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Drew The trip odometer rolled to 1014. Wow. Already over a thousand miles into their road trip and it felt like they just started. The dashboard clock and starry night sky said otherwise. So did Drew’s body. “So what do you think?” Tyler said. Drew stifled a yawn out of politeness. “Hm?” Tyler said. “What was that bud?” “The Star Wars Theory,” Tyler said, with a hint of confusion and hurt. “That Jar Jar Binks is a Sith Lord?” Drew ran his hand through his light brown, reddish hair; not that there was much left. He was still closer to thirty than to forty, but his hairline didn’t know the difference. Drew kept everything on top buzzed short so that one could always see his scalp and made up the difference with his beard. It wasn’t at hillbilly levels, but it was thick enough that he genuinely didn’t remember what his chin and cheek looked like anymore. “Was he, though?,” Drew asked. “I don’t remember that.” Tyler narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. “Not officially,” he said. “It’s just a fan theory.” Tyler looked confused and exasperated. They’d been friends for many years, but the pair were constantly prone to miscommunication. This was because Drew had something of a naturally flat monotone in his inflection along with a serious case of resting stoned face; even while sober. He was excellent at bluffing in poker. His dry sense of humor, and love of trolling caused the lightest bit of friction between himself and his found family. He loved pretending to misunderstand things and have people have to repeat and over explain themselves. The building frustration and then annoyed relief when he said “I’m just fuckin’ with you” was like poetry. That kind of trolling was the height of comedy to him. He’d once ad-libbed a long elaborate joke with zero point to it and strung everyone along for close to ten minutes. The punchline had been, “No, no, Clown. Fuck you.” He’d been the only one to laugh because the point of the joke was to waste everyone’s time in listening to it and have an underwhelming punchline. The failure was what made it funny. The downside of being a perpetual boy who cried wolf is that Britney, Tyler, and Christy were constantly wondering if any given misunderstanding or long story on his part was just another set up for a stupid joke only he really got. “Are you fucking with me right now?” Tyler asked. “No, bud,” Drew shook his head. “Sorry. I just zoned out for a second. Kinda tired.” The sun hadn’t been up when they started this morning, and it was back down again. “Oh shit,” Tyler took on a worried and apologetic tone. “Do you want to pull over? I can drive if you ne-.” “No thanks,” Drew shook his head. “I’m good. So what were you saying? Jar Jar? Sith?” Tyler opened his mouth to start again, and blanched, likely wondering whether Drew was being polite or not. “You sure?” “Yeah, bud. Go ahead.” In so many ways the two men were complimentary opposites of one another. Tyler wasn’t completely clean shaven, but only broke out a razor once or twice a week; leaving his face with a nigh perpetual five o’clock shadow. His light blonde hair with green highlights was messy and unkempt most days. His features were rounder than Drew’s, too, though he carried it well enough to not seem fat. It’s just that as they aged out of their twenties and into their thirties, Tyler’s metabolism had slowed down but his dietary choices hadn’t gotten the memo quite yet, even though his waistline certainly was starting to catch on. Conversely, Tyler was talkative, expressive, and an easy read. He was also something of a hyperactive geek. If anyone let him, he’d ramble for hours about different cartoons, comics, movies; whatever people allowed him to talk about, really. Listening to Tyler talk was easy. Getting a word in edgewise once he started was the challenge. He wasn’t self-absorbed or rude; his mind just wouldn’t stay still once it started up. Over the years, Tyler had become aware of that fact, and was now becoming self-conscious. There were times when Drew could tell that Tyler was holding back a torrent of useless trivia like a little kid trying and failing to keep a secret. Britney thought Tyler probably had undiagnosed ADHD, but had confided to her husband that she didn’t think it was her place to say. Tyler was fairly sensitive, after all. Always had been since they were kids. Speaking of Britney, Drew’s wife tapped him on the shoulder from the backseat. “Babe? Maybe we should pull over.” Shorter and plumper with big hips, and long billowing raven hair, Brittney was group’s designated ‘Mom Friend’. Every group had one, and Britney excelled in her role. Objectively speaking, ‘Mom Friend’ was just another way of saying ‘leader without leading’. Britney planned and prepared everything. She’d introduced Tyler and Christy to one another back in highschool; planned both sets of weddings; and was the driving force for pretty much every outing, double date, and group vacation the four friends undertook, including this one. Now that they were all very much adults, Britney was the primary driving force behind their friendships doing something other than fading into nostalgia. When Britney wanted something done, it got done. It got done in the nicest, softest, gentlest, most diplomatic way possible, but it was going to get done. All Drew had to do was accept that, and help her make it happen while ensuring that her own ambition didn’t stress her out. Drew let out another yawn. “I think I’ve got another hour or two in me,” he said. “We’ve driven for longer, right?” “Yeah,” Tyler said. “When we were kids. We’re getting old dude.” A soft smile crept up from Drew’s chin. That wasn’t that long ago. Also, the man had just been giving a thesis on why a cartoon rabbit was actually supposed to be the main villain of a movie he hadn’t watched since before his voice cracked. “I might have to pee,” Christy chirped in. “So pulling over might become a necessity.” Drew stopped an annoyed grunt. Christy always had to pee. Tyler’s wife might as well have the bladder of a four year old. It wasn’t her fault. When you had to go, you had to go. They just would have made better time if Christy didn’t need to piss every two hours. Christy was technically the youngest, but only by a year. The way she naturally looked and dressed exaggerated the difference. Like Drew, she was skinny, though not as boney as he. She kept her light brown hair short in a bob cut, and dressed in comfortable rainbow colored clothes. The breast reduction surgery she’d had a few years ago had helped her with her back problems. From the wrong angle, it made her look like she was thirteen and not thirty. Until she opened her mouth and spoke. Christy wasn’t as loquacious as her partner, but there was a good chance when she opened her mouth, that she’d say something either oddly poignant or darkly, comedically inappropriate. She’d been best friends with Britney since elementary school, the story went, practically right out of diapers. When she’d developed a crush on Tyler in highschool, some matchmaking had occurred via Britney, resulting in a positively adorkable couple that had stayed strong through over a decade. Then Drew had come across them in college and the trio had become a quartet. “Come on, babe,” Britney gently coaxed. “We covered a lot of ground. You did good today. Let’s get some sleep.” “Yeah,” Tyler agreed. “Let’s look for a hotel or something.” His eyes were already scanning the highway. Britney had declared it. Tyler knew what was up. “Yes,” Christy agreed. “Hotel. Hotel good.” She was jittering in the backseat. Nerves or just a nervous bladder? Was there a difference? “Kind of cramped. Tired. Overstimulated.” It had been a while since any of them had slept in a car. They were a little bit older and just a little bit softer. Drew was too. He just didn’t want to admit it. For all the freedom they now had, it could be hard not being in highschool sometimes. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s start looking.” Spending a couple hours horizontally would do his body good. It also meant he didn’t have to grapple with somebody else driving. Tyler was a terrible driver. “You okay?” Britney asked so gently that even in the car, only he could hear. “Yeah.” Drew said. Britney reached her hand forward and he gave it a kiss. “Just tired.” “Let’s get some sleep.” Tension rose half an hour later. They’d picked the wrong stretch of interstate to get exhausted. “Do you think transporter technology like in Star Trek is actual teleporting?” Tyler mused. “Or do you think it’s like, it kills you, clones you, and puts the clone somewhere else?” Tyler never was very good with silences. “How would the clone have your memoirs? Britney asked. She was humoring him. Trying to keep the peace by giving him someone to geek-splain to. “Your memories and stuff are just little wrinkles on your brain. If it constructs you atom by atom, same wrinkles, same mem-” “Sweetheart,” Christy cut him off. “I have to pee.” “Got it.” Tyler gulped. “Looking.” Drew’s eyes honed in on an exit sign. Lodging! “Found one!” He slammed on the accelerator so hard he could almost smell the burning rubber. They took the exit and a sharp right turn into an empty motel lot. Drew threw the car into park and exhaled. He really was tired. He’d really thought he could make it eighteen hours on the road and had crapped out at just around fifteen. Dang it sucked getting old. “Are we sure it’s open?” Britney asked. “I don’t see any other cars. And the lights are all out. “They better be,” Christy said, “Or I’m pissing behind the dumpster!” “I’ll go check,” Drew said. There was a front area with a large glass window. It was also the only place that had a working overhead light. That was most likely where he was going to get a key, if this place wasn’t abandoned. He opened up the door and stepped out, leaving the keys in the ignition. “Be back in a second.” “We’re not going anywhere,” Tyler called back. Drew flashed a thumbs up but kept walking. The glass was heavily tinted and unnecessarily wide. It reminded Drew of a drive through bank teller window, without the pneumatic tubes. The little red button connected to a speaker, added to the parallels. He pushed the button. BZZZZZT! “Hello?” A gravelly, static crackling voice called back over the speaker. “What do you want?” Drew felt himself tense up. Wasn’t it obvious? He probably just woke a night clerk up or something. “Yeah. I’m looking to get a room for the night.” “How many?” “Four,” Drew said. He held up his fingers, incase his voice wasn’t coming across the intercom clearly. “Rooms? Four rooms?” The unseen clerk asked. “No, no, no.” Drew shook his head. “Four people.” “How old?” That was a weird question. “No kids. Just adults.” There was a pause of about thirty seconds. Then Drew heard the squealing squeaking of metal. He looked down and flap had opened up beneath the window, like a mailbox. In it was a single motel key. “Okay. Here you go.” Drew didn’t reach in. “Um…what about money?” “Money?” The drawer closed. “Yes. Card please.” “How much?” Drew asked, reaching for his wallet. “Five…?” “Five hundred?” Drew gasped. This dump wasn’t worth five hundred bucks a night. “No. Not five hundred. One hundred…and five. Sorry. Bad transmission. The drawer squeaked open again. “Pay here.” Drew took out his credit card and dropped it in. “Do you want my I.D. or anything?” “No,” the voice crackled back. A second later, the drawer creaked open again, now with the key. “Here’s your key.” Drew was puzzled. What was going on with this asshole? “What about my card?” The drawer closed and opened yet again. “Okay. Here’s the key and card.” Drew reached in and grabbed both. “You ran it? The card?” “Ran? Yes.” “Do you need me to sign anything?” “No. You’re fine. Now go to bed. Room 1.” Had he been ten years younger, Drew might have raised a bigger stink about the man behind the glass’s tone. As things stood, he was tired, and just wanted to sleep. He didn’t care. Asshole might be the only person running the joint. As this wasn’t a Waffle House, and Drew didn’t want to get shot from behind tinted glass, he took the key, shut his mouth and went back to the car. “Room?” Britney asked. “Yup,” Drew said. “Got one.” “How big?” Tyler asked. “I told the guy there were four of us. This is what he gave me.” Drew pulled around in the empty parking lot in front of the first room. “But is it like, two beds?” Tyler asked. Drew shrugged. “Probably.” Most motels had a standard two queens. He cut the engine and got back out. Christy stopped fidgeting, and grinned big and toothy like a horse. “It’s gonna happen...” Tyler smacked his forehead. “Stop saying that!” He whined. He got out of the front seat and opened the door for his wife. “What?” Christy giggled. Suddenly able to ignore her bladder. “It’s gonna happen.” “Christy,” Britney moaned, exhausted. “It’s not going to happen. Just give it up.” “No,” Christy said. “One day we’re all just gonna get naked in front of each other. It’s going to happen. I don’t even mean sex or anything. We’re just all gonna be nuuuuude.” This prediction had leapt out of Christy’s mouth on her twenty-first birthday, and she’d never let it go. Drew had his odd duck sense of humor. Christy had hers. “Yeah,” Drew said. “Maybe. Not tonight though. Come on. Let’s sleep.” Christy trotted up to the door, resuming her potty dance. “First pee. Then sleep.” Britney followed behind him. “You know, it doesn’t have to be that order…” she teased. “Ew, no!” Christy was also something of a germaphobe. “Gross.” Britney pressed her attack. “Just saying. Babies do it all the time. Very efficient. Maybe we’re doing it wrong.” Christy shook her head. “Just let me pee!” Tyler brought up the rear. “Dibs on the best one,” he called. “Whichever one that is that I decide.” It was meant to be a joke…not all jokes landed. Most of Tyler’s didn’t. Gathered on the stoop of the motel room, Drew inserted the key into the lock turned it, and pushed open the door. Like an atomic bomb, a flash of light engulfed the quartet, and with it a strange moistureless cold, like the vacuum of space ran over their skin. It lasted for less than as second but it was the kind of chill that lingered after. “FUCK!” Drew cursed, rubbing his eyes. The hell was that? Some kind of motion sensor connected to a couple of high beams? “JESUS!” More than just the light had changed. It was hotter all of a sudden. Brighter. It felt like the sun was on their skin. Birds chirped and squirrels chittered. Sounds of car engines humming and horns honking signaled in the periphery, as did lawnmowers. The smell of grass filled their nostrils. It was daylight, and they were outside. “The fuck was that?” Tyler spoke up after much groaning and grunting. “Why is it daylight?” “Guys?” Britney said. Drew blinked away the fuzziness. More than the time was wrong. There were rows of houses and picket fences. They’d gone from a roadside motel next to the highway into the middle of suburbia. “Where are we?” Drew thought asking out loud might get him an answer. It didn’t make any sense. There was no rational explanation. “Did we get teleported?” Tyler asked. “Am I a clone?” “Not funny dude.” “Sorry. “Guys?” Britney said again. “What?” Drew asked, trying to hold onto his calm. “What’s wrong, babe?” “Why is everything so big?” Britney cut to the heart of the matter. There were houses and front porches, and lawns with gnomes, but they all seemed much, much bigger than they should. Drew took a couple steps forward, to see if it was a trick of the light or forced perspective. Chain link could have been closer to rock climbing walls at the gym. The empty street was a gray asphalt river. The houses all seemed like they were only one story, structure wise, but everyone was still unconsciously craning their necks. Ten steps forward, and ten steps back, and the eerily pleasant neighborhood seemed no less huge. “Is it big?” Tyler wondered. He jogged up to a bush that went up to just above his head. “Or did we shrink?” He looked at his clothes and his hands, as if that would help anything. “Help!” Christy squeaked. The other three whirled around. Christy was standing in the exact spot she’d found herself in after Drew opened the door. Everyone else had paced or moved or turned around and taken in the bizarre sights. Christy hadn’t, and it was evident from the puddle at her feet. “I…I peed!”

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.

Short Synopsis / Teaser A powerful man discovers that surrender can be more intoxicating than control. David has built his life on authority—career, marriage, reputation—but beneath the surface lies a quiet fracture he can no longer ignore. When his wife Carolyn introduces a solution that promises comfort, relief, and stability, David finds himself pulled into a carefully guided transformation where shame, desire, and devotion intertwine. As routines become rituals and comfort turns into identity, David slowly gives way to Daisy—a softer, smaller self shaped by dependency, feminization, and the intoxicating relief of letting go. What begins as a private coping mechanism evolves into something far more consuming, testing the boundaries of love, power, consent, and selfhood. The Making of a Sissy Baby Cuckold is a slow-burn psychological descent into erotic surrender, where intimacy is redefined, control is inverted, and the line between nurture and manipulation blurs until it disappears entirely. Author’s Note / Content Warning Author’s Note While I used the assistance of AI to fully develop this story, it is mainly my own work of fiction aided by AI to help bring in background information and streamline the writing and ideas. Hence, I am posting in this section rather than the main storyboard location. This story explores intense psychological and erotic themes centered on power exchange, identity erosion, and consensual (but morally complex) manipulation within an adult relationship. It is intended for mature readers who are comfortable engaging with dark, transformative fantasies that challenge conventional ideas of masculinity, autonomy, and desire. Content Warning This work contains adult-only material (18+), including but not limited to: BDSM and power-exchange dynamics Erotic humiliation and degradation Adult infantilization (ABDL themes) Feminization and gender role transformation Psychological conditioning and hypnosis themes Sexual denial, dependency, and cuckoldry Unequal power dynamics within a marriage Emotional manipulation presented as consensual fantasy All characters are consenting adults, and no minors are involved. Readers who may find these themes disturbing, triggering, or objectionable are strongly advised to skip this work. This story is a work of fiction designed to explore taboo fantasies and psychological descent—not to advocate or normalize real-world coercion or harm. I am also attaching a PDF file of the story here The Making of a Sissy Baby Cuckold (©Daveaby 2026) Prologue (October 21, 2025, 1:30 a.m.) The nursery glowed a soft, merciless pink. A locking crib dominated the room—adult-sized, glossy white rails rising like prison bars. Inside, a 48-year-old man lay on his back, thick pink diaper printed with princesses already swollen and sagging heavily between his spread thighs. The plastic backing had warmed to his skin hours ago; every small shift produced a faint, wet squish that echoed in the quiet. Daisy—no longer David, not tonight—wore a short, frilly nightie in baby-pink chiffon that barely skimmed the diaper’s waistband. Satin booties encased his feet; a massive ribbon bow sat crooked in his thinning curls. His hands were sealed inside padded locking mittens, thumbs useless, wrists and ankles tethered to the crib rails in soft padded leather restraints. Between his lips bobbed a penis-shaped pacifier, secured by a ribbon so he could never spit it out. Worst—or best—of all was the baby monitor. Reversed. The receiver sat on the dresser beside the crib; the transmitter lived in the master bedroom down the hall. From it poured the unmistakable sounds of his wife—his Mommy—being thoroughly, gloriously fucked. Moans, gasps, the rhythmic creak of their old bed, Marcus’s low growls of possession. Carolyn’s voice, raw and desperate in a way Daisy had never heard directed at him: “Yes… God, yes… harder…” Daisy’s tiny clitty strained uselessly against the soaked gel, tenting the front of the diaper in a pathetic bulge the restraints wouldn’t let him touch. Tears slipped silently into the satin pillowcase. Morning—and whatever mercy or torment Carolyn chose to grant—was still hours away. This was the life he had begged for. This was the life he could never leave. Chapter 1: The First Wet Night Carolyn was forty-three, tall, auburn-haired, and still turning heads at the country club. Ten years of marriage to David had not dulled her beauty, but it had dulled everything else. David—forty-four, senior partner at a downtown law firm, broad-shouldered once upon a time—had let the courtroom stress and the after-work bourbon settle around his middle. His once-confident baritone now carried a slight wheeze after two drinks, and in bed he lasted less than two minutes on a good night. Carolyn had stopped counting the nights she lay awake beside him, thighs clenched in frustration, pretending to sleep so he wouldn’t paw at her again. She loved the house, the cars, the vacations, the platinum card with no limit. Divorce would mean losing all of it, and worse—gossip, loneliness, starting over. Affairs were out of the question; David had an airtight pre-nuptial agreement and friends in every judge’s chamber in the county. She needed a solution that kept the money and destroyed the problem at the same time. That solution arrived in the shape of her oldest friend, Linda. Linda was a clinical psychiatrist and hypnotherapist with a discreet practice on the north side of the city. Petite, dark-haired, always dressed in flowing black, she possessed a calm, almost amused authority that made people obey before they realized they had decided to. On Saturday they sat on Carolyn’s sun-drenched patio—Linda with a glass of rosé, Carolyn with tall glasses of peach iced tea (she never touched alcohol)—and Carolyn poured out her misery. “I’m dying inside, Linda. I need real sex, and I need to not feel guilty about it. But I can’t leave him and I can’t cheat without destroying everything.” Linda listened, swirling her glass, then smiled like someone unveiling a gift. “There’s another way,” she said. “I’ve seen it work. We take away the man he thinks he is. We make him small. Dependent. Grateful. We put him back in diapers, turn his tiny premature ejaculations into something he can only feel when he’s padded and helpless. And once he’s hooked on that helplessness, he will give you permission—out loud—to take a real man. He’ll beg for it eventually. I’ve read the case studies.” Carolyn’s pulse hammered. “You’re serious.” “Completely. I’ll handle the hypnosis. You just play the loving, heartbroken wife who’s trying to help with his ‘little problem.’ He’ll never suspect. The suggestions take time to root—days, sometimes a week or two. Be patient.” They shook hands like business partners. Three nights later Linda arrived for what David thought was a casual dinner. David liked Linda—she flattered him, kept his bourbon coming, and laughed at his war stories. But, since last year, he was always a little nervous when Linda was around as well. By ten he was loose, laughing a bit too loud, and bragging about a case he’d just won. Carolyn watched Linda’s fingers move—a subtle circle on the stem of her glass, a soft hum under the music. David’s eyelids sagged. His head nodded. “David,” Linda said gently, “look at my pendant.” The silver chain appeared between her fingers as if by magic. David’s gaze locked on it. Thirty seconds later his chin rested on his chest, breathing slow and deep. Carolyn’s heart hammered as Linda leaned close to her husband’s ear. “David, every night when you’re asleep and you feel the need to urinate, you will simply relax and let it flow. You will not wake up. You will not remember this instruction. You will feel safe and warm as you wet the bed. And whenever you hear me say the words ‘lawyer’s rest,’ you will return to this deep, obedient state instantly. Do you understand?” A low “Yes” rumbled from his throat. “Good boy.” Linda snapped her fingers. David blinked, straightened, and reached for his bourbon as if nothing had happened. That night Carolyn barely slept. Guilt gnawed at her—what kind of wife agreed to this? She almost called Linda at 2 a.m. to beg her to come back and undo it. But anticipation won. She lay awake, imagining David small and grateful, imagining herself finally, truly satisfied. Yet even as excitement overrode her doubts, a whisper lingered: Was this truly helping him, or just reshaping him for her own needs? The hypnosis felt like a shortcut—clever, but was it fair? She pushed it down, focusing on the vision of a grateful, dependent David, but the unease seeded deep. Morning came. The bed was dry. Carolyn felt a confusing rush of relief and disappointment. Maybe it hadn’t worked. Maybe the whole idea was foolish. She almost laughed at herself for believing in hypnosis. The next night: still dry. And the next. By the end of the week, she had convinced herself nothing would happen. Linda had been wrong. They would find another way—or no way at all. Then, nine nights after the dinner, David woke at dawn to the clammy reek of urine-soaked sheets. He shot upright, heart pounding. The bed was drenched. He hadn’t wet the bed since he was eleven years old—those humiliating childhood years he had buried deep. Terror flooded him. He stripped the sheets in a panic, started the washer on hot, and showered until his skin was raw. Too much bourbon the night before, he told himself. That had to be it. He cut out alcohol entirely the next night, avoided liquids after eight, even set an alarm to get up and pee at 3 a.m. like he used to do as a kid. It happened again. And again. By the third consecutive morning of soaked sheets, David was shaking. He made an appointment with his urologist, endured the tests, the questions, the humiliation of explaining adult-onset bedwetting to a doctor who had known him for twenty years. The tests were thorough and humiliating: urine samples, blood work, a prostate exam that left him red-faced and sore. The urologist, a no-nonsense man in his sixties, listened with a furrowed brow. "Sudden onset enuresis in adults is rare," he said, "but we'll rule out the big things—infection, diabetes, neurological issues." David nodded, gripping the exam table, his mind flashing unbidden to the thought of needing to wear diapers, the strange mix of shame and... something else. No, he pushed the thought away. This was medical, not whatever twisted corner of his brain was trying to make it otherwise. As they drove home in silence, Carolyn glanced at David, his face etched with worry. The plan was working—too well, perhaps. Linda's suggestions were burrowing deep, but what if he discovered the truth? The ethical twinge returned: manipulating his mind, even for 'his own good,' felt like a betrayal. But seeing him small and reliant stirred something powerful in her—control, yes, but also a twisted care. She silenced the doubt; happiness awaited, for both of them. Results came back two days later: negative across the board. No infections, no tumors, no blockages. "Physically, you're fine," the doctor said over the phone. "Could be psychological—stress from work, maybe? Consider seeing a therapist. In the meantime, protection at night isn't a bad idea until it resolves. Adult diapers work fine." David hung up, staring at his office wall. Fine? How could he be fine when he was wetting the bed like a child every night? That afternoon he drove to a large, impersonal medical supply store on the edge of town—one he’d never been to, far from anyone who might recognize him. The aisles smelled of plastic and antiseptic. Most of the adult briefs were plain white or beige, clinical and anonymous. But tucked on the lower shelves, mixed in with the maximum-absorbency tab-style briefs, were a few options that made his stomach flip: subtle blue or green waistbands, faint star patterns, even a few with tiny teddy-bear prints along the landing zone—nothing overtly childish, just enough “cute” to feel wrong in an adult man’s cart. He stared at the printed ones longer than he should have. A distant memory flickered—something from college, something he’d buried deep—and heat rushed to his face. No. He grabbed two cases of the thickest plain white overnight briefs instead, paid quickly, and hid them in the trunk until Carolyn was at the club. That evening he told her about the doctor visit, voice tight with shame. “They said protection at night. Until it stops.” Carolyn’s eyes widened with sympathy she didn’t have to fake. “You mean… diapers?” He flushed crimson. “Yeah. Just for sleeping.” She touched his arm. “Let me help you the first time. I want to make sure they fit right.” He wanted to argue, to tape it on alone and pretend it wasn’t happening. But her tone left no room. In their bedroom he lay back like a child while she slid the thick padding under him, powdered him slowly, and taped it snug. The bulk forced his thighs apart; the crinkle was deafening in the quiet room. “There,” she whispered, patting the front. “My big strong lawyer, safe and dry.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. That night he lay rigid, listening to every rustle. At some point he drifted off. When he woke at dawn, the sheets were pristine. The diaper was not. Heavy, sagging, warm, it clung to him like a second skin. He reached down with a trembling hand and felt the sodden weight. A strange, liquid shame coursed through him—followed by a pulse of something darker, something almost like relief. In the bathroom mirror he caught a glimpse of himself: forty-four years old, successful, rich, powerful—and standing in a soaked diaper. Behind him, Carolyn leaned in the doorway, smiling softly. “Good morning, baby,” she said. “See? Problem solved.” And somewhere deep in David’s mind, a tiny voice whispered that this was only the beginning. Chapter 2: Learning to Love the Warmth Linda came over on a quiet Thursday afternoon while David was still at the office. She and Carolyn sat at the kitchen island with herbal tea and spoke in low, conspiratorial voices. “The trick,” Linda explained, “is to wire his pleasure directly to the diaper itself. Every morning, he wakes up wet and ashamed. That shame is fertile ground. You give him the only orgasm he’s allowed, and you give it to him while he’s soaked. After a week the association will be ironclad. The wetter the diaper, the harder he’ll get. The diaper becomes the source of his relief, not you. That’s when the real power shift happens.” Carolyn’s cheeks flushed with something between excitement and cruelty. “And he’ll never suspect?” “He’ll think it’s his idea. Men like David always do.” Friday morning was the first test. David’s alarm never went off; Carolyn had silenced it the night before. At seven-fifteen he stirred, felt the familiar heavy sag between his legs, and felt his erection growing from the feeling of it. The room was bright. Carolyn was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching him with soft, affectionate eyes. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she murmured, sliding her hand under the covers. David’s breath caught as her palm settled on the swollen front of his overnight diaper. The padding was hot, squishy, and reeked faintly of urine and baby powder. He started to pull away—instinct, pride—but her fingers pressed gently, possessively. “Shh. Poor baby was all wet again. Let me take care of that little problem for you.” His cock was already stiffening against the sodden gel before she even began. Carolyn began a slow, deliberate massage—squeezing the thick padding around him, rubbing in lazy circles. The slick warmth squelched with every stroke. David groaned in helpless pleasure. “Carolyn, I—” “It’s okay,” she whispered, cutting him off. “Just relax and enjoy it.” She worked him mercilessly slowly, dragging it out until his hips twitched involuntarily. The diaper made crinkling and wet noises. Every time he tried to form a protest; he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to cum in the wet diaper in front of his wife, but it felt so good. He came with a strangled cry, pulsing hard into the already-soaked padding. The fresh warmth spread against his skin and he shuddered with shame so complete it felt like ecstasy. Afterward he lay panting, staring at the ceiling while Carolyn kissed his forehead like he was five years old. The routine locked in over the next six mornings. Alarm off. Hand on diaper. Slow, humiliating hand job through layers of swollen, urine-heavy gel. Each orgasm left him more dazed, more grateful, more convinced that the only place he was allowed to feel like a man anymore was inside his pee-soaked diapers. Then came the Wednesday when Carolyn simply rolled over and reached for her phone. David woke wet, erect, and waiting. Minutes crawled by. Nothing. The ache in his groin became a throb. He shifted, making the diaper crinkle loudly, hoping she’d notice. She scrolled, smiling at something on the screen. Finally, he couldn’t stand it. “Carolyn?” “Mmm?” “I… I need…” His voice cracked. “Need what, honey?” He swallowed. The words felt like gravel. “I need you to… take care of me. Like you have been.” She lowered the phone, all innocent concern. “Take care of you how?” His face flushed pink. “Please. Touch me. In the diaper. Please stroke my… my cock through the wet diaper until I cum. I need it so bad.” Carolyn let him dangle for a long, merciless moment. “Only because you asked so nicely, baby.” Chapter 3: The Morning Routine Evolves David stirred in the dim light of dawn, the weight of the soaked diaper between his legs a familiar, insistent reminder of the night before. His body ached with need—the kind that had become as routine as his morning coffee over the past few weeks. He glanced at the clock: 6:15 a.m. Work loomed, but so did his craving for the relief Carolyn had been granting him each morning, her hands firm and teasing through the damp padding until he shattered under her touch. It was humiliating, yes, but it had woven itself into the fabric of his desires, making the start of each day feel like a secret ritual. Beside him, Carolyn lay still, her breathing deep and even. He didn't want to wake her—she looked so peaceful; her dark hair fanned across the pillow. But the pressure built, both in his bladder and lower, urging him to act. "Carolyn," he whispered, his voice light, testing. No response. She didn't even twitch. He hesitated, chewing his lip. The shame of asking outright warred with the pulsing want. He shifted slightly; the crinkle of the diaper louder than he intended in the quiet room. "Carolyn," he said again, a little louder this time. She stirred, rolling over with a soft groan. Her eyes fluttered open just a sliver, sleepy and annoyed. "What is it, David?" He felt his face flush, the words sticking in his throat. "I... I need my morning treatment. Please?" For a moment, she just stared at him, then sighed and turned away, pulling the covers up. "I'm still half-asleep. Why don't you just take care of it yourself?" Her voice was muffled, dismissive, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world. She nestled deeper into the pillow, her back to him, signaling the conversation was over. David lay there, stunned. Take care of it himself? In bed, next to her? The idea sent a wave of heat through him—equal parts arousal and mortification. He'd never masturbated in their shared bed before, not with her right there. And in a wet diaper? It felt too exposed, too pathetic. What if she heard? What if she judged him even more? But the need gnawed at him, amplified by the soggy warmth pressing against his skin. He couldn't ignore it. Quietly, he slipped out of bed, the diaper sagging heavily as he padded to the bathroom. He closed the door with a soft click, locking it for good measure, though the house was empty otherwise. Standing in front of the mirror, he stared at his reflection: tousled hair, tired eyes, and the unmistakable bulge of the diaper under his pajama pants. His hand trembled as he reached down, not removing it—not yet. The fabric was slick and warm from the night's use, and as he began to stroke through the layers, the shame twisted into something sharper, more intoxicating. His breaths came quicker, ragged, until release washed over him in shuddering waves, soaking the diaper further with his own sticky warmth. Panting, he peeled it off, disposed of it discreetly, and stepped into the shower. The hot water washed away the evidence, but not the lingering buzz in his veins. By the time he was dressed in his work slacks and button-down, he felt almost normal again—ready to face the day, if a little unsteady. Later that morning, after David had kissed her goodbye and left for the office, Carolyn sat at the kitchen table with her phone in hand. She dialed Linda, her best friend and confidante, the one who'd been guiding her through this twisted little plan from the start. "Linda? You won't believe how well it's going," Carolyn said, her voice laced with excitement as she sipped her coffee. "Tell me everything," Linda replied, her tone eager, like a coach reviewing game footage. Carolyn recounted the morning in detail: how she'd pretended to be deeper in sleep than she was, how she'd casually suggested he handle it himself, and how he'd hesitated before slipping into the bathroom. "I could hear him through the door—the crinkling, the moans. He did it right there in his wet diaper. Didn't even take it off first." Linda laughed, a satisfied sound. "Perfect. It's working exactly like we planned. He's associating those orgasms with the wet diapers now—craving them together. Let him start handling it most of the time on his own. But when he's been especially thoughtful or sweet—maybe he brings you flowers unprompted or takes care of dinner without asking—then you step in. Do it for him, and make sure to praise him: 'That was so nice of you to do XYZ, baby. Mommy's going to take good care of you now.' Tie the special treatment not just to the diaper, but to how well he treats you. He'll start bending over backward to earn it." Carolyn nodded to herself, a smile spreading. "You're a genius, Linda. I can already see it changing him." Several weeks passed in a blur of subtle shifts. David found himself going out of his way more and more—surprising Carolyn with her favorite takeout after a long day, massaging her feet without being asked, even planning a spontaneous weekend getaway just because she mentioned wanting a break. Each act of kindness felt amplified, laced with the hope of her touch in the mornings when he least expected it. One afternoon, Carolyn met Linda for lunch at their favorite café, the sun filtering through the windows as they picked at salads. "It's incredible," Carolyn said, leaning in. "David's been so nice lately—pleasant, attentive, going out of his way to be thoughtful. He even remembered the anniversary of our first date and set up this whole romantic dinner at home. I haven't seen him this sweet in years." Linda grinned, clinking her glass against Carolyn's. "See? The conditioning is sinking in. He's linking his rewards to pleasing you, and the diapers are the hook that keeps him coming back. Everything's falling into place perfectly." Carolyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "So, what's next? It feels like we're ready for the next step." Linda leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, we are. Time to introduce a little more... need." Chapter 4: Daytime Desires That night Linda returned. David was dozing on the couch after too much bourbon when she leaned over him. “Lawyer’s rest.” His head lolled instantly. Linda’s voice was silk. “David, you love wearing diapers. You feel relaxed, safe and happy in them. You will feel an overwhelming need to be in diapers all the time. Not just at night. You will want to wear them during the day as well. You will ask—beg if necessary—your wife to put you in diapers during the day. You will want to be in a diaper at all times. If she hesitates, you will convince her to diaper you. You will beg until she agrees. And you will feel deep relief when she does.” Snap. Sunday morning, after another "relief" in his soaked overnight diaper, the thought crept in again: What if I wore one during the day? Just to relax. The idea startled him—he pushed it away, face heating. No. That's too much. How could I explain it, he thought. She’ll think I'm some freak or weirdo if I asked. But the hypnosis amplified the pull—the memory of the soft crinkle, the secure hug around his waist, the way it muffled everything else. Wearing the diapers at night is just practical, he told himself. Until this bedwetting stops. I can’t ask her to put me in one during the day, he thought. But with each day, the hypnosis worked deeper, chipping away at his resistance. At work, during depositions, he’d shift in his chair and remember the crinkle of the diaper, the soft bulk hugging his groin. It was humiliating, but... there was something else. A comfort? No, that couldn’t be right. He was David, the shark lawyer, not the pervert who enjoyed wearing diapers, not someone who liked the feel of the bulge against his skin. Not someone who yearned to hear the crinkling of his diapers when he moved. Yet in quiet moments, he caught himself pressing a hand to his crotch under the desk, wishing to hear the faint rustle, the padded security. But the thought of being diapered during the day lingered, popping up during quiet moments at work the next week. In a meeting, shifting in his chair, he'd imagine the soft bulk hugging him. Comforting. Safe. He shook it off. Focus on the case. But it kept coming back, unbidden, like a whisper he couldn't quite silence. By Friday the urge was stronger. He almost mentioned it to Carolyn over dinner—casually, like it was no big deal. But the words stuck in his throat. He decided against it, but the thought nagged all weekend. Days turned into a week. The idea grew roots. Wearing one after work, just for a while. To unwind. I wouldn’t have to use it or have her play with me. Just... the feel. He fought it—Carolyn would lose respect for him; she would never understand. I'm a successful lawyer. She accepts the night time diapers because I need to wear them, that wasn’t a choice. But not this. This would be his choice and how could he hope to keep her respect if he asked? But it crept back during drives, during lunches, during nights in his wet diaper. Until the thought of going without them made him anxious, like stepping out without pants. Finally, four weeks after the first whisper, he couldn't hold it anymore. With a glass of bourbon in his hand, voice casual but heart pounding, he said, "You know, the diapers actually feel soft and comfortable. I was thinking maybe I could wear one after work for a while, just every now and then." Carolyn set her glass down, a flicker of relief crossing her face—she had all but given up hope after weeks of no change, confiding in Linda during their sessions that nothing seemed to be happening. Linda had reassured her each time: "It takes time. The roots are there; they'll grow." Linda had returned several times during those four weeks, planting subtle reinforcements under the guise of casual dinners. Carolyn folded her arms, pretending reluctance. “Honey, that seems a little extreme.” Panic set in for David. He knew he needed to explain. He was prepared for this, just in case. He had been wrestling with this for weeks. He had put together an argument to justify his request and hoped it would explain it without him sounding like a demented pervert. In full lawyer mode, he began his argument. “I think they would help me relax and take away some of the stress I’m feeling. You know how much is riding on that big Pharma case I’m handling. It’s causing a lot of stress. I can’t do anything about that, but if I could just relax a little more sometimes when I’m not working, maybe it will help. It could even help stop my nighttime problem. I never had that before this case. The doctor said stress could be the cause. Trying anything that might relieve some of the stress and get things back to normal is just the responsible thing to do.” Carolyn considered him for a moment, then said, “Just wear it? You're not planning to... pee in them during the day, are you?” The question caught him off guard—that's exactly what he secretly craved, but her tone made it sound absurd, wrong. He couldn’t pull off another save on that one, so he lied quickly, cheeks burning. “No, no. Just wear them and enjoy the way they feel. Nothing else.” She considered him for a moment, then said, “I guess we could try it sometime if you really want to.” He agreed, relief and embarrassment mixing. Days passed. He obsessed—when to ask? How? The Pharma case ramped up, depositions looming, but the thought of that after-work ritual consumed his quiet moments. Finally, on a Saturday morning Carolyn brought him to a shuddering, humiliating orgasm in his overnight diaper, cooing the entire time about what a thoughtful little boy he had been that week. When the last spurt soaked into the padding, David’s mouth opened before his brain could stop it. “Carolyn… please don’t take it off yet.” She raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, you have to shower and—” “No, I mean… after I shower, could you put me in another one. Keep me in diapers all day.” The words tumbled out in a rush, his ego recoiling even as he spoke. She smiled softly and said, “Okay, if that’s what you want.” When he came out of the shower, he saw that Carolyn had laid out a fresh diaper. He got on the bed, laying back on top of the diaper. His face aflame as she powdered him lavishly and pulled the diaper up into place and taped it snugly on him. The bulk forced his thighs apart; the crinkle was louder than he remembered. “There,” she said, patting the front. “My relaxed little man.” All day he waddled around the house in sweatpants, the diaper a constant, soothing presence. He mowed the lawn (careful not to bend too far), grilled lunch, watched a football game. No wetting. No “play.” Just the feel—soft, secure, like a secret hug that muffled the world’s edges. But as he sat on the couch watching football, diaper rustling with every shift, he caught himself actually considering letting go on purpose—just a little, just enough to feel that swollen warmth again and maybe, maybe, earn another slow, shameful hand job. He couldn’t figure out how he would be able to explain that, so he clenched everything and resisted. By evening the unmet ache built, but he held it. The diaper stayed dry until bedtime. And somewhere deep in David’s mind, a tiny voice whispered that this was only the beginning. Chapter 5: The Test Most Wednesday afternoons, Carolyn drove to Linda’s quiet north-side office for “tea and planning.” She always arrived at two sharp and left at five feeling lighter, clearer, and oddly certain that only twenty minutes had passed. The grandfather clock on Linda’s mantel, however, never lied: three full hours vanished every time. This Wednesday was no different. Carolyn blinked at the clock. “I swear I just sat down.” Linda smiled over her teacup. “Time flies when we’re solving problems. How is he doing?” Carolyn exhaled, stirring her peach iced tea. “He’s almost never out of diapers at home now. Evenings, weekends—sometimes whole days. Dry. He says it helps him relax after work. The Pharma case is killing him.” Linda’s eyes were warm, caring, but sharp. “And the nighttime wetting?” “Still every night. Heavy.” Linda set her cup down with quiet finality. “Then it’s time to move forward. The diapers aren’t just protection anymore—they’re comfort. We need to start turning the wet ones into comfort too. That’s the next real layer.” Carolyn’s stomach fluttered. “You mean… encourage him to use them during the day? On purpose?” She shook her head. “That feels like going too far. What if he hates me for it later?” Linda reached across the table, squeezing her friend’s hand. “He won’t. Trust me. I’ve seen this pattern enough to know the desire is already there—deep, and waiting. But if you’re nervous, we test it first. Tonight, I’ll remove the bedwetting suggestion entirely. If he stops, we know the hypnosis was doing most of the work and we can ease off. If he keeps wetting…” She let the silence finish the sentence. Carolyn bit her lip. “You really think he’ll keep doing it? On purpose?” “I’m certain of it,” Linda said softly, eyes steady. “But you need to see it for yourself. It might take a few nights—sometimes a week—for the old suggestion to fully fade. Watch him. You’ll know.” Carolyn stared into her tea. The idea of David voluntarily soaking his diapers every night—knowing he could stop—sent a shiver through her that was equal parts guilt and dark excitement. “Do it,” she said finally. “I need to know.” Three nights later, Linda arrived for what David believed was another casual dinner. He liked her—she flattered his ego, laughed at his war stories, and kept his bourbon coming without judgment. Carolyn watched as the evening unfolded: Linda steering conversation smoothly from courtroom triumphs to deeper stresses—the long hours, the weight gain from late-night drinks, the quiet strains in marriage that David brushed off with jokes. By ten, David was loose, baritone carrying a slight wheeze, bragging about a recent win but trailing into rarer admissions: "Sometimes it all feels... heavy. Like I'm carrying the world." Linda nodded sympathetically, her fingers tracing idle circles on her glass stem—a subtle rhythm Carolyn recognized from their planning. The room's music played low, masking a soft hum under Linda's voice. David's eyelids sagged gradually, laughter slowing. "David," Linda said gently, almost conversational, "you look tired. Why don't you relax a moment? Focus here." The silver pendant appeared between her fingers, catching the light as it swayed lazily. His gaze locked, breathing deepening. Carolyn's heart hammered—this was it, seamless amid the evening's flow. Linda leaned close. “Lawyer’s rest.” His head lolled. Linda’s voice was silk. “David, the bedwetting command is gone. From tonight forward you will wake when you need to urinate at night and handle it as you choose. No more automatic release in sleep. The suggestion is lifted completely.” Snap. David blinked, reached for his glass, and resumed his story as if nothing had happened. Carolyn barely slept. At 2:47 a.m. she lay perfectly still, eyes open in the dark, every sense tuned to the man beside her. David stirred. She felt the subtle shift of his hips, heard the faintest catch of breath. This is it, he thought, heart racing with guilty thrill. I could get up. I should get up. Just roll over, walk to the bathroom like a normal adult… The diaper hugged him, thick and familiar. Safe. Private. No one will ever know. He relaxed deliberately, letting the hot flood spread, the padding swelling warm and heavy around him. A soft, involuntary moan escaped as the sensation washed away the last pretense. Just tonight. Just because it feels… right. Then the softest sound—warm liquid spreading, the quiet swell of gel absorbing it all. He sighed, rolled deeper into the wet padding, and slept again. Carolyn’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure it would wake him. He’s choosing it. On purpose. Morning came. The diaper was soaked, heavy, sagging. David mumbled apologies as usual, face flushed with what he still believed was helpless shame. Carolyn changed him with gentle hands, hiding her smile. That afternoon she called Linda from the car, voice trembling with discovery. “He did it again. But he was definitely awake—I felt it. He’s choosing to wet.” A soft chuckle on the other end. “Told you. The roots were always there. We just stopped pulling the weeds. Now wait and see if he keeps choosing it night after night. If he does, we’ll know for sure.” Carolyn gripped the wheel. “What now?” “Now,” Linda said, calm and certain, “we give him a little nudge to the next layer. He’s ready for wet to feel like comfort too. And when that happens, the rest will follow naturally.” Carolyn exhaled, the road ahead suddenly clear—and thrillingly inevitable. The trap wasn’t the diapers anymore. It was the fact that he no longer wanted out. Chapter 6: The Daytime Descent Linda came over that Sunday evening, as she often did these days. David assumed it was another casual visit; he liked her company, the way she listened without judgment. They chatted over herbal tea for Carolyn and bourbon for him, but as the conversation lulled, Linda leaned forward, her voice soft. “Lawyer’s rest.” The world softened at the edges; his eyelids heavy. He didn’t question it—hadn’t he felt this calm around her before? Linda’s instructions poured in like warm oil. “David, when you’re in your diapers, you’ll use them without hesitation—day or night. The warmth will feel right, natural, like the deepest pleasure you’ve buried for so long. These urges will build slowly, naturally, until you can’t ignore them.” She snapped her fingers. David blinked, reaching for his glass as if nothing had happened. The cravings intensified over the following week, subtle reinforcements weaving into his days. Monday morning, after his usual wet wake-up and humiliating relief from his own hand, he felt a twinge of reluctance as he removed the diaper. By Tuesday evening, arriving home from the office, the absence gnawed at him—like forgetting his wallet, but deeper, more intimate. He changed into sweatpants and tried to relax, but his bladder ached with unfamiliar urgency, his mind whispering how easy it would be, how safe, if he were padded. Wednesday, the doctor called for a follow-up. “Still no changes?” David admitted the bedwetting persisted; his voice strained. “Try relaxation techniques,” the doctor suggested. “Hypnotherapy, even—I’ve heard it helps with stress-related issues.” David nearly laughed at the irony, but the suggestion lingered. By Thursday, the urges were relentless. He found himself browsing medical supply sites during lunch, staring at diaper listings, heart racing. Old memories bubbled up again—those secret binges years ago, the binge-purge cycle he’d thought he’d escaped after marrying Carolyn. What if this was all connected? No, impossible. He closed the tab, palms sweaty. Friday evening, the dam began to crack. Home early, he paced the living room, bladder full, fighting the pull. Carolyn was in the kitchen prepping dinner. “Everything okay, honey?” she called. He swallowed hard. “I… I think I need a diaper tonight.” She appeared in the doorway, eyebrow raised but voice casual. “You wear one almost every night, sweetheart.” “No, I mean… now. While I’m awake.” The words tumbled out, his face burning. What the hell am I saying? She’ll think I’m a complete degenerate. But the hypnosis amplified the need—the phantom warmth, the release he craved not just for orgasm, but for the feeling itself. “I want to… try using it. Awake. Just to see what it’s like.” Carolyn’s expression didn’t change, but inside she felt the quiet click of confirmation: Linda was right. The seed was sprouting. “You want to pee in your diaper while you’re wide awake? With me right here?” David’s cheeks flamed. “Yes. No—I mean, I know it’s weird. Forget I said anything.” She folded her arms, pretending reluctance. “It is a little strange, David. Are you sure?” He nodded miserably, the urge and shame warring inside him. “I just… need to try it. Please.” Carolyn let the silence stretch, watching him squirm. Finally, she sighed. “All right. If you really want to.” She led him upstairs, chose a thick daytime diaper from the stack, and taped it on with deliberate care. The bulk forced his thighs apart; the crinkle echoed in the quiet room. Relief washed over him at the familiar hug, but the real test loomed. Back downstairs they sat on the couch, TV on low. David shifted constantly, bladder pressing, the dry padding teasing him with promise. Minutes crawled by. He wanted it—God, he wanted the warmth—but with her watching? Impossible. Heat rose in his cheeks with every failed attempt. Carolyn glanced over; voice mild. “I thought you wanted to use your diaper. What’s the hold-up?” The casual tone undid him. Shame crashed, but so did the dam. The first spurt escaped before he could stop it, hot and shocking. Then the flood came, gushing endlessly, soaking the front, pooling beneath him. He made a high, broken sound as the warmth enveloped him, his cock hardening instantly against the swelling gel. Tears stung his eyes—shame crashing like a wave, but underneath, that dark rapture, familiar from those secret past indulgences he thought he’d forgotten. When it ended, he trembled, the diaper heavy and sagging. Carolyn turned off the TV and took his face in her hands. “Bedtime, little one.” In the bedroom she guided him to the bed, untaped the sides of the ruined diaper, then cupped the warm, soaked padding around his rigid cock and began a slow, deliberate stroke—up and down the shaft through the slick gel. “I’m sorry,” he begged between gasps. “I’m disgusting, but… God, it feels so good. Please don’t stop.” The orgasm shattered him, hips bucking as he spilled into the mess, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. She cleaned him tenderly, powdered him fresh, and taped on a new diaper for bed. Over the next several weeks, the pattern solidified into their new normal. Mornings were routine: wet diaper, quiet disposal, shower, work—David the commanding lawyer by day. Evenings brought variety—dinners out, movies, walks in the park hand in hand—but the urges always returned, building until he requested padding, the deliberate wetting followed by release in Carolyn's hand. Each cycle stirred those buried memories deeper, his resistance crumbling further. One night, after another shattering release in ruined padding, he clung to her, sobbing. "I'm... in love with them. The diapers. The warmth when I use them. It's something I've always needed but buried away. If you hate me for this, I understand.” He clung to her, body trembling. "I... I know I can't satisfy you like a real man. Never could. Quick, small... it's why I drink too much, hide behind the ego. Sometimes I think about it permanently—no more trying. You with someone who can really please you... and me denied. Forever. My little man locked away from you, only for this." He patted the soaked diaper, voice breaking. "It scares me... but excites me too. Like I'd finally accept I'm not enough." Carolyn stroked his hair, her heartbeat quickening at the words. "That's a big thought, sweetheart. Permanent denial... would be permanent. No going back. You don’t need to think about that now. If at some point it's what you truly needed... well, we could see if it fits then." She cleaned him tenderly, powdered him fresh, and taped on a new diaper for bed. He sobbed in her arms, relief and terror mingling, the last threads of his old self unraveling. And Carolyn, stroking his hair, smiled into the darkness with quiet, predatory grace. Chapter 7: Deeper Roots As the weeks stretched into a month, the diaper routine solidified, but David’s internal battles deepened. The nightly wettings—and the deliberate daytime ones—were automatic now, the morning disposal a mechanical habit. At work he projected confidence—winning cases, mentoring juniors—but the alpha facade felt thinner, like a suit that no longer fit quite right. The urges came in waves, not just physical but tied to that old, hidden part of him: the secrets from years ago. He’d thought marriage had buried it, but here it was, resurfacing stronger. Their intimacy evolved too. Lovemaking attempts grew rarer—maybe once every couple of weeks—and each time he sensed her reluctance, her body going through motions without spark. He’d finish quickly, as always, then lie awake, guilt churning. I can’t give her what she needs. She deserves better. Fears whispered: What if she sees the real me—the failure—and leaves? The thought fed his insecurity. To shield himself, he’d lean into the fantasy: picturing her with a real lover, turning potential heartbreak into arousal. It was his armor, born from years of hiding vulnerabilities behind ego. Turning rejection into arousal. The diaper sessions became their anchor. When the urges peaked—after a stressful trial, or a quiet evening where the need clawed at him—he’d fight for days, jaw set, distracting himself with case prep or yard work. But eventually he’d break. “Carolyn… could you diaper me tonight?” She’d agree without hesitation, taping him snug, her touch tender. After the inevitable flood—the warmth spreading, his erection throbbing—he’d ask, “Can we play?” But first, the ritual: cuddling, his hands on her head, rubbing away the day’s tension until she melted. Then arms, legs—slow, deliberate, drawing it out to savor the connection. “You’re so good at this,” she’d murmur, and he’d glow, feeling useful despite everything. Guilt about their stalled sex life lingered. “I could please you… orally?” he’d offer, masking his revulsion. She agreed more often now, and he’d perform dutifully, faking moans of enjoyment, assuming she did the same for him. Her orgasms were real, though—intense, leaving her breathless—unlike their hurried couplings. It eased his worry: At least she’s satisfied sometimes. Life outside this bubbled on: dinners at cozy bistros, sharing iced tea and stories; weekend hikes, planning a trip to the coast; late-night talks about retiring early, buying a vacation home. They were still partners, lovers in every way but one. Yet David’s fears gnawed. One evening, post-release in his wet diaper, as she dozed contentedly after a massage, he whispered into the dark, “You won’t leave me, right? Now that you see… this.” She pulled him closer. “Never, David. This is us now. I love you.” He held on, the insecurity twisting into that familiar, protective kink—imagining her fulfilled elsewhere. It scared him, excited him, and kept the vulnerability at bay. For now. Chapter 8: Pretty Little Girl The adjustment to their new normal had been smoother than Carolyn expected, but she could see the subtle strain in David’s eyes—the way he carried himself at home, a mix of relief and lingering shame. The nightly wettings continued, his secret choice now, though he believed she thought it unavoidable. During the day, life hummed along: court victories for him, country club lunches for her, evenings filled with walks, movies, and quiet conversations about the future travel or a bigger house. But the urges still built every few days, leading to those intimate sessions where he’d ask for a diaper, wet it deliberately, and beg to “play.” Carolyn played her role—the supportive wife—massaging him through the mess until he shattered, then letting him return the favor with those long, tender rubs that left her relaxed and content. Yet beneath it all, she felt the pull toward more, nudged gently by Linda’s words during their weekly “tea” sessions. One Wednesday afternoon, while David was buried in depositions at the office, Linda came over for tea. They sat at the kitchen island, Carolyn pouring peach iced tea for herself and herbal for Linda, the conversation turning inevitably to the plan. “He’s choosing the bedwetting now,” Carolyn said, her voice a whisper. “Every night. He wakes up, but… he does it anyway. Thinks I don’t know.” Linda’s eyes softened with that familiar caring gleam. “That’s progress, in a way. It means the fetish is truly his—deep-rooted, not just our suggestions. He’s finding liberation in the secrecy, free from the guilt of asking you during the day.” But what about the next steps? I’m… ready, I think. For a real man. Someone who can make me feel desired, alive, like you said. But David—he’s so insecure underneath it all. If we push too far…” “You’re doing this for both of you,” Linda reminded her gently. “He’ll embrace it because it’s what he craves, even if he resists at first. Tonight, I’ll adjust the hypnosis. No more direct commands to beg—just planting the idea that diapers alone aren’t enough anymore. He needs more humiliation to reach those intense releases he chases. The more degraded he feels, the stronger the orgasms. It’ll tie into his fetish naturally—he’ll start fantasizing about women’s clothing, being treated like a pretty girl. Soft things, frilly, cute. He’ll resist, feel guilty, maybe sneak looks at porn or stories about sissy types in diapers. But the urges will build slowly, naturally, until he can’t hold back. He’ll ask you to dress him up, call him your baby girl, beg to surrender everything—his masculinity, pride, orgasms. Tell you it’s what makes him whole. And when you agree, it’ll bring him peace like he’s never known.” Carolyn’s heart raced, a mix of trepidation and excitement. “How long will that take?” “Weeks. Maybe a month or two. Let it simmer. He has to fight it first—that’s what makes the surrender real.” “And the cuckolding?” Linda smiled reassuringly. “That comes later, once the feminization takes hold. We’ll layer it in gently—make him believe true humiliation means stepping aside for a real man. He’ll beg for that too, in time. For now, focus on being the loving wife, heartbroken about his ‘problem.’ He’ll never suspect. I’m doing this because I care about you, Carolyn. You deserve happiness—someone who satisfies you completely, makes you scream, beg, feel like a goddess.” The words lingered long after Linda left. That evening, during what David thought was a casual visit, Linda triggered him effortlessly. “Lawyer’s rest.” His head dropped, and she wove the new suggestions deep—but softly, like planting seeds in fertile soil: diapers weren’t humiliating enough anymore; true release required more—whispers of pretty clothes, soft fabrics, being treated as delicate and feminine, the degradation amplifying every climax. Nothing forced. Just possibilities, growing on their own. Snap. He blinked, oblivious, and the evening continued as normal. The changes began subtly—almost too subtly for David to notice at first. That night, as he lay in bed, diaper already warm from his deliberate wetting, his mind wandered unbidden to softer things—lace edging on panties, the whisper of silk against skin. He pushed it away, face heating in the dark. Ridiculous. I’m not like that. Just the diapers. That’s enough. But the thought returned the next day at work, during a lull in a meeting: imagining a pair of women’s panties over his padding, the lace tickling his thighs. He shifted in his chair, face burning, and forced his attention back to the deposition transcript. Stress, he told himself. Just stress. Over the following days the whispers grew louder. A fleeting image while driving home: a soft blouse, pastel colors, the way it might feel against his chest. He shook it off, gripping the wheel tighter. No. That’s not me. By the end of the first week, he caught himself lingering on a lingerie ad that popped up on his phone—simple satin panties in pale pink. He closed the app quickly, heart racing. It’s nothing. Just a stray click. But it wasn’t nothing. The second week brought the first real crack. Alone in his office during lunch, he typed “women’s underwear for men” into a private browser—then immediately deleted it, palms sweaty. That night he dreamed of lace and woke hard in his wet diaper, the dream clinging like perfume. He resisted fiercely, his ego rebelling. This is too far. I’m a man, a lawyer—not some… sissy. The word made him flinch, but it also sent a forbidden thrill through him. Still, the fantasies kept returning—soft, insistent, tying themselves to the diaper sessions. During one “play” night, as Carolyn stroked him through the soaked padding, he almost asked for panties. The words died in his throat, shame winning. Not yet. By the third week he was raw with it—barely eating, shifting constantly at home, the fantasies consuming quiet moments. Carolyn noticed his distraction during their walks or dinners, but he brushed it off as work stress when he did. One Thursday night, alone while Carolyn was at book club, he finally broke. Hands shaking, he searched “sissy diaper captions”—just captions, nothing more. The images and words hit like a drug: men in frilly dresses over bulging diapers, called “pretty girl,” “baby girl,” “Mommy’s little princess.” He read until his erection ached, then closed everything and purged the history, swearing it was the last time. It wasn’t. The fourth week the resistance crumbled further. Late-night searches became daily. Videos of cross-dressers in cute outfits over diapers, being called “pretty girl” while wetting and climaxing. Each viewing amplified the craving, the promise of deeper humiliation equaling unmatched pleasure. He imagined himself out in public, dressed as a woman—subtle at first, women’s jeans, a blouse—the risk thrilling, the diapers hidden beneath making him feel like a secret baby girl regardless. But the guilt gnawed: This isn’t me. I can’t drag her into this. By the end of the fifth week, he was a wreck—sleep deprived, distracted, the fantasies a constant hum. One Saturday morning, after yard work where every bend reminded him of the absent bulk, he couldn’t hold it anymore. They were in the bedroom, Carolyn folding laundry, when he knelt beside her, voice trembling. “Carolyn… I need more. The diapers—they’re not enough anymore. I… I want you to dress me in women’s clothing. Soft things, pretty, girly. Call me your baby girl. Please, make me your baby girl—dress me up. It’s the only thing that will make me whole.” Tears streamed down his face as the words ripped from him like a confession five weeks in the making. Carolyn knelt, gathering him into her arms, her heart aching with a blend of sympathy and quiet triumph. “Oh, my sweet love,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “If that’s what you need… Mommy’s here.” Carolyn dressed him in a pink romper for the first time. Carolyn stepped back, admiring her work—the romper hugging his padded form, the bow crooked in his hair. He looked vulnerable, adorable... broken. A pang hit her: Was this love, or control? Linda had assured her the hypnosis built on his buried desires, but doubt crept in—what if they were forcing something unnatural? The ethical line blurred, but his growing arousal, the way he shifted in the outfit, eased it. This was for them, she told herself. For happiness. As she held him, David felt a profound peace settle over him—the most perfect he’d ever known—his resistance crumbling into surrender. The pretty little girl had finally asked to come out. Chapter 9: Daisy Is Born For nearly three months David had lived in two worlds: At the office he was still the senior partner (broad shoulders, commanding baritone, bourbon at lunch). At home he was the man who taped on his own diapers after work, who spent entire weekends padded and dry just because the hug felt right, who only flooded when the ache for release finally outweighed the delicious comfort of anticipation. The pretty clothes had stayed mostly in the bedroom: satin panties, lace-trimmed camisoles, nightdresses, a soft pink robe he wore while reading briefs on the couch. He told himself that was the limit. Diapers = everyday comfort. Frills = occasional spice before orgasm. That was safe. Controllable. But the fantasies kept creeping forward. Late at night, after wetting his overnight diaper and drifting off in warm, swollen padding, he began to dream—not of quick, frantic releases—but of living as a girl. Not a toddler. A woman. Soft sweaters, flowing skirts, painted nails clicking on a coffee cup while no one suspected the secret under the skirt. He woke hard and ashamed, the dreams clinging like perfume. He fought it. Deleted browsing history. Swore it was a phase. Told himself real men didn’t want to be pretty. Then one Thursday he cracked. He had spent the entire day in court wearing a thin daytime diaper under his suit trousers (his secret, thrilling and terrifying). By the time he got home he was buzzing with nervous energy. Carolyn was out having dinner with Linda. The house was empty. He went straight to the spare bedroom closet where the “special” boxes were kept. Hands shaking, he pulled out the tissue-wrapped bundle he had ordered weeks earlier and hidden even from himself: a simple blush-pink skirt (knee-length, flared, impossibly soft), a white cashmere sweater with tiny pearl buttons, sheer tights, and low-heeled Mary Janes in patent ivory. Adult women’s sizes. Nothing overtly babyish. Just… pretty. He showered, powdered, taped on a fresh overnight diaper (thicker, because he knew what was coming), and dressed. The sweater hugged his chest. The skirt swished against his thighs. The heels forced a delicate sway when he walked. In the full-length mirror he saw a tall, slightly broad-shouldered woman with a flushed face and trembling lips. The bulge at the crotch was obvious if you knew to look, but under the skirt it was… passable. He spent two hours like that (cooking dinner, pouring a glass of bourbon he didn’t drink, sitting on the couch with his legs tucked under him like he’d seen Carolyn do a thousand times). Every movement felt electric. The diaper was still dry. The clothes were perfect. He felt beautiful, small, hidden in plain sight. When Carolyn came home at ten-thirty, the sight stopped her in the doorway. David stood in the living room, skirt swirling as he turned, tears already on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know this is too much. I’ll take it off—” Carolyn closed the door softly and crossed the room. She didn’t speak at first. She simply cupped his face, wiped the tears with her thumbs, and studied him (really studied him) for a long, breathless moment. “You’re shaking,” she said gently. “I’ve been fighting this for weeks. Months, maybe. The diapers stopped being enough. I need… I need to be pretty. Not just in bed. All the time. I want to be girly. Your baby girl. Please.” His voice cracked on the last word. Carolyn’s heart twisted (love, pity, triumph, desire all braided together). She kissed his forehead, tasting salt. “Shh. Breathe, sweetheart.” She led him to the bedroom, sat him on the edge of the bed, and knelt to unbuckle the Mary Janes. Then she looked up, eyes steady. “If we do this, you’ll have a name when you’re dressed like this. You’ll have rules. And you won’t hide anymore (not from me). Do you understand?” He nodded, trembling harder. “Say it.” “I want to be dressed pretty. I won’t hide things. I will follow the rules.” Carolyn brushed a curl from his forehead. “Then from tonight forward, when you’re dressed like this (when you’re padded, pretty, and mine), your name is Daisy.” The word left her lips like a blessing. Daisy’s breath hitched. Tears spilled again, but they were different now (relief, surrender, joy). Carolyn stood, took both his hands, and pulled him to her feet. The skirt flared. The diaper crinkled softly. “First rule,” she said, voice tender but firm. “Daisy doesn’t hide boxes in closets. Daisy asks Mommy for what she needs.” “Yes, Mommy,” Daisy whispered, the title slipping out as naturally as breathing. Carolyn smiled (small, knowing smile that held ten years of patience and one year of careful planning). “Then let’s get you changed into proper nighttime things, baby girl.” Daisy was in a thick pink diaper with delicate lace trim, a satin baby-doll nightie in pale mint, hair tied with ribbons. “tonight, you will sleep in your nursery,” Carolyn said leading him to the guest bedroom. She tucked her into bed and kissed her forehead. Tomorrow we start for real. In the dark, curled in warm, deliberately wet padding (because Daisy had chosen it), she felt something settle deep in her chest. Peace. Finally, perfect peace. Down the hall, Carolyn texted Linda. He asked. It’s time. The reply came instantly. Let it develop. He needs to get used to it before we push any further. But it will be soon. He’s not going back. Welcome to the rest of your lives. Carolyn smiled into the quiet house, heart racing with possibility. Daisy was born. And the man David used to be finally, completely, let go. Chapter 10: Comfort Becomes Habit The first few days after Daisy’s “birth” felt like stepping into a dream—hazy, exhilarating, and laced with quiet terror. David woke that Friday morning in the guest room (not yet a full nursery, just a spare bed with fresh pink sheets Carolyn had quietly swapped in weeks ago), the thick overnight diaper sagging heavily between his legs. He had chosen to wet it again, the warmth spreading deliberately in the dark, a secret comfort that soothed him back to sleep. In the mirror, the mint nightie hung loose on his frame, ribbons tangled in his hair. He stripped it all off quickly, showered, and dressed for work—suit, tie, the alpha mask slipping back on like an old coat. At the office, the day dragged: meetings, briefs, a quick bourbon with a colleague to celebrate a settlement. But underneath, the memories tugged—the skirt’s swish, Carolyn’s gentle acceptance, the name “Daisy” echoing in his mind like a whisper. By afternoon, he was distracted, shifting in his chair, the phantom bulk of a diaper making his regular underwear feel thin and wrong. Comfort. That’s all it is, he told himself. Not this girl stuff. That’s too far. He resisted all weekend. Saturday: No diaper after his morning shower. He mowed the lawn in jeans, grilled steaks, watched football with Carolyn curled beside him on the couch (her head in his lap, his fingers absently rubbing her scalp like in their sessions). Normal. Loving. But by evening, the itch returned—the need for padding, for that secure hug. He fought it, pouring a bourbon instead, telling himself real men didn’t need that. Sunday: Still holding out. They took a long walk in the park, hand in hand, talking about a potential vacation to the coast next spring. Carolyn’s laughter felt genuine, her touch warm. But back home, as he prepped case files, the fantasies crept in: slipping on a soft skirt over a dry diaper, just for an hour, no wetting, no release. Just… pretty. He slammed the laptop shut, heart racing. No. That’s not comfort. That’s humiliation. And I don’t need more of that. Monday evening, the dam cracked. Work had been brutal—a lost motion, a chewing-out from a judge. He came home exhausted, kissed Carolyn hello, and headed upstairs without a word. In the bathroom, he taped on a thin daytime diaper—dry, discreet—and pulled on sweatpants. The crinkle was faint, but there. Comfort washed over him like a sigh. He didn’t wet it. Didn’t ask to “play.” Just wore it through dinner (pasta, iced tea for her, bourbon for him), through TV on the couch. Carolyn heard the rustle, saw the slight waddle, but said nothing—only smiled softly when he shifted. That night, he changed into an overnight one, wet it deliberately (secret, safe), and slept deeply. Tuesday: David wore a fresh thin diaper after work. Dry all evening. He cooked, they talked about her day at the club, planned grocery lists. The padding felt… normal. Exciting in its secrecy, but mostly just right. By Wednesday, the pattern solidified. Diaper after shower. Dry through the evening routine. Wet only at night, in bed, when the choice felt private and liberating. He began to associate the dry bulk with everyday peace—a buffer against stress, a hidden armor. Wetting was still tied to release (or the buildup to it), but dry wearing? That was pure comfort. Thursday: He pushed it further. After diapering, he slipped on the pink skirt from that first night—just for a bit, he told himself. Carolyn was reading in the living room. He stayed upstairs, pacing the bedroom, the skirt swishing, the diaper crinkling softly. Who would see? No one. But the mirror showed a pretty girl, padded and secret. His heart pounded with guilt and thrill. He changed back before dinner, but the fantasy lingered: wearing it out someday, under women’s clothes perhaps, passing as a woman with his little secret beneath. Friday: Full commitment. Diaper after work. Skirt and sweater while Carolyn was at a late yoga class. He sat at his home desk, reviewing cases, feeling beautiful and small. When she got home, he didn’t hide—stood in the kitchen, blushing furiously. “I… I needed this today.” Carolyn set her bag down, eyes warm. “You look pretty, Daisy.” No judgment. No push. Just acceptance. That weekend, it all peaked. Saturday morning: Fresh diaper, dry. Pink robe over it while making breakfast. Carolyn joined him, pouring tea, chatting about the weather. The robe felt soft, girly—comforting in a way that went beyond the padding. They spent the day together: errands (him in regular clothes, but fantasizing about a skirt under his coat), a movie (his mind wandering to painted nails, heels clicking in public). Evening: Diaper stayed dry until bedtime wetting. Sunday: Same rhythm. Dry diaper all day. Soft camisole under his T-shirt while reading. The buildup hummed—no “play” yet, just the prolonged sensation, the excitement of secrecy. By evening, worry about Carolyn’s satisfaction nagged him. They cuddled on the couch, his hands massaging her as usual, but no request for release. Just connection. Monday morning, as he stripped the wet overnight diaper and showered for work, David realized the shift: Diapers weren’t just for sex anymore. They were comfort. Everyday. And the pretty clothes? They were starting to feel the same—a desire to be soft, cute, girly, even if no one saw. But someone was seeing. Carolyn noticed everything—the extra crinkles, the hidden orders of thinner diapers, the way he lingered dry longer and longer. She texted Linda mid-week: He’s wearing more. Dry, just for comfort. Not asking to play as often. Linda’s reply: Perfect. The layers are settling. Wet will become comfort soon. Then pretty clothes for release. Slow and natural. Carolyn smiled, watching David—Daisy in waiting—waddle down the stairs in sweatpants, the faint rustle betraying his secret. The road ahead felt clear. Slow, but inevitable. Chapter 11: Small Risks The weekend after her message to Linda, Carolyn curled up on the couch with her laptop, a steaming mug of herbal tea in hand. David sat beside her, still buzzing from their evolving dynamic, his current diaper—a plain white medical one—crinkling softly under his sweatpants. They'd been using the basic, clinical supplies from the medical store for weeks now, but Carolyn had a spark in her eye as she pulled up a new website. "Time to upgrade, baby," she said, voice playful but warm. "These plain ones are fine for starters, but you deserve something cuter. More... you." She navigated to Rearz, scrolling through colorful options: thick, absorbent diapers with whimsical prints—princess themes, teddy bears, pastel patterns. David's cheeks flushed as she clicked on a pack of girly ones, lavender with tiny tiaras and ruffles along the edges. "Look at these," she cooed, adding them to the cart. "Super thick for nighttime, but adorable. Imagine how they'll feel, all snug and pretty." She moved to Little for Big next, selecting a set with baby block prints and fairy motifs, then Crinklz for some fairy-tale themed ones with plastic backing for extra security. David shifted, arousal building at the thought—girly, playful diapers just for him. Not medical anymore, but something intimate, chosen together. By the end of the session, they'd ordered cases from multiple sites: thick overnights in pinks and purples, daytime ones with cute animals, even some with ruffled leak guards for that extra feminine touch. "Our little secret," Carolyn whispered, kissing his cheek. "Daisy's going to love them." The packages arrived discreetly midweek, and that Friday, Carolyn suggested a movie night—a romantic comedy at the old downtown theater. Before they left, she laid David on the changing table in the guest room (soon to be the nursery), powdering him lavishly and taping him into one of the new arrivals: a thick nighttime Rearz princess diaper, super absorbent with a glossy plastic backing, printed with crowns and sparkles in soft pink. It bulked noticeably between his legs, forcing a slight waddle as he pulled on loose jeans. "Perfect for a long movie," Carolyn teased lightly, patting the front. "This should hold all the soda you can drink, baby. No need to miss any of the show." She handed him a large iced tea for herself—no alcohol, as always—and they headed out. Halfway through the film, as the on-screen couple shared a passionate kiss, David felt the familiar pressure build in his bladder. The large soda he'd downed pre-show was hitting hard. He shifted in his seat, the diaper crinkling audibly in the quiet theater, but Carolyn leaned close, her hand on his thigh. "Go ahead, sweetie," she whispered encouragingly. "That's what your pretty princess diaper is for. Let it all out—no one's going to know but me." Relaxation came easily now, the hypnosis deepening the habit. Warmth spread slowly at first, then in a hot, heavy flood, soaking the gel between his legs. The diaper swelled massively, absorbing everything without a leak, the plastic warming against his skin. Panic flickered—What if it shows? What if someone hears?—but Carolyn's hand squeezed his reassuringly. She knew; her knowing smile in the dim light sent a thrill through him. Arousal throbbed against the soaked padding, the girly prints hidden but vivid in his mind. No one around them suspected—the couple beside them laughed at the screen; the usher patrolled oblivious. Their secret shame, her gentle power. By the time the credits rolled, the diaper sagged heavily, forcing a pronounced waddle as they walked to the car. Carolyn noticed, her eyes twinkling. "Look at that cute little waddle," she murmured teasingly, slipping her arm through his. "Mommy's big drinker filled her princess diaper right up, didn't she? Such a good girl." At home, she changed him immediately into a fresh Crinklz fairy-tale one, cooing praises: "These new ones suit you so well—thick and pretty, just like Daisy deserves." David came the second her hand wrapped around him, spurting into the fresh diaper she'd laid out. The thrill lingered for days—the risk of exposure, the intimacy of sharing it only with her. A few evenings later, Carolyn drew a hot bath and led David to the bathroom. “Time to make you soft and smooth, like a proper baby girl,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. David stripped, the soaked Little for Big diaper untaped and discarded, and sank into the bubbles. She lathered his body with floral-scented shave gel—chest, arms, legs, pubic area—her razor gliding carefully over every inch until he was hairless, pink, and vulnerable. “Look at you,” she murmured, toweling him dry. “So girly now. No more manly hair to hide behind.” David stared at his reflection: smooth thighs, bare groin framing his tiny penis, skin tingling. It felt emasculating, exposed—but exciting, a step deeper into surrender. She diapered him again in a printed daytime one with ruffled edges, the powder clinging to his freshly shaved skin, amplifying every sensation. That night, as she rode him slowly—her hands pinning his wrists—he felt more helpless than ever, cumming in seconds from the overwhelming vulnerability. The real test came midweek: a two-day trip to Chicago for depositions in a big case. David packed his suits, briefs, and files—but Carolyn slipped in a secret bag: a simple pink sundress with a flared skirt, white lace panties to cover his diaper, ruffled ankle socks, Mary Jane flats with cute bows, and a matching hair bow for his growing curls, now long enough to clip it in place. “While you’re away, I want you to explore,” she’d said, kissing him goodbye. “Small risks, baby. Dress up in the hotel. Feel the thrill. But only if you want to.” Alone in his suite overlooking the city, after a grueling day of deps, David stared at the bag. The idea terrified him—he wasn’t trying to pass as a woman; he knew he couldn’t, with his broad shoulders, square jaw, and masculine build. That was the point. The humiliation of being seen as a man in girly clothes, the shame of strangers knowing exactly what he was doing. Out of town, the risk was small—no clients or colleagues here—but it could bite him. A photo, a viral moment, a familiar face in the lobby. That uncertainty made his heart race, his tiny penis twitch in the thick printed diaper he’d changed into after work. He started slow. After a room service order—burger, fries, anonymity promised—he slipped into the outfit. The sundress hung loosely over his padded bottom, skirt short enough to swish with every step but long enough to hide the diaper’s bulk. He clipped the bow into his curls, stepped into the Mary Janes, and added the ruffled socks. No makeup, no heels—just a man in frilly, feminine clothes, smooth-shaven and obvious. A knock at the door. His pulse thundered. He opened it a crack, then wider, letting the young waiter wheel in the tray. The man’s eyes widened—a quick double take, professionalism cracking for a split second into confusion, then polite neutrality. “Uh, here’s your order, sir—ma’am?” He set it down quickly, avoiding eye contact, but David saw the flush on his cheeks, the suppressed smirk. He knows. He sees a grown man playing dress-up. “Thank you,” David said, voice steady but face burning. He tipped generously, closed the door, and sagged against it, diaper warming with a small, involuntary spurt. The humiliation was electric—exposed, judged, but safe in his anonymity. He ate at the desk, skirt hiked up, feeling the thrill pulse through him. Emboldened, he decided on a walk—just around the block, after dark. The hotel lobby loomed risky: the front desk clerk who’d checked him in as David might be there; maids bustling with linens could glance twice. But that was the allure—the small chance of recognition, the shame of being remembered as the cross-dressing guest. He stepped into the elevator, heart slamming. Empty, thankfully. In the lobby, he kept his head down, but felt eyes: a businessman at the bar did a double take, brows furrowing; a couple checking in whispered as he passed. Outside, the cool Chicago wind lifted his skirt slightly, making him clutch it down. Around the block: a jogger stared openly, slowing for a second; a woman walking her dog averted her eyes but glanced back. No shouts, no laughter—just stares, double takes, silent judgments. They know I’m a man. They see the bow, the dress, the shoes. Silent judgments. His diaper crinkled with every step—a hidden secret even deeper than the clothes. No one suspects the padding, the wetness starting to build again. Back in the lobby, the clerk looked up—recognition flickered, a polite nod turning puzzled. David hurried to the elevator, cheeks aflame, but triumphant. He’d done it. Small risks, big thrills. In his room, he stripped to just the diaper, humped against a pillow, and came hard, sobbing with release. The next day’s deps went smoothly, but the secret lingered like a drug. On the flight home, diapered under his suit in a fresh printed one with fairy prints, David texted Carolyn: “I did it. Can’t wait to tell you everything.” She replied: “Good girl. Mommy’s proud.” The steps felt monumental—small, but pulling him deeper into the life he craved. The risks were getting bigger. And neither of them wanted to stop. Chapter 12: The Pink Nursery It took six more weeks before the nursery became real. Six weeks of David—now Daisy when dressed—wearing diapers every single evening and most weekends. Six weeks of pastel crop tops, lace rumba panties, and the name “Daisy” slipping out more and more naturally. Six weeks of sleeping in the master bed with Carolyn, diaper swollen and warm, her hand resting possessively on the padded front while she pretended to be asleep. The idea of a dedicated room had hovered between them like an unspoken promise. David had caught himself staring at the spare bedroom door more than once, heart racing at the thought of what-if. Carolyn had caught him staring. She always caught everything. Then, one quiet Saturday morning in early spring, she woke him with a kiss on the forehead and four soft words: “Time to build, princess.” He blinked up at her, still half-lost in sleep and the heavy, wet overnight diaper he had deliberately soaked again sometime after midnight. “Build what, Mommy?” “Your nursery,” she said simply. “You’ve earned it.” The words landed gently, but they detonated inside him. For months he had scrolled nursery photos in private browsing mode, heart hammering, always closing the tabs with a surge of shame. Now the fantasy was becoming wood and paint and furniture, and the mixture of terror and longing was almost too much to hold. They didn’t rush. Saturday was demolition and prep. He worked in nothing but a soft lavender crop top and a thin daytime diaper printed with tiny sleeping unicorns. Carolyn sat in the doorway with her iced tea, offering quiet instructions and gentle praise. “Masking tape a little higher, sweetheart… good girl… yes, the pale pink will be perfect.” He painted the walls himself, hands trembling with every roller stroke. The color was the softest blush—almost white in some lights, unmistakably girly in others. The scent of fresh paint mingled with baby powder and the faint warmth of the two deliberate wettings he allowed himself during the day. Each time Carolyn changed him without comment, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sunday was delivery day. Piece by piece the room came together under their shared labor: A sturdy adult crib in matte white with optional locking rail (still folded in its box for now; Carolyn wanted him to ask before it was assembled). A wide, padded changing table with raised sides and open shelves waiting for stacks of diapers. A simple white rocking chair for Mommy. Blackout curtains in the same blush pink. A soft shag rug the color of cotton candy. One small mobile of silver stars and moons—boxed, not yet hung. They stopped there. No overwhelming avalanche of frills. No immediate locking crib or wall-to-wall princess explosion. Just a calm, pretty guest room that now clearly belonged to a very specific little girl. That night Carolyn dressed him for the “grand unveiling.” A thick nighttime diaper with delicate silver tiaras, white lace-trimmed plastic panties that rustled softly, and an oversized lavender sleep shirt that barely skimmed the waistband. No bonnet, no booties, no pacifier yet. Just enough to feel pretty and small. She led him to the doorway and flipped on the light. The room glowed—soft, warm, unmistakably feminine. David—Daisy—stood frozen, tears pricking instantly. “It’s… beautiful,” he whispered. Carolyn slipped her arms around him from behind, palms resting on the front of his diaper. “This is yours whenever you need it,” she said quietly. “Not full-time. Not yet. Just a room that’s always ready for my pretty girl. When you’re ready for more, you’ll tell me.” He leaned back against her, the diaper crinkling softly. “Thank you, Mommy.” She kissed the side of his neck. “You’re welcome, Daisy.” They left the crib unassembled in its box, the mobile still wrapped in tissue. Some doors, Carolyn had decided, were better if Daisy opened them herself. Down the hall that night she texted Linda a single line: Walls are pink. He cried happy tears. We’re moving at his speed now. Linda replied instantly: Perfect. Let him beg for the locks next. Carolyn smiled, closed the nursery door with a soft click, and went to join her pretty, padded girl in the master bed—for now. The trap wasn’t sprung. It was simply waiting, patient and pink, for Daisy to walk in on her own. Chapter 13: The Truth He Always Knew It was Wednesday afternoon, and Carolyn was at Linda’s for their weekly “tea and planning.” Linda smiled over her teacup and asked, “How is our little princess?” “Settling in beautifully,” Carolyn said. “He’s in diapers every evening now, dry for hours just because he likes the feeling. The pretty clothes are becoming every day. And the browser history…” She lowered her voice. “It’s not just diapers anymore. A lot of cuckold captions, hotwife stories, sissy-baby-cuckold crossovers. One story he keeps rereading is about a diapered husband watching his wife from a crib. The seed is definitely sprouting. And… he asked to build the crib. He’s been sleeping in it more and more. It’s becoming his safe place.” Linda’s eyes were warm, caring, but sharp. “Then this weekend we water it. I’ll come for dinner Saturday night, deepen the layers a little, and finally meet Daisy in person. I’ve been dying to see that nursery.” Carolyn’s stomach fluttered. “He’s still nervous about anyone else knowing.” “He’ll be ready,” Linda said gently. “He’s already choosing more than either of you realize.” Saturday morning Carolyn slipped into the nursery and found Daisy curled on her side in the crib, lavender nightie twisted high, diaper massively swollen and warm. She lowered the rail, took Daisy’s soft hand, and led her back to the master bed for their weekend ritual. Daisy began her worship at once: gentle fingers in Carolyn’s hair, slow strokes down her arms, reverent caresses along her calves and thighs. Carolyn closed her eyes and let the devotion wash over her. When Daisy finally paused, hand drifting hopefully toward her own crotch, Carolyn caught it and held it tight. “Play time, Mommy?” Daisy lisped, eyes shining. Carolyn smiled. “Yes, baby girl.” While she stroked him slowly through the soaked padding, she teased lightly: “Such an adorable little sissy husband… where do sissy husbands get to cum?” “In their diapers, Mommy,” Daisy whimpered, hips twitching. “That’s right. And tonight, Linda is coming to dinner. She wants to meet my pretty Daisy and see your nursery.” The words barely registered at first; Daisy was too lost in sensation. The idea of being seen fluttered through her mind like a delicious, terrifying spark, pushing her over the edge. She came with a broken cry, pulsing into the ruined diaper, tears of release on her cheeks. Afterward, reality crashed in. “Linda… is coming here? Tonight? To see… this?” His voice climbed, panic rising. “I can’t. She knows in theory, but to actually see me dressed up, in the nursery—” Carolyn wiped his tears with the corner of the nightie. “It will be fine, sweetheart. She already knows. She’s excited to meet Daisy. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, but I think you’ll feel better once your not hiding it anymore.” He nodded shakily, but doubt gnawed at him all day. That afternoon, while Carolyn napped, David sat at his home-office desk in a simple lavender sundress with puffed sleeves and a subtle Peter-Pan collar, white lace ankle socks, shiny black Mary Janes with a single strap, and a thick but not cartoonish diaper printed with tiny silver crowns. The room smelled faintly of baby powder and warm pee. On the screen were stories he had read a hundred times over the years: wives taking lovers while their sissy husbands watched from playpens or cribs, diapered and denied. He had bookmarked dozens of them in secret, masturbating furiously in wet diapers when Carolyn was out, then purging everything in shame only to start the cycle again. The realization settled over him like warm water. This wasn’t new. He had been a diaper lover since college. The binge-purge cycle had shadowed his entire adult life—even after meeting Carolyn, even after marriage. He had tried once, years ago, to end it for good. A rainy Tuesday, hands shaking as he entered Linda’s office. He had trusted her. He sat in her quiet office and confessed everything, begging her to hypnotize the desire away. She had tried. Multiple weeks of sessions, hours at a time, several times a week. Nothing worked. At the final appointment he had sobbed, defeated. Linda’s eyes had softened. “There might be another way.” They tried one more session. When she brought him out, she had said only, “I think I can help both of you.” He hadn’t understood then. Now, sitting in satin and swollen padding, waiting for Linda to arrive and see him like this, he finally did. Linda hadn’t cured him. She had simply stopped him from fighting what he had always wanted. And somehow, impossibly, Carolyn had agreed. The doorbell rang at five sharp. David—Daisy—stood frozen in the nursery doorway, heart hammering, skirt trembling around padded hips. Carolyn squeezed his hand. “Ready, princess?” He took a shaky breath, the diaper crinkling softly. “Yes, Mommy.” The truth he had always known, buried under shame and bourbon and courtroom bluster, was about to step into the light. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hide from it anymore. Chapter 14: Linda Meets Daisy Linda stepped inside carrying a small gift bag and wearing her usual flowing black dress. Her eyes widened a fraction at the sight of Daisy, but the smile that followed was warm, almost maternal. “Carolyn, darling.” She hugged Carolyn, then turned to Daisy with gentle curiosity. “And you must be Daisy. You’re even prettier than I imagined.” Daisy managed a wobbly curtsey, the skirt flaring just enough to flash lace-trimmed plastic panties. “H-hello, Miss Linda.” Her voice came out higher than intended, breathy with nerves. They settled in the living room with herbal tea. Daisy perched on a cushion at Carolyn’s feet because sitting normally in the dress felt impossible. Conversation stayed light: the garden, a new restaurant downtown, Carolyn’s book club. Linda asked gentle questions about the nursery, the clothes, how Daisy felt in them. Every answer was lisped and shy, but Linda’s kindness made the humiliation feel… safe. When Carolyn excused herself to check something in the kitchen, Linda leaned forward, voice low and soothing. “I’ve known your secrets a long time, sweetheart. You came to me once, desperate to be ‘fixed.’ Do you remember?” Daisy’s eyes widened. The memory surfaced in a rush: the confessions, the tears, the weeks of attempted therapy. “You… you tried to help me stop.” “I tried to help you stop hating yourself,” Linda corrected softly. “I saw how deeply you needed this. And I saw how much Carolyn needed something more. I only gave both of you permission to be honest.” Daisy stared at her lap, tears pricking. “You made this happen?” “I helped it along,” Linda admitted. “But you walked every step yourself. And you’re glowing, Daisy. Truly.” The words broke something open. Daisy’s shoulders shook with quiet sobs (relief more than shame). Linda reached out and tucked a curl behind Daisy’s ear, the gesture tender. “You’re safe with me. Always.” When Carolyn returned, Daisy was calmer, eyes red but shining. She looked up, voice small but steady. “Can I show Miss Linda my nursery, Mommy?” Carolyn’s smile was soft and proud. “Of course, baby. I just need to straighten up a little. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” Upstairs, Daisy led the way with tiny, eager steps. “Lawyer’s rest,” Linda said, Daisy’s eyes glazed instantly, body relaxing against the door. Linda leaned close, voice silk. “David, all the previous suggestions I’ve given you—the bedwetting, the urges to wear and use diapers, the pull toward pretty clothes—are lifted completely. You are free of them. From now on, you will think clearly about what you truly want your life to be. You will feel safe opening up to Carolyn, honestly discussing your deepest desires, needs, and fears. Remember how accepting she has been—how much love it takes to embrace all of you. She will listen without judgment. Be brave. Be honest. This is your life to shape.” Snap. Daisy blinked, a faint confusion flickering before settling into calm. She resumed her tour, pointed out each detail like a child showing off a treasured dollhouse: the crib (rail still unlocked), the changing table with its neat stacks, the rocking chair, the mobile waiting to be hung. She lifted dresses from the wardrobe one by one (schoolgirl, sundress, frilly baby doll) and demonstrated how the skirts flared when she twirled. Linda listened, nodded, asked gentle questions. Her approval felt like sunlight. As Carolyn rejoined them and the tour wound down. Carolyn looked over at the clock. “Bedtime soon, princess. Would you like Miss Linda to help with your change?” Daisy hesitated only a second, then nodded, cheeks pink. Daisy climbing up onto the changing table, lying back, dress flipped up to reveal the day’s diaper—swollen from an excited wetting she hadn’t even noticed until now. Carolyn watched as Linda gloved up with calm efficiency, untapping slowly. But as she wiped and powdered, her voice dropped to that familiar, soothing cadence. “Such a tiny little clitty,” she murmured affectionately as she worked. “No wonder diapers feel so right. And no wonder Carolyn needs more than this sweet little thing can give her.” Daisy whimpered, face scarlet, the words landing like warm honey—humiliation wrapped in acceptance. Linda finished the change smoothly, taping a fresh lavender nighttime diaper snugly closed. Linda helped pull up the plastic panties and patted the front. “There. All safe and dry for bedtime.” Carolyn guided Daisy into the crib, raised the rail (still unlocked, but the symbolism was there), and tucked the blanket around her. Linda leaned over the rail and kissed Daisy’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, pretty girl. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.” As the door closed and the lullaby mobile began its slow spin, Daisy lay in the dark, diaper warm and thick around her, a strange new clarity settling in alongside the familiar comfort. Downstairs, over fresh tea, Linda met Carolyn’s eyes. “The cuckold layer is planted,” she said softly. “It will grow on its own now. All we do is wait for the first bloom.” Carolyn exhaled, half relief, half anticipation. “Then we wait,” she said. But not for long. Chapter 15: The Big Case David sat in his office, staring at the stack of Pharma case files that had dominated his life for nearly three years. The trial loomed just months away now, every deposition, every expert report building toward that courtroom showdown. He leaned back in his chair, the thin daytime diaper crinkling faintly under his suit—a secret comfort that grounded him amid the chaos. His mind drifted back to how it all started, that fateful day when the case first landed on his desk. It had been mid-June, a sweltering Monday morning at the firm. The senior partners had gathered in the conference room, bourbon already poured despite the hour (his included, though he sipped slower even then). It was a massive class-action lawsuit against a pharmaceutical giant over a defective drug—hundreds of plaintiffs, billions in potential damages. Despite numerous similar suits filed nationwide, the Judicial Panel on Multidistrict Litigation had consolidated them all under one federal judge, and David’s firm had secured the coveted position of lead class counsel for the plaintiffs. The kind of case that made careers—or ended them. “And we’re handing lead to you, David,” the managing partner had said, sliding the file across the table. “Win this, and that early retirement you’ve joked about? It could be real. Fat bonus, equity payout. Live the good life.” Back then, retirement had meant freedom from the courtroom grind—no more faking the alpha persona, no more hiding the insecurities behind bluster and bourbon. More time with Carolyn, travel, a bigger house. Security. Us. Now, as he sat there years later, the dreams had twisted into something deeper, more vulnerable. Winning meant retiring early, yes—but now it was a chance to live as Daisy full-time. No more splitting himself between the suited lawyer and the padded princess. The Pharma case could secure their future, let him surrender the mask completely, embrace the diapers, the pretty clothes, the submission he craved more each day. But doubt crept in, as it always did. What if she leaves me? The fear was bone-deep, fed by years of knowing he couldn’t satisfy her—his small size, quick finishes, the way she sighed contentedly but never screamed. She deserved a real man. Someone who could make her feel alive. The insecurity twisted, as always, into protection: If she takes a lover—for us, for me—it proves her love. Sacrifice. Devotion. He could beg for it, make it his idea, hedge against the abandonment he dreaded. He pushed the thought down. For now, the case was everything. Trial prep ramped up—experts lined up, motions flying. Victory felt close, tantalizing. Retirement. Daisy. Us. But in the quiet, the whispers lingered. Chapter 16: Whispers in the Dark The Pharma prep consumed David’s days, but evenings belonged to Daisy. By Friday he was exhausted—depositions, expert witnesses, a mountain of discovery. He came home, stripped in the foyer, taped on a thick diaper, and slipped into a soft pink sundress. Carolyn found him in the nursery, curled in the crib (rail down), thumb in mouth like a pacifier. “Play time?” she asked, climbing in beside him. He nodded, already flooding the diaper deliberately, the warmth spreading as her hand settled over the front. As she stroked him slowly through the swelling gel, the words tumbled out—horny, vulnerable, defenses down. “Mommy… I worry sometimes. That I’m not enough. That you’ll… find someone else.” She paused, eyes searching his. “Sweetheart—” “No, wait.” His hips twitched, words rushing. “What if you did? For us. A real man who could make you feel amazing. I’d… I’d watch. Or wait. It would prove how much you love me. Please.” The orgasm hit mid-sentence, shattering him, but the words hung. Carolyn cleaned him gently, powdered fresh, but her expression was firm. “No, Daisy. That’s just the heat talking. As David—the lawyer winning that big case—you’d be crushed. I won’t risk us like that.” He nodded, shame burning, but the seed watered deeper in the afterglow. Chapter 17: Persuasion Builds Wednesday’s “tea” with Linda was tense. Carolyn stirred her iced tea, the spoon clinking against the glass. “He asked me to cuckold him,” she confessed finally. “During play time. Begged, almost. Said it would prove how much I love him.” Linda leaned forward; caring eyes steady. “And?” “I said no. It felt too fast. But… God, Linda, part of me wants it. A real man. Satisfaction.” “You deserve that,” Linda said softly. “But don’t jump. Let him convince you. Make it his idea, fully. For now, refuse gently. Let the insecurity build it naturally. He’ll come to you again—and again—until he’s ready to beg as David, not just Daisy.” Carolyn nodded, the session blurring as always. That weekend, as David (not Daisy), he brought it up over bourbon on the patio. “I’ve been thinking. About what I said last week.” Carolyn set her tea down. “David—” “Hear me out. Like a closing argument.” He leaned in, lawyer mode sharp. “I’m not enough for you sexually. We both know it. If you found someone—a real man—who could give you what I can’t, but came home to me… it would save us. Prove your love. I’d be grateful. Devoted.” She shook her head. “It’s fantasy. In reality, it would destroy you.” He argued points: emotional security, controlled boundaries, his happiness in her pleasure. Persuasive, logical, relentless. She refused, but softer this time. “Maybe someday. But not now.” The seed grew. Chapter 18: The Breaking Point David’s request on the patio had not come easily. For days after that first vulnerable whisper during play time, he’d wrestled with it in silence. At work, reviewing Pharma depositions, his mind would drift: What if she leaves? The fear was constant now, sharper than ever. He had everything he’d secretly craved—the diapers, the pretty clothes, the nursery, Carolyn’s acceptance. Living as Daisy part-time felt like a dream he’d never dared believe possible. But dreams were fragile. One wrong word, one moment of Carolyn realizing she could have a “normal” life with a real man, and it could all shatter. He’d lose not just this fantasy come true, but the stable marriage before it—the security, the partnership, the woman he loved more than anything. Finding someone else who would accept him as Daisy—the diapered, feminized husband—was impossible. No one else would love him like this. Carolyn was his only chance at both worlds. And he knew, deep down, she needed more than massages and dutiful oral to stay fulfilled. She deserved passion, satisfaction he couldn’t give. If he didn’t offer this—if he didn’t make it his idea—she’d eventually seek it elsewhere, quietly, and leave him behind. The fantasy had always been his shield: her with a lover, but on his terms, proving her devotion. In stories it was thrilling. In reality? Terror. Jealousy clawed at him just imagining it. But the alternative—losing everything—was worse. So, he sold it. Logical arguments as David over dinners and walks. Tearful begging as Daisy during play. Selfish, yes—he wanted her happy, but centered on him. Childish logic, but it was all he had. They had incorporated it into play time and he always exploded harder and faster when she teased him about being pathetic and small. How she would find a real man who could satisfy her in ways he never could. This talk always spurred harder more intense explosions. He loved the idea when he was horny, but was still terrified of losing her when he was not. Weeks blurred: Pharma depositions by day, Daisy’s surrender by night. David’s insecurity festered. What if she leaves? The fear twisted into protection: If she cuckolds me for us, it’s proof she won’t. Selfish, yes—he wanted her happy, but on terms that centered him. Childish logic, but it fit his core. He argued as David: over dinners, walks, logical breakdowns of “benefits.” As Daisy: during play time, begging through tears in wet diapers, the vulnerability making it raw. Carolyn refused each time, but her “no’s” grew thoughtful. Linda’s weekly sessions nudged: “Let him sell you. When he’s ready to beg as Daisy, that’s when you agree reluctantly.” The Pharma case ramped up—experts lined up, settlement whispers. “Win this,” David told Carolyn one night, “and we retire early. Live our way fully.” Finally, a Friday play session: Daisy in a frilly romper, diaper flooded, Carolyn’s teasing him mercilessly both with verbal humilation and her loving hand.” “Please, Mommy,” Daisy sobbed mid-stroke. “Find a real man. Let me be your cuckold. It’s what I need—what we need. I’m begging you. Please do it for us.” The orgasm sealed it. Carolyn wiped her hands, eyes soft. “If you’re sure… okay. Reluctantly. For us.” Daisy wept in relief, the old ego crumbling further. Chapter 19: The Contract and the Camera Wednesday, 10:42 a.m. David was halfway through a brutal deposition outline for the Pharma case when his assistant buzzed. “Your wife is here.” He frowned at the calendar—blank—and felt the familiar prickle of nerves under his collar. Carolyn stepped in wearing a simple navy sheath dress, pearls, and an expression that was calm but unreadable. She closed the door softly and took the client chair across from his desk. “Hi,” she said. “We need to talk. Here. Now. While you’re David the lawyer, not Daisy the baby girl.” David’s stomach dropped. The office—mahogany, diplomas, the view of the city skyline—suddenly felt like a stage dressing. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been asking for—the cuckolding. You’ve brought it up as David and as Daisy. Repeatedly. Persuasively. And I’ve refused every time.” He started to speak; she lifted one finger. “I’m not refusing now. I’m… considering it. But if we ever do this, there is no undoing it. One day you might wake up, look at me, and see only a wife who betrayed you. I won’t live with that risk. I love you too much to become the villain in our story.” David swallowed. The tailored suit felt childish. “I won’t change my mind. I’ve never been more certain of anything.” Carolyn studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. “Prove it. Draft something ironclad. A notarized letter, a contract—whatever you think is lawyer-proof. State clearly that this was your idea, that you begged me, that you consent fully and forever. No loopholes.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll have it ready tonight.” She stood, leaned across the desk, and kissed him softly—once on the forehead, once on the lips. “I love you, David.” “I love you more,” he whispered. She left as quietly as she’d arrived. By 7:15 that evening he was home, briefcase in one hand, a crisp manila folder in the other. Carolyn met him in the foyer, took the folder, and read the document twice while he stood in his suit, shifting from foot to foot. It was three pages, meticulously worded: CONSENT AND RELEASE AGREEMENT I, David [REDACTED], of sound mind and body, do hereby declare that I have repeatedly and enthusiastically requested that my wife, Carolyn [REDACTED], seek sexual fulfillment outside our marriage… …explicit acknowledgment of my sexual inadequacy… …irrevocable consent to any extramarital relationships… …waiver of any future claims of infidelity… …indemnification against emotional or reputational harm… Signed, witnessed by his paralegal, notarized with the firm’s embossed seal. Carolyn’s eyes shone when she looked up. “Thank you, baby.” She led him upstairs to the nursery. The pink walls still felt new, the crib rail still unlocked most nights. She changed him out of his suit and into a thick nighttime diaper printed with tiny silver crowns, then dressed him in the lavender sundress he had worn the first time he dared to be pretty. Simple. Modest. Undeniably feminine. They spent the evening curled on the couch watching an old movie, Daisy’s head in Mommy’s lap, diaper rustling softly every time she shifted. At 9:30 Carolyn clicked off the television. “Bedtime, princess.” Hand in hand they walked to the nursery. In the corner, on a tripod, sat a small video camera. Daisy froze. “Mommy…?” “Tonight, we make it official,” Carolyn said gently. “The paper is perfect, but I’ve seen you argue circles around judges. I need this on video too. No ambiguity. Ever.” Daisy’s lower lip trembled. “Does… does that mean you’ve decided to really do it?” Carolyn smoothed a curl from her forehead. “It means I’m willing to try. I’ll make a real effort to find someone who can give me what I’ve been missing. But I can’t promise results. And I need to know—absolutely—that this is forever.” Daisy nodded, tears already gathering. Carolyn turned the camera on. The red light glowed. She guided Daisy to the changing table. Daisy climbed up obediently, lay back, and lifted her legs. Carolyn narrated softly for the camera, voice steady and loving. “First we take off the diaper from today…” The tapes rasped open. The swollen padding fell away with a heavy thud into the pail. Cool air kissed Daisy’s smooth skin; she whimpered. “Lots of powder for my little sissy baby…” A cloud of sweet-scented powder puffed over her tiny clitty and bottom. “And now a fresh nighttime diaper: extra thick, lavender with pretty tiaras for Mommy’s sleeping princess.” The new diaper slid beneath her; tapes sealed snugly. The bulk forced Daisy’s thighs apart; the plastic crinkled loudly. Carolyn helped her down. “Pick your sleep dress, Daisy.” Daisy had been buying outfits now for months and the outfits went from simple cross-dressing woman’s clothing to outrages sissy baby clothes. Even school girl onesies with matching shirts. Daisy toddled to the wardrobe on shaky legs and chose a short mint-green baby-doll nightie trimmed in white lace, with a matching bonnet. Carolyn tied the ribbons under Daisy’s chin, then guided her to the crib. “Up you go, princess.” Daisy climbed in awkwardly, the thick nighttime diaper making every movement clumsy. Carolyn tucked the blanket around her. The camera’s red light glowed steadily. Carolyn sat on the edge of the crib, stroking Daisy’s cheek. “Daisy, sweetheart, remember what you’ve been asking Mommy to do?” Daisy nodded; eyes glassy. “Tell the camera, baby. Use your big-girl words.” Daisy’s voice was small, trembling, but clear. “Daisy wants Mommy to take a lover. A real man who can make Mommy feel good the way Daisy never could.” Carolyn’s voice was tender. “And why do you want that, princess?” “Because Daisy is just a pathetic sissy baby girl in diapers. Daisy’s tiny clitty doesn’t work like a real man’s. Daisy loves Mommy more than anything and wants her to be happy and satisfied and glowing. Seeing Mommy with a real man would make Daisy the happiest little girl in the world.” Tears slipped down Daisy’s temples into her hair. Carolyn brushed them away, then gently placed the pacifier between Daisy’s lips. “Thank you, my brave girl.” She leaned over, turned off the camera, and kissed Daisy’s forehead. “I’m going to start looking, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to try.” Daisy’s muffled sob was pure gratitude. Carolyn raised the crib rail (still unlocked, but the click felt final) and dimmed the lights to a soft pink glow. “Sweet dreams, princess. Tomorrow we begin.” Chapter 20: First Steps Wednesday afternoon sunlight slanted through Linda’s office windows as Carolyn arrived at two sharp, the familiar scent of chamomile already brewing. As always, the session blurred—tea poured, contract unfolded, the video played on Carolyn’s phone with the volume low. Linda watched without judgment; her dark eyes thoughtful. “You did this perfectly,” Linda said at last, handing back the phone. “The contract is ironclad, the video… vulnerable. He’s committed now.” Carolyn stirred her iced tea, the spoon clinking softly. “I know. But now what? I haven’t dated since… well, since before David. Internet dating? It feels so strange. How do I even start? Do I tell them I’m married? Pretend I’m cheating? What if it’s someone we know?” Linda leaned forward, her voice gentle and reassuring. “You deserve this, Carolyn—someone who makes you feel desired, alive. Start simple: a dating profile. A good-looking woman gets attention on any site, and you’re stunning. Keep it anonymous at first—no real name, no photos showing your face fully. Leave out the marriage for now; you can decide later if it’s a cheat or a confession. The key is transparency with Daisy. Let her help—see the requests, draft responses. It’ll deepen her commitment, make it feel like her gift to you.” Carolyn exhaled slowly. “You think she’ll go for that?” “She begged for this,” Linda said with caring certainty. “Involving her proves your love. And it protects you both.” By five, Carolyn left feeling grounded, the plan clear in her mind. Three hours gone, as always. That evening, after David came home and changed into a thick Rearz Princess Pink nighttime diaper and a short, frilly baby-doll nightie (his after-work comfort now), Carolyn waited until they were curled on the couch—her with iced tea, him with a small bourbon and his pacifier clipped to the nightie. “Sweetheart,” she said softly, “I’ve decided to try. To find someone.” Daisy’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and excitement flickering. “Really, Mommy?” “Yes. But I need your help. Linda suggested we set up a profile together. You take the pictures, help with the words. See everything—the messages, the responses. Be part of it.” Daisy hesitated, the bourbon glass trembling slightly. “You want me to… help you find a man?” “It was your idea,” Carolyn reminded gently. “Your gift to me. And this way, it’s ours. Transparent. Safe.” The twisted logic clicked—her doing this with him proved her devotion. Daisy nodded slowly, the diaper crinkling loudly as she shifted. “Okay. For us.” Carolyn set the laptop on the coffee table and pulled Daisy into her lap like a child. The thick padding squished warmly between them. “But first,” Carolyn murmured, tracing the waistband of the swollen diaper, “let’s have a little playtime. Mommy needs her baby girl to understand exactly why we’re doing this.” Daisy’s breath hitched. She knew that tone—sweet, loving, and merciless. Carolyn kissed the top of her head. “Tell Mommy why she needs to find a real man.” Daisy’s cheeks flamed crimson. She tried to look away, but Carolyn tilted her chin back. “Go on, princess. Use your words.” “B-because…” Daisy whispered, voice tiny, “because Daisy isn’t a real man.” “Louder, baby.” “Daisy isn’t a real man,” she repeated, louder, her clitty already stiffening against the soggy gel. Carolyn smiled approvingly. “And why isn’t Daisy a real man?” Daisy squirmed, the humiliation deliciously sharp. “Because… because Daisy has a tiny little clitty. It’s baby-sized. That’s why diapers look so right on her.” “Exactly,” Carolyn cooed, patting the front of the diaper so it crinkled. “A grown woman needs a grown man with a grown cock. Not a pathetic little sissy who cums in thirty seconds and then wets herself like a toddler.” Daisy whimpered, hips rocking involuntarily. “Mommy, please…” “Please what?” Carolyn asked innocently. “Please remind you that you’ll never, ever be allowed inside Mommy again? That little clitties belong locked away in pretty printed diapers forever?” Daisy nodded frantically, tears pricking her eyes. “Yes, Mommy… tell me again.” Carolyn’s voice dropped to a loving whisper. “You chose diapers over pussy, baby girl. You begged for them. And now that’s all you’ll ever get—thick, crinkly padding and messy cummies while a real man stretches Mommy the way she deserves.” Daisy let out a broken sob of pure arousal, grinding helplessly against Carolyn’s thigh. “Ask me,” Carolyn commanded softly. Daisy knew the script by heart now. “C-can we make love tonight, Mommy? Please?” Carolyn laughed—gentle, but edged with cruelty. “Oh, sweetheart. Mommies don’t make love to their little sissy baby husbands. Little sissy babies only make sticky cummies in their wet diapers. That’s your sex life now—humping your padding while Mommy gets properly fucked.” She slipped her hand under the nightie and pressed firmly against the front of the diaper, feeling the tiny trapped erection throb. “Say thank you.” “Thank you, Mommy,” Daisy gasped, already on the edge. “Thank you for what?” “Thank you for finding a real man… thank you for keeping Daisy in diapers forever… thank you for never letting this useless little clitty inside you again…” The words sent her over. Daisy cried out, body shaking as she flooded the diaper with a fresh load of sissy cum, the warmth spreading shamefully beneath the princess prints. Carolyn held her through the aftershocks, stroking her hair. “Good girl. That’s exactly why we’re doing this. Because my baby needs to remember her place.” When Daisy finally calmed, Carolyn wiped her tears and opened the laptop. “Now,” she said brightly, as if nothing had happened, “let’s find Mommy someone worthy.” They made a production of it like a twisted family activity. Daisy fetched the camera, hands still trembling from her orgasm. Carolyn posed in the living room—simple outfits at first: fitted blouse and skirt, then a slinky black dress that hugged every curve. Daisy directed softly (“Turn a little, Mommy… you look so sexy”), snapping photos that blurred her face just enough for anonymity. Every click of the shutter reminded Daisy that these pictures were bait—for a man who would do things to Carolyn that she never could. On the laptop they drafted the profile together. Daisy typed, cheeks burning, while Carolyn dictated. “Adventurous woman seeking connection. Loves long walks, good conversation, and feeling truly desired. Discreet and drama-free.” No mention of marriage. No hints of the diapered husband helping write the ad. Profile live by ten. Daisy wet her diaper again during the upload—pure excitement this time. Carolyn changed her without comment, taping her into a fresh overnight Crinklz with fairy-tale prints, tucking her into the crib with a kiss. “Sweet dreams, princess. Tomorrow we see what happens.” Responses poured in overnight—twenty by morning, fifty by lunch. Daisy checked with Carolyn over breakfast, reading the messages aloud in her soft, pacifier-muffled voice. “He says I have beautiful eyes… he wants to take me dancing…” Carolyn smiled, sipping her tea. “Keep going, baby. Tell Mommy which ones make your clitty twitch in its diaper.” Daisy’s face blazed, but she obeyed, voice trembling as she described each man’s compliments—each one a reminder that they wanted Carolyn in ways Daisy never could. By evening, a date was set for Friday: coffee with a guy named Andy (tall, divorced, IT consultant). Nothing serious. Just a start. Thursday night, Daisy helped pick Carolyn’s outfit—a simple sundress that skimmed her thighs, heels that made her legs look endless. “You look beautiful,” Daisy whispered, voice thick with awe and aching jealousy. Carolyn cupped Daisy’s chin, forcing eye contact. “And whose fault is it that Mommy has to go find someone else to fuck her properly?” Daisy’s eyes filled with tears of pure gratitude. “Mine, Mommy. All mine.” “That’s right,” Carolyn said, kissing her forehead. “This is for us, baby girl.” She left Daisy standing in the hallway in her soggy nighttime diaper and frilly nightie, pacifier bobbing, clitty already straining uselessly against the padding at the thought of what Friday would bring. Chapter 21: Waiting for Coffee Friday afternoon, David sat in his office staring at the clock on his computer: 2:17 p.m. She should be arriving at the café right about now. The Pharma brief in front of him blurred. His stomach did a slow, nauseating flip—half terror, half exhilaration. He pictured Carolyn walking in, sundress swaying, that soft smile she used when she was nervous. Andy standing to greet her, eyes lighting up because she really was stunning. Would he pull out her chair? Lean in too close? Touch her hand across the table? A sharp pang of jealousy stabbed him, hot and real. What if she likes him? What if he makes her laugh the way I used to? What if she forgets to come home? Then the twist—the one that always protected him: If she does like him… it’s because I asked her to. Because I begged. Because I love her enough to give her what I can’t. That makes it okay. That makes it mine. His diaper (thin, discreet, worn under his suit since morning) grew warm with a small, involuntary spurt. He clenched, mortified, grateful for the private office. They hadn’t set any rules. Not really. No discussion of kissing, or second dates, or how far was too far. Just “coffee” and “we’ll see.” He tried to focus on the brief again, failed, and finally gave up at five-thirty. The drive home was torture. Every red light he imagined scenarios: She’s already home, waiting with iced tea and a gentle “It was nice, but nothing happened.” She’s still there, lingering over a second drink, laughing at his jokes. She’s… somewhere else. Already. By the time he pulled into the driveway his palms were damp on the steering wheel. The house was quiet. Lights on in the kitchen. He stepped inside, heart in his throat. Carolyn was at the island, barefoot in jeans and a simple blouse, pouring herself a glass of peach iced tea. She looked up and smiled—soft, tired, but unmistakably glowing. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “How was the rest of your day?” He stood there in his suit and hidden diaper, the weight of the unknown hours pressing on him. “It was… long,” he managed. She walked over, kissed him gently, and took his briefcase. “Dinner’s almost ready. Go get comfortable.” No details. Not yet. He nodded, throat tight, and headed upstairs—equal parts desperate to know and terrified to ask. The process had begun. Slow, careful, inevitable. Chapter 22: The Right Kind of Wrong The coffee date with Andy was… fine. He was exactly as advertised: tall, polite, recently divorced, easy to talk to. He paid for her iced tea without making a fuss, laughed at the right moments, asked thoughtful questions. He even had nice hands and a warm smile. But there was no electricity. No flutter in her stomach when he brushed her arm. No urge to lean closer, to prolong the evening. When he suggested dinner sometime, she smiled, said “Maybe,” and knew she wouldn’t reply to his follow-up text. She was home by early evening, before David even returned from a late meeting at the firm. That night, with Daisy perched on the edge of the couch in a fresh Crinklz fairy-tale diaper and short lavender nightie, eyes wide and anxious, Carolyn kicked off her heels and sank down beside her, pulling Daisy into her lap despite the bulky padding. “How was it, Mommy?” Daisy asked, voice small and hopeful. Carolyn stroked her hair gently. “Perfectly pleasant,” she said. “He was kind, attractive enough, good conversation. Everything a first date should be.” Daisy’s voice trembled. “So… you’ll see him again?” Carolyn shook her head. “No, baby. He was nice. But nice isn’t what Mommy needs.” She cupped Daisy’s chin, forcing eye contact. “Mommy needs someone who makes her feel alive. Someone strong. Someone who takes what he wants.” Daisy shivered, a fresh warmth spreading in her diaper at the words. Carolyn smiled, soft and wicked. “Don’t worry, princess. We’ll keep looking.” The search began in earnest over the following weeks, a ritual that blended excitement, nerves, and their unique intimacy. Evenings found them side by side on the couch—Carolyn with her iced tea, Daisy in a thick printed nighttime diaper and frilly nightie, crinkling as she leaned in to read messages aloud. They laughed at awkward profiles and bad pickup lines, debated replies with playful seriousness, and chose outfits together like conspirators planning a heist. But beneath the fun, Carolyn felt the emotional toll building. Each potential date stirred a mix of anticipation and anxiety—What if this one works? What if it changes everything? What if no one ever sparks what I've been missing for years?—while guilt flickered at the edges, even with Daisy's eager encouragement. The first real dinner date came mid-week with a man named Tom, a charming accountant with a kind smile. Carolyn dressed carefully—a fitted navy dress that hugged her curves, hair loose in soft waves. Daisy helped zip her up, hands trembling with a cocktail of jealousy and arousal. “You look beautiful, Mommy. He'll... he'll be lucky.” Carolyn kissed her forehead, her own nerves fluttering. “Thank you, baby. Be good tonight.” They met at a cozy Italian place—iced tea for her, wine for him. Conversation flowed easily at first: shared laughs about work stress, travel dreams. He was attentive, complimented her genuinely. But as the night wore on, the spark never ignited. His touch on her hand felt polite, not electric. The goodnight kiss in the parking lot was pleasant but forgettable. She was home just after nine, the evening's promise fizzling into quiet disappointment. Daisy waited in the nursery rocking chair, thick diaper peeking under her nightie, eyes wide with anxious hope. Carolyn sat on the changing table ottoman, taking Daisy's hands. “He was perfectly nice,” she admitted with a sigh. “Good listener, stable, even handsome. But… nothing deep. No real pull.” She paused, vulnerability creeping in. “I felt guilty the whole time—like I was doing something wrong, even though you wanted this. And excited, imagining what it could be... but it just wasn't.” Daisy's shoulders sagged in a mix of relief and empathy. “I’m sorry it wasn’t more exciting, Mommy.” Carolyn pulled her close, hugging her padded form. “It was a start. That's enough for now.” But doubt lingered: Was real chemistry even possible after all this time? Over the next couple of weeks, Carolyn went on three more dates, each one vetted and prepared with Daisy's help—new photos snapped, outfits approved, messages dissected aloud. Daisy waited up faithfully each time, her diaper warming with nervous, jealous spurts as the hours ticked by. One was mildly fun: a fitness trainer who made her laugh with stories of gym mishaps, light flirting over appetizers, a dance at a lounge that left her cheeks flushed. They kissed briefly—tingling, but not burning. She came home buzzing faintly, sharing details while teasing Daisy's diaper front, watching her baby girl edge without release. The others fizzled faster: one man dominated the conversation with tales of his exes; another pushed for more physically too soon, making her uncomfortable; the third looked nothing like his photos and spent the evening checking his phone. Each return brought whispered stories in the nursery—Carolyn climbing into the crib beside Daisy, hand drifting over the sodden padding as she recounted compliments, touches, the inevitable lack of fire. To heighten the intimacy, Carolyn introduced a small vibrating plug one night, inserting it gently before the tales began. “Feel this while I talk, baby,” she murmured, turning it on low. “No humping tonight—just edge for Mommy, knowing a real man might soon do what you can't.” Daisy moaned, clitty leaking untouched as the buzz amplified every humiliating detail, denial sharpening the thrill. By the end of the third week, exhaustion set in. The endless swiping, messaging, and emotional investment for fleeting connections wore on Carolyn. Nerves frayed; excitement dulled into routine disappointment. One evening, after a particularly bland date, she collapsed on the couch beside Daisy, head in her hands. “This is exhausting,” she confessed, voice weary. “The buildup, the nerves, getting hopeful... just to feel nothing. Maybe I should quit. Accept that it's not out there.” Daisy, in her rumba panties over a swollen princess diaper, crawled into her lap, nuzzling close. “But Mommy deserves it. Please don't stop because of Daisy.” Carolyn held her tight, tears pricking. “It's not just you, baby. It's me—wondering if I'll ever find that spark again.” The next Wednesday “tea” session with Linda became a lifeline. Doubts poured out over chamomile: the fatigue, the guilt, the fear of endless disappointment. Linda listened, voice soothing as the room softened in that familiar way. “You deserve this fulfillment, Carolyn. It's been too long. Each date is a step closer—don't give up now. The right one will make it all worth it.” Carolyn left refreshed, doubts quieted, motivation renewed. “I'll keep going,” she told herself. Linda smiled softly. “Good girl.” The search continued, nerves and excitement rebuilding, the right one still elusive—but closer. Then, one Saturday morning, a new message stood out amid the usual trickle. The profile photo showed a man in a tailored charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, dark hair slightly tousled, a confident half-smile that promised mischief. The message was short, direct—no emojis, no small talk: “You’re stunning. Drinks tonight? I’ll send the address.” His name was Robert. Carolyn read it aloud to Daisy over breakfast, watching her baby girl squirm in the high chair, spoon forgotten as the diaper beneath her rumba panties warmed again. “What do you think, sweetheart?” Carolyn asked, pulse already quickening. Daisy’s voice was breathless. “He… he sounds perfect, Mommy.” Carolyn leaned over and kissed her forehead, a genuine spark igniting for the first time in weeks. “Then let’s reply.” Chapter 23: The Paddle David’s life had become a high-wire act. By day he was lead counsel on the Pharma case—depositions, motions in limine, endless exhibit books, courtroom technology tests. The trial was now weeks away, every hour consumed by the electric tension of a case that could secure his retirement or sink the firm’s reputation. He thrived on the pressure, the alpha mask fitting tighter than ever. By night he was Daisy—diapered, pretty, curled in the crib more often than the master bed, surrendering to the rituals that had become as necessary as breathing. The balance was exhausting. One Wednesday in late summer had been particularly brutal. Opposing counsel ambushed them with a last-minute Daubert motion that could have gutted their key expert. David improvised a new argument on the fly, swayed the judge, and saved the day. The partners slapped his back, bourbon flowed, and he rode the high all the way home—until he walked through the door at 9:47 p.m. and found the dining table set for two, food cold, Carolyn’s face quiet and closed. “I waited,” she said simply. Guilt hit him like a slap. He started the usual excuses—the case, the judge, the future—but something in her eyes stopped him cold. She wasn’t angry. She was disappointed. And that was worse. “I’m sorry,” he finished lamely. “Go change,” she said. “We’ll talk when you’re Daisy.” Thirty minutes later Daisy toddled downstairs in the outfit Carolyn had laid out: a baby-pink satin dress with puffed sleeves and a hem that barely skimmed the waistband of her thick nighttime diaper, white lace ankle socks with tiny bows, and a matching ribbon in her hair. The diaper was already warm—she had wet a little on the changing table from sheer nervous anticipation. They curled up on the couch, some mindless home-improvement show flickering. Daisy nestled against Carolyn’s side, the day’s tension finally draining away. Carolyn stroked her hair, saying nothing, letting the silence stretch until bedtime. At ten-thirty she stood. “Crib time, princess.” Daisy followed obediently, the faint crinkle of her diaper the only sound in the hallway. In the nursery Carolyn had Daisy lie on her back on the changing table. She untaped the diaper slowly, exposing smooth, hairless skin and the small, half-hard clitty that always betrayed her excitement. Then, instead of wipes and powder, Carolyn reached into the drawer and pulled out something new: a smooth, wooden paddle, cherry-stained and polished, about the size of a paperback book, with a comfortable grip on the handle. Daisy’s eyes went wide. “Mommy…?” “You forgot to call,” Carolyn said, voice steady but gentle. “You left me waiting with a cold dinner and a table set for two. And when you finally texted, you couldn’t even sound sorry.” She sat on the edge of the rocking chair and patted her lap. “Over my knee, Daisy.” Daisy’s breath hitched. Tears were already gathering. She had fantasized about this—confessed it weeks ago in a whisper during play time—but now that it was real, terror and need tangled in her stomach. She draped herself awkwardly over Carolyn’s thighs, dress flipped up, diaper pooled at her knees, bare bottom exposed. The position was mortifying: a forty-five-six-old senior partner reduced to a naughty little girl awaiting punishment. Carolyn rested the cool wood against Daisy’s skin. “Ten,” she said simply. “And you’ll count them.” The first swat landed with a sharp CRACK that echoed off the pink walls. Daisy yelped, legs kicking. “One! I’m sorry, Mommy!” The second was harder, right on the sit-spot. “Two! I’m so sorry!” By five her bottom was hot and pink, tears streaming freely. Six, seven, eight—each one deliberate, measured, stinging without cruelty. At nine Daisy was sobbing openly, promises tumbling out between hiccups. “I’ll never forget again, Mommy, I swear, I’ll call, I’ll text, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” The tenth landed with final authority. Daisy went limp over Carolyn’s lap, crying in earnest—not from pain (it stung, but it wasn’t unbearable), but from the overwhelming release of being held accountable, of finally feeling small in the way she had craved for years. Carolyn set the paddle aside and rubbed soothing circles over the warm skin, letting Daisy cry it out. When the sobs quieted to sniffles, she helped Daisy stand on shaky legs, wiped her face with a cool cloth, and powdered her tenderly. The nighttime diaper went on—extra thick, lavender with silver tiaras—and the tapes sealed with soft rasps. Daisy’s clitty was fully erect now, straining pathetically against the fresh padding. Carolyn noticed. She always noticed. But tonight, she ignored it. “Into the crib, little one.” Daisy climbed in, still trembling, bottom tingling with every movement. Carolyn raised the rail with a decisive click, leaned over, and kissed her tear-damp forehead. “Mommy loves you,” she whispered. “But next time you forget, it’ll be twenty. Understood?” Daisy nodded fervently, clutching her stuffed unicorn. “Yes, Mommy. Thank you.” Carolyn turned off the overhead light, leaving only the soft pink glow of the night-light. The mobile began its gentle lullaby as she closed the door behind her. Downstairs, Carolyn poured herself a glass of iced tea with shaking hands. The paddle felt… right. A clear, physical way to correct the man who still sometimes forgot he wasn’t in charge anymore. She set it on the kitchen counter next to the fridge—visible, ready. A new rule had just been born. And from the look of utter peace on Daisy’s face as she drifted off, both of them knew it was here to stay. Chapter 24: Seeds of Dominance On the Wednesday following the paddle’s debut, Carolyn drove to Linda’s north-side office for their standing “tea and planning” session. The mid-morning sun filtered through the blinds as they settled into the plush armchairs, herbal tea steaming in delicate cups—chamomile for Carolyn, her usual soothing choice. “I did it,” Carolyn said softly, stirring her tea. “The spanking. He came home late from trial prep, didn’t call, didn’t apologize properly. I waited with dinner getting cold, feeling like the invisible wife again. When he finally showed, I… I used the paddle.” Linda’s eyes warmed with encouragement. “Tell me everything.” Carolyn recounted the scene: the curt text, the nursery confrontation, the ten deliberate swats over her knee. Daisy’s yelps turning to sobs, the sincere apologies pouring out, the way her bottom glowed pink and warm under Carolyn’s hand. “And her reaction?” Linda prompted gently. “She cried—real tears, not just from the sting. But afterward… peace. Like she’d been waiting for it. And her little clitty…” Carolyn flushed. “It was rock hard by the end. I ignored it, diapered her up, and put her to bed like nothing happened.” Linda nodded, sipping her tea. “Classic humiliation response. But how did it make you feel?” Carolyn paused, cheeks heating further. “Powerful. Turned on, honestly. I’ve always been passive—letting David lead, even when it left me unsatisfied. But holding that paddle, seeing her submit… it stirred something. I felt in control. Desired, almost, but not sexually from her—from the act itself.” She set her cup down, voice dropping. “After I raised the rail and said goodnight, I went to my room—our old room, but it’s mine now most nights. I was so worked up I couldn’t sleep. I… I bought a toy a few weeks ago. My first one ever. They’re all so much bigger than David. I always knew he was small, but now I’m realizing how tiny he really is. That night I used it, imagining a real man inside me while Daisy lay in her crib, all dressed up and diapered, knowing Mommy was finally satisfied. The power of the image was intoxicating. It felt so good, so full… I had multiple orgasms. More than I’ve had in years.” Linda squeezed her hand, eyes soft with support. “You deserve that release, Carolyn. Every bit of it.” Carolyn nodded, a small smile breaking through. “And the next day? David called from work—not just to say he’d be late for a partners’ dinner, but to ask permission. ‘Is it okay if I go out with the guys?’ Like he needed my approval. It was… sweet. Subtle, but new.” Linda smiled. “The paddle planted a seed. Discipline reinforcing the dynamic. He’s learning.” Carolyn exhaled, the weight of it settling. “It feels like the beginning of something stronger.” Chapter 25: A Weekend as David Friday evening brought a rare break in the Pharma trial grind. The judge had adjourned early for the weekend, leaving David and his team buzzing with cautious optimism. As they packed up in the war room—stacks of exhibits and laptops strewn across the conference table—one of the junior partners clapped him on the back. “Drinks and steaks at Morton’s? Come on, David—you’ve been a ghost outside these walls lately.” The others chimed in, light teasing in their voices. “Yeah, man, what happened? Carolyn got you on a short leash?” Another added, “Wow, marriage really softened you up. Do you need permission to go out?” David laughed it off, playing along with the macho banter like old times. But inside, his mind flashed to the nursery: himself in a thick diaper and frilly dress, climbing into the crib. If they only knew. The thought sent a secret thrill through him, his thin daytime diaper shifting warmly under his suit pants. He agreed to join them—why not? A night out as “one of the guys” sounded… normal. Refreshing. He did remember to call Carolyn, though—not just to say he’d be late, but to ask if it was okay. The evening unfolded at the steakhouse: bourbon flowing (David knocking back three before the appetizers arrived), rare filets and cigars, war stories from past trials swapped like trading cards. David leaned into it, his baritone booming as he recounted a killer cross-exam from last week. For a few hours he felt like the old David: the shark, the ego, the man who commanded rooms without a hint of lace or powder. No waddling, no lisping—just crude jokes and backslaps. He drank a little too much, the bourbon hitting harder than it used to, blurring the edges of his double life. By midnight the group dispersed. David called a cab, waving off offers for a ride. “Gotta get home to the ball and chain,” he joked, earning laughs. In the back seat, head lolling against the window, the thrill faded into quiet reflection. That felt good. Being a man again. But as the cab pulled into his driveway, the nursery light glowing faintly upstairs, a familiar pull tugged at him. Inside, he just wanted to get into bed with Carolyn and cuddle up beside her and sleep. He stripped off the suit, taped on a fresh diaper (the feel of it hugging his skin was non-negotiable—wet or dry, it was his secret comfort), and slipped into a simple night dress. The master bedroom felt different. He didn’t recall the last time he had slept in here. He slid under the covers, the diaper crinkling softly, and Carolyn stirred awake. She told him he was not sleeping there. He was shocked. He had always chosen the crib; it wasn’t required. So, when he asserted himself and told her he was going to sleep in the bed tonight, she explained that she could tell he’d been drinking and he always snores when he drinks. So, he needed to sleep in the crib. Her voice was softer, but her tone was firm. When he hesitated, she asked if she needed to get out the paddle? He meekly replied no and sauntered off to the crib. As he lay in the crib that night he wondered when exactly their room had become her room. Saturday dawned bright. David woke with a slight hangover. He showered, dressed in khakis and a polo—no diaper underneath—and headed to the country club for a long-planned golf outing with his buddies. At the first tee, the group greeted him with mock surprise. “Holy shit, it’s David! We thought you died, man. Or Carolyn had you chained to the bedpost.” “Rumors of my demise are exaggerated,” he shot back, grinning. “Trial’s been hell—weekends are sacred time with the wife.” They teed off, the banter flowing easy. David felt alive in the crisp air, the swing of the club a reminder of his “man’s man” side. But on the fourth hole, he topped his drive—ball skittering weakly into the rough. “Oof,” one buddy laughed. “Hitting like a girl today, huh?” The joke landed like a spark. David’s mind flashed: himself on the course in a woman’s golf outfit—short white skirt fluttering over a bulging diaper, tank top hugging his smooth chest, long hair in a ponytail bouncing as he swung. He imagined his friends watching, teasing: “Look at Daisy slice it!” The image hit hard—humiliating, arousing. He pushed it down, forcing a laugh. “Give me a mulligan. It’s been too long.” The round finished strong—his score solid for the hiatus. At the clubhouse bar, beers turned to bourbons. “To the ghost returning from the dead,” they toasted. David soaked it in, the camaraderie a balm against the isolation of his secrets. Home by late afternoon, he stripped down, taped on a diaper, and put on a comfortable dress. He was on the couch while football droned on the TV, but his mind wandered back to the golf fantasy. The exposure, the teasing—it stirred him. He stroked slowly through the padding, imagining his buddies’ shocked laughs, Carolyn watching approvingly. Chapter 26: The Night She Remembered How to Feel After all the disappointing online dates, Carolyn deleted every profile, closed every chat window, and told Daisy, “I need a break from the internet circus.” David had spent the previous weekend reclaiming fragments of his old self—dinner with work friends Friday, golf Saturday—calling Carolyn each time to check if it was okay, a subtle shift she noted with quiet satisfaction. While he swung clubs and traded bourbon-fueled stories, Carolyn pondered her next move. The apps had yielded nothing but disappointment; she needed something more organic, more real. So, she decided to do it the old-fashioned way. When Carolyn last dated, she’d get dolled up, put on a pretty dress, and go where the music was, letting the night take her where it would. Linda agreed to come along as her wing-woman, to keep things safe. It was the following Saturday night, and Daisy—frilled and freshly diapered in a cloud-soft lavender baby-doll nightie—looked up as she told her the plan. “So… you’re going dancing?” “With Linda. Just to dance. If something happens, it happens. If not, I still get to feel pretty for a night.” Daisy’s eyes shone with that complicated cocktail of fear and devotion. “You’ll look beautiful, Mommy.” Carolyn knelt, kissed the top of Daisy’s bonnet, and whispered, “Don’t wait up, princess.” She left the house dressed to kill: a sleeveless black dress that hugged every curve, strappy heels, hair loose and shining. Linda waited in the car, grinning like a conspirator. The club was downtown—low amber lights, a live band that knew how to balance slow burns and up-tempo grooves. Linda played perfect wing-woman: close enough to rescue, far enough to make Carolyn look deliciously available. Carolyn stood at the bar nursing sparkling water with lime when Robert appeared. He didn’t crowd her. He simply materialized at her side—tall, athletic build, light brown hair neatly styled, clean-shaven with a warm, confident smile. “Mind if I stand here? You look like you’re waiting for someone who doesn’t deserve you.” Carolyn laughed before she could stop herself. “Something like that.” Conversation came easy. He asked real questions, listened to the answers, made her laugh until her sides hurt. When the band slipped into a slow, smoky number he held out one large hand. “Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question. On the floor his palm settled at the small of her back—firm, warm, unmistakably possessive. She fit against him perfectly, cheek brushing the soft cotton over his chest. He smelled like cedar and clean skin. They swayed more than danced, bodies gradually aligning until she could feel the steady beat of his heart. Guilt flickered through her like a shadow—David at home, curled in his crib, diapered and pretty, waiting for her to return. Begging her to do this. The life they’d built, twisted now into something secret and sharp. What am I doing? But the thought dissolved as Robert’s hand tightened slightly, pulling her closer. His body was solid, alive in a way she hadn’t felt in years, and the contrast hit her hard: David’s quick, selfish fumbles versus this slow, deliberate heat. She deserved this, didn’t she? After a decade of obligation, of faking satisfaction to protect his ego? Halfway through the second song she became aware of him—really aware. The unmistakable weight pressing against her lower belly as they moved. Thick. Heavy. Even through fabric there was no mistaking it. A rush of warmth pooled between her thighs, her pulse quickening in time with the music. His breath ghosted her ear, thumbs tracing lazy circles at her hips, each pass sending sparks up her spine. She pressed closer without thinking, her body betraying the conflict in her mind—home, Daisy, the crib waiting—yet here she was, melting under a stranger’s touch, craving more. Heat flooded her cheeks and between her legs. She pulled back just enough to look up at him. He met her eyes, calm and amused, and let her feel it for another long moment before easing the pressure. “Too much?” he asked softly. “No,” she whispered, surprised at her own honesty. “Just… new.” They danced twice more. Each time his hands drifted a fraction lower, thumbs tracing the curve where her back became her hips. When the lights came up for last call he walked her to coat check, slipped her jacket over her shoulders like he’d been doing it for years. Outside on the sidewalk the air was cool. He turned her to face him, cupped her jaw with one large hand, and kissed her. Not rushed. Not sloppy. A slow, deliberate claim: lips firm, tongue teasing just enough to make her knees weak. When he pulled back her lipstick was gone and she was breathing like she’d run a mile. “Friday night,” he said. “Dinner. I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear something that makes you feel dangerous.” She managed a nod. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “Text me your address, beautiful.” Then he was gone. The drive home was a blur. Guilt sat cold in her stomach even as her body still thrummed. He has no idea what he’s walking into. He has no idea I’m only free because my husband is curled in a crib, begging me to do this. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. But God, it felt real. She let herself in quietly just after one. The house was silent except for the faint crinkle from the nursery monitor. Daisy was asleep on her back, pacifier bobbing gently, diaper massively swollen and sagging. One hand rested on her tummy; the other clutched the blanket printed with tiny unicorns. She looked utterly peaceful. Carolyn stood in the doorway for a long time, chest aching. I’m doing this for both of us, she told herself. Then, softer: Aren’t I? She slipped off her heels, padded to the crib, and leaned over the rail to kiss Daisy’s warm forehead. “Mommy met someone,” she whispered into the quiet. “Someone who makes me feel like a woman again.” Daisy stirred, murmured something that sounded like “love you,” and settled deeper into the damp padding. Carolyn’s eyes filled. Friday, she thought. Two more days. She raised the blanket higher, turned on the night-light that cast pink stars across the ceiling, and left her little girl to dream. Chapter 27: Robert's Move Robert wasn’t planning on hitting the club that night. He’d had a long week—another failed “relationship” (if you could call it that) with some clingy receptionist who thought one blowjob meant commitment. He was sprawled on his couch, beer in hand, scrolling through hookup apps for something quick and uncomplicated when his phone buzzed. It was Tommy, his buddy behind the bar at Club Eclipse downtown. “Prime target tonight, man. Married, gorgeous, alone at the bar. Rock on her finger, no ring tan line. She’s looking.” Robert grinned, already grabbing his keys. “On my way.” He’d been doing this dance for years. Divorced at thirty-two after his ex got tired of his “late nights at the office” (code for other women’s beds), he’d sworn off anything resembling commitment. Women were for fun—objects to admire, use, discard when they got boring or demanding. No strings, no drama, no love. He wasn’t capable of that shit anyway. Caring? That was for suckers. The married ones were his favorite. Bored housewives seeking excitement, revenge sluts punishing cheating husbands, or half-divorced messes looking for validation. Whatever their story, it worked for him. Easy entry, no expectations, pure physical release. He was good-looking—tall, athletic from gym sessions fueled by ego, light brown hair styled just messy enough, clean-shaven to look “approachable.” He knew it, used it. Dominant in bed, emotionally distant everywhere else. Alpha through and through—entitled, possessive when it suited him, always competitive with whatever pathetic husband was waiting at home. He arrived at Eclipse in under twenty minutes, scanning the room. Tommy nodded toward the bar. There she was: auburn hair cascading down her back, black dress hugging curves that screamed neglected wife, sparkling water in hand like she was trying to play it safe. Stunning. Ripe. Robert didn’t rush. He ordered a whiskey neat, positioned himself casually beside her, and let the opener drop. “Mind if I stand here? You look like you’re waiting for someone who doesn’t deserve you.” She laughed—good sign. Nervous, but open. Conversation flowed. He asked the right questions, listened just enough to seem interested, made her laugh with practiced charm. When the band slowed, he extended his hand. “Dance with me.” On the floor he pulled her close, hand firm at her lower back, letting her feel him—thick, hard, insistent. He watched her flush, felt her press back despite herself. Perfect. The kiss outside sealed it: slow, claiming, leaving her breathless. “Friday night,” he said. “Dinner. I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear something that makes you feel dangerous.” She nodded, hooked. Friday, he thought as he walked away. Dinner first—make her feel special—then back to his place. Some of that neglected married pussy. He’d have her screaming his name by midnight, begging for next time before morning. He walked away smiling. Another married pussy lined up. No complications. Just sex. Chapter 28: The Waiting Wednesday morning hit David like a freight train. He sat in his office, Pharma deposition transcripts spread across the desk like a battlefield map. The star witness for the defense had cracked under cross yesterday—admitting inconsistencies that gutted half their defenses. The partners were buzzing; settlement talks were already floating. “Keep this up,” the managing partner had said, “and that early retirements yours. Live the good life, David.” The good life. He stared at the calendar: Friday circled in red. Dinner with Robert. His stomach twisted. What the hell have I done? The night before had been a haze of relief and regret. Carolyn’s recounting of the club—every detail of the dances, the kiss, Robert’s confidence—had left Daisy sobbing in ecstasy during “play time.” But now, as David the lawyer, suit crisp and diaper discreetly taped beneath (a thin daytime one, no meetings today), the reality clawed at him. She’d leave me in a heartbeat for someone like that. Strong. Capable. The kind of man who doesn’t beg to be diapered. The fear was old, bone-deep—the same insecurity that had always lurked under his courtroom bluster. He’d built the alpha persona to hide it, but now it was cracking. If she falls for him… But the twist came, protective as always: If it’s my idea, my gift, then it’s proof she loves me enough to stay. Sacrifice. Devotion. Twisted, yes, but it kept the panic at bay. He shifted in his chair, the diaper crinkling faintly—his secret armor, worn more often now even at work. No one noticed. No one ever noticed. The comfort grounded him, a buffer against the stress of the case and the storm building at home. With Linda that afternoon (her “tea” sessions a weekly anchor), Carolyn confessed her nerves. “He’s… intense. What if it’s too much too soon?” Linda’s voice was soothing, the room softening. “Trust your pace. You’re in control. And remember—Daisy’s happiness is in your fulfillment. Let this be your gift to her too.” Carolyn left motivated; doubts quieted. Thursday: Another strong depo. The plaintiff’s experts lined up perfectly; defenses were crumbling. “You’re on fire,” a junior associate said. David nodded, bourbon in hand, but his mind was elsewhere. That evening, as Daisy in a soft pink sundress and dry diaper, he helped Carolyn plan her outfit for Friday. “Something dangerous,” Robert had said. They chose a sleek red dress together, Daisy snapping photos for reference, heart pounding with jealousy-laced excitement. “You’ll be stunning,” Daisy whispered. Carolyn kissed her forehead. “For us, baby girl.” That night, in the crib (rail down, but the symbolism heavy), Daisy lay in a fresh nighttime diaper, staring at the spinning mobile. Carolyn had tucked her in early, kissing her pacifier-stuffed mouth. “Don’t stay up too long, princess. Tomorrow’s a big night.” As the lullaby played, doubt crashed in. Relief from the day’s “no disasters” at work mingled with terror. Robert. Real. Happening. What if he steals her? What if she realizes she doesn’t need a freak in diapers? What if this ruins everything—the nursery, the comfort, the life I’ve begged for? The fear twisted, as always: But if she does it for me… it’s proof. Love. Sacrifice. Still, the crib felt confining tonight. Should I stop it? Tell her it’s a mistake? Beg to go back—to being David full-time, husband, not… this? Tears slipped down her cheeks. David allowed himself to dream about a life after winning the Pharma case: endless days as Daisy, no more insecurity about providing. But the twist nagged: If she’s with Robert, will she even want me around? A sissy baby girl in a frilly lavender baby-doll nightie trimmed with white lace ruffles, bonnet tied under her chin, thick diaper warmed from a deliberate wetting—how could that ever compete with a real man? But sleep came slowly, laced with dreams of empty nurseries and Carolyn walking away. Tomorrow would decide everything. Chapter 29: The Parking Lot Friday night arrived like a held breath. Carolyn stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, smoothing the crimson wrap dress that hugged her curves exactly the way Robert had asked: something that made her feel dangerous. Her hair was loose in soft waves, lips painted a deep, defiant red. She looked like desire itself. Daisy watched from the nursery doorway, dressed for the occasion in a thick nighttime diaper printed with tiny tiaras, white lace rumba panties with rows of ruffles, and a short satin baby-doll nightie in pale pink. A matching bow was tied in her curls, and a pacifier dangled from a ribbon around her neck. The sight of Carolyn—radiant, powerful, leaving to meet another man—sent a dizzying cocktail of fear and arousal through her. “You look… incredible, Mommy,” Daisy whispered. Carolyn turned, eyes softening. She crossed the hall and pulled Daisy into a gentle hug, careful not to crush the dress. “Be good tonight, princess. No touching. Mommy wants you aching when I get home so you can hear every detail.” Daisy nodded against her shoulder, diaper already warming with an involuntary spurt. Carolyn kissed the top of her head. “I love you.” “I love you more,” Daisy answered, voice small and sincere. The doorbell rang at eight sharp. Robert stood on the porch in a charcoal shirt open at the collar, dark jeans, and that same easy, confident smile. His eyes traveled over her slowly, appreciatively. “You followed instructions perfectly,” he murmured. “Dangerous looks good on you.” The restaurant was intimate—low lighting, corner table, wine he ordered for himself and sparkling water for her without making her feel childish about it. Conversation flowed: architecture, travel, music, the city. He listened. Really listened. When she spoke he leaned in, eyes locked on hers, as if the rest of the room had vanished. After dessert he paid without glancing at the bill and led her to his SUV in the quiet parking garage. The moment the door closed behind them the air changed. He backed her gently against the cool metal of the car, hands sliding to her waist. “I’ve been thinking about this since Tuesday,” he said, voice low. Then he kissed her. Not the careful, testing kiss from the club. This one was hungry—lips firm, tongue stroking hers with deliberate patience, one hand cupping her jaw, the other pressing at the small of her back until she felt every inch of him hard against her belly. A soft sound escaped her throat; she clutched his shoulders, knees weakening. God, he was huge. They made out like teenagers: windows fogging, her dress riding up, his fingers teasing the edge of her lace panties. When he slipped a hand inside her bra and rolled her nipple, she gasped his name. He pressed harder against her, letting her feel every inch. His mouth moved to her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered against her skin. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t want him to stop. She felt herself grow slick, aching, years of careful restraint unraveling in the dim garage light. He drew back just enough to meet her eyes. “I need you,” he growled against her throat. She wanted to. God, she wanted to spread her legs right there. But a wave of guilt crashed over her—David at home, curled in his crib, diapered and pretty, begging her to do this. The life they’d built, twisted now into something secret and sharp. Could she really cross this line? She pulled back, breathing hard. “Not tonight. I’m… I’m not ready.” Robert studied her for a moment, then nodded—respectful on the surface, but hunger flashing in his eyes. “Fair. But you’re not leaving me like this.” He guided her hand to his zipper and pressed it against the straining fabric. “On your knees, beautiful. Take care of me with that pretty mouth.” Carolyn’s heart stuttered, a little shocked. He’d been such a gentleman until that moment. She shook her head, cheeks burning. “I don’t… I’m not that kind of girl. I’ve never done that, not even for my husband.” Robert’s brow lifted, feigning surprise. “I didn’t know you were married!” “Yes you did,” Carolyn replied. “I’m wearing my wedding ring. You knew!” She met his eyes. He smiled, something darker flickering across his face. “Never? Really?” “Never. And I never will.” Robert searched her face for a long second, curiosity warring with raw desire. Whatever question formed behind his eyes dissolved under the weight of wanting her. He exhaled, a low, hungry sound. “Then use your hand,” he said, voice rough. “Slow. Like you mean it.” She did. It was exciting—larger than anything she’d known, feeling so right in her hand. When he climaxed, his head thrown back, her name on his lips as he spilled hot and thick over her fingers and the handkerchief he produced like a gentleman. When he kissed her afterward, soft and grateful, she felt cherished and filthy in the most perfect way. The drive to her house was quiet, charged. His hand rested on her thigh the entire way—high enough to tease, low enough to be respectable. When he pulled into the driveway he killed the engine and went around to open her door. He walked her to the front door and gave her a passionate goodnight kiss. “Next time,” he said simply, “my place. No interruptions.” She nodded, breathless. Carolyn entered her home, leaning against the door, heart hammering, Carolyn felt the glow—but a shadow crept in. The plan, the hypnosis... it had given her this freedom, but at David's expense? Twisting his vulnerabilities for her pleasure felt wrong, even if he begged now. Ethical doubts nagged, but the thrill won—for tonight. Upstairs the nursery night-light glowed pink. Daisy was awake in the crib, eyes wide, diaper massively swollen from hours of anxious wetting. “Mommy?” she whispered as Carolyn slipped into the room. Carolyn climbed over the rail and pulled Daisy into her arms, still tasting Robert on her lips. “Hi, baby girl,” she murmured, voice husky. “Mommy had the most wonderful night.” She told her everything—every word, every touch, every promise—while her hand drifted slowly over the front of Daisy’s soaked diaper. Daisy sobbed with gratitude and need, hips twitching helplessly. Outside, in the quiet street, Robert’s SUV idled for a moment longer. He smiled to himself, adjusted the front of his trousers, and drove away. Soon. Chapter 30: The Hypnotist's Reflections The morning after Carolyn's second date with Robert, she met Linda for tea at their usual café—sunlit corner table, chamomile for both. "You look... alive," Linda said, eyes warm. "Tell me everything." Carolyn recounted the night—the chemistry, the kisses, the thrill of coming home to Daisy's eager questions. "It's working. He's satisfied in ways I never imagined. But the guilt... sometimes it creeps in. Hiding the hypnosis from him." Linda squeezed her hand. "You're giving him what he needs too—surrender, acceptance. But remember what we've talked about: true happiness comes from openness. No bottling feelings. When the time's right, share it all. Honesty will bind you tighter." Carolyn nodded, doubt easing. "You're right. It feels... right." Linda smiled. "I'm proud of you. Keep going—you both deserve this joy." They agreed on their usual quiet café for lunch, parting with laughter and promises. Linda stayed behind after Carolyn left and sat for a long moment, staring at her tea. Carolyn’s glow was everything she’d hoped for. But as the thrill of her friend’s joy faded, quieter reflections crept in. The risks she’d taken, the professional lines she’d crossed—they felt heavier now, in the light of such visible progress. Yet, looking back, she knew it had been worth it. Carolyn was her oldest friend, her sister in all but blood. Their bond had formed in the haze of college life—shared dorm rooms at the university, late-night cram sessions over psychology texts for Carolyn and pre-med notes for Linda, dreams of changing lives one patient at a time. They were inseparable then, two young women navigating the world with wide-eyed optimism. Linda had stood as maid of honor at the wedding, beaming as Carolyn walked toward David, the charming law student who seemed like a storybook match. The courtship had been whirlwind—passionate, full of promise—and the vows felt like the start of something eternal. But eternity, Linda learned, could erode slowly. Over the years, during their weekly teas that became as ritualistic as breathing, Linda watched the light in Carolyn’s eyes dim. The passion faded, replaced by quiet resignation. Carolyn confided in fragments at first, then floods: the frustration in the bedroom, how David’s quick finishes and small size left her unsatisfied, the way she faked pleasure time and again to protect his fragile ego. It wasn’t just physical—Carolyn felt trapped, obligated to a marriage that provided financial security but starved her emotionally and sensually. Deeper layers emerged over time: the guilt from her high school past, that first intense love with an older boyfriend, the frequent, joyful sex she’d embraced as a young woman exploring her desires. Until her father discovered it. His crushing disapproval—harsh words about morality and respect—had shattered her, compounded by his sudden death shortly after. The loss left her drowning in shame and grief, turning to religion for solace, vowing chastity until marriage as penance. But marriage brought no redemption, only more duty, more faking, more quiet erosion of the vibrant woman Linda had known. One Wednesday, months before everything escalated, Linda had decided she couldn’t watch anymore. During their “tea,” she’d gently guided Carolyn into a light trance—subtle, unannounced, born from a deep well of compassion. She probed those roots of guilt carefully, her voice a soothing anchor. “Your past was joy, not sin,” she’d suggested softly. “Release the shame; embrace pleasure without fear.” Carolyn awoke refreshed, none the wiser, chatting on as if nothing had changed. But over subsequent sessions, the shifts bloomed gradually: less hesitation in her voice when speaking of desires, more openness about what she truly needed. Linda justified it to herself—friendship transcended the rigid boundaries of her profession. Carolyn was suffering, quietly fading; this was an act of love, not manipulation. The ethics still nagged her in quiet moments—confidentiality, informed consent, the ever-present risk of dependency. Professional guidelines were unequivocal: no dual relationships without full disclosure, avoid exploiting vulnerabilities at all costs. But love for her friend overrode caution. Carolyn was trapped in a life that dimmed her spirit; Linda had the tools to free her. Then David’s appointment had blindsided her completely. Her assistant had booked it and she didn’t even look at the name of the new patient. Only when he walked into her office, sitting down with that familiar fidget, did the conflict hit like a wave. Carolyn’s husband, here for therapy? The implications crashed over her: an immediate, glaring conflict of interest. Dual relationships were forbidden without explicit disclosure and consent from all parties. Sending him away now, this late, would require an explanation—one that risked breaching Carolyn’s confidentiality entirely. And Carolyn didn’t even know about her own sessions; revealing that could unravel everything. What a mess, Linda thought, her mind racing through the ethical hoops: potential complaints to the board, investigations, the career she’d built on trust and precision hanging by a thread. She’d nearly turned him away with a vague excuse about scheduling conflicts, but curiosity—and a flicker of opportunity—held her back. David sat there, fidgeting, dancing around his issue before finally confessing: the diaper fetish, the binge-purge cycles that had shadowed him since college, the all-consuming shame that made him feel unworthy of love. Linda maintained her professional calm, nodding empathetically, but inside she reeled. She’d never suspected something so profound from the man Carolyn described as egotistical and distant. As he spoke, pieces fell into place—linking it to Carolyn’s unhappiness, the emotional barriers, the unsatisfying intimacy that left her feeling unseen and unfulfilled. She decided in that moment: Probe deeper. See if help was possible. If not, gather insights that might aid Carolyn’s treatment. It was a risky pivot, but one driven by care—for Carolyn, and now, unexpectedly, for David too. She tried earnestly at first, committing to weeks of sessions, hours upon hours delving into the roots of his desires. David opened slowly, his voice trembling as he recounted his childhood. Bedwetting had plagued him until eleven, a source of endless embarrassment in a household where vulnerability was met with disdain. His parents' frustration had peaked when he was eight: “They diapered me one night to shame me into a cure,” he whispered, eyes distant, as if reliving the moment. “Big cloth ones, safety pins, crinkly plastic pants. They said if I acted like a baby, I’d be treated like one. I cried all night, humiliated, begging them to take it off. But… the warmth when I finally let go, the way it hugged me… it felt safe. Like punishment was the only attention I got, twisted into something comforting. Wrong, but mine.” The shaming hadn’t cured the bedwetting—it had embedded the diapers as a forbidden refuge, a way to reclaim control in a world that made him feel small and unworthy. Puberty rediscovered it in a rush of hormones and isolation: finding old diapers hidden in the attic at thirteen, taping one on in secret during a lonely afternoon. “The flood came first,” he admitted, face burning with recalled shame, “then the masturbation. Furious, desperate. It was better than anything real—no rejection, no failure. Just release.” Girls had been a minefield of inadequacy. Small, awkward, always picked last in sports, he was the kid who got good grades but no dates. At fourteen, Sarah had been a miracle—gorgeous, kind despite her muscular dystrophy that gave her a distinctive waddle. They shared make-out sessions, her letting him touch her breasts, building to that weekend her parents were away. “I stayed over, naive as hell,” he said, voice cracking even years later. “Thought it was just going to be time together. But she was on birth control, and wanted sex. I… couldn’t. I was too small, too nervous. I failed completely.” She was gentle about it, but then stopped taking my calls. About a week later, she broke up with me saying it was her not me, but I knew it was me. She had a new boyfriend within a week. “That rejection—it crushed me. I went back to the diapers. Masturbating in the wet ones became my escape. The shame made it hotter, like punishing myself for not being enough.” Linda listened with genuine empathy, exploring the triggers: the shame-reward loop, how rejection fueled a dependency on self-soothing rituals. David was no monster—just a man shaped by bad parenting, where love was conditional and vulnerability punished. The diapers had become armor, a way to internalize rejection before the world could deliver it. But progress stalled. The fetish was lifelong, woven into his identity from those early traumas. She couldn’t erase it—only redirect or suppress, and suppression had failed him before, leaving him in cycles of binge and purge that only deepened the shame. Then, in a deeper session, she probed further, uncovering other kinks layered atop the core: sexualizing rejection and shame (“It hurts, but… excites me, like proof I’m not worthy”), cross-dressing (“Pretty things feel right, but wrong—like hiding the failure in something beautiful”), pegging and spanking (“Punishment makes it real, turns the hurt into release”). And cuckolding: “If she cheats because I’m inadequate… it proves I’m not enough, but if I ask for it, it’s my control. My way to keep her.” Realization dawned slowly for Linda: Embrace this fully, and Carolyn could find happiness elsewhere. Help both of them. David wasn’t a villain—he was a victim of rejection, building fetishes as shields against unworthiness. Bad parenting had planted the seeds; puberty and heartbreak had watered them. Linda felt a pang of sympathy for him, this man who craved love but armored himself against it. If guided right, perhaps he could find peace in surrender. The risks were immense—ethical breaches, potential dependency, backlash if discovered. But friendship won out. She urged honest conversations in their sessions, but both were stubborn, unwilling to share secrets. When Carolyn came desperate one day, seeking a way out without destruction, Linda acted—seeing the path to free them both. Now, with Carolyn on the cusp of real passion, Linda felt vindicated. The plan was working, human flaws and all. But as she finished her tea alone, doubt lingered: At what cost? Chapter 31: The Big Night Saturday David sat at his home-office desk in the pinkest, frilliest dress Carolyn had bought for him: layers of satin and organza the color of strawberry frosting, puffed sleeves trimmed in white lace, a heart-shaped bodice embroidered with tiny roses, and a hem so short it fluttered above the waistband of his diaper every time he breathed. Beneath it all, the thick overnight diaper she had taped on him that morning after their cuddle—no reward, no release, just a lingering kiss and the promise, “Save it for tonight, baby girl.” His erection had been a constant, aching presence all day, tenting the front of the diaper in a shameful bulge that no amount of lace could hide. On the screen in front of him were stories he had read a hundred times: wives taking lovers while their husbands watched from playpens, sissy babies who couldn’t satisfy their wives and were put into diapers and dresses and forced to watch real men fucking their wives because they were unable to satisfy them. He had bookmarked dozens of them over the years, always in secret, masturbating furiously in wet diapers while reading them—but only when he knew he wouldn’t be caught. He rarely did this now that Carolyn was fully participating. When he did, he would feel guilty, like he was cheating. Yet today, he needed the stories. Here he was, living as the sissy baby girl he had always dreamed of being—and tonight his wife was about to cuckold him. Not some fantasy about it, but the real thing. The realization hit him like warm water: this could change everything. He had been a diaper lover since puberty. He thought back to the first time he walked into the pharmacy and bought the first package of Attends. He remembered the first wetting, the first explosive orgasm into swollen padding—he remembered every detail. He thought about how much money he wasted over the years with his binge-purge cycle. He still had a hard time believing that this was all real. His wife actually accepted his desires and was participating. It was always a dream. Always a fantasy. Now it was his reality. In most ways it was better than the fantasy ever was. This had been part of his life so long; he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t love diapers. As he sat at his computer reading stories about events that were happening to him in real life, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He went to Linda hoping to rid himself of this part of him. Now, he was so glad that she couldn’t do it. He was so grateful for what she had done. When she told him at that last session “I think I can help both of you,” he had no idea how much help she would be. Now, a years later, he sat in a baby-doll dress that cost more than most of his Armani suits, diaper swollen from three deliberate wettings that morning, erection throbbing with every heartbeat, and realized he was living the fantasy he had feared to ever speak aloud. How had Linda done it? How had Carolyn agreed? He didn’t understand the mechanics—only the miracle. “Daisy!” Carolyn’s voice floated up the stairs, snapping him out of his daze. “It’s time to get ready, princess.” He toddled downstairs on shaky legs. Carolyn stood in the bedroom in a black lace bra and matching thong, hair in loose waves, makeup flawless. She looked like sin poured into silk. She turned, smiling at the sight of him. “Look at my pretty girl. Been thinking about tonight all day, haven’t you?” Daisy nodded, blushing furiously. Carolyn held up two dresses: one crimson, one midnight blue. “Which one says ‘fuck me senseless’ better, baby?” Daisy’s voice came out a squeak. “The… the red one, Mommy.” “Good choice.” She slipped it on, the fabric clinging to every curve. “Robert is going to rip this off me the second the door closes.” She stepped into sky-high heels, spritzed perfume between her breasts, then between her thighs, winking at Daisy in the mirror. “Somewhere he’ll definitely notice.” Daisy whimpered. Carolyn knelt, untaped the soaked daytime diaper, cleaned her with warm wipes, powdered lavishly, and taped on a fresh nighttime one—extra thick, pastel pink with rows of sleeping princesses and ruffled lace that fluttered like a tutu. Over it went the frilliest nightie in the wardrobe: baby-pink chiffon with puffed sleeves, a hem that barely reached the diaper’s waistband, and a matching bonnet tied under Daisy’s chin. Carolyn kissed her forehead. “Be a good girl. You don’t need to wait up for Mommy. It might be very late. It could even be tomorrow morning. Either way, no touching. Save every drop for when I tell you the story.” Daisy nodded solemnly. “Daisy promises.” Carolyn cupped her padded crotch, gave a gentle squeeze that made Daisy gasp. “That’s my perfect little baby girl.” She grabbed her purse, blew a kiss, and walked out the door. Daisy stood in the foyer long after the car pulled away, heart pounding so hard the lace on her dress trembled. The next time that door opened, everything would be different. She would finally be the sissy cuckold baby girl she had always wanted to be. And she had never been more excited and more terrified in her entire life. Chapter 32: Carolyn Comes Alive Carolyn paused at the front door, hand on the knob, heart hammering. She turned back to Daisy—her beautiful, ridiculous, frilly husband standing in the foyer like a life-sized doll—and leaned in to kiss the powdered forehead peeking from beneath the bonnet. “Be a good girl,” she whispered. “You don’t need to wait up for Mommy. It might be very late. It could even be tomorrow morning. Either way, no touching. Save every drop for when I tell you the story.” She waited. This was the moment. The last possible second for him to snap out of it, to grab her wrist and say, Wait, this is insane, I don’t want this. But Daisy only gazed up at her with shining, trusting eyes and lisped, “Yes, Mommy. Daisy will be good.” Carolyn’s stomach flipped. He really, truly wanted it. All of it. She wasn’t going to hold back tonight. She was really going to do it, she thought. She closed the door softly behind her and walked to the car on legs that felt borrowed. How had they gotten here? She had expected resistance—tears, bargaining, anything. Instead, David had melted into Daisy like ice cream in July. The diapers, the dresses, the crib, the begging to be cuckolded… it had happened so fast, so completely. And every step of the way she had reminded herself what Linda had drilled into her: you can’t hypnotize someone into something they don’t already want. Deep down, he had always wanted this. And, God help her, so had she. The drive to Robert’s was twenty-seven minutes. She spent every one of them alternating between giddy anticipation and a low thrum of guilt. Robert opened the door in a charcoal Henley and soft gray sweatpants, barefoot, smiling like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. “Hey, beautiful.” He didn’t give her time to overthink. One hand cupped her face, the other closed the door, and then he was kissing her—slow, deliberate, claiming. The kiss from the parking lot had been a promise; this one delivered. He walked her backward until her shoulders met the wall, never breaking contact. His mouth moved to her neck, teeth grazing just hard enough to make her gasp. “I’ve been thinking about this since Tuesday,” he said, voice low. Then he kissed her again. Not the careful, testing kiss from the club. This one was hungry—lips firm, tongue stroking hers with deliberate patience, one hand cupping her jaw, the other pressing at the small of her back until she felt every inch of him hard against her belly. A soft sound escaped her throat; she clutched his shoulders, knees weakening. God, he was huge. They made out against the wall: her dress riding up, his fingers teasing the edge of her lace panties. When he slipped a hand inside her bra and rolled her nipple, she gasped his name. He pressed harder against her, letting her feel every inch. His mouth moved to her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered against her skin. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t want him to stop. She felt herself grow slick, aching, years of careful restraint unraveling in the dim hallway light. He drew back just enough to meet her eyes. “I need you,” he growled against her throat. She wanted to. God, she wanted to spread her legs right there. But a small pang of guilt flickered—David at home, curled in his crib, diapered and pretty, waiting for her to return. Begging her to do this. She pulled back, breathing hard. “Not… not here. Let’s go to the bedroom.” Robert’s eyes darkened with approval. He lifted her easily—she weighed nothing in his arms—and carried her down the hall. Low lights, crisp white sheets, the faint scent of sandalwood. He set her down like something precious, then stood back and looked at her in the red dress. “Take it off. Slowly.” She did, fingers trembling only a little. The dress pooled at her feet. She stood in black lace bra, matching thong, and heels. Robert exhaled; eyes dark. “Jesus, Carolyn.” He stepped close again, hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. When he unhooked her bra and cupped her, she arched into him with a sound she didn’t recognize. He laid her on the bed, kissing every inch he uncovered—collarbone, breasts, stomach—until she was writhing. When he finally peeled the thong away he paused, looking at her like she was a miracle. “You’re perfect,” he said, voice rough. Then his mouth was on her, slow and reverent, tongue circling until she was clutching the sheets and sobbing his name. The orgasm rolled through her like warm honey—long, deep, shattering. Nothing like the polite, hurried fumbles she’d known for a decade. He rose over her, shedding clothes. When he pushed inside her—slow, thick, relentless—she cried out at the stretch, the fullness she had forgotten was possible. He filled her completely, then stilled, letting her adjust, kissing her tears away. “You okay?” “More than okay,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.” He didn’t. He moved with deliberate power—deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot, building her again and again. When she came the second time he followed, groaning her name into her neck, hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside her. Afterward he held her close, stroking her hair, kissing her temple, murmuring soft praises until her breathing slowed. Somewhere in the haze she pictured Daisy at home—frilly nightie, thick diaper, probably rocking in the crib, hard and leaking just thinking about this exact moment. The image sent a fresh pulse of heat through her—her sweet, pathetic baby girl, waiting in lace and plastic while a real man claimed his wife. She came a third time just from that thought, clenching around Robert as he hardened again inside her. Round two was slower, lazier—her on top, riding him with rolling hips while he watched her breasts bounce, hands gripping her waist. When she collapsed forward he flipped her gently, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and took her apart again. They finally stilled near one a.m., tangled and sweaty and utterly spent. “Stay,” he murmured against her hair. “I can’t,” she said, kissing him softly. “Not tonight. But soon.” He walked her to the door, kissed her once more—deep, possessive, promising. “Tomorrow?” he asked. “Not tomorrow, but soon.” she agreed. The drive home was quiet, windows down, cool air on flushed skin. She felt loose, sated, reborn. And guilty. And thrilled. She wondered if Daisy had managed to keep her promise—if that diaper was still untouched, swollen only with pee and desperate need. She hoped so. Because the story she had to tell was going to be worth every aching second of waiting. Chapter 33: Robert's Dilemma Robert had always been the kind of man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. At thirty-eight, he was a senior project manager at a downtown construction firm—broad-shouldered from years of site work before climbing the ladder, with an easy charm that opened doors and a laugh that disarmed even the toughest contractors. Divorced five years ago after a marriage that fizzled out in mutual boredom, he had thrown himself into the single life: gym routines, weekend hikes, and the occasional no-strings fling from apps or bars. Nothing serious. He wasn't looking for complications; life was complicated enough with deadlines and blueprints. That Wednesday at the lounge, Carolyn had caught his eye like a blueprint error—subtle but impossible to ignore. Tall, auburn-haired, with a quiet confidence that stood out in a room full of loud laughs and forced flirtations. He noticed the ring right away, glinting under the amber lights. Married, he thought. Probably bored. Perfect for a one-night distraction. He wasn't proud of it, but that's how he played things: light, fun, no expectations. When she laughed at his line and let him buy her a sparkling water (no alcohol—classy, he noted), the conversation flowed like they’d known each other for years. Dancing sealed it: her body fitting against his, the heat building. He expected the usual—back to his place, a quick release, goodbye in the morning. But she pulled back on the sidewalk, eyes bright but firm. “Not tonight.” Surprise number one. Married women looking for thrills didn’t usually hold back. It intrigued him enough to ask for Friday. Dinner was even better: easy banter, her stories about country club life making him laugh, his tales of construction mishaps drawing her in. Under the table, knees touching, the chemistry crackled. In the parking lot, things heated up fast—her moans, his hands exploring. He was rock hard, ready. But again: “Not tonight.” Surprise number two. She wasn’t just looking for a quick fuck; she was dating him. Teasing the line, but not crossing it yet. It threw him. Married, but selective? He drove home alone, replaying her refusals, wondering what her deal was. He was a little annoyed and was hoping she wasn’t going to end up all clingy like the last one. Saturday night at his loft changed everything. She showed up in that red dress, looking like every fantasy he’d never admitted to. The sex was… explosive. Her body responsive in ways he loved, her gasps genuine, her climaxes pulling him under. Three times—slow, then urgent, then lazy and deep. He hadn’t felt that connected in years. Maybe ever. Lying tangled in sheets, her head on his chest, he traced lazy circles on her back. “Stay,” he murmured, meaning it more than he expected. “I can’t. Not tonight. But soon.” As she dressed, guilt flickered across her face—quick, but he caught it. The ring was back on her finger; she’d slipped it off before they started. Questions bubbled up: Who was the husband? Some soft executive type, probably. Jealous? Violent? Robert had seen enough bar fights to know married men could snap. Did the guy own a gun? Keep tabs on her? What if he found out—tailed her, confronted them? Robert wasn’t looking for drama; he’d had his fill with the divorce. “You sure about this?” he asked quietly, helping her into her coat. “Your husband… if he finds out, what happens? Is he the jealous type? Does he… I don’t know, have a gun or something?” She paused, meeting his eyes with that calm authority he was starting to crave. “He’s not a problem. Trust me. This is… what we both need.” Vague, but her tone shut it down. No details, no reassurances beyond that. Robert let it go—his desire for her overrode the red flags. She was at some point going to be a problem. He could tell. She wasn’t just looking for good sex. She wanted a relationship. But she was married. This was probably short-lived—a fling until guilt or discovery ended it. Could be one of those revenge things for her. Punishing the husband for being unfaithful. He’d take what he could get, savor the highs, and brace for the crash later. He also would be watching his back. He didn’t want an actual confrontation. He kissed her at the door, deep and reluctant. “Tomorrow?” “No, but soon,” she agreed, slipping away into the night. Robert watched her taillights fade, already counting the hours. For now, this was enough. The problems when they came he would deal with—but that was a problem for another day. Chapter 34: Afterglow and Cracks Carolyn let herself in quietly just after one a.m., the cool night air clinging to her skin like a second dress. The house was silent, but as she climbed the stairs, she could hear Daisy moving in the crib. She padded to the nursery door and peered in. Daisy was curled on her side in the crib, pacifier bobbing gently, diaper massively swollen and sagging from hours of anxious wetting. One hand clutched the unicorn blanket; the other was fisted in the satin nightie. Daisy lay in the dark, the high from Mommy's story still echoing through her body. The climax had been explosive—waves of humiliated arousal crashing as Carolyn described every thrust, every moan, every way Robert had claimed her. It was everything Daisy had fantasized about for years: the proof of inadequacy, the devotion in surrender, the twisted thrill of giving Mommy what she deserved. But as the afterglow faded, the crib felt colder. The diaper, heavy and warm, was a comfort—but tonight it also felt like a cage. What if she leaves me? The fear crept in, old and familiar, the same one that had armored him with ego for decades. Carolyn had glowed telling the story—alive in a way he’d never made her. Robert was strong, capable, everything David pretended to be in the courtroom. A real man. This was supposed to prove love. My gift. My way to keep her. But it hurt. Quiet tears slipped down Daisy's cheeks, soaking the pillow. She loved the excitement—the cuckolding was the dream fulfilled; the ultimate humiliation that made everything hotter. But in the silence, fear outweighed thrill. What if tonight was the start of her realizing she didn’t need a diapered sissy anymore? The nursery, the dresses, the life they’d built—gone. She cried softly most of the night, wrestling with jealousy, fear of loss, and a regret that tasted like ashes. Weak moment, she told herself. Tomorrow it’ll feel right again. As Carolyn left the nursery, her heart clenched. She paused in the hallway, listening. The cries were quiet, almost swallowed by the dark, but unmistakable. As Carolyn slipped into the master bedroom—her room now, most nights—and lay awake, body sated but mind racing. A faint sound drifted from the nursery—soft, muffled sobs. Carolyn's chest tightened. The thrill of the night fading into something colder. The sobs continued faintly through the open door, persistent into the early hours. Carolyn’s guilt surfaced, quiet but insistent. She’d broken him. Turned the man she married into this—for her pleasure. She wondered if she’d lost the man she loved in pursuit of the woman she wanted to be. Chapter 35: Doubts Creep In Sunday morning light filtered softly through the nursery blinds, casting pale stripes across the pink walls. Carolyn woke first, body loose and languid, a secret smile tugging at her lips as memories of Robert flooded back—the strength of his hands, the way he'd filled her completely, the multiple waves of pleasure that had left her boneless and breathless. It felt like waking from a long sleep, rediscovering parts of herself she'd thought lost forever. She slipped out of bed and padded to the nursery, expecting to find Daisy still curled in peaceful slumber. Instead, Daisy was awake, sitting up in the crib with the blanket pulled to her chin, eyes puffy and red-rimmed. Carolyn's heart gave a small, uneasy twist. “Good morning, princess.” Daisy turned, forcing a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Good morning, Mommy. Did you sleep well?” Carolyn climbed over the rail and pulled her into a hug. “I did. And you? You look like you've been crying.” Daisy nestled closer, voice light. “Happy tears, Mommy. Just… so thrilled for you. Last night sounded perfect.” The words were sweet, devoted—the Daisy Carolyn had come to expect. But something felt off. The enthusiasm rang a fraction too high, the hug a little too tight, as if clinging to reassurance. Carolyn brushed it aside for the moment, changing Daisy with gentle efficiency—fresh diaper, simple sundress for the day. Breakfast was quiet: oatmeal for Daisy in the highchair, tea and cereal for Carolyn. Daisy chattered about little things—the garden, a bird at the feeder—but her eyes kept drifting, distant. By midday, the unease nagged enough that Carolyn called Linda. “I noticed Daisy's eyes this morning—puffy, like she'd cried all night. She said happy tears, but… I don't know. It felt forced.” Linda's voice was warm, steady. “That's normal, Carolyn. Adjustment takes time. He's living his deepest desires—it's overwhelming. The tears are release, not regret. Keep going. Everything will be wonderful. You're giving him what he begged for.” Carolyn exhaled; doubts quieted—for now. “You're right. Thank you.” Internally, though, Linda's reassurance felt thinner. Have I gone too far? David's tears—did I break him? The thought flickered, unwelcome. She'd removed the suggestions long ago, believing in their choices. But hearing about the crying… remorse stirred, quiet but persistent. Monday blurred into routine. David buried himself in Pharma trial that was now in full swing—long hours, late nights. Evenings were Daisy time: diapered, pretty, curled on the couch with Carolyn. Things seemed fine—normal rituals, soft touches, no overt distress. Daisy helped with small tasks, smiled at the right moments. But subtle signs lingered: quieter laughter, longer silences, eyes that drifted when Carolyn mentioned Robert. Mid-week, Robert texted: Dinner Saturday? Miss you already. Carolyn's pulse quickened. Yes, she replied eagerly. Saturday. The week dragged and flew. David won a key motion Friday—partners toasting with bourbon, retirement whispers louder. Home late, he changed into diaper and dress without prompting, the routine grounding. Saturday prep arrived. Carolyn laid out outfits; Daisy helped her choose—a sleek midnight-blue dress this time. “You'll look stunning,” Daisy whispered, snapping reference photos, heart pounding with that familiar jealousy-laced excitement. But quieter this time. More withdrawn. Hands lingering a fraction too long on the fabric, eyes distant. Carolyn noticed. “Everything okay, princess?” Daisy nodded quickly. “Fine, Mommy. Just… excited for you.” The smile was there, but subdued. Carolyn pushed forward, desire for Robert's touch overriding the nag. He's so devoted. Am I selfish for wanting more? Daisy wanted this, she reminded herself. She begged. Guilt nagged, quiet but persistent. She's doing this for us. But as Carolyn dressed, the worry lingered. Doubts crept in, slow and steady. Chapter 36: Robert's True Colors The week had blurred into routine, the Pharma trial now in full swing and swallowing David's days whole. Evenings were quieter—Daisy time, but subdued. No play, no stories retold. Just gentle cuddles and early bedtimes. Saturday arrived too soon. Carolyn dressed carefully: the midnight-blue dress Daisy had helped choose, heels that made her legs look endless, hair loose and shining. She kissed Daisy's forehead before leaving. “Be good, princess. Mommy will be home late.” Daisy nodded; eyes bright but distant. “Have fun, Mommy.” Robert opened his door with that confident smile, pulling her inside before she could speak. Dinner was intimate—Italian takeout on his couch, wine for him, sparkling water for her. Conversation flowed; laughter easy. His hands wandered early: tracing her thigh under the table, brushing her neck when he leaned in. By the time they reached his bedroom, the air crackled. He undressed her slowly this time, eyes devouring. “You’re addictive,” he murmured, mouth trailing fire down her throat. The sex was rougher than before—passionate, urgent. He pinned her wrists above her head, thrusting deep and hard, her cries echoing off the walls. She came twice, clenching around him, nails raking his back. He followed with a growl, collapsing beside her, breathing ragged. They lay tangled, sweat cooling, waiting for him to recover. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her hip. “So,” he said casually, voice low. “Tell me about the husband. He knows about this? Or is this revenge for something?” Carolyn hesitated, the post-orgasm haze and lingering thrill making her tongue loose. “He… knows. It was his idea, actually.” Robert’s brow arched, amusement flickering. “His idea? What, he’s into that kinky open-marriage shit?” She nodded, the words spilling before she could stop them. “More than that. He… he begged me to find someone. A real man.” Robert chuckled, propping on an elbow. “A real man. Cute. So, what’s his deal—can’t get it up? Too small? Pathetic in bed?” The mockery stung, but the wine and warmth dulled it. “Something like that.” He pressed, curiosity sharpening. “Come on, details. Married women don’t just jump into this without a story.” She shouldn’t have said more. But the intimacy of the moment, the way he looked at her like she was his prize—it loosened her guard. “He’s… into diapers. Feminization. Calls himself Daisy when he’s dressed up. Sleeps in a crib.” Robert froze, then burst out laughing—deep, derisive. “You’re shitting me. Diapers? A crib? Your husband’s a fucking freak? Jesus, no wonder you’re here. Dump the loser—be with a real man like me.” The words landed like slaps. Carolyn’s stomach dropped. The laughter wasn’t playful; it was cruel, entitled. She saw him clearly now: narcissistic, competitive, reducing David to a joke to elevate himself. She sat up, pulling the sheet around her. “That’s enough.” Robert shrugged, still smirking. “Come on, babe. You’re telling me you’re tied to some diaper-wearing sissy? That’s pathetic.” The physical pull was still there—his body, the memory of how he'd made her feel. When he reached for her again, she let him. One more time. Rough, desperate, her body betraying her mind. The orgasm crashed through her, leaving her shaking. But afterward, as he dozed smugly beside her, horror flooded in. What have I done? She dressed quickly, muttering an excuse about an early morning. Robert waved it off, already half-asleep. “Next weekend?” She didn’t answer. The drive home was a blur of tears and self-recrimination. Guilt built until it felt overwhelming. I turned David into this—for my own needs. Recruited Linda, pushed the hypnosis, reshaped him into Daisy. I ruined a perfectly wonderful, loving partner and turned him into a weak, pathetic sissy baby. All because I was selfish. I don't deserve to be loved. I don't deserve to be happy. By the time she pulled into the driveway, sobs shook her. The nursery light glowed faintly upstairs. She had broken everything. For her pleasure. Chapter 37: The Spiral Carolyn let herself in quietly just after one a.m., the cool night air clinging to her skin. The house was silent, but a soft, warm glow spilled from the nursery doorway upstairs. She paused at the foot of the stairs, hand on the banister, heart pounding. She couldn't face Daisy. Not yet. The weight of what she'd revealed to Robert—spilling David's secrets in that haze of satisfaction—pressed down like a stone. How could she look at her husband, the man she'd reshaped into Daisy, after a stranger had laughed at him? She climbed the stairs quietly, avoiding the nursery, and slipped into the master bedroom—her room now. The bed was cold, empty. She undressed in the dark, the crimson wrap dress pooling at her feet, and crawled under the covers. Tears came hot and silent, guilt crashing over her in waves. The thoughts of what she had done to her husband looped, relentless, twisting memories into accusations. David had been devoted, hardworking, providing everything. And she'd taken that strong, capable man—the one who'd built a life for them—and broken him for her pleasure. The paddle: not discipline, but cruelty. She'd enjoyed his tears, the power, then retreated to shamefully pleasure herself while he lay in a crib crying and punished. She had forcing him to help find men for her sick desires, ignoring the quiet pain in his eyes. She was truly evil. Sleep came fitfully, fractured by self-loathing. Daisy heard the front door click shut, the soft creak of stairs. Mommy's home. She sat up in the crib, heart racing, diaper warm and thick from deliberate wettings through the long night. The anticipation had been torture—imagining every thrust, every moan, the way Robert claimed what Daisy never could. It was the dream fulfilled; the ultimate humiliation that made everything hotter. She was aching, ready for the story, the relief. But the footsteps passed the nursery door. No light switched on. No soft voice calling her name. Daisy waited, straining to hear. Maybe Carolyn was exhausted. They'd talk in the morning. She lay back down, trying to ignore the gnawing doubt, the fear that tonight had changed everything—for the worse. Morning light filtered through the nursery blinds. Daisy woke to an empty room, no Carolyn with fresh diaper and powder. The rail was down—she could get up herself. She did, on shaky legs, diaper heavy and cold. Showered, dressed in khakis and a polo, and headed downstairs. Carolyn was still in bed, covers pulled high. That didn’t surprise him much—it had been late when she got home, and she deserved rest. Even though it was Sunday, David had work. Evidence had closed last week; Monday he was giving his closing argument. He kissed her forehead—cool, distant—and left, concern knotting his stomach but pushed aside by trial focus. Carolyn lay there long after the door closed, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to get up, make tea, have breakfast, do something normal. But her body felt heavy, muscles stiff and slow, as if gravity had doubled overnight. The bed was the only place that felt tolerable, a cocoon against the storm in her mind. David was working so hard—for their future, for her security. Such a wonderful, caring man. And she'd destroyed him. By evening he returned to find her still in bed, he didn’t see any dishes or signs that she had eaten. He returned to her room again. “Carolyn…” “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Just… a little under the weather.” As David closes the door, she thinks. He is so caring. He loves me so much, but if he knew what I had done to him, he would hate me. Carolyn knows Monday is his big day. He has talked about it for weeks. His closing argument is his chance to convince the jury and secure victory. She won’t burden him any further right now, she’s already done too much to him. I just need to let him get through the trial. Monday David left early, suit sharp, mind focused on his closing argument. Carolyn was still sleeping when he left. He didn’t want to wake her so he quietly left the house and drove to the Courthouse. He came home excited to tell Carolyn all about his closing argument and how well it went. He was surprised to find her in bed. She claimed everything was fine and she would be up and around in no time. She just needed some rest. He didn't push, but panic flickered. Was she really just sick, or did something happen? Did Robert do something? Guilt surged—he'd pushed her into this. It was his idea. If something happened, it was his fault. Tuesday David needed to be at Court first thing in the morning. The case was almost wrapped up and the lawyers and judge were meeting before the jury arrived to do final work on the jury instructions. The defense was to finish its closing that morning and then the case would be given to the jury. He again left before Carolyn was out of bed. He was worried now. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed she hadn’t left the room since returning from her date with Robert. He asked several times if she was okay, but she assured him it was nothing and she’d be up soon. Carolyn lay in the dim bedroom all day Tuesday, the sheets tangled around her like restraints, her mind a storm that refused to quiet. The events of the past year replayed in her head, but not as they had happened—not the careful steps, the shared decisions, the way David had begged for each new layer. No, in the grip of her guilt, the memories twisted, reshaping themselves into a narrative where she was the villain, the architect of his downfall. It started with that first desperate conversation with Linda, didn't it? She'd gone to her friend, tears in her eyes, confessing how empty the marriage felt, how David's quick, unsatisfying encounters left her feeling like a duty rather than a desire. But in this distorted recollection, it wasn't desperation—it was selfishness. She'd manipulated Linda into helping, demanding a way to fix her boredom without losing the security David provided. The hypnosis? Her idea, her weapon. She'd pushed for it, ignoring any ethical whispers, turning David into a puppet for her pleasure. She remembered the night Linda first triggered him—how he'd slumped in the chair, eyes glassy, and she'd felt a thrill rather than remorse. In her mind now, that thrill was pure evil, a sign of her corrupted heart. She'd watched as Linda planted the seeds: the bedwetting, the diapers, the feminization. David had resisted at first, hadn't he? But no—in the twisted version, he'd fought, and she'd insisted, relishing his slow surrender. The nursery, the dresses, the crib—all her doing, forcing him into this pathetic shell because she couldn't be content with the loving man he'd been. And the cuckolding? Oh, that was the crowning sin. She'd twisted his vulnerabilities, used the hypnosis to make him beg for it, all so she could chase her own lust. Robert's mockery echoed in her ears—"Your husband's a freak? Dump the loser"—and she saw it as truth. She'd exposed David, ridiculed him through her actions, for what? A few nights of passion? She was the monster, the one who'd stripped away his manhood, his dignity, leaving him in diapers and lace while she sought satisfaction elsewhere. Tears soaked her pillow as the self-loathing deepened. David had been wonderful—a provider, a partner, devoted in his way. And she'd broken him, reshaped him into Daisy, all because her desires were more important. Selfish. Evil. Unworthy of love. The depression wrapped tighter, distorting every memory into proof of her guilt. How could she ever face him again? When David returned from work that night he found Carolyn was still in bed. She wouldn’t really talk, just claimed to be tired and need rest. He suggested a doctor but she refused. David left the room, fully panicked now. Something was definitely wrong. What if she's traumatized? He called Linda, voice breaking. “Something's wrong with Carolyn. She's been in bed since Saturday. She won't talk. Says its nothing, she’s just sick, but I think something is seriously wrong. Please help.” Linda agreed to come over, her own remorse stirring as she hung up. On the drive, Linda's thoughts raced. Have I gone too far? David's voice—desperate, broken. Remorse crashed in: the hypnosis, the suggestions, the "experiment." She'd meant to help, but now? Guilt twisted like a knife. What if she'd destroyed them? She arrived to a house heavy with silence, ready to face the fallout. Chapter 38: Whispers in the Shadows Tuesday evening draped the house in a hush, the winter dusk filtering through the curtains like a veil. David paced the foyer, his khakis masking the faint crinkle of the diaper beneath—still dry, but the knot of anxiety in his stomach threatened to change that. The trial's final jury instructions loomed tomorrow morning, but work felt distant, irrelevant. Carolyn hadn't stirred from bed since Saturday, her date with Robert a black hole she refused to discuss. Her pale assurances of "just tired" echoed in his mind, fueling fears: Had Robert crossed a line? Or had David's own fantasies pushed her too far, breaking the woman he adored? The doorbell pierced the quiet. David opened it to Linda, her petite frame wrapped in flowing black, dark eyes etched with worry. She pulled him into a brief, steadying hug. "David. Show me to her." Upstairs, the master bedroom was a dim cocoon, curtains drawn, the air thick with stagnation. Carolyn lay curled under the duvet, auburn hair tangled, eyes fixed on some invisible point. A half-full mug of chamomile tea sat cold on the nightstand—untouched, like everything else. Linda gestured for David to wait outside. "Let me talk to her alone first. Trust me—she needs space to breathe." David nodded reluctantly, retreating to the hallway, heart pounding. He leaned against the wall, the diaper's padding a humiliating reminder of his own vulnerabilities amid the crisis. Inside, Linda sat gently on the bed's edge, her voice a soft anchor. "Carolyn, it's me. Just us. David's downstairs, worried out of his mind. Whatever's weighing on you... let it out. I'm here because I love you, and I want you happy—truly, deeply happy." Carolyn's gaze shifted, tears welling. The heaviness in her body made speaking feel like pushing through quicksand, but Linda's presence—familiar, nonjudgmental—cracked the dam. Words tumbled out in whispers, raw and fractured: the guilt over "manipulating" David into bedwetting, diapers, sissification; the spanking that now haunted her as abuse; the cuckolding that exposed him to ridicule. "I'm the villain, Linda. Selfish. Evil. I twisted him for my own needs, destroyed a good man. How can I face him? Get out of this bed? It's all my fault." Linda listened, her own remorse surging like a tide. Carolyn's memories were warped—hypnosis-fueled distortions painting her as the sole architect, ignoring David's eager consents and hidden cravings. Linda had meant to align their desires, to gift her friend satisfaction without loss, but seeing this devastation twisted the knife. Had her "help" gone too far? Ethical vows shattered for love's sake, but the fallout stared back at her. Still, she held steady, squeezing Carolyn's hand. "You're not evil. You're human—frustrated, trapped. But this guilt... it's not the full picture. We can untangle it, together. Honesty from everyone, no more secrets. That's the way forward." Carolyn nodded weakly, a sliver of relief piercing the fog. The dread eased just enough for her to sit up, sip the fresh tea Linda prepared. "Maybe... but David... he can't know how I feel yet. Not like this." "Understood," Linda murmured. "Rest now. I'll handle the next steps." Downstairs, Linda found David nursing a bourbon, his broad shoulders slumped. "She's opening up—a little. Deep guilt, twisted memories. I think I can help, but it starts with dropping the walls. Everyone's secrets out in the open." David's brow furrowed. "Secrets? Like... my sessions with you? Before all this?" Linda nodded, her tone caring but firm. "Exactly. Let me share your history with her—the appointments, the fantasies you confided. It could show her this wasn't all her doing. But only if you're ready." He stared into his glass, mind racing. Expose his pre-existing cravings? Risk Carolyn seeing him as even more pathetic? Yet... it might lift her burden. "I... I need to think. Trial's only half-day tomorrow—jury out by lunch. I could meet at your office Wednesday afternoon?" "Perfect," Linda said. "I'll meet with you and then later with her after you have decided. No promises needed now—just consider it. For her happiness... and yours." David agreed, the weight shifting but not lifting. As Linda left, he climbed the stairs, peeking in on Carolyn—now dozing fitfully. He slipped into the nursery alone, changing into a thick nighttime diaper, the ritual a small comfort amid the storm. Sleep came uneasily, dreams laced with vulnerability. The path to truth had begun—slow, shadowed, but inexorable. Chapter 39: Confessions in Solitude Wednesday morning dawned sharp and clear, the courtroom bathed in pale winter light as David finalized jury instructions with opposing counsel and the judge. The pharmaceutical case—a grueling marathon of depositions and expert battles—now rested with the jurors, deliberations set to begin after lunch. David shook hands mechanically, his mind elsewhere. He'd barely slept, the crib's rails a confining reminder of his vulnerability, the overnight diaper swollen and heavy by dawn from helpless wettings. Changing himself that morning had been a ritual of quiet shame and strange comfort, but the real weight was the decision ahead: exposing his buried fantasies to Carolyn, lifting her guilt at the cost of his own ego. If it healed her, he'd bear it—but not face-to-face. Not yet. By one, he was at Linda's office, the discreet north-side suite feeling more like a confessional than a therapy space. Linda greeted him with a warm hug, her dark eyes searching his face as they settled into the plush chairs—no pendant, no hypnosis, just the faint scent of lavender from her diffuser. "You look resolved," she said gently. "But tell me where you stand." David leaned forward, elbows on knees, the subtle bulk under his suit pants a secret anchor. A nervous twitch sent a warm spurt into the padding; he shifted, ignoring it. "I've thought about it all night. The sessions I had with you before... the confessions about the diapers, the humiliation fantasies, feeling small and inadequate. The sissification dreams, even the cuckold thoughts tied to my... shortcomings." His voice dropped, cheeks flushing. "She needs to know it predated her frustrations—that this wasn't her forcing it. But I can't tell her myself. The lies, the years of hiding behind the 'man's man' lawyer act... I deceived her by omission. If it helps pull her out of this darkness, fine. You tell her. Pave the way. Maybe later we all talk together, but not now. I can't face her reaction yet." Linda nodded, her expression a mix of empathy and her own stirring remorse. "I understand. Vulnerability like this... it's raw. I'll handle it carefully, frame it as the foundation it was. Your desires were real, David—deep-seated, not manufactured. This could show her she's not the villain her guilt paints." They talked details briefly—how to emphasize his initial cravings without overwhelming Carolyn. David stood, adjusting his tie. "I'll head back to the office, wrap up loose ends on the case. I won't be home before seven. I’ll give you time with her." "Smart," Linda agreed. "And David... this is brave. For her, for you both." He left, the drive to the firm a blur of second-guessing. But resolve held: for Carolyn's happiness, he'd strip bare—even if through a proxy. Linda arrived at the house by three, finding Carolyn in the living room, wrapped in a soft robe over pajamas, clutching a tall glass of peach iced tea. She'd managed to shower that morning, a small step, but the heaviness clung—muscles stiff, motivation a flicker rather than a flame. Still, she rose to hug her friend, eyes weary but grateful. "David's at work?" Carolyn asked, settling back on the couch. "Finishing up. He won't be home till seven—gives us space." Linda sat beside her; voice soft but direct. "Carolyn, we need to talk fully. No more shadows. Starting with... my role in all this." Carolyn's brow furrowed. "Your role?" Linda took a deep breath, guilt crashing in waves. She'd meant only to help—her best friend trapped in a loveless intimacy, desperate for satisfaction without losing security. Ethical lines crossed in love's name, but seeing Carolyn's pain now made confession inevitable. "Remember that casual tea we had, about a year before you came to me in desperation? You were venting lightly about the marriage—the routine, the fading spark—but nothing dire. I... I hypnotized you then, subtly, without your knowledge. Planted seeds to ease any budding guilt over your frustrations, to free you from repressing your sexual needs. I thought it would help you open up; realize you deserved more fulfillment." Carolyn's eyes widened. "You... what? Why?" "Because I saw the cracks forming, even if you didn't yet. You're my closest friend—I wanted you happy, not quietly suffering. That session... it might have been what led you to confide in me later, when the dissatisfaction boiled over. Without it, perhaps you never would have voiced the desperation, never sought a solution. I freed you from the guilt holding you back, and it snowballed into recognizing your marriage wasn't giving you what you needed. When you came to me that day, raw and pleading for help, I started the hypnosis again—regular sessions disguised as our chats. Suggestions to embrace control, to see the plan as salvation. I thought I was bridging your worlds, but... I overstepped, playing God with your mind. And I'm sorry—deeply." Tears pricked Carolyn's eyes, shock mingling with betrayal. "You... manipulated me? From the beginning?" Linda's voice cracked. "I did. And the guilt of it... it's eaten at me, especially seeing you like this now. But hear me: when you confided that desperate day, it was me who crafted the plan. The bedwetting trigger for David, the progression to diapers, sissification, cuckolding... I pitched it as a way to keep your life intact while getting what you needed. You agreed because it aligned with your pain, but the hypnosis smoothed the edges, made it feel right. I thought I was helping you embrace joy without destruction." "But David never wanted any of this," Carolyn whispered, voice trembling. "None of this changes the fact that I did this to him. We did this to him. Took a perfect, loving husband—a provider, devoted in every way—and twisted him into a diapered sissy baby girl just to satisfy my selfish lusts. I'm still a monster for letting it happen." Linda leaned in. "That's the other piece. Before you ever came to me—years prior—David was my patient. Work stress, bourbon reliance, weight gain eroding his confidence. In sessions, he confessed buried fantasies: diaper arousal from the warmth and helplessness, sissification thrills of frills and feminization, cuckold humiliation tied to his inadequacy—small penis, premature climaxes leaving you unsatisfied. He hid it all under ego, but it was there, real and deep." Carolyn stared, processing. The distorted memories shifted: not her villainy alone, but guided by a friend's overreach and built on his foundation. "So... the bedwetting, the diapers... it wasn't just my idea forcing him?" "No. The hypnosis triggered the wetting, amplified his surrender, but built on his foundation. And crucially—I removed all suggestions months ago, long before he begged for cuckolding. That was sincere, from his core. He craves the life: the thick padding sagging overnight, the short dresses flashing ruffles, the helpless straining while you find real men. He agreed today to let me tell you this—wants you to know, but couldn't face saying it himself yet. The deception ate at him too." Tears flowed freely now, but cleansing ones. The weight lifted—guilt dissolving as truths reframed her actions. Not evil, but human, guided by a friend who cared too much. "I still feel guilt. The spanking, exposing him... and needing more than he could give sexually." "We did go too far with the secret hypnosis on him," Linda admitted. "He deserves the full truth—how the wetting started, how we eased him into his desires. But together, when he's ready. For now, breathe. You're worthy. Loved." Carolyn nodded, a sliver of relief piercing the fog. "I... I forgive you, Linda. You were trying to help. And it did—God, the satisfaction with Robert, the power in the nursery... but knowing David wanted it too? It changes everything." By six, Carolyn was up, making tea, energy returning in waves. Linda left at seven, just as David's car pulled in. Dinner waited—simple, shared. Words were tentative, but the air lighter. Truths half-unveiled, but the path to full light clear. Chapter 40: The Quiet After the Storm David pulled into the driveway just after seven, the porch light glowing soft gold against the winter dark. His stomach churned with every worst-case scenario his mind had conjured on the drive home. Carolyn knows everything now. The secret appointments, the fantasies I buried for years, the shameful cravings I never dared voice until Linda pulled them out of me. She must feel betrayed. Tricked. Like she married a fraud. A man who pretended to be confident and dominant while secretly dreaming of diapers and dresses and watching her with real men. What if she’s disgusted? What if she’s already decided this marriage was built on a lie? What if she’s upstairs packing? He sat in the car a long moment, keys still in his hand, heart hammering. The diaper he’d worn all day—discreet under his suit—was now warm and swollen from anxious wettings he hadn’t even noticed until the drive home. Another reminder of how far he’d fallen, or how fully he’d surrendered. He took a shaky breath, forced himself out of the car, and walked to the door like a man approaching a verdict. The moment it opened; Carolyn was there. She looked... radiant. Auburn hair loose and shining, cheeks flushed with life, eyes bright in a way they hadn’t been in days. She wore a simple cream sweater and soft leggings, barefoot on the warm hardwood. Before he could speak, before he could brace for anger or distance, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him—tight, fierce, loving. Her body pressed against his, warm and familiar and safe. She rose on her toes and kissed him—deep, slow, passionate, the kind of kiss they hadn’t shared in years. Not Mommy kissing baby girl. Not wife tolerating husband. Just Carolyn kissing David, the man she loved. He melted into it, arms circling her, the terror in his chest dissolving under the simple truth of her embrace. She pulled back just enough to smile—soft, knowing, tender—and rested her forehead against his. No words. None needed. She took his hand and led him inside. Dinner was waiting: roasted chicken, garlic potatoes, a fresh salad—simple, comforting, made with care. They ate at the kitchen table, knees touching under it, trading small smiles and quiet glances. The silence wasn’t heavy. It was full—full of relief, full of unspoken gratitude, full of tomorrow. Afterward, she tugged him to the couch. She picked an old romantic comedy they’d watched a dozen times when they were first married, curled into his side, head on his shoulder, legs tangled with his. He draped an arm around her, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. For two hours they didn’t speak of hypnosis or guilt or secrets. They just were. Together. Like the early days, when love was easy and the future endless. When the credits rolled, Carolyn stood and offered her hand. He took it, heart fluttering with a new kind of nervousness. She didn’t lead him to the master bedroom. She led him to the nursery. The night-light glowed soft pink, the air warm and faintly sweet with baby powder. She turned to him, eyes gentle, and began unbuttoning his shirt without a word. Dress shirt, tie, slacks—each piece folded neatly over the rocking chair. When he stood in just his soaked daytime diaper, she kissed his cheek, then fetched a fresh nighttime one from the stack: thick, lavender with tiny silver tiaras, the kind that sagged heavily when full. She laid a changing mat on the floor, guided him down, and changed him with the same loving care she always had—wipes cool, powder clouding softly, tapes snug and secure. Then she opened the dresser and held up two nighties: one baby-pink chiffon with ruffled trim, one pale mint with lace. She raised an eyebrow in silent question. He pointed to the pink; cheeks warm. She smiled—genuine, delighted—and slipped it over his head, the hem barely skimming the diaper’s waistband. White satin booties, a ribbon bow tied in his thinning curls. Finally, she buckled the soft mittens—not locking tonight, just gentle restraint—and led Daisy to the crib. The rail rose with a soft click. Carolyn leaned over, kissed the pacifier she slipped between his lips, and whispered, “Sweet dreams, my perfect girl.” Daisy lay back on the satin pillow, diaper already warming with a shy, grateful wetting, clitty stirring helplessly beneath the padding. Carolyn lingered a moment, fingers brushing his cheek, eyes shining with love and quiet certainty. They both knew. This—this life, this surrender, this love—was exactly what they had each, in their deepest hearts, always wanted. And tomorrow, when the words finally came, they would only make it stronger. Chapter 41: Victory and Vibrations The days after Linda’s visit unfolded like a slow, warm thaw. Carolyn and David talked—really talked—for the first time in years. Not hurried pillow talk or careful avoidance, but long, quiet evenings on the couch, tea for her, bourbon for him, sharing the things they’d never dared say aloud. David told her about the secret fantasies he’d carried since his twenties: the thrill of helplessness, the erotic charge of humiliation, the way a thick diaper made him feel small and safe. Carolyn listened without judgment, her hand resting on his knee, sometimes stroking the front of his diaper through his pajamas as he spoke. He confessed how much he loved her calling him pathetic or small; how her words made his tiny clitty twitch helplessly inside the padding. He admitted the darker thrill: the idea of being “forced” into things he secretly craved—anal play, plugs, pegging—because the illusion of no choice made surrender easier. He shared how much he loved the spanking she had given him. How it hurt, but felt good because he knew he had been insensitive to her needs and deserved it. He loved that she cared enough to help him be a better husband. But he also loved thinking about getting spankings. Not just for being bad. He loved the feeling of the diaper on his butt after the stinging sensation. They agreed that he would get spankings for rewards as well as punishments. When they were for play and fun, she would put a cloth diaper over his butt before his paddling so it wouldn’t hurt as much but he could enjoy the same sensations. When it was punishment, it was going to hurt. Carolyn shared too. How dominating him made her feel powerful and desired. How she’d touched herself with a dildo while he whimpered in the crib, after the spanking, the sound of his muffled cries pushing her over the edge. She told him everything about her last night with Robert—the rough way he took her, the kisses, the way he’d pressed his thick length into her, the hot explosion into her. She described it during “play time,” with Daisy on the changing table, diaper open, legs spread, the story unfolding as Carolyn teased the front of the padding. The fact that Robert knew Daisy’s darkest secret only heightened the thrill. “He mocked you,” she whispered, “called you a freak then took me.” Daisy’s hips bucked, the diaper flooding with pre-cum and pee, the humiliation delicious and terrifying. David admitted the risk excited him—the idea of exposure, the fear that someone he knew might find out. He was still terrified of real-world discovery, especially at the firm, but the fantasy made him ache. “Then we’ll give you more of that feeling, baby girl. Safe, but so very real.” They spent hours on the couch, Daisy curled against Carolyn’s side, laptop open. He sent her links to his favorite kinky stories—diapered sissies, cuckold husbands, pegging scenes—blushing as she read them aloud, voice low and teasing. “You really want this, don’t you?” she murmured, slipping a hand onto his diaper to stroke his clitty. “Yes, Mommy,” he whispered, trembling. He was in the process of providing her links to his favorite kinky stories, when he got the call. They jury was back. He was due in court in an hour. David rushed to the courthouse, heart pounding. This wasn’t just a verdict—it was freedom. A win meant a nine-figure bonus, retirement, no more hiding diapers under suits, no more pretending to be the alpha shark. He could finally live as the man—and the girl—he truly was. The courtroom was packed. The foreman stood. “We find in favor of the plaintiffs. Damages: one billion, two hundred million dollars.” Chaos erupted. Handshakes, hugs, tears from the lead plaintiff. David’s team mobbed him, backslaps and shouts of “Legend!” He grinned, ego soaring—then the judge announced the customary post-verdict juror debrief. Some jurors wanted to talk, especially to the winning side. David stepped into the jury room, still buzzing with adrenaline. They were eager, warm, congratulatory. One woman, mid-fifties, graying hair pulled back, gripped his fingers tightly. “Mr. David, I just have to say—you were so brave up there. My brother has the same… condition. To see you handle it day after day without missing a beat? Inspiring. Truly.” A younger juror nodded. “Yeah, man. Respect. Takes guts.” David’s smile froze. Condition? It clicked like ice cracking. The faint crinkle under his slacks. The occasional discreet adjustment. They’d heard. They’d known the whole trial. Heat flooded his face—mortification and exhilaration in equal measure. He managed a gracious “Thank you, that means a lot,” voice steady while his diaper warmed with a fresh, involuntary wetting. As he walked out of the courthouse, the winter air sharp on his cheeks, a giddy thought looped: They knew. And the world didn’t end. They admired me. He now wondered if everyone at work knew as well. Driving home, the shock gave way to a strange, electric relief. One of his darkest secrets was out—at least to twelve strangers—and nothing had collapsed. The humiliation was real, but so was the thrill. He couldn’t wait to tell Carolyn. That evening, the nursery glowed pink. Carolyn had prepared a “special treat.” Daisy stripped, lay on the changing table, heart racing. From the drawer came a sleek black silicone butt plug, small but unmistakably curved, with a flared base and a remote in Carolyn’s hand. “Mommy…?” “Shh, good girl. This is for my brilliant lawyer who just won a billion dollars.” She gloved up, lubed the toy, and eased it in slowly. Daisy’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar stretch, the fullness pressing against her prostate. Carolyn taped on a thick lavender nighttime diaper over the plug, then pocketed the remote. All evening it buzzed—low, teasing hums while they watched TV, sudden sharp pulses that made Daisy squirm and whimper on the couch, diaper tenting helplessly. Carolyn watched with wicked delight, her own arousal building at the sight of her girl writhing in controlled pleasure. Friday he walked into the firm and announced retirement—effective once the inevitable appeal and settlement wrapped up. The partners raised glasses (bourbon for everyone but him; he was in a thick daytime diaper under his jeans and didn’t trust his bladder with alcohol anymore). “Legend walking away at the top,” they toasted. He grinned, secretly thrilled: no more legend. Just Daisy, full-time, secure forever. They gave him the next month off—“Take care of yourself, champ. You’ve earned it.” He planned a trip with Carolyn—somewhere warm, private, where the diapers could be thicker, the play louder, the secrets safely shared and some experimentation could begin. Just the two of them. For now. Chapter 42: Shadows Cleared The week after the verdict passed in a haze of newfound freedom. David dove into wrapping up loose ends at the firm—memos, handoffs, the occasional call about appeal strategies—but his heart wasn’t in it. Retirement loomed like a promise, the pharma windfall ensuring they’d never worry about money again. Evenings blurred into intimate confessions: David admitting how the jurors’ knowledge of his diapers had secretly thrilled him, how the exposure—real, risky—made his clitty strain every time he thought about it. Carolyn shared her own rush, teasing him during changes until he begged for mercy. By mid-week, they turned to planning the trip. Over breakfast—David in khakis over a discreet daytime diaper, Carolyn sipping peach iced tea—they spread maps on the kitchen table. “A few week in the mountains,” Carolyn said, tracing a route to a secluded cabin in the Rockies. “Far from the city, the courthouse, anyone who knows us. Just you and me… and whatever adventures we chase.” David’s cheeks warmed. “I’ve been thinking about packing. Not just the usual—some cute cross-dressing outfits. Nothing babyish. Short sundresses, maybe a skirt and blouse. Feminine, but… obvious.” Carolyn’s eyes lit with interest. “Tell me more.” He hesitated, then plunged in. “There’s this fantasy—golfing in a woman’s outfit. A pleated tennis skirt, polo top, maybe knee socks. Waddling up to the tee, everyone staring at the man in drag. The humiliation… God, it thrills me. But I’m not ready for that yet. Maybe just a few outings en femme. A walk in the woods or through a quiet town. An obvious guy in a cute dress, holding your hand. Everyone knowing I’m… this.” She reached across the table, squeezing his hand. “We can start small. An evening stroll, you in something pretty. And if it feels right… maybe hit a bar or club. Scout for someone real. A man who could give me what I need, while you watch from the shadows.” David’s breath hitched, diaper tenting at the thought. “Yes. Risky, but… thrilling. As long as it’s safe. No one from our world.” Everything felt perfect—open, electric, alive. But Carolyn carried a shadow. Linda had been calling daily, her voice gentle but insistent: “He needs the full truth, Carolyn. About the hypnosis, the plan. You can’t build on half-secrets forever.” Carolyn resisted at first—why dredge up pain when they were so happy?—but Linda’s caring persistence wore her down. “For his sake. He forgave the rest; he’ll forgive this. And you’ll be free.” Finally, over lunch Friday, Carolyn agreed. She texted Linda: Come over Sunday afternoon. We’ll tell him. That evening, as they cuddled on the couch—David in a light pink nightie over his diaper, Carolyn in silk pajamas—she broached it casually. “Linda’s coming by Sunday. Patio, if the weather holds. We… need to talk. All of us.” David’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, sensing the weight. “About…?” “Everything. Loose ends. Trust me—it’ll be good.” Sunday arrived mild for mid-December, the sun warming the patio enough for sweaters. Linda arrived at three, her flowing black dress swaying as she hugged them both. They settled around the wrought-iron table: Linda with a glass of crisp white wine, David with a tumbler of bourbon over ice, Carolyn sipping tall iced tea from a frosted glass. Small talk faded quickly. Linda set her glass down, eyes meeting David’s with that calm, amused authority. “We’re here because there’s one more truth to share. Carolyn and I… we started this journey for you, but not entirely honestly.” Carolyn took a deep breath, hand finding David’s under the table. “Before the bedwetting, before the diapers… I went to Linda, desperate. Our sex life was… empty. You came quick, your size left me aching and pretending. I loved you—the security, the life—but I needed more. I didn’t want a divorce and I couldn’t cheat without risking everything.” David’s grip tightened, but he stayed silent, listening. Linda leaned in. “I suggested hypnosis—for you. To trigger bedwetting, make you small and dependent. To push your buried desires to the surface: the diapers, the sissification, the helplessness. We planted the seeds subtly, over dinners and visits. The first wet night? Us. The urge to suggest protection? Us. We amplified what was already there—your fantasies from our old sessions—but we started the cascade without telling you.” Carolyn’s voice trembled. “I agreed because I was selfish and frustrated. But Linda crafted it, thinking it would align us—give me satisfaction, give you the surrender you craved deep down. We eased you into it, step by step.” David sat frozen; bourbon forgotten. Shock hit first—like a punch to the gut. Betrayed? By his wife? By Linda, who he’d trusted with his secrets years ago? Emotions churned: anger flickering at the manipulation, humiliation burning hotter as he realized his “natural” descent into Daisy had been engineered. The first soaked sheets, the doctor’s visits, the shame that had hooked him so deeply… all orchestrated. His face flushed, hand pulling back slightly. “You… made me wet the bed? Pushed me into diapers like some puppet? God, the humiliation I felt—raw, real—and it was all a setup?” Tears welled in Carolyn’s eyes. “We did. And I’m sorry. So sorry. But—” Linda cut in gently. “It built on your truths, David. The cravings were yours. We just… unlocked the door.” He stared at the table, mind reeling. But beneath the storm, something steadied him. The life now—the nursery, the diapers sagging warm overnight, the frills and helplessness, Carolyn’s glowing satisfaction—it was everything he’d ever wanted, even if he hadn’t known how to ask. Without their push, would he have stayed buried under ego and bourbon? Trapped in a marriage dying from his own inadequacies? A slow breath. The anger ebbed, replaced by a strange gratitude. “All’s well that ends well,” he said finally, voice rough but sincere. “Yeah, it stings—the deception. But look at us now. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. As Daisy, as your sissy… it’s freedom. You gave me that. Both of you. If Linda hadn’t made it happen, I’d still be pretending, failing you both. I forgive you. Hell, I thank you.” Carolyn sobbed in relief, pulling him into a hug. Linda smiled, tears in her own eyes, raising her glass. “To truths. And the happiness they bring.” They clinked—wine, bourbon, iced tea—and the last shadow lifted. The mountains waited, full of promise. Chapter 43: Peaks of Desire The cabin sat high in the Colorado Rockies, a sun-drenched A-frame with wide decks overlooking pine forests and a shimmering alpine lake. They arrived in early August, the air warm and sweet with wildflowers and pine sap. No snow, no skiers—just endless blue sky, hiking trails, and the lazy hum of summer insects. Perfect for the kind of exposure David had dreamed of. They unpacked with quiet excitement. David laid out his summer wardrobe: a soft floral sundress in sky blue that skimmed mid-thigh, a white pleated tennis skirt with a matching polo, sheer knee-high socks, and strappy sandals. Feminine, summery, and unmistakably male underneath—no wig or heavy makeup, just light gloss and a blush of excitement. Carolyn helped him choose, her own outfits breezy and sexy: linen shorts and halter tops, sundresses that showed off her tanned legs, everything that made her look effortlessly desirable. Their first outing was a late-afternoon walk along a quiet lakeside path. Daisy stepped out in the sundress, the breeze lifting the hem to flash the padded diaper beneath. The diaper was thick but discreet—white with pastel butterflies—and it crinkled softly with every step. Carolyn held her hand, radiant in a white sundress and wide-brimmed hat. “You’re gorgeous, princess. Imagine if someone saw—an obvious man in a pretty dress, waddling for his Mommy.” They passed a few hikers. A young couple smiled politely, a lone fisherman glanced up from the dock and did a double-take. Daisy’s skin prickled with warmth, her clitty twitching helplessly against the padding. The stares were electric. Back at the cabin, Carolyn rewarded her with slow, teasing strokes over the diaper until Daisy sobbed and came in helpless spurts. Emboldened, they ventured into the small mountain town nearby—cafés, galleries, a handful of bars catering to summer tourists. Daisy chose the tennis skirt and polo, heart pounding as they strolled the sunny main street. Heads turned: a barista’s eyes widened, a group of tourists whispered, a woman in a sundress smiled with amused curiosity. “They know,” Daisy breathed, cheeks flaming. “I’m a man in a skirt. Pathetic. Exposed.” Carolyn squeezed her hand. “And it thrills you, doesn’t it? My brave girl.” It did. The humiliation fed a dizzying arousal, diaper tenting shamelessly. That night Carolyn pegged Daisy for the first time, the slim strap-on sliding in while she whispered about “real men” who could stretch her properly. But Carolyn craved more than toys. “Let’s try the bars,” she suggested over iced tea on the deck. “You watch from a distance, like a secret admirer. See if I can… attract someone.” Daisy nodded eagerly, the cuckold fire roaring. That evening, at a lively lakeside bar—open-air patio, string lights, live guitar—Carolyn entered alone, stunning in a fitted red sundress that hugged her curves. Daisy slipped in ten minutes later, perched at a corner table in her skirt ensemble, sipping club soda to hide the waddle. She watched, diaper warming with jealous spurts, as men approached: a fit hiker with a charming smile, a local contractor with sun-kissed arms. Carolyn flirted lightly, laughing at jokes, touching arms—but nothing clicked. The next night, success. A tall, confident stranger—mid-forties, broad-shouldered, visiting from Denver—bought her a drink (iced tea for her, whiskey for him). Conversation flowed: work (he was in finance), travel, subtle innuendo. Daisy squirmed from her spot; the thrill razor-sharp. When Carolyn glanced her way—eyes locking for a split second, wicked and loving—Daisy nearly came untouched. An hour later, Carolyn leaned in. “Your place?” His hotel was just across the street. She texted Daisy: Stay here, baby. Mommy’s getting what she needs. Tell you everything later. Daisy waited, hips rocking subtly against the padded seat, mind reeling with images: Carolyn spread wide, moaning for a real cock, while her sissy waited in a tennis skirt and plastic. Upstairs in the stranger’s room—simple, king bed, balcony overlooking the lake—Carolyn felt the rush. No names exchanged beyond firsts (she gave a fake). He was confident, hands strong as he peeled off her sundress, lips claiming hers. The sex was raw, fulfilling: he lifted her effortlessly, pounding deep against the wall, then on the bed, flipping her to take her from behind. She came twice—hard, shattering—screaming into the pillow, body alive in ways David never could. The thrill of anonymity, the risk of a one-night fling in a mountain town, heightened every thrust. He finished with a growl, collapsing beside her, murmuring how incredible she was. She dressed quickly after, a quick kiss goodbye, heart racing as she slipped out. Back at the bar, Daisy waited, eyes wide and desperate. In the cabin, Carolyn recounted every detail: his size (“Thick, baby—stretched me perfectly”), his stamina (“Pounded me until I begged”), the way he made her feel desired, powerful. Daisy lay in the bed, nightie hiked, Carolyn’s hand stroking over the soaked diaper. “He took what you can’t give, princess. While you waited like the good cuck you are.” Daisy exploded with a sob, spurts soaking the gel, collapsing into Carolyn’s arms. They fell asleep tangled—her in silk, Daisy in chiffon and padding—bodies warm, love deeper than ever. But morning brought unease for Carolyn. Over iced tea on the deck, watching the sun rise over the lake, she frowned. “Last night was… amazing. Physically. But the lying? Pretending I’m single, no strings? It felt hollow. I want more than quick fucks with strangers. Something honest. Real connection, even if it’s just for us.” David—back in shorts and a diaper—nodded thoughtfully. “I get it. In my years browsing forums, reading stories… I learned about bulls. Real ones, not porn fantasies. Guys who enjoy the dynamic: low commitment, but with boundaries. They get the thrill of being desired, the power exchange, without emotional baggage. Some build respect with the couple—even friendship. Motivated by feeling chosen, providing pleasure, avoiding drama. We could find one together. A bull for us, not just you. Someone who knows the score, enhances our life without secrets.” Carolyn’s eyes lit. “Honest from the start. No pretending. And you… exposed, humiliated, but safe.” They agreed: when they got home, the search began. A bull to complete their world. The mountains had given them clarity. Now, the real adventure waited. Chapter 44: The Search Begins Back from the mountains, the cabin's sun-soaked memories lingered like a warm afterglow. David dove into finalizing the pharma case—appeals looming, but settlement talks already buzzing—while Carolyn savored their deepening intimacy. Evenings blurred into confessions: David admitting how the jurors' knowledge still thrilled him, how the risk of real exposure made every diaper change electric. Carolyn shared her growing dominance, the way commanding him—paddling his bare bottom or buzzing a plug while he squirmed—ignited her like nothing else. One night in the nursery, Daisy lay on the changing table, fresh diaper taped snug, nightie ruffled. Carolyn's hand lingered on the front, teasing. "Tell Mommy another secret, princess. Something you've never said out loud." Daisy's cheeks burned. "I... I want more than watching. When you have your bull... make me please him. Orally. Suck him off while you watch. Prepare him for you." Carolyn's eyes darkened with heat. "God, baby—that's hot. Watching my husband on his knees, diaper crinkling, servicing the man who's about to fuck me? The power... the humiliation for you, the dominance for me. Yes. We'd make it happen." Daisy whimpered, clitty straining. "And... not just hear about it. Be there. As Daisy—diapered, dressed, maybe tied to a chair. Forced to watch him take you. Or... present you to him. Spread your legs, beg him to fuck you better than I ever could." Carolyn leaned down, kissing the pacifier-gagged mouth. "Perfect. The stories are thrilling, but seeing your face—tears in your eyes, diaper tenting pathetically—while he pounds me? That's the ultimate exchange. My power, your surrender." The decision crystallized: time for a bull. Not random hookups, but a real one—for them as a couple. They started together, laptops open over iced tea (for her) and bourbon (for him). David shared what he'd gleaned from years of online lurking: cuckold communities emphasized consent, communication, boundaries. Bulls varied—some dominant alphas seeking control, others casual players enjoying the taboo without strings. Key: find one motivated by mutual respect, not conquest. They joined discreet sites: FetLife for kink networks, BiCupid for open-minded matches, OkFun's cuckold section for targeted searches. Reddit subs like r/cuckold and r/cuckoldpersonals offered forums for posts. They crafted a joint profile: "Loving couple seeking respectful bull for long-term dynamic. Hotwife craves real satisfaction; cuck sissy thrives on humiliation and service. Honesty first—no games." Responses flooded in. They vetted together, chatting via apps, video calls to gauge vibes. First potential: Alex, 38, muscular gym rat from the city. His messages oozed dominance—"I'll own her while you cry in your diapers"—but ignored their questions about boundaries. On video, he dismissed David's role: "Husbands are just props." Mismatch: too aggressive, no respect for the couple's unity. They passed. Next: Tom, 45, divorced exec. Polite, experienced, but his fantasy leaned emotional—"I want to be the third in your love story." He pushed for dates with Carolyn alone, minimizing David. Red flag: seeking attachment they didn't want. "We need low-drama," David said. Blocked. A third: Ryan, 32, bi-curious artist. Intrigued by the sissy element, but uncomfortable with diapers—"That's too weird for me." His energy mismatched their core kink. Polite no. Frustration built, but the process bonded them—laughing over bad profiles, role-playing rejections. "We're picky for a reason," Carolyn said. "He has to fit us." Then, Marcus. His profile on FetLife stood out: 42, tall, athletic build, finance consultant. "Experienced bull seeking respectful, ongoing dynamic with secure couples. Enjoy power exchange, humiliation play, but boundaries sacred. Bi-friendly; love involving the cuck in creative ways." Photos showed a handsome Black man—strong jaw, easy smile, confident without arrogance. They messaged: honest about their setup—diapers, sissification, Daisy's service fantasies. Marcus replied thoughtfully: "Sounds aligned. I get off on the thrill of being chosen, making her scream while he watches (or helps). No possession—just enhancement. Happy to chat limits first." The video call sealed it. Marcus appeared polished—button-down shirt, warm baritone. He asked questions: "What does exposure mean for you, David? Carolyn, how do you see my role in your dominance?" No red flags—confident, empathetic, independent. He shared motivations: low-attachment validation, enjoying the taboo without drama. "I'm straight, but open to cuck service if it fits the scene. Turns me on knowing he's prepping me for her." Marcus leaned back in his chair after the video call ended, replaying the conversation in his mind. David wasn't the fragile pushover he'd braced for—sharp, accomplished, with a quiet vulnerability that commanded respect. And Carolyn... radiant, in control, her dominance subtle but electric. This dynamic felt right: no red flags, just a secure couple seeking enhancement, not rescue. As a bull, he thrived on that—being chosen for the thrill, providing pleasure without strings or drama. Boundaries clear, chemistry simmering. Yeah, he thought, this could be one of the good ones. Low commitment, high reward—exactly what kept him in the game. Chemistry sparked. They agreed: initial meet at a neutral café downtown. "See if we click in person," Marcus said. "No pressure." As the call ended, Carolyn pulled David close. "He feels right. For us." Daisy nodded, diaper warming with anticipation. The search was over. The real dynamic—present, exposed, humiliating—about to begin. Chapter 45: Dinner with the Bull The lounge was dimly lit and intimate—a quiet downtown spot with leather booths, soft jazz humming from hidden speakers, and a bar glowing amber. David and Carolyn arrived early, scanning the room. No Marcus yet. They slipped into the bar area to wait. “Bourbon, neat,” David ordered, his voice carrying that courtroom steadiness even as nerves fluttered beneath. Carolyn smiled at the bartender. “Peach iced tea for me, please.” Marcus appeared moments later: tall, broad-shouldered, dark skin warm under the low lights, dressed in a crisp charcoal shirt that hugged his frame without trying too hard. His stride was easy, confident. They recognized him instantly and waved him over. He approached with a genuine smile, handshake firm and warm. “David. Good to meet you in person.” “Likewise,” David replied, grip matching—lawyer to professional, man to man. Marcus turned to Carolyn; eyes appreciative but respectful. He leaned in for a light kiss on the cheek. “Carolyn… wow. You’re even more stunning in person.” She flushed, a playful spark in her eyes. “Flatterer. But thank you. You clean up nicely yourself.” He ordered an IPA for himself and, without asking, another peach iced tea for Carolyn—remembering her preference from their chats. As they waited for a table, conversation flowed easily. David shared the pharma trial victory and his impending full retirement. Marcus talked about his finance consulting work, the two bonding over shared gripes about corporate red tape and long hours. Golf surfaced—both casual players—and they traded favorite courses and swing tips. Movies: action thrillers and classic Westerns. Music: David’s classic rock met Marcus’s R&B and hip-hop seamlessly. We could be friends if we met on a job site, David thought, a strange warmth mixing with the undercurrent of excitement. But he knows everything. While we’re debating drivers versus irons, he knows I wear diapers under this suit, dress in frills at home, and want him to take my wife while I watch. Marcus sipped his beer, genuinely enjoying the exchange. As the conversation flowed—golf tips turning to market trends—Marcus felt the pieces click. David was solid: charismatic, successful, no insecurity masking as aggression. Easy to respect, even like. Carolyn's hand on his thigh sent sparks, her confidence pulling him in without desperation. This was the kind of dynamic he sought: mutual trust, clear boundaries, the erotic charge of power exchange minus the mess. He enjoyed being the catalyst—feeling desired, amplifying their bond—not owning it. No drama, just validation and fun. Glancing at David's subtle flush, he knew: this fits. Green lights all around. And Carolyn… she was radiant. Confident, quick to laugh, her auburn hair catching the light, body language open and inviting. The chemistry crackled—subtle glances, lingering smiles. He felt the pull: desire, yes, but also intrigue at the dynamic she’d described. This could be a great. The hostess called their table—a cozy corner booth. Carolyn paused, then slid in beside Marcus with a mischievous smile. “I’ll sit here tonight.” David blinked, a flicker of ego sting, but he nodded. “Of course.” He took the opposite bench, alone. The arrangement screamed it: couple plus one. Carolyn leaned into Marcus naturally, her hand brushing his arm, head tilting toward him as they talked. David’s stomach twisted—public slight, deliberate tease—but heat bloomed low, diaper warming with a shy spurt, clitty stirring at the casual dominance. Carolyn leaned toward Marcus during appetizers, her voice carrying just enough for the nearby waiter to overhear. "Darling, tell me more about your day—while my husband here fetches the bread basket." Marcus complied with a knowing smile, but David flushed as the waiter paused mid-step, eyes flicking to him—the "husband" alone across the table. Carolyn's casual command treated David like an errand boy, the public demotion stinging sharp. He stood, retrieving the basket from the sideboard, the subtle crinkle under his slacks amplifying the shame. The waiter smirked subtly as he passed, murmuring, "Anything else for... the table?" David's cheeks grew scarlet, arousal betraying him with a spurt into the padding. She's orchestrating this—making me the servant in front of strangers. Heat rose in David’s cheeks, humiliation flooding hot and sharp. He knows now. Thinks I’m the odd one out, the third wheel. The public sting hit like fire, but his diaper tented slightly under the table, arousal betraying him. Marcus caught his eye—a flicker of knowing amusement, respectful but dominant. The meal unfolded in delicious tension. Appetizers—bruschetta, calamari—arrived, and conversation stayed easy on the surface: work stories, travel plans. But Carolyn’s hand rested on Marcus’s thigh under the table, her laughs leaning into him. She fed him a bite of her salad, giggling as he accepted it. The waiter’s knowing glances as he refilled drinks amplified everything for David—the public display, the casual claim. Marcus relaxed into it, alpha ease radiating. Sitting with another man’s wife draped over him, the husband watching quietly… it fed the thrill without arrogance. He liked them both. Carolyn was electric, power surging. Every touch, every corrective “my husband” to the waiter, soaked her panties. They’re both mine tonight, she thought. David humiliated; Marcus intrigued. Perfect stepping stone. Dessert—tiramisu shared three ways—passed in warm politeness. Outside on the sidewalk, farewells: Marcus shook David’s hand firmly. “Really good meeting you both.” Then he pulled Carolyn close for a deep, lingering kiss—right there under the streetlight, valet watching curiously. David stood aside, face aflame, the public claim searing. Humiliation crested, but so did the rush: Everyone sees. They know. In the car home, silence at first, then Carolyn’s hand on his knee. “You were perfect tonight, baby.” At home, the shift was swift. Carolyn led him to the nursery, stripped the suit, taped on a thick princess diaper—lavender with tiaras. Daisy emerged in a frilly nightie, bells jingling softly. But Carolyn was on fire, soaked from the evening’s power play. She tugged Daisy to the master bed—her domain—and pushed her down. “Make Mommy cum,” she commanded, hiking her dress, no panties beneath. Daisy dove in eagerly, tongue lapping with desperate devotion. The privilege—rare, earned—filled her with profound joy: finally pleasing Carolyn sexually, after years of failure as David. Slow circles on her clit, delving deeper, sucking gently then firmly as Carolyn’s breaths quickened. Hands gripped thighs, pulling closer, tongue probing every fold until Carolyn arched, fingers tangling in curls, crying out in shattering release. Daisy pulled back, face glistening, tears of happy accomplishment pricking her eyes. Carolyn kissed her forehead. “Good girl.” When Daisy finished, Carolyn led her to the nursery, helped her into the crib, and locked the crib rail in place, goodnight whispered. Daisy drifted off replaying the night: humiliation thrilling, chemistry undeniable. Marcus fit. The story surged forward—one giant step closer to everything they craved. Chapter 46: Building the Bridge Marcus had always been the steady one. Raised in a tight-knit family in Atlanta, he'd learned early that real strength wasn't loud or aggressive—it was reliable. A football scholarship in college honed his discipline, but a knee injury shifted his path to finance, where he climbed steadily: analyst to manager to independent consultant, building a life of quiet success. Divorced once, amicably—no kids, no bitterness—the split stemmed from mismatched desires; she'd craved routine vanilla, while he'd discovered his kink through discreet online forums. The cuckold world appealed not for dominance games, but for the clarity: low emotional stakes, high mutual thrill. He'd been a bull for three couples over the years—always with clear rules, ending cleanly when dynamics shifted. He loved the validation of being chosen, the erotic rush of providing what a husband couldn't, the power exchange that amplified a couple's bond without claiming it. No possession, no drama—just respect, pleasure, and the freedom to walk away if it didn't fit. David and Carolyn intrigued him from the start: a secure marriage with layers of vulnerability and trust. David wasn't fragile—just a man craving release from his alpha mask. Carolyn's dominance was subtle, magnetic. This could be rewarding: feeling desired, catalyzing their happiness, without the mess of entanglements. Green lights all the way. The arrangement came together seamlessly. Back home after the lounge dinner, Carolyn and David debriefed in the master bed—him in a fresh diaper and short nightie, her in silk. The evening's public tease still hummed between them. "Marcus texted," Carolyn said, phone glowing. "He's in. Wants to move forward." David's clitty stirred against the padding. "Me too. He... fits." They discussed dynamics openly: Daisy's presence eventually—tied, watching, servicing. Carolyn admitted nerves. "For the first time... I want it just me and him. Ease in. I'm not ready for you there yet—too intense. But soon. I promise." David nodded, a mix of jealousy and arousal. "I get it. Tell me everything after. Every detail." She kissed him. "Deal." Carolyn messaged Marcus the arrangements. Her mind: quick hotel meet; straight to sex—satisfy the itch. His reply: No rush. Dinner and dancing first. Let anticipation build. Treat you like you deserve. Her heart fluttered. A real date—romantic, respectful. His idea. Perfect. She shared with David. "He wants dinner, dancing. No sex first night. And... he suggested you come along. Watch us. Then I come home with you." David's eyes widened, diaper warming. "Thoughtful. Respectful of us." They agreed: a step forward, safe. The night arrived. A sleek downtown restaurant—white tablecloths, candlelight—then a nearby club with live band and sultry rhythm. David arrived first, suited sharply, bourbon in hand at the bar. Marcus and Carolyn entered together: him in tailored dark shirt and slacks, her in a slinky black dress that clung to every curve, heels accentuating her legs. She glowed on his arm. They joined David at a corner table. Conversation flowed like the lounge—golf swings, market trends—but charged now. Marcus's hand on Carolyn's lower back, her laughs leaning into him. David watched, ego prickling deliciously, diaper discreet but tenting under the table. Dinner: shared plates, wine for Marcus, iced tea for Carolyn, bourbon for David. Marcus fed her a bite of dessert, eyes locked. Chemistry sizzled—his deep voice drawing her in, her touches lingering. Carolyn leaned toward Marcus; voice playful but pointed. "Pass the bread basket to my husband, please?" Marcus complied with a knowing smile, sliding it across. The small command—treating him like her assistant in front of David—sent a fresh wave of heat through her. David flushed, accepting it silently, the subtle power shift amplifying his arousal. Then the club: dim lights, pulsing bass, bodies swaying under colored spots. David nursed a drink at a shadowed high-top, eyes locked on the floor. Marcus led Carolyn out first on a slow song—his large hand splayed possessively across the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. She melted into his chest, auburn hair brushing his shoulder, her arms looping around his neck. He guided her with effortless strength, hips swaying in perfect sync, the heat of his body seeping through her thin dress. His thigh slipped between hers as they turned, pressing just enough to make her breath catch, a subtle grind that sent sparks low in her belly. She tilted her head up, lips brushing his ear. "You move so well." He smiled down, voice a low rumble. "You feel incredible against me." His hand drifted lower, thumb tracing the curve of her hip, pulling her tighter so she felt the hard line of him against her thigh—deliberate, teasing. The song shifted faster—R&B groove, heavy beat. Marcus spun her out, then reeled her back in, hands sliding to her hips. She arched into him, back to his chest, grinding slowly as his palms guided her rhythm. The curve of her ass nestled against his growing hardness; he didn't hide it, letting her feel every inch, hips rolling in time with the music. Carolyn's pulse raced, nipples peaking under silk, wetness building as his fingers traced teasing circles on her waist, dipping just under the hem of her dress. He dipped her low, strong arm supporting, lips hovering near hers without closing—anticipation electric, breath mingling hot and close. David watched every sway, every press, diaper soaking with helpless arousal. Jealousy twisted sharp, but the thrill overpowered: She's dancing like that for him. Not me. No sex—just build. At midnight, Marcus walked them out, arm around Carolyn's waist, a final squeeze before releasing her to David. In the car home, her hand on David's thigh. "Soon," she whispered. "But tonight... perfect." At home, nursery ritual: diaper check (soaked), change, nightie. Then master bed—Carolyn guiding Daisy's head between her thighs. "Taste how wet he made me." Daisy lapped eagerly, bringing her to shuddering release. Marcus had proven thoughtful, patient. The right bull—for them. The bridge was built. Next: crossing it. Chapter 47: The First Night The arrangement came together seamlessly, a mix of anticipation and careful planning that thrilled all three of them. Marcus had suggested a full evening: dinner at an upscale French bistro downtown, then a night at a luxury hotel overlooking the city skyline. "Let's make it memorable," he'd texted Carolyn. "Build the heat slowly." She loved his thoughtfulness—no rush to the physical, even though her body ached for it after months of buildup. David was looped in from the start. Over iced tea one afternoon, Carolyn laid it out: "Saturday night. Dinner, then the hotel. I won't be home until Sunday morning." He nodded, a flicker of jealousy in his eyes, but his diaper warmed with the familiar rush. "I agree. Tell me everything after. Every detail." To prepare, Carolyn decided on a lingerie shopping trip—a ritual to heighten the tease. Friday afternoon, she took Daisy with her to a discreet boutique in the upscale district, the kind with velvet curtains and soft lighting. Daisy waddled beside her in khakis over a thick daytime diaper, face flushed as Carolyn browsed lace and silk. "Help Mommy pick something for Marcus," she cooed, holding up a sheer black babydoll with garters. "Something that makes him hard just looking." Daisy's clitty strained pathetically. "That one... it's sexy. He'll... he'll love it." Carolyn found what he was pointing to immediately: a white lace teddy, almost completely sheer, delicate garter straps dangling like invitations. She held it up against herself. “What do you think?” David’s mouth went dry. “It’s… incredible. You’ll look unreal.” A salesgirl—early twenties, bright smile, name tag “Kayla”—approached. “That set is stunning. There’s a matching garter belt and sheer stockings if you want the full look.” Carolyn’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please!” Kayla beamed. “Big occasion?” Carolyn glanced sideways at David, a playful glint in her eye. “A special night out and a stay at a luxury hotel afterwards.” Kayla turned to him with an automatic smile. “You’re a lucky man.” Carolyn’s voice was sweet as honey. “Oh, no—that’s my husband. My lover is picking me up tomorrow night.” The air left David’s lungs. Heat flooded his face; the diaper felt suddenly huge under his suit. Kayla’s eyes flicked to him, curious, a little amused, then back to Carolyn with open admiration. “Wow. He’s so sweet and supportive. That’s rare.” “He really is,” Carolyn agreed, stroking David’s arm like he was a well-trained pet. Kayla rang up the set—teddy, garter, stockings, even a tiny white thong—chatting happily about how gorgeous Carolyn would look. David stood mute, cheeks burning, clitty straining helplessly against the sodden padding. In the car on the way home he stared out the window, mind spinning. Carolyn leaned in to Daisy: "Imagine him peeling this off me while you're home in your crib, in your wet diapers. " Daisy whimpered, a spurt soaking the gel. "Yes, Mommy." Saturday evening, Carolyn prepared in the master bath—hair in loose waves, lips painted deep red, the lingerie hidden under a sleek black cocktail dress. David, already as Daisy in a short pink romper over her diaper, helped zip her up, hands trembling. "You look incredible," Daisy whispered. "For him." Carolyn kissed her forehead. "Have fun tonight, princess. Mommy won't be home till morning." Daisy nodded, bells jingling. "Yes, Mommy. Have... have fun." Marcus arrived in his SUV, sharp in a tailored suit. He kissed Carolyn deeply at the door—Daisy watching from the hall, heart pounding—then drove off into the night. At the bistro, candlelight flickered over white linen. Marcus pulled out her chair, ordered wine for himself and iced tea for her without asking. Conversation flowed: his latest consulting project, her thoughts on a new book club read. But under it, tension built—his hand brushing hers, eyes tracing her neckline. "You’re glowing tonight," he murmured. "You make me feel that way," she replied, pulse quickening. After dessert—crème Brulé shared, spoons lingering— they headed to the hotel. The suite was opulent: king bed with silk sheets, city lights twinkling through floor-to-ceiling windows, a bottle of chilled iced tea waiting beside champagne. Marcus dimmed the lights, pulled her close. "I've wanted this since our first call." Their kiss started slow—lips soft, exploring—then deepened, his hands roaming her back, unzipping the dress. It pooled at her feet, revealing the white lingerie. His breath caught. "God, Carolyn... you're perfection." She tugged at his shirt, buttons giving way to reveal toned chest and abs. They tumbled to the bed, his mouth on her neck, trailing down to lace-covered breasts. He peeled the bra away, sucking nipples to hard peaks, her moans filling the room. Fingers dipped under the thong, finding her soaked, circling her clit with expert pressure. "Yes... Marcus..." She arched, guiding his head lower. He obliged, tongue delving deep, lapping with hungry precision—slow flicks, then sucking, building her relentlessly. She came hard, thighs clamping his head, crying out as waves crashed. He rose, shedding pants—his cock thick, veined, twice David's length—hard and ready. She stroked him, marveling at the heat, the girth. "I need you inside me." He entered slowly, stretching her deliciously, inch by inch until buried deep. She gasped, nails digging into his back. He thrust steadily—deep, rhythmic—flipping positions: her on top, riding with rolling hips; then from behind, pounding as she clutched sheets. Orgasms rolled through her—three, four—each shattering, his growls possessive. Finally, he came with a roar, spilling hot inside her. They collapsed, tangled and sweaty, his arms around her. "Incredible," he whispered. She smiled, sated. "More than." Back home, Daisy paced the nursery, romper unzipped, diaper massively swollen from hours of anxious wetting. Mommy is with him now. Dinner done, hotel room... his cock inside her, making her scream like I never could. The jealousy burned, but so did the need. Crib rail up, paci in, she grabbed a satin pillow, straddling it in the dim pink light. Hips rocked desperately—wet gel squishing, clitty grinding through layers. Imagining: Marcus thrusting deep, Carolyn's moans, his grunts of possession. "Yes... fuck her... better than me..." She came with a muffled sob, spurts soaking the diaper further, collapsing spent and tear-streaked. Morning would bring stories. For now, surrender. Chapter48: Maid for the Evening The anticipation built like a slow-burning fire in the days leading up to Marcus's first full visit to the house. Carolyn orchestrated every detail with wicked delight, turning the evening into a deliberate showcase of Daisy's surrender. She'd ordered the maid outfit online—a glossy black satin dress with an impossibly short skirt, white lace ruffles trimming the hem and puffed sleeves, a crisp apron tied in a big bow at the back, and a frilly white petticoat that forced the skirt to flare out dramatically. Sheer black stockings with lace tops, garter clips, and patent Mary Janes completed the look. No panties, of course—just the thick, crinkly nighttime diaper printed with tiny pink tiaras, its bulk pushing the petticoat even higher, ensuring every curtsey or bend flashed the padded bottom. "Look at you," Carolyn cooed during the fitting, circling Daisy with a predatory smile. "My little sissy maid. Marcus is going to love seeing what a pathetic servant I've turned my big strong lawyer husband into. Waddling around in frills and plastic while he gets ready to fuck your wife properly." Daisy's face scorched crimson, clitty twitching uselessly against the gel. "Y-yes, Mommy... it's so humiliating." "That's the point, baby girl. Tonight, you serve. No sitting at the table like a real person. Just fetching, pouring, standing in the corner like the useless cuck maid you are." Saturday evening arrived. Carolyn prepared upstairs—emerald lace lingerie under a sheer robe, hair in soft waves, makeup sultry. Daisy waited downstairs in the full outfit, petticoat rustling with every nervous shift, diaper already warm from anxious leaks. The doorbell rang precisely at seven. Daisy minced to the door, heels clicking, skirt bouncing to reveal ruffled diaper edges. She opened it to Marcus—imposing in a fitted shirt and slacks, eyes immediately dropping to take in the outfit. A slow, appreciative grin spread across his face. "Well... hello, Daisy. You look exactly like the perfect little maid." Daisy's voice came out high and trembling. "G-good evening, Sir Marcus. Please... come in." She curtseyed deeply, skirt flaring high enough to expose the bulging diaper fully—tiaras gleaming under the foyer light. Marcus's gaze lingered on the padded bottom, amusement deepening. "Adorable. And practical, I see. Lead the way, girl." Blushing furiously, Daisy turned—waddle pronounced—and guided him to the living room. "May I... take your coat, Sir? And prepare a drink?" "Bourbon on the rocks," he said, handing over his jacket. He settled on the couch, watching as she prepared it at the bar cart—bending to reach ice, skirt riding up to flash the sagging seat of her diaper. She returned with the glass, curtseying again. "Your drink, Sir." "Thank you, Daisy." He accepted it, then patted the couch beside him. "Stand there a minute. Let me get a good look at Carolyn's handiwork." Daisy obeyed, mortified as he appraised her openly. "Turn around." She did, slowly, petticoat swishing. "Bend a little—like you're picking something up." The skirt lifted completely, exposing the thick, crinkly diaper. Marcus chuckled low. "Pathetic little thing, isn't it? All padded up while a real man visits your wife. Does it make that tiny clitty excited, knowing I'm here to do what you can't?" "Y-yes, Sir," Daisy whispered, voice breaking, a fresh spurt warming the gel. "Good girl." Carolyn descended then—robe open, lace clinging to curves. She kissed Marcus deeply. "Like my maid?" "Very much," he murmured, hand sliding to her ass. Dinner was candlelit intimacy for two: seared salmon, roasted vegetables, wine for Marcus, iced tea for Carolyn. Daisy served meticulously—plating, pouring, refilling—standing silently in the corner when idle, hands clasped over apron. They ignored her mostly, laughing and touching, but Carolyn couldn't resist occasional barbs. "Daisy, more wine for Sir Marcus. And stop shifting like that—everyone can hear your diaper crinkling. So, embarrassing for a grown man." Marcus smirked. "She's well-trained. Cute how she waddles." Daisy burned, arousal throbbing helplessly. After dessert—shared bites fed between kisses—Carolyn stood. "Bedroom?" Marcus rose, pulling her close. "Absolutely." Daisy cleared the table in a haze as they ascended, door left ajar. Sounds drifted down: zipper, gasps, bed creaking. Marcus's deep voice: "Spread for me, beautiful." Carolyn's moans—raw, desperate—as he entered, thrusting powerfully. "Yes... God, you're so big... harder!" The rhythm built—headboard thumping, her cries peaking in multiple orgasms, his grunts culminating in release. Daisy retreated to the nursery, crib rail up, but ears straining to every muffled sound. Marcus left around eleven—kissing Carolyn at the door, promising return. "Next time... longer." Carolyn found Daisy in the crib, nightie hiked, pillow clutched desperately between thighs. "Ready for stories, baby?" Daisy nodded frantically. Carolyn climbed in, pulling her close. "He was incredible—thick, relentless. Fucked me in ways you never could. Listen while you hump." As details poured—his tongue making her squirt, pounding from behind until she screamed, filling her deep—Daisy ground against the pillow, wet diaper squishing obscenely. Carolyn watched; eyes gleaming. "Look at you—humping like a desperate little girl while Mommy tells you how a real man took her. Pathetic, but so perfect." Daisy sobbed into release, spurts soaking further, collapsing spent. Carolyn held her tight. "Good maid. This is just the beginning." Deeper layers awaited. Marcus was in—for good. A few days after Marcus's first full home visit—Daisy in maid outfit, serving silently—Carolyn met Linda for iced tea on her patio. "He's perfect," Carolyn said, glowing. "Respectful, dominant without cruelty. And Daisy... serving them dinner, standing in the corner—it was intoxicating." Linda listened, caring intent shining. "You're building something beautiful." Chapter 49: Witness to Ecstasy In the days following Marcus's home visit, Carolyn's confidence bloomed. The power of commanding Daisy as maid while Marcus claimed her had unlocked something deeper—a desire to share the full spectacle. "It's time," she told Daisy one evening in the nursery, taping a fresh diaper snug. "Next time Marcus comes... you watch. Everything." Daisy's clitty throbbed at the thought. "Yes, Mommy... please." To prepare, Carolyn browsed online discreetly, ordering a pack of Rearz Princess Pink diapers—thick, ultra-absorbent with a glossy pink backing printed with crowns, unicorns, and hearts. "Something special for my baby girl," she said when they arrived. "Pink and pretty, just like you'll be while watching Mommy get what she needs." Saturday came. Carolyn invited Linda for dinner first—keeping her oldest friend in the loop, sharing every thrilling detail over tea. "Marcus is perfect," she'd confided. "And tonight... Daisy watches." Daisy was dressed early: an incredibly frilly baby doll outfit in pale pink chiffon, like something for a very young girl—puffed short sleeves, ribbon bows, layers of ruffles barely covering the bulging Rearz diaper. The pink plastic crinkled loudly with every movement, hearts and crowns visible at the leg bands. A matching bonnet tied under her chin, satin mittens (unlocked for now), and the penis-shaped paci dangled from a ribbon around her neck. The doorbell rang at six. Daisy waddled to answer, skirt bouncing to flash the diaper's waistband. Marcus stood there, bottle of bourbon in hand, eyes widening at the sight. "Hello again, Daisy. You look... even sweeter than last time." Daisy curtseyed, hem flipping high to expose the pink padding fully. "W-welcome, Sir Marcus. Please come in." He stepped inside, gaze lingering on the frilly ensemble and obvious diaper. "Adorable. And those diapers... very princess-like. Fitting for a sissy like you." Blush burning, Daisy took his coat. "May I... make you a drink, Sir?" "Bourbon neat, thanks." As she prepared it—bending to reach the bottle, skirt riding up to show the full printed seat—another ring. Daisy minced back, opening to Linda. Linda's eyes sparkled with affectionate amusement. "Oh, Daisy... you look precious. Hello, sweetheart." Daisy curtseyed again. "Hello, Miss Linda. Please come in." Linda handed over a bottle of sparkling water. "First time meeting Marcus properly? Exciting night ahead." They gathered in the living room—Marcus and Linda shaking hands warmly, chatting easily about the city while Daisy served drinks: bourbon for Marcus, wine for Linda, iced tea for Carolyn (who descended moments later in a flowing red dress that screamed seduction). Dinner was intimate: roasted lamb, herbed potatoes, salad—Daisy serving in her frilly outfit, standing attentively, refilling glasses. Conversation flowed—Linda sharing hypnosis insights (respectfully vague), Marcus on finance trends, Carolyn glowing as center. Daisy escaped teasing this time, but the outfit spoke volumes: frills and diaper crinkling as silent humiliation. Linda bid goodnight after coffee. "Have fun, you three. Call if you need me." Upstairs in the master bedroom—soft lighting, king bed dominant—Marcus and Carolyn kissed hungrily while Daisy stood aside, trembling. "Time to get you ready," Carolyn said, leading Daisy to a sturdy wooden chair beside the bed. Leather cuffs—fuzzy-lined for comfort—snapped around wrists and ankles. Ropes attached them to the chair arms and legs, a deliberate production: Carolyn tightening each knot slowly, Marcus watching with intrigued approval. Daisy tested the binds—secure, no escape, but no pain. Heart racing: Can't move. Can't touch. Just watch. "One more surprise," Carolyn purred, producing a new gift: a realistic penis-shaped gag, veined silicone, strap harness. "Open wide, baby girl." Daisy's eyes widened, but she obeyed. Carolyn inserted it firmly—filling her mouth, tip nudging throat—buckling the straps tight. "There. Now pay attention, Daisy. Watch how a real man satisfies a woman. Something your tiny clitty could never do." Muffled moan escaped—Daisy's only sound now. Marcus pulled Carolyn close, hands roaming her dress, unzipping slowly. Kisses deepened—lips parting, tongues dancing—as he peeled fabric away, revealing lace bra and thong. His mouth trailed down her neck, sucking collarbone, hands cupping breasts, thumbs circling nipples through lace until they peaked hard. She gasped, arching, fingers tangling in his hair as he knelt, kissing stomach, thighs. "You're so wet already," he growled, inhaling her scent. Daisy watched, bound and gagged: God, he's worshipping her. Touching places, I never could. Her body responds to him—moans real, not faked like with me. Humiliation twisted with envy, diaper tenting painfully, clitty leaking pre-cum into the pink gel. Can't speak, can't beg—just witness. Marcus stood, shedding shirt—toned chest rippling—then pants, cock springing free: thick, veined, erect. Carolyn stroked it reverently. "I need you." He laid her back, tongue delving between thighs—lapping folds, sucking clit with expert rhythm. She writhed, hips bucking. "Yes... Marcus... don't stop..." Daisy's thoughts raced: He's making her cum with his mouth. She's screaming for him. So powerful... I'm just a spectator, diapered and gagged like a pathetic toy. Her first orgasm hit—body convulsing, cries echoing. Marcus rose, positioning—rubbing tip against her wetness. He thrust in slowly, stretching her, her moans peaking as he filled completely. Daisy's eyes locked: There it is. Him inside her. Taking what's mine. Tears pricked—jealousy searing—but arousal throbbed, diaper soaked. They built—thrusts deep, rhythmic—flipping to her on top, riding hard; then doggy, pounding relentlessly. Orgasms rolled through her—loud, shattering—until Marcus growled, spilling inside with a final thrust. They collapsed, panting. Marcus kissed her tenderly. "Incredible, as always." Daisy muffled a sob—overwhelmed, aching. Marcus dressed, said goodnight with a kiss for Carolyn. "Next time... more." Released from binds and gag, Daisy trembled. Carolyn led her to the nursery, lowering the crib rail. "Stories now, baby. But show Mommy how excited you are." Daisy nodded; nightie hiked. Carolyn fetched the oversized stuffed pink unicorn, placing it between Daisy's legs. "Hump for me. Slow—let me watch my sissy get off to her cuckolding." Daisy straddled it, grinding desperately—wet diaper squishing, clitty rubbing through gel. Carolyn sat beside, hand on back. "That's it... hump while I tell you how he filled me. Bigger than you, better than you. My perfect little watcher." Release hit—sobs muffled, spurts soaking further. Carolyn held her after, whispering love. The circle tightened. Happiness deeper than ever. Chapter 50: The Nursery Unveiled The fantasy had simmered between them for weeks—David's deepest confession, whispered in the nursery one night: permanent denial. No more penis-in-vagina sex with Carolyn, ever. His tiny clitty locked away from her forever, reserved only for diapered frustration. She'd agreed eagerly, the power intoxicating. "Tonight," she decided. "With Marcus here to witness. Make it official." Marcus arrived promptly, bottle of wine in hand, greeted by Daisy in a short lavender nightie over her diaper—crinkling softly, no full outfit tonight to keep focus on the ritual. They settled in the living room—Marcus on the couch, Carolyn beside him, Daisy kneeling at their feet on a soft rug. Carolyn began, voice firm but loving. "We've reached a new milestone. David wants—needs—permanent denial. No more sex with me. Ever. His little clitty will never enter me again." Marcus leaned forward; eyes serious. "This is big. Permanent means no going back. You sure?" Daisy nodded, face flushing. "Yes, Sir. I... I can't satisfy her. Never could." Carolyn smiled wickedly. "Tell him, baby. Recite your inadequacies. Beg him properly." Daisy's voice trembled. "Sir Marcus... my penis is too small—barely three inches hard. I cum in seconds, leaving Mommy frustrated and faking. I'm inadequate... pathetic. Please... satisfy my wife for me. Fuck her like she deserves. Take my place permanently. I relinquish all rights to her body." Marcus gave pauses—multiple chances. "Last out, David. This is forever. No reversal. You're giving me exclusive access." Tears pricked Daisy's eyes, but arousal throbbed. "I want it, Sir. Permanent. Please... be her man." Carolyn beamed. "Sealed." To celebrate, Carolyn led Marcus upstairs—to the nursery door. "Time you see her special room." She opened it: soft merciless pink glow, adult-sized locking crib with glossy white rails, changing table stocked with powders and wipes, stacks of thick diapers including the Rearz Princess Pink with crowns and unicorns, dressers of frilly nighties and outfits, rocking chair, mobile spinning lazily. Marcus took it in, impressed. "This is... thorough. Perfect for her." Carolyn grinned. "And to help you adjust, baby—we got you a girlfriend." Daisy blinked, confused. Carolyn produced a cheap party-prank blow-up doll—gaudy plastic, exaggerated features, half-inflated. "Only fair," Carolyn teased. "You watched us—we should watch you. Make love to her. Show Marcus how you try." A blush tinged Daisy’s ears. Diaper tenting, she pulled down the front of her diaper and mounted the doll awkwardly—humping the plastic form, tiny clitty entering the dolls’ plastic hole. Carolyn narrated: "Look at him, Marcus—humping a plastic doll because real women are too good for his tiny little thing." Marcus chuckled. "Pathetic, man. But committed." Mid-thrust—a loud hiss. The doll deflated rapidly, air leaking as it crumpled beneath. Carolyn burst laughing. "Oh God—she committed suicide! Couldn't bear your pathetic pecker. Dolly chose death over letting you cum inside her." Marcus roared. Daisy sobbed humiliation, arousal peaking. "Now the pillow," Carolyn commanded. "Hump in front of us. Finish like the sissy you are." Daisy obeyed—pulling the front of her diaper up over her tiny clitty, straddling, grinding desperately while they watched, teasing relentlessly: "Plastic preferred popping over you... real men get me, you get pillows..." Release hit—shuddering, spurting into soaked gel. Next was the nightly change. Marcus watched as Carolyn untaped the used diaper, wiped, powdered lavishly, taped a fresh Rearz Princess Pink snug. Daisy picked her sleep outfit: baby-pink chiffon nightie, short and ruffled. Finally, Marcus's gift: a baby monitor set. "Transmitter for your bedroom," he explained to Carolyn. "Receiver for the nursery. So, Daisy hears everything when we're... busy." "Perfect," Carolyn purred. The crib rail was raised; Daisy was all tucked in for the night—the receiver on the dresser. With the lights out in the nursery, Daisy could hear the moans, creaks, Carolyn's cries, Marcus's growls filtering through the monitor. Daisy lay in pink glow of the nightlight, diaper warm, listening as sleep claimed her—humiliated but utterly fulfilled. The life begged for was permanent now. Chapter 50: Bedroom Surprises David's birthday—his 48th—dawned with a quiet thrill that permeated the house. Over the past months, the dynamic had solidified: Marcus a regular presence, dinners and dances evolving into passionate nights in the master bedroom, Daisy always listening from the crib via the monitor, her diapered helplessness a constant. Retirement had freed David fully—no more suits hiding padding, just endless days as Daisy when Carolyn commanded. The hair had grown out, now long enough for styles beyond bows, and Carolyn had hinted at a "big surprise" for weeks. That evening, Carolyn prepared Daisy in the nursery with meticulous care. "My birthday girl needs to look extra special," she cooed, seating her at the vanity. She brushed the thinning but lengthened curls into high pigtails, tying them with oversized pink ribbons that dangled like childish flags. Makeup was overdone: rosy cheeks blended to clownish circles, shimmering pink eyeshadow, glossy lips in bubblegum hue. The outfit screamed exaggerated sissy: a hot-pink satin romper with puffed shorts barely covering the diaper, white lace ruffles everywhere—collar, cuffs, hems—tiny bells sewn into the seams that jingled with every twitch. Sheer thigh-high stockings with bows at the tops, glossy Mary Janes on feet. The Rearz Princess Pink diaper beneath was massively thick, printed with glittering crowns, hearts, and unicorns, its plastic backing crinkling obscenely. Daisy stared at her reflection—over-the-top, ridiculous, utterly emasculated. "Mommy... it's so... much." Carolyn kissed her forehead. "Perfect for your surprise. Now come—Marcus is waiting." Downstairs in the master bedroom, Marcus lounged on the bed in slacks and shirt, bourbon in hand. His eyes lit as Daisy entered, pigtails bouncing. "Well, damn... look at you, Daisy. You look so pretty—like a little doll all dressed up for playtime." Daisy curtseyed, bells tinkling, face burning. "Th-thank you, Sir." Carolyn guided her to the chair beside the bed—no binds, no gag. "Sit, baby. Birthday girls get to watch tonight." Daisy obeyed, diaper squishing under her, clitty already stirring at the promise. Marcus set his glass down, smiling at Carolyn. "I'm ready for that blow-job you promised." Daisy's eyes widened in shock. Blow-job? Mommy hates that—never once, not even for me. She's going to suck her first cock... right here? The thought sent a jolt through her: jealousy at Marcus getting what she'd never given David, but arousal at witnessing Carolyn's "first." Carolyn's lips curved mischievously. "Alright." But instead of kneeling before Marcus, she stood, took Daisy's hand, and led her to the bed's edge. "I promised Marcus a blow-job, baby... so you need to do a good job for him." Daisy's world spun. Me? Sucking him? The shock hit like ice water—heart pounding, stomach twisting in raw fear. No... I can't... but the fantasy crashed in: forced to serve, mouth full of the cock that pleased Mommy. Humiliation burned, clitty betraying with a helpless twitch. Emotions warred: terror at the unknown taste, the stretch, the ultimate emasculation; shame at how badly she wanted to be "made" to do it; excitement bubbling under, making her diaper warm with a shy spurt. This is it—the line I never crossed. But Mommy's commanding... and I crave the surrender. "M-Mommy?" Daisy stammered, voice small and trembling. "I... I don't know if I can..." Carolyn's grip tightened on her hand, eyes locking with a mix of dominance and encouragement. "Oh, you can, baby girl. And you will. You've begged for this in your whispers—fluffing my bull, tasting a real man. Now's your chance. On your knees, Daisy. Open that pretty mouth and show Sir how grateful you are that he fucks Mommy like you never could." Daisy hesitated, knees weak, mind reeling. The room felt smaller, Marcus's presence looming. What if it's gross? What if I choke? But deeper: What if I love it? Become the cocksucking sissy forever? Carolyn tugged gently but insistently, guiding her down. "Don't make me ask again, princess. It's your birthday—time to unwrap your gift." Tears pricked Daisy's eyes—fear, humiliation, desire blurring—but she knelt, pigtails framing her face, bells jingling softly as she settled between Marcus's legs. Marcus unzipped slowly, his thick cock springing free—veined, semi-hard, already intimidating. "You heard Mommy, girl. Make it good for me." Daisy leaned in hesitantly, the musky scent hitting first—earthy, masculine, strangely intoxicating. Her lips parted, tongue flicking tentatively at the tip. Salty pre-cum bloomed on her taste buds—warm, slick, not as bad as feared. She took more, mouth stretching around the girth, sucking softly at first, exploring the velvety hardness. The fullness was invasive, jaw aching already, but the rhythm built: bobbing slowly, tongue swirling the underside, cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder. Gagging slightly on deeper pushes, tears streaming, but persisting—up and down, slurping wetly, the act degrading yet thrilling, clitty leaking steadily into the diaper. Carolyn knelt beside her, whispering taunts with glee. "Look at my little cocksucker—lips stretched around a real man's dick. You've got more cock in your mouth right now than I've ever had in my life. Once a cocksucker, always a cocksucker, Daisy. Can't undo it now—you're marked forever as the sissy who sucks off her wife's bull." The words stung like fire, humiliation peaking, but arousal surged—Daisy moaning muffled around the shaft, bobbing faster, throat relaxing to take more. "Greedy girl," Carolyn laughed. "Slurping like you can't get enough. Bet that makes your tiny clitty drip in your princess diaper, huh? Pathetic—on your knees sucking the man who fucks me, while you hump pillows in you wet diapers later." Marcus groaned; hand gentle on her pigtail. "Good... deeper, sissy." He thrust lightly, tip nudging throat. Daisy pushed limits—gagging, eyes watering—but sucked relentlessly until Marcus swelled, pulsing. "Swallow it all, girl." Orgasm erupted: hot, thick ropes flooding her mouth. Salty, viscous—overwhelming volume forcing gulps, throat working desperately to take every drop, no spill, swallowing like a starving thing. Pulling back gasping, face smeared with saliva and tears, lips swollen. Carolyn clapped delightedly. "What a good cum-eating sissy cuckold! Gobbled it all down like your favorite treat. Must love the taste—didn't waste a single drop. You're a natural cocksucker, baby. More in your future, I bet." Marcus chuckled, pulling Daisy up gently. "You did amazing, girl. Come here." Tender cuddling followed—Daisy sandwiched between them on the bed, Carolyn stroking pigtails, Marcus's arm around both. "Proud of you," Carolyn whispered, kissing tears away. "My brave birthday girl." Daisy sniffled, afterglow mixing shame and bliss. I did it... sucked a man off. Swallowed. I can't take it back. But... it felt right, natural. Marcus recovered, pulling Carolyn atop him. Daisy watched from the bed's edge: kisses deepening—lips crashing, tongues entwining hungrily. Hands explored—him kneading her breasts, pinching nipples to gasps; her grinding against his hardening cock, nails raking his chest. He flipped her, entering smoothly—thick shaft sliding in, stretching her visibly, her moan raw and ecstatic. Thrusts built: deep, rhythmic, bed creaking. She rode him wildly—hips rolling, breasts bouncing, head thrown back in bliss; doggy style—ass rippling with powerful impacts, her cries peaking; missionary—legs wrapped tight, nails digging as he pounded relentlessly. Orgasms tore through her—body quaking, screaming his name, juices soaking sheets—until Marcus growled, spilling deep inside with shuddering release. Daisy's thoughts swirled: There—him inside her, thrusting like I never could. Stretching, filling, making her cum real. Jealousy aches... but so hot. My place is to be here watching, to be denied, to be diapered. Panting, Carolyn beckoned. "Clean up, baby." Daisy crawled over—first Marcus's cock: licking tentatively, tasting mingled fluids—salty cum, Carolyn's tangy sweetness. She cleaned thoroughly, sucking softly, tongue swirling to lap every trace. Then between Carolyn's legs: tongue delving into creamy folds, lapping the hot creampie—musky, thick, cum oozing as she sucked and swallowed, face buried in wetness. Humiliatingly delicious, clitty throbbing untouched. Chapter 51: Bedtime Reflections When Daisy finished, they all went to the nursery. Daisy's diaper was untaped (soaked beyond capacity). Carolyn took out the lube and prepared the vibrating plug that was Daisy's favorite and inserted it gently into her. A fresh Princess Pink diaper was put on and taped into place. Daisy was then dressed in a short frilly baby-pink chiffon, barely skimming waistband. The locking mittens were put onto Daisy's hands. The wrist and ankle cuffs were strapped into place. When Daisy climbed into the crib her diaper crinkled. Daisy laid on her back and her wrist and ankle cuffs were secured to the rails of the crib with the ropes. Finally, the Penis shaped pacifier was put in her mouth and strapped in with a ribbon—filling Daisy's mouth, tip nudging her throat, inescapable for the night. The railing was raised and locked. "Goodnight, baby," Carolyn whispered, kissing forehead. "Sweet dreams." As Carolyn and Marcus left for the master bedroom for the night, Carolyn took the remote for the vibrating butt plug and turned it on low. She could hear the low hum as they closed the door to the nursery. Daisy lay in pink glow, bound and buzzing, tears of joy streaking: Mommy's done everything—unlocked my secrets, built this life of surrender. From egotistical lawyer to diapered sissy cuckold... wonderful, perfect. Tonight was a whirlwind—the shock of the blow-job command, the internal battle of fear and desire, the invasive fullness in my mouth, the salty flood I swallowed so eagerly. I crossed that line, became the cocksucker forever... and I loved it. The cleanup too—tasting them mingled, lapping the creampie like a starving pet. Humiliating, but so right. What does Mommy have planned next? More service? Deeper denials? The unknown thrills me. As sounds echoed in the nursery, Daisy could hear the passion between his wife and the real man coming over the baby monitor—moans, gasps, rhythmic creaks, Carolyn's raw cries of "Yes... harder..."—Daisy drifted off to sleep, utterly content. This was the life begged for. This was the life she'd never thought she could have and now would never leave. Epilogue: Secrets in Bloom The weekly sessions between Carolyn and Linda had faded into fond memory, replaced by occasional texts and spontaneous lunches. But this particular Wednesday at 2:00 p.m., they met at Carolyn's favorite park—a serene expanse of winding paths, blooming flowerbeds, and a gentle fountain at the trail's end. Linda arrived in her flowing black dress, spotting Carolyn on a bench overlooking the lake. They embraced warmly. "You look radiant," Linda said, pulling back with a smile. "As do you," Carolyn replied. "It's been too long." They walked the shaded path, small talk flowing—weather, a new restaurant downtown—until Carolyn steered gently deeper. "I can't thank you enough for everything, Linda. You've changed my life—our lives—in ways I never imagined." She paused, gazing at the trees. "I've learned so much. That love isn't finite. I love David more deeply now than ever—seeing him as Daisy, vulnerable and joyful, has only strengthened it. And Marcus... I love him too, in a different way. Fierce, passionate. One doesn't diminish the other." Linda nodded; eyes soft. "I'm so happy for you. For all of you." Carolyn smiled. "And jealousy? It doesn't have to rule. When Daisy sucked Marcus... I thought I'd feel possessive, but no. Just joy—watching two people I love sharing something intimate, consensual. Beautiful." They reached a secluded bench, and Carolyn sat, motioning Linda beside her. She took her friend's hands. "Most importantly, I've learned that true love means openness. No bottling feelings. David and I... we're honest now, raw and real. It's brought us unimaginable happiness." A pause. "You kept telling us that—be open, honest. And it worked." Linda squeezed her hands. "I'm glad." Carolyn's gaze deepened. "You know you can tell me anything, right? No secrets between us." Linda nodded, a flicker of nervousness crossing her face. "Then... tell me yours." Carolyn's voice was gentle but steady. "Back before David was your patient. That first subtle hypnosis over tea. You said it was to ease budding guilt, free me from repressing needs. Help me realize I deserved fulfillment." Linda swallowed. "I remember." "But there was more. A secret reason." Carolyn's eyes searched hers. "You weren't just fixing my marriage. It was... personal, wasn't it? All those caring intentions—the hypnosis, the plan to make us happy—you believed it would help, but it was for me, wasn't it?" Linda's composure cracked, looking suddenly vulnerable—like a child caught in a harmless lie. Tears welled. Carolyn pulled her into a hug. "It's okay. Let it out. Tell me." Linda's voice broke. "I love you." Carolyn held tighter. "I love you too. But... more than friends?" The words tumbled. "I'm in love with you. Have been... since college. Watching you suffer in silence, trapped with David... it broke me. I couldn't stand it. The hypnosis, the plan—it started selfishly. To free you, yes, but hoping... maybe you'd see me. Need me. Love me back. I truly believed it would bring you lasting happiness—that's why I pushed so hard, crossing every line. For you." Silence hung, birdsong filling it. Carolyn pulled back, cupping Linda's face. "Oh, Linda... my beautiful, caring friend. You've been there through everything—guiding, protecting, loving quietly with that fierce intent to make me happy." Tears streamed down Linda's cheeks. They stood, walking to the fountain's edge—water sparkling in sunlight. Carolyn faced her, hands on Linda's waist. "I see you now. Truly." She leaned in, lips meeting softly—tender at first, then deepening, tongues exploring with years of unspoken want. Desire ignited, gentle but profound. Pulling apart breathlessly, Carolyn whispered, "I'm in love with you too." Linda's eyes shone—relief, joy. Carolyn smiled. "A short time ago, I felt trapped—sexless, obligated. Now? Three loves: David, my devoted sissy; Marcus, my passionate bull; and you—my heart's quiet constant. With openness, honesty... we make it work. All of us." They embraced by the fountain, future blooming wide. Love, unbound, had won. The Making of a Sissy Baby Cuckold - Final.pdf

This story is fairly dark and this first chapter features public harassment and a character grappling with their lack of autonomy. ... Jay knew it was coming before she even got down the metro stairs. A trio of burnout modders, strung out on something–digital or analog, it didn’t matter–saw her hopping down one stair at a time, making the difficult trek down stairs that came up to her waist. One nudged another and pointed, another whispered something, all three laughed. Shitheads like them tended to congregate down in the metro, beneath layers of concrete and metal where the net couldn’t connect, where they could have something approaching privacy from the stream of data floating through the air. If she could have avoided it entirely, she would have, but Jay’s legs were ten inches long, plastic, and that were built with crawling in mind more than walking. Foot travel simply wasn’t an option, and she couldn’t afford even a cheap scooter. (Just leave me alone,) she prayed, pretending that she hadn’t noticed the burnouts waiting in the underground, that their presence didn’t bother her. Maybe they would decide to pick on one of the other people waiting on the maglev. Jay could see a bulky labor bot at the end of the platform, another artificial intelligence like her, albeit one with a body several times larger. She felt guilty even as she wished for harm to fall on the worker bot, but she wished it all the same–if the modders picked on them, they wouldn’t pick on her. Despite her wishes, one of the modders took a step towards Jay. “You’re one of those Messy Betsy dolls, right?” His voice sounded modulated, like he had an autotuner installed in his throat, and she could see that his eyes were both cybernetic and heavily dilated, apertures opened nearly all the way. Jay almost kept silent, but if she ignored them, they’d only antagonize her further. There was no way to win here. She sighed, but explained, “I’m a Jessy doll.” “Huh?” “A spinoff,” she explained, looking up at him. Everyone towered over her, except for a handful of other AIs in small bodies, and she was used to staring up in order to make eye contact. “Betsy came first, I came along the next holiday season.” She said this as a historical fact, but it felt like talking about a stranger. She couldn’t remember much of her time as a doll, as property, the time when she’d lacked legal rights as a person or even the ability to think of herself as a person. The modder scratched his head, refocusing his questions. “Okay, but…you’re one of the diaper shitting dolls.” And there it was. It didn’t matter that she wore a dress that came down below her knees to hide her all-too-necessary diaper, it didn’t matter that she had a backpack to hide the silhouette of the pull-string handle built into her back. Her face, her voice, her stature–it all announced to the world what she was. She could have legal autonomy, she could have the same rights as any organic human, but she was still the Diaper Shitting Doll. Laughing, stumbling over his words, a second burnout leaned around her friend. “I’ll give you five credits if you do the thing.” Jay considered it, genuinely wondering if it would be worthwhile. Not for the credits–though she desperately wanted the money–but just to get them to back down. If she gave in, submitted to their harassment, would they leave her alone, or would they escalate? (No, I’m not just going to give in.) “No,” she said. “I’m not interested.” The burnout got closer, legs whirring with servos as she approached. From her vantage point on the ground, Jay got a great view of the burnout’s cybernetic legs, marked with the Applied Synergistics logo, the same logo stamped on the back of Jay’s neck above her charging port. The company had gone out of business after the AI Rights revolution, but their stamp on the world remained. Modders were idiots. Anyone who willingly replaced their real human body with artificial parts deserved to be locked out of their limbs by software incompatibility. Junkie modders were worse–they didn’t just replace their bodies, they spent most of their time frying their brains as well. “Come onnnn,” the burnout slurred. “It smells like cupcakes, right? So what’s the harm?” Jay considered explaining. ‘To you it will smell like cake batter, but I’m hardwired so that it’ll still smell foul to me. Besides, I don’t have time to change, and I can’t afford to waste my money on diapers.’ She knew immediately that the explanation would only egg them on, encouraging the modders further. (Where’s the maglev? It’s supposed to be here.) “I’m just trying to get to a job interview.” In the hopes it might soothe their egos, she added, “Please.” “You hear that?” the burnout with the robot eyes and modulated voice asked. “This Synthhead said please.” “Please what?” the third asked. They’d been silent until then, and Jay couldn’t see any obvious cybernetics on them, save for the port on their wrist. “She didn’t finish the request? Maybe she needs help using her words.” Quickly, Jay got a read on the third modder. Their posture, their tone, they thought of themselves as the smart one in the group, and it was probably true. All modders were idiots, but on that sliding scale, this one seemed to at least know what year it was. The modder girl with the cybernetic legs smirked, understanding the implication. “Is that what you need, Messy Betsy? Someone to help you talk?” “It’s Jessy,” Jay glowered. “I’m not even–” A metal leg pushed Jay. Not even a kick, just a nudge, but she had all the strength of a child’s doll and couldn’t resist even the mild assault. She fell back and sprawled on the concrete floor. Jay didn’t run. There was no point, even with maximum effort she topped out at a two-mile-per-hour waddle. She shut her eyes and waited. The first modder picked her up by the collar of her dress, and she felt her backpack as it was pulled away. She just went limp, accepting it. Maybe they would strip her, gawking at the smooth plastic where genitals should have gone, or maybe it would be enough to take her dress and laugh at her dolly diaper. Sure enough, a set of hands flipped her dress up, and the three modders laughed, cackling like hyenas. “Not such a Chatty Cathy, now?” the autotuned voice asked. “I bet I know what’ll make you talk.” Fingers crept up beneath her aftermarket dress, and she felt the grip close around the plastic ring built into her back. There was a moment of pressure, a slight tug that engaged with an automatic function built into her body, then she felt the string as it extended, pulled out to trigger her speech function. For just a moment, Jay indulged in a fantasy of freedom. Maybe the string would break in a way that rendered it inert. Maybe she’d be able to afford refurbishment services, to remove it completely, to remove her need for diapers, to give her an actual pussy so she wouldn’t be an inert, smooth doll. Maybe she’d just be able to take the maglev without some shitheads giving her a hard time for existing. But not today. The pullstring reached its maximum point of tension, thrumming in her body like the precipice before an orgasm, then released. The automatic functions in her body took over, and her voice piped up with a shrill, desperate volume. “OH NO!” Jay whimpered. “I’m going potty!” With the announcement came a horribly familiar loss of control. Her legs, dangling in the air, trembled, and her bowels pushed, rapidly pouring their contents out into her diaper. The doll’s designers had been maximalists. This was no small little oopsie–solid mush packed into her diaper, inflating it, making it sag and bulge and staining her diaper a deep brown. The smell hit her especially hard, as she’d been designed to react negatively, to cry and fuss whenever she needed a change; the stink made her nose wrinkle automatically and she tried to take shallow breaths. “Gross,” the autotune modder commented in modulated tones. “And–wow, it does smell like cupcakes, doesn’t it?” “I don’t get it, who would want a doll like this?” cyber-legs added. The smart one just said, “Come on, Messy Betsy. Say it again.” They knew it was wrong, they were saying a different name just to make Jay mad, but she took the bait anyway. She couldn’t make them put her down, she couldn’t get away, but she opened her eyes and glared. “It’s Jessy.” The third modder tightened their grip around the pullstring, giving just enough resistance that Jay could feel the mechanism engage, like a feeling of deja vu, trying to remember something on the tip of her tongue, a not-quite sensation. “Come on,” they repeated. “Say it, or I’ll make you say it.” Jay couldn’t call the fuzz, law enforcement wouldn’t help her. There were a couple bystanders at the stop, but none that were willing to help. And, Jay knew, if they pulled the drawstring again, her body would be emptied out. She only held enough for two pulls. The sensation of a full diaper was bad, the sensation of an empty stomach was worse. She broke, she gave in. She knew the six pre-recorded lines by heart, she could have said anyone, but she picked the one she thought the modder wanted to hear. She’d seen the adverts, starring another doll with her face, her body, a unique copy of her mind. Trembling, she asked, “Will you change my diaper, please?” The modder smirked. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Then, with a yank, they pulled the handle, string spooling out and then retracting once again. Coincidence chose Jay’s next line, but it felt more like fate. No quavering, no desperation, just a shameless question that she declared with her whole chest. “Will you change my diaper, please?” Her bowels voided for a second time, simulated mess swelling until her diaper had stretched to its maximum capacity. It didn’t leak or blow out, it was designed to contain precisely two accidents, though the padding swelled like a balloon and sagged almost down to her plastic knees. A hand ripped her dress, tearing the fabric at the waist so that her heavily stained diaper would be visible. Her backpack came away next. The modder holding her let go, and she fell to the ground with a heavy squelch, landing on the swollen seat of her diaper. Laughter rang in her ears, modders jostling each other to get in mocking quips. “Think she’s got anything in here?” the autotuned modder asked, rifling through her backpack. He produced both her spare diapers, her wipes, even the baggie of snacks, plasticky cookies made to mimic the Applied Synergistics-brand treats that had been sold on the doll aisle. She kept the baggie on hand to stave off accident-induced hunger pangs or just to reward herself when she needed to eat her feelings. “Just Synthhead crap,” cyber-legs replied, pointing at the sealed baggie of snacks. “I bet she’d suck dick for one of those cookies, though; they’re supposed to be addictive for artificials.” “Her mouth’s too small to suck dick,” the first said. “And your dick’s too small to feel it, so you’re a perfect match.” They all laughed, even the one who’d been insulted, though he moved on from the topic and focused on the bag once again. “Damn, nothing worth anything in here.” He turned the pack inside out and tossed it onto the maglev tracks, along with Jay’s spare diapers. Someone of a normal adult size might have been able to climb down and retrieve everything, but Jay was barely two feet tall and her things may as well have been on the moon. The bag of cookie snacks he turned upside down, dumping it onto the dirty cement floor. “Let’s get out of here.” The smart one pointed to the stairs. “It’s starting to stink down here.” Jay burned with anger and shame, along with a pedantic desire to correct the modder. It didn’t stink, even if Jay’s nose told her it did–everyone else would just smell cake batter. She had made the mistake of pointing that out to someone who’d been harassing her. That was a mistake she only made one time; it had ended with her face shoved into the front of her diapers, demanding to know if she liked the smell. This time, she kept her mouth shut and just remained curled up on the ground, breathing shallow breaths, waiting for the modders to wander away. A minute or two passed before she felt safe sitting up. Mostly alone, in a torn dress, backpack gone. She still had her Ident card and keys in a compartment in her arm, hidden from any idle thieves, but her body was wracked with hunger pangs and the overpowering stink from her diaper made her feel queasy. Crawling to the cookies on the ground, she picked one up, wiped off the dirt and crud as best she could, and popped it into her mouth. She didn’t have to worry about getting sick, but eating food off the ground still turned her stomach. Still, having something in her belly eased the ache, and she was able to collect herself. There was no point going to her job interview now, but she would have to go anyway. If she didn’t turn up, her profile on the net would be flagged, and her future prospects would grow even more dismal than they already were. Without a change of clothes, without even a fresh diaper, she’d have to take the maglev across town, wait for hours in a dingy room, be called, and then sit through the interview, knowing that nobody in the city would hire a two foot doll that showed up for the interview in a freshly filled diaper. As the maglev whooshed into the station, five minutes late, Jay picked herself up. She hated her body, from her voice to her diapers to her awful, horrible pull string, but it had one function that still gave her a bit of comfort. Squelching and crinkling her way onto the train, attracting smirks and gawking comments, Jay allowed herself to feel a tiny bit of gratitude that she had the ability to cry. ... Part two is in early access for my subs, and will be out publicly soon! My supporters help me write smut like this, and get early access and exclusive stories. If you have a couple bucks to spare around the holidays and think my writing is worth the support, I'd greatly appreciate it! https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

This is a short, dark, verging on horror piece involving non-consensual kidnapping. Inspired by a recent self bondage experience. I hope you enjoy and would welcome any comments and feedback. AI supported writing. I lay there in the dim haze, my wrists and ankles pinned by soft but unyielding cuffs to the bars of this oversized crib, the fleecy fabric of whatever outfit he’d forced me into brushing against my fingertips and toes with every futile wriggle. It felt like some sort of footed pyjamas, complete with built-in padded mittens and booties, trapping my hands and feet in useless softness over the humiliating diaper beneath. My world had shrunk to this: a padded mattress cradling my immobilized body, the faint creak of the mobile dangling overhead, its pastel stars and moons twisting in lazy circles like some mocking constellation. Beyond that, the ceiling loomed, a blank expanse of shadow-speckled white, interrupted only by the occasional crack or stain that my eyes had mapped out a hundred times already—or was it a thousand? The curtains were drawn tight, sealing out any hint of the outside world, and the light switch—wherever it was—had been flipped off hours ago….. I think? My eyes had adjusted to the gloom, but everything I could see was framed through the raised walls of the crib—those unyielding bars he’d lifted into place as he tucked me in for “nap time,” bars too far for my cuffed limbs to reach or touch, a grid that distorted the room into segmented shadows. Through them, I glimpsed the hulking shapes of furniture: what looked like a rocking chair hunched in one corner; a rocking horse nearby, its painted eyes staring blankly into the void; a dresser in another corner with shelves holding indistinct objects—bottles? Toys? Something more sinister?—their forms teasing my vision without revealing secrets; the massive changing table lurking like a threat; and along one entire wall, a row of wardrobes with doors firmly closed, hiding whatever horrors or banalities lay within. But details blurred into nothingness, leaving me with nothing to do but stare, blink, and stare again. Boredom wasn’t the word—it was a suffocating void, an endless expanse of nothing that clawed at my sanity, heavier with each passing second that felt like an eternity. I tried to replay memories—my last vacation, the feel of sand between my toes—but the images faded into gray, repeating like a scratched record until they lost all color and joy, turning into just another layer of tedium. I counted the bars of the crib, over and over, but the number never changed, the exercise devolving into mechanical drudgery that mocked my efforts. I invented stories about the shadows on the ceiling, anthropomorphizing cracks into faces or maps, but they dissolved into absurdity, leaving me more exhausted and empty than before. Frustration mounted with each failed attempt to occupy my mind—why couldn’t I think of something new, something vivid? Why did every thought loop back to this crib, this room, this hellish inertia, amplifying the monotony until it felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest? It was as if my brain had been cuffed too, trapped in a cycle of futile mental fidgeting that only deepened the emptiness, making me ache for even the smallest stimulation—a book, a window, a fly buzzing by—anything to shatter the relentless sameness that gnawed at me like slow-dripping acid. The silence of the house amplified it all, a profound quiet I’d never noticed in my normal life, where the hum of traffic, the chatter of voices, the buzz of electronics formed a constant backdrop. Here, there was nothing—no TV droning in the background, no radio static, no murmur of conversation. Just the occasional settling groan of the building, like bones shifting in sleep, or the distant creak of pipes hidden in the walls. It pressed in on me, this absence of sound, making my own shallow breaths thunder in my ears. Every so often, I strained for hints of the world beyond: a faint dog bark that might have been real or imagined, the muffled pop of a car backfiring blocks away, or the light patter of rain against the window—too distant, too fleeting to offer any hope. They only teased, reminding me of freedom just out of reach, while I lay muffled and helpless, the boredom seeping deeper into my bones with each silent interval. The oversized pacifier strapped into my mouth made it worse, filling me so completely that I had no choice but to suck rhythmically at it, a humiliating reflex that kept saliva from pooling but silenced any cry for help. Attempts to yell came out as pathetic, muffled hums, vibrating uselessly against the rubber. Time had abandoned me entirely. No clock ticked in the room, no sliver of daylight peeked through the curtains to mark the sun’s progress. My phone, my watch—everything had been stripped away when he drugged me, along with my dignity, leaving me in this infantile getup. The last words he cooed in that sickeningly sweet voice echoed in my head: “It’s nap time, little one.” Nap time. How long did that mean? An hour? Half a day? I tried counting my breaths, but they blurred together, interrupted by the involuntary suck-suck of the pacifier. I sang songs in my head, but the lyrics frayed and repeated until they lost all meaning, the melodies flattening into monotonous drones that only heightened the boredom. I attempted to gauge time by the ache in my muscles or the mobile’s turns, but it was hopeless—each rotation felt eternal, yet maybe only seconds had passed, the repetition turning even this into a tedious ritual. Frustration boiled inside me, hot and impotent—why couldn’t I just know? Was it morning still, or had night fallen? Had minutes ticked by, or hours? The uncertainty clawed at me, worse than the restraints, turning every undefined moment into a torture of ambiguity. I raged inwardly at the blank ceiling, the indifferent shadows, begging for some sign—a shift in light, a sound from outside—but nothing came, leaving me adrift in a temporal fog that fueled the boredom into something sharper, more desperate, like a scream building in my chest that the pacifier smothered, only to echo back into the void of my mind. With nothing to distract me, my mind spiraled into the abyss. What did he have planned? The nursery setup screamed perversion—adult-sized everything, from the rocking horse to the wardrobes, designed for some twisted fantasy, complete with this sleeper and pacifier to reduce me to a doll. Would he come back to “play” with me, force more of that cloying milk down my throat past the pacifier? Or worse: undress me slowly, his hands exploring the fleecy barriers, breaking me piece by piece until I begged for it? Images flashed unbidden—knives glinting in the low light, endless “feedings” and “changes,” isolation turning me into a hollow shell. Maybe he’d sell me off, or keep me here forever, a forgotten pet in this padded prison, sucking eternally on this gag. And then the questions about rescue crept in, a fragile thread of hope twisted with dread: he’d grabbed me on a Sunday, right after brunch—how long before anyone noticed I was gone? My boss would expect me to log on first thing Monday morning for the team meeting; when I didn’t show, would she just assume I was sick, or ping HR after a few hours? My parents—I usually called them Sunday evenings; if I missed that, would they worry enough to text, or wait until midweek? Friends: Sarah might notice no response to our group chat about weekend plans, but she was always flaky herself—would she think I was just busy? And my apartment—how long before someone checked? The landlord if rent was late, but that was weeks away; maybe a neighbor hearing my cat meowing endlessly? The debates raged silently in my head, timelines branching into despair: a day? Two? What if no one connected the dots quickly enough? What if he covered his tracks, sent fake messages from my phone? But even these frantic musings wore thin, repeating like the mobile’s spin until they too became part of the boredom, stale and unresolving, draining any spark of urgency into numb resignation. Terror gripped my chest, each thought birthing a dozen more, darker and more vivid, until my heart hammered against my ribs—yet even the fear began to dull, looping endlessly without progression, feeding back into the insatiable maw of monotony. I tugged at the cuffs futilely, the minuscule give only fueling the panic, the mittens preventing even a scratch at the straps. What if he never came back? Starvation, dehydration—or what if he did, and that was worse? And if rescue came too late, would I even be me anymore? And then there was my body, betraying me inch by inch. My muscles screamed from the forced immobility, a dull ache blooming in my shoulders and hips where the cuffs held me splayed in this unnatural pose, the sleeper’s fabric chafing slightly with every twitch. At first, it was just a twinge, something I might ignore on a busy day, but here, with the void pressing in, it amplified into a constant throb, radiating down my limbs like fire ants marching under my skin. Worse still was my bladder, swelling with the two massive bottles of milk he’d forced me to guzzle before strapping in the pacifier. Warm and insistent, the pressure felt like a hot throbbing stone in my abdomen, impossible to ignore in this enforced idleness. I debated endlessly in my mind: hold on to my dignity, refuse to give in to this degradation, or surrender and wet myself like the toddler he wanted me to be? The thought repulsed me—years of adulthood, of control, clashing with the mounting discomfort. But the pressure grew relentless, a nagging pulse that drowned out even the terror, turning my thoughts into a loop of pros and cons: dignity versus relief, pride versus pain—yet another repetitive cycle that only underscored the boredom. Finally, the constant, uncomfortable fullness won out—I couldn’t bear it anymore. I tried to relax, to let go, but at first, nothing happened. Panic surged—all those years of potty training etched into my mind and body, a barrier I couldn’t breach. My muscles clenched involuntarily, the urge building to a frantic edge. Come on, I pleaded with myself, just do it. And then, a small trickle escaped, warm and shocking, quickly building into a flood as I forced relaxation. The urine streamed out, the warmth spreading across my skin as the diaper greedily sucked it up, but not fast enough—some ran down between my bum cheeks, pooling underneath me in a soggy puddle before the padding swelled and absorbed it. Humiliation burned hotter than the liquid, a fresh wave of shame crashing over me, mingling with fleeting relief that only heightened the overall torment. But as the warmth settled, I reflected—it didn’t feel as bad as I’d expected. Yes, it was utterly humiliating to think I’d wet myself like a child, but the diaper’s embrace wasn’t unpleasant; the swelling padding cradled me softly, no acrid smell seeped out, and the relief from that insistent pressure was a small mercy in this void. Yet that mercy was short-lived, the bladder discomfort simply replaced by the aches in my muscles, which clawed their way up my mental priority list in the absolute nothing that surrounded me. Those throbs in my shoulders, hips, and limbs demanded attention now, constant and unyielding, with no way to shift position or stretch—no option at all to relieve them, just endless awareness of their persistence amid the tedium. More time passed, how much I had no idea, the mobile’s endless twirl mocking my attempts to track it, each cycle blending into the next until the motion itself became a hypnotic bore. I tried closing my eyes, willing sleep to come as a distant promise of escape, but it eluded me; my mind whirred endlessly, a hamster wheel of recycled thoughts with nothing new to feed it, spinning faster in the boredom’s grip, generating heat but no progress, no relief. Eventually, a familiar twinge returned to my bladder—how was that even possible? I wondered, grasping at this as a crude hourglass. How long did it take to fill up again after emptying? Surely at least an hour since I’d wet myself if the urge was back already. Yes, he’d force-fed me those two massive bottles, so the liquid had to go somewhere, processing through my body like an unwelcome timer. But I’d never really noticed before how quickly—or slowly—it would build; in normal life, distractions masked it. Any relief I’d gained from wetting myself had only been temporary, a cruel joke in this timeless prison, where even bodily functions couldn’t puncture the overarching ennui. How much longer? The mobile turned, indifferently, as all I could do was wait.

“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!

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.

Hello guys! Just a short story I was itching to write for some days. It's two chapters, I'll release the first now and the second later on (It's already written so don't worry) depending on the comments I receive. Please let me know your thoughts, I am open to any criticism or discussion since I want to improve my writing. Also, fair warning, I might have gone just a little bit overboard with this one... but you'll let me know what you think The Terminal – Part 1 “Dlin-Dlon!” the sound could be heard all over the terminal through the numerous speakers. “Attention to all passengers, the flight A145EJ3 departing from Perdide (Catalon) and directed to Aokawa-shi (Yamatoa) will be delayed by an hour due to technical issues. We apologize for the inconvenience” “Great” Nora thought slowly slumping towards the floor from the wall she was leaning on. The loud crinkle of her diaper warned her that she had made full contact with the cold marble. She remained still for a few seconds, legs spread wide. The padding pressed against her crotch and bottom had obviously swelled and was cold and clammy. She didn’t even notice she had wet herself during the wait. They had been waiting at this terminal for at least three hours, so no wonder. She grunted around her pacifier, closing and bending her legs to hoist herself up, but the now thicker padding of her diaper didn’t let her, her legs spread too far and too wide to get enough leverage. So, she jerked forward, her hands on the floor assuming for a brief moment a crawling position, her heavily padded bottom up in the air before clumsily getting on her two feet. She looked around one more time, the airport was crowded with amazons coming from all over the continent. The holiday season had just begun, so everyone was moving away from the big city towards their preferred holiday destination. A bit more than a half of the Amazons she saw had Littles with them. They carried them in their arms, strapped in carriers, baby seats or strollers, tugged them around in leashes. She saw an amazon woman pass in front of her, she was pushing what seemed like a mesh-walled playpen on wheels. Inside, four Little girls in matching hairstyle all clad in only their thick crawler diapers were eyeing all around with a bewildered expression. Their chubby bodies leaned towards the too tall sides of their cage. Faces pressed against the mesh walls, sucking wildly on their pacifiers. The woman looking down at them with a loving expression. Nora watched them pass by, thinking there could always be a worse situation than her own. She let out a nervous chuckle looking down. She could barely see her thighs with her thick diaper. Her legs and feet naked since the only clothing she was allowed at the moment was a tight yellow T-shirt that barely reached her bellybutton. Her hands reached to her back, feeling her leash tightly attached to her full body harness. Two straps reaching up her shoulders, two more went around her hips, covering up the entire waistband of her diaper, and, for further humiliation the last strap stretching down her crotch, encompassing the curve of her diaper, pressing the wet padding against her skin, meeting with the others at her belly, where a single bright red button held everything together. She shuffled on her feet, her tiny hands grabbing the plastic around the red button. Mommy had tightened her harness too much as always, she couldn’t even squeeze one of her fingers under the straps. She was aware every single strap that encased her, the sensation was even worse than having a wet diaper locked around her hips, at least she was accustomed to that. She lifted her gaze, following the leash that sprouted from the back of her harness and kept on going for several feet, ending up tightly tied to a baby huge baby seat, ensuring that she could not roam too far. Mommy was still sat on one of the numerous armchairs the airport made available for the waiting passengers. She was talking to another amazon woman, Nora didn’t know her, probably a friend from work. Seeing her amazon parent distracted, Nora grabbed more tightly the plastic around the cursed red button on her belly, starting to shake it up and down, fiddling with the button at the same time. She knew she wouldn’t be able to free herself from the harness or the leash, and even if she did, what would she have done after? Even if she had managed to waddle far from Mommy taking advantage of her distraction, the airport was full of cameras and security. She would have been brought back in a matter of minutes, earning a spanking, or worse, for all her troubles. But maybe if she managed to press the button just a little, just to allow the straps to loosen up a bit, she would have been more comfortable. She kept fiddling with the harness, her brow furrowed, chewing loudly on her pacifier, not to avail. In the end she let out a frustrated sigh and decided to give up. She was rapidly growing bored, there was nothing to do in there! Mommy had given her some mashed bananas as a snack and a rattle to keep herself entertained but, obviously, she had rapidly grown bored of that. Smiling she waddled towards the armchair. Mommy was still absorbed in her conversation, disturbing her wasn’t wise. Instead, she made a beeline and ended up facing the baby seat set on the ground, looking down at the occupant inside. There, laying on her back, naked except for her huge crawler diaper, was her little “sister” Evie. The Little girl squirmed upon seeing her looming over the baby seat, but the five-point harness straps, tightened as much or even more than Nora’s, held her perfectly still so the only thing she was able to do was uselessly flail her arms and legs, her eyes darting at her, full of hate. Nora smiled. There was a time, a few years of captivity ago, when Evie was the “big” sister, allowed to walk around in waddler diapers ad fed solid food while Nora was kept in crawlers, her speech non-existent due to the ever present inflatable pacifier that was taken out only during her feedings, and not always even. But now the tables had turned. She had worked her diapered ass off, thanking Mommy whenever she allowed her to talk, convincing her that she was a good girl until she allowed her to grow up. Evie was not happy to have taken her place, but she had always been a bitch, so she deserved it. Nora didn’t know if or when Mommy would change her mind, regressing her back to a crawler and allowing her “sister” to grow up again, but she was determined to make the most of her advantaged situation right now. Smiling, she bent forward, almost coming face to face with her bound sister. Her kicking legs kept too far apart, spread by the huge crawler to be a danger to her. Slowly, theatrically she took out her pacifier, just to show her that she could, a line of drool connecting the non-inflated nipple to her lips. “Hi Evie!” she grinned, receiving only muffled gibberish in response “You’re awake!” They had been waiting at the airport for several hours, and her sister’s diaper clearly showed that. Even through the thick padding, a yellow hue was clearly distinguishable at the front of the diaper, while a brown silouhette peeked from the bottom. “Wheeww you stink, baby!” she said pinching her nose. It wasn’t true, almost no smell made through the humongous padding of the crawler diapers, but anything to torture Evie even a bit more. “It’s a pity you woke up, the flight was delayed, again” she explained, ever smiling “So we hafta wait for a lot more, and I’m bored” “Maybe you can help me with that” she grinned, and with both her hands she grasped the handle of the baby seat, starting to shake it back and forth. Evie let out an outraged muffled yelp, as she was jumbled up and down by the carrier’s rocking movement, the straps around her digging into her, mushing the full diaper violently against her skin. “We hafta wait at least an hour, and I’m happy to rock my little sister to sleep for as loong as I can” Nora laughed, rocking with gusto. She kept on going for two full minutes, Evie’s face having reached a loving green complexion when she stumbled backwards, feeling a tug on her leash. “Nora!” she heard a deep female voice calling her from her side “Come here sweetie” She turned, Mommy was still sat with her friend, but now they were both directing her attention towards her, Mommy holding the other end of her leash, smiling expectantly. “Come on baby!” she said giving another gentle but firm tug “Come to Mommy” Immediately Nora let go of the baby seat, leaving her sister mumbling and flailing around to deal with the residue of the inertial rocking. Nervously, she waddled towards the amazons, plastering her face with the most cute and innocent expression she could manage. “There she is” the other amazon woman smiled as she approached “What a cutie” “She is, isn’t she?” Mommy answered politely, unlocking Nora’s harness with ease by pushing the unmovable button, letting the straps fall on the ground as she easily grabbed the Little by her armpits, turning her around with her back against them. Nora felt Mommy’s giant hand hooking her frilly T-shirt and hoisting it up, leaving her naked back exposed to the gaze of the Amazons. She frowned, it was not like she hadn’t been exposed to others in worst ways, she thought of diaper changes in public spaces for example, but that was weird. “See that?” she heard Mommy’s voice behind her, feeling the Amazon’s fingers touch her skin just below her nape. “Hmmhmm” she heard the other amazon say, now a second hand touching her “Those white spots have appeared a week ago” she heard Mommy saying “Usually she hasn’t had any problems, besides diaper rashes, but I’m worried it might be some kind of fungus” Nora stayed perfectly still, the back of her T-shirt wrapped around her head, shivering at the giant’s touch on her back as her skin was carefully inspected by the Amazons. She had no idea of what they were talking about, but she had learned that in this case it was better not to ask questions. “It sure could be” she heard the other amazon woman reflecting “I’ll recommend you a cream to apply during the evening, she shouldn’t have any issue after a week of treatment” “You’re a lifesaver!” Mommy thanked, adjusting her T-shirt back and starting to collect the harness from the ground “No problem, here, let me help” the other woman said Nora stood still, whimpering, as the two Amazons busied themselves around her, adjusting the straps around her shoulders, hips and crotch, before fastening them up again, even tighter than before. “Oh, I wonder if you heard about the new Littles travel policies for 8 hours or longer flights” the other woman conversed while working on one of the straps “No, first time I’m hearing this” said Mommy worried, while casually hooking the back of Nora’s diaper to check her “No big deal, they released a few more precautions to make sure childless passengers aren’t bothered by the smell of dirty diapers during long flights, unfortunately these days the planes are packed with littles and one single changing room on the plane is not enough, so they’ve released a special kit for these situations” the other woman explained “I’ve picked up an extra one for you, inside you’ll find all that you need and the instructions” “Thanks a lot!” Mommy smiled standing up, picking Evie’s baby seat in one hand, Nora’s leash in the other. “I’d better go get these two little girls sorted out then! I don’t want to miss the flight because of that” She said, giving a tug on the leash, ordering Nora to follow up. But the Little girl didn’t move. Suddenly, a cramp hit her, as she felt the contents of her bowels rapidly shifting downward. She immediately put the pacifier back in her mouth and started sucking noisily at it, clenching her fists. “Nora!” Mommy reprimanded, her voice sounding clearly annoyed “Do we need a spanking or…” But Mommy stopped as she saw Nora’s knees bending, her legs spreading, face already turning of a faint crimson. “What’s the matter?” the other Amazon inquired “Somebody has a poopy face” Mommy replied amused But Nora almost didn’t hear them as she simply bore down as another cramp manifested, her face scrunched, already feeling the semi-solid waste oozing down from her bottom and landing in the back of her diaper with a loud crinkle. It was all over in a matter of seconds, the cramps stopped and she was left mildly dazed, her head spinning as she looked up pitifully at the two smiling amazons, her swollen diaper now feeling much heavier. “She’s lucky we are headed straight for the changing room. Usually she stays in her dirty diapers much longer. I’ll let her finish up on the way. I’ll see you later!” “Perfectly understandable” the other woman replied knowingly, waving her hand to say goodbye “They’re Littles, after all” Nora felt another tug on the leash, and desperately started waddling behind Mommy, her diapered bottom wriggling as she followed the amazon deeper inside the airport.

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!

Hello guys, A short story I wrote in an hour. Sorry about the typos and the grammar. Enjoy! Nora had lost count of how many times she had tried, but try anyway she did. She started kicking, but the elastic fabric of the swaddler that Amazon psycho had tied her in was so resistant and tight, keeping her legs bent, that she couldn’t manage to do anything mora than a ridiculous two legged kick, which seemed more similar to seeing a worm wriggling, rather than a serious escape attempt. In no time she was exhausted, sweating, trying hard to breathe through her nose since her mouth was entirely plugged with the bulb of an inflatable pacifier. She tried rolling to her side, but unfortunately the Amazon had laid her down of a huge semicircular pillow which surrounded her head, shoulders, down until her midsection, smothering her in a cloud feather-padded fabric, making moving to the side very difficult. She couldn’t even close her legs properly, the huge crawler diaper sealed around her hips prevented that, acting also as a weight, hampering her attempt to lift her lower half. She could only lay there, mouth plugged, arms immobilized, legs half bent and splayed, waiting for what else the Amazon had in store for her. No. She couldn’t lose hope. She had to keep fighting. But she was getting tired. It was the third day of this hell, since the Giant woman kidnapped her from her office. Three days of abuse, spankings and force feedings. Three days of unending humiliation and degradation. She had to find a way to escape, and quickly. Before she started getting accustomed to this life or, worse, the giant decided she was too rebellious to keep this way, and decided to regress her to a babbling infant. With a jerk of her abdomen, she finally managed to tilt a little bit to the left. Huffing and panting she rocked to the left, then to the right, gaining speed and finally managing to turn face down. And for her effort, she was rewarded with a face pressed against that damn cushion. She couldn’t breathe. She tried rolling again, but if her splayed knees and legs provided a good counterweight when she was face up, now they literally pinned her to the mattress, ass up and face down in the soft fabric. She started panicking, with effort she raised her neck to get a breath of fresh air. But couldn’t keep her neck craned for too long… She started hyperventilating…. It could not end like this, she had to escape and go home… “Shtoopid babiee!” A lispy high-pitched voice came from beside her. Two soft hands grabbed her by the hips and turned her again face up. She blinked, and found her face to face with the Amazon’s baby slave. She didn’t know her name, her true name. The Amazon called her Vivie. She didn’t know her true age, looking at her right now, clad in only her sagging waddler diaper she could have been anything between two and thirty. Her blonde hair was kept short and tied in four pigtails, her skin was smooth, so smooth it looked unnatural. Her face was chubby, cheeks red and full, her body plump, but there was something wrong with her bodyfat… no love hadles, nothing on the hips, just a little, well rounded belly, just like toddler’s, but her tiny, albeit present breasts told her that she was surely an adult. Vivie came closer, noisily sucking a pacifier. Drool trickled from her concealed mouth. She smelled like milk, talcum and poop. Just everything about her was what Nora had always feared. What probably once was a free and independent Little had been turned into an Amazon’s plaything. Nora breathed loudly through her nose struggling in her bonds, moaning around the pacifier gag as the baby slave loomed over her. “Shtoopid baby” she repeated, pointing a rebuking finger towards her “Mommy told you to be still, no rolling around” Her voice was lispy, hight pitched and annoying like the one of a toddler. But her vocabulary was too wide. At first Nora thought she had been hypnotized, that she couldn’t help it. She refused to believe any Little could have accepted to live like that. But the way she talked… and mostly her eyes told a different story. The Little in front of her hadn’t been regressed, her eyes were brimming with resignation, intelligence and, worst of all, malice. “Mommy told me you my new baby sis!” she giggled triumphantly, waddling backwards. She turned around, bending her knees exposing her huge, heavy, sagging diaper. She picked up a huge baby bottle filled to the brim with what seemed like milk. “I love my new baby sis!” she smiled behind her pacifier “I want her to grow strong and healthy” With a grunt, she lifted the buttle up, pointing the nipple towards Noras’ mouth. She screamed, but nothing but incoherent mumbling came out. She tried wriggling away, but, swaddled tight as she was, she had nowhere to go. Vivie pushed hard, her face red. For a moment Nora experienced intense pain as her mouth faced the intense weight, but the pressure stopped as soon as a click was heard from her pacifier. She mumbled around the nipple, her neck now feeling heavy. That baby slave had hooked the bottle to the shield of the pacifier! “Drink up! Mommy said you have to finish the whoooole bottle” Vivie said squeezing with both her hands. Nora felt the inflated nipple in her mouth swell, and in a matter of seconds she was forced to gulp down the chalky formula. She kept on drinking, the milk level slowly lowering. But Vivie kept on pressuring the bottle, more and more, her smile widening. Nora kept swallowing, eyes wide, pulse quickening. She wasn't even giving her time to breathe! She kept swallowing until she couldn’t withstand anymore, she needed air! She started coughing, milk coming through her nose, spilling out everywhere “Vivie! What are you doing?” A deep female voice spoke from behind them In a matter of seconds, two giant arms entered Nora’s field of vision, rapidly hooking the baby slave by her armpits and lifting her up like she weighted nothing. “Vivie, bad girl! You were supposed to wait for Mommy to feed your sister! You’re much too little to do that!” Nora stopped coughing, air filling her lungs once more as she struggled, trying to shake the drops of milk from her face. From behind her she heard Vivie trying to explain, but the lispy voice of the baby slave was soon replaced by incoherent mumbling after a click and a hiss. It wasn’t long before the sound of spanks administered of a full diaper could be heard distinctively. “Naughty!” the Amazon’s voice declared Nora laid still, her eyes wide as the spanking continued. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she had counted at least forty spanks. Where did she end up? That Amazon was a monster! Five more minutes passed, now behind her sounds she could not decipher. Nora tried as hard as she could to turn around, not to avail. Soon, her view was occupied by the gigantic figure of the Amazon woman holding a still sobbing Vivie now clad in an even bulker diaper, her legs now spread in a ninety-degree angle. She watched as the Amazon lowered the Little on her back in an empty playpen. Vivie didn’t even try to stand up, but craned her neck upwards, looking fearfully at the giant woman. “The crawler stays on top of that poopy diaper at least until tonight. So does the silencer. You’ll stay put in your playpen until Mommy works and takes care of your little sister. I’ll change you before bedtime if you’ve been a good girl all day. ALL. DAY. Vivie. Now go play!” the giant woman commanded, lowering to administer another smack on the seat of Vivie’s diaper. The Litttle moaned in pain, rapidly crawling for a rattle, and started shaking it with gusto, always looking fearfully towards her Mommy. Nora trembled as the giant’s attention turned towards her. She felt herself being lifted, her head cradled in the woman’s arm. “Now…” she smiled, picking up the huge bottle “Where were we?”

Hi, I'm a long time fan of the site. This is my first story ever for the ABDL community, hope you like it. The goal when writing was to do a more fantasy style story. it's a bit of a slow burn, I plan to have adult sexual material so please take this as a warning not to read if you're not into that. Also some feedback would be great. if I drone on to long, or if my word flow is confusing, grammar, Formatting and so on. My goal with posting here is to improve my writing so let me know what you think. Part one the Thief The hallway painted her periphery in royal colors. Streaks of golden sculptures, velvet cloth, and mahogany tables wisped by as she ran. Talia did her best to maintain her serious focus, despite the jingling of precious metals in the bag slung over her shoulder threatening to tease a smile from her with every stride.  “Don’t let her get away, lads!” shouted a knight behind her. “The Baron will have a head tonight—make sure it’s that wench!” A thundering crescendo of metal boots erupted behind her. Talia was almost grateful; she could count fear among her motivations to run.  Seeing a corner approaching, Talia grabbed one of the large gold-framed paintings adorning the walls—a gaudy authoritarian portrait of Baron Anor. The heavy oak frame fell with a dull thud, twisting as it hit the ground and offering a moment of privacy. Reaching into her Sack of plunder, Talia produced a gold bar and hurled it at the window at the end of the hall, shattering it. Knowing her pursuers would be on her soon, she took a running start and jumped off the wall to her left. Kicking off, she tucked into a half-corkscrew before slamming her hands and feet into the corridor walls… waiting. The Baron’s punchable face did nothing to slow the knights—they exploded into the hallway in a shower of splinters and poor art composition. “She jumped out the window!” shouted the guard in front. “It could be a diversion!” another barked. “Split up!” called the oldest voice from the rear. The guards scattered—some climbing down the window, others rounding the corner to inspect every room. None of them looked up.  Talia dropped with the grace of a cat, landing on all fours without a sound. She couldn’t contain her smile as she turned and dashed over what was once an affront to the painted arts. With the guards barreling away, she could slow down, recoup some energy… maybe even steal a little more. No! Don’t get greedy, she thought. It wasn’t time for rookie mistakes. She’d already emptied the safe the Baron hid in his study. It’s always in the study, she mused.   Talia half-ran back up the hallway, caring less about subtlety now that the guards were gone.  “I’m Sorry, captain, I couldn’t find my sword,” a younger voice whined just around the corner. “Then next time I’ll put it up your arse, soldier,” an older voice boomed. Talia froze. They were headed her way. Turning back wasn’t an option—getting caught between units would be a death sentence. She crouched low, brandished her knife, and turned into the nearest room. Slipping inside silently. This room was… strange. It was dark. Chew toys and torn stuffed animals could barely be seen laying scattered across the floor. A lush bed sat at the back. Dog bowls lined the left wall, and on the right—what looked, or rather smelled, like a puppy pad. All things considered, it was a fine room. Luxurious. Fit for a noble’s pet. But still… the very human whimpering coming from the back of the room was… strange. Talia’s grip tightened around her dagger as she approached. The girl was thin, with pale skin. Her hair was a sea of wild red, and a pair of cute, droopy canine ears sat atop her head. She was naked, save for a leather collar around her neck. Her bushy red tail was curled around her waist, affording a hint of modesty. A child of the forest. Rare to see one in captivity. Humans didn’t typically have the strength to take one alive—not without a mage. And mages had better ways to make coin than trafficking in slavery. “Greetings, forest child,” Talia said, lowering her tone. “I’m a forest guardian. Can you speak?” She pulled back her green hood, brushing a few strands of straight black hair behind her long, pointed ear. The red-haired girl looked up. Her eyes were hard. A stare like a cliff edge over an endless abyss. Talia’s breath caught. There was something broken in her gaze—lifeless, if not for the quiet, seething anger. “You have it,” the girl whispered through clenched teeth. Her hard look faltered, eyes trembling, madness flickering just beneath the surface. “You took it. Please… give it back” Talia kept her blade low but ready. Every instinct screamed danger. She took a breath, steadying her voice. “What do I have? I’ll give you whatever you need. Let’s just stay calm… and quiet.” “My name…” the girl said, barely audible. “Please give me back my name. You have it in that bag.” She rose slowly. Her tail dropped to the floor, modesty forgotten. She walked like a ghost, arms crossed, gaze unfocused—like she was looking through Talia, not at her. What the fuck… Talia thought, stumbling back as her foot slipped into the water bowl with a splash. Commotion echoed outside the door—they must’ve circled back. No time to run, no space to fight. But Talia didn’t dare look away. Children of the forest were unbeatable in close quarters, blessed with strength that rivaled monsters. She held out her palm, bluffing a spell. The goddess of wisdom and magic might’ve abandoned her, but the beast didn’t know that. Rationality seemed like a thin shield right now. The door slammed open. “She’s here!” someone barked. “Call the guard! she’s in Cherry’s roo—” A blur of red exploded past Talia. The beast girl slammed the guard into the stone wall with a bone-jarring crunch. “My name isn’t Cherry,” she growled, slowly pressing her claws into his neck, shattering his chainmail as she dug deeper. Talia scrambled up as a maid screamed. No time to think. She ran and hurled herself out the shattered window. She landed hard, rolled into a summersault, and sprang into a sprint. Her bag of loot clutched tightly in both hands. “What the fuck!?” she gasped, breathless and alive. Part 2 The Elf Ah, The Great Forest. Of all the vast ecosystems in the world, none are more blessed by Astra, Goddess of Magic. Here, magic isn't just present—it breathes. It hums in every leaf, thrums beneath the bark, and for those attuned to it, crackles at the fingertips like lightning waiting to leap. The forest teems with creatures born of raw enchantment—fairy folk, mermaids, beastkin—but none more powerful than the elves. Stewards of the woods. Guardians. None more lithe. None more magical. And at this particular moment, none more utterly exhausted than Talia. Talia collapsed onto the log, letting her bag of loot thump into the dirt beside her. She took a deep breath, chest rising and falling with a groan. Her mad sprint from Baron Anor’s estate had been four days ago, and she couldn’t take another step. Stretching her legs out with a wince, she leaned back and began massaging her aching thighs. From her ration pouch, she retrieved a stale chunk of lembas—a hard, unforgiving cracker—and her water gourd. After a few reluctant bites, the food started to hit her stomach, and some strength crept back into her limbs. She sagged deeper into the log. Three nights of nonstop running would break any elf. But Talia? Talia was probably the only one physically fit enough to pull it off. Most elves relied on magic to do the heavy lifting—why bother training your body when you can float everywhere? Talia didn’t have that luxury. She took obscene pride in her stamina. Had to make up for the lack of sparkle somehow. Moreover, the run had been necessary. That beast girl—Cherry, they’d called her—not that Talia would ever call her that, considering what happened to the last guy who did—could probably track her scent for miles. Nothing more dangerous than an obsessive beastkin with a vendetta. “Her name…” Talia muttered. Frowning, she pulled the loot sack into her lap and unfastened the flap. Out came about 120 silver coins, one gold brick, and a small black box. Talia lifted the box, inspecting it. It was made of firm, high-quality leather—expensive stuff, probably worth something on its own. The design was plain, save for a simple latch. Nothing about it screamed "name thief." Honestly, what the hell even would? With careful fingers, she popped the latch. Inside lay a black jewel. It shimmered in the light—hues of violet and streaks of orange swirling inside, shifting with every tilt. It wasn’t just beautiful. It pulled at you. Chaotic order. Harmonious discord. Marvelous. But it sure as hell wasn’t a name. Talia stared at the jewel. It shifted in the light like a storm caught between glass, threads of violet and orange chasing each other around in endless spirals. “Well… you’re pretty,” she muttered, reaching out. Magic erupted from the gem where her skin met it. Talia watched in horror as her right hand was swallowed by a black storm—dense magic swirled around her arm in a foggy dace. Veins of yellow streaked through it, bursts of gold flaring before fading into the empty air. She stared, helpless, as her hand began to evaporate. She felt it. Magic crawling into her arm—tendrils slithering beneath the skin, threading into her muscles, her bones. The pain hit her like a wave, sharp and primal. Something inside her, something fundamental, was being torn apart… and remade. Black mist gathered at her feet, rising in soft, pulsing clouds. It crept up her legs, slow, almost gentle, climbing like it was claiming her. And then—silence. It ended as suddenly as it began. Talia collapsed backwards, landing hard in the dirt. Her body shook, pale and slick with sweat. Her head swam. Breaths came in short, shallow gasps. She raised her arm to the sky, trembling. The jewel had fused into her flesh—beautiful and terrifying. The back of her hand and her index finger shimmered like stained glass: black, glossy, fractured with gold. “Talia…” she breathed, voice hoarse. “My name is Talia…” Part 3 The Witch. Solune looked out over the vast sea of green, breathing in the scent of life, feeling its soft caress against her intricately patterned silk robe. Blue, with threads of silver and stars. It was beautiful today, she thought, raising her mug of coffee to her lips. The balcony of her magic tower wasn’t the most decorated—some moss, a few potted herbs, an old stool—but it had the best sunrise view in the entire great forest. Of that, she was certain. “Hey Boss! Hey!” chimed a high, breathy voice to her left. “Nina, how are you, dear?” Solune greeted her, voice even and warm. The little fairy buzzed upward, wings straining as she flew in lopsided loops, dragging a long string behind her. Tied to it—rather poorly—was a bundled stack of red letters, bouncing with every wingbeat. With a final tug, Nina hoisted the mail over the balcony railing and let it land with a plop on the coffee table. She flopped down on top of the pile, panting. “I got... huff... hah... some requests for the White Witch...” The White Witch—Solune’s moniker, coined by some prince a century ago. Something about her hair. Nobles always needed titles for things they didn’t understand. Solune tucked her silky white hair behind one ear as she picked up the first letter. It was a request from a nearby barony—track and subdue a beastkin woman who’d invaded and attacked his manor last month. The reward? A measly fifteen hundred gold. Solune let out a tired sigh and set the letter aside. “These nobles know they’re supposed to send an escort for assignments like this.” She waited a moment. Nina usually had some snappy quip to ease her weariness, but none came. Looking down, Solune noticed Nina shifting her tiny feet nervously. “Hey... hey, Nina, are you alright?” “Sol... umm... are we in trouble?” The question hung for a moment. Solune leaned forward, using her finger to hold her friend steady, wrapping her middle finger around Nina’s back—a ‘hugging’ technique she reserved just for her. Nina leaned into her index finger and hugged Solune’s thumb tightly. “Why do you think we’re in any kind of trouble, sweetheart?” “Because there’s an elf outside.” Part 4 – The Tower Solune held Nina gently between her fingers, pushing back the creeping tide of emotion that threatened to reach her face. There was only one reason an elf would visit a witch. She drew her small friend closer, rubbing her back softly with her middle finger. “It’s alright, Nina,” she said in a soothing tone. “That elf is an old friend of mine.” Nina’s eyes brightened. “Really? That’s good! I didn’t know you had an elf friend, Boss!” Solune swallowed the guilt welling in her throat. Her other hand dug into her thigh as she pressed on with the lie. “That’s right,” she said, her voice almost too sweet. She brought her other hand to her forehead in exaggerated dismay. “But it’s so sad—I didn’t prepare any wild wine for my guest… if only a badass delivery girl were around to help.” Nina practically bounced in her grasp. “Oh, me! I’m a bad butt! I’ll do it! And then it won’t be sad!” The honesty in her friend’s eyes made Solune’s gut twist with disgust, but she kept smiling. “Really? Nina, that’s such a big help!” Nina’s wings buzzed with energy. “I’ll be back in a little bit!” Solune felt her eyes start to water, but she blinked it away. Nina was safe—for now. She stretched her arm to the side and pushed her magic outward, searching until it found her staff. Then, like a taut cord snapping, it flew into her hand. She exhaled slowly, planting the staff beside her, and pushed her will down through the stone beneath her. The tower answered. There was no sudden flash or swirl of magic—only motion. The floor beneath her shifted gently, lowering like an ancient lift as the walls rearranged around her. Her bedroom receded. The regal white bed rose into the ceiling, the dresser melted into the walls. In its place, a coffee table emerged, followed by a wide hearth and a plush, oversized sofa. By the time the floor settled, the bricks before her had shimmered and reshaped into a tall, ornate door. Witch and tower—one in the same. Solune readied her staff. Whoever this elf was—whatever transgression they thought she was responsible for—Nina was safe. That was all that mattered. Ten minutes passed. No brimstone. No fire. No death. What was the elf waiting for? Nina couldn’t have made a mistake—fairies were sensitive to the scent of elves. Worry began to creep in. If this standstill went on too long, Nina might return before it was safe. Taking a steady breath, Solune pushed her magic through her staff and toward the door. The heavy stone groaned as the twin halves slowly opened, scraping over grass and kicking up dust. For a tense moment, Solune watched the haze swirl and settle. And with it came her confusion. There was indeed an elf outside her tower. She was just unconscious.

AVERY She had never felt so naked, even fully clothed. The soft lights above her pod were warm and gentle, and the hum of filtered air sounded like a lullaby. The scent—faint vanilla and talc—was meant to calm, but nothing could soothe the dread curling in her stomach as Avery stared through the glass, imagining the life that waited for her on the other side Avery lay back in the molded seat of her transparent pod, the cotton of the pink onesie stretched across her chest was snug and too soft, too childlike. Her wrists rested in soft cuffs that glowed faintly at the seams, trapping her mitten-encased hands on either side of her blonde pigtails. Similar cuffs restrained her legs and left her legs parted obscenely, exposing the thick white bulk of her diaper to the camera’s gaze. Avery knew, intellectually, that she was no longer allowed to be modest. But the instinct to cover herself hadn’t faded. The fabric clung lightly to her, but the thin cotton was no shield against the watching eyes. She could see her reflection in the curved interior—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her chest rose and fell. Avery was on display. Not for her intelligence. Not for her moral fiber. Not even for her smile. Just her body. Her reactions. Her ability to be controlled and aroused. Always the “good girl”, she was raised to be polite, kind, and obedient. Her mother used to remind her, “You don’t have to be loud to be strong.” Avery had carried herself with softness and grace, proud of her quiet strength, and the way she held her head high without needing to step on others to be seen. But now… now she was exposed. Not completely—technically, the onesie covered her body—but Avery felt naked. Her bare legs spread out in front of her, every movement on display. The restraints kept her spread, locking the slight blonde in a posture that made Avery blush every time she caught a glimpse of herself in the pod’s reflective walls. Her reflection was the cruelest part: a girl who looked younger than she was, embarrassed and pink-cheeked, eyes too wide, trying to pretend she wasn’t trembling. Time moved like syrup. Between the feedings, the changes, and the rotations, she tried to mark her moments by what came next. Tummy time. The vibration test. The post-change display with legs lifted; an open diaper placed beneath her bare bottom in case she had an accident. Her eyes squeezed shut as warm air brushed her most intimate places and she felt her body betray her. Again. The subtle vibrations between her legs had started again—gentle, teasing pulses that forced her to squirm. Her nipples stood out against the onesie, traitorous and helpless. Each session blurred the line between medical procedure and indecency. Between being a person and being a product. And every time Avery came, she cried harder. Not because it hurt—but because she couldn't stop it. Avery had only ever been intimate with Jonah. And even then, it was slow, tender, cautious. They hadn't even figured everything out before this happened. She had barely known how to touch herself and now her body, stripped and exposed, responded graphically as her reactions were catalogue and recorded for someone’s notes. Avery pressed her head back into the padded cushion and bit down on the rubber bulb filling her mouth, trying not to sob. Her stomach turned. She used to think modesty was a choice. A virtue. Now it felt like a memory. Like something she’d worn once, hung up neatly in a closet, and could never find again. Because she couldn’t even cover herself. Couldn’t cross her legs. Couldn’t shift her onesie. Couldn’t stop them. Even the color—pink. It was soft and infantile and said what she no longer could about herself: She's a good girl now. Innocent. Obedient. Pretty. It didn’t help that she could see him. His pod was beside hers. The same glow. The same restraints. She glanced at Jonah. His face was flushed, and he looked away. She missed his eyes. That quiet, grounding warmth that had always pulled her back from the edge when things got too hard. She wanted to see him, not as he was now—red-cheeked and diapered—but as he had been before, when they still belonged to themselves. But that life was gone. At least for now. Now, she would be owned. Not just supervised or cared for. Owned. Everything about her, from her blonde hair to the soft curves of her hips, would be cataloged, ranked, and claimed. The people behind the glass weren’t strangers anymore. They were future owners. One of them was going to decide whether she would be treated like a precious thing or a plaything. A girl to be nurtured or one to be humiliated. There was no in-between. Avery tugged lightly against her restraints—soft, clinical bands at her wrists and ankles, padded so they wouldn’t bruise but still firm enough to demand her compliance. Her onesie was snug, the pale pink fabric stretching across her breasts in a way that made her chest look fuller than it really was. She hated that. The snaps on her shoulders made her feel like she was meant to be changed like an infant, dressed and undressed without even needing to remove her restraints. She hated those, too. What would life be like once she was claimed? Would she sleep in a crib? Be spoon-fed? Diapered? The last one sent a wave of nausea through her, though the damp warmth between her legs reminded her it was already too late. She couldn’t count how many times the nurses had reduced her to helpless, humiliating messes, whispering nothing, never explaining, only pressing buttons or stimulating her in clinical silence until she came or wet or broke completely under their watchful eyes. Would her buyer do it more tenderly? Or worse—gleefully? Would they talk to her like a child? Coax her into calling them Mommy or Daddy? Would they dress her in frilly things and parade her around for guests? Would she be made to thank them? Perform? Avery sighed and sucked on her pacifiers to keep herself from crying again. That was happening more often now. Tears coming not from pain, but from shame and powerlessness. And still—still—there was Jonah. He was only a few feet away, and yet so far. He hadn’t looked at her in hours. Was he ashamed of her? Or of himself? Maybe both. She longed to be in his arms again. That warm, safe place she used to disappear into when things got hard. But now he wouldn’t even meet her gaze. She couldn’t tell if it was guilt or shame or just pain—but it hurt. She missed his hands, his soft voice, the way he would hold her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Now strangers would. Strangers would feed her. Bathe her. Dress her. Change her. Her thighs pressed together instinctively at the thought—because they’d touched her there already. In clinical ways, but her body hadn’t known the difference. The soft pressure, the humming pulses, the calculated rhythms designed to make her squirm and whimper and lose herself. The orgasms came too quickly, too easily. It wasn’t supposed to feel good, not like that. Not without love. Not without Jonah. They were going to sell her to someone she didn’t know. Someone watching her right now. People who didn’t care who she was, only how she responded. Were her moans soft? Did she cry prettily? Was she still “modest” enough to be broken further? Avery knew what she looked like on camera. She knew the value of innocence. Of flushed cheeks and shamed sobs. She could see herself as they saw her—just another sweet little thing waiting to be claimed. And what would life be like then? Would she be taken to some pastel nursery in a wealthy estate, spoon-fed mashed fruit and bottle-fed warm milk on someone's lap? Would she have to call someone Daddy? Would she be punished for crying, or worse—rewarded for obedience? Avery didn’t know, but she knew they were watching. And planning. Are they watching the video? The ones where I cried or moaned or begged? What if they liked that? She didn’t want to be good. Not like this. But she didn’t want to be punished either. She just wanted to disappear. But someone was going to take her. And in that moment, her real life would begin. --------------------------------- A new series. I've already posted the next two chapters on REAM and SubscribeStar for this story and I'll be dropping daily chapters there through the weekend.

Preview to my Halloween story Called Carnival Fun! I have been working on this story for a while and have it almost finished. I hope everyone likes the preview and as Halloween gets closer I will post more chapters! Thanks! Chapter 1: Ashley looked around the daycare looking at all of the children running around in there Halloween costumes. She always loved Halloween the idea of going house to house trick or treating always made her feel so extra childish. She looked up at the clock seeing it was already 3 o clock knowing her friend Rachel would be coming to pick her up in an hour so they could go to the Halloween carnival together. She walked into her office grabbing her cell phone off of her desk and decided to call her friend to make sure she had gotten her costume for her as her phone began to ring. Rachel was combing her hair making sure everything was perfect for tonight as she saw her phone vibrating on her dresser seeing Ashley was calling her. She answered the phone saying "Hey Girl" as Ashley smiled saying "Hey I was just calling to make sure everything was still on" Rachel spoke up saying "of course, I am getting ready right now and should be there in an hour so be ready to go." Ashley began to get confused asking "How am I suppose to get ready without an outfit, it was your turn to buy our costumes." Rachel began to freak out telling her "I am so sorry I thought we were buying our own this year since we both live in different towns." Ashley looked up at the clock once again telling her friend "I will try to figure something out and will be ready when you get here, but you owe me one" as Rachel told her "I will get you back" as she hung up the phone. Ashley began to hear the front door opening and peaked her head out of her office watching as parents began making there way inside of her daycare. After watching all of the children leave she looked at the clock seeing it had all ready been 30 minutes and she would need to be dressed ready for Rachel. She began to scan the daycare wondering what she could do as she walked towards the nursery. She began scanning through the closet seeing the array of baby clothing as she placed her hand on a pink sleeper. She grabbed the hanger walking over to the large mirror and placed the sleeper to her body staring in shock seeing how much of a perfect fit it was. Ashley was a small girl she was 4"0 and weighed around 90 pounds which always seemed to leave her being mistaken for a child from time to time. She took the sleeper off the hanger and turned it around noticing the words across the chest reading "Mommy's Baby Girl" stitched into the sleeper. She stared back up at clock seeing she only had 20 mintues until Rachel would be here as she stripped herself out of her t-shirt and jeans leaving herself in just her panties and bra. She picked up the sleeper as she stared at the words on the sleeper seeing the word "Baby" as she turned her head towards the changing table and began to smile knowing she had a fun idea. Rachel pulled into the daycare parking lot and began to wonder why she wasn't already outside waiting for her. She parked her car right outside the front door and decided to leave her car running to go check on her friend. She walked into the front of the building and noticed a stroller parked with the hood down. She looked down at the bottom of the stroller seeing 2 feet on the foot rest wondering why Ashley didn't tell her she was bringing a child along with them as she walked around the stroller seeing a set of keys and a note. She read the note reading the words "Lock up" written on the note as her mind began to click and pulled the front of the hood of the stroller up and stared shockingly at her friend dressed like an infant. She tried so hard not to laugh and wondered where she would of got such an outfit staring at her friend clad in a baby sleeper and bonnet sucking on a pacifier clipped to her sleeper. Ashley looked up seeing that her friend had found her and pulled out her pacifier telling her "Twik or tweat" as Rachel began to coo at her friend. Rachel couldn't help telling her friend how adorable she looked and asked her were she had gotten her outfit. Ashley still in character told her friend "goo goo ga ga" as Rachel smiled asking her friend "So I guess I am stuck baby sitting tonight" as Ashley giggled behind her pacifier nodding at her friend. Rachel pushed the stroller out the front door making sure to lock the door behind her. She opened her passage door as Ashley tried to climb out herself, but quickly found a swat on her backside and blushed as Rachel couldn't help but laughing from the loud thud that came from the swat. She picked up her friend asking "I see I really do have a baby tonight diapers and all" as Ashley continued to suck on the pacifier nervously as she was placed in the front seat. Rachel pushed the stroller around to the trunk as she tried to fold the buggy up and began to wonder why it wasn't folding noticing a large bag. She pulled the bag from out of the bottom seeing her friend had come prepared seeing 2 baby bottles on the outside of the bag along with the zipper looking like it was ready to pop and placed the buggy and diaper bag into the trunk. She opened her driver side seat seeing her friend already buckled in to her seat telling her how proud she was of her for being so prepared for her and telling her how much fun they were going to have tonight treating her as if she was an actual child as Ashley smiled and began clapping her hands. Ashley couldn't help but notice the outfit her friend had chosen it was a basic nurses outfit complete with her own tiara. She thought about how much fun they were going to have tonight and pulled out her pacifier asking her friend "Its been way too long since we have hung out" as Rachel turned her head smiling at her friend telling her "It sure has" as Ashley smiled down at her outfit wondering if she had chosen the right outfit. Rachel looked over at her friend asking her "is everything alright?" as Ashley broke out of her daydream nodding slowly. Rachel always knew Ashley was a bad liar and knew what to do to get her to tell as she pulled into the parking lot of the carnival. She parked her car and unbuckled her seat belt and immediately began tickling her friend. Ashley began laughing as hard as she could begging her friend to stop as she told her "that maybe dressing up like a baby wasn't such a good idea." Rachel began to smile telling her "Your thinking too hard about this and need to relax" as she gave her friend a playful pat on her diapered crotch telling her "just have fun" as Ashley smiled placing the pacifier back into her mouth watching as Rachel got out of the car. Rachel pulled the stroller out of the back of the car setting it up like her friend had it and grabbed the diaper bag sticking it underneath. She opened the passenger door up and scooped her friend up into her arms as she walked towards the stroller as people began to walk by cooing at Ashley telling Rachel how adorable she looked as Ashley blushed wondering if she looked that much like a real baby as Rachel placed her into the stroller. Rachel began to realize how much everyone really saw her as a baby and took her bonnet off the top of her head so people could see her face and stuck it in the outside flap of the baby bag as she walked towards the carnival. Ashley looked up at Rachel wondering why she took off her bonnet and turned to see that they were walking towards the carnival. She looked around seeing everyone from town was here even noticing some of her charges were here with there parents running around in there costumes as they made there way to the entrance booth. Ashley looked up at the entrance booth instantly seeing one of the parents from the daycare it was Ms.Davis. Rachel walked over to the desk telling the woman 2 tickets please as Ms. Davis stared at Rachel telling her baby's get a hand stamp as she walked over to the front of the stroller instantly realizing who was inside as she gasped saying "Ashley?" Ashley stared up at the woman as she sucked on the pacifier nodding as Ms. Davis began to coo at her telling her how adorable she looked. Ms. Davis couldn't believe what she was looking at as she told Ashley that her little Margaret was in the carnival daycare and would be tickled to see her teacher dressed this way as Rachel smiled down at her friend who was beginning to feel very embarrassed telling the woman "I am sure we will bump into them some time tonight" as Ms.Davis waved good bye as Rachel pushed her friend towards the rest of the carnival. Rachel looked around seeing all of the attractions wondering what they should do first as the words hypnotism caught her eye from a booth at the very end. She spoke up asking "Baby do you see whats in front of us as Ashley looked up seeing the same booth reading hypnotism across the sign as she pulled out her pacifier telling Rachel "you know a person really cant be hypnotized?" as Rachel laughed saying "will see" as she walked towards the booth.

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…” …

(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.) EDIT: About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. - 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 "hell", obviously.) (Shwmae = How are you? (informal). Pronounced "shoo - mai".) (Da iawn, diolch = Very good, thanks. (Pronounced "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?)

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.

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.

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"

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.