, the driver was already starting to complain. "Make sure your friend is buckled up!" Lindsey cocked an eye and looked over at Gwen who was already reaching over for the seatbelts that laid limply by Lindsey's shoulder. Before she could be buckled in, Lindsey brushed away Gwen's hands and buckled herself in. "Just because I haven't been out of the house doesn't mean that I forgot how to use a seatbelt." She expected Gwen to say something, but the young woman remained silent which seemed odd given that she was always a bit of spitfire; it was why they both got along. "You're the birthday girl. Just thought I'd help." Gwen finally spoke up after snapping her own seatbelt shut. Lindsey felt like she was missing something here; like she was being left out of an obvious joke or something. She turned her gaze away from Gwen and to the driver who was already looking over her shoulder, watching her. It made the already awkward atmosphere of the backseat seem to build more awkward if such a thing was possible. It felt like the driver was waiting for her to say something. "Maybe you should stop staring at me and get this clown car on the road." Lindsey demanded in an annoyed tone. "You don't like the lighting? My passengers always love the lights, especially after a long night out." The driver replied, ignoring her rude tone. "They just stare at these lights until I deliver them to their homes." The back of the car had electric-pink pin-striping running around the lining of the ceiling which bathed the backseats in a faint pink glow. Lindsey had noticed the lights, but didn't exactly care for them. It seemed a bit much for a simple ride to the bar, more like a luxury car,but maybe Gwen had been lying about her budget? "The lights are nice, but I'd have to be pretty shit faced to just stare at them like some retard." Lindsey retorted. "Don't mind Lindsey." Gwen finally spoke up. "She's had a long week and just wants to get drunk on her birthday." "That's right." The driver smiled. "You did say on the way over here that it was her birthday." "Yeah, and it's almost over." Lindsey sighed. "So less yapping and more driving!" "Of course, but before we get going, here's a little gift from me for your special night out." The older woman pulled out a bottle of water from a cooler she must've had sitting on the passenger seat and handed it back to Lindsey. "Gee, thanks." Lindsey replied in a sarcastic voice. "It's actually a good idea to hydrate before you start drinking." Lindsey cocked her head just in time to see Gwen drink from her own bottle of water she must've gotten from the driver beforehand. "Your friend is right. It helps prevent hangovers." The driver added, seemingly waiting for her to pop open the top and drink. "Fine, but I want this car moving once I finish taking a sip." Lindsey grumbled while screwing off the lid of the twenty ounce bottle of water. She took a long sip from the water bottle and the car finally pulled forward. Feeling the vehicle actually moving made Lindsey start to unwind. She leaned back in her seat and started thinking about the potential guys she'd meet tonight. How many she'd flirt with and maybe the lucky guy she'd fuck if things went right and he invited her back to his place. Suddenly, Lindsey felt like she was having trouble thinking straight as an unusual haze overcame her mind. She tried to lift her hand to touch her forehead, but all the strength had left her arms, causing her to drop her bottle of water onto the floor. "Gwen!" Lindsey slurred her words. "Sum thin ish wong wif me!" If Gwen had heard what Lindsey had said, she gave no indication of it. Lindsey struggled to keep her eyes open as everything grew blurrier and darker in the backseat. A yawn escaped her mouth as a tiny trickle of drool dripped down her chin. Lindsey couldn't believe how out of it she was; it was like she had been drugged or something! The very idea that she had been drugged gave her a second wind of sorts. She gazed up from her slumped position and tried to spot the driver but found an opaque black glass divider that hid the woman from sight. It was like a big black mirror reflecting an endless sea of neon pink due to the custom interior lights of the car. She pulled her eyes away from the tinted glass partition and let out a long sigh before succumbing to the drugs in her system. "Okay, she's knocked out now." Gwen said as she looked at her unconscious friend. To Be Continued...
  19. I hate the title I finally settled on, but titles aren't my strongest area. I don't sleep very well and often times I lay awake and think of things to write, this is one of those things. If anyone likes this I'll share more of my work, if not I'll slink back into my cave of weirdness. ?? Reliving By: TheUnknownAuthor It was the thunder that woke me up the first time, it changed to other things at various points, but it was the crack of thunder that did it initially. My eyes shot open and I looked around my room in a blurry eyed panic, the inky darkness giving little to ease my anxiety. My eyes came to the nightlight on the other end of the room, the Little Mermaid themed one that I’d gotten for Christmas the previous year, Ariel and Sebastian smiling warmly as the glow behind their faces cast enough light to show me the path to my bedroom door. I looked around the bed, breathing a sigh of relief that it was my big girl bed this time. I wasn’t always so lucky, finding myself back in the crib I’d given up years earlier more times than I cared to remember, trapped in the sleeping cage of my infancy forced to wait helplessly until the end came creeping into the room. Shoving the blankets off me, more Little Mermaid images adorning them, barely recognizable in the dim nightlight wash, I scooted to the end of the bed and tentatively peeked over the side to the wood floor, wondering if I should look under the bed this time before planting my feet on the ground. With a deep breath I pushed myself from the bed so I landed a foot or so from the bed, out of reach of anything that might be lurking beneath the big girl bed I’d been so proud to earn. The slip resistant pads on the bottoms of the feet of my pajamas made small sticky vinyl ripping sounds on the wood floor as I crept across the room to the door that was slightly cracked this time. The door creaked softly as I slowly opened it enough to allow my small frame to slip through the gap into the hallway beyond. A shiver ran up my spine, it always did when I saw the hallway, the length of it seeming impossibly long to my diminutive form. The photos that lined either side of the hallway told the story of a happy family, my family, beginning with my parents when they were dating near where I stood, their smiles genuine and hopeful for the bright and prosperous future ahead of them. Wedding photos were next, my parents with long dead relatives and forgotten friends, still happy and ready for the future. The bathroom was coming up on my right, the first real test of my bravery. The nightlight inside cast a dim glow inside, enough to allow me to see the door was open this time, a good sign. I crept close to the frame and took a quick look inside, breathing a sigh of relief at the emptiness within. Moving slowly, I entered the room and picked up the little pink stool in the corner and carried it to the vanity and set it on the furry mat before ascending to get a look in the mirror. I turned my head from side to side as I tried to discern my age, somewhere between seven and nine given the length of my hair, still a mess from sleeping, and the lack of a gap where my front teeth hadn’t come in yet. I felt my face flush as I looked at the pink footed pajamas I wore and finally acknowledged the clammy bulge around my waist, the timeline jumbled worse than usual this time around. A crash somewhere else in the house made me jump, the clamminess around my waist warming as I turned and descended the step stool and moved to the bathroom door to look down the hallway to the stairs, a light coming from the lower floor, casting various shadows up to the landing. Moving back into the hallway I could see the pictures of my birth and various images chronicling the assorted firsts of my life. I focused my attention on the floor as I continued on, knowing the pictures would start distorting around this point of the hallway, my mother becoming frailer, her smile diminishing more and more until it became the more skeletal grin that I could never forget. My father would remain in the pictures to a point and then disappear entirely, leaving me and my emaciated mother trying to put on brave faces for the camera. By the time I reached the end of the hallway I knew the photos were mixes of me with the various families I’d ended up with over the years, my actual age and development replaced by the stunted and fearful little girl that I saw myself as, retreating to safer and simpler times to protect herself from the various abuses she would experience in the foster care system. The frames of these pictures were crooked, the glass cracked and the pictures beneath curled and faded from the emotional damage they’d absorbed over the years. One of the bedroom doors creaked open behind me down the hall and the expensive manicured nails of my third mother clacked on the wood of the door frame as they walked like spiders to the edge, the fake diamonds faintly glinting in the weak light of the hallway. I smelled the booze wafting from the room even as far away as I was, the scent of Vodka overpowering the acrid scent of my earlier accident. “Samantha.” her voice called softly, dragging each syllable of my name out, her trademark slur acting as a fingerprint leaving no doubt who she was. I looked down the stairs, the normal number replaced by hundreds of tiers, distorted to shapes and lengths never seen in stair design outside of something dredged from the nightmares of Escher. I looked back to the doorway and saw her peeking out at me, her hair matted to the side of her face with sweat and vomit. “Where are you going, Samantha?” she asked, moving into the hallway slowly, crouched down like a cat ready to pounce on its prey, her nails clacking against the floor as a warning to me to stay away, like a rattlesnake would. She was naked, her fake breasts impossibly swollen, the ugly veins she’d done everything to cover standing out prominently as they stiffly wobbled as she drunkenly swayed side to side watching me intently, waiting for me to run from her like I’d done the night I’d found her passed out on the sofa, the night she’d drowned in her own vomit because I ran instead of helping her. “You’re not real.” I whispered to her, my voice tiny and fearful. The sound she made didn’t register as laughter until she threw her head back and cackled like a witch, the hoarse and gurgling she’d started with shattering the silence of the hallway as it evolved into a malevolent chortle. “Not real? Are you sure, dear?” she asked. I nodded my head and began to lower myself to the first stair, keeping her in my line of sight as I crawled backward down the stairs like an unsteady toddler, my feet feeling around uncertainly for the next step and the next until she disappeared behind the wall and I finally allowed myself to breath for the first time in what seemed like hours. More pictures adorned the walls on either side of the stairs, pictures of me in school, sitting alone at recess because I was the weird girl that dressed like I’d escaped from a salvation army preschool. My stomach lurched at the sight of me curled into a fetal position clutching my stuffed penguin, my thumb firmly in my mouth as the girls from my class stood over me pointing and laughing at the girl that had shit her Pampers despite being the same age as them. The next frame was a formal document that was stamped with a still wet “FAILED”, the red of the ink dripping down the paper and permeating the frame to run down the wall like blood. I stopped descending to read the paper, whimpering as I read “Adulthood Proficiency” at the top with check boxes going down the length of it with sections for “Emotional Independence”, “Maturity”, and “Toilet Familiarity”, all angrily scratched through with red ink to the point that the paper was ripping. “Pathetic, isn’t it?” came a voice from the top of the stairs, a husky voice dripping with disdain. I looked up and saw my second father standing there leering down at me beneath his trucker cap, his tobacco stained teeth coming to dagger like points that his serpentine tongue flicked across. “It’s not true.” I told him. He chuckled. “No?” he asked. “Wasn’t it you that cried every damn night because you couldn’t stop pissing your bed?” he added with a sneer. Another step was found by my foot and I lowered myself, moving away from him slowly. “It wasn’t my fault!” I cried out. He knelt down and held out his hand. “It’s time to take your medicine, Sammy, it’s for your own good.” he told me. I shook my head, the phantom sting of beatings long passed welling up beneath the seat of my pajamas causing me to whimper once more as tears welled up in my eyes. “Leave me alone!” I yelled as I moved down another step. He scoffed. “I know the medicine is bitter, Pumpkin, but you know Daddy always kisses your boo boo’s and makes them all better afterward.” he said with a lecherous, hissing chuckle. I shuddered at the memory of his particular brand of aftercare and hurried to move down the stairs faster to escape him, finding no stair too late to stop myself from slipping from the stairs and falling into nothingness, watching him grow smaller and smaller as I fell further than anything possible in reality until I closed my eyes and braced for what I was sure would be a fatal impact. I never landed, I just sort of stopped falling, laying on my back somewhere soft, the scent of fresh laundry filling my nostrils as I breathed in deeply. I heard the tinkling of a wind chime and felt a gentle breeze on my face and my arms and legs, something impossible with the pajamas I’d been wearing a moment earlier. I opened my eyes and saw the backyard of my first home, my real home, my dad was at the grill and my mom was bringing out a lemonade for her and my dad, smiling widely at me as she saw me. “Look who’s up from her nap!” she declared as she set her drink down and walked over to me. She was wearing the floral printed maternity top she’d been wearing in several of the photos leading up to my birth, but the fabric flapped in the breeze freely and regularly pressed against her body, showing no pregnant belly beneath. I looked around to get my bearings and saw that I was in a playpen beneath the large oak tree we had in our yard. A look downward showed me that my pajamas were gone and the only item of clothing I was wearing was one of the cheap brands of adult diapers I’d been supplied with by later families that actually cared to help with my accidents rather than just leave me in soaked and soiled bedding to teach me a lesson. The flimsy pull on garment was barely a step above a hospital gown, my pale, freckled skin visible through the stretched sides. I knew this wasn’t right and I tried to escape, but my mother was already at the side of the playpen bending down to pick me up, cradling me in her arms as if I weren’t nearly the same height as her. “Burgers are almost done!” my dad called. My mother nodded and continued her trek across the yard, arriving at the small semicircle of patio chairs of to the side of the large picnic table we had under the back awning. “Let me just feed Sammy, hon.” she told him. I could hear the sound of running footsteps getting fainter and fainter, the knowledge that my father was gone somehow entering my brain, filling me with deep sorrow that caused me to start crying. “Shh, mama knows.” my mother cooed as she bounced me gently in her arms and slipped the material of her maternity top off her now even more slight frame with ease exposing her graying skin, her overripe breasts leaking a yellowish liquid that reeked of the hospital she’d died in. I struggled to get away as she guided my head closer to her breast, my legs and arms thrashing wildly but futilely as the burst hotdog like nipple entered my mouth and the hot chemotherapy laced milk flowed down my throat. She looked down at me, her flesh tightening against her bones becoming a death canvas, her eyes sinking into her sockets as the whites began to leak down her tearing cheeks. “Baby needs her milk to grow up big and strong.” she wheezed, her breath putrid with the scent of embalming fluid. Her hold on me loosened as she began to dry up and fall away like she was a pile of dead leaves and I rolled off her lap and onto all fours on the concrete, feeling no pain as I hurriedly crawled away, looking back just in time to see the last of her fall through the seat of the patio chair and swirl away on the breeze. The tears were flowing from my eyes as I turned to crawl once more, bumping into a pair of legs. The legs bent and he was smiling at me, the first boy I’d ever had feelings for, James Atkins. He was the TA in my remedial math class in junior college and was the kind of guy my real parents would’ve adored. I looked around the room I now found myself in, the bedroom of his apartment, and saw the bed above me and him reaching out with his strong arms to pick me up from the floor and stand with me, my long legs wrapping around his waist as I continued to sob and mourn the somehow new loss of my mother. “Hey, it’s okay.” he whispered as he rubbed my back softly. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” he added. When I had actually been in his room we’d started kissing after getting scared during part of the horror movie we’d been watching and hiding my eyes in his broad chest. He’d made a romantic gesture of scooping me up into his arms and carrying me like a new bride to his bedroom. My inexperience with any kind of positive physical intimacy left me unable to move as he gently lay me down on the bed and kissed me once more, his strong frame looming over me bringing about a rush of buried memories that led to a panic attack and me wetting his bed. In this new reality he was softly patting the seat of my diaper, now much thicker and adorned with pastel elephants, the kind I wore regularly now in my real life. My head was against his chest and my eyes were drooping as I listened to his heartbeat. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Sam?” he asked me. I shrugged dreamily. “There’s good stuff here.” I murmured as my thumb entered my mouth. His voice carried his smile to my ears. “Not enough of it though.” he finally said, pausing to gently remove my thumb and replace it with my Cookie Monster pacifier. “You deserve to be happy.” he whispered. I shook my head. “Sammy bad.” I told him. He was shaking his head. “Not bad, just treated bad.” he corrected. “You’re a sweet and innocent girl that just got a shitty set of hands dealt to her, that doesn’t make you bad.” he explained. I opened my eyes and looked up at him with wide eyes. “You said a no no word!” I said in a hushed whisper, afraid to be too loud and alert the authorities to his transgression. His caramel colored eyes sparkled as his perfect white teeth revealed themselves as he smiled widely at me. “I suppose I did, little one.” he told me before he hugged me. The real world James had been worried about me when I’d started having my panic attack, offering to call someone for me, reminding me that I had no one in my life that cared about me that wasn’t court ordered to do so. He’d been obviously disgusted when he learned I’d wet myself on his bed, but he remained kind and calming until I was relaxed enough to let him call me a ride home. I knew things were coming to an end with Daddy James, the feeling of weight being added to the seat of my diaper signaled that the next bit was on its way, and I hugged him as tight as I could until he began to shrink, his skin growing softer as he morphed into my stuffed penguin and I saw that I was now living the picture of myself being bullied that I’d seen on the stairs. “Sammy pooped her diaper!” the circle of girls chanted over and over as the kicked dirt on me and spat on me. This was second grade, all of the girls standing around me had teased and picked on me since kindergarten but this was where the tipping point had occurred. One of the girls knelt down and ripped my thumb from my mouth to grind it into the dirt with her foot, causing me to howl in pain before she jammed the dirty digit back into my mouth so hard I had cuts on my thumb from my teeth. Another girl kicked the seat of my diaper and bruised my tailbone, in addition to squishing my accident out of my diaper into my pants which began to show the leak prominently. “Samantha, do you want to leave?” came an ethereal voice. I shook my head and continued to sob. The ethereal voice sighed heavily. “End session!” it called out. Everything faded away and I was left staring into the empty blackness of the virtual reality goggles I was wearing, until those were removed and my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room I was in and the sympathetic face of my wife. “Hey, kiddo.” she said softly as she wiped my tears away with her fingers and pulled me to her for a hug. I sniffled and hugged her. “Why’d you stop it, Mommy?” I asked her. “I shook my head.” I added. She rubbed my back and kissed the top of my head. “Sammy, Mommy doesn’t like what happens to you in there.” she told me. “It hurts you and makes you sad and afraid and when you’re sad and afraid it makes Mommy sad and afraid.” she explained. I took a deep breath, the smell of wet and messy diaper filling my nostrils before I exhaled in a long sigh. “They’re in there though.” I told her. “My real parents, and sometimes I find them and everything is okay.” I told her. “Remember the time when I woke up and it was real early and my dad came because I was crying and he got me out of my crib and took me downstairs and gave me a bottle on the couch and the fireplace was going and it made the Christmas tree ornaments twinkle and then my mom came down and sat with us and we were a happy family?” I asked, getting a genuine smile from her before she nodded. “I do it for those moments, because those are the one’s I can’t remember on my own.” I confessed. “I know, baby, but so much of what happens to you in there is warped and horrifying.” she said. “Bad things that happened to you get magnified and distorted into the stuff of nightmares, is it really worth going through that on the off chance that you might experience one happy memory that’s buried so far under all that other stuff that you may not experience it at all?” she asked. I looked over at the console that showed that session number sixteen hundred and thirty one had ended and then to her and nodded slowly. “I lived through all of that, the bad and the good,” I started, cupping her face in my hands and gazing into her lovely green eyes. “my mind creates what I see when I’m in there based on the impact those people and experiences had on me when I was growing up.” I felt myself begin to cry again but forced it down, swallowing hard on the dull ache in my throat, “The bad people and the bad experiences aren’t going to hurt me anymore than they did the first time around, but the good ones, they could help me to be better.” I told her. She shook her head. “You can’t be better, sweetie.” she said, pulling me into her arms and hugging me tightly. “Those experiences made you who you are today, and that’s the girl that I married and love with all my heart.” she said as she kissed the top of my head. She sighed softly, “If you don’t want to stop trying to find those moments I’ll be here to hold your hand and pull you out if things get too bad, but I want you to understand that nothing you could find in there will ever be as real and as fulfilling as what you have right here.” she explained. I looked over her shoulder at the display and hugged her tightly. “You’re right.” I said quietly. “Why have I been wasting so many years chasing the memory of a father that abandoned his family when his wife got sick and subjected myself to the pain of losing my mother more times than I could possibly count when all I need is you?” I asked. She rubbed my back softly. “Everyone deals with things differently.” she said. “When I put you to bed I use that to relive moments where I couldn’t think of a witty comeback or to tell that stuck up bitch Jan at work what I really think of the pictures of her cats.” she confessed. “The thing is, those victories and indulgences are fleeting, they don’t fulfill me the way that you do.” she told me. “As long as you understand the difference between reality and what you see in there, you can use it for anything you want.” I giggled softly. “Could I use it to be your Mommy?” I asked. She pulled me away from her embrace and looked at me with a stony, serious face. “You can never, ever use it for that.” she said sternly before breaking into a fit of giggles herself, tickling my sides to snap me out of my concern at her being so serious. “In all seriousness though,” she said as she patted the lumpy seat of my diaper, “I don’t think Mommies need their poopy diapers changed before bed.” she whispered before kissing my cheek and taking my hand in hers, leading me to a clean diaper and a bottle of milk while she read me a story and finally tucked me in for bed. The End
  20. Hello friends! This story is a rambling, meandering mess loosely based on a fun scene that I got to play in. It is absolutely a work of fiction and the characters are not a representation of any real person. It's a very, very dark vision of a lighthearted scene that just tickled my brain in a very twisted way. None of it's real, please don't think it is -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Life in the Dollhouse - Chapter One The old building loomed, and the small woman shivered in its shadow. Brick pillars bookended the porch with its sagging roof, a sandy brown shingle hanging down and swaying in the breeze. A mess of letters poked out of the old iron mailbox mounted to the siding to one side of the door. Yellow electric light spilled from the smattering of broken blinds in the front window, accompanied by blue flashes and the sounds of a video game. Sabrina didn't know a thing about video games, she had always been more of a bookworm. Anne Rice was her vice, which invited mockery from her circle of friends. Well, ex-friends. Everyone had ditched her when she came out as bisexual. Being a gay man was at least tolerated in South Carolina, but a bi woman wasn't understood. She was supposed to "pick a team" - the few friends she had left, mostly gay men - dropped her when she started dating Mark. Her few straight friends had dumped her the previous year over Bethany, and that had been a disaster on its own. But "switching teams" was apparently the final straw. When the poultry plant "downsized" her, Sabrina Warren had nowhere else to turn. She had tried desperately to find another job, anything, but it hadn't been going well. The tattoos on her arms weren't helping. She ran a hand over her shaven head, feeling the prickles of the stubbly purple-dyed hair as she wondered whether she was crazy enough to just drop in on these people. The Dollhouse on Sortwell Road. A friend of a friend had suggested it. Apparently a trio of queer women ran the house and offered refuge for a fellow queer down on their luck. They had a reputation for kindness, but there was also a dark rumor or two. That they were into some weird stuff. All she had was an address and a name - Kinsley Adams. "Beggars can't be choosers," she muttered to herself as she stepped toward the door, an old gym bag clutched in her left hand. She knew she looked like a typical bull dyke at this point, camo pants and a tank top, showing her modest cleavage. But it was hot, and also it was her last clean outfit. The aesthetic was ruined by her height, however. At 5'4", she wasn't exactly intimidating. The gym bag held the rest of her clothes, basically everything she owned now - her crazy landlord was holding the rest of her stuff hostage until she could come up with the back rent. She knew it wasn't legal, but she wasn't about to call the cops. Too many unpaid tickets to risk it, and too many prior arrests to talk her way out of it. She was pretty sure that the unpaid tickets had led to a warrant. One hand raised and ready to knock, a black flash of movement caught the corner of her eye. A tuxedo cat, fat and saucy, glared at her from the window, poking its face through the broken blinds. It croaked out a hoarse mew before bolting away at her knock. The sounds of the video game and the flashing blue lights ceased. "Faith! Get the door!" The voice was high-pitched and came from just inside the window, but almost certainly belonged to an adult. Sabrina resisted the urge to peek through the window to see who was doing the shouting. Second thoughts gave way to third thoughts, and she very nearly turned and left... but the sound of the door unlocking convinced her to turn around. "Hey." A slender grunge chick greeted her, red flannel tied around the waist of her skinny black jeans. She wore a tight black t-shirt with some brightly colored monster smiling from it, too short to cover her midsection. The woman had lovely abs and a pair of perky breasts, and Sabrina blushed as she forced her gaze upwards. She looked kind, a fire-engine-red pixie cut and a warm smile. The blast of cold air that rushed out felt like a gentle kiss to Sabrina. "What can I do for you?" "Um.. I'm looking for Kinsley? My friend Jules suggested that I look her up, but nobody knew her phone number." This brought a raised eyebrow, astonishingly also a bright red, like a character from a cartoon. Her eyes were brown and showed her suspicion, but still generally friendly. "Did your friend tell you to ask her something in specific? She's asleep right now, but I can deliver a message." That seemed strange given the volume of the television and the fact that it was four in the afternoon on a Thursday. "Uh.. " She felt like an idiot saying it out loud, but it's what Jules said her friend told her. "Is this the Dollhouse on Sortwell?" "Kinsley!" The other girl shouted from just inside the open door. "Kinsley! It's someone for you!" Sabrina jolted from the sudden voice, startled, and nearly missed the strange glint that appeared in the red-haired woman's eye for just a split second. She smiled wide and stepped back, holding open the screen door. "Come on in. I'm Faith, that's Lila. Kinsley's upstairs." "Oh, I don't want to wake her up." Sabrina stepped in tentatively, looking over at the short woman in comfortable-looking pajamas, white and blue striped. She held some sort of controller in her hand and had a roundish face. Her hair was also red, but a much less shocking red - more of an auburn, in a pretty bob that suited her. Her face was nicely framed by it, and accented by a pair of maroon eyeglasses. "She won't mind," the small woman chirped from her seat on the couch. "You said the magic word. This is the Dollhouse and we're the dolls!" Her giggle was innocent and bubbly, and Sabrina couldn't help but smile despite the odd statement. "That's just a nickname." Faith slipped an arm around Sabrina's shoulder, leading her deeper into the house and closing the door behind them, taking a moment to lock the deadbolt with a key, leaving it poking out of the door. "We help people. One of the first people Kinsley helped called her and Lila 'a doll' all the time, you know? Like a term of endearment. 'You are such a doll'. Kinsley liked it so much that she kept it." "That's um, that's why I'm here. I just need a place to crash for a week or so until I can find another job. I'm really sorry, I wouldn't normally do this but Jules- " "Don't worry about it. I'm not making any promises, though. That's up to Kinsley. C'mon." Her teeth were blindingly white, pearly in her mouth. Sabrina relaxed a bit, but still felt uncomfortable and pushy, barging into a stranger's house and asking to sleep there. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as Faith led her up the rickety stairs in the center of the house. It was an odd layout, a long living room on one side of the stairs with a doorway to a kitchen on one end and a doorway to another room on the other, and a hallway on the other side of the stairs, a series of closed doors. The place was old, and the push-button lightswitch on the wall drew a confused blink from the visitor. The stairs led to a large room with a vaulted ceiling, exposed beams above them. The windows were low, inches above the floor, and the big room was lined with desks on one wall and a sectional couch facing a very nice looking TV and entertainment setup. Faith guided her, toward the desks, where a mass of short blonde curls waited, bobbing above the back of a large chair in front of a truly intimidating computer setup. Six monitors with graphs and charts in red and blue with green lines moving across them. "Hey Kinsley. We've got someone asking about the Dollhouse." Glancing around the room, Sabrina felt awed by the setup. So much technology in such a bad area of town, it seemed like a recipe for disaster. Sortwell Road was in a bad part of Columbia, there was a lot of drug activity and very little in the way of law enforcement. It wasn't a place she wanted to walk around alone at night. She stole another glance, looking at Faith. The woman was slender but her arms looked wiry and strong without losing that delicate quality of femininity. She stood slightly taller than Sabrina, maybe 5'5", and she stood with her hips at an angle, her arms hanging loosely. The chair turned slowly, revealing the smiling woman who owned those natural curls. Her eyes were an icy blue, but they were lit with a warm light and her grin was equally warm and welcoming, spreading from ear to ear. She was dressed from head to toe in mismatched pastels, a soft peach blouse and blue pants ending above a pair of pale green sandals. Her fingernails were something else, a riot of yellows and pinks, with a dash of green to them. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to them. "Welcome! Would you care for some sweet tea? Oh, they told you I was asleep, didn't they?" Sabrina blinked, realizing that her confusion and suspicion was written plain on her face. Her cheeks flushed red once again. "I was, actually, until about twenty minutes ago." The blonde tapped a fancy looking watch on her wrist. "But the euro took a tumble, so there's things to be done. You know how it is." Sabrina had absolutely no idea how it was. "Um, thanks. This is kind of awkward for me, and I'm really sorry, but I was told that you sometimes help people in the community who need it." Faith gave Sabrina's shoulder a friendly pat. "I'm going to go back downstairs with Lila. Call if you want that tea." "Come in, sugar." Kinsley beckoned, gesturing to a chair at the desk next to hers, a fancy-looking flat monitor on the desktop and a keyboard covered in softly blinking lights. Nice but nowhere near as intimidating as the multitude of screens that floated on steel beams behind the other woman. "Faith won't mind if you sit at her desk while we talk." Tentatively, Sabrina took the offered seat, setting her gym bag gently on the floor to one side. "Thanks... Kinsley." She scanned the pastel-clad lady, only realizing now that she was closer just how tall Kinsley was. Her chair was wider than the one Sabrina sat in, and it was raised higher. Kinsley's hands were elegant and adorned with thin silver rings, fairies and butterflies seemingly dancing on her fingers. "Of course." That warm smile never faltered, and unexpectedly, that pastel-tipped hand was resting on Sabrina's camo-covered leg. "You look like you've had a tough day. We do help people, why don't you tell me the kind of help you need?" The gentle touch, the soft voice, took Sabrina by surprise. As did the tears. "I... I just need a place to sleep for a week or so, just until I can get another job." "What happened?" To her shock, the whole story began tumbling from Sabrina's lips. Mark and Bethany. The betrayal of her friends. The problem with her landlord. Her job, her back rent, losing her connection with her parents when she came out. She poured her pain all over the floor at Kinsley's feet until she was sobbing, her head in her hands. It was all too much. It was too much to deal with, and she had no one to talk to lately. She had no one to tell just how alone and hopeless she felt. Jules wasn't so good with feelings. When she was done, when there were no words left to break the sobs, she felt arms wrap around her, felt herself being pulled into the bigger woman's lap. "That's quite a story, and quite a lot of pain. Of course you can stay for a week, or however long it takes you to get another job and a place." Embarrassed and overwhelmed, Sabrina relented and wrapped her arms around Kinsley, her sobs slowing as the woman hugged her. It seemed impossible, that this oasis existed, that there were people who were just ready to help with no questions asked, just because she needed it. It seemed too good to be true. She expected to wake up any moment, laying on her back in an alley somewhere. The fate that would have been awaiting her without this woman's help. "I'm so ashamed, Kinsley. I'm so ashamed to ask for help." "Now now, sugar. Everyone needs help sometimes. You think I never needed any help? Let us help you. You just need a place to rest your bones and recover, and you found it. We've got a spare room at the moment, since Emmie moved out. It's ready to sleep in, honestly. Let's go introduce you to the dolls and get that glass of tea, hmm?" Kinsley rose, setting Sabrina gently on her feet and taking her hand. She towered over the smaller woman, close to six feet tall. Sabrina found herself eye-level with Kinsley's chest, which brought yet another blush. "Thanks. I don't deserve your help, but I'm happy you're offering it." "Think nothing of it. And welcome to the Dollhouse."
  21. So I couldn't help but be inspired, after BabySofia kind of enshrined this piece with a reference in "Exchanged", to continue on with the story. Hope you guys like the latest chapter, I think it adds a number of interesting wrinkles to be ironed out later... Forward "I'm Eileen Vaux, WILY News, and these are the top stories of the day. At Municipal High Court today, Pauletta Keaira has been convicted of first degree murder in the brutal slaying of her adopted mother, Miranda Guilory. The ruling has sparked both celebration and outrage, as Pauletta's family and friends have repeatedly clashed with CAMOL demonstrators outside the courthouse during the proceedings. Let's go to Tate Cozbi, who is on the scene." "Thank you, Eileen. It took a mere 47 minutes for the jury to find Miss Keaira guilty, sparking an outcry from her supporters and promises from CAMOL representatives to appeal. I've been told Miss Keaira's own testimony was the biggest blow to her case, as she admitted on the stand that, at the time of the killing, Miss Guilory was only preparing to administer punishments that Miss Keaira had already received in the several months she'd been living with Miss Guilory. In his closing argument, Prosecutor Daniel Hegarty insisted that Miss Keaira was therefore not in life-threatening danger when she stabbed Miss Guilory, and therefore must be found guilty." "Now we've heard previously from CAMOL officials who have said that Amazonian law does not grant the same rights to adopted Littles that it does to Amazonian children when it comes to abuse, is this correct?" "Yes, Eileen. In fact, one of the major issues raised by the defense in this case was the fact that Miss Keaira was adopted against her will, which stripped her of the rights she had as an adult free Little, but then she was not protected under child welfare law while under Miss Guilory's care, and after she killed Miss Guilory, she was then tried as an adult." "And how have legislators responded to this watershed case?" "Well, the prime minister has urged Parliament to draft some sort of legislation that at least provides a measure of consistency for adopted Littles, but there is fierce debate right now over what exactly that should look like. CAMOL, of course, is demanding that what it terms as kidnapping of Free Littles be banned, but lawmakers are hesitant to make such a sweeping change." "Thank you, Tate. I have with me here in the studio Malinda Attor, president of the pro-adoption group ELNAP, to discuss the verdict. Malinda, what is your official position on the matter?" "Thank you, Eileen. We at Every Little Needs A Parent believe that this tragic situation could easily have been avoided if the law viewed Littles the way everyone else already does, as children." "Could you elaborate on that position, Malinda? How do you feel the law should handle Littles?" "Well, Eileen, if it weren't that so many of these so-called Free Littles get these ideas in their heads that they're adults and should have the same rights as Amazonians, they would accept their place in society as being in need of caretaking by loving Amazon parents and be happy when an Amazon takes pity upon them and adopts them. We believe strongly that Miranda Guilory would still be alive today, and that none of what CAMOL is calling child abuse would have happened if Pauletta weren't so convinced by Free Little brainwashing that she were a grown woman capable of taking care of herself. It's high time Parliament put an end to this insanity, and we at ELNAP intend to do everything in our power to make sure it happens." "So how do you propose Parliament rectify the situation?" "Very simply, Littles don't belong in adult Amazon society. Right now, when they reach age 20, they're assumed to be adults just like Amazons, and they can get jobs and sign leases and borrow money and a whole lot of other responsibilities they are just not capable of handling. Every time we turn around Littles are getting mugged, raped, and all sorts of horrible things because they just aren't capable of taking care of themselves! They can't drive, they need special accomodations in their apartments, I mean, come on, a Little needs to carry a ladder with her to go grocery shopping, else she has to ask every stranger in the store to get her anything that isn't on the bottom shelf!" "But that's just a size issue, Malina, surely you're not suggesting..." "There's an old saying about that, Eileen. It goes, 'I used to have the same problem, but I grew out of it.'" "Thank you, Malina. Miss Keiara is currently being held without bail pending her sentencing hearing on Thursday. I'm Eileen Vaux, and this is WILY News." 1 "This is a bad idea, that's all I'm saying." His voice has grated on your nerves for the last two months, but none as severely as today. "Dammit, Mike," you huff back as you snatch the blazer, slacks, blouse, and personal care kit out of his hands, "we wouldn't BE here if that bitch had respected the fact that I'm a grown fucking woman, not a child!" "Paulie, I'm your lawyer. I'm trying to look out for you here. The DA is seeking the death penalty. You wear that suit and they'll see a grown woman who killed someone and deserves to face justice! I can have my wife bring one of my daughter's old dresses in a few minutes here, and they'll see what we were trying to show them all along, a confused little girl who..." "I'm NOT a confused little girl, Mike! I'm twenty-one years old, and before I got kidnapped by that psycho, I had my own goddamned LIFE!" And with that, you storm into the ladies' room. Well, you storm towards the ladies' room, but you have to ask the bailiff that has been charged with making sure you don't disappear to open the huge door for you. Which doesn't improve your mood any. You find an unoccupied stall and, after a couple of hops, manage to flip the lock on the door to keep it closed while you strip away that awful orange jumpsuit. God, that thing made you look like a rotten carrot with your straight brown hair flopping all over the place. The feel of the sleek silk blend on your legs as you slide the pants on is, in a word, glorious, after two months in that horrible polyester thing preceeded by another two in... well, you don't really even want to think about how many days and nights you spent in that wretched plastic nightmare. One great thing about solitary confinement; the only distractions to regaining your bladder control were in your head. After donning the blouse and blazer, you do the best you can with your hair and makeup in the reflection from the toilet paper dispenser. If they're determined to martyr you, well by god, you're going to go out proud, and everyone in that courtroom is going to know that you're not some inferior being fit only to be treated like a helpless infant. If this is your destiny, then you're going to meet it with a roar, not a whimper! Full of bluster, you turn to unlock the stall and, of course, have to hop a few times to knock the latch loose. Undaunted, you strut toward the door and... pound on it as hard as you can. The wind rushes right out of your little sails of fury as Mike opens the door from the other side, and you meekly step back out into the lobby under his outstretched arm. "You look good, Paulie," he says with a sigh. "Let's get this over with." The courtroom has taken on a degree of uncomfortable familiarity, and it has indeed bred contempt within you as you scramble your way into the defendant's chair, adorned with that loathsome plastic booster seat. You hate this stupid booster. Six months ago, you didn't have to use these stupid things. Six months ago, you were about to be a woman, a legal adult, a respected member of the community in Amaratos, the island that seems so impossibly far away now. "Pauletta," he said, his face devoid of emotion, "I'm going to ask you once more." "Don't bother!" you shriek. "I'm not marrying that pig, Papa! I'm not going to spend the rest of my life being miserable just so you can feel like you're a big shot! Tomorrow I'll be twenty, and you'll no longer have control over my life!" The argument last night was fierce, and you prepared yourself for this moment, knowing it was going to come to this. Your clothes are already packed, and what little cash you were able to save is already safely hidden in your stocking. It's not even a surprise when he announces, "Then go. Go and never return." You dash to your room as Mama begins to blubber and beg and plead with him, grabbing the gym bag you stuffed to bursting last night and storming toward the door. "Pauletta, please, listen to your father!" she begs as you brush past, pulling loose from her grasp. What you weren't expecting was what happens when you step outside. The beautiful sunshine is doused almost immediately, the very second you walk through that door and into what you believed to be your freedom. Just that quickly, you're upside down, disoriented, and you quickly realize you're in a sack made of fine mesh and canvas. The mesh enables you to look straight ahead, not to mention breathe, but all you see is the back of whoever it was that snatched you, and the first thing you realize is that this person is much, much bigger than anyone you've ever seen. You hear your mother bawling even louder as a deep voice not connected to the person carrying you says, "Sign here." "I'm sorry that I failed to raise you propertly, Pauletta," your father booms. "Perhaps the Amazons can do better." "PAPA! NO! WHAT DID YOU DO?!" you scream as you kick and struggle vainly within the bag. Confused, terrified, but most of all angry, your last words to your father are, "I HATE YOU! I HOPE YOU DIE!" as you're thrown roughly into the back of a large vehicle. A series of doors slam, the engine jumps to life, and off you go into a kind of hell you never imagined possible... 2 "All rise for the Honorable Stephen Nechus!" the bailiff booms. You startle at the announcement, though you've heard it so many times before, and nearly lose your balance as you hurriedly spring up out of the booster and shift your legs out to the edges of the chair to find footing. The foul old man in the black robe shuffles to his seat silently, and the courtroom settles to the crack of his gavel. The entire trial he has treated you alternately with condescension and disdain, and at this point you're sick to death of him. Mike explained how this hearing was going to go; basically it's duelling psychologists, the prosecution's shrink making the case that you were of completely sound mind when you stabbed Miranda and are a lost cause now, while Mike's shrink trying to convince the judge that you were under extreme duress and that, with rehabilitation, you will no longer be a danger to society. Mike was rather vague, however, about what exactly "rehabilitation" meant, only that the goal was to get you into protective custody and that you'd be spending a pretty long time under the care of a psychiatrist. "Call your first witness, Mister Hagerty," the judge says disinterestedly. The DA rises and states, "I call Doctor Isaiah Machlon." Another white-haired old fool. You recall the hours you spent filling out his stupid little multiple-choice tests. He barely spoke to you in the visiting area, just glaring at you as you checked off box after box after box. He steps into the witness box, a folder in his hand, and is sworn in. The DA asks him about his findings, and he dryly begins to read straight from one of the pages in his little folder, babbling on and on about how you're "antisocial" and "passive-aggressive" and "narcissistic", and that you're likely to be "refractory to treatment" due to an "inability to recognize or admit flaws" and a "mistrust of authority figures". Your blood boils as he heaps on what you perceive as insult after insult, but you do your best to maintain a calm exterior. Still, your fists clench almost of their own accord as the old bastard deems you a poor candidate for treatment and at high risk for "recidivism" if they ever let you out. The DA sits back down, and Mike begins his cross. "How much time did you spend with the defendant during your examination?" he asks. "Four hours." "What tests did you administer?" He ticks off half a dozen different acronyms, a nearly smug look on his face. "That's quite an extensive battery," Mike says. Where the hell is he going with this? "I do my best to be thorough in my examinations." "Seems to me you didn't leave much time for an actual conversation. How long did you spend actually talking to the defendant?" "Well," he stammers, clearly blindsided by the question. "I... I don't see much need in trying to talk to a Little. It's common knowledge they're all pathological liars!" "Common knowledge?" Mike asks incredulously. "Do you have some sort of studies to support this assertion?" "Well, no, I just..." "It's fine, I'll concede your point. Yet, you had the defendant spend four hours answering questions on a test believing that she is incapable of telling the truth? How do we know she answered your questionnaires honestly? How can you put any stock in your assessment of her psychological profile knowing that she probably lied on all the questions?" "Well... I mean..." "Objection!" the DA shouts. "Argumentative!" "Sustained," the judge says. "Withdrawn. Nothing further, your honor." Mike struts back to your table confidently, and the shrink just scowls at him, then you, until the judge dismisses him. The DA seems unphased by the demolition of his expert, and you realize why rather quickly as he comes back to his feet. "I call Joseph Keaira," he announces. Your blood runs cold as you see your father rise from the back of the gallery and make his way to the stand. He's sworn in, and the DA has him introduce himself. "Mister Keaira," he begins, "Is it true that you signed the adoption papers allowing the defendant to be adopted by Miranda Guilory?" "I did," your father replies. "Why did you do that?" "Pauletta was promised to be married to Ernesto Vahan. The marriage was arranged when they were both very young." "But she refused to marry him, is that correct?" "She did. The night before their wedding, she told me she wouldn't do it. So, rather than allow my family's reputation to be sullied in our village, I sold her to the exporters and promised her younger sister to Ernesto." They continue their back and forth, but you're lost now, lost in the back of that truck again... "Please, I have money, I'll pay you more than whatever he did!" you plead as the truck rumbles along over the dirt road, bouncing you around in the sack. "I don't think you understand, little girl," one of them laughs. "He didn't pay us, we paid HIM! But when we get where we're going, we'll be getting a LOT more!" "Please, I'll give you all I have, just let me go!" "Where is it?" he asks. "It's... it's in my stocking!" The truck comes to a stop, and you feel a glimmer of hope. One of them begins fiddling with the top of the sack. "Now you be a nice little girl and don't be trying to kick me!" he says. He grabs your ankle and peels back your sock, snatching the small bundle of bills you had tucked away. "Pretty nice, little one. Thanks for the tip!" he laughs as he roughly shoves your ankle back and presumably recloses the sack. "NO! You BASTARDS!" you shriek as you kick at the top of the bag in vain. As you squirm and kick, you feel the bag once more being hoisted up, and you stop to try and peek out through the mesh. You catch a whiff of salt air, and you realize you're at the shoreline. Now you're desperate, in a full panic, and you start to weep. "Please, just let me go! Please! I didn't do anything wrong!" "Aw, poor baby," the other one sneers. "You made her cry, you heartless bastard!" You hear their boots thud onto wooden planks, and you're dropped roughly. You must be on a boat now. "Where are you taking me?" you whimper. "Don't worry, little one. You're gonna have a nice new home soon. The giants will take good care of you." The engine springs to life, and you lie there and sob quietly as you motor toward a place you've only heard of in your mother's warning fables when you were a tiny girl. You honestly believed that's all they were, just fables, but now... 3 "So, Mister Keiara, is it fair to say Pauletta's disdain for authority has been present since early childhood?" "Oh, she was always in trouble. Teachers, principals, myself and other family members, it didn't matter. She did what she wanted, consequences be damned. We tried everything. No punishment would deter her, no promise of a reward would coax her. I hoped getting her married a good young man from a prestigious clan would finally settle her down, having a family of her own and children to raise might change her, but when she refused to honor our family's promise to the Vahans, I knew it was hopeless." "Thank you, Mister Keiara. Your witness." The DA offers a smug grin your direction as he heads back to his seat, and you scowl back. Unbelievable, that your own father would betray you like this. "I have no questions for this witness," Mike says flatly. You look at him, stunned, but he just puts a hand on your back and mouths the words, "Relax, I got this." The DA calls both of Miranda's parents, to no one's surprise, and they both tearfully talk about what a wonderful person she was, and how she just wanted to love me and care for me, and that I was just impossible to deal with, that I fought her constantly, that they couldn't believe how ungratedul I was. And Mike doesn't cross-examine either of them. By the time they're done, you can practically feel the needle they're going to stick in your arm. And your so-called attorney is just sitting there and letting it happen. "I have no more witnesses," says the DA. "Go ahead, Mister Antonino." Mike stands up. "I call Doctor Ivan Metzger to the stand." The other shrink that spent an enormous amount of time with you. In fact, he made three trips. Except he really didn't do much in the way of testing, just asked a parade of questions, most of which seemed completely irrelevant to the trial or even your life. The old coot steps to the witness box and is sworn in. After he gives his credentials, Mike begins. "What are your thoughts on Doctor Machlon's assessment of my client?" "Between his obvious personal bias and the outdated testing procedures, that's exactly the conclusion at which I'd expect him to arrive." "You spent a pretty fair amount of time with Pauletta as well, didn't you?" "A total of nine hours over the course of three days." "And what is your assessment?" "There is no doubt that Miss Keiara suffers from numerous personality disorders, but to say that she's untreatable is foolishness." "How would you approach treatment if she were your patient?" "Intensive therapeutic support, focusing first on behavioral modifications, then, once rapport had been established, extensive cognitive reconfiguration. I'd accomplish this with both medication and direct behavioral therapy sessions centered around constantly challenging her perceptions of herself, other people, and the world around her." "So, psychiatric hospitalization?" "Not at all. I'd keep her in a residential setting with a guardian ad-litem with extensive experience in specifically interfacing with Littles. Her social skills are extremely weak; a hospital would be a poor milieu for addressing that deficiency. No, in fact, challenging her with difficult public situations would be a critical component of the treatment plan." "Wouldn't there be a concern for violent outbursts, considering her history?" "Miss Keiara is certainly oppositional-defiant, but violence is a tool of last resort for her. Even what happened with Miss Guilory wasn't an outburst, but a desperate, though calculated, response to what she perceived as an extreme threat." "Surely you're not justifying her behavior as self-defense, are you?" The DA furrows his brows as Mike asks this question. You wonder if Mike just stole his thunder for his planned cross-examination. "Not at all. Her perceptions are distorted, built from years of ineffectual authority in her life setting weak limits and failing to follow through on them, from her parents to her educators. Her mother was an enabler; any time Pauletta's father or any other authority figure tried to implement some sort of discipline, her mother would be right there to either help her escape it or otherwise diminish it. Limits are completely flexible and ambivalent in her mind as a result, and this is one of the key components that must be addressed in any sort of successful treatment plan. She must learn boundaries, and she must learn to embrace, rather than disdain, authority figures and discipline in her life." You find yourself biting your lip unconsciously as you stew over his assessment. Condescending bastard. And this is supposed to help how? "Okay, let's cut to the chase, then. How long do you think such a treatment program would take to complete?" "Depending on Miss Keiara's level of compliance, I'd estimate somewhere between 30 and 60 days to reach a stage where the court would be satisfied with her condition." "So, an Observation would be the acid test?" "Absolutely." "Do you know of someone who would be willing to take Pauletta on as a patient for such a treatment plan?" "A volunteer has already stepped forward. Due to the publicity surrounding the trial and potential security issues, I must keep his name anonymous, but he is similarly credentialed to me, a graduate of a very prestigious medical university with over two decades' experience in the field." "Thank you, Doctor. Nothing further." Mike walks back to the table with a smile, but you're even more confused. The DA stands. "Doctor Metzger, you just elucidated to us that Miss Keiara was responding to what she saw as an extreme threat when she murdered Miss Guilory, isn't that correct?" "I did." "So what stops her from responding to this treatment plan you've elucidated in similar fashion? What assurance do you have for the court that I won't be trying her for another murder before you can 'fix' her?" "Very simple. When she came into Miss Guilory's care, she was quite literally kidnapped by force from a familiar environment, brought here to the mainland, and deposited at Miss Guilory's door. She was already severely traumatized by this experience. Miss Guilory's administration of what we perceive as fairly normal discipline for a noncompliant Little just scared the poor girl even more, not to mention Miss Guilory's insistence on forcing the most infantile treatment on her right away. It was shock after shock to her system, and the more she fought, the more intense Miss Guilory's disciplinary actions became, to the point where we can all agree that, were she doing it to her own child, she would be facing charges of abuse right now." Well, for all his condescension, at least he's offering some vindication here. Until the DA pipes up and asks, "Your Honor, I move to strike. This was all pontification, and none of it answered my question." "Objection!" Mike speaks up. "Overruled. The witness' last statement shall be stricken from the record." Smugly, the DA continues. "So you're saying Miss Keiara is going to suddenly just comply with treatment?" "To a certain extent, here, she doesn't have much alternative. It's quite literally a choice of being compliant, spending the rest of her life in prison, or possibly being executed." "Aren't you concerned about her giving lip service, you know, just going through the motions?" "Sir, we're not speaking of talk therapy here. Lip service will be quite impossible, simply because the therapist will be interfacing with her constantly, around the clock. She couldn't possibly keep her guard up for an entire month." You know what's happening here. And, the fact is, you don't really want to die. But all these vague references to "intensive therapy" and "boundaries" and "discipline" aren't exactly reassuring. The DA badgers the doctor a while longer, but he's unflappable, really, and finally the DA gives up. Mike stands. "No more witnesses, your honor." You're stunned. His whole case for sparing you from the death penalty is a shrink with a nefarious-sounding plan to "fix" you?! "Thirty minute recess while I make my decision," the judge says, just as disinterested as he's been the whole trial. Once again, the crowd stands, and the judge shuffles back into his hobbit-hole. "I told you I had it," Mike says. "You call that 'having it'? Really? I don't know what river you're trying to sell me down with this whole therapy thing, but that judge looked like he didn't give two fucks about anything that was said!" You're trying to keep your voice down, but the frustration is starting to boil over. "He always looks like that, Paulie. I've tried fifty cases in front of him, and never once has his face been anything but stone unless someone really pissed him off. Trust me, if you had pissed him off, you'd know it, and we'd be up the creek." "You know what? Whatever, Mike. It's been out of my hands since the second I left my parents' place. Why would I believe I'd have any control over it now? If he comes back in here and sends me to my death, there won't be anything I can do about that either. Fuck it." "Well, if that's the closest to relaxing I can get you, I'll have to take it." "It is, Mike. It is." 4 "Misters Antonino and Hagerty and Doctor Metzger," the bailiff calls out suddenly. "The judge has requested you all in chambers." Your eyes widen, but Mike puts a hand on your shoulder and whispers, "It's okay, Paulie. This is a good thing. It means he's giving serious consideration to rehab over prison." He rises along with the DA and the doctor, and they all head into the door held open by the bailiff. It closes, and you're left alone in the front of the court, feeling the eyes of the gallery on you, especially the eyes of Miranda's parents, their hateful stares, full of fury and a lust for revenge. The same fiery look that Miranda herself wore every time you defied her, the one that disappeared so quickly when... It's early yet, but you know you can't wait too long. You had such incredible luck last night, managing to steal the little paring knife from where she carelessly dropped it while putting the dishes away. This may be your last chance for freedom, and you can't squander it. You played the role last night so well, showing her just enough affection to convince her that she had finally broken you, all while that knife sat hidden in your sleeper, safely tucked in the sleeve. She was so full of joy when she put you in the crib for the night, pulling you in close and rubbing noses with you before lying you on your back, and you played right along with her, accepting that horrible pacifier without a fight so she wouldn't strap it down again, giving her a sugary little "Goo-nye Mommy, I lub oo" from behind it. She grinned like an idiot as she stared down and responded, "I love you too, my precious little baby girl!" Now is your opportunity. The stage is set. Waiting for her to wake would be disastrous; you need every advantage you can get to pull this off, and her being half-asleep will be a decisive edge. You work yourself up into the most pitiful, sad-sounding cry you can, waiting patiently for her to show up at your door, the pommel of the knife in your hand, blade pointed back toward your wrist, hidden inside the cuff of the sleeper. You toss that miserable pacifier through the bars of the crib and onto the floor; with any luck she'll pick you up before she sees it. She arrives, bleary-eyed but smiling. "What's wrong, baby girl? Did you wake up all wet and icky?" "Pee-pee, Mommy!" you whimper, calming your whining down to a sniffle. "Mommy get that nasty wet old diaper off you!" she coos, hoisting you up and draping you across her left shoulder. She always puts you on her left side, so her right hand stays free. "Binky, Mommy!" you whine. "Binky!" "Oh did you drop your binky too? Let's see if we can find it." She looks in the crib, then down to the floor. "There it is!" she exclaims, bending down. This is the moment. Adrenaline rushes through you as she bends over; it's a short fall from here, far shorter than if she were standing. Quick as lightning, you flip the blade around as her hand makes contact with the rubber nipple. It slides into the side of her neck so easily; you landed the perfect shot, right into her esophagus. She drops you and reaches for her neck, her eyes a picture of horror as she gasps for air. Blood nearly sprays over everything as she pulls the blade out. She staggers back, coughing and choking, drowning in her own blood now as her hand futilely covers the wound. The crib, the floor, her nightie, and you, all covered in blood, and you lay there and watch her. She drops onto her backside, her eyes lock on you, and she starts to reach toward you with her free hand. You crawl backward, backing up against the wall as she falls forward, and you watch the light fade from her eyes as she coughs up more blood, drooling it out over her chin like garishly red spittle. Her hand reaches your foot, but there's no strength left, and it flops uselessly across your shin as her last breath leaks out and her head drops awkwardly sideways onto the floor, her eyes still open in a picture of shock. You shiver for a moment, stunned at what you've wrought, a pang of guilt rising at your deception. A bloody price you just paid for the promise of freedom. A solitary tear slips from your eye as the full weight of your deed falls upon you... "All rise!" the bailiff commands once again. Out comes the judge, followed by the three men who negotiated your fate. The judge sits; the rest of you do likewise. "It is this court's opinion," the judge booms, "that the defendant's actions were premeditated, meticulously planned, and devoid of remorse. For that alone, she is truly deserving of the supreme penalty under the law!" You cringe. They failed you, your lawyer and that wretched doctor. A white-hot ball of lead sits in your belly as you wait for your destiny to be pronounced. "However," he continues, "let it also be acknowledged that this court is not only just, but merciful. A plan has been laid before me to afford the defendant one last chance to prove herself fit to exist in our society, and it is a plan that I hereby approve. The defendant shall appear at the Maritonia Psychiatric Center in thirty days for a formal Observation, after which she will be brought before this court for a formal accounting of her condition. If she is demonstrated to no longer be a danger to society, she will be remanded to the guardianship of the doctor who will be treating her between now and in the future. Otherwise, she will be scheduled for execution by lethal injection as soon as is expedient. Court is adjourned!" His gavel crashes down, and the gallery erupts. "BAILIFFS! CLEAR THE COURTROOM!" he shouts over the din. From within the chaos of the crowd you hear Miranda's mother scream, "I'LL SEE YOU DEAD, YOU LITTLE BITCH!" "Come on," Mike says, swooping you up into his arms. "We gotta get you out of here now!" He walks swiftly out a side entrance and down several halls, snaking deeper into the courthouse, down the paths toward the holding cell area. "What the hell is happening?!" you bark, but he doesn't answer. "Mike?!" "You'll be safe soon enough. Just trust me." You take little solace from his answer as the hallways blur by. Soon you find yourself in a parking garage, and you're being handed off to a tall, middle-aged giant. "Mike?! Where are you going?!" "I'll see you in a month, Paulie!" he says. "We'll be fine soon, Pauletta," the mysterious stranger says. "I'll explain once we get into the car." He strides over to a black SUV with darkly tinted windows and hoists you into a booster in the back seat, scanning the parking lot before he closes the door, then quickly jumps into the driver's seat. "I'm Artis," he says, firing up the engine and throwing it into gear. "Artis Barrett. I'm here to try and save your life." 5 "Eilieen Vaux, WILY News. We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news from Municipal High Court in the case of Pauletta Keiara, convicted last week of the brutal slaying of her adopted mother, Miranda Guilory. We're going live right now to Tate Cozbi outside the courthouse." "Thank you Eileen. Tate Cozbi, WILY News here. The scene here outside Municipal High Court is absolute mayhem right now, with both pro-adoption and pro-Littles-rights advocates outraged at Judge Nechus' decision in the sentencing hearing today on the convicted murderer, Pauletta Keiara. Police have formed a wall between the two crowds, and I'm told thirty-five people have already been made in conjuction with some violent clashes between the protestors today. I'm here with the parents of the victim, Miranda Guilory. Mr. Guilory, how do you feel right now about the judge's decision to allow for an Observation?" "My daughter deserves justice, and that [beep] stole it from her! The idea that Pauletta Keiara might go completely unpunished for what she did is inconceivable!" [scream from the crowd behind] "MIRANDA WAS AN ABUSIVE [beep]! SHE DESERVED WHAT SHE GOT!" [crowd noise intensifies] [Mr. Guilory] "GO TO HELL you [beep]!" [turns back to the mic] "Miranda went through all the proper legal channels to adopt that little psycho in there. She was a loving, caring woman who wanted nothing more than to embrace that [beep] as her own. Pauletta is a rabid animal, and she deserves to be put down!" [Mrs. Guilory speaks up] "My daughter did everything right by the system, and now the system has failed her! That [beep] in there deserves to die for what she did!" [Tate turns back to the camera] "Well, there you have it, Eilieen." "Indeed, some pretty strong emotions, Tate. I understand there is a whole other controversy surrounding the case at this moment as well?" "There is, Eileen. Pauletta's current wherabouts are unknown at this point as she was whisked away from the courtroom today. I'm led to understand that only four people know the identity of the person who currently has custody of Pauletta, that being the judge, the two attorneys in the case, and defense witness Doctor Ivan Metzger. So far, none of those parties have commented on the situation, but with the chaos going on out here, I have to presume all the secrecy is to protect both Pauletta and her caretaker from potential harm." "Thank you, Tate. A tense scene outside Municipal High Court, for certain. Join us again on the five o-clock news this evening, where we'll have Parliament member Tony Braen, CAMOL leader Benjamin Nabal, and director of the National Organization for the Care of Orphaned Littles, Alexander Dowling in studio for a roundtable discussion. I'm Eileen Vaux with Tate Cozbi, WILY News. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming." As the truck lurches out from the parking garage and into daylight, you finally organize your thoughts enough to speak. "Who are you and where are we going?!" you ask, suppressing your panic and indignance over being passed around like a hot potato. "I'm the doctor who has been assigned to get you ready for Observation," he says. "And right now we're headed to a safe house." "I don't understand! What is all this observation crap?! Why can't I just go home?!" You can't help but feel like everything is happening around you and that you're little more than a helpless observer. "Look, Pauletta, I'm a member of CAMOL, so..." "I don't even know what that IS!" you plead. "It's an advocacy group that's trying to prevent what happened to put you here in the first place. Please, will you let me explain?" "Okay..." "As I was saying, there are a lot of us who would love nothing more than to get you out of here and back to your island, but to do that would cost me and your lawyer our licenses to practice and probably land us both in prison for a long time. So we've got to play ball with the court." "So why all the rushing around and secrecy?" "There are people out there who want to kill you, Pauletta. Me too, if someone found out who I was and that you were in my custody." "None of this makes sense! I was kidnapped, dumped in some apartment with this crazy person who decided to try and dress me and treat me like an infant, beat me and locked me in dark rooms and all sorts of other horrible things to get me to go along with it, and because I fought back, suddenly everyone wants to kill me? How is this even right?!" "You really don't understand how Amazon society works, do you?" "No, I don't! I don't get any of this! I mean, my mother used to tell me, 'you'd better behave or we'll send you off to the giants!', but that was supposed to just be a scare thing, not reality!" "I hate to tell you this, Pauletta, but it's all true. Here on the mainland, Littles are 'adopted' by Amazons all the time. And they go through all of what you did and worse. They're sent to brainwashing centers where they're taught by force how to be compliant and act like babies. They get all their teeth taken out so they talk in baby talk all the time and so they can't bite when their adoptive mother wants to make them breastfeed. And they get tendons in their ankles cut so they can only crawl. Grown men have sex changes against their will. Women have their breasts removed. All so their Amazon 'parents' can have perfect little babies that never grow up." You're completely in shock now. "How...?!" "How is it legal?" he finishes for you. "Because here, few people think of Littles as anything more than children who never grow up. It's hard for a Little to get anything but the most menial work. Housing for free Littles is scarce. The law doesn't even acknowledge Littles, other than the right of Amazons to adopt them at will. It's a horrible, horrible place for a Little to be." "So what happens now?" you whimper, trembling as you try to process this nightmare. "Well, the immediate right now, I hate to tell you, is that we have to change your appearance. Your face is all over the national news right now, and if you're going to live long enough to make it to Observation, we need to make you blend in." "How are we going to do that?!" you ask, not really wanting to know the answer. "By making you look like my daughter." 6 "Now just hold on a minute!" you snap, panic giving way to indignation. "What the..." "Relax, Pauletta. We need you to be able to blend in, so we're going to just do a little makeover to give you more the appearance of an Amazon child." "I don't want to look like a kid, Abel, or Andy, or whatever your name is!" "Artis." "Okay, fine, Artis. Why can't we just change my hair color or something?!" "Because people will start connecting the dots if they see me suddenly turn up with a Little in tow. The only clues the press is going to have is what Doctor Metzger gave in his testimony. And my colleagues already know I live alone and have ever since my boyfriend passed a few years back." "Oh wow, you're gay?" "Yes. Does that bother you?" "No, actually. Means I don't have to worry about you being all creepy." "I'll try not to take offense to that suggestion. Anyway, I can put together a cover story about a niece coming to visit a lot easier than I can explain away a sudden decision to adopt a Little right about the time it leaks out that you're under the care of a renowned psychiatrist in a round-the-clock setting but not in a psychiatric hospital." "Ugh... Okay, I get it, I get it. So what exactly is this 'makeover' going to entail?" "We'll just redo your hair, change color, do a more little girl type of hairstyle, you know, probably change your eye color too. Of course, the court's going to demand a tracking implant, but you'll hardly notice that. I'll be getting one as well; you need to be within 100 feet of me at all times, or the police will be alerted immediately. There'll also be a plastic surgeon on hand to do some other minor things like make your cheeks and chin a little more chubby. I think your chest is okay as it is, so long as we lose the bra." You wince at his assessment of your breasts. Not that any of the women in your village were particularly busty to begin with, but you always felt self-conscious about how small yours were compared to other girls at school. "Yeah, thanks," you mutter back. "Oh, and we're going to have to figure out a new name for you, too. But that can wait until after the makeover." Well, at least it doesn't look like they're going to try and babify you like that bitch did the very second she laid eyes on you... After what seemed like hours, the boat finally thumps into a solid object. A dock, no doubt. You've long since run out of tears, and now you're just numb, the fear having given way to a cold resignation as you listened to one of the men converse on the phone to the person you figured was going to "handle" you once you made land. There's no way out of this; you're just going to have to face whatever fate is coming. "Alright, we got all the papers in order?" a new voice calls out as you hear heavy footfalls on wooden slats. "All right here," one of the familiar ones says. "Poor little twerp's gonna turn twenty tomorrow. Fat lot that'll do her now!" He laughs, as do the others, and suddenly you're back in the air, rising off the floor of the little boat, only to be set back down on the much more solid dock. "Here you go, then, five thousand. Keep 'em coming; I got plenty of customers lookin' for wild ones that ain't already been housebroken, ya know?" "You keep payin' in cash, and we'll keep bringin' 'em, don't you worry!" "So, is this one a scrapper?" "Nah, she struggled a bit in the beginning, tried to buy us off with half a hundred rupees. It'll help pay off the next frustrated parent or husband or whoever." "You just make sure and stay legal with 'em; I don't need us bein' in the middle of some political crisis over you snatchin' someone ain't supposed to be snatched." "Don't worry about us, you just keep the money comin'. We got another one to go pick up out on Gethsemane Island right now. Long goddamn boat ride ahead." "Well get gassed up and get goin', and call me when you're back in range. We'll just be off, then, won't we, little one?" With that, he hoists you up over his shoulder. "Off we go then," he says cheerily. Through the mesh, you can see the figures of the two men in the boat fading away, huge men, six or more feet tall. As best as you can figure, this one is just as tall, bigger than any man you've ever seen on the island. What could these people possibly want with someone like you? As he hoists you into the back of another huge vehicle, your mind spins at the possibilities. Are you to be someone's servant girl? You imagine yourself scrubbing huge floors and standing on stepstools to wash dishes and prepare meals for these monsters. After a much longer but smoother ride than the one you experienced on the way to the boat, the vehicle lurches quickly, then comes to a stop. "Ride's over, little one!" he calls, and you hear what is presumably his door opening, then another door behind you shortly after. Back in the air you go, back over his shoulder. "They were right, you are quiet!" he says over the din of more vehicles passing by, the chatter of more people than you ever imagined possible in one place. You try to look through the mesh again, but somehow your position has shifted in the sack and you can no longer see. You're moving, is all you know, and the bustle of an enormous number of people is going on around you. It's not long before you come to a stop, and you hear a buzzer sound. "Hello?" a very deep, but distinctly female voice calls out, sounding almost like it came from a speakerphone. "Very special delivery for Miss Guilory," the man responds. Her pitch rises, and you can hear the excitement in her voice. "Wonderful! Come right up!" Another, louder buzzer sounds, and the man opens a door. The noise of the bustling streets is cut off, and now it's just his footfalls, seemingly going up a number of stairs. Another door opens. More footsteps. A knock on a door. The door opens. "Come in! Come in!" the almost giddy-sounding female speaks. Her tone changes again, almost scolding. "Oh the poor thing, was the bag really necessary?!" "They're quick little buggers," the man replies as he sets you down. "They'll take off on you in a second if you don't keep 'em wrapped up!" "Well let's see her, then!" "Right, right." The door closes, and you move a few more paces before you feel him fiddling with the bag, then turning you over and pulling it back over your head. The sight that greets you is terrifying; you thought these men were huge, looking six feet or more tall, but the woman that stands before you is positively enormous, easily nine feet or more! In a panic, your eyes dart around the room; it looks like normal furniture for a family room, but it's all sized for someone her height. You start to crawl backward away from the two towering figures, but you bump into something hard almost immediately. You turn and realize you've cornered yourself against a huge footstool, and you stop, trembling in fear. "Oh my god, she's adorable! What a tiny little thing! I thought you said she was full-grown?" the lady says, turning to the much shorter man. You feel incredibly self-conscious at your height, yes, you've always been short compared to the rest of the girls in the village, but at three and a half feet, the difference was never so stark as what you're feeling right now. "She is! Got the papers right here; she turns twenty tomorrow! You're a lucky one, Miss Guilory; lotta people would pay a tall premium to have a tiny one like this." She turns back toward you. "Oh and that sad little pauper dress! Did you sew that yourself, sweetie?" she asks, leaning down and grasping the hem as you cower before her. "N...no... my mother made it for me," you manage, trembling. "Well don't you worry, little girl, Mummy's got plenty of pretty clothes for you to wear here, much nicer than this!" She rights herself and turns back toward the man, reaching into the pocket of her blazer and producing a huge wad of bills. "Here you are. Eight thousand, just as we agreed." The man takes the wad from her and begins quickly flipping through it. "Looks like it's all here. I'll just be on my way, then. Enjoy!" He picks up the empty sack and starts toward the entrance. She opens the door. For a second, you think about making a run for it, but both of them are directly in your path; you'd never make it. "Thank you so much! You've made a lonely woman very, very happy today!" she says as he steps out, and she quickly closes the door behind him, leaving the two of you presumably alone in this cavernous space. Your eyes are fixed on her as she struts toward you. "Stand up for Mummy now," she instructs. "Let's have a look at you." You nervously slide up the footstool, struggling to keep your legs from shaking. "That's a good girl," she says. She reaches behind you, and your eyes follow her arm, but you can't see what she grabs off a nearby end table, though you quickly figure it out as huge scissors suddenly appear at the shoulders of your dress and snip, snip, it falls away, leaving you in your underwear, even more terrified now. She takes your hand gently and pulls you into the room, examining you back and front. "Those mean old men didn't hurt you, did they, precious?" You shake your head. "Good. Poor thing, you must have been just terrified in that horrible sack all this time." Another snip, and your bra falls to the floor. You cover your chest with your arms in embarrassment, and she snips away your panties as well. You cross your legs in front of you, stumbling as you try to hide your nakedness from her. "Oh, don't you worry, you adorable little thing. Mummy will get some pretty clothes on you in just a minute," she says, setting the scissors back on the table and, without warning, snatching you right up around your middle. She sits down in an enormous rocking chair, holding you tightly in her lap. You finally find your voice as the two of you slowly rock back and forth. "Wh... what's going to happen to me?" you ask. "Don't you worry, baby, I'm going to take good care of you from now on," she says sweetly, reaching into her pocket with her free hand. "I... I'm not..." you start, before her hand flashes in front of your face and a huge mass of rubber finds its way into your mouth. "MMPH!" you squeal, squirming and kicking, but her powerful arm holds you fast, and her hand covers your mouth locking your head in place against her enormous chest. "Just relax, baby, just relax," she says. You hear a click, and suddenly the rubber is expanding in your mouth, pushing your cheeks out wide. "MMMMM MMMM MMMMM!!" you nearly scream through your nose, flailing away uselessly with your arms and legs. Her hand comes away from your face and wraps around your entire torso, pinning your arms at your sides. You shake your head, grunting and squealing, trying to rid yourself of this thing in your mouth, but it's so huge now you couldn't spit it out if you wanted to. Her other arm, meanwhile, has made it's way down to your legs, wrapping them up and holding them fast as she calmly continues to rock back and forth in the chair. "Just calm down, baby, calm down and let Mummy love on you," she says. You continue to thrash against her, but she's far too strong, and before long your adrenaline runs out, and fatigue takes over. Your eyes fill with tears as you finally realize that a huge pacifier is now stuck in your mouth, and you offer a weak, whiny, "Mmmmm," in protest. "That's a good baby," she says, a tone of approval in her voice. "Don't cry, baby. Mummy's not gonna hurt you." She shifts the one arm under your legs and hoists you up, cradling you in front of here as she stands and walks down a huge hallway, stopping at a slightly open door. "Time to get my baby dressed!" she coos as she kicks the door open gently. The sight that greets you is more horrifying than anything you imagined possible... 7 "Yeah, we're about 5 minutes out... No, I'm pretty sure we got out clean, no one following us that I can tell... Got it... See you then..." Artis hits the terminate button on his phone and sets it in the console. The city has dissolved away, replaced by the serenity of grasslands, wire fencing lining the road beside you, cows and horses dotting the lush landscape. "Where are we?" you ask. Dumb question, for sure, but at the same time, this is the first open space you've seen here since those bastards carried you off. "About ten miles outside the capital," Artis replies. "Not quite the middle of nowhere, but far enough away that the cameras and microphones aren't likely to catch up to us before we get you fixed up." Oh yes, "fixed up". That's a delicate way of putting it. "Do we really have to go this far with it?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Can't we just dye my hair or something?" Even the thought of ruining your long chestnut locks with dye makes you shudder, but... "Trust me, Pauletta, you're not going to want the kind of attention that will happen if someone figures out who you are. Neither of us will." You let out a long, frustrated sigh. "I'll be glad when this month is over," you mutter. "Me too," he says as he turns down what looks like a dirt driveway off to the left. A short, bumpy ride later and you arrive at a sprawling ranch house with a huge barn adjacent. He pulls the truck into the barn, and someone pulls the door shut behind you, leaving only the light filtering in from a few windows to illuminate this suddenly very gloomy place. "Here we are," he says, opening his door and stepping out. You fidget a bit with the buckle on your booster, but you lack the strength to release the latch. He opens your door and pops it loose, then helps you down to the hay-strewn dirt floor of the cavernous building. He leads you out and over to the main house, and you're greeted at the door by a heavy-set blonde woman maybe a foot or so shorter than Artis, but still enormous compared to you, who hurries you both in quickly, looking around outside before closing the door. "Glad you made it, Artis. You must be Pauletta," she says, sizing you up. "I'm Arlene, and I'm a hairdresser, but this is my family's farm. My sister's a plastic surgeon, and she and I've been doing these kinds of 'makeovers' here for a good while now." "Is Jolie here yet?" Artis asks. "She is; she's just getting into her scrubs upstairs." She must have noticed you cringing at the word "equipment", because she cheerfully adds, "Don't worry, Pauletta, you'll be asleep for the whole thing, and when you wake up, I bet you won't even recognize yourself." "Yeah, that's the part I'm not really looking forward to," you say glumly. "I know, sweetie," she says. "But I promise you, Jolie and I will be delicate. Artis already told us what a tough patch you've been through here lately." "How soon does Doc want to get started?" Artis speaks up. "She'll be ready to go in a few minutes." She looks back down at you and extends a hand. "Come on upstairs with me?" Nervously, you take her hand, and she leads you through a galley kitchen and up a set of stairs with old-looking, beautifully carved white slats supporting a dark hardwood handrail. "Jolie's the plastic surgeon, but she's gonna just do some little touches here and there to soften up your features, and then it's all on me." You resist the urge to pull away as she runs her fingers through your hair. "You got beautiful, thick hair, Pauletta. I'm pretty jealous, you know?" "Thanks," you murmur, still feeling very uncomfortable with this whole process. "It's okay, I'd probably be pretty nervous if I were you too." The two of you reach the top of the stairs, and she guides you down a hall, stopping to knock on a door on the right. "Come on in, I'm ready!" a cheery voice calls from the other side. Arlene opens it and ushers you in. As much as you can tell from the shapelessness of the medical outfit she's wearing, Jolie looks trimmer than her sister, but also shorter, maybe eight feet tall, and she smiles broadly as you enter. "Been a while since we had such a petite client!" she chuckles. "Are you Pauletta?" You nod quietly, feeling increasingly self-conscious. She squats to her knees and puts a hand on your shoulder. "It's okay to be scared. We're gonna get you fixed up quick and on your way, maybe even this evening, if everything goes right. Have you eaten anything today?" "No, food's kinda been..." you start. "I doubt I'd have much of an appetite either," she affirms. "How about you get changed over there behind the curtain, and then we'll get started?" Silently you walk over to and behind a makeshift blind set up in the corner of the room, where a hospital gown awaits you on a footstool short enough for you to sit on it. You strip down to your bra and panties and slip the gown on, doing your best to tie it behind you, though you're sure you didn't do a very good job of it. With a sigh, you step back out from behind the blind. "Good, good. Let me give you a hand here," she says cheerily, hoisting you up onto the bed in the middle of the room. You lie down and manage to stifle a squeak as she pricks your arm with a needle, attaching it to an IV bag dangling above you. "Ready?" she asks softly. "As I'm ever gonna be," you answer. "Okay, I'd like you to start counting backward from 100," she says, picking up a syringe and inserting it into the IV line. A subtle rush of cold shoots through your arm as you begin to count. "One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight, ninety..." Your eyes droop, and the room begins to dissolve. "seven, ninety..." You open your eyes. The IV is gone from your arm, replaced by a small cotton ball held on by a piece of tape. Your blouse and pants are back on as well, which feels very strange. What is even stranger is that it's not Jolie but Arlene standing over you now, grinning ear to ear. "How do you feel, sweetie?" "Uh... disoriented?" You look down your arms, your eyes stopping on your hands and wrists. They look softer, almost a little chubby. You wiggle your fingers; they feel fine. Are you imagining things? This couldn't be right. You try to look around, and you realize your cheeks seem more in your field of vision than they used to be. You reach back to touch your hair. There's no doubt, it's much, much shorter now, and it's... curly? You grab a strand and tug it in front of your eyes; it's... strawberry blonde?! "You ready to see?" Arlene asks. You nod nervously. No, you're not ready, you're terrified, but you HAVE to see... She picks up a large mirror from a nearby table and holds it in front of you. The face staring back, those bouncy curls, the girly little bangs, the chubby cheeks, the pouty little lips, this isn't you, is it?! This is a kindergartner's face! And her eyes... they're bright blue! Adorably cute, bright blue, mystified eyes. What happened to your deep, dark, brown eyes?! Your throat starts to close, and tears begin to form in your eyes. "I... I..." Words fail you. Everything that horrible woman tried to take from you, it's all gone in an instant. There is no more woman, just a little girl playing dress-up in this suit. A tear streaks down the little girl in the mirror's cheek, and her little lip trembles. "Oh, Pauletta," Arlene says, her face a picture of sympathy as she puts the mirror aside. "I know it's a big shock, but you really are beautiful." "A beautiful... toddler," you whimper. You want to be angry, but all you feel now is empty, like someone just scooped out all your guts with a melon baller and left you a pile of skin. A pile of skin with adorably chubby cheeks and bright glassy blue eyes, and a bob haircut that's just begging for a great big pink bow on top. How can you face the world like this? How can you be anything but ridiculous trying to be proud and dignified with a face like this?! "What time is it?" you finally manage, dropping your head into your chubby little hands. "Four thirty," comes Artis' deep, powerful voice from the doorway. "As soon as you're ready, we'll head for home or, well, what's going to be home for the next month or so anyway." 8 Eventually you recover, or at least you gather yourself enough to where you're ready to get the hell out of this house of horrors. The two women offer encouragement as you leave, but it's just more empty words to you, someone trying to convince you that they didn't just strip you of your womanhood and that you actually look nice as a four-year-old, which is exactly the opposite of what you want to hear. As you re-enter the barn, Artis pipes up, "How does Rosalita sound?" "Huh?" you ask, surprised and a bit confused. "Your name. I can't go around calling you Pauletta or Paulie all the time, it'll be a dead giveaway." "Oh sure," you shoot back. "You've already taken my identity away, I might as well give up my name!" "Okay, so you're still pretty upset about the makeover, I'm sorry. Maybe now wasn't the best time to bring it up." "Rosalita's fine," you grump as he helps you into the truck and gets in himself. Arlene opens the barn door once more, and you pull out into the dim light of the dusky evening. "Rosalita, or Rosie, or Rose. I'll probably interchange them depending on the situation. At some point here, you need to stop addressing me as Artis as well, but one step at a time, okay?" "Sure. Whatever." Apparently he's content not to pursue it further, because he falls silent as the dimming scenery outside whips by. After riding silently for a few minutes, you finally realize you have to try and get your mind off this horrible "makeover". "So what exactly is this rehab thing supposed to entail?" you ask. "Well, they're going to put you in a room and basically try to goad you into getting violent. Every button they can push, they're going to push it, to see if you snap." "So all I have to do is hold my temper and I'm good, right? That sounds easy enough." "Trust me, Pau... I mean Rosie, it's not as easy as it sounds. You and I are going to spend the next month getting you accustomed to dealing with the kind of stuff they're going to do to you." "That... suddenly sounds very ominous. Like, what are they going to do to me?" "Well, there'll be bullying, and humiliation, and degradation, and I won't be able to help you once you're in there. No one's going to beat you up, obviously, because self-defense is still self-defense, but rest assured, it'll come right to the very edge of that line." "So... what are we going to do to 'get me ready'?" This is all starting to sound increasingly uncomfortable. "All you need to do, Rosie, is remember that everything that happens between now and the Observation is part of the process that we need to go through, and just do your best to roll with it. I'll handle the rest, okay?" "Well... I guess..." you offer, not entirely convinced. You fall silent, regretting your decision to try and "change the subject". This is definitely worse, this anxiety not only about what's going to happen a month from now, but what's going to happen between now and then. The landscape begins to change again, fields and forests giving way to houses and buildings. "Are we back in the capital?" you ask. "No, this is Maritania, about twenty miles outside Guajiro. It's much quieter, but it's big enough to where we have access to everything we're going to need here. Tomorrow we'll probably be doing some shopping at the big mall at the edge of town." Again with the ominous vagueries, and something much more pointed to dread; your first public appearance pretending to be an Amazon kid. Without warning, he announces, "Oh, I nearly forgot, we need to stop a the pharmacy." Almost immediately he pulls into the parking lot of a building with a tattered old neon sign that announces, "Ralph's Rx". Strange that he decided this so suddenly? Maybe, but certainly more strange when he insists you come in with him. Then suddenly it isn't so strange, just horrifying... "Good evening, Sir!" a deep, but cheery male voice booms. "What can I help you with?" "We need to get some appropriate underwear for little Rosie's bottom," Artis says nonchalantly. "Wait... what's wrong with the..." you stammer, recoiling from Artis as he suddenly latches on to your hand. "Artis, what the hell are you doing?!" "Of course, sir!" the towering, bearded man replies. "Right this way! Will she still be going potty on her own?" He leads the two of you straight toward the diaper aisle, Artis' hand locked in a death grip on yours as you vainly struggle against him. "Well I'm not sure," Artis replies. "Would Rosie like some pull-ups so she can go on the potty chair like a big girl?" he coos at you. "I don't need pull-ups, Artis! What the hell is this?!" "Well, I guess we have our answer," he replies. "Diapers it is!" the man declares. Artis set you up, and you fell for it like an idiot. "She looks to be about 120 pounds, am I right?" the clerk offers, looking you up and down. "One twenty?!" you snap back, indignant at his suggestion of you being so fat. "I haven't been more than 65 pounds in my life!" A broad grin crosses his face as he looks back at Artis. "Only way to get the truth out of a Little is to offend their vanity," he says, laughing. "By the way, she's adorable, but as soon as she opened her mouth she gave herself away." You feel like a bigger idiot for being so easily manipulated a second time. "I recommend the Comfeez Super-Dry Overnights for a first-timer like this. They're the thickest, most absorbent diaper I carry, good for up to 12 hours, to get her accustomed to being changed on your schedule instead of going to the bathroom on hers." "Okay, okay, I'll take the pull-ups! Don't do this, Artis!" "Sounds fine, so what size?" Artis asks the clerk, completely ignoring you. "Fine?!" you shout. "I'm not wearing those fucking things!" This situation is deteriorating rapidly, and your mind reels trying to figure out how Artis suddenly turned into Miranda and what you can do to fix it. "Someone is about to get her little bottom tanned right here in the store," Artis says, glaring down at you. The salesman laughs. "By weight she's in the size three range, but these are sized for Amazon babies. They tend to run rather big on Littles, though, because of their slighter but more muscular frames. A size two would probably fit her nicely on her waist, though you could go with the bigger size if you wanted. It would ride up nearly to her chest and be much thicker between her legs, which would keep her more aware of it all the time." "Well, that is a conundrum, isn't it?" Artis says thoughtfully. "Any chance you've got a restroom where we can try them on?" "Artis, Please!" you complain, still wrestling against his iron grip. "You're right, Rosie, it's much easier to just do it right here." "NO!" you shriek. Artis squats to your eye level and pulls you in toward him. "If you yell at me one more time, I'm going to take those ridiculous pants off you right here and now, spank your little tush until it's good and red, and then put your diaper on in the middle of this aisle. Is that what you want?" he says in a low, intimidating voice. "No," you reply, much quieter, though no less panicked. He stands up. "So, restroom?" 9 "Absolutely!" the salesman says. "Right in the back. One of each, then?" "No, just a size two," Artis replies. "Artis!" you plead. "Maybe Rosie wants the size three instead?" he asks, eyeing you fiercely. "No!" "Then size two it is," he reaffirms. "Excellent choice, Sir," the clerk says, reaching for a bag and ripping it open. One side of the package shows a sleeping Amazon baby, thumb in his mouth, with a simple blue T-shirt reaching to his waist, below which the puffy white diaper dotted with cartoon animals is displayed prominantly, followed by his chubby bare legs. The other side, to your chagrin, shows a Little in an identical pose, though she's dressed in a ruffly white top, and her legs are obviously much more slender. Sick bastards, outright marketing these things to the psychos that kidnap and abuse Littles. You have little time to dwell on the thought, as Artis takes the diaper the clerk offers and walks you toward the back of the store and into the restroom, first unfolding the wall-mount changing station, then quickly reaching for the clasp on the front of your trousers. "I can do it myself!" you complain, reaching down to grab your waistband. "I can't believe you're doing this to me!" He swats your hands away. "Keep those hands out of there," he growls, unceremoniously jerking the slacks down along with your lacy black panties, then hoisting you up onto the table. Bewildered, you let out a squeak as he straps you down, tosses the pants and panties onto the floor, and pulls your ankles into the air, flopping the noisy garment out underneath you. "I thought you were on my side!" you whine, tears of humiliation threatening to fill your eyes once more. To your horror, it's at this point you notice that your entire crotch area is devoid of hair, smooth as it was when you actually WERE a little girl. What'd they do to you back there, laser it off?! "What did I tell you in the truck?" he says as he pulls the noisy plastic between your legs and up to your waist. "You said trust you! And now you go and do this!" you blubber back, incredulous at the entire situation, the tears beginning to stream down your cheek. He secures the tape on each side, sealing you into your bulky prison. "Are you going to cooperate, or would you rather have the bigger one?" "No!" "Good. You can put your pants back on now if you like." He plants you on your feet and motions toward the slacks lying on the floor. You quickly sit down with a loud rustle and pull the pants up your legs, but as you stand to pull them over your hips, it's fairly obvious there's no chance of them getting over the diaper. "I can't get them up!" you sniffle. "So you won't mind if I just take this stupid thing off, right?!" "Sure, if you want the size three instead," he says flatly. "You knew they wouldn't fit, didn't you?!" "I didn't figure they would, but you wouldn't believe it otherwise." No warning again, he snatches you around your middle with one arm and pulls the pants off with the other. God, he's strong! And fast too! He hoists you up and stands you on the counter next to the sink, pointing you straight toward the mirror. "Now, take a good long look at what you see there, and remember it. Remember it when you want to yell curse words at me in front of strangers, and think about how utterly ridiculous you'll look when you do." Furious, you open your mouth to respond, but then you see it. Your anger doesn't translate to this face. You just look like an adorable little girl having an adorable little tantrum. The tear-streaked cheeks and the tiny little pout and... dear god, the diaper... The huge white mass poking out below your blouse, which looks completely silly on you now. No matter how you contort that face, it's just a ridiculously cute toddler girl looking like someone told her she had to eat her broccoli. It's positively devastating. With that, he plunks you back on the ground and grabs your hand, marching you back out of the bathroom with your slacks in his other hand. You can't help but stumble both from the pace he's setting and the slightly bowl-legged stance your new, yet familiar underwear imparts. Half running, half staggering, rustling loudly the whole way, you make your way back to the diaper aisle, where the salesman stands there grinning like an idiot. "I think it fits pretty well," Artis announces. "Lift your shirt up and show him how it fits." You start to complain, but instead just give him a scowl as you pick the hem of your blouse up. "Turn around, please," the clerk instructs, and you comply. "Again, please." You turn again, your eyes shooting daggers as you face him. He doesn't acknowledge, though, instead reaching in to tug at the leg elastics, then the waistline. "It definitely won't leak. I still think the three would be better between the legs. A pronounced waddle is quite an effective behavioral modification for particularly defiant Littles, especially the girls." "What do you think, Rosie?" Artis says. "Do you like your new diapers, or should we try on the bigger ones?" "No," you nearly whisper. "I'm sorry, do you like this diaper, or do you want to try the other one?" he repeats. "This one," you reply, slightly louder. "Please answer the question," he insists. "Or I'll just take his recommendation." "I like this diaper," you growl. "Whose diaper is that?" he presses. You can't believe he's going this far with it. "I like my diaper!" you snap, then blush even deeper as you realize you've basically just announced it to the whole damned store. "I'm glad you're happy with it," he says. "We'll take a bag of the size twos." "Excellent choice, Sir," the salesman says, grinning evilly at you and leading the two of you toward the checkout counter. He slips behind the counter, scanning the package and announcing the price. Artis flashes his black chip-card in front of the scanner and a receipt shoots out of the printer next to it. "Thank you very much, Sir, and good luck training your new daughter!" "Say thank you to the nice man for helping us," Artis says sweetly, grabbing the package and staring at you expectantly. "Thank you, sir..." you pause for a moment. Artis' glare doesn't wane. You swallow and continue, "...for helping us..." He's still staring. "...pick out... my new diapers..." "See, we can be polite when we want to, can't we?" Artis beams. "Thank you again for all your help, sir. Come along, then, baby." He grabs your hand once more and off you waddle out the front door. Back in the booster seat, the ominous package sitting on the floor at your feet, you snarl, "What the fuck was that?!" "That," Artis says, "was the beginning of your retraining process." "So you're gonna try and make me back into a fucking baby?!" "I don't think you quite understand what has to happen next month," he says. "You killed your caretaker. The only way to convince the judge that you are no longer a danger to society is to demonstrate to him that you can control your emotions in the same exact circumstances." "But why?!" Your mind reels at his revelation and the implications of "same circumstances". "The best case scenario here is that the judge is going to grant me permanent guardianship over you. Now as I told you, I'm sympathetic to your situation, but the judge doesn't give a damn about any of that. He wants to see that you're not going to get violent in response to this kind of treatment!" "You could've warned me!" The weight of the situation is crushing you now, stealing your resolve. "They're not going to give you an itinerary at the Observation, Pau... Rosie. I'm going to bring you in, put you in a room, leave, and they're going to send people in there to do whatever they decide to do. And trust me, I've watched my fair share of awful treatment in Observations before." Your blood runs cold at the picture he paints. "Now, unlike other people who have attempted to train Littles for Observation, I've presided over plenty of these fiascos, so I pretty much have an idea of the range of abuse they're going to subject you to. In addition, as a doctor I have access to medications and other treatments that will help you along, make it a lot easier for you to handle what you're going to endure. This month is not going to be pleasant for you, but I'm going to do my best to make you comfortable as we go through the process. But you have to trust me, even when what I'm doing doesn't make any sense at the time, even when it seems cruel." "I'm sorry," is all you can come up with. You stare at the bag at your feet silently the rest of the ride, struggling in vain to close your legs, the thick, noisy bulk between them sneering at you, teasing you every time you move, reminding you of the horrible sight in that bathroom mirror... 9 The truck pulls into the driveway of a rather sad-looking old house, much smaller than the sprawling ranch where you spent most of the day. Artis lets you out of the booster and helps you to the ground, and you find yourself looking in every direction, terrified of someone seeing you in your current state of dress, even though deep inside you know such anxiety is not only pointless, but eventually will be fulfilled, unless Artis somehow has designs on leaving you here alone whenever he has to go out for provisions or whatever else. Regardless, you still breathe a sigh of relief once he leads you through the front door and into a sparsely furnished living room, where he sets you up on a plush couch and hands you the remote to what you presume is the television in the corner. "Maybe this'll help get your mind off it for a while," he offers. "I'm going to go see if there's anything useful in the pantry for dinner." You turn the TV on and begin, with some difficulty managing the huge remote with both hands, to flip through the channels, when an image stops you cold. It's a picture of you; the one they took at the police department after they arrested you. It's horrible; Miranda's blood still spattered on your face and neck, matting down parts of your hair. The news reporter is jabbering about some kind of protesting going on and Parliament debating over new laws. They cut to a photo of her, a little younger than the day you had the misfortune of meeting her, smiling and happy. That smile is one you'll never forget; it's the smile she wore most of that afternoon as she imposed her will on you the first time... A belt strapped across your chest, pinning you down on the vinyl-covered table, you squirm and kick, squealing behind the enormous nipple still lodged in your mouth, as she reaches under and pulls out a huge square of white plastic decorated with cheery little cartoon animals. Your eyes dart around the room in a panic; this is a nursery, there is no doubt of it, but the furniture is enormous. The crib in the corner is at least as tall as her shoulder height, though the mattress sits only just above her knees as best as you can tell. If she put you in there, those bars would certainly rise above your head, far too tall to climb out. The furniture and walls are all various shades of pastel pinks and whites, perfectly color-coordinated for a little girl's room. A little girl about your size, no doubt. The crazy woman hums a merry little tune as she sets out a bottle of lotion and a can of powder. You want to grab them, swat them away, anything to delay the inevitable, but your arms are secured by the strap; you can barely bend your elbows from this position. She turns to the closet and brings out a garish pink-and-white dress, all ruffly and lacy and looking like something made for a newborn, hanging it up on a hook next to the table. She grabs at one of your legs, but you kick it loose, and she frowns down at you. "Lie still now, baby. Mummy needs to get clothes on you," she scolds softly. She grabs the leg again, more firmly, and you keep squirming, but this time her grip is stronger. You kick at her with your free leg, and she slaps you across the thigh sharply. "Naughty baby!" she says, shaking her finger in your face. "You don't kick Mummy!" "MMMMM!" you scream at her and kick her arm again as hard as you can. Her face darkens, and you can see her grit her teeth, but then she takes a breath, lets go of your free leg, and says, "Then you can just lay there and kick until you decide you're ready to get dressed." She turns and leaves the room, leaving you there to thrash away. It doesn't take long to realize that you're not getting off this table until she accomplishes her aims, no matter how much you fight, so you decide to lie still and save your energy for a better opportunity. A few minutes later she comes back and says, "Baby ready to get dressed?" You glower at her silently, but offer no resistance as she rubs your whole bottom half down with the sweet-smelling lotion, nearly choking you with its pungent odor. She picks your legs up by the ankles, covering your bottom with a cloud of the equally potent powder, then flaps the disposable diaper out in the air and slides it under you, laying you back down onto it with a rustle. "My goodness, Mummy didn't realize you were going to be such a tiny thing when she bought your diapers! Maybe the nice man at the store will let us exchange some of them for something that fits you a little better." She coats your front with powder as well, drawing the diaper up between your legs. You're horrified as her little comment comes into focus; the top of the diaper rides up over your rib cage and just short of your breasts! She puts a firm hand in the middle of your chest while releasing the strap with the other. "Arms up, please," she says. Clearly, she can't tape the diaper up with your arms pinned to your side. An opportunity to resist! You lie there motionless, staring at her with as much hate as you can muster. You may not be in a position to fight her right now, but you damned sure aren't going to HELP her do this to you. "You're a little spark plug, aren't you?" she says, looking around the table with a puzzled face. Suddenly she smiles and grabs the strap with her free hand, forcing it up under your armpit, then tucking it back through the other, despite your best efforts to keep your arms locked in place, then secures it again. Now the position of the strap actually makes it painful to keep your arms at your sides, digging into your armpits on the edge, and you reluctantly relax them, allowing them to splay out to the sides. She smiles and proceeds with pulling the tapes snug across your stomach, crossing them nearly over one another to get the fit tight. The bulk between your legs is incredible; you can't do much of anything but splay them out wide. She turns to grab the dress, and in defiance you reach down and rip one of the tapes loose, and to your glee it tears some of the plastic away with it, clearly ruining the diaper. She turns around with a fierce glare. "I can see this is going to be quite a challenge," she says, no small amount of annoyance in her voice. She grabs your hand and swats it fiercely, causing you to squeak at the sharp pain. "NO!" she booms. "NAUGHTY!" You can't help but flinch at her powerful voice. She rips the other tape off, tossing the diaper into the pail next to her and grabbing another one from under the table. "If Baby takes her diaper off again, Mummy will spank her bottom but good and put it back on her. Understand?" she says, returning to the syrupy tone she's maintained through most of your interactions. "MMMMM!" you screech at her in defiance. She ignores you and repeats the process, but you're not going down without a fight. Kicking and squirming as she tries to draw the diaper up, you can see that she's becoming more and more agitated. After several hard swats on your legs, she manages to get it into position, and now you're darting your arms in and out, pushing the plastic down and pulling it away. She grabs one and swats it three times in rapid succession, yelling, "NO, NO, NO!" The sting actually brings tears to your eyes, and you pull it away, still furious, still defiant, but at this point content that her victory, though hard-earned, is temporary. She finally cinches the second diaper up even tighter than the first, the leg elastics now biting ever so slightly into your thighs. She grabs the ridiculous little pullover dress and sticks your arms in one by one before loosing the strap across your chest, then sits you up and pulls it the rest of the way down. "Now is that so bad, that you had to be such a naughty baby your first day with Mummy?" she asks. You glare straight into her eyes and respond with a growl. "I know the problem," she says. "You're just overtired after a long hard day, aren't you?" She hoists you up under your arms and plunks you into the crib. "Time for baby to have a nice nap," she says. You jump back to your feet and screech at her through the bars, but she walks away. "Go to sleep now, Baby. Mummy be back soon!" She flips the light off and closes the door, leaving you in the dim light peeking through the shade on the window. You immediately set about trying to wrestle the huge bulb out of your mouth, pulling this way and that on the ring, fumbling around for buttons, twisting and turning it, but all that gets you are sore lips from all the tugging. Frustrated but undaunted, your attention turns to your waist. RIP! RIP! You tear the tapes loose from the diaper and throw it over the top of the crib bars. Immediately you hear her footfalls approaching the room and she bursts in. "Mummy didn't want to spank the baby on her first day here," she says, a black look on her face, "but Baby didn't give her any choice!" You stumble backward in the crib, trying to evade her grasp, but she gets hold of you anyway, hoisting you out, then sitting down in the rocking chair beside it, draping your squirming form over her lap face down. She holds you fast with an arm wrapped around your middle, then her hand comes crashing down on your backside. The pain is incredible, stinging fire on your bottom and jolts shooting all the way up your back and down your legs, and you scream in protest, but she's undeterred. Over and over again that hand comes down with terrific force as you wail and sob and plead incoherently behind the pacifier gag... "Pauletta! Pauletta!" The memory dissipates, and Artis' face fills your vision. Confused, terrified, you mouth words, but no sounds comes out. You can feel yourself trembling in his grasp as he hoists you up and embraces you. "It's okay now, I promise. It's all going to be okay," he says over and over again, rocking you in his arms as you struggle to regain your grasp on reality. The pieces begin to fall back together as Miranda's horrible face fades back into the recesses of your memory, but doubt has come to the surface, doubt as to whether you're even going to be able to hang on to your sanity between now and the coming day of dread. 10 Artis sits down, settling you in his lap, and quietly rubs your back for a long time before he speaks again. "I'm sorry about the flashbacks, Pauletta. And I'm sorry that the training process is triggering them. I wish there were some other way to do this, but..." "I get it," you offer without much conviction. "I have to be a good little baby for them, like I should have been for her. Or else they'll kill me, like I killed her." "That's... about the size of it." "Artis?" you ask, grabbing on to a random thought just to get away from the current topic. "Yeah?" "You mentioned being part of a camel or something – what were you talking about?" "Tell you what, let's go eat dinner and I'll explain." "Sure." He carries you into the kitchen, where he's stacked a few books on one chair. "I don't have a booster here, sorry, but we'll see about getting one soon," he says, setlling you onto the stack with a rustle. "Of course, eventually we have to get you used to a highchair; they're GOING to have you in one at the Observation, guaranteed." He puts a plate of food in front of you along with a normal-looking juice glass full of water. "Might as well skip the stupid booster then," you say glumly. "I hate those things." Day after day in court, struggling to look dignified in a big plastic booster; no, you're sure a highchair wouldn't be any worse. Either way, you'd prefer not to think about it anymore, so you decide to change the subject. "So, about this camel stuff?" you ask, digging into the casserole-looking thing Artis put together. "Ah yes, CAMOL. Citizens Against the Mistreatment of Littles. It's a small but rapidly growing group of activists trying to get laws changed to offer some protection for Littles in Amazon society. So far, all we've accomplished is giving ourselves national visibility by staging rallies when situations like yours come up, although yours is definitely new territory." "What, I'm the only Little to ever fight back against her owner or whatever you call it?" "You're just the first one to actually kill her adoptive parent. But how the legal system handled you has sparked a lot of conversation in high places, and we're definitely making inroads in Parliament as a result." "Oh great, so I get to be the martyr everyone rallies around. Just what I always dreamed of doing with my life." "No, I stepped in and volunteered to handle your rehab to prevent exactly that from happening. There were certain high-ranking CAMOL officials that were hoping to engage in a protracted legal battle over a death sentence, but they've backed off trying to appeal because of the negative publicity it would bring at this stage of the game, since the judge gave you what is considered by the vast majority of the public to be a very generous reprieve." "You'll have to pardon me if I don't seem exceptionally grateful, seriously," you huff, squirming a bit atop the pile of books and the very unwelcome padding. "No, I understand, believe me. I'm pretty well familiar with what Miranda did to you, and the best I can offer is that I have no intention of repeating same. Hitting people with sticks and spoons and belts and the like, no matter how big or small those people are, is just wrong. The sudden shocks, well, they're a part of the process, one we can't avoid, but between them I aim to make you as comfortable as possible." It's the 800-pound gorilla in the room, and no matter what side conversation you try to spark up, you have the feeling it will all eventually come back around to it. You decide, at least for now, to just stop talking and eat. Artis seems content to do likewise, and the rest of dinner is relatively quiet. You do notice him constantly refilling your glass throughout the meal, and it's not hard to figure out the motivation behind it. Every time you try to adjust on your little hardbound perch you're reminded of it. Get comfortable. Get comfortable with pissing on yourself again, with wearing your toilet around your waist, with giving up one of the first pieces of independence a child gains in her life. Sure enough, you haven't finished your plate before you hit that crossroad. Much to your shock, however, fighting it is nigh impossible. At the very first urge, the flow begins, and you gasp in surprise at it, feeling yourself blush in response. "Wet?" he asks softly. You nod. "I... That was..." Confusion reigns; how could you possibly have lost control so fast?! "Too easy?" he follows through. "You may have re-trained yourself while in jail, but it hasn't been that long since you taught your body that voiding in a diaper was acceptable. This is a good thing, really, because it means we just have to get you over the psychological aspect of the problem, the embarrassment over what you perceive as self-degradation." Anger rises up in you as the stream becomes a dribble, then stops. "Easy for you to say," you offer bitterly. "You're not the one sitting in your own piss over here!" Fact is, you don't feel wet right now; the padding definitely wicked it away, but the residual warmth is a very present reminder of your shame and disgust over what just happened. "I know, I know, but you have to keep reminding yourself that this is not your fault. You don't have a choice in the matter. This is something you have to do to survive right now. Go ahead and finish your dinner, and I'll change you afterward." "Yeah, I kinda lost my appetite, to be honest." All you want now is to be out of this thing as fast as possible. Of course, another one just like it awaits you, but... "I'd rather you finish eating; it's the first meal you've had today." "Please?" "Alright, alright. You've had enough shocks to your system today, we can take it easy." He stands, hoists you up off the seat, and carries you into the living room, lying you down on the carpet near where he left the bag of diapers. "Sit tight, I need to grab some supplies," he says, disappearing quickly down the hall, then resurfacing with a handful of items that he lays out next to you as he kneels. You recognize immediately the wipes and baby powder, but the last box takes you by surprise. "Why the gloves?" you ask as he dons them casually then hoists your ankles into the air. "Oh, I have a hell of a time with psoriasis on my hands, so having to wash my hands after every time I do this is just not an option," he says, not even looking up from his task. "I'm sorry if it feels weird." "Right, because being twenty years old and being wiped and powdered and diapered like an infant doesn't feel weird at all," you huff. "Rosie..." he says, raising an eyebrow at you. "Yeah, yeah, I have to get used to it. Doesn't mean I have to like it." Apparently he decided not to engage you any further, because he quickly wipes you down, powders you back and front, and tapes you back up. "Thanks," you mutter quietly. If you have to wear these miserable things, a clean and dry one is damned sure better than a wet one. "You're welcome," he answers, scooping you up and carrying you over to the couch. "I'm thinking the news isn't the best choice for viewing material right now. How about we just relax and watch a movie?" "Sure, whatever." It's been so long since you watched television, and even longer since you watched something that wasn't what seemed to be propaganda against Littles, it's hard to care. You watch in dismay as Miranda produces a jumper seat, which she quickly sets up in the corner next to the couch, ratcheting it up to its tallest height. Quick as a wink, she has you under your arms and plunking you into the seat. "Now you just keep Mister Binky in your little mouth and be a good girl while we wait for the movers to get here!" Your predicament is worse than you thought now; miraculously your toes do just brush the carpet, but the seat sinks so low your arms are forced nearly parallel across your shoulders, all but eliminating anything in the way of mobility. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't play with the stupid colored beads on the wire or the little spinner attached to the table. Thankfully you're actually skinny enough to pull your arms in with you into the seat, which is marginally more comfortable, and you stare at your hands and suckle your pacifier, doing your best to stay calm and ignore Miranda as she flits back and forth between the front window and the kitchen. "Comfy?" she asks as she returns with a paper plate full of saltine cracker "sandwiches" filled with peanut butter and a sippy cup full of what you're guessing is juice. "Eat up, or there'll be another spanking in your immediate future," she warns. "Go to hell!" you snap back. "I'm sorry, were you addressing me?" she says expectantly. "Fine! Go to hell... Mommy!" you growl. "So adorable when you try to be all grown-up. Here, Mommy turn the TV on for you while we wait." She points the remote at the huge panel on the wall and, after a quick run through the guide, settles on a children's show. With a frustrated sigh, you hoist your elbows up onto the table in front of you and drop your head between them, staring at the colorful puppets bouncing around on the screen. This particular show ends and a new one starts, one featuring a number of young Amazon children and a big, hairy, pink monster of some sort, all of which are sickeningly joyful to be there, dancing about to goofy kid songs. As the show moves along, though, something strange happens. An older kid arrives on the set with a Little in tow, in full baby regalia including a pacifier, her big poofy diaper obvious under the hem of her dress. Simultaneously horrified and transfixed, you lock in on the dialogue. "This is my adopted little sister, Cammy!" the Amazon girl shouts joyfully. The Little blushes and offers a tiny wave at the group. "It's her birthday today, and she's turning TWENTY-NINE!" the girl boasts. This announcement is mostly received rather well from the other children, with a few notable exceptions, including one boy busy playing in the sandbox. Almost predictably, after the staged excitement over the Little, her Amazon escort heads straight over and deposits her in the sandbox next to him. "Cammy play in the sand too?" she coos at the Little, who doesn't look any happier to be there, but gamely picks up a plastic shovel and begins digging. "Aw, Clarice! I don't wanna play with some dumb baby Little!" he pouts. "That's not nice!" the newly identified Clarice says, hands on her hips. "I'm five and I don't have to wear diapers! She must be really dumb or something to be that old and still a baby!" Thankfully, the goofy pink host steps in. "Tommy," she says, sitting down in the sandbox and pulling the blushing Little onto her lap. "It's not nice to make fun of Littles!" "But she's older than my big brother!" Tommy says, "and she's still a baby!" "Would you like it if you had a baby sister and someone made fun of her?" Clarice asks. "Well no." "That's right, Clarice!" the pink thing adds, before turning back to Tommy. "You used to be a baby, but then you grew up! It's not Cammy's fault that she's already grown as much as she can. She needs big kids like you to be nice and look out for her, because she can't take care of herself!" "But I've seen some Littles with grown-up clothes and grown-up jobs in the city," another boy says thoughtfully. "That's because they don't have anyone to take care of them like lucky little Cammy here. They have to work so very hard to pretend to be grown-up because they have to take care of themselves, even though they don't really know how. Some of them end up getting hurt, really bad, because they don't have a grown-up to give them the help they need." "That's so sad," a girl pipes up. "I wish my mommy would adopt a Little." "Me too!" agrees another. Tommy walks over and hugs Cammy, then says, "I'm sorry for being mean to you, Cammy." He lookes at Clarice and says, "Can I go push her on the swings? I bet she'd like that!" The crowd moves over to the playset, and the bewildered Cammy is deposited on a swing. Music cues, and the pink fuzzy host begins singing a ridiculous song about being nice to Littles because they're just like babies, but they don't ever grow up. "They're here!" Miranda says, breaking your concentration on the insanity in front of you. She's entirely too happy about this, from your perspective. As she dashes for the door, you sink deeper into the jumper seat, wishing for all the world that you could just disappear under the table and have the two burly Amazons Miranda reveals at the door not notice you... 11 No surprise to anyone involved, you wind up giving Artis another wet diaper before the evening is over, and it happens just as easily as it did the first time. Unfortunately for you, he lets you sit in it for a good hour, adding a few extra little spurts to it, before he decides it's time for bed, which is immediately predicated by a rather embarrassing bath. The bigger surprise, though, is when he carries you, coccooned in a huge towel, into what you assume is going to be "your" bedroom. You were certain a full-blown nursery would be waiting behind that door, but instead there sits a simple bed, though sized for a giant, against one wall with a lift-up rail on the room side along with some rather plain-looking furniture you might expect to find in a guest bedroom. There's a night table with a simple lamp, a bureau, and a vanity, all in a lightly-stained wood tone. "Wait... where... I mean... what happened to..." you stammer, confused, but certainly not wanting to invite him to change the decor. "I figured you'd appreciate having a normal bed, at least for a while, as you get used to the situation," he answers with a gentle smile. He lays you on the bed, unravels the towel, puts his gloves back on, and proceeds to rub down your legs and arms with an incredibly sweet-smelling lotion, but not so pungent as to overwhlem your nose. You can't help but enjoy the relaxation you're experiencing right now as you melt under his soft touch. In fact, you're in such a state of bliss, you scarcely notice as he powders between your legs and pulls that thick diaper up, snugly taping it off as you lay there like a puddle. "Sorry I don't have any pajamas for you. We'll take care of that soon enough, okay?" he says softly, slipping the towel out from under you and covering you with the soft sheet and a very cozy comforter. "Mmhmm," you offer, eyes half-closed, already nodding off to sleep. "I sleep in my underwear most of the time anyway." He lets loose a little chuckle and says, "Well we can't have that long-term. Goodnight, Rosie. See you in the morning." You're barely aware as he lifts the bed rail and locks it into place with a metallic click. Unfortunately for you, it's not morning when you wake up. It's not even close. The alarm clock on the stand next to your bed taunts you with the time; just after four AM. You have to pee, badly. You could get out of bed if you crawled all the way to the foot and carefully climbed down, and you could probably find the bathroom again, and you could take this infernal diaper off, and you might even could get lucky and not kill yourself trying to crawl up onto the giant-sized toilet. Oh, and do all of it in complete darkness. But there's no way you're going to be able to do all that before you piss all over yourself. Or avoid waking him up in the process. You're trapped, and you know it, and now you're going to have to wet yourself, and then you're going to have to try to go back to sleep afterward. It doesn't take long, lying on your back and fixated, for physical need to overcome willpower and pride. Once again the pillow between your legs is warm and swollen, only now there are hours between you and a change. Rolling over on your side doesn't help; the extra bulk presses against your thighs and makes the position thoroughly uncomfortable. Lying on your stomach isn't much of an improvement, more like a hard pillow pressing against your pelvis. No, flat on your back with your legs splayed out is the least miserable of your options at this point, and that's exactly where you wind up, staring into the darkness above you, feeling disgusted. Five o'clock rolls around, and finally you've had enough. To hell with Artis, you're not laying in a puddle of your own piss until whenever he decides to get up. You cover up with the huge comforter to quiet the noise and pull the tapes loose very gently. They still make a terrific racket, but the blanket is definitely helping. You lift your hips and pull the thing out from underneath you, kicking it down to the bottom of the bed, flopping the blanket over it, and enjoying the cool night air on your nether regions. Naked never felt so good as this, and you revel in it for a good long while before curling up on your side, pulling the sheet over your shoulder, and drifting back to sleep. In fact, you sleep so soundly that you barely even feel Artis pull the sheet down. "Well, at least I know why Miranda lost her temper so much," he says, shuffling the blankets around as you begin to stir, then suddenly snap awake. "Oh, good morning," he says flatly as he locates what he was looking for: the wet diaper at the bottom of the bed. He holds it up and says, "Any particular reason why this came off?" "It was four in the morning, Artis! What was I supposed to do, lay around in a wet diaper until..." you look at the clock on your bedside: Seven AM. "Okay, still, three hours in a wet diaper? How was I supposed to go back to sleep?" He frowns, then shrugs. "I'll give you this one. But going forward, your job is to do what you have to do to get used to it, and my job is to help you along, whether you like the help I give you or not. Are we clear?" "Yes, we're clear," you grumble. Meanwhile, Artis applies powder a bit quicker, a bit more gruffly than last night, and seals you back up into a clean diaper, then sits you up and hands you your bra and blouse. As soon as you're finished dressing, he says, "Alright then, young lady. Get dressed and let's get breakfast; we've got a busy day ahead of us." "What busy day?" you ask, following him into the kitchen and watching him pour two bowls of cereal. "We need to go clothes shopping today." "Wait a minute," you protest as he hoists you up onto the pile of books on your chair. "You said we were going to ease into this!" He plunks a bowl and spoon in front of you and says, "You wore that shirt all day yesterday and you're going to be wearing it again this morning. I'm not having you wear it three or four days in a row, and you have no other clothes to wear." "I'm not ready to go out in public like this!" you whine, panic welling up inside you. "Can't you just measure me or something?!" "Remember what I said yesterday, Rosie. Argue, fuss, whine, whatever you want out in public, but when we're alone, respect my judgment, because I'm doing what needs to get done." "But... The pharmacy was bad enough, now you want to cart me around a clothing store in this stupid getup?!" you protest. "Do I need to remind you of the alternative here?!" he replies, his volume level rising right along with yours. "You just want to humiliate me again like yesterday!" you shout, the panic boiling over into anger. "You're enjoying this, you fucking sicko!" He rises, leaning right in until he's mere inches from your face, taking on a low, menacing tone. "I'm going to put this real simple, Rosalita. The fact that you are here at all is a testament to my kindness; otherwise you'd be strapped to a guerney right now about to get a needle full of poison in your arm. I'm trying to be kind and gentle to you, because you've been through a lot, and you're gonna have to go through a lot more if you want to make it out of that courtroom alive in a few weeks. "But you'd better hear me right now, and hear me well, kiddo. You keep talking like that to me, and I promise you, kind and gentle goes right out the window, and so does easing in. And if that's not enough to smarten your sassy ass up, hey, it's your funeral, you know? I don't put up with my own FAMILY speaking to me in that fashion, I'm damned sure not going to put up with it from someone I barely KNOW! Are we clear?" "We're clear," you nearly whisper. What the hell else are you going to say to that, especially when he's that much into your personal space, looking for all the world like a spawn of hell with the stormclouds on his face? "I'm glad we have an understanding. Now finish your cereal quietly while I go calm down." Before you can respond, he storms down the hall, slamming a door behind him. Your head is spinning now; you can scarcely believe that you've managed to already piss him off enough to start making threats. Still, better to do as your told, at least, so you grab your spoon and commence eating while you try to sort out this bizarre Jeckyl-and-Hyde presentation over the last day. You finish, but he's still in the bedroom. Rather than risk more anger, though, you decide to just sit there and wait, as much as you'd like to get away from that pile of books. You're almost looking forward to a highchair, as uncomfortable as this seating arrangement is. Finally he surfaces again, his face having returned to the calm gentleness you've seen most of the time you've been around him. "I wanted to wait on this, but between your flashback last night and the difficulty you've been having with both panic attacks and angry outbursts, I feel like it's better we start on it right away." "Start on wha...?" you start to ask, but are cut off by his hand suddenly covering your mouth and something very, very familiar protruding from it. He's holding it there, and it feels suspiciously like a nipple. "Suck," he instructs. You try to spit it out and twist away, but he's much stronger than you and holds it fast. "I said suck," he repeats. He's obviously not backing down on this, so you take the nipple and begin to slowly nurse at it. He moves his hand away once he's satisfied that you're not going to spit it out and says, "Trust me, you'll feel better in a few minutes." At first you just glower at him, humiliation burning in your cheeks. He stands there silently, watching as you continue to suckle on the infantile accessory. "What's in that nipple is a fast-acting anti-anxiety medication," he finally says as he attaches a ribbon to it and clips it to your blouse. "It's a tightly controlled dosage system, but nonetheless you should take it out once you start to feel the effect. Trust me, you'll know when it happens." "You couldn' jush gi' me a fill?" you grumble, still incredulous at this new development but loathe to cross him again this soon. "First of all," he says, hoisting you up onto his hip, "one of the things you need to be ready for come Observation is nursing on a nipple. Second, how do you think it'd look if I was handing you pills every time you turned around while we were out in public? And finally, when you're in that Observation room, I'm not going to be there to give you a pill anyway. This way, when you need to calm yourself down, you have what you need right there, and it's in a form that will slip under the radar when you're gonna need it most. Make sense now?" "Yesh," you mumble halfheartedly. It's strange, this wave of calm washing over you, stifling you instincts toward the indignation you know you should be feeling right now. "Yes what?" he asks expectantly as he walks toward the door. "Yesh i' make shensh?" He stops still. "I told you last night, you have a new name, and I have a new name. What is my new name?" "Oh come on," you whine. "You need to get used to it, Rosalita," he scolds, adding emphasis to the false name he's given you. "I'm willing to be patient if you're willing to try. Otherwise, I'll just have to start ignoring you when you don't include 'Daddy' when you address me. Is that what you want?" "No... Daddy." You want to rebel, but for some strange reason it just doesn't matter enough to bother. "Better. Ready to get some new clothes now?" "Yesh... Daddy." No, not really. But... you're actually starting to feel a little sleepy, and you definitely aren't giving a shit about any of this anymore. "Then let's go," he says. "But first, let's take a break from this." He pops the pacifier out of your mouth with a grin. "You definitely missed the cues that it was kicking in, but I'm betting you'll remember them next time you need it." He carries you to the car and buckles you in before settling into the driver's seat. He gives you a quick glance in the rearview mirror, then puts it into gear and takes off. Houses and trees whip by, and whatever dread you had over your impending humiliation dissipates into the blur of the scenery flying by. You've no idea how much time has passed when you arrive at what you presume is the intended destination, a strip mall on a much busier street than the one you started out on, with one very large store on the end. "Couture Le Bebe" the sign announces, and Artis heads directly towards it when he enters the parking lot. You may not know any French, but it's not hard to figure out what "Bebe" means, and even in the comfortable little fog that surrounds you presently, you still aren't all that happy about the implications. "Here we are!" he declares, cutting off your train of thought as he opens your door. As he carries you toward the entrance, you pass several sets of giant and Little, some with store employees in tow with packages, the Littles rarely looking particularly happy. Some are walking alongside their "parents", but one hapless thing is on his "mother's" chest in a harness while she carries bags in both hands, his arms and legs flopping in rhythm with her steps, and his face blushing beet red at his predicament. A few comments come your direction, mostly right in line with that jerk at the pharmacy, offering approval for Artis' obvious "decision" to put you in your "proper place", no doubt a side effect of you still having the very adult-looking blouse on along with what you're stuck wearing below the waist. Maybe a new wardrobe will actually be an improvement, considering how much extra, unwanted, derisive attention you're getting right now. Most disturbing, however, is the scene that unfolds as you near the building's entrance, where a car door opens and you hear the desperate howling of a male Little, screaming, "I'm sorry Mommy! Please! I'll be a good boy! I promise!" "You had six weeks to be a good boy!" the woman spits as she reaches into the car. "Now we'll see if you can be a good girl instead!" She produces a squirming, sobbing mess, naked save for his obviously wet and sagging diaper. "Keep making a spectacle of yourself, and while we're at the clinic making it permanent, we'll look into having your teeth out too!" she barks directly in his face. That quiets his wailing down, at least to whimpering and sniffling. You shudder as the two of you pass by. You're starting to wonder if this anti-anxiety drug wears off as fast as it takes effect, because you're really not feeling very calm anymore. Then again, who knows how long you were driving? You wonder if Artis would say something if you... No, you don't need that crap! "I'm sorry you had to see that," Artis says, loud enough to be audible. "So many of them just go too far, I swear." You don't even know how to respond to that one. Doesn't he already think kidnapping an adult and forcing him or her to be a baby is going too far? Isn't he supposed to be part of an advocacy group whose purpose is to stop this sort of thing? Your stress level rises even higher as you enter the building. It's not like you can fight him; he holds your life in his hands at this point. But your suspicion of his motives is even stronger now, especially when you realize he never actually denied your accusation in the earlier spat... 12 To your surprise, there are no checkout lanes when you enter. Instead, you're immediately greeted by an oddly short woman in a well-tailored blue blazer and matching pencil skirt, white blouse, and seven-inch heels, with a tailor's tape draped on her shoulders. Even with the heels, she barely reaches Artis' broad chest. Scanning the store, as much of it as you can see, you notice the other salespeople here are roughly equal in stature to this one, or at least they stand significantly shorter than the customers they're helping. Obviously a marketing tactic, but why? Are they trying to empower the customer to take command of their purchases? Or is it just a way of subtly reinforcing the idea of servitude from their sales staff? Either way, her opening doesn't endear her to you at all. "Oh my goodness, aren't we just adorable in our big grown-up looking blouse! Was it Daddy-daughter day at work today?" Artis, cool as a cucumber, manages to embarrass you even more. "Actually, Rosie here just joined our little family day before yesterday, and she thought she was a grown-up, but we figured out differently, didn't we?" Saving you the ignominy of a response, the Middle pipes right back up, "And let me guess, none of her big-girl clothes would fit over her new underwear, huh?" "Even if they did, she clearly doesn't belong in them, after our little show at the pharmacy." "Uh-oh, did we have a temper tantrum?" the lady coos, dropping her hands onto her thighs and leaning over to leer at you. A subtle urge to take a swipe at her rises, but you fight it off. "Indeed, I was just trying to pick up a potty chair and some pull-ups for her, just to keep her safe, you know, and she wasn't having any of it." "So now she doesn't have to, isn't that wonderful?" She rears back up and claps her hands. You're quite certain now you'd like to at least punch her in the face. "Of course, she was far less pleased with this arrangement. I'm thinking the prospect of graduating back to a potty chair will keep her motivated to behave better for the next few months." Artis continues to converse with the Middle as you continue searching for a hole in the floor to crawl into. Suddenly Artis deposits you on your feet, and quick as lightning the tape is off the saleslady's shoulders and around your waist, your thickly padded hips, your meager chest, up your back, and down your leg, making sure to give you a solid and rather loud pat on the bottom after she takes your inseam. She quickly scribbles notes, then announces, "Her legs are long enough for a two-tee, but she'll fit in our nine to 12-month sizes just fine on the chest. You may also want to consider leaving a bit of room for weight gain, though." "Ah, yes, getting her on a regular feeding schedule might change things in that department." "Of course, the poor things have to scratch and claw just to get a bite on their own, from what I hear," the lady offers sympathetically. "Isn't it wonderful having a Daddy to make sure your little tummy doesn't go hungry anymore?" she coos at you, reaching a finger out toward your chin. Reflexively, you slap it away. "Don't you dare touch me!" you snap. The lady recoils a bit, then stiffens up and says, "Well, I see we still have a big-girl mouth on us!" "Indeed we do," Artis says with more than a hint of malice in her voice. "I think someone needs Mister Binky right about now." He picks the pacifier up from where it dangles on your chest and offers it to you. "What, it's not bad enough I have to be your dress-up doll, now you want to let EVERYONE play with me?" you growl. "Oh my, she is a feisty one!" the saleslady says, feigning shock. "She's right on the verge of getting her first spanking, if she doesn't take her binky right now," Artis says, staring straight at you and bringing the nipple in close, right in front of your face. He told you to put up a fight in public, but suddenly you're wondering if the "show" includes following through on a threat like that. Reluctantly you accept the rubber nipple and suckle it a bit. "Good girl," Artis says. "Shall we get started? I'm thinking we split the difference and go 12 to 18 months. That should account for any baby fat, don't you think?" "Absolutely, though that size pants would be awfully short on her." "Proper little girls wear dresses, so their daddies can keep track of the state of their diapers." "Indeed," the saleslady says, smiling wickedly down at you. "Right this way." Much to your chagrin, the behemoth store is divided first by infants and toddlers, then by girls and boys, meaning. Whatever hope you had at even a scant few outfits that might have looked somewhat dignified dissipates as the saleslady grabs a rolling hanger rack and leads you away straight into a sea of ruffles and crinoline and soft pastels in the infant area. Just when whatever Artis put in that pacifier starts to work again, your intense suckling is interrupted when the saleslady removes your blouse, taking the attached ribbon and the pacifier with it, leaving you naked and blushing save for the... well, you may as well concede it's now your diaper, bra, and flats. Even worse, your bladder betrays you and you begin peeing, right there on the spot. "Isn't that adorable?" the saleslady gasps. "What great big pads we have in our little training bra, trying to look all grown-up while we're peeing in our little pants!" "I'm pretty sure I told you to leave that at home, little girl," Artis says sternly, popping the strap loose in the back and stripping it off, the pads the insipid Middle mentioned flopping to the floor in the process. "No matter, we won't be dressing ourselves anymore, will we?" he says. "Do we have a trashcan somewhere?" You're pretty sure, if it weren't for whatever that drug he's giving you was, that you'd be pitching a fit right now. Even with the vague calming sensation, all the cheap shots the saleslady is taking are starting to get to you, not to mention the state of your diaper and the fact that you're now standing there showing it off to anyone who cares to look. The saleslady says, "I'll take care of that," gathering the pads up, taking the bra from Artis, and tossing this last proof of your womanhood into a nearby wastebasket. If either of them noticed the condition of your diaper, neither one of them acknowledged it. "Artis!" you whisper harshly. "I'm sorry, what's my name?" he replies, that stern look back on his face. "I mean, Daddy!" you grump back. "Better. Did you need something?" "I..." The humiliation of what you have to ask takes the spit out of you, and you nearly mumble, "I need my diaper changed." He looks down at your middle, then back up. "You'll be fine until we're done, Rosie." With that, he turns you entirely over to the saleslady, who dives into the dresses with gusto, pulling one after the other over your head, to be celebrated by both of them and removed, after which they find their way onto the rack next to you. The fact that none of the hemlines even make it halfway down your thighs is not lost on you; they'll be little better than the damned blouse you were wearing at covering your underwear, especially. As you watch the outfits accumulate on that infernal rack, standing there alternately naked and dressed in idiotically babyish clothes, the fires of indignance are burning brightly inside of you. Artis' rebuff of your request for a change is gnawing at you, the warm density between your legs a perpetual reminder of it. Being treated like a dress-up doll is mere icing on that cake. Worse, you find yourself longing for the calm of that pacifier in your mouth, which angers you even more. The stoic face you've been struggling to maintain begins to devolve into a scowl, which elicits nothing but teasing from both the Middle and Artis. By the time you're dragged into sleepwear, you're practically trembling with rage as the snotty bitch makes suggestions and Artis accepts and dismisses them for various reasons. Then the Middle crosses the line. She raises up what looks for all the world like a pink flannel bag with mittened sleeves and a cutout for a head and suggests, "These are great for when they just won't stay in bed. I hear they're perfect for timeouts, too!" "Well that's certainly sensible, especially for little girls who won't keep their diapers on in bed," Artis says, staring down at you. You scowl back at him, gritting your teeth as your rage begins to boil over. "I think we'll take one," he says. Before you can stop yourself, you shout, "No goddamned way, Artis! I'm not wearing that fucking thing!" Silence. Not just in your group, but immediately nearby as well. You feel eyes on you from every direction, and your ears burn with the embarrassment of it, especially as you remember you're standing there naked in a slightly drooping, yellow-tinged diaper. The saleslady looks at Artis expectantly while you suddenly find the scuffs on the top of your flats very, very interesting. "Where are your restrooms?" Artis asks stiffly. You feel your knees getting rubbery as the Middle points toward the back of the store. Artis' head follows her finger and nods. "Thank you." Panic fills you as he turns toward you, a storm of barely-contained anger in his face. "I'm sorry?" you whimper just as he snatches you up by your middle, grabs the diaper bag, and storms off in the direction the saleslady pointed. "Sorry is in the rear view, little girl," he barks at well more than a speaking volume. "You're not nearly as sorry as you're about to be..." 13 "But I thought..." you start to beg, in absolute terror at what's about to happen. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THOUGHT!" he shouts as the two of you enter a hallway and make a quick left into the men's room. You squirm helplessly while he pops open the changing station, straps you down to it snugly, then turns toward the sink. You try to crane your neck, but to no avail; the wall this table is attached to completely blocks your view. You hear the zip of the bag he carried with him, then some other rummaging sort of noises. Suddenly and swiftly, he turns back toward you, bearing down toward your head as you cower. One hand reaches behind your head, tilting it forward. The other contains a toothbrush coated in a substance bearing no resemblance to any toothpaste you've ever seen. He brings it toward your mouth and commands, "OPEN!" Almost reflexively, you close your lips tight and try to turn your head. His fingers dig into your jawline, causing a sharp pain to run across it from end to end, and you yelp, "OW... MMMPH!" as the toothbrush finds its way into your mouth and begins to vigorously scrub your teeth with... hand soap?! "I warned you about your foul mouth, little girl, and now we're going to clean it up the hard way!" he says stiffly as he works it around first your bottom teeth then the top. You recoil your tongue at the horrid taste of the stuff, helpless against his iron grip and the bounds of the strap across your chest, incoherently wailing in protest between gagging and coughing. After what seems an eternity he stands back, slapping the toothbrush down onto the sink with a sharp plastic crack. "You tol' me to pu' up a figh' in pub'ic!" you sob, desperately trying to keep your tongue away from your teeth as he looses the strap and turns you face down, allowing you to at least drool and spit out onto the floor. "And you just walked right over the line AGAIN. These people EXPECT me to treat you harshly!" "You coul' have col' me!" "Told you what?" he says, moving you over next to the sink, "that I expected you to fight me in public but that I also would have to punish you if you lost it? What would you have done?" "I woul' have wai'e' un'ew we were in da car." "And you would have pitched a fit there instead, right?" "Yesh..." you have to admit. "Which is exactly the opposite of the goal here. You need to learn how to control your temper in the moment, not just save it for later." "Sho I'm shupposh' 'o keep arguing wid you sho you can corchur me 'ike dish?!" "No, you're supposed to fuss, whine, and cry, but keep control of yourself. I've told you where the line is, and now I've shown you where the line is. It's your job to stay on the right side of the line, and it's my job to reinforce that line by whatever means necessary, because it's the difference between life and death for you! Got it?" "Yesh." "Yes what?" "Yesh I gah i'." "Who am I?" "Daddy." "Good. Now we can rinse your mouth out and go finish our shopping trip." "Wha' abou' my diaper?!" you ask incredulously as he fills a cup with water and hands it to you. You immediately begin rinsing the horrible soap taste out of your mouth as fast as possible. "I told you it didn't need changing. Did you think that little stunt out there was going to change my mind?" "No..." you mumble between spits. "So," he says, "we're going to go back and finish shopping. And you are going to apologize for being such a bad baby and yelling such dirty words to everyone I get close enough to talk to until we find our saleslady again..." "B...but..." you protest, horrified at the instruction. He continues, talking straight over you as he plunks you onto the floor. "and you will also apologize to her for being so disrespectful to her the entire time she's been helping us, understand?" Your legs begin to move almost of their own accord as he leads you out of the bathroom, and you find yourself sniffling through a defeated, "Yes Daddy." Almost immediately out the bathroom door you meet a giantess with two male Littles in a double stroller. The faint smell of a dirty diaper greets you as Artis says, "Oh hello!" as you drop your head once again. "Oh my, this must be the loud one we heard earlier!" the lady says curtly. "Why yes it is, and she has something to say to you, doesn't she?" Artis prompts. Not looking up, you mutter, "I'm sorry..." "Sorry for what? And speak up, please." "I'm sorry I was a..." the words hang on your lips, and you struggle to continue, "a... bad... baby... and I'm sorry I said all those bad words." The second half comes easier, but it doesn't stop fresh tears from rushing down your cheeks. "Well you should be glad to have a Daddy who cares enough to teach you how to be a good little girl," the lady responds stiffly. "Because you clearly have much to learn." "I... I am..." you mumble. "Anyway, it smells like you have some business to attend to," Artis says with a chuckle. "Say bye-bye to the nice lady," he prompts again. "Bye-bye." And so it goes, at least another four or five times before you finally make it back to the infants section and find your attendant. Of course, Artis makes you apologize to her as well while he retrieves the pacifier from where it dangles on your blouse. "I believe we were about to have a fitting for that lovely little sleeper," he announces. You let out a whine, but Artis pops the pacifier back into your mouth before you get a chance to speak. "Wonderful!" the Middle declares. "Now, the 12 to 18 will probaly be too short on her, but the two-tee should do just fine." "By all means, let's try the bigger one," Artis says, and before you know it, his hands are under your arms and you're being deposited into this fuzzy bag and seated on the floor, despite your whimpering. Your arms are shoved into the holes, and the saleslady slides the zipper up the back. "And it locks in place just like this!" she says as you hear a click at the back of your neck. "Now go ahead and stand up, sweetie," she coos. You ignore her, your mittened arms crossed, pouting behind your pacifier. "The nice lady asked you to stand up, baby," Artis says. "Or are you just so comfy you'd rather wear that the rest of the day?" That spurs you into action. You plant your feet and try to stand, but the bag isn't big enough for you to straighten your legs, and you lose your balance as it jerks you back down, dropping to all fours with a squeak. "Isn't it perfect?" the Middle says, clapping her hands. "Guaranteed to keep her in bed until Daddy decides it's time to get up!" "Indeed, it's perfect. We'll definitely take one." You start to complain, but you're still stuck in this thing, and you want out. "Excellent!" the Middle declares as she unzips you out of the horrible trap. "I think that should just about do it," Artis says, much to your relief. Just when you think the nightmare is finally over, though, the sales-bitch pipes up one more time. "Oh I notice you've got her in Comfeez Overnights. Are you fairly stocked up on those?" she asks. "Actually no, I just picked up the one bag last night," he replies. Great. More diapers. Except... "You know, those are made for normal babies, not Littles. Let me show you something." 14 So much for it being over. She leads the two of you into an aisle full of a huge array of diapers along with all the associated supplies; lotions, powder, wipes, the full monty. "We carry Comfeez, but only because we do have occasional clients with normal babies come here to shop." The emphasis on the word "normal" and the derisive tone she uses sends a surge of anger through you, but it quickly fades back behind the anxiety of what horrible thing she's about to reveal and whether Artis is going to be game for it. Even with the fog closing in, this is nothing short of horrifying. "About two years ago, a company called 'Forever Baby' launched a line of products specifically for parents of Littles, with lots of features especially for babies who are built like tiny adults. They are, very simply, the finest diapers for Littles on the market, with a heavy five-mil plastic shell that will make sure she'll never sneak up on you, but with a specially formulated matte finish to keep her from chafing, and several super-heavy soaker layers in the middle to handle her floods while she gets used to not using a toilet. Of course, the extra padding between the legs along with the stiffer plastic is absolutely guaranteed to produce the maximum waddle effect. A lot of parents have told me that their babies would drop and crawl once the diaper was wet because it was just too much bulk for them to keep their balance on two feet!" Artis nods thoughtfully, and you cringe as she continues her spiel. "Now, are we planning on taking her back to baby food and formula right away, or is she going to stay on table food for the time being?" "Oh, she'll be eating table food. I'm not especially impressed with the nutritional content of the baby food out there marketed for Littles," Artis says firmly. "Well then you'll definitely want her in one of the 'Big Kid' models, which both have a section in the rear with substantially less padding and a softer, more elastic outer shell back there, so the diaper isn't pushing back on her when she has her bowel movements, since her stools will obviously be more formed. Makes for easier cleanup too, if you catch it before she sits down anyway. You wouldn't believe how many of these poor things wind up with impactions not only because they're trying to hold it, but because those regular baby diapers are helping them do so! And we wouldn't want this little cutie to be all backed up, now, would we?" She leans down and reaches toward your face, but you stumble backward, fighting the urge to take a swipe at her with every ounce of self-control you can muster in spite of your growing lack of coordination. Clearly whatever's in the pacifier has done all it can do short of knocking you out, though at this point you're beginning to think unconsciousness would be preferable. Either way, Artis must have noticed as well, because his lightning fingers snatch it out of your mouth and drop it back to its dangling position in front of you. "So what's the difference between the 'Big Kid' models?" he asks. "Well, their classic model, the one they came out with when they first launched, is unisex, with just the extra room for BM's in the back. Their latest version, which is substantially more expensive by the way, comes in boys' and girls' versions, both of which give the baby a little reward for going pee." She reaches into a drawer on an endcap and produces a pale blue diaper, unfolding it on the highest shelf. Now you can't even see what she's doing, the damned thing is so tall, and you're left to wonder what horrors are coming. "Now this is the boys' model, which is a little less involved, because everyone knows that little boys are just waiting for a little tickle to get themselves going. So this one simply has a nice little pocket right here up front where we'd put a little penis, and as soon as he starts peeing, the pocket closes right up on him, so he gets his little tickles every time he wiggles!" She folds it back up and slips it back into the drawer. "I guess I don't quite understand why sexual stimulation is so important in a diaper," Artis says, raising his eyebrow. "Oh you haven't heard?" she asks, reaching into another drawer and pulling out a similarly pale pink diaper. "Forever Baby actually did some substantial research about sexuality, and they found that Littles who get regular chances to, you know, blow off some steam are much more calm and compliant than the poor things that don't." She suddenly reaches out for you, looking up at Artis to ask, "May I?" "Of course, of course," he replies, much to your chagrin. "No!" you squeak as she grabs you under your armpits. "You wanted your diaper changed, didn't you?" Artis asks. "Now's your opportunity." She hoists you up onto the shelf, which you now realize isn't a shelf at all, but a padded changing table top, complete with a strap that she secures across your middle in spite of your squirming. "Now this one," she says as she tears the tapes loose on your diaper and strips it away, pausing to clean you thoroughly with a wet wipe, "is the girls' model, and it has this special ridge through the middle that just hugs right up against her sensitive little parts, which gently stimulates her bladder when it's dry," she says, pointing it out to Artis while he nods. "And it has a bit more stiffness to the padding through there in order to keep it put once it's wet." She draws the diaper up and cinches each side, and you're immediately aware of said ridge, which feels nearly like getting a wedgie from a bikini bottom. She looses the strap, sits you up, and continues, "When she goes tinkle, that little ridge swells right up and stays just a little bit damp, so it's right up against her little sensitive spots, and it even has a little sensor built in that triggers a short-action vibrator. It'll give her an extra little buzz right along the ridge, so she can get herself all worked up just rocking back and forth in her playpen, or her highchair, or her crib, or anywhere else! Isn't it wonderful?" Even dry, this horrible thing is lightly stimulating, but you're repulsed at the sensation as much as anything else, and you're absolutely terrified of the idea of peeing in it. "The internal battery is only designed to run about ten minutes, which is usually more than enough to take care of her little urges." "Very interesting," Artis says. "I'm not entirely certain I want her having orgasms in public, though I can see the training advantages, teaching her to appreciate her diapers instead of loathing them." "Daddy I already hate it!" you whimper, trying to at least vent some without crossing the line again. "Oh don't worry, baby," the saleslady coos, ruffling your hair and patting your bottom. "I'm sure your daddy won't make you wear them all the time. In fact," she turns back to Artis, "Forever Baby recommends no more than one of these a day, or desensitization can start to set in. Right after lunch is your ideal time; it'll wear her out so she'll take a nap for you." "Obviously we'll want to load her up on fluids ahead of time, to make sure it works," he replies. "Absolutely," she agrees. "So what do we think?" "Daddy please no!" you beg, but you already know the answer. "I'm sold," he says. "We'll take a case of those and two cases of the classics." "Excellent. Can I interest you in some stimulating rash cream to go with that?" Your eyes bulge; is there no end to the torture devices in this place?! "No, no, I think this will do fine, unless Rosie would like some?" You shake your head fiercely, fighting back the temptation to scream at him. She laughs at your gyrations. "Alright, then let me just call for a bellhop and we'll get you rung up and on your way!" 15 Finally, the saleslady leads you and Artis toward the nearest register, out comes Artis's black credit card, and you are marched out the front door, a male similar in size to your saleslady in tow with all the hideous clothes you're going to be wearing for the next 28 days along with several huge boxes of these ridiculous diapers. Of course, you're laser-focused now on your own diaper, as it strokes away at your nether regions with each step. The sensation is still more of an irritation than a stimulation; there is no pleasure, and thankfully the saleslady's promise of it triggering your bladder doesn't seem to have come true. Perhaps the bitch was just a huckster after all, going so far out of her way to tease, degrade, and humiliate you every chance she got. Or maybe you're just so completely in shock at what you've just experienced that you've gone numb. Once back in the truck, your mind reeling from the entire experience, you finally find your voice again, though it is certainly trembling. "I... I don't... understand... uh... Daddy..." "What do you not understand, Rosie?" he asks calmly. "Why? Why did you do those things to me?" Despite your best efforts, tears begin to flow once more. "Why did you let her do those things to me? Why?!" You hear him unlatch his seatbelt, and he turns around in his seat. "If you think I enjoyed any of that in there, you're very much mistaken. That Middle in there, considering the kind of treatment they experience in Amazon society, I'm appalled at how smugly cruel she was, how much pleasure she took in tormenting you. But first of all, when we're in public, I have to behave in a way that draws as little attention to us as possible. And believe it or not, what happened in there is considered to be completely normal in this society. People's eyebrows would start raising if I treated you like an adult, respected your feelings and desires, talked to you instead of at you. "You don't seem to understand, Rosie," he continues, climbing into the back and sitting next to you, "that this is what people do to Littles every single day. They strip you of your station, babify you, and if you resist, they punish you until you give in. The few free Littles out there live in constant fear that the next Amazon they pass on the street will decide that they're adorable and in need of a new home, because just that quickly, they can be in the same or even worse situation than you were with Miranda." You're weeping now, confused, terrified, and utterly overwhelmed by the picture he paints. "But... Why?!" "Because," he sighs, "that's just the way Amazon society has viewed Littles for a thousand years or more, since their first contact. Someone decided that people your size make wonderful substitutes for actual babies, because you never grow up. And people caught on to the idea. And no one in government was all that bothered by it, because it kept the population down, and it made people happy. Well, it made Amazons happy, and that's all that mattered to them. It's only been in the last fifty or sixty years that Littles were even allowed to walk freely among us. Before that point, if someone your size showed up in a city without an Amazon "parent", the police would immediately take you to an orphanage to be adopted out. It's wrong, it's horrid, but it's just how things happened. "More importantly, though, I hope you're starting to understand why I had you undergo that cosmetic surgery. If you look and act like a normal Amazon child, then you and I can behave like a normal Amazon family. Amazons don't do things like that to their children. They love and care for and nurture their children, because they're trying to raise them up to be productive members of society. Littles are treated differently because any show of independence on the part of a Little is viewed as rebellion, and it is viewed as perfectly normal, even expected, that parents discipline rebellious Littles, that they keep them under control. The Littles you saw in that store? Notice none of them spoke? They're terrified to speak unless spoken to, because that's what is expected of a well-behaved Little. I didn't want that for you, not while you were under my care. So I remade you as an Amazon child, so at least when I wasn't specifically training you for Observation, I could give you a little bit of space to relax and enjoy a carefree life as a little girl who is spoiled rotten with pretty clothes and fine food and sightseeing with her Daddy. "But I can't do that if you open your mouth and give yourself away like that every time we go somewhere. The second you start speaking like an adult, everyone knows what's up, because no Amazon your size knows those kinds of words, nor can she put them together in perfect context like that." There's logic in what he says, reason, sense. Maybe even a little bit of warmth. But still every fiber of your being screams against it. "So you're saying if I act like a proper toddler, then everyone is nice to me, but if I try to be myself, my life is hell. How is that different from all those other Littles?" "Because like I said, Amazon children aren't expected to keep silent and always behave exactly as their parents instruct. A Little, if they're allowed solid food at all, certainly doesn't get to choose what they eat at a restaurant. They're not allowed to say 'no' to their caretakers. They're not allowed to fuss or talk back or misbehave or show any sign of rebellion. "On the other hand, no one is surprised when a toddler misbehaves a little, fusses, gets headstrong, or even throws a little tantrum. There are limits, of course, but if parents treated their actual children the same as people treat Littles, they'd be in front of a judge facing child abuse charges. So yes, you'll be able to vent a little, blow off steam, give in a little bit to the very fierce independence within you. That's something I can't let you do as a Little, but I can if you can learn how to stay in character, to act the way you look. Does that make sense?" Yes, actually, it makes perfect sense. But it doesn't make you feel any better about it. "Okay, I get it. Can we just go home now?" "Yes, we can. In fact, we probably need to get moving, to make sure you have a little privacy whenever nature decides to come calling." With that, he moves back up to the front, buckles his belt, and starts the truck. Nature... "Oh come on, Ar... I mean Daddy! You're not really going to make me..." "Yes, I am, because I'm already aware of the studies she referenced, and to the extent that it will be very helpful to you to not be full of sexual frustration a month from now, she was exactly right." "But..." you're incredulous at this thought, horrified that he actually intends to go through with it. "No buts, Rosie. Furthermore, if I have any suspicion whatsoever that you are actively trying to resist your body's urge to void, you will wear those diapers every minute you're awake until you stop, and if that means out in public, that means out in public." He pulls the truck back out onto the road and continues, "One thing that is probably helping now and will continue to help you is that the anxiety medication in your pacifier has a numbing effect on your entire body, meaning you'll be less susceptible to the physical stimulation that diaper is designed to give you." You're pretty sure you've never in your life shoved something into your mouth so quickly, and you suckle it as hard and as fast as your mouth muscles will allow you. Humiliating, degrading, none of that matters now, all you want is to find that fog again and stay there for as long as humanly possible. It doesn't take long, as hard as you're drawing on that thing, for the world to begin speeding up around you, Artis' voice from the front seat drifting further and further away. "Rosie... please take that out now. Rosie?" It comes out, but not because you actively chose to respond to him, but because you're slipping more completely into the fog now. Your head wobbles, and the pacifier falls away from your face, bouncing on its little ribbon a bit before coming to rest on your tummy. Your eyelids are so heavy now, too heavy to keep open. "Rosie?" you hear Artis call from somewhere off in the distance before the clouds come to carry you off. When next your eyes open, you're cradled in Artis' arms, your body moving in rhythm with his gait, your head buried in his chest. "Where are we?" you murmur, squirming a bit, your diaper rustling in response. "Home, sleepyhead," he chuckles. "You're certainly good at taking naps in the car like a little girl. You were asleep for a good hour and a half." He shuffles you a bit as he opens the front door and carries you in. "I... where was that clothing store?" you ask, confused. "In the capital, down in the shopping district by the shore. Meanwhile, I think we should get Rosie laid down for a while, so Daddy can bring her new wardrobe in and get it all put away, okay?" "Okay... Daddy..." you offer. He carries you into the guest bedroom and lays you on the bed, lifting up the bed railing. You feel his hand at your neck, and you sleepily watch as he removes the ribbon, taking the pacifier with it, lifting it up in the air to examine the nipple. "Time to refill this, apparently. That was supposed to be a full fourteen hours' worth of doses," he chuckles. "Oh well, have a nice nap, Rosie." With that, he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Still drowsy, you roll over onto your side, and your diaper gently tickles up and down your clitoris in response. The urge to pee is upon you quickly, too quickly for you to stop it, and it's mere seconds between when the flow starts and you are awakened fully, suddenly, and violently by the powerful vibrations, the damp padding forcing itself fully against your entire groin, expanding inside your labia, sending shockwaves surging through your body. You flop onto your back involuntarily, arching your neck in response to the incredible intensity. You whimper, writhing as pee continues to spurt out of you, swelling the padding further, which just presses it tighter against you, every slight movement rubbing it up and down. Before long you're bucking, your hands grabbing hold of the plastic between your legs, trying in vain to pull it away, to stop what's about to happen, but all it does is rustle loudly, teasing you with the noise. You moan involuntarily, but the horror of what's happening fills your eyes with tears as fast as the juices begin to escape your vagina. "Nnn...nnnn...NO!" you scream over and over again, but you're helpless to stop it. The first orgasm comes like lightning, overriding your dignity with a rush of endorphins so powerful your mind goes blank and your hands move of their own accord, slamming the plastic against your groin, pressing it with all your might. You're sobbing, wailing, whining, begging it to stop, but the orgasms keep coming in wave after wave, the diaper swelling larger and larger between your legs, pressing them farther apart as you come and pee simultaneously, amplifying the humiliation and the pleasure all at once. It seems like hours have passed before the horrible thing finally stops buzzing, but the cycle continues even longer, the momentum of your physical responses to orgasm after orgasm keep the now-sodden mass of pulp pressing, rubbing against you. You try to reach for the tapes, pull them apart, but your hands seem to have a mind of their own now, grasping and stroking whatever they come in contact with. "DADDY PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!" you finally scream out in desperation, sobbing helplessly as your body twitches and writhes. "PLEASE!" Artis rushes in. "Alright sweetie, alright," he says softly as he rips the tapes loose and pulls the front of the diaper down. You collapse, still sobbing, feeling dirty, degraded, humiliated, but grateful for the cool air between your legs. "Please, Daddy, don't make me do that again!" you blubber. "Just relax, Rosie, relax. Daddy's going to get you cleaned up and changed now, he's just got to get your supplies, okay?" "Please let me take a bath Daddy!" you cry. "Please?!" "Alright, alright, we can have a bath. Lay still and I'll get the water running." He leaves and returns shortly after, quickly taking your shirt off and swaddling you in a towel, carrying your still-twitching form into the bathroom and gently placing you into the tub, tucking the pacifier into your mouth, which you nurse gratefully, but much more slowly than before. "Daddy get you all cleaned up now, Rosie. All cleaned up now," he says, his voice soft, soothing, as rhythmic as the soapy washcloth he pushes across your chest while he supports your back with his other hand. He is gentle and thorough, despite your whole body twitching when he touches your private areas, despite your periodic hiccups, and between the warm water and the drugs, you somehow manage to find a way to relax, both mind and body. By the time he has you dried off and dressed, the fresh, clean diaper around your middle is like a warm, welcome hug, and the ruffly, powder-pink dress with the smocking across the chest and white lace trim that looked so garish on its hanger actually seems sort of cute. You even find yourself giggling softly at the silliness of this new outfit while he rocks you gently in his lap. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you're wondering if this is what going insane feels like... 15 It's a short time... or maybe a long time, you're not sure which, that you find yourself sitting back on the couch, Artis sitting next to you, the sounds of some sort of New-Age music playing through the television with scenes of majestic fog-covered mountains and soft, sandy beaches cascading by. Emotionally, you're pretty well spent at this point, grateful to have your own fog drifting in and out as you intermittently feed yourself from the pacifier, grateful for its serene little waves washing over your mind, in and out like the tide. "I have some bad news," Artis finally speaks up. Whatever it is, you don't want to hear it, and you offer him a look that says the same. He's determined to give it to you, though. "The cupboards weren't particularly well-stocked when we got here. Meaning we need to get some groceries and, considering neither of us have eaten since this morning, I'm thinking we should probably get dinner out." Nope, you definitely didn't want to hear that. "I... can't handle any more today, Art... Daddy. Please..." "You don't have to handle any more today, Rosie." "So, you're gonna go shopping and I'll wait here?" you ask hopefully. "No, but you have an opportunity to do like I suggested earlier," he says. "I don't even remember..." "Like I said, right now you look like my daughter, not a Little I adopted. For all anyone knows, you're just small for your age. Relax. Use simple words, or don't even talk at all if you don't want. Make silly noises. Play. Have fun. Be shy. Be coy. Be cute. Be a little girl for a while. Think I didn't hear you giggle earlier when you looked at yourself? Find that place." You're not sure if it's the drugs or the music or just being completely exhausted from all the stress this morning, but what he's saying almost makes sense. It certainly beats the alternative, being humiliated at every turn because you outed yourself as a Little. Still yet, you're not exactly excited about the idea, and you're still pretty suspicious of Artis' wildly unpredictable attitude. "How do I know you're not gonna just suddenly change your mind while we're out somewhere and start encouraging everyone within earshot to humiliate me again like this morning?" you ask as calmly as you can. "I told you this earlier, Rosalita. I don't enjoy making you suffer. As long as you don't give yourself away, as far as I'm concerned you're my niece come to visit while her parents are on a cruise. There are going to be certain situations we will be in over the next month where yes, I'm going to be treating you like a Little, and everyone is going to know that you're a Little, and you'll be under pressure to behave like a perfect little angel, but I promise you, if I tell you in advance that you can play the cute kid role while we're out somewhere, then the only way that changes is if you don't stay in character." "I don't guess there's an option 'C' here, is there?" you offer glumly. "If for no other reason than our tracking devices, no, there isn't." You begin to concentrate. What were you like when you were tiny? You reach out for memories, but there are only wisps; so many things have happened, it's like you never even had a past before that fateful day you defied Papa. "I... don't even remember being that young." "Did you have siblings?" he asks. Well, that you certainly did. Armida was only three years your junior, though. You close your eyes and try to picture her. She was the penultimate yang to your yin; quiet, deferential, one might even say introverted. She was always sweet, though, even when she was little. You remember her looking up to you despite your boisterous, fiercely independent nature. "She used to call me Paw-Paw," you chuckle. "Who?" he asks smiling. You didn't even realize you'd said it out loud. "My little sister, Armida. She followed me everywhere, whether I wanted her to or not. But she was never in the way, more like having a mascot. She called me Paw-Paw because when she was little, 'Pauletta' was too much to pronounce." "Think about how she used to talk. Say something in her voice," he encourages. "Come pay tea wif me, Paw-Paw!" you lisp. It's almost shocking how much like her you sound, what with your newly high-pitched voice. "Good, good!" he laughs. "And what would little Rosie like for dinner tonight?" His words are broad and exaggerated, and you giggle in spite of yourself. "Chicken an' fwies!" you squeak, offering a toothy grin. "Chicken and French fries?! But you always have chicken and French fries!" he says, continuing the silly lilt to his speech. "Nuh-uh! I had wohnees last night!" "Oh that's right you did have macaroni, didn't you? Well I guess maybe you can have chicken and fries tonight, then, but only if you get TICKLES FIRST!" His fingers are up under your armpits before you can react, and now you're squirming and squealing and giggling helplessly. "Daddy! Stop!" you shriek, gasping for breath in between peals of laughter as he continues, "No more!" Your bladder announces it's about to give up its accumulation, but you're helpless to do anything about it. "Daddy! Pee-pee!!!" you squeal. This finally seems to slow him down. "Well good, now you can have a nice clean diaper before we leave, and there won't be much chance of needing a change while we're out." He smiles as you pant, a warm bulge expanding between your legs. So he had an ulterior motive. And, all told, you can't very well complain about it. The last thing you need is having to ask him for a diaper change in public. The scariest part, though, is how easily you were able to fall into that speech pattern, into... that mindset... Was this some sort of manipulation on his part? Was it part of his "preparation" plan? "You're brooding again," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts as he lays you down on the carpet and proceeds with the now-familiar changing ritual. "Is this part of it?" you ask. "Trying to get me into thinking like a little kid?" "No, actually," he says as he lifts your legs effortlessly, wiping and powdering you with a gloved hand. "This has nothing to do with the Observation. It's exactly what I said it is; making it easier for you when we're out in public." "Then why does it feel like you're in my head again?" "Probably because you know what I'm trying to do here, but you don't know exactly how I'm doing it, so you're questioning everything I do. Which is exactly the opposite of what you need to be doing, because you being on edge all the time is just going to make the process more difficult." He tapes you up and strips his gloves off, tossing them onto the wet diaper before pulling you into his lap. "So in a way, I guess you could say this is part of the process, because anything I can do to help you relax will make it all much easier, even the parts that we both know will stress you out." He starts to rock you gently, rubbing your back, which feels amazing, as bizarre as it is to be cradled in the lap of a man you only met a day ago. "So can Rosie find her way back to that happy little girl place again?" A sigh escapes your lips, a product of the warmth, the relaxation you feel as you nuzzle his chest. "Binky, Daddy," you mumble. Of course it's dangling from your collar and you know it, but that doesn't mean you want to move. "Of course little Rosie can have her binky," he says, reaching down and teasing your lips with it. You accept it gratefully, but instead of suckling, you just let it rest on your tongue. "Shank you, Daddy" you lisp. "So we ready to go grocery shopping?" he asks quietly. "Uh-uh. Cuddle, Daddy." "Okay, we can cuddle a while first." Simple words. Simple thoughts. Simple feelings. It's not hard, really. At least, not when you're like this, a puddle in Daddy's lap. You wonder how long it'll last when others are watching, when self-consciousness creeps back into your thought process. No, no, no, that's a big person thought. Butterflies. Fairies. Chicken and "fwies". Your "binky". Those are the happy places. Let's just stay there for a while. 16 "So, has little Rosie decided she's hungry enough to go out?" he finally asks. Truth be told, your stomach is growling a little. You wonder if he felt the rumble too. You look up and offer a big grin and an exaggerated nod. "Well then let's go get some chicken and fries for that empty little tum-tum!" he chuckles. He starts to slide you off his lap, but you latch onto his arms. "Oh, so we want a ride, do we?" "Uh HUH!" you chirp, offering the silliest, toothiest smile you can muster to drive home the point. It's too damned comfortable in his huge arms, and besides, as much of that medicine as you've taken today, you don't even want to know how wobbly your legs are. "Well how can I say no to an adorable little face like that?" he says as he gathers you up, stands, and settles you on his hip. Your bottom rustles noisily against his arm as he walks, slightly bouncing you in rhythm with his stride as he carries you out the door and to the car, buckling you in gently as you let out a contented sigh. This new head space you've discovered, or he helped you discover, is soothing all on its own; there's no anxiety here, and you find yourself noticing things about the world around you that you hadn't paid attention to for a very long time: the vibrant colors of the sky as the sun begins to set, brilliant red with dark purple wisps of clouds dancing through it, the feel of cool wind rushing across your face as Artis opens the windows in the truck, the smell of that fresh air coming out of the groves of trees as though they were exhaling it just for you. There's not even any dread as you arrive at the grocery store. You rest your head on Artis' shoulders as he carries you in, and instead of derision like at that horrible Littles store, the people that pass by offer smiles and waves and "Isn't she adorable?" And you play coy with them, hiding your face, then poking it back out with a wide grin, which just brings more delighted responses. When you giggle, the whole world around you revels in it. They ask how old you are, and Artis tells them over and over that you just turned three. And they believe him, and you get little tickles on your leg and scratches under your chin, and you just keep right on playing it up. Now your legs are dangling in the baby seat of the grocery cart as Artis pushes it through the store, your dress all bunched up around your waist. You're too busy pointing and laughing as Artis asks you to pick out food items and plays guessing games as to what exactly you want. It's too much fun to just thrust your arm out in a vague direction and giggle, then shake your head over and over again, your ringlets flying every which way until he gets it right. You're the biggest star in the grocery store right now, everyone in line of sight mesmerized by your little performance. By the time Artis starts toward the checkout line, basket filled with staple foods, but with plenty of little treats that you got by batting your eyes at Artis until he gave in, you've fallen completely into the role, bouncing and squeaking and playing peek-a-boo with anyone who'll join by covering your face with your hands. Another cart is parallel to you in the next checkout line, this one with what is clearly a Little, and a rather unhappy one at that, in the baby seat, her "mommy" scolding her while she snivels. Your heart goes out to her; you've been in that place before. No! You can't let this break the spell! Happy thoughts! Simple thoughts! You point to her and look up at Artis. "Bebe?" "Yes, baby." "Bebe cry?" "Yes, baby is crying." "Bebe go pee-pee?" "I don't know, maybe." "Bebe diaper change!" The mommy takes notice of the exchange. "Baby is being fussy because she wouldn't take a nap today," she answers. "She's a cranky baby, and she's going to get her supper and bath and straight to bed as soon as she gets home." "Ohhhh," you reply. Keep fighting it. Simple words. Simple thoughts. You grab your binky and tuck it into your mouth, determined to stay in the happy place. "Wozie went nap nap today!" Artis laughs. "Yes, Rosie took a good nap today, that's why she's so bouncy and happy now!" "See that, baby Kimmy?" The lady stares down at the little, who looks for all the world like she's trying to sink through the crossbars of the seat and into the floor, though her eyes are locked on you from behind her own pacifier. "Little girls who do what their mommies and daddies tell them are much happier than ones who fuss and whine and throw fits. See how happy she is? I bet her daddy doesn't ever have to spank her." "Oh, Rosie gets fussy sometimes, doesn't she?" Artis smiles. You shake your head hard, to bounce your curls around some more. "Nuh uh. Wozie good girl! Wozie not fussy baby! Kimmy fussy baby!" You point at the little, and she looks away. "Yes, that's right. Kimmy's a very fussy baby!" the lady agrees. "Your daughter is positively adorable! How old?" "She just turned three." The woman's face changes a bit. "And not potty trained yet? Tsk tsk." Damn her. Your turn to do the head drop. You blush in spite of yourself. "She will when she's ready, won't you, Rosie?" Artis smiles as he lifts your chin up. "We don't have to be in a big hurry to grow up, do we?" "Wozie not big girl?" You're trying to stay in character, but it's getting tougher, now that the focus is on the underwear you don't even need. Why'd he have to pick 3? If he'd said 2, no one would have cared. "Sweetie, you can be a little girl for as long as you need, and when you're ready, you can be a big girl too. Daddy loves you, no matter how big or little you are." He kisses your forehead, and suddenly that huffy lady with the adopted Little doesn't matter so much. You reach your arms up to him as the line shifts, and he chuckles as he hoists you up onto his hip. "Lub you Daddy!" you whisper, resting your head back on his shoulder. "Lub you too Rosie," he whispers back. The line moves forward, and a Tweener man appears, putting a divider behind the groceries on the conveyer belt and hurriedly emptying your cart behind it as the belt rolls forward. It's the first time you notice, all the front-end workers, baggers and cashiers alike, are all Tweeners, and they scurry around at maximum speed, occasionally glancing down to the end of the row. A huge Amazon, taller than Artis even, stands there, arms folded, scanning up and down the checkout lines. These people fear him, much more profoundly than someone just worried about keeping their jobs, and you can't help but wonder why. They're nothing like that horrible Tweener salesperson from the Littles baby store. They offer polite greetings, to each of the customers, but never make eye contact, constantly focusing on the next task, emptying a cart, filling a bag, loading bags into the cart, following the customers to their cars and loading the bags for them, then scurrying back to the store to return the empty one and find another job to do. Once Artis buckles you in, you can't help but ask. "Why were they all so scared, Daddy?" The toddler show is over, and your voice returns to normal, even though you remember your manners as you address him. "Who was scared, Rosie?" "Come on, Daddy, all the grocery clerks, they were terrified of that one Amazon watching them." "Tweeners who work unskilled jobs like that are usually on their last chance, Rosie. Some of them have been in jail, others have been fired from more prestigious positions for various reasons, be it slacking on the job, mouthing off to their bosses, or just general incompetence." "So... what happens if they get fired from there?" In your gut, you already know the answer. "As far as Amazons are concerned, if a Tweener can't be a productive member of society, then they're just like a Little, and they are sent off to become Littles and be adopted." "Wait, 'become' Littles?" "Yep. We have shrink rays and aging reversal nanites for that purpose, though their use is tightly regulated by Parliament. They're also used on Amazons who get in trouble with the law one too many times. I'd be willing to bet at least one of those Tweeners used to be an Amazon, and they're getting one last chance to behave themselves before they get sentenced to Etiquette School." "You mean, some of the Littles we saw could have been Tweeners or Amazons once?" "It's actually quite likely here in Candohar, considering the rules we have in place about importing Free Littles." "Free Littles... like I used to be..." "Yes, any Free Little adoption has to be registered with the national child welfare office, which must include paperwork signed by the Little or that Little's legal guardian at the time of the adoption. Which is why the scant few Free Little adoptions are typically cases like yours, where the parent, seeing the child as incorrigible, signs over the child's rights before they turn 20. Only on very rare occasions does an adult Little willingly sign that paperwork, and usually it's because they're in some other sort of trouble, and adoption is their only way out. They're in debt over their heads, or they're on the run because they committed a crime on their home island. Lots of different reasons, but none of them are ever good." You don't answer. No wonder adopted Littles are viewed so dimly here. Most of them earned their fate. All you did was refuse to marry someone you didn't even like, never mind love. 17 You're brooding now, staring out the open window. All the little feelings that made you so happy are background noise. The wind whips across your ear loudly, involuntarily tearing up your eyes if you turn your head too much. The sun on the horizon is blistering bright, forcing you to look away. And here in what looks like the downtown area of this little village, the air isn't fresh and clean, just a confusion of smells that remind you of your empty stomach. And at the center of it all is your frustrated, despondent, angry helplessness. How is this fair? How am I supposed to believe that Po is good and fair and just when he lets me suffer like this? I would have been better off jumping into the volcano and letting Pele decide my fate. The thoughts swirl through your mind. Mama, why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you protect me? I was your firstborn! Didn't you love me? I always knew Papa hated me, he clearly loved Armida more than me, but you were my shield, whenever he favored her over me, you were there to restore the balance... Why did you abandon me? Your tightly clenched fists tremble, and tears of rage fill your eyes. Damn you, Papa! I hope Armida gets taken too! I hope she has all her teeth taken out and gets her ankles cut, and I hope you're there to see it, you traitorous dog! See your golden child have her future stolen too, be humiliated and debased like I have been! I hope the whole of the village shames you into exile for being such a terrible father, and the image of Armida the helpless baby haunting you every minute until you draw your last lonely, miserable breath! DAMN you! The hate surges through you, and it feels good. It feels like being alive again. Like that little window of time you had, standing over Miranda's body, naked and covered in her blood, before the police came and took you off to prison. You hate Papa with every fiber of your being. What you did to that Amazon bitch, you'd do to him if you ever got the opportunity. In fact, you lust after that thought. Just one chance. After this miserable Observation is done, maybe you'll get that chance. Once you convince these giant monsters that you're no danger to them, you can be free again, free to return to the island and give Papa what he deserves for his treachery. And Mama too, for being such a coward, for not protecting you when you needed it most. You promise yourself in this moment to hang on to that thought, no matter what happens. One day, you'll see justice done to both of them for this, even if you have to get that justice yourself. If the police want to kill you after that, so be it. You'll see that day first, you swear. But first back to the present. Artis is still driving, and he's looking at you like he said something. Wait, he expects you to act like a child, else there'll be more misery at the restaurant. You try and muster up that cutesy voice you had at the grocery store. "What Daddy?" you ask. "I said that was an awfully grumpy little face you had on, Rosie! What's wrong?" You stuff the pacifier in your mouth. "Nuffin' Daddy!" "Are you sure? You seemed awfully upset after I told you about the Middles at the grocery." "It made me sad that there are lots of big people that can't take care of themselves and need to be babied." You're choosing your words carefully here, trying to at least perpetrate whatever mindset you had before the grocery store trip. "Why didn't that lady just adopt one of them instead of me?" "Supply and demand, Rosie. There are more Amazons who want Littles than the penal system can possibly supply, because most Amazons obey the law. Also, some people just want wild Littles, because they're nervous about adopting former criminals, even though they are put through rigorous etiquette training and whatever modifications deemed necessary for them to be safe to adopt. Of course, as widely publicized as your situation was, the demand for wild Littles will probably slack off for a while." Lot of good that does me. You suck on the pacifier a little bit. You know you have to get out of this mindset before you get to the restaurant. Simple thoughts. Simple feelings, you remind yourself. "Well I'm glad you're my Daddy now! You're much nicer that that mean lady." Maybe a complement will satisfy him enough to let you alone. "I'm glad you're my little girl now too." Something about his voice sounded off when he said that, but the medication is kicking in now, and it's hard to hold on to complicated thoughts. You let it drop from your mouth and stare out the window, watching all the blobs fly by. True to his word, Artis let you pick out your dinner from a children's menu at the restaurant. The waitress finds you adorable, and Artis weaves a little side-story to her about how your Em Oh Em Em Why passing away delayed your emotional development, which only increases her affection toward you. You play it up effortlessly, enjoying all the attention you're getting for acting like a silly toddler, making cute noises and playing with your food. After Artis pays the tab and you wave exaggerated bye-byes to the waitress, who kisses your cheek in return and tells you once more how adorable you are, he carries you back to the car and buckles you in. He gets in as well, and once the door is closed, he speaks up. "You were very, very good in there, Rosie. I'm proud of you!" "Fank you, Daddy!" You're in full character momentum now, no need to stop. "See how easy it is to make them believe that you're an Amazon girl, not a Little?" "Wosie a Am-ee-zon girl, Daddy!" He chuckles. "Of course you are, silly goose! And when we get home, a certain Am-ee-zon girl needs a bath and her jammies on, doesn't she?" "Aw but I don' wanna go night-night, Daddy!" "I didn't say you had to go night-night right away, silly. If you're a good girl for Daddy, once we get your jammies on, we can watch a movie, before sleepy-time, okay?" "Yay!" You thoughtlessly pee in your diaper and feel it swell ever so slightly. You barely noticed that you had to go before it started, but between the lingering anxiety medication and the warm glow of being doted on all throughout dinner, the thought hardly stays with you but a few seconds. It'll be a month before I can do anything about it anyway, why should I care now? It's "Daddy's" problem, right? When you get home, Artis draws you a luxuriously hot bath with sweet-smelling bath bubbles. He dons a much longer pair of latex gloves than the ones he uses for diaper changes, then takes off your clothes and settles you into the tub. It's so soothing, so relaxing, you can feel your arms and legs just turning to jelly in the heat. Artis reaches for a loofa and some soap, and you quickly realize why the long gloves as he begins to wash you, dipping his hand into the water halfway up his forearm, but stopping short of the edge of the glove. "We'll have to see about getting some bath toys tomorrow, maybe some other things for little Rosie to play with too! How's that sound?" "Mhmm." You're so relaxed, you can't even bother putting on a facade of caring. He probably could tell you he's taking you anywhere short of back to prison and it wouldn't blip on your radar right now. Once Artis is content with your current state of cleanliness and the water has just started to cool, he lifts you out gently and wraps you in a soft, fluffy towel. He carries you into the bedroom, lays you on an open diaper on the bed, then proceeds to rub lotion into your arms and legs and chest. The whole experience is heavenly, and by the time he's done your limbs feel like they're made of lead. Gods, if she had treated me like this, I could have been perfectly happy being her baby the rest of my life. "Fank you Daddy." The fake lisp aside, it's a genuine sentiment. He tapes your diaper up and slips a nightie on you. "You're welcome, Rosie. Feel good?" "Uh huh." "Good, let's go watch that movie." You don't last five minutes in his lap before sleep claims you.
  22. Corporate Takeover The sound of the doorbell ringing brought the quiet house to life. Jack walked past his wife's office to the front door, curious to see who was at their door at such an early hour. He peered through the peephole to see who was at his door and was intrigued by the sight of a delivery man, but he couldn't see exactly what the man was holding. Jack knew it was probably a package filled with more corporate documents for his wife to mull over and sign, but he couldn't help but get his hopes up that it was the delivery he had been waiting for all week long. "I got a package for Jack-" "That's me." Jack replied quickly, excited to see that it was indeed his parcel. "Sign here." The man stated, handing Jack a clipboard which he quickly signed. "Thanks, you have a good day!" "You too!" Jack said as he took the box from the man and turned around with it in tow, closing the door behind him with his foot. Once in the living room, he sat the large, but light box down onto the floor and called out for his wife to join him. "Hey, Kimi! It finally came!" "That's nice to hear you came, but what's in the box?" Kimi waltzed into the room, holding a mug of hot tea. "That's funny, but our order of diapers finally came! The ones I was telling you about! " Unlike other married couples, Jack and Kimi not only shared a deep love for each other, but they also shared a rather unique kink for diapers and ageplay which only served to bring them closer together. They both stared at the box for a moment until Kimi handed Jack a letter opener which he looked at. "How did you know?" "Because if it was more documents from my work, you wouldn't have been this excited and called out to me like a kid at Christmas." Kimi explained with a grin. "That's a good point." Jack replied with a chuckle and took the letter opener from his wife. With a few strategic swipes, he dissected the top of the box and peeled open the cardboard flaps, exposing the treasure which awaited both of them within. Normally, he'd only order a ten pack to see if a new diaper was worth stocking up on, but this brand looked different than all the others. It seemed to be revolutionary, like when ABU had produced the first diaper capable of handing five thousand milliliters, but there was so much more to the product than capacity and design. Whoever had done the photoshoot for this particular diaper had gone the extra length to photograph the model in an incredibly accurate recreation of a nursery. Jack recalled seeing a giant crib and a bunch of baby toys all sized up for the woman who had been picked to model the diapers. This level of detail screamed out to Jack when he was viewing the company's product page. If they had gone to such lengths to make the woman look like an actual baby, in an actual nursery, then maybe the diaper would feel just as babyish as the woman had looked. "Why did you order so many?" Kimi asked before taking a sip from her mug. "Because, only a princess like you deserves the best." Jack smiled up at his wife. "True." Kimi nodded and looked past her husband at an odd object sitting on top of the diapers. "What's that?" Sitting on top of the pre wrapped packages of diapers was something a bit different; a small bundle of papers. "Looks like a few pages of instructions came with the diapers." Jack said with a smile. "That's pretty funny. Like we don't know how to use diapers." Kimi chuckled. Jack nodded and quickly glanced over the first page before replying. "Actually, it looks like some sort of agreement that we can sign." "What? Like a physical Terms of Service agreement?" Kimi cocked an eyebrow. "Kind of, but the way it's written...It sounds more like a document that you sign to enter into a contest or something. It promises an experience like no other; A 'blissful adult baby experience' unmatched by other companies." "That sounds silly, but let's sign it!" Kimi stated, a grin on her face. After they both signed the document, a very bizarre thing occurred; the paper started glowing while simultaneously emitting a sonic pulse. The high pitched chirp brought both Kimi and Jack to their knees as they quickly covered their ears, shielding their ear drums from the agonizing frequency. Things only grew more painful as a bright light pierced into the living room, engulfing both himself and his wife. As time slowed, Jack felt like the energy was being ripped from his very being as every molecule in his body screamed out in torment. His head was pulsing with excruciating pain while his heart steadily started beating faster and faster until he couldn't even differentiate when it wasn't beating. Needless to say, it was beating faster than it ever had before. While his brain struggled to handle the sonic sound bombarding his brainwaves and his heart racing faster than a formula one race car, his kidneys were positively burning as every fiber of the organ was radiating an extreme heat. With his last conscious thought, he gazed over at the love of his life and saw her staring back at him as they both struggled to endure the excruciating pain. Kimi toppled over, her body being taken by the near blinding light. The sight of his beloved vanishing before his very eyes sapped his soul of the strength needed to fight the cosmic bombardment of his physical form. With what few thoughts were allowed to him, he realized that he had nothing left to fight for and allowed his body to succumb to the pain. Everything went black as he was absorbed by the beam of light. To Be Continued... This is a commission I wrote for my favorite married patrons on my Patreon. Hopefully, you guys enjoy this as it's a very dark tale. I'll be updating it fairly often, but if you can't wait for the next update then why not pledge to my Patreon so you can read the entire story? It's only $5 dollars to read what took a year to write. It's Christmas time. Why not spoiler yourself with a membership to my Patreon? You're worth $5 dollars, aren't you? https://www.patreon.com/user?u=6660213
  23. “Miss Parker?” Chloe snapped to attention, sitting up in her seat. “Yes, Thomas?” He stepped down from the podium and took off his horn-rimmed glasses. His brow furrowed as he breathed on the lenses and wiped them clean with a handkerchief. “It’s Professor Ulrich, Miss Parker. I asked you a question, but clearly you weren’t paying attention. Again.” She had been paying attention, just not to the class. “I’m sorry, Professor Ulrich.” She’d been fantasizing, as she often found herself lately, about him. “What was the question?” “I’m not inclined to make the whole class wait to give you a personal lecture. See me after class, Miss Parker.” She sank back into her seat, her feigned disappointment masking the secret delight that was washing over her. He wasn’t her type. Her initial reaction on the first day that had been that he was so old; after hearing several of the other girls had crushes on the psychology teacher, she had expected some hunky young stud. Professor Ulrich looked to be in his late forties, though someone had said he was 53, but she didn’t believe that. Her parents were only in their mid forties, and the idea of someone that was more than old enough to be her father turned her off. At first. But as the semester wore on, every weekend spent partying and fucking frat boys, she began to appreciate the handsome older gentleman she spent 90 minutes staring at every Tuesday and Thursday morning. If he was in his fifties, he stilled looked damn good, strong under his black turtlenecks and suit jackets, not overly muscled like the meat headed jocks that got drunk off their asses and plowed her fast and then passed out on her on Friday and Saturday nights. He still had a full head of thick, dark hair, with just a shock of grey at the temples and a thin beard he kept meticulously groomed. It wasn’t just his older appearance that drew in the 18-year-old’s interest. He exuded a maturity she didn’t see elsewhere, and compared to him, her peers, the male students, and even some of the younger male teachers, were boys, whereas Thomas, Professor Ulrich, was a man. The way he commanded his classroom full of otherwise rude and uninterested college kids was downright attractive to her in a way she didn’t fully understand. She watched him, once again finding herself unable to pay attention to the words he was saying, as she got lost in his body language while he strode confidently in front of the lecture hall. Suddenly, everyone was grabbing their bags and getting up all around her. He’d dismissed class, but not her. No, he wanted to see her after class. Privately. There were rumors, whispers really, that he’d had affairs with his students. There were never any names attached to these stories, and it was probably wishful thinking; she was definitely having some wishful thoughts as the lecture hall cleared and he returned to his desk. She got up, taking a moment to tug her shirt down to expose as much cleavage as possible. She’d started dressing more provocatively, especially in his class. Her short black skirt left little to the imagination, and her tight top exposed her flat stomach, and her new boobs, a graduation present from her mom, filled it out quite nicely. “You wanted to see me, Thomas?” she asked, twirling a strand of her auburn hair in her fingers as she sauntered up to his desk. “Professor Ulrich,” he reminded her. “I’m sorry. I just thought, since it’s after class and all…” “This is still my classroom. I’m still your instructor. You’re still my student, Miss Parker.” She shivered a bit as he called her his student, possessive almost. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, more sincerely but still a bit flirty, “Professor Ulrich.” She bit her lower lip. He studied her, but his face bore no interest on what she was laying on pretty thick. “Do you understand why you do that, Miss Parker?” “Do what?” she asked innocently, leaning forward, giving him a better view down her top. “If you paid any attention in my class at all, you might actually understand your actions.” “I’m sorry, I’m really better with one on one instruction. Maybe we could have a private session?” She put her hands on his desk across from his, slowly inching them forward. He didn’t flinch away, nor move to stop her. “I know what you’re trying to do, Miss Parker.” “I wouldn’t insult your intelligence.” The harsh rap of his wedding band against the wood stopped her as he tapped his ring finger on the desk. She knew he was married, and maybe she just hadn’t wanted to see it, but she’d never really noticed his wedding ring before. Not that that ever stopped most men. “But you’d insult my marriage?” She drew back. The words were annoyed, but his tone was not, and she faltered, the confidence she’d been playing with before failing her suddenly. “I- I’m sorry,” she stuttered. He stood up, picking up his briefcase. “I’m faithful to my wife, Miss Parker. Real men always are.” He started walking away. She looked at his desk, a yellow sticky note catching her eye. It was a time and an address. Chloe turned back to him to confirm it was for her, but he was already heading out the door, not looking back. She snatched up the note, reading it over again. She knew the street, though she’d never been there. It was in a really nice neighborhood. It said 9 p.m. but there was no date. Was it meant for tonight? Was it meant for her? * * * It took Chloe nearly a full five minutes of apprehensive indecisive shuffling on her feet before she rang the doorbell. Professor Ulrich went by a strict policy of 15 minutes early was on time, and on time was late, and she assumed that would be doubly true for this, so she finally forced herself to ring the doorbell on the massive, fancy door before her at 11 minutes of nine. The urge to run nearly overwhelmed her as soon as her finger hit the button, but running in the impractical four inch heels she’d picked out for this occasion would have been a joke. The door opened, not to reveal Professor Ulrich, but the most stunning woman Chloe had ever seen. It had to be Professor Ulrich’s wife. She knew immediately that this vision of a woman was the type of woman a man like Thomas Ulrich married, and the idea that he would even entertain the idea of cheating on this stunning creature with anyone, let alone her, seemed laughable. Her sleek, black evening gown screamed both expensive and custom, fitting to her voluptuous form perfectly. The schoolgirl look Chloe had been trying to emulate with her short pleated skirt and blouse suddenly seemed incredibly juvenile instead of sexy like she had planned. She had that ageless beauty of an actress that could play someone in their early thirties just as easily as someone in their fifties. Chloe realized that she had been a fool. Professor Ulrich hadn’t invited her here to sleep with her. He’d been serious about not cheating on his wife, and he’d invited her here to show her why, to show her what a naive child she had been. “I- I- I-” she stammered, unable to find words. She turned, meaning to flee. She’d drop his class; maybe drop out of school entirely. “Where do you think you are going?” the woman asked. Her voice was sultry, and carried the same authority and demand for respect as her husband’s did. Chloe stopped, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I’m at the wrong house.” “I don’t think you are, Miss Parker. Do come inside.” Chloe felt one last inclination to run, but instead she turned back and walked inside. Her parents were pretty well off, and her house growing up had been big and nice, but this place was, classy. Elegant. “Thomas. Our guest is here,” she called up the stairs. Professor Ulrich appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down over the carved banister. “Ah, Miss Parker. This is my wife, Doctor Renata Ulrich. Dear, this is one of my students, Miss Parker.” Chloe awkwardly extended her hand, unsure of what to do. “Charmed,” Renata said, daintily shaking her hand. Chloe had no clue what she was doing here. Professor Ulrich walked down the stairs wearing a dark grey suit. “Prof- Thomas,” she started. Her hosts shared a look, Renata covering her mouth to hide a smile. Chloe felt like a little girl again, trying to call her parents’ friends by their first names for the first time, and the Ulriches’ reactions were the same, chuckling to themselves about the little girl trying to be an adult. “Thomas,” she tried again, maintaining a level of confidence and assertiveness. “What is it, Miss Parker?” She wanted to know why he’d invited her here, but she had no idea how to ask. “Why- why am I here?” she stammered finally. He chuckled. “That’s an excellent question. Why did you come here?” he asked. “You left that note. That was for me? Right?” He didn’t answer, but Renata stepped in front of her. “You came here hoping to sleep with my husband.” Chloe gulped, audibly. “It’s alright. I don’t blame you. A lot of his students do. He’s a very attractive man.” Chloe followed her gaze to her teacher, unable to take her eyes off him. She still had no idea why she was here, or at least why they wanted her there, because they did seem to want her. “So you asked me here to…” she trailed off, hoping one of them would fill in the blanks for her. “You tried, poorly, to proposition your teacher, Miss Parker,” Thomas said, his tone not quite chiding, but his usual level of abruptness he used when talking to his students that weren’t quite keeping up with him. “I’m sorry,” she stammered quietly. “I’m a married man.” He gestured to his wife. “I make no effort to hide it.” He flashed her his wedding band. Chloe wondered briefly if this whole thing was just to prove to his wife that he was faithful, but Renata seemed more intent on her than him. “I told you I don’t cheat on my wife, and you showed up here anyway. What, then, were you hoping would happen?” She’d never felt so nervous in her entire life. “I don’t know.” Her mouth was completely dry and her voice felt small. “You’re scaring the poor thing,” Renata said. Her words seemed like they were meant to be reassuring, but her tone wasn’t. “We’re both faithful to each other,” he said, “but we do, on occasion, play with others.” Chloe hadn’t realized she had stopped breathing until she started again when he said that, and she sucked in air in relief. He’d taken awhile to get the point, but she dared to let herself feel a little flattered. “You want to have a three way?” This seemed to tickle Renata quite a bit, and a wry smile cracked across Thomas’s face. Of course, people like this would have a more classy word than ‘three way.’ Menagerie? No, that wasn’t it, but it was something close, and she kept her mouth shut for fear of making a greater fool of herself. “No, not a ‘three way,’” Renata said. “A ‘three way’ makes each party seem equal,” he said. “You are more of an amusement, something to keep things fresh.” Chloe was crestfallen. She’d allowed herself for a moment to believe that her teacher was actually interested in her, but no, she’d been right in her initial reaction when she showed up and their was his gorgeous wife at the door. This was just some game they played, and she was some sort of pawn, a toy, in their relationship. “I think- I should go,” she stammered. “Aw, already?” Renata asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice, but not a lot. “You already came to your married professor’s house, hoping something would happen, and you’re really going to turn around and go back to your dull life now?” Chloe faltered. Renata took her arm, gently but forcefully. “Let’s get you downstairs.” Alarm bells were ringing in Chloe’s head as she allowed herself to be guided down the hall and down a set of stairs, but she made no move to stop or protest. A chandelier over a pool table and recessed lighting over the full bar in the corner lit the lavishly furnished basement. She stumbled across the marble tile floor in her heels, but Renata kept her steady and moving towards a lone door at the end of the basement. There was a key in the door, though it was already ajar, and Thomas opened the door for them. She walked in blind into the darkness, and it wasn’t until the door shut behind her and she heard the loud click of the lock turning that the lights turned on. Dim lamps set in the wall all came on, revealing what could only be described as a sex dungeon. Chloe had seen Fifty Shades of Grey; she’d explored the darker recesses of the internet. She knew exactly what she’d just walked into. And had just been locked into. Finally, too late, her legs obeyed her, and she tried to stop, to turn around, but Renata’s grip tightened on her arm. “Ah ah ah. Too late for that now.” “She was rather easy,” Thomas said, as though Chloe wasn’t even there. Chloe reached into her purse, fumbling for her phone, but Renata easily took it from her and handed it to her husband, who reached in and pulled out her phone, turning it off. “Please. My friends are expecting me.” “No. No they are not,” Thomas said. “You were expecting to spend the night fucking my husband,” Renata reminded her. “I wasn’t, I swear.” “Hush, grownups are speaking,” Renata said, as if shushing a child. And she felt like a child, small, her arm still held easily in Renata’s grip. Chloe bit her tongue as Renata turned her attention back to her husband. “Let’s get her over here and see what’s interested in you this time.” “Move her here,” he said, beckoning her forward. “Give me her wrists.” Thomas took Chloe’s arm from Renata while the woman took her other arm. “What are you going to do with me?” she dared to ask as Thomas fastened a wide leather cuff around her wrist. “Get her gag, would you dear?” Thomas asked his wife, ignoring the girl who was finally starting to put up a struggle, albeit a useless one. “Gladly,” she said, returning with a big black ballgag. “Open wide.” “Wait! What armmph!” she didn’t get the chance to finish as Renata put the 3” silicone ball to her lips and pulled on the straps until the ball wedged itself behind her teeth as she tried to protest. “That’s much better,” Renata said, strapping it tightly in place while the girl tried to adjust to the intruder in her mouth, foaming and fuming uselessly. “Your generation never knows when to just shut up and listen,” Thomas said as he finished cuffing the girl and hung her chained wrists from a hook in the ceiling. Had the poor girl not already been in staggeringly high heels, she would have been forced to remain on her tiptoes. “Mmmmph!” “I know, you bit off more than you can chew,” Renata said, patting her cheek patronizingly. “Now let’s see what you are trying so hard to show off,” Thomas said. Her eyes widened above her gag as he took out a pair of sheers, the metal blades glinting in the light as he approached. She started struggling, swinging back and forth and trying to back away as she whined into her gag. “Hold still,” Renata said, grabbing her and holding her torso. Still the girl kicked her feet, hanging painfully by her wrists. “I know you’re not the brightest girl, but surely you’re smart enough to know that even if I wanted to cut you, there would be nothing you could do to stop me, and if you continue to struggle, it’s more likely for me to accidentally slice you open. Now stay still.” The logic didn’t sink into her panicking brain, but his commanding tone at the end did, and she fought to stay still, shaking only a little as he took the sheers and started cutting downward through her blouse. Renata peeled back the two halves of the shirt, exposing her red lace Victoria’s Secret push up bra. Chloe had thought Professor Ulrich would like it. It was a favorite among the frat boys, for sure. But Thomas Ulrich was no frat boy, and both he and his wife scrutinized it as they would a piece of art where it was clear the artist was trying, but the end result was less than impressive. “Your lingerie is doing so much work,” Renata said, running her slender fingers along the lace, pausing to squeeze Chloe’s left breast through the material. Chloe found herself blushing, even more so at the knowing smile that crossed the woman’s face as she felt her breast. “Fake cleavage, fake breasts. You’re trying so hard to be a real woman, aren’t you?” “Mmmm,” Chloe gave a low moan that wasn’t really a response to the question as her blush deepened. Her mom had gotten her breast implants for her 18th birthday right before her graduation from high school, pushing her modest B that the high school football team made snide remarks about to a impressive D that all the college boys loved, fake or not. “There are more and more fake breasts in my classroom every year,” Thomas said with a disappointed sigh. “Why would you do this to yourself?” Renata asked. Chloe couldn’t respond as the better and naturally endowed woman pulled her bra down, freeing her breasts. She squeezed them, her fingers digging into the silicon filled sacks beneath the subcutaneous tissue. “Whom are you fooling?” she asked, this time seeming to directly address the helpless girl. Chloe couldn’t meet her gaze. She looked down, her cheeks scarlet, and she was forced to watch as the woman played with her fake tits, kneading them with an almost disappointed anger. “Feel these,” Renata said to her husband. “I know,” he said, taking an offered tit in his hand. “It’s a travesty.” He lifted her breast, running his other hand on the underside until his fingers found the surgical scar. “You might have grown into an actually well developed woman one day. But now, you’ll always be a clown.” She found herself nodding, moaning into the ballgag. She’d never regretted the boob job before, but now she found herself wishing she’d never gotten it done. “They say the modern surgery doesn’t rob you of any feeling, but I can tell you they’re wrong,” Renata told the girl, flicking her nipples, which had stiffened under all the attention, good and hard. “Mmmph?” Chloe asked. “Your breasts are a very sensitive erogenous zone, with thousands of nerves all sending signals to your pleasure center. Even with so many, why would you want to rob yourself of any of them?” As she talked, she turned around and walked over to a shelf, coming back with a pair of alligator teeth nipple clamps. “Mmf! Nnf!” Chloe cried, shaking her head, but Thomas grabbed her by her hair, holding her head still. “You stupidly got it in your head that these big fake tits would help you find a good man.” “Do you think my husband finds those silicone filled balloons attractive?” Renata asked her as she opened and closed the sharp little teeth in front of Chloe’s face. “No I do not.” He ignored her gagged screams of pain as his wife closed the first clamp around her right nipple, turning to his wife and pulling back the shoulder strap of her breast, pulling it down and revealing more of Renata’s full, luscious breast, and he leaned over her, kissing it. She moaned in pleasure as she tilted back her head, reaching around her husband to Chloe’s other breast, tracing the jagged teeth across her flesh. “You’ve robbed yourself of peak pleasure,” Renata said, her voice husky. Her husband pulled her breast out and his mouth found her nipple and she moaned louder, snapping the clip closed around their plaything’s other nipple. “MMMMMMPH!” Chloe’s nipples were on fire. But the pain ignited something else in her, a fire in her loins, building slowly. Part of her couldn’t imagine if her breasts were any more sensitive. Part of her hated herself for knowing she’d now never feel that extra heightened sensitivity. Thomas pulled himself away from his wife, and Chloe saw her breast hanging out of a black bra that screamed both custom and expensive, making her more ashamed of her red Victoria’s secret number. Renata’s breast sagged, a trait Chloe previously would have thought unattractive, but now she saw that gravity’s hold old the mature woman’s bosom gave it a realness, an authenticity that was incredibly sexy. Her nipple stood proudly from her big, dark aureola, glistening with her husband’s saliva. A man like that would never be drawn to suck on her fake breasts. “Enjoying the show?” Renata asked her, not bothering to put her breast away as she flicked Chloe’s clamped nipple, earning another ear piercing scream from the gagged girl. “Of course she is,” Thomas said. He composed himself, removing his glasses again to clean them. “Do you remember, Miss Parker, when I asked you if you understood why you tried to come onto me?” She mumbled an incoherent response, barely able to pay attention to anything besides Renata toying with her abused breasts, but Professor Ulrich’s voice drew her in regardless as he continued. “It was another lecture you weren’t paying attention to.” “She was probably fantasizing about you,” Renata said, glancing up at her husband as she opened and closed the clamps, drawing tiny drops of blood from the poor girl’s tender buds. “Oh, undoubtedly. And if she was paying attention to my lecture, she might have understood why.” He returned his glasses to his face, adopting his lecturing posture and demeanor, no different from if he had a full lecture hall full of students before him instead of a single girl, half naked and bound and gagged. “The Electra Complex. You may be more familiar with its male counterpart, the Oedipus Complex. Or, one such as you might not be familiar with it all. But in short, it’s the principle where little girls fall in love with their fathers. Now, some grow out of this, but many don’t, and they find themselves attracted to men like their father, or sometimes just older men in general, because a part of them still needs a father figure, and they’re confused, sexually, and try to fill both roles at once.” Chloe had actually at least heard of the Oedipus Complex and was vaguely familiar with the principle. More than that, she was familiar with the idea of girls marrying guys that were just like their fathers. Of course, other than the age, Professor Ulrich was nothing like her father. He was, in her eyes, superior to her father in every way, and all she knew was that she wanted him. And that she didn’t deserve him. “You’re so confused,” Renata told her as she pressed Chloe’s boobs together. “Nnhmmm,” Chloe moaned, nodding, her drool dripping onto her tortured breasts. “You came off to college with your big fake tits and your big girl underwear, and it’s just a sexual paradise. But it wasn’t satisfying,” Professor Ulrich went on. “No. You set your sights on my husband.” Renata’s tone shifted to cruel, and the pinched the clips even tighter around Chloe’s sore nipples, making the girl scream. “You thought all this,” he gestured to her hanging body, with slight disdain, “was worth my time. How full of yourself you were, prancing around in your skimpy outfits.” He grabbed her skirt, lifting it just a little, the crotch of her matching red lace thong revealed under the fabric. “I’m so tired of all you girls coming into my classroom with your tits hanging out and flashing your underwear.” Renata grabbed her skirt, yanking it down her thighs. Chloe shrieked and tried to shake her legs to keep her skirt up, but Renata gave her a stinging slap on her ass. “None of that, slut,” she chided her, letting the skirt fall, the fabric pooling around her ankles. Renata rubbed her freshly spanked cheek, grabbing the back of her thong and pulling it upward, giving the girl a painful wedgie. “Does it feel good, having your ass cheeks hanging out?” Chloe shook her head. There were tears streaming down her cheeks. “Does this make you feel sexy?” Renata pulled the front of her thong up, tugging the fabric up between her labia. The girl choked out a sob and shook her head. “That’s right. No one’s impressed with this.” Chloe’s body jerked forward and she scrambled to get her feet back under her as Renata yanked her thong forward, ripping it clean off, exposing her bald pussy. “I’ll never understand this,” Thomas said, scrutinizing her crotch. “With these fake tits and hairless cunt, you can’t even tell if she’s hit puberty yet,” Renata added. Chloe had gotten complete laser hair removal down there some time ago. It was easier than constantly waxing, and she thought the guys liked it smooth, but now she felt foolish and childish. “She’s quite aroused,” Renata noted, running her fingers between her legs. “Mmmmm,” Chloe moaned. She was. Her body was responding to the humiliation at the hands of her captors in a way she didn’t understand. That, and the stimulation to her breasts, she was sopping wet, rubbing her thighs together with desperate need. “Look at you,” Thomas said, stepping in close, grabbing her chin and lifting her face to stare at him in the eyes. She thrust herself forward involuntarily, but he just tightened his grip on her chin, controlling her. “You’re a child playing at being an adult, and doing it so poorly. The more worthless you realize you are, the more desperate you become.” “Mmmph!” Renata slipped a finger into her dripping vagina, ramming her ring finger all the way up so the girl could feel her wedding ring up at her entrance. Chloe screamed, thrusting her pelvis at Renata’s hand and dancing on her feet. “Settle down,” Thomas said, grabbing her nose and pinching it shut. The girl thrashed and foam flew around her ballgag as she struggled to breath around the massive intruder. “Easy, slut,” Renata said, slowly pulling her finger out. “Do you think a little harlot like you deserves to get off?” She knew the answer was no, and she shook her head no even as she pleaded incoherently through her gag to cum. “You certainly don’t.” Renata pulled her finger out, wiping the girl’s juices over her lips and ballgag, forcing her to smell her arousal, to taste her need. “I’m a teacher, Miss Parker. First and foremost, I am always an educator,” Professor Ulrich told her as he reached up and began unfastening her cuff from the hook suspending her. “Even to pupils as dumb as you,” Renata said, holding her still as he lowered her arms in front of her, her wrists still cuffed together. “Yes, and for girls as stupid as you, extra measures must be taken to make sure you learn your lesson.” A sense of dread was slowly overriding Chloe’s frenzy of horniness, though her loins still ached for attention. But as she was led forward, she dared not try to run or resist. Her wrists were finally uncuffed and she was roughly spun around, only to have the remains of her shirt and bra stripped off of her, leaving her completely nude save for her heels. The impulse was sudden and she brought her arms up to cover her breasts and pussy. This brought another laugh from both of her tormentors. “What do you think you’re doing?” “She’s already learning shame. And you certainly have a lot to be ashamed of. But you don’t get to cover up here.” Her wrists were grabbed again and she was thrust forward. She stumbled and fell, catching herself on a table, where one of them grabbed her wrists, lashing them down, and the other grabbed her ankles, spreading them and cuffing them to the legs of the table, leaving her helpless bent over the side of the table, completely exposed and vulnerable. “There are still places in the United States where corporal punishment is legal. Regrettably, it hasn’t been used in universities in many years, though if they knew then how immature the students were becoming, that might not have been the case,” Thomas explained. Chloe struggled, testing her new bonds as she heard him pacing about behind her. “We’re going to make a special exception for you,” Renata whispered in her ear, stroking her hair in a manner that was anything but reassuring. “You need to be punished.” Even having guessed at what was coming and hearing the whoosh of something heavy moving through the air at high speeds behind her, she was unprepared for the pain of the paddle striking her bare ass. She’d never been spanked as a child before, and though one guy had tried it in bed, they’d been little taps with his hands and she hadn’t been a fan. This was pure agony. Her pert buttocks rippled from the impact, and her pale, smooth flesh turned white for the briefest of moments before it flooded with color, turning crimson. Chloe wailed into her gag, her eyes wide, the pain of her tender nipples, still tightly clamped and pressed painfully beneath her body against the hard surface of the table, completely forgotten as the stinging pain across her backside overwhelmed her senses. She was still screaming from the first blow when he spanked her again, her gagged cry ratcheting up several decibels. “You brought this on yourself,” Renata told the writhing, screaming girl as her husband continued to rain blows down on her red butt. “Little girls need to know their place. A pathetic little slut like you shouldn’t be hitting on real men that are so clearly out of your league.” Through her screaming, Chloe tried to nod and yell that Renata was right, that she shouldn’t have flirted with her professor. She quickly lost track of how many times she’d been struck. Her ass and the backs of her thighs were on fire, and in her mind she’d been spanked hundreds times when the blows finally subsided. The girl was a blubbering mess, tears and snot and drool streaming down her face, a puddle forming on the table beneath her. “What a mess you are,” Renata said. She ran her finger through the trail of tears, licking it off. “Mmhmmph,” she nodded. Thomas freed her ankles while Renata untied her wrists and stood her up. Chloe could barely stand on her own, and she quickly crumpled into Renata’s arms, staring up at her captor and moaning. “Don’t tell me you’re done after one little spanking? You, who so brazenly came onto my husband, are now like putty in my arms.” “Mmmm.” “We’re just getting started with you. You forfeit the opportunity to back out the moment you rang our doorbell,” he said, grabbing her in his strong arms and pulling her up. Her feet dragged uselessly across the floor as he carried her along. She screamed again into her ballgag as he sat her down in a chair, her abused ass lighting up with fresh pain as she sat down, but she was helpless to get up on her own. Thomas walked away and Renata came over, crouching in front of her. “Your garish make up is running all over the place.” She started wiping away the mess. “You used too much and you applied it poorly anyways.” Chloe nodded remotely. She wanted, no, needed to get up, not to try and escape, that was well beyond her reach and she knew it, but to relieve the pressure on her butt. She raised her arms weakly, but Renata easily pushed them back down to her sides. Desperate, the girl threw her weight to the side and toppled off the chair onto the cold, hard cement floor. “Where are you going?” Renata asked, not the least bit concerned. “Nnnph.” “Come here.” “Hmmph,” she moaned again, looking up at her. The woman looked so huge from this angle, only serving to make her feel even smaller and more pathetic in comparison. “Come here,” Renata said again, slower and sterner. Chloe moaned as she tried to get up. “No. Crawl. That’s much more fitting for you.” Chloe sobbed again and started crawling. The floor was fortunately smooth, but still her breasts and clamped nipples dragged agonizingly across the ground as she pulled herself along towards the woman. “How does it feel?” she asked as Chloe reached her feet, staring up at her. “Pmmrmmf.” The girl found her eyes drawn up the woman’s dress, where even in the dim light she thought she could make out the outline of her stockings leading up to a garter belt. “Curious, are you?” She nodded, slowly. “Of course you are. Perhaps later. But for now, we’re going to have some more fun with you.” She groaned questioningly, only to feel Thomas grab her arms and pull them behind her back. She yelped and put up a futile struggle, but a stinging slap to her sore ass stopped her in her tracks. “Submit,” he said simply, and she lay still as he began to tie thin rope around her wrists and arms. Scarcely more than an hour ago, she thought she was going to have an affair with this man. She had dared to believe he’d find her young body attractive and a welcome change from his wife. If the dumb frat boys she usually fucked even knew her tits were fake, they didn’t care. She thought she was hot, desirable, quite a catch. Now she knew she was wrong. She still had no idea what she was, a little girl playing at being a woman, a piece of meat, a mere toy for these vastly superior people to play with. But she knew that her treatment had awoken something, some primal truth, deep down, and there was something so right about the way she was being treated. Everything they’d told her, that they’d done with her, she’d deserved, and a hungry part of her needed more. Her cunt (an ugly word she’d never before used to describe her pussy, but that is what she thought of it now) had never ached for attention like it did now. It was like there was a wire straight from her abused nipples to her cunt, and every word they said to her sent an extra spark straight between her legs. Thomas bound her quickly and tightly, expertly tying an intricate shibari harness on the limp girl. She moaned in soft protest when he manipulated her body, putting more pressure on her breasts, but she put up no other resistance. “The ropes suit you nicely,” Renata informed her as her husband bound their plaything. “They remind you that you’re completely helpless, totally out of your own control.” She nodded, another torrent of slobber spilling past the rubber ball wedged in her mouth as she tried to respond, drool raining down on her freshly bound tits. “Tut tut,” Renata chided, wiping her chin. Chloe moaned again as she tended to her breasts. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Renata wiped her chin again and reached behind her head, unstrapping the gag. It came out with a wet pop and the girl worked her aching jaw. “Nnn. Aank you.” “No one said you could speak,” Renata said, putting her finger to the girl’s lips. “She can’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut,” Thomas said, working on binding her legs. “No, she can’t. Here, hold onto this until I find something better to occupy your mouth.” Renata forced the cloth she’d been wiping up the Chloe’s drool with into her mouth, working it in until she probably wouldn’t have been able to spit it out even if she had dared to do so. “Nnf,” she moaned softly. “Yes, that’s better, and that takes care of your drool problem.” Chloe tried to adjust to her knew gag, struggling to keep it from going into the back of her throat. She’d just managed to get her gag reflex under control when she was suddenly lifted up. Thomas and Renata worked together to suspend her again from the ceiling, dangling on her tiptoes. The ropes pulled tighter, but distributed her weight evenly. Chloe looked down at herself, her big fake tits thrust out obscenely from having her elbows tied together, forcing her chest out. The ropes dug in tight around they’re base, and they hung out like overripe fruit, starting to turn purple from lack of circulation and bulging like balloons. She had a weird thought that if the clips were removed, they’d suddenly deflate rapidly, cartoonishly. The rest of her body was crisscrossed with more rope, with her captors putting the final touches on her bondage. She watched, wide eyed, as she first felt and then saw one of them passing a rope between her thighs. Her cunt quivered in anticipation and she moaned as she felt the coarse fibers gliding higher and higher between her legs as Renata’s hand pulled the rope up and looped it around one of the ropes around her waist. The woman started pulling it back down, and the rope was tugged taught, burying itself between her engorged nether lips. Chloe screamed into the cloth packed in her mouth as the rope rubbed across her clit. “Not too excited,” Renata warned her. “You’re not allowed to cum.” She spread the helpless girl’s labia and reached under the rope, grazing her nail over her entrance, and then flicked lightly at her clit, making her scream again as she thrust her hips forwards. “My wife said you’re not allowed to cum,” Professor Ulrich said, grabbing the ropes at her hips and holding her still as she desperately tried to thrust forward. “And you will obey her.” Chloe whined into her gag and nodded, trying to reassert control over her body’s depraved urges. It wasn’t easy as Renata wedged the remaining rope also deep in her cunt and back up between her butt cheeks, tying it off tightly. They both stepped back, admiring their work. Chloe hung between them, trussed up like a turkey and completely helpless, practically shaking as it took every ounce of self-control she had to not hump her crotchrope until she came like a fountain. “Your rope work is good,” Renata complimented. “Thank you. You set the bar high.” She smiled. “I try.” “But her gag could use work.” “Oh, she won’t spit that out.” “I have no doubt. But aesthetically, it’s a bit of a mess,” he said. “I suppose you’re right. A simple enough fix.” Renata selected a thick white cloth and then started prodding the cloth in Chloe’s mouth deeper in, packing it into her cheeks until they both bulged evenly. She swiftly tied the cloth neatly over the girl’s mouth and nose, completing her gag. “Much better,” Thomas said. He was setting something up across the room in front of their plaything. “Thank you. Dessert?” “Just a moment.” He finished setting up a tripod and turned on a camera mounted on it. “There we are.” Renata turned to Chloe. “We didn’t get to our dessert before you showed up to try and fuck my husband. Now you’re going to wait down here for us to finish. Remember, you don’t get to cum, slut.” Thomas tapped the glowing red light on the camera, just to show the girl that they were watching, and then he held out his arm to his wife. “Shall we?” “Of course.” She took his arm. Chloe heard the click of Renata’s heels and softer steps of his loafers as they walked away behind her, and then the door shutting followed by the heavy click of the lock. They’d left her down there, in their sex dungeon. They’d casually gone off to have dessert while she hung there, completely tied up and gagged, with only the order for her not to cum despite the aching need and the crotchrope tantalizing her, and the little light on the camera to remind her to behave. Had the camera not been their, she would have started humping the rope the second the door locked behind them. She knew it. What they’d done to her in such a short time had gotten her all hot and bothered like nothing ever before. They’d told her not to, but they’d known they couldn’t trust her. They’d known she would succumb to her base desires even before she had, and they’d left the camera. It was enough, even in their absence, for her to at least consider trying to refrain. She took deep breaths, the cloth over the lower half of her face rising and falling slightly with each breath as she tried to calm herself. But still she found herself wiggling her hips slightly, making the ropes dance between her legs. Not just Professor Ulrich, Renata too had done a great job with the rope work, binding her so that she could very easily get herself off, if she wanted. If she lost control. There’d been no threat, no promise of a punishment if she should fail to restrain herself and cum. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in all the strange devices that could be used to torture her. Canes, floggers and whips that all looked like they’d make the spanking she got earlier feel like child’s play. All manner of restraints and gag that could be used on her. Alien looking things she couldn’t even fathom a use for, but she knew it wouldn’t be good for her. Her eyes kept being drawn back to the glowing red light on the camera. She forced herself to be still, having been unconsciously grinding the rope in her cunt again. She kept telling herself she wasn’t allowed to cum, and that just made her hotter. She wasn’t used to not getting what she wanted. Her life had been filled with instant gratification. Now she might not ever get gratification again, and the mere prospect was driving her wild. Each time, she’d edge herself closer before pulling herself back from the brink. Despite her nakedness in the cool air of the basement dungeon, she was dripping with sweat. The tight ropes encircling her body grew damp. She blinked sweat out of her eyes and chewed on her gag as she forced herself to stand still. She fixated on the camera lens, reminding herself that they were watching, that they would know, and, most importantly, that she wasn’t allowed to cum. “MMMMMPH!” she gave a frustrated scream and thrashed against her bonds, struggling for all she was worth. The pulled and strained, kicking her bound legs about. Her tantrum only succeeded in working her up again, leaving her panting beneath her gag as she got her feet back under her. Her hips started to rock again, and she made no effort to stop herself as the crotchrope rubbed between her legs. “Mmmmmmm. Mmf! Mmf! Mmf!” She froze, hearing the door open behind her. She was so close! “No self control.” Chloe craned her neck to look back over her shoulder, her eyes wide over her thick gag. Thomas and Renata stood in the door, Thomas staring at her, and Renata staring at a tablet in her hand. Chloe could just make out her own bound form suspended on the screen. She had no clue how long they’d left her, easily long enough for them to have dessert, for sure, and then they must have come down and watched her, waiting for her to finally succumb to her base desires and interrupt her just before she finally achieved release. “Are you allowed to cum?” Renata asked. Chloe shook her head furiously. “Hmmunnph.” “And were you trying to cum?” Her cheeks burned scarlet above her gag. “Mmmhmmph.” “Even though you know you aren’t allowed to cum?” Chloe found herself nodding again, blushing furiously. “Mmhmmph.” The pair circled her, slowly walking around in front. Her head snapped from side to side, wondering what they had in store for her next. Technically, she hadn’t cum, but she feared her intent was enough to warrant another punishment. “Oh my. Look at these.” Renata reached out and hefted one of the girl’s swollen boobs in her palm. By now it was a deep shade of purple, bulging out obscenely. Thomas took the other one in his hands, the taut flesh cold and clammy from lack of circulation. Chloe could only look down and watch. Her tits were largely numb, but each little movement was a dull ache that radiated down to her core. “Hold still,” Thomas told her. He left his wife playing with her tits and came back with a short but very sharp looking knife. Chloe started hyperventilating behind her gag as he approached with the blade, but she fought to stay still. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, but her eyes remained fixated on the sharp edge mere millimeters from her flesh as he skillfully cut through the rope binding her tits. “Mmmmmph!” she cried as blood flowed back into her breasts. “That’s nothing,” Renata said. She struck Chloe across the underside of her boobs with a riding crop that Chloe hadn’t even noticed her pick up. “NNNNNPH!” she shrieked even louder as an angry red stripe appeared two inches below her nipples. Renata placed the crop under her chin, lifting her head to look into her wide eyes. “You couldn’t even wait for an hour before you were humping that rope between your legs to get off like an animal.” Chloe nodded hard, whining into her gag. The crop came down hard again across her tits and she screamed again in pain. Her thighs were slick with her arousal, her cunt dripping around the soaked rope as Thomas examined it. “Pitiful.” “You are a pathetic, sex starved little slut, aren’t you?” CRAAAACK! “MMMMMMMPH!” The crop exploded across her tits again, leaving another long red welt. Hot tears streamed down her face, soaking into her gag. Renata traced her finger along the fresh welts. “You’re quite the little pain slut too.” She flicked the crop across her cunt, and Chloe winced. “You’re really regretting these big fake tits right now, aren’t you?” Chloe nodded, though she couldn’t really imagine her breasts being any more sensitive than they were right now. Her eyes widened as she watched her captor reach for her nipple clamp. She started shaking her head, whining and pleading into her gag. “Oh yes. Remember this.” Renata pinched the clamp, pulling it off. “HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNPHHH!!!” The pain was intense as blood rushed back into her nipple. She writhed in her bonds, screaming, shaking and thrashing as if she could get away from the pain. The crotchrope rubbed against her clit hard as she thrashed, the pain melding with the pleasure into something indescribable. For a second, she saw stars. Renata waited until the girl calmed down, hanging limply in her bonds. Without any warning, she removed the other nipple clamp. Even the memory of the pain of the first one still so fresh in her memory didn’t prepare Chloe for the experience again. She blacked out for a second, her brain briefly shutting off from pure stimuli overload. “Hey!” The snapping of fingers in front of her face brought round, and Chloe opened her eyes, staring at the two people who had shattered her whole world. She moaned weakly, hanging limp in her bondage. “You don’t get to check out yet,” Thomas said. “We’re not finished with you,” Renata said. They pulled her down and laid her on the floor while they started cutting her free of the ropes. Even as she was freed she just laid there on the floor, waiting for whatever else they had in store for her. Lastly, the cloth over her mouth was untied. She looked up at Professor Ulrich as he took it away, not even trying to spit out the cloth still wedged in her mouth. He reached between her lips and tugged it out of her dry mouth. She coughed, working her jaw, unsure if she should thank him or just keep her mouth shut. She wasn’t left to contemplate long, before she was roughly flipped over and Renata held an open water bottle over her mouth. Lukewarm water gushed into her throat and she choked and spluttered, desperately trying to swallow it, not realizing exactly how thirsty she was until that moment. “Drink up,” Renata said, holding the bottle until it was completely drained. Probably half of it ended up in her hair and in a puddle around her head, and Chloe just lay there, coughing. “You’re a mess,” Renata said, her tone cold and harsh. “Get up,” Professor Ulrich said. Chloe scrambled to get her legs under her. She was still in her heels, and only her ridiculous 4-inch heels, and the collapsed immediately, sprawling at their feet. Something in her broke. She started sobbing, pressing her head against the cold, hard cement. Her thighs and loins were warm and wet, and she realized she was pissing herself. The couple watched the puddle spreading from the crumpled heap of a girl. Renata sniffed disdainfully. They just let her cry in her mess for several minutes, until Renata finally took a step forward and put her foot under the girl’s head and lifted her up. “Look at yourself.” Chloe sniffled as she looked down at herself, over her big, fake, swollen, breasts crisscrossed with welts, her body covered in rope marks, her bald cunt engorged and puffy and glistening with her barely contained arousal, her thighs wet and sticky with her own urine, and the heels strapped to her feet she could no longer even stand in. “How old are you?” Professor Ulrich asked. “Eighteen,” she said softly, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Speak up when talking to an adult,” Renata said sternly. “Eighteen,” she said again, forcing herself to speak clearly. “Legally an adult,” he said. “You don’t look like an adult,” she said. “You certainly don’t conduct yourself like an adult.” “No. Look at yourself,” Renata repeated. “Big fake tits, can’t even keep yourself from humping a rope, no hair on your snatch, pissing yourself. No, you’re not an adult.” Chloe started crying harder. Some small rational part of her brain knew she should be defending herself. Yes, she’d hit on this woman’s husband and had come here, but they’d tied her up and tortured her, some of this was on them. But that rationale part of her brain was silenced by another growing part of her mind that said she deserved this, and that part of her relished in it. “What are you?” Chloe had no idea what they wanted from her. She shrugged after a moment, still sniffling. “You’re a big, helpless baby. Somewhere you got it in your head that you were a big girl who could make it in the world as an adult, but you were wrong, weren’t you?” She sobbed, nodding. “What are you?” Professor Ulrich asked. “I- I- I’m a baby,” she managed before bursting into a fresh bout of hysterics. “Yes you are. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up and into something more appropriate.” They picked up the shivering, crying mess of a girl and dragged her across the room to a basin set in the floor. There was no longer any need to restrain her, she laid against the wall as they hosed her down with cold water, washing away her sweat and juices and pee. She was roughly toweled off and her limp body laid out on a matt on the floor. “Pay attention. Watch what I’m doing.” Thomas had to lift her head forward so she could look down at Renata as the woman kneeled in front of her. “Let’s get rid of these, first of all.” Renata unstrapped her heels and pulled them off, tossing them aside like garbage. Chloe watched as the last bit of adulthood was stripped from her. Either she was passed the point of tears or she had no more tears to cry, because she watched dry-eyed and silent. Renata reached behind her and pulled out a thick white rectangle. Even as she started unfolding it with a noisy crinkling sound, Chloe couldn’t fathom what it was. It wasn’t until the object was completely unfolded into its hourglass shape with its smooth plastic backing on one side and soft white padding on the other that it finally clicked in her mind. It was a diaper. “You peed on my floor. Now I have to put you back in diapers where you belong so you don’t have any more accidents.” Chloe’s cheeks burned with shame. She needed to be kept in diapers. Renata kneeled between the girl’s splayed legs, easily lifting her butt up off the matt and sliding the diaper under her bruised butt. “And because I’m a responsible adult and you, pathetic little baby that you are, will use your diapers, I have to make sure you don’t get a rash.” Renata squirted some oil on her hands and started rubbing it over Chloe’s loins. The girl’s body instantly responded, her hips rolling and a low moan escaping from her lips as the woman rubbed oil over her cunt. Renata slapped the back of her bruised thigh, eliciting a yelp from the girl. “Baby’s don’t get to cum.” “Please,” she said, unable to help herself. Renata grabbed something else and tossed it to her husband. He deftly caught it and forced it into the girl’s mouth. Chloe realized it was a pacifier. “Little girls should be seen, and not heard,” he said. “Don’t you dare spit that out,” Renata told her as she resumed rubbing in the oil, lifting her legs and applying it to her backside. Chloe bit down hard on the oversized bulb of the pacifier in her mouth, moaning as the cool oil was rubbed into her abused ass and thighs. Renata lowered her back down onto the thick diaper and sprinkled some baby powder over her crotch. She pulled the front of it up between her legs and taped it in place, sealing her cunt in a diaper. “See, isn’t that much better than that silly piece of string you were trying to pass off as underwear?” Renata asked. Her husband lifted the diapered girl up into a sitting position and Renata moved out of the way, revealing a mirror. Chloe’s hair was still wet and matted down to her head and her tits were still battered and bruised and there were still fresh rope marks all over her body, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the diaper. It was so big and juvenile and humiliating. She shifted, turning to try and see her ass. Her tits might have been fake, but she’d always had a great booty. Now it was completely enveloped in the infantile garment. “That’s much more fitting for you,” Professor Ulrich said. She looked up at him, and she started sucking on the pacifier. She wished it was his cock stuffed in her mouth, but he would never have her. She was a baby. She wore diapers. He was a man who fucked women like Doctor Renata Ulrich, with real tits and hair on their cunts. “Give me your hands,” Renata said. Chloe held them out, and the woman forced stiff leather mittens over first her left and then her right. “You can’t be trusted to not try and take your diapers off.” Chloe wouldn’t have dared, but just the notion that she couldn’t be trusted with something so simple just added to the humiliation. As the itch between her legs grew stronger, she realized that the mittens would also likely keep her from playing with herself. “Do you need help keeping your pacifier in as well?” Renata asked her. Chloe just stared at her dumbly, still sucking on the damn thing. “Better we do,” she said and her husband got a leather strap. Chloe’s jaw hung slack as the pacifier was pulled from her mouth and fitted into the strap, and it was quickly returned to its proper place in her mouth, the strap wrapping around her head and holding it firmly in place. “Much better.” Renata pinched her tender nipple, and the girl cried out into her new gag. “Pacifiers are good for fussy babies.” “We never had children of our own,” Thomas said. He scooped up Chloe as if she were an actual child, cradling her easily in his arms. “Too busy with our careers,” Renata said, getting up and walking with him. They weren’t talking to Chloe, not really. She was just a prop. “I don’t regret our decision, but there’s something about you being maternal that makes me want you.” “Get her set up and take me.” Chloe watched the back and forth, wide eyed. Thomas carried her over to a dog cage and Renata held the door open for him as he set Chloe inside. She went in on her knees, and her mittened wrists were quickly connected to carabiners on the sides of the cage, keeping her in place. They slammed the cage shut and locked her inside. “You stay in your crib while mommy and daddy fuck,” Renata said, her voice husky. “Remember what I told you about your Electra Complex,” he said, taking off his jacket. Chloe moaned into her pacifier, pressing against the side of her cage as she stared up. He was her daddy now and she wanted him to fuck her. But she was so much more screwed up than that. She watched as he practically ripped Renata’s black dress off. Chloe wanted her mommy to fuck her too. She ogled the woman, the real woman, in her sleek, form fitting black lingerie. She’d thought her Victoria’s Secret thong and bra were a joke before, now clad in nothing but a diaper before this woman, she might as well have been an actual baby. Thomas was kissing her neck from behind, reaching around and playing with her breasts. Chloe drooled behind her pacifier gag, thinking how much she’d like to suck on those breasts. She’d nurse from her if she were allowed. Thomas spun her around, and his lips meeting hers as she started tearing his shirt off. Chloe started breathing harder, pushing herself against the side of her cage. His body was lean, his chest hairy. He was so much more man than the hairless frat boys she’d fucked. His strong arms wrapped around his woman, unclipping her bra. He tossed it and it landed on top of Chloe’s cage, as if to taunt her further. Renata dropped to her knees in front of him. Her semi-translucent full cut black panties held her perfect ass, framed perfectly by her garter belt. She grabbed his belt in her teeth, pulling it off. Still using just her mouth, she unbuttoned his pants and pulled his fly down. Chloe sucked harder on her pacifier as she could see his manhood straining against his underwear. Renata glanced back over her shoulder at the diapered girl in the cage. She winked at her, and then turned back to her man, taking his massive member out and running her tongue up his shaft. Chloe rubbed her nipples against the bars of the cage, seeking any sort of pleasure as she moaned, watching her professor, no, her daddy, get his dick sucked by his wife, her mommy. They’d debased her, demeaned her, humiliated her, stripped her, beat her, bound her, diapered her and thrown her in a cage, and she’d never been so turned on in her life. She sucked furiously on her pacifier as Renata sucked her husband’s cock. Loud moans came from the woman as she deep throated him, him gripping her hair and guiding her up and down his dick. “You just work that pacifier. That’s all your baby mouth is good for,” he said, glancing at the helpless girl. She wanted his dick so badly, but she knew he was right; she sucked on pacifiers now. He finally came, and Renata swallowed every drop. She turned back to their prisoner, licking her lips as she panted slightly. “Did you enjoy watching me please my man, in a way you never could?” “Mmmmph,” Chloe moaned, leaning forward against the bars of her cage. “We’re just getting started.” Thomas grabbed his wife and threw her down on her back on a table. He slid his hands slowly up her thick thighs and slapped her ass as he grabbed the waistband of her panties, peeling them down her legs. Chloe saw the dark patch of manicured fur above Renata’s sex, and she felt even more babyish with her smooth, hairless cunt, now trapped in a thick diaper. Her view was quickly obstructed as Thomas buried his face in his lover’s sex. She let out a little scream of pleasure, grabbing onto the table and gripping it tightly as she wrapped her legs over his powerful shoulders. Chloe rubbed her thighs together, but she could only feel the soft padding of her new infantile underwear against her cunt. Renata’s cries grew louder as he skillfully pleasured her. She threw her head back, her eyes screwed shut, and finally she screamed out in ecstasy as she came hard. Thomas stood up as his wife still shuddered in the aftershocks of her toe clenching orgasm, and he grabbed her and spun her around, flipping her over the table and stepping up behind her. “Look me in the eyes, baby,” Renata screamed, breathing rapidly. “You will never be fucked like this.” Chloe met her stare. She spread her legs as much as the small cage would allow. She started humping her diapers against the hard plastic floor of the cage, moaning loudly into her pacifier. She didn’t care anymore if she was allowed to cum or not, she needed it so badly. Renata didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Chloe couldn’t get off in that position, and she just savored watching her desperately try as her husband railed her hard from behind. Chloe humped faster. She shook her hands uselessly, rattling her cage, and she screamed into her pacifier in frustration. Renata’s breath came faster and faster as she screamed at her husband to fuck her harder. “Look at me, baby!” she screamed, her eyes focusing again on Chloe. Chloe hadn’t taken her eyes off her, and she screamed again in frustration as Renata screamed in climax.
  24. A message from Personalias: Dear Patrons, I know you signed up for this Patreon in order to get some exclusive and original Personalias ABDL stories. The problem is that I’m exhausted. With the search for a new job and trying to meet deadlines, I’ve hit a serious case of writer’s block. But, with permission, I have a story from a secondary source and they’ve allowed me to share it with you at their own expense. This didn’t originally have a title, as the author prefers not to use titles in their work, but I have chosen to tentatively name it: Run Away My name is Alice. I can’t promise you that that is my real name, my True Name, but it’s what you can call me. I also can’t tell you much else about my particulars. I can’t tell you where I live, or where I was born, or how old I am. I can’t tell you if I have any brothers or sisters or if I’m an only child. Just skip all the icebreakers. Skip all of it. I can’t even tell you my last name. Because if I did, They might find me. They might find me and drag me back, clicking their tongues and shaking their heads as I screamed and did everything I could to kill myself before we got There. And I’d never, ever, be free again. If you’re reading this, you’re in danger. No, it’s not a curse. You’re in danger even if you’re not reading this. Every person who isn’t locked safely behind iron bars, or with an offering of milk and bread by their bed is in danger and they don’t even know it. But now you do. Or you will. Humans aren’t alone on this earth. No, we’re not being invaded. They’re already here. They’ve been here for as long as we have as far as I can tell. At least long enough that it doesn’t really matter how long. And They’re not from outer space, but They’re every bit as dangerous, every bit as alien as little green men from Mars. And They don’t live here, but They come here often enough, paying Their little visits. It’s just that every time They visit, They take someone back with Them as a souvenir. Where are They from then? Where do They go? How can They be from here and not from here? How can They visit and still be among us? How can They be alien and not from outer space? They live just outside the Real, on the edge of our vision, the place we go to when we sleep. They are gods and monsters. They are beautiful and twisted reflections of the mundane. They are the kindly ones and fair folk. They are the Fay. Every fairy tale you ever read as a kid? Completely true. Completely wrong, but still true. The particulars have gotten fucked up beyond all reason (and They like it that way), but the grand scope of what They are capable of is spot on. Among the Fay, there are wolves that can swallow you whole. You can die and be brought back by a kiss. Beanstalks lead to castles in the clouds and you can fly if you’re happy enough. And by the time you get out, if you get out, our own predictable little world with its 24/7 media blitz, and natural disasters, and plane crashes, and suicides and murders all broadcast live on Facebook? It all seems so quaint. So quiet. So dull. Peaceful. I’ve been back for about a year. I don’t remember how I escaped. Not yet. That’s another thing. My memory has become all swiss-cheesy since I came back. Sometimes I can’t remember anything at all and It all fades away like some kind of fucked up dream. Maybe I was never taken. Other days I get flashbacks so intense that I wonder if I ever really got away. Maybe I’ll get done typing this all out and then a pair of ivy green hands, Her hands, will cover my eyes, whispering gibberish and telling me what a silly little girl I am. (please no…) That’s one of the reasons I’ve decided to write this all down. To keep track of the memories as they come back to me. To piece together the events. To tell my story. To make the nightmares that still haunt me go away by putting them on a computer screen. And to let people know. To warn them. To warn you. Why am I writing this down, you ask? If I have proof, why don’t I just go show someone the proof or find someone who will believe me? I’ve tried. It didn’t work. No one believes me. Everytime I tell somebody and start to explain, their eyes start to glaze over. Mundane people smile and nod as I tell them all the shit I’ve been through, but that’s it. Smiling and nodding. Just smiling and nodding. In one ear and out the other like I’m speaking in tongues or babbling like a mad person (or a baby). Best case scenario? I get a “That’s nice dear” or a “How creative!” I’ve even tried lifting my hair back and showing them my ears, and all I’ve ever gotten was a “How cute” and a “cootchie-cootchie-coo.” Last month I tried my luck with a tabloid “reporter.” When I was done he blinked and looked around, asking me where my parents were. I snatched his laptop and all he’d had typed down was “Once Upon A Time” over and over again. So this? This is my last resort. Whatever weird shit followed me back only seems to work in person. I type things out, and at the very least people register what was written and don’t go braindead on me. I’m not crazy. Or if I am, that doesn’t make my story any less true. Believe me. Please. Here goes nothing. Gods I hope this works. I don’t believe in repressed memories. At least not in the bullshit way that always shows up on movies and T.V. I don’t think I’m ever going to to sit on a couch, look at a swinging watch and then suddenly remember all this bullshit that happened to me. I don’t think my mind just lost time and I made myself forget to cover up all the trauma I’ve been through. Last year I woke up in an alleyway, in the rain, covered in shit and piss. I was wearing a raggedy smock that was supposed to be a dress, baby booties, and bonnet. The dress used to be pink. My ass was hanging out in the wind. I was in a strange city that I’d never been to in my life and I was clutching a broken and battered silk top hat. I was cold and hot at the same time. Teeth chattering and burning up. If some stranger hadn’t found me after the big ball came down, I would have died. You think I wouldn’t forget that if I could? Don’t you think I’d want to just wake up in the pysch ward of the hospital, wondering why I’d lost close to five years of my life? That’d be a lot easier than the shards of what I’ve got. Amnesia is better than hallucinations. Repressed memories means I could get on with my life. I could buy that I’m just some Jane Doe that had a mental breakdown. I could make-believe that I’m sick. I could pretend that my life wasn’t stolen from me. I might even have a shot at being happy. But I’m not. And everytime I look in the mirror, I see the evidence plain as day. And way way too often I see people that got left behind when I close my eyes. People that I knew. People that helped me survive. People that meant something to me. So no, I don’t believe in “repressed memories.” It’s bullshit. But I do believe in shock and trauma. I do believe that it’s possible for someone to get so unbelievably fucked up that their brain glitches and shit gets filed away in the wrong cabinet. I believe in gaslighting. I believe it’s possible for someone to intentionally lie to you, or drug you, or otherwise fuck your brain up to the point where what you’re experiencing isn’t what really happened. I also believe that magic can make you forget. I believe that I was made to forget something. They don’t want me warning you. They don’t want me exposing Them. She doesn’t want me to tell you Her secrets. Fuck Her. Fuck all of Them. I don’t remember how I was taken. I just know I was. No one goes There by accident. No one I’ve met, anyways. Their gates are too guarded. Their stronghold’s too secure. They can peel back the curtain of the Real, but it wafts only for Them. I can’t say that They don’t like uninvited playthings. They just don’t get uninvited playthings. All are welcome to the Fay. Either that or only the welcome ones ever make it to There. I’m not sure and I don’t want to know. What I do know is that spiders creep me out and they didn’t use to. What I do know is that I didn’t go There willingly. I’m sure of it. They might have taken me in my sleep or come into my house and yanked me out of my bed before I drifted off. I might have gotten snatched off the streets. I might have wandered into a dark corner of the wrong damn house on the wrong damn night. When I close my eyes and dream, I remember stories of all four. Not to me, though. To others like me. That’s the other thing. I was taken. But I was very rarely ever alone.beyond the real I don’t remember how I got There, to the Land Beyond the Real; I just remember waking up already there. I coughed myself awake, feeling like my lungs were full of cotton candy. My breath had this sickly sweet sugary taste to it that itched at my tongue and hurt the back of my teeth, like every breath drilled into some cavity that I hadn’t known I had before. Breathing through my nose wasn’t an option. Mouth was bad, but nose was worse. Something inside me tickled at my nostrils every time I tried. Inhale? Exhale? It didn’t matter. Everytime I breathed in, I’d feel that tickle rush up my nose and jolt to the back of my skull so that the exhale came out as this stuttering whispering laugh. When I breathed out, it still tickled. My laughter just came out in shorter raspier gasps so that I had to inhale the cotton air through my mouth if I wanted anything at all. I laughed and it hurt. That’s how I knew I wasn’t dead. I opened my eyes and had squint them shut again. So bright, like staring into the sun! On reflex I tried to shield my vision, rub my eyes, but I couldn’t move my arms. They were pinned against my side. My legs kicked but barely moved an inch. Whatever my arms were wrapped up in was also encasing them. My head was a lead weight, unable to move. It felt like I was in a whole-body straight jacket. If it wasn’t for my face, I would have thought I was mummified. And all around me was a field of white. Bright white lights in a bright white ceiling. At the edge of my vision were walls and a rim that I couldn’t quite see over. Trapped in an alabaster coffin. It wasn’t just that I was tied up in something that made it hard to move. I hurt from more than the tickling candy air. I was in pain; an aching tired pain. Imagine doing the Iditarod, but you were the dog. You were the only dog, the musher was Jabba the Hutt, and Jabba saw no reason not to use a whip to speed you along. It was a little like that. Skin screamed. Muscles cried. Even the light had a kind of weight pressing down on me. Crushing me. And it was all weight, but no heat. Even wrapped up, I felt a shiver down to the marrow. Just then, existing hurt so much that I almost wished that the lid on my mummy case would have slammed shut. Sometimes, I still wish that. I cried out for help. I screamed. Not even words, I just wailed, hoping someone would hear me. Rescue me. The air and the light worked against me. Muffled my screams so that even as my throat rattled, barely a whisper came out. It was barely a whisper, but for some reason I heard an echo. A rasping whispy sound. I screamed again. And again. And again. The echoes sounded off. Again. And again. And again. No one came. No one was coming. I was going to die here. Out of breath, I stopped screaming. But the echoes kept going on. Then words. “Heeeeeeeeeeelp!” It was hard to hear, but I did. “Heeeeeeeeelp meeeeee!” That was when I realized I wasn’t alone. Those weren’t echoes I was hearing. Those were other people. “I” was “we.” And “we” were not alone. A shadow passed above me on the ceiling, the first bit of not-white that I’d witnessed since I’d woken up. It was shaped like a person, like a man, but right away I knew something was wrong about it. The butt was too big and it didn’t glide as much as it crawled, like literally crawled on its hands and knees. Oh yeah, and there wasn’t a person attached to it. I guess I should’ve opened with that. The shadow stopped on the spot directly above me, blocking out a bit of light, and looked at me. Tiny pin pricks of light made up its eyes, and a bright gap made up its smiling mouth. It crawled to just above my head and did its level best to point at me. I heard a voice. Not a raspy rattling cry. A voice. “Look what I found, Mommy!” Two hands grasped the edge of my container. A head joined them. I was looking at a man. Or a boy. It was hard to tell. He had a mess of curly light brown hair, the color of dying autumn leaves. More than just the color of leaves, there were actual leaves in his hair! His face was smooth and childish. He could have been barely eighteen, or he could have been close to forty. The kind of face that gets carded long after twenty-one. It was that hard to tell. A real case of “babyface”. His eyes matched his hair, and when I looked into them I saw a kind of sadness that didn’t match the silly grin. Thinking back on it, it reminds me of a doctor who has to give the awkward news that has to explain that the surgery didn’t go as planned. Sorry for your loss. Maybe I’m just projecting. The boy wasn’t alone. Standing over him, over both of us, was an alien. That was my first guess, anyway. I wasn’t dead, I’d been abducted by aliens, and now I was in shipping containers and was about to get probed and dissected. If you’d been there, you wouldn’t have laughed. How many green people do you know? Ivy green. Emerald green. Hulk green. With yellow slitted eyes, like cats’ eyes, just to add an extra level of inhuman. Her arms were a little too skinny. Her breasts were a little too big. Her hair a little too stiff and her nose a little too small. Nothing too off-putting, just a little too...everything. Uncanny valley stuff. Barbie ratios. Another scream got ready to rattle up in my throat, but it stopped short when she opened her mouth. I’ll never forget that fucking voice. “Yes, darling. It’s a baby.” The voice was perfect. Disney Princess Perfect. Heroin for my ears. It was sweet and loving and sincere and meant everything to me just then. “Mother” is the name of God on the lips and hearts of children. Just then, I was a child. Hearing Her speak, I knew. She was Mother. She was God. Her dress seemed to be made of leaves, only each leaf was made of sparkling emeralds. Each row layered onto the next like feathers. This was a Mother. This was God. “Like me?” The boy with leaves in his hair asked. She laughed. Her laughter was a song. “Oh no, silly boy. You’re a baby boy. This is a baby girl.” “What’s the difference?” “Nothing you need to worry about, sweet boy.” I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Can I see her?” The Green Lady popped out of sight, just long enough to bend over and pick up the man who’d called her “Mommy.” He was wearing green too, but it was a darker green. Forest Green. Camouflage green. Old pea soup green. His shirt wrapped around between his legs like a kind of unitard. I saw his hairless thighs wrapped around Her waist and his shoeless feet crisscrossing over each other. Cute. I barely noticed the slight bulge around his crotch and ass, or that there were crinkled frills in the leg holes of his underwear poking out from the unitard. I noticed, but I barely noticed. And I didn’t connect the dots. Even with Her calling him “baby boy,” I didn’t think “onesie” and “diaper.” If you hear hoofbeats in Central Park, you don’t expect zebras. It might have been that the proportions were off too. Everything still hurt, but I could still see well enough. Baby or not, he was about the same size as me. He was riding on Her hip, but he wasn’t that much smaller than Her. So yeah. Unitard and puffy underwear. Not onesie and diaper. “She’th pretty,” he said. “Can we keep her?” I remember how her mouth twitched to the side looking down at me. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think you might be too little to have a baby sister. What if we left her-?” “But if we leave her here, she’ll Doll!” His spine was straight. Real panic was in his voice. “Don’t let her Doll, Mommy!” “That’s a good idea!” Even with them talking over me, the most I could manage was a quiet giggle-scream from my box. According to my body, everything hurt. According to the air and the sound of Her voice, everything tickled and was good. My overwhelmed brain and body compromised and met somewhere in the middle. “We can let her Doll, and then you can practice with her. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll get you a Real baby sister.” “But I don’t want a Real baby thithter later!” His voice was shaky. A toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “I want her now!” More musical laughter. Condescending, knowing, demeaning laughter. Laughter that I’d get used to in time. “I don’t know...” Her teeth were perfectly white in that teasing smile looking down at me, her cats’ eyes sparkling like the leaves on her dress, winking. He relaxed. He knew it was a game too. He nuzzled into her neck, buried his head into her shoulder. “Pleeeeeeeeeathe!” That’s how my fate was sealed. “Well….all right,” she said. “But Mommy has to put you down for a minute.” The boy went away, but only for a second. His hands grasped the edge of my box and pulled his face back up to meet me. “Hi,” he whispered to me. “You’re welcome,” he said. But, again in a whisper, he added, “I’m sorry.” The Green Lady bent over and scooped her arms under me. She really wasn’t much bigger than me, but She was so much stronger. One arm under my legs, the other under my shoulders, She cradled me up and out of my container. Easy. For the first time since I woke up, I was out of the box. For the first time, I got the slightest hint of the world I was in. Other Women, purple, and yellow, and grey, stood over Their own boxes. They had fins for hair, or scaly skin, or cat tails that swished behind Them. And every one of Them was holding something. Cradling someone. I only saw them for a few seconds, but I saw them. It didn’t take much for me to figure out what I looked like, too. We were all the same. We had been in cots. We were swaddled in white spider-web thick sheets. And we were being coddled, cuddled, and cradled by these Women-who-weren’t. The Green Lady twisted me and turned me as easily as if I were a carnival teddy. I might have been clumsy to hold, but I wasn’t heavy to Her. The sparkling leaves of Her dress parted on their own as I was turned. No hands required. In front of me now was an emerald green breast, a slightly darker green nipple poking out. It came in closer as She forced my face into Her disproportionate chest. Even an idiot could tell what she wanted, but something told me not to give in and I managed to twist my head an inch or two to the side, feeling Her tit brush against the edge of my cheek. Survival instinct? Death wish? I don’t know. Something inside me screamed “This is wrong” and for a little while, I listened. She cooed to me, encouraging me without words. Jiggled me. Jostled me. Made slurping noises for me to imitate. “Don’t go Doll.” I heard a voice say. The boy’s. “Don’t go Doll.” Around me I heard soft moans. Other prisoners were already partaking. “Please!” A single drop of yellowish white liquid dripped out from Her nipple. Even through the cotton candy air I could almost taste it. But I was stubborn. I closed my mouth, damned the pain, and held my breath. Another brush against my face. I could feel the stuff on my cheek. Instant heat. Instant strength absorbing through my skin. My whole body tensed. Biceps flexed. Teeth gritted. Knees locked. Locked, but didn’t touch. Something was keeping them apart. My lungs gave up before my will did and I inhaled through my nose, again damning the pain. I smelled it. Smelled the milk. Smelled Her milk. Shark. Blood. Water. Mouth open, I latched on and began. Every need, every desire I’d ever felt or imagined filled me with that sniff. I was hungry and thirsty and cold and hot and jonesing for a fix and bored and tired and scared and lonely and...horny. Gods, was I horny! And the cure for all of it was in my mouth. Life. Life filled me up. The cold of the air went away as I sucked on the Green Lady’s tit. My skin was glowing. Buzzing. The aches in my body went away. Not ceasing to exist or becoming numb, like with aspirin. It was more like an internal massage, with tiny hands beating the pain out of me with every gulp. The thick, grainy smell of the air cleared away and only the scents of flesh and milk- life- was left. Then there was the taste. What was it like? Imagine. Imagine the best food you’ve ever tasted. The five hundred dollar japanese wagu beef with a side order of lobster. World class sushi and chocolate truffles fit for a queen. Now imagine your favorite guilty pleasure comfort food. The greasy cheeseburger from that one restaurant that you swear you never eat at. The frozen grocery store microwave mac and cheese that you love to eat when you’re sick, or just feeling insecure Combine all of that with the feeling of being just the right amount of drunk and magically knowing that you’re not going to be hungover in the morning AND the feeling of self-righteous smugness when you decide to be “good” so you order a salad for dinner AND the feeling of treating yourself to chocolate cheesecake because you’ve been “so good” AND somehow knowing that you’re not going to gain a pound from any of it. It’s like that. But better. Never wanting to be full again. Wanting to be filled. Afraid I’d never ever be full. Time stopped. I forgot everything in that moment. There was no more “Alice.” No more “I.” No more anything but want and desire and body heat beating of my heart trying to sync with Hers. It wasn’t until I was nearing climax that “I” even thought of myself as “I.” Just the tingling teasing and pressure building needing to be filled, teasing-taunting-touching me. And then I screamed as my panties flooded and everything inside me buzzed. “MOMMY!” I was having the most intense orgasm that I’d ever had in my life. My eyes rolled back in my head. I was cumming in my pants. Strength filled me and I bucked in Her arms, trying to hump the air itself as I was wracked. I was screaming. It wasn’t the same breathy gasping scream that I’d barely managed before. I was shouting my lungs out. I’d never screamed this loud during an orgasm before. I’d never even screamed this loud when I was faking it. Her milk...Her milk had given me strength...given me life. Given me the most intense sexual experience that I’d ever had in my entire adult life. I was cumming and screaming into this Woman’s...Mommy’s tit, and I didn’t care. I just kept suckling and suckling and suckling, trying to drain her dry. I bit into Her. Tried to draw more of Her into me. Eating and still hungering. Cumming and still wanting more. I didn’t care or notice that no matter how turned on I was, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t care that the moisture between my legs was being wicked away even as my body slickened itself. I didn’t care that as I bit down into Her, no blood rushed into my mouth. I didn’t care that I could feel my teeth sinking further and further back into my gums with every bite and every gulp. I didn’t care that I was unteething. (Gods, that seems even weirder in print.) The Green Lady was Mommy. Mommy was God. This was Holy Communion. Sweeter than any wine shed for me. More nourishing than any bread broken for my sins. Her Milk filled me up more than anything ever had before. And it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t the only one going through this. It was an orgy of sorts. All of us, swaddled and nursing. Screaming and cumming right there on the spot in the arms of monsters. None of us caring. None of us thinking about the other or caring about the other’s existence. I wasn’t, anyway. We were all too busy filling up on Life Itself. Bucking and squirming and trying to find any position where we could dry hump the air or rub up against the Women holding us, just to get that little extra bit of release. Then something else felt full. My bladder. No hesitation. I let go, feeling the warmth flood my pants. Beyond reason. Beyond caring. It didn’t feel good to hold it in. And I wanted to feel good. The warmth. The warmth felt good. I waited to feel the piss trickle onto my thigh and drip down my leg into the rest of the spider-web wrapping. The warm dampness spread out, creeping along my ass before splashing back towards my front. My pee soaked all into my pants, but never went further. Just like with my orgasm, the intense sensation of wetness lasted only as long as my stream did. It got soaked up, my panties started swelling like a sponge. That’s when it clicked. I hadn’t cum in my pants. I hadn’t pissed my pants. Because technically, I wasn’t wearing pants. No panties, either. I felt Mommy’s hand patting my bum, giving it gentle but firm swats. Just firm enough so that I could feel it. Just hard enough so that I could hear the dull padded thud. I squirmed a bit, trying (and failing) to press my legs together though the bulky padding wrapped around my ass.. I could barely hear the crinkle. But I heard it. “Good girl,” She said. “Good baby.” Gods damnit. I couldn’t stop smiling. The last bits of ecstasy started to fade, as the wet sopping mess clung to me; starting to cool. Starting to squish. The room went upright as the Green Lady turned me vertical. Heavy thuds on my back. War drums. I shook. “Come on,” Mommy coaxed me. “Give Mommy Dearest a burp.” I belched. Like I was told. Like a good girl. “Good baby. Now come along. Come with Mommy.” Toothless, exhausted, and stewing in my own piss, I wilted in Her arms, too tired to fully understand my situation. The little boy who wasn’t so little crawled on Her left. His shadow, still smiling with little pinpricks of starlight, crawled on the right. And just as I was starting to lose consciousness, feeling doomed, I saw all the others like me, in the arms of gods and monsters, being burped and carried off into a starless, moonless night. A ritual completed. I also saw the others. The ones who weren’t picked; staying in their cots. Their alabaster coffins. The last thing I saw before I faded out were those unlucky few. Their breathing becoming more labored. Their eyes becoming glassy. Their lips puckering. Begging for milk. Begging for life. Their skin becoming pale and hard and brittle. Like porcelain. Like Dolls. And that was just the beginning. I don’t know if I’m at the end of my story, yet. Maybe if I write this down, share it with you and warn enough people, I’ll get that happy ending I’ve been wanting so badly. Maybe if I write it all down, pieces will start coming together and I’ll get back all that lost time that I’m missing. Maybe if I turn it into a story, a True Fairy Tale, They’ll stop having so much power. Maybe the nightmares will stop. Maybe... -Alice
  25. I slowly inched my way to the podium when they called my name. My legs trembled beneath me so much I feared for a split second I wouldn’t make it. I had been coached all afternoon on what to say and how to say it. I had to appear strong and unafraid. “The defense can smell fear.” Mr. Montgomery, the district attorney, had said. I only half believed he was joking. I wondered how strong I would appear if I fainted from nerves before I even gave my testimony. “Answer only what you’re asked; don’t volunteer information. Sit up straight and give your answers confidently. If you don’t remember a date or event say, ‘I don’t recall,’ not ‘I don’t remember.’’ “I don’t recall’ means at the moment you’re not sure, but it could come back to you at any time.” There was so much I was supposed to remember I didn’t think I could. All those medication names and side effects, most of which I couldn’t pronounce even if I read them off a slip of paper. They were kidding themselves if they thought I could “recall” any of this stuff off the top of my head. In truth, I had spent the last three years trying to bury the events of the past. When I somehow miraculously managed to get to the front of the courtroom on my own two feet, I placed one hand on the bible and the other in the air. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me God?” “I do.” My dry mouth made it sound more like a croak than any intelligible words, but the bailiff seemed satisfied. He led me into what seemed like a box and I took my seat. The microphone was positioned about two feet taller than where I sat, and I struggled not to focus on how many people were waiting on me as I fiddled with it. “Are you ready?” The judge asked. “Yes,” I squeaked. I knew I didn’t sound very convincing. “Your honor.” I threw out at the last minute. I could see Mr. Montgomery give me a smile and a thumbs up. “Please state your name for the record.” “Eliza Anne Thompson, sir.” “How old are you, Eliza?” “Fifteen, sir.” The lawyers began to talk amongst themselves, before one of them, a tall slender man with brown peppered hair stepped forward from the defense side. “Are we ready to begin?” The judge asked. “Yes, your honor.” “Then you may proceed.” “Eliza, may I ask how you came to know the defendant, Miss Debrah Marie Martnif?” “Yes.” “How do you know Miss Martnif?” “We were next door neighbors.” I replied. Her name ringing in my ears made my stomach do flip flops in revulsion. I briefly surveyed my surroundings wondering if there was a trashcan nearby in case I got sick. I spotted one by my feet to the left of me. I must not be the only one concerned about losing their lunch. I mentally thanked myself for skipping lunch. And breakfast. And the previous night's dinner. “How long have you been next door neighbors?” “Since 1999.” “Since 1999? And you know that as a fact?” “Yes.” “What year were you born, Eliza?” “2005.” “So you know, for a fact, she lived there for six years before you were even born?” I bit down on the inside of my lip as I tried to calm myself. I didn’t like the condescending tone in his voice. Mr. Montgomery warned me not to take anything personally. “Yes.” “Have you seen with your own eyes the deed to the property?” “No.” “How about a renters agreement?” “No.” “Then how do you know for sure when they moved in?” “My parents told me.” I said, before taking a sip of water from the glass on the podium. It was hard to talk with my mouth and throat so dry. I was trying to sound confident, but my cracking voice gave me away. The defense attorney laughed. “Oh, your parents told you, did they?” “Yes.” “And like a good little girl you believe everything your parents tell you?” “N-no, I mean yes, I mean. . . “ The defense attorney laughed again along with a quarter of the courtroom. “Oh to be a naive kid again. Well, according to the renters agreement I have here, Miss Debbrah Martnif moved into the house in the summer of ‘97 not ‘99.” Wow, I was a whopping 2 years off. I struggled to keep a straight face and not let my skepticism show. “So i’m sorry to burst your bubble of innocence, but your parents aren't always right.” I looked at him in his fancy suit and tie feeling dumbfounded. I was fifteen. A teenager. Of course I didn’t think my parents were always right. “Which brings me to my point.” He went on pacing back and forth before stopping and looking me dead in the eyes. “If your parents are wrong about this, then I wonder what other preconceived notions your parents filled your head with?” I sucked in a lung full of air. Mr. Montgomery nodded in my direction. It was now or never. “That she was a kind and caring woman who was down on her luck.” “That’s what your parents told you?” “Yes” “And was she?” “At first.” “What changed?” “I found out what she really was.” “And what was she, Eliza?” For the first time since the trial started I gathered all my strength and looked directly at Debbie, sitting with her lawyers. We made eye contact and she smirked up at me. “A monster.” ………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. It was October of 2017, and my parents decided to travel to Europe for a month leaving behind my younger sister and I. To most twelve year olds, this action was on par to high treason. I had begged, pleaded, cried, bit, spat, thrown tantrums and any other attention seeking behavior I could think of. I was never the most well behaved child to begin with, but being told my sister and I would be left in the care of our neighbor Debbie for an entire month had sent me into a destructive tail spin. I had nothing against the woman, she was an icon in our neighborhood and her fundraisers had even been featured several times on the local news. People revered her for her struggles and her strength to get through them. They held her up to almost god status. If she asked you to jump, you asked, “how high?” If she said she needed her gutters cleaned, men formed a team and emptied those gutters, along with washing her car, mowing her lawn, trimming the trees, planting flowers, and fixing a leak in the roof. There were no ulterior motives either. Yes, she was a widow, but she wasn’t Miss America or anything. People just genuinely wanted to help. When the family first moved in, years before I was even born, There was Debbie, her husband Paul, and her two sons, Jackson and James. I never knew Jackson, who was a good nine years older than me, but I'm told he was really sick for a long time. I don’t know the name of the illness he had, but it left him permanently bound in a wheelchair. As he got older, the disease progressed faster until it left him practically a vegetable. When he died at the age of nineteen, I vaguely remember bringing them a casserole with my family. I don’t know why my mother felt the need to rub salt in their wounds by presenting them with her cooking, but it’s tradition I guess. James on the other hand, was only a year older than me and had been my closest friend at one time. We’d spend the summers over at each other's houses and play in his large backyard in the trees. We’d pretend to get lost in the jungle and made up our own secret and primitive language to communicate with the “locals”, Aka the neighbors cat and the occasional grasshopper. We’d click our tongues together to signal whether the path up ahead was safe, or dangerous. One click for yes, and two for no. Sometime’s the indigionous wild tribes we’d stumble across meant us harm and we’d tap out a secret rhythm, that sounded suspiciously like the theme song to “What’s New Scooby Doo” on the nearest object to signal to our comrades behind us to back away slowly as we did the same. When it was time for lunch, Debbie would call us back with a wild howl like a wolf and James and I would traverse the wild jungle once again in search of substance. We’d drag ourselves to the picnic table, telling tales of how we barely escaped with our lives from the invisible army of tribesmen along the back wall with their spears still clutched in their hands. We’d tell Debbie how we hadn’t eaten for days and how we thought we’d never see civilization again. I had really enjoyed my afternoons over there. It was amazing that even while caring for Jackson full time, Debbie always had time to indulge us in our little made up games and make us lunch. Bad luck seemed to curse that family though. After Jackson had died when I was around seven or eight, it had only taken two years for Paul to follow suit. He had suffered a heart attack and gone peacefully in his sleep. This is when James' behaviour towards me had started to change. He was no longer the happy kid I remembered him to be. He grew cynical and criticized all of my ideas. I’d often come home in tears and soon we grew apart. By the time I was ten I had heard the terrible news. James had begun showing symptoms of the same disease that had taken his older brother. My parents commented on how terrible it must be for Debbie. She had already lost a child and her husband, now the only surviving relative looked as if he might suffer the same slow and painful death. The neighborhood had rallied together to raise funds for her for James treatment when it looked like she might be evicted. There were bake sales, yardsales, car washes, movie nights, anything anyone could come up with to help the struggling broken family. Together they had managed to raise her $15,000. That’s when she ended up on the news. No matter what travesty happened though, she always managed to keep her head up and a smile on her face. That’s why so many people seemed to admire her and I was one of them. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Debbie, but rather I don’t know how to explain it. Something didn’t feel right. The issue had never been Debbie at all that made me dread my stay. It was seeing James. No longer the fun spirited boy I once knew, but a prisoner to a disease I couldn’t possibly understand. My heart broke for him on the occasions I’d see him in his adult stroller getting loaded into the minivan her church had given her to help transport him. No longer able to climb the trees he once loved, instead he just sat there staring off into the distance. I begged my mom one more time to let me stay anywhere else as we pulled our belongings out the front door. “I don’t want to hear it.” my mom said. “We’re paying her twice the amount of anyone else to watch you.” “Why? I don’t even want to go there!” “Because she could really use the money, and we need a babysitter. It’s a win win.” “Why not just give her money and let me stay somewhere else?” “Because sometimes adults don’t want things just handed to them.” she explained. “Sometimes it feels better to earn an income than it does getting it for free.” I scrunched up my face in confusion. “I love getting things for free.” “You’re a kid. It’s different as an adult.” “Free stuff!” my little sister Lily chimed in. She was only four. “Ugh, why is Lily’s bag so heavy?” I groaned as I hoisted it up the curb. “Are you sure you’re not just leaving us there and running away forever?” “Oops, you caught me.” “Don’t joke like that!” I had never been one to show affection, hugs and kisses from mom and dad were for little kids, and I prided myself on my tough exterior. Now the sudden fear of being abandoned made me want to hug my mom and even put up with her kisses if it meant not being left here. I had always been a rowdy tom boy, my sister on the other hand was a princess. We were complete opposites. The only conclusion I could come up with was that Lily was adopted and my mother faked her pregnancy. “It’s the bag of pull ups and diapers that are so heavy.” My mom said while a plastic princess potty was tucked under one arm. “She’s going to be in diapers until highschool.” I said. There was one thing my sister and I did have in common though. We were stubborn. If there was something we didn’t want to do, we put our foot down and wouldn’t budge. Potty training hadn’t been on Lily’s priority list it seemed, despite already being four. We had just finally managed to get her into pull ups instead of diapers, but when my mom had commented the other night about how leaving might make her backslide, I was pissed. They already treated me like Lily’s live-in babysitter. This was the fifth time we had managed to get her into pull-ups but it felt like something as simple as a cold, a change in schedule, or a shift in the wind made her regress. Guess who got stuck with 75% of the work when I got home from school. Me. If my mom and dad were leaving knowing full well it was going to make Lily go back to diapers again, they could deal with the consequences. I was done. “Please behave yourself.” my mom said before she set everything down to ring the doorbell. I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious, I don’t want you giving this poor woman any attitude. She has enough to deal with without your snark.” Was my mom trying to pick a fight because it sounded to me like she was trying to pick a fight. I was already in a foul mood at being forced to come here and here she was trying to twist the knife. She quickly plastered on a fake smile as Debbie answered the door, who beckoned us in with an equally cheesy grin. We set all our stuff by the door, three full suitcases, and followed her around the house. It was a little different than I remembered, but not by much. Some of the appliances had been upgraded, there was no longer a bathtub but a walk in shower, and the porch and backyard had ramps. I took a moment to admire the large flat screen television in the living room, that definitely hadn’t been there the last time I had been over. I remembered sitting with James on the carpet watching cartoons after school on their old bulky Sony television from the 90’s that sat in the hutch. I used to give him a hard time because it still had a VCR connected to it instead of a Dvd player. I didn’t really understand how strapped for cash they were with Jackson’s medical bills. I had only seen his brother a handful of times, despite this place once having been a second home to me. He had been bedridden, and his room had been strictly off limits. I sat on the leather couch, another new addition, and surveyed my new prison while my mom and Lily stood in the hall talking. “If she gives you any trouble feel free to smack her.” I heard my mom say. I thought they were talking about Lily, until I heard Debbie’s response. “I can’t imagine her being any trouble. She was always so well behaved and such a delight to have around.” My mom let out a bark of laughter. “That was pre-hormones.” That seemed to be all she needed to explain for Debbie to understand because that’s all my mom had to say about me before rattling off Lily’s schedule. I had almost completely zoned out before I heard my mom say, “Don’t worry about changing diapers, Eliza can take care of all that.” Before I could stop myself, I was on my feet and storming over to set the record straight. “I am not changing Lily’s diapers!” My mother glared at me, but I held my ground. “What’s the point of hiring a babysitter if you still expect me to do all the work?” “Eliza!” my mother hissed. “I’m so sorry, Debbie, like I said, if she mouths off, you have my permission to punish her however you think is best. I’m sure it won’t come to that though because her attitude is going to stop. This. Instant. Isn’t it?” She finished her last sentence glaring daggers at me. “It’s not a problem.” Debbie replied, raising and lowering her hands to try and calm us down. “Of course I don’t expect you to change diapers, sweetie.” She told me. I relaxed almost at once. “She won’t even need pull-ups by the time you pick her up.” I doubted that, but I appreciated her optimistic demeanor. My mom also looked skeptical. “We’ve been trying all year, but…” My mom trailed off. There had been talk of getting Lily tested for autism. My mom had said Lily was a little slower than other kids her age, but I had nothing to compare her to. Lily was just Lily to me. Debbie still insisted she could handle it. When I watched my mom leave, my insides were a convoluted mess of emotions which fought each other for dominance. I didn’t know whether to celebrate or break down and cry. I was angry, hurt, happy and depressed all at once. I realized I must have been staring at the front door longer than necessary when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “A month will pass in no time, sweetie. You’re going to have so much fun you won’t even notice they’re gone.” She leaned down to whisper in my ear, and my face scrunched in pain and confusion as I felt fingernails digging into my shoulder blades. “Now I know you won’t be giving me any trouble this month, will you?” Her voice was no longer sweet and syrupy. I swallowed and sucked in my breath. “No.” “No, what?” “No, ma’am.” “That’s what I like to hear.” All at once the pain and pressure in my shoulders dissipated, and her voice returned to its normal upbeat and chipper tone. “Now why don’t you be the sweet girl I remember and take your sister outback and play.”
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