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  1. 18-year-old Benjamin has just been evicted from the college dorms after he has failed out of college for the semester. He sits in the student lounge with his bags while he figures out his next moves. His former professor Megan is talking to her faculty friend and sees him sitting alone. She is confused because he is supposed to be in her class for the semester. "Hi Ben. I missed you in my class this semester. Are you okay?"
  2. Another addition to my "Ashley's House" story line! This addition is different from the other two, which are linked below,
  3. Warning: This story involves light diaper punishment that involves the descriptive usage focused primarily but not exclusively on messing. You are an 18-year-old boy in a modest suburban household with a loving mother and father that only want the best for you. You’re a typical teenager and are eager to graduate high school and move out and experience adulthood. As your graduation date comes closer, you find out you failed your math class. Worry hits you as you wonder if you’ll be able to graduate on time. As you walk home for the weekend, you can’t help but wonder if your parents will find out about it. As you open the door of the house, you say hello to your mom and go up to your room. You’re eager to hide from her and your father so as not to have a difficult discussion about your grades. You know from past experiences that a punishment may be in order but you hold out hope it doesn’t come to that. As you sit in your room in hiding, your parents are relaxing in the living room when they get a call. It’s your math teacher. As your parents hear about your failing grade in class, they are shocked. They are eager to talk to you about this but decide to wait until tomorrow. Your father agrees that your mom will handle it. Despite it only being 7 o clock, you choose not go down for dinner and instead stay in your room until its late, and you fall asleep until the next day. In the morning, after your father heads off for work for the day, you sneak downstairs and make some breakfast and immediately head back up to your room. Trying your best to avoid your problems, you play your video games until it’s lunch time and decide to head down. As you reach the dining room table, you see your mother standing in the distance, staring directly at you. “Hungry?” she says. You respond, “Uh... Sure.” She proceeds to make a sandwich for you and her. As she’s preparing your sandwich, she takes out a bottle of liquid laxatives and pours it all over your sandwich meats, cheese and bread and lightly wipes it off. She also coats it in MiraLAX powder. As she closes up your sandwich and brings both to the table, she says “Okay, honey, let’s eat!” None the wiser, you start eating your sandwich and fail to recognize the odd taste difference. While enjoying your lunch, your mom looks over at you and broaches the subject you’ve been dreading. “So, honey... How have you been doing in school lately?” You start to panic, your brows starting to lightly sweat as fear takes over. “My classes are... going well. I’m already starting to look at colleges and looking forward to moving out.” She sighs and says, “Are you sure it’s going well? Don’t lie to me.” You grit your teeth and then blurt out, “Fine... I’m failing a class right now. Math. But I think I can still graduate on time.” She kindly responds, “Just as I thought! We heard from your teacher and are well aware of your failing grade. We hope you know what this means. You can only learn once in life how to not make mistakes.” You ponder what she means by that but continue eating your sandwich. She says, “Honey, a punishment is in order for you. It’s the only way you’ll learn. Unfortunately, after 10 years of having done this, it has to be done again.” You start to panic, remembering exactly what happened back at the age of 8. “You’re going to put me back in diapers?” you say. “That’s right” she says. “And you’ll be expected to use them for their intended purposes, too. This is to teach you a lesson for lying to us and not focusing hard enough in school.” As you finish your sandwich, hands trembling out of fear, your mom gets up and tells you “Come over here, let’s get started.” Aware that resistance will get you in even worse punishment, you oblige and follow her to the center of the living room where an object lies on the floor. As you look down at it, you recognize it from 10 years ago. You’re shocked your parents still kept it all these years. You look down... at your old baby changing pad. Your mom orders you to lie down and proceeds to take your clothes off. As she does this, you feel a sudden urge to go poop. You start to panic and you say to your mom, “Um.. Mom... I really need to go poop. Can you please just let me use the restroom? I don’t want to mess my pants.” Your mom responds, “Too bad! You should’ve thought about that before lying to us and failing your class.” She proceeds to diaper her son, fitting him into one of his old size 7 Pampers diapers that happens to still fit since he hasn’t had a massive growth spurt yet and is still quite small. As she closes his diaper up, he starts to feel an increased urgency to poop and begins to panic, fearful of having an accident in his diaper right in front of his mom. After finishing diapering her son, she helps him back up and tells him how his punishment will work. “You are to stand by the wall and make a mess in your diaper. You will have 10 minutes to do this and if I don’t see a gift for me when I get back, I will come back with a solution that will make it happen. She sends you to the wall as you prepare to hold with all your might so as not to humiliate yourself in front of your mom. As you arrive facing the wall, the contractions start to hit you and you start to feel an urgent need to poop. You try to close your legs and butt cheeks to prevent it from coming out but your mom sees this and forces your legs apart. After doing this, she walks away and says, “10 minutes! Remember what I said. I’ll be back then to check on your progress.” A few minutes into the treatment, stronger contractions to poop start to overwhelm you. You bite your lip as you try with maximum intensity to hold back the urge to mess. You refuse to be humiliated by your mom just because of an F grade in your math class. As the 5-minute mark passes, you begin to gain some confidence. While the contractions are still coming, they aren’t increasing in intensity. You feel you can hold it. After another 3 minutes, a more intense contraction comes. You clench your hand into the wall and hold, and the urge eventually subsides as you sigh with relief, panting heavily. The final 2 minutes count down and run out and you’re happy you’ve been able to hold it. However, you start to wonder what your mom meant by ‘solution...’ As the 10-minute punishment comes to an end, your mom walks in, hoping to smell the new package that has entered your disposable pants. However, she is disappointed to see you still haven’t performed for her. As she walks up to you and taps you on your shoulder to turn around, she looks at you with a calm and angelic face and says, “Well, I see my little boy is having trouble going poo poo.” “It’s okay, honey, I’ve got the perfect solution to get you going so you can no longer be in pain.” She takes your hand and leads you to center of the living room where a towel has been placed down. Surprised, you say “What is this for?” She quickly responds, “Don’t you worry, baby, mommy will make it all better soon enough.” Your mom gently moves her hand to your stomach and pushes you down so you fall gently to the ground on top of the towel. She says “Just relax and mommy will make the pain go away.” You start to panic, eager not to mess yourself in front of your mom. You see her reach your shirt and lift it up slightly exposing your stomach. She starts to massage your stomach and sphincter in a circular motion repeatedly, working to cause a sudden urge to evacuate your bowels. Your panic grows as you start to feel things moving in your stomach. You’re eager to break free from her massaging but you’re afraid what she will do so you stay put, hopeless to what is soon to come. After a few minutes, you start to feel a large wave of movement in your stomach and a very strong urge starts to develop to pass a load. You start sweating but are unable to move as she continues to massage your stomach. Moments later, an even stronger urge to poop comes and you immediately sit up slightly. Your mom doesn’t stop you as she knows what’s coming next. On the verge of tears, you instinctively start to push as a huge load of poop starts to make its way into your diaper right as you sit in front of your mom. You don’t even have enough time to sit up slightly as you start pooping your diaper directly sitting on the ground, causing it to mash up immediately as it spreads all over you and your diaper. The contractions increase as you push harder and harder as you lose control of your bowels. As you’re doing this, you hear in the background from your mom, “Oh, good baby! Making poopies for mommy!” You’re still mid-push when an even heavier contraction comes and the rest of the load starts to empty your sphincter and drop into your diaper. By this point, your diaper is a complete mess and the load is mushed up all over the place. A soft load of mush begins to enter your diaper as the messing starts to come to an end. Finally, finished with messing your diaper, you start to feel an urge to pee. Eager to stop the flow, you move your hand over your crotch, but your mom sees this and quickly swats your hand away and says, “No, sweetie. You must use your diapers for their intended purposes. It’s time to finish.” Hearing this, you start to panic and suddenly, you feel a wave of pee rushing into your very messy diaper as it quickly becomes completely soaked. As the urges finally stop, you finally have some time to take in what just happened. You burst into tears and cry out for, “Mommy!...” Your mom, sitting right next to you, hears this and immediately takes your hand and says, “Oh, did my baby boy make messies? Mommy will make you better! Let’s go get you cleaned up and sent to bed!” She takes your hand and gets you back up on your feet. You feel the weight of your very mashed, messy and wet diaper weighing you down, disgusted at the feat you just did in the most humiliating way. She then leads you to a changing pad she has down at the opposite side of the living room, almost like she knew this would happen before it even started. As your mom lifts you up to change you, you’re thankful for once today. You’re thankful the icky mess is finally going to be cleaned up, and you don’t care you’re being put into yet another diaper because at least you’ll be clean and dry. Your mom takes your shirt off and proceeds to open up your absolutely ruined diaper. “Oh, my! Baby made a big boom boom for me today!” she says. Your mom cleans you up and prepares a new Pampers diaper for you to be put into. Reserved to your fate, you sit there, eagerly awaiting being back on the ground so you can finish your day. Before your mom closes up the diaper, she gets something out of her purse and inserts it into your rectum. You shudder with pain and fear. “What did she just put in me?” you wonder. She closes your diaper and sits you up on the changing pad and says, “There we go, sweetheart! Clean diaper! Now, it’s time for bed! And don’t you worry, baby. I gave you something to help you go overnight. And there will no bathroom for you for quite some time, so don’t even try it!” You start to panic, unsure what she put in your butt, sure you’re likely to have another accident overnight. You long to be able to use the bathroom but you know you’ll be severely punished even worse if you even attempt it. She takes your hand and leads you to your bed and, while she tucks you in, says, “Don’t you forget, baby! The bathroom door is locked and you are to USE your diaper for all bathroom needs. Do not challenge me or your Dad will make you regret it. Good night!” You drift asleep and the day comes to an end.
  4. marxthebaby

    RP Ideas

    Hihi! Been gone a while. Sorry to anybody who rped w/ me before I left, I got super swamped w/ work and other responsibilities(moving house, finding another job, etc). I’m usually Little but I don’t mind doing Daddy rps too as long as we both get to be CGs. I usually do advanced/at least one paragraph RP, personally(or at least more than a sentence or two). I find sexual stuff very uncomfy in this kinda thing(just found that out p recently) so..yeah, I’d rather not do that. Sorry. My Likes/stuff I usually like while RPing as a “Little”/baby: -Humiliation(being made to talk cutely in public or just in general, being changed/checked in a public place, etc) -Babytalk & lots of cooing -Sissification -Being restrained gently/in cushy restraints so baby doesn’t go anywhere or do anything too complicated I’m usually very much into scenarios where my character is unwillingly padded by a co-worker or subordinate or someone who’s younger than them, but if you’d rather not do that, I can always compromise. Being diapered at work/by a co-worker in an office setting and having to submit to daily checks/diaper-changes in said co-worker’s office is just a nice idea imo, bonus points if my character is yours’ boss and yet he’s been forced into diapers like a big baby(idk, the juxtaposition of wearing a suit over a nice, cozy didi is nice, especially if the slacks are pulled down to expose that diaper~). I’m also ok with doing more than one RP so we both get babied(like..I do one where I’m babied and I baby your character in another RP). Thanks for reading this super long post :3 and please comment or message me if you want to RP.
  5. (Hi! I would like resume this roleplay keeping tones and the tags of the first part. Is someone interested?) Samuel is a spolit and rude 10 years old boy, whom his mother can not longer ménage. One afternoon in which he come home during school hours accompanied by a police man, because he was accused of stealing a videogame, his mother decided that it’s too mutch. Then she search someone who give her some advice about how to correct her mistakes in the boy’s education. Some hours after nunny Alexandra responds to their ad proposing a particular educational system. (I'd like play the role of Samuel, I can play nanny Alexandra role too if you want, the role play start with Samuel who is accompanied by a policeman in front of the door of his house. Please don't write short answer but be descriptive) P.S.
  6. Hello everyone, This is the first chapter of my latest story. This is currently being published chapter by chapter on my Patreon and will be available in its entirety later this year. You can find the latest chapters at patreon.com/alex_bridges. All characters are 18+ Chapter 1 It’s not like I did it on purpose. I’m not sorry, but it’s not like I did it on purpose. I babysit three times a week on average, more like five times in the summer. I want to pay for as much of college as I can in cash, and childcare pays better than retail or waiting tables. Especially now that schools keep opening and closing, parents are desperate for a night away. For me, an opportunity to make more money, which I need. I’m not going to risk my reputation as the best sitter in town just because of a little mix up. “Hi, Mrs. Rooney,” I said when she opened the door. “Hi, Sally. Come on in. Thanks for coming over on short notice.” I followed her into her kitchen; the Rooneys always have good stuff in the fridge. I didn’t get where I am as a sitter by abusing fridge privileges, but I don’t pass up the benefit either. She was dressed to the nines. I never asked, but it always seemed like she and Mr. Rooney must be going someplace expensive. Just based on their house alone, they must be one of the richer families I sit for. They’re not wealthy, but they got the upper-middle-class thing down pat. Literally the only people I know whose entryway it an actual room. “Always happy to when I can,” I replied, “I like Jamie and Jackie.” Well behaved kids, easy to get along with. “O, they’re both at friends’ houses tonight. It’ll just be you and Gordy tonight. Is that okay?” Like I couldn’t tell this ‘misunderstanding’ was totally on purpose. She had this guilty, pleading look on her face, but that was so beside the point. “Gordon? Really?” I knew Gordon. More specifically, I’ve known him since kindergarten, which would make fourteen years we’ve known each other. We graduated a little over year ago in the same class; we were even in the same twelfth grade homeroom, and now we’re both sophomores townies at the same college. I’ve sat for the Rooneys more than a few times, and Gordon was, obviously, never one of my charges. I just figured that was because he was the same age as me. Come to think of it, he was never even home when I sat for the kids because if he was, why would they need me to watch the kids? “I wouldn’t ask. Normally he spends the night at my sister’s or a friend’s house when you’re over, but he can’t tonight.” Like, but he’s … “But why does he need a sitter? He’s twenty. He’s, like, a month older than me, right?” And I’m also twenty. “Yes, but I don’t like leaving him alone if it can be helped.” “O … kay. So we’ll just watch a movie, I guess.” Get paid a hundred bucks to watch a movie with one of my peers? Weird, but fine by me. We’re not friends exactly, but we’re friendly. We were sorta friends when we were younger, but less so once we got to middle school. Gordon’s not exactly Mister Popular. Everyone’s nice to him, though, and he seems nice enough too. Just … different crowds. “Not exactly. I can explain fast, but we’re running late.” “That’s fine. I’ll stay.” “O, thank you. We just really need a night out, and since he got in trouble on campus today, he’s not allowed to go to his friend’s house and my sister already had plans and …” Didn’t really need her life story. “Whatever. It’s fine. Just tell me what’s up,” I said with a dab of false cheer to cover my WTF. She’s running late; I’m getting paid whether she tells me all this other stuff or not, so hey, let’s skip to the part I need to know, right? “Gordy,” Mrs. Rooney said, “come sit at the table with us. I want you to hear all of this so you can’t say you didn’t know later.” I followed her eyes, and color me surprised to see Gordon – Gordy at home, apparently; he always hated being called that in school – standing in the corner in his pajamas at six o’clock. I know the difference between lazy around-the-house-clothes and jammies, and those were definitely jammies. He shuffled over blushing all the way to his ears as he kept his eyes pointed at the floor. We all took a seat at the table. I couldn’t tell if he as about to cry, tantrum, or both, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did. If I were him, I’d probably have broken something and peeled out of the driveway while flipping the bird. I mean, we’re not kids. We’re not even teenagers. We’re way too old for a babysitter by about eight years. “First off,” Mrs. Rooney said, “do you know about Gordy’s issue?” “His diapers? Yeah.” Like he could keep that a secret for since literally the entire time I’d known him. No one made fun of him for it, not in a long time. Kindergarten and maybe first grade a little, but even in kindergarten it quickly became normal: our class had a kid in diapers. An adult in diapers now. And he’s not on the spectrum or delayed or anything. I don’t know what the issue is cuz it’s none of my business, but he’s always been in diapers, at least so far as I know. You’d have to be dense to have not figured it out within the first week of kindergarten. And if even if you were dense, when we got to middle school and had to change for gym, I think they let him change in a private stall or something, but you could totally hear him crinkling through those shorts. And no one teased him. Gordon wears diapers, always has; he went to the nurse a couple times a day, and we all knew why. If anything, people in school were kind of protective of him even though he didn’t need it. I even heard a rumor that when a new kid asked about it in tenth grade, the biggest bully in our class hauled off and punched him just to make it perfectly clear no one bullies Gordon. “You’ll need to check and change him tonight.” Just when I thought Gordon – well, when in Rome – Gordy couldn’t bow his head any lower. “Uh, he doesn’t do that himself? Or can’t he?” You don’t get to be the most sought-after babysitter in town by being squeamish about changing diapers, but one fact I do know: toddlers make bigger messes than newborns, and twenty-year-old Gordy has about a hundred and five pounds on the average two-year-old. Though come to think of it, I didn’t know if Gordy needed diapers for that or just for wetting accidents. In the brief second I had to consider that, it occurred to me even a toddler who still has wetting accidents is usually in a pull-up, not a full blown diaper. Our school’s gym shorts covered everything, but there was no mistaking Gordy’s underpants for a pull-up. He wears diapers. “Gordy got a diaper rash last week. If he wants the privilege of changing his own diapers, he needs to be responsible about it, which means no rashes. I’m sorry to even ask you to change him, but I like to be very consistent with the rules, and the rule is if he gets a diaper rash, no changing his own diapers for a month.” Not surprised exactly. She’s one of the stricter parents I sat for. So yeah, she’s his stepmom, but she’s not really an evil stepmom. She’s just a stickler for rules. I was afraid to ask this and very sorry to have to ask it in front of Gordy, poor little guy, but I had to. “Um, does he … both ways?” I guess I could’ve asked him, but he seemed like he’d rather have a hole swallow him than answer any questions. “He doesn’t usually have a dirty diaper in the evening.” “Still …” “Two hundred for the night,” Mrs. Rooney said before I could finish the sentence we both knew I was in the middle of saying. “Two-fifty.” Hey, I’m not one to miss an opportunity. Do you know what books cost for just one semester? “Done.” “Sorry,” I said under my breath to Gordy. I felt bad enough for him that she was making him have a sitter, but how much worse for him to hear what it costs to get someone to look after him, which he doesn’t want anyway, and pretty obvious why anyone would want extra to sit for him. So yes, I felt bad for him, but it’s just … the ‘usually’ in ‘doesn’t usually have a dirty diaper in the evening’ sorta stands out like sore thumb in that sentence, right? It would if you were me, and I am me. “And another thing,” Mrs. Rooney said. “Mommmm,” he whined. A little spark of rebellion flashed in his eyes. I didn’t know about what, but that’s what you expect from someone his age. I guess I understand if life’s circumstances made him a little more likely to give in than lash out even when any of the boys we graduated with most of the girls would’ve told their stepmom where to go by now. “Gordon, last warning.” I looked from her to him, and that little spark turned into a little water, and he looked back down at the table. “As I was saying, Gordon got in trouble on campus today and is grounded, so he’s not spending the night at a friend’s like he normally does. Why don’t you tell the story, Gordy, since you think you’re old enough to say anything you want?” Did I say ‘stepmom’, cuz I meant ‘bitch.’ And Mrs. Rooney is not normally a bitch, so that got me more than a little curious what exactly he’d done to piss her off so mightily. On top of which, it’s not exactly easy to get in trouble on campus. I mean, we’re adults. You can do some seriously stupid stuff on campus without getting in trouble. He sighed and answered, “I called called someone … a name.” “The ‘C’ word,” his stepmom clarified. Or should I say his very reasonable, no more pissed off than she had a right to be (but could still be a whole lot more chill and even more thoughtful) stepmom clarified. “Gordy actually called a woman the ‘C’ word.” “But she …” Gordy tried to defend his actions. “I know what she said, and you had every right to be angry with her, but that is not how you talk to or about women. You know that, and losing your temper is not an excuse for using a slur.” She turned back to me. “I already washed his mouth out, but that language also earned him a bedtime spanking.” “A sp … O … kay.” Of all the ways my day could’ve gone, didn’t see this one coming. Like, at all. I personally never got why some parents get so bent out of shape about bad words (how bad can they be when you can turn on network TV and hear most of them?), and I didn’t really get why she cared given that – did I mention it six times already? – Gordy is twenty years old. On the other hand … now I understood why Mrs. Rooney was taking it so seriously. It’s not that big a deal if you think of the ‘C’ word as a swear, but if you think of it as a slur, yeah, much bigger deal. I guess it depends on how you use it, cuz I could see how it could be a slur, but I’ve always thought of it more as a swear. Not that my opinion meant anything in the circumstances. I’m the babysitter – I literally just work here. “I’m too old,” Gordy interjected probably (more like definitely) more loudly than someone in his position should’ve. I mean, I agree with him, but he still should’ve just kept quiet. There’s standing up for yourself, and then there’s digging the hole deeper. If she had already washed his mouth out (ick!), not let him go out with friends, and hired a sitter for him, I couldn’t imagine any argument, not matter how obviously valid, changing her mind. Mrs. Rooney is a fit woman; I’ve seen her play a heckuva game of tennis at the club, so not a surprise she could be on her feet and have her stepson by the ear so damn fast. Gordy’s not the first kid I’ve gone to babysit and found standing in a timeout; or the first kid I’ve gone to sit and seen spank-marched to the nearest corner for corner time; or even the first kid I’ve sat for who earned a spanking on my watch. But he was the first kid I’ve sat for who wasn’t, ya know, an actual kid. He may have crinkled all the way to the corner; he may have eeped a little when she tugged his ear; he may have tried to get out of the way of her hand as she delivered those underhand spanks; and he may even be kinda cute in a boyish kind of way, but definitely an adult. One whose birthday actually comes before mine. Diapered or not, adult. “Not another word,” Mrs. Rooney warned him, “or I’ll take your pants down right here. You just stand there and listen.” And damn did she mean it, even in evening wear. That tone? Enough to make me almost jump out of my chair to find my own corner and listen. “Are we ready, honey,” Mr. Rooney asked as he appeared from somewhere. Not that I wanna be that babysitter, but Mr. Rooney can take me anywhere so long as he’s wearing his tux. Shawl collar? Makes him seem even taller. No mistaking him for your waiter. And who even goes places that are black tie? “Just a minute,” Mrs. Rooney replied and picked up the pace; they probably had a reservation at one of those places you have to reserve six months ahead of time. Anyway, she continued quickly with, “He takes a bath on Fridays, not a shower. When he gets out of the bath, please give him his spanking. His diaper comes down, and he goes over your knee. He knows where to the hairbrush is. Then it’s straight to bed. Lights out at 9:30. That means no dawdling in the tub, Gordy. Out at 9:15. Understood?” He either understood or he didn’t want to risk saying anything he had every right to say but shouldn’t unless he wanted two spankings in one day. “Any questions,” she asked me. “So … on his … bare?” “Have you ever given a spanking before?” “Yeah … Well, a swat on their reset button,” I said, oddly embarrassed. I mean, most parents don’t even spank anymore, let alone allow – let alone ask! – a sitter to do it. I’ve tapped a tantruming toddler on the bottom before, but that’s not even a spanking. “Are you okay doing it? I wouldn’t ask, but the rule is a bedtime spanking. It’s best for them to get their consequence as soon as possible, and Gordy really needs the structure.” I guess that was all Gordy could take. “But she can’t! She’s the same age as me!” There was silence as Mrs. Rooney turned and looked at him like he was out of his mind. I thought he was in his exact right mind, but if I had to live with her, always strict like she is and and just then downright exuding this weird kind of determined, calm-but-pissed-off vibe she was giving off, I think I’d have kept my mouth shut. I think he realized that too cuz he didn’t say anything else or turn around. So that was two outbursts (justified if unwise) since I’d gotten there plus calling someone the ‘C’ word all in one day. Talk about your verbal incontinence. I don’t feel very strongly about spanking one way or the other. It didn’t do me any harm – though the last one I got was in third or fourth grade, and it was pretty rare before then too – but I’m not one of those crazy people who thinks you can’t possibly raise godly tomatoes (or whatever asinine phrase the bible bunch uses) without it. Still, I was the babysitter. It’s kind of my critical to my job to not let “you’re just the babysitter so you can’t XYZ” slide. On the one hand, pick your battles. On yet another hand, some battles you gotta fight. So I got up and connected that hand hard with Gordy’s butt. “I’m the babysitter. I’m in charge. And if your stepmom says you’re getting a spanking, you’re getting a spanking.” Two bonuses to stepping up like I did. First, and this wasn’t the main thing but was intentional, Mrs. Rooney smiled thinly and stood up, not to follow up on her threat to spank Gordy but to leave. Good riddance. Who needs those vibes around? Second, unintentional bonus: holy crap did I feel more powerful than I ever have in my life. And turned on. My promise ring didn’t make the journey from youth group to my mom’s car, but never I felt the way I did right then without a D or a D-cell battery before. Downside? Gordy finally lost it and started sniffling. I know the two spanks I landed didn’t actually hurt through his diaper, but I’m sure he was feeling about two inches tall having his college classmate spank him on his diaper while telling him she could and would give him a real spanking later that same night. I hated that I made him feel that way, even if I was just his stepmom’s instrument in this case. But also, and I feel guilty for saying this, it kinda added to the whole arousal hearing him sniffle. So … there’s a thing I learned about myself that night. Mrs. Rooney said to me, “I think you’ll do fine, but if you have any questions, Gordy will answer them. Not his first trip over a knee.” “Another fifty.” Did I say that? Good for me! “That’s fair. Edward,” she called out to wherever Mr. Rooney had gone, “ready when you are.” To me she said, “Thank you again and sorry for all the fuss. I didn’t want to call just anyone over. I trust you. He may not want you here, but I told him you’d keep everything between us, won’t you?” “Of course.” Also, ‘may not?’ Try resented the hell out of it, understandably so. And I resented the hell out of her asking me to sit and springing this on me. “We’ll be home very late.” “I know. I’ll probably be asleep on the couch when you get home.” I stood against the doorframe and watched Mr. Rooney count out three hundred dollars and put it next to the pizza money. I told them to have fun. She called me a godsend and barely avoided the door hitting her on the butt on the way out. To my right, Gordy in the corner, no longer sniffling but still staring at the wall on his naughty spot. To my left, three hundred dollars on the counter just for spanking and diapering a grown man. If I’d only known about this cottage industry sooner! Heck, I’d have paid off my car by now. Go to patreon.com/alex_bridges to continue reading
  7. Hi there! This is a diaper prison story that I've been working on. It's supposed to be about a country that imprisons wealthy criminals in diaper prisons that include spankings and paddlings. More information about the complicated themes in the novel can be found here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/65185502 I have about 10 chapters written, and am working on posting them here over time. Content Warnings Extensive Forced Diaper Wearing (Wetting/Messing) Extensive Public and Private Humiliation Extensive Corporal Punishment and Bondage Extensive use of the themes of fear, shame, guilt, and dread Some consensual sexual slavery/servitude themes Occasional Sexual Themes Occasional Sexual Intercourse ***I do not condone any of the events or themes in this story, and do not intend to glorify or advocate that anyone conduct their life in this way. Nobody should model any sort of erotic behavior on the events of this story.*** -------- Tonight’s entertainment would be small, but that still meant it required every minute of Gillica’s day. It would require: Sweeping the inner foyer. Priming the Topiary promenade from valet dropoff to the main door. Scrubbing and shining all the windows of the Eastern and Western facing facades of Bisgrave Manse. Dusting all interior surfaces in the Hargrave room as well as the Opiante battle memorial room. Checking every piece of the ‘azure blue’ china set for imperfections and assembling it for the kitchen staff. And so much more of the long list of what was expected of her, and her fellow slave Penelope, every single day. Densen Polliver, the majordomo of Bisgrave Manse, son of the former majordomo of Bisgrave Manse and also grandson of the majordomo of the very same Manse, in the time when the Opiante battle memorial room was called something else, came to wake her up. He entered the slave quarters not yet wearing his uniform for the day, and flicked on the switch. Gillica woke up immediately with the light, and was already wide-eyed by the time Densen Polliver was undoing the locking mechanism on Penelope’s cage. Once Penelope’s cage was open, the slippers of Densen Polliver appeared by the entrance to Gillica’s cage, and he squatted down. He ignored all he saw as she stirred the cover off of herself. His sole focus was on the padlock. As soon as it was undone, he swung the door open and rose with a groan. Without a word, he closed the door to the slave quarters behind him, the only sign that he was there being the bright overhead light and the fact that the cage doors now swung open. -freedom- Penelope sighed above, rocking the stacked cages. Compelled by powers even Penelope would not tempt, she made her move, and Gillica knew to let her step out onto the small shared floorspace of the quarters before crawling out of her lower cage herself. The cage doors were oriented perpendicular to each other, such that Penelope could step down out of hers and Gillica could crawl out of her own at the same time, but Gillica had long ago learned that Penelope didn’t like that at all. Where the majordomo’s slippers had been, two pale and bare feet stepped onto the tiled floor. A moment later, a diaper fell with a splat between the feet. It was wet, though from her place down in her cage on the floor, Gillica could see that it wasn’t as bad as the one she herself had woken up in. The feet moved away, stepping across the tile floor with just the sticking sound that skin makes on cold surfaces. The feet walked to a table built into a wall, and now Gillica could see all the way up Penelope’s waist. The slave who slept above her, slave-one, found a container on the table and pulled out a square moist cloth. She drew it across her bottom, one cheek then the other, and then through her buttcrack. Another rectangle came out and she got the inside of her thighs. Another came out and she dealt with her frontside. These too, Penelope dropped on the floor when she was done with them. Still, Gillica knew better than to stir. Slave-one then hauled herself out of sight, onto the table. The sounds that came, the sounds of tearing, of a bottle hitting the top of a table, of the grunting and breathing of a woman dressing herself while laid down horizontal, were all immensely familiar to Gillica. They were sounds that had been her night and day for almost a decade, and figured to be sounds with her a lot longer. Or forever. No, not forever. When Penelope’s body re-appeared in her view, her bare legs now facing away from the table instead of toward it, and her groin now covered in a new, fresh adult diaper, Gillica knew that it was time to flip over on her stomach and make her way through the mesh door of her cage. Her back didn’t hurt when she stood, but the tile was cool and her head was a bit cloudier than it had felt when Densen Polliver had first turned on the lights. It didn’t stop her from predicting what Penelope wanted, though. Gillica’s discipline-a hard acquired skill of survival-took over for her, and she made her way to the table where Penelope stood. Penelope allowed her to pull herself on the table and lay her head down on the cushion. At least there was a cushion. She wished she could sleep here instead of on the mat on the bottom of her cage. Then her knees would not ache and she would not always have a persistent bruise on the top of her head. It would surprise some to know that the cage was not the worst place she could remember sleeping. It would also surprise some, perhaps even more, to know that it was worse than where she had slept most of the last decade. Penelope was wordless as she got to work. There was nothing to say between them. Penelope was slave-one and had at least the right to wipe herself. Gillica didn’t even have that right. It was a strange thing to think of as a right, and now and then it occurred to Gillica that, in this case, she was the one being served by the slave of higher rank. But it never felt that way. It was not supposed to seem that way. It was not that way. Gillica wore what she had been put in until someone put her in something else. What made it the way it was was the real and credible threat of what would happen if Gillica upset that order of things. That’s what made Penelope’s role of sliding a wipe between Gillica’s own buttocks, and another down her shaven vagina, the role of privilege. The slimmest, most minuscule form of an edge anyone could have. The only sort of edge that Penelope had over anyone, anywhere, except maybe those still living behind the bars of Stenton. Penelope could be caged by anyone in the household at any moment, could be ordered to undress, and could be ordered not to dress at all. She was above no task in the Manse, and not even in public were the paid servants of the Bisgraves or the AG Bisgrave herself required to bestow any dignity upon her. And all the while, prison loomed over Penelope. Four more years of servitude to Bisgrave, four more years of proving that without the watchful eyes of guards and cameras and the impossibilities threatened by steel and cement, Penelope could learn her new place in the scheme of things. Until then, cages and diapers. Until then, only one small island of autonomy; the right to change herself. And until then, one small land-grant of privilege. The right to make Gillica squirm. The diaper change was quick. Penelope was far less interested in Gillica’s cleanliness than she was her own, and that was fair. Gillica would require Penelope’s assistance many more times before the day was through, and the Bisgrave’s gave slave-one no credit for the additional labor. Quick and without tenderness. Gillica was clean and dry, and she hopped down off the table herself. She adjusted the tapes of her diaper, a small comfort nobody begrudged her. Penelope would expect her to clean Penelope’s piss-covered wipes that had been dropped on the floor, to ball up Penelope’s diaper by the cages where she had unceremoniously ripped it off, and to of course deal with Gillica’s own bloated and sodden mess that now lay discarded on the table. Gillica got to work, and washed her hands in a large sink-basin that appeared to be a holdover from when the slave quarters might have been a gardner’s storage room. Perhaps from before the north-side greenhouse was built. All that they would wear around the house was a maid’s apron. Black with white frills, tied around the back but covering little else. It was the same apron as the regular servants, the paid servants, save for that the paid servants had the choice of dress pants or dresses underneath. And dress shirts, of course. The men wore tuxedos, of course. The women were expected to pull their hair back and affix a white bonnet there as well, and this included the slaves. The apron did not cover what was most humiliating in her outfit, and anyone looking at her backside could not only see her diapers, but how much she had used them. But at least the gown covered her tits. Well, from the front at least. Everyone knows what I am, Penelope had observed once. So I like the freedom. They’re the ones diapering me, so I don’t care if they’re forced to witness it, referring of course to the stipulation that she must wear them, and not the fact that it was her own hands that performed the task for her overlords. Perhaps because Gillica was not just forced by Bisgrave to wear one did she feel differently. Perhaps it was the torture of finally having access to her undergarments, but still being prohibited from tampering with them, was what made her miss those ratted orange jumpers. “No matter how bad it is, just remind yourself of how much worse it could be.” Gillica tried to remember which cellmate had said that. It seems like something Saathia would have said. Out of self-pity, though, and not out of any attempt to comfort Gillica through one of those more uncomfortable nights. Densen Polliver had the list, ordered with numbers and expected time-to-completions on all of them. By noon more than half the list needed to be done, and if it was not, they would be permitted only one of those viscous smoothies instead of any actual lunch. “And dinner too,” Penelope asked, holding the paper. “And dinner too. You will both be expected to support the wait-staff, though you are not to be seen in the dining hall, nor heard. Is that understood?” Both slave-one and slave-two voiced their understanding. “I will remind you that the attorney general will be entertaining the Mayor of Stenton herself this evening. The usual retinue will not be in attendance; this is a private gathering. The wait staff will be in their weekend attire to accentuate the leisure of their meeting, and the menu will be adjusted according to the Mayor’s expressed desires. After dinner, the Attorney General will retire to the Opiante Room with the Mayor, where they will enjoy cocktail service by myself, with you two in-support in the ready-room. “Why not one of the servants?” Penelope asked. Densen Polliver’s hairy eyebrows twitched, annoyed that Penelope had pre-empted what he was trying to say. “You will be in attendance to offer personal testament to the rehabilitative power of Mistress Bisgrave’s criminal justice system, if required by the attorney general. You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance expected of you and expected of any woman truly committed towards putting their lives of crime behind them.” Penelope reddened, but said nothing. Then Densen Polliver was gone. He was off to trade his slippers and nightgown for his tuxedo, and to shave the graying scruff off his neck. The slaves were permitted to eat, and were allowed to do so in the slave hall, where a large bench occupied a narrow ante-chamber between the kitchens and the rest of the servant’s quarters. Like Densen, the servants wouldn’t be ready for a little while, and Penelope and Gillica used this time to find food from the kitchen and occupy the table-on opposite ends-in the brief and blessed time when nobody would begrudge their presence. It was smart to eat in less than 10 minutes, and Gillica would eat faster if she could chew the dense protein bar any faster. And even with a thick adult diaper on, the servant’s bench was hard against her bottom, as if it joined with the Manse and all of society in prodding her to begin her work. In prison there was nothing to do. Now there was too much. Gillica started with preparations for the real servants. She washed any straggling dishes, she organized the fridge and made sure that their breakfast materials; milk, cereal, bars, vegetables, were in ample supply. She found the folder of servant orders and bulletined them to the board, making sure that each corner was square. She didn’t hate them. Not all of them, and those she did were for reasons of their own. They had their part to play. And Gillica…she had… She had hers. “Penelope, I’m wet already.” “I don’t fucking care.” Densen would paddle Penelope if he overheard slave-one say a think like that, and not just for the language. But if Gillica told on her, she’d get asked herself why she didn’t mark her wetness on the bulletin and cage herself to wait for a servant to send Penelope to take care of her. And there would be no answer to that, and they both would be paddled, and Penelope would have it out for her. So Gillica left Penelope to iron the servant suits, which they would not need until the mid-morning, and set herself to start on her list as far from the other servants as she could. Any that saw the growing yellow down below would order her to her cage to await Penelope, and give her no credit for falling behind on her chores. Ordered to her cage for soiled diapers too often, and she was spanked. But falling short on her tasks meant even surer and more frequent discipline. Gillica had learned that it was not a choice for her between winning and losing, but between losing, and losing harder. It wasn’t fair, but when she answered to someone who was on parole herself, who was herself one of the very bottom human beings in all of Shamuria and yet still wiped Gillica’s ass, it was all the lot that Gillica could expect. Gillica, wet, went out in the cool morning area to trim the hedges. It was almost a perfect temperature for her attire, and felt even better when she got down to work on the long line of green bushes. Trimming into a basket she went, ensuring that the bellies of the five-foot bushes were all uniform and that no leaves sprouted out like little branch boners. It was refreshing outside, and the smell of the sliced branches overpowered the smell of stale piss that had wallowed in the slave quarters since she and Penelope were caged for the night. When her basket was full she carried it across to the compost at the north Greenhouse, careful to not overfill it so none of the sliced branches tumbled onto the lawn that had been cut just yesterday. If she left any on the lawn and it was seen, a servant would hear of it and tell it to Densen, who would find which of the slaves took care of it, and bring a branch of considerably more heftiness and meanness upon her rump. A basket only could hold the branches from two of the hedges, and in total there were sixteen hedges to clip. Eight times she waddled across to deposit her clippings into the compost. Once she had addressed them all she walked carefully through them to make sure that she had not missed a spot. She clipped a few more times, and then took her basket back to the compost a ninth time and then left it there, happy to have finished one of the more involved tasks of the day. As she was returning to the Manse, which loomed tall and shadowy from the north in the morning sun, one of the delivery vehicles rumbled down the gravel path between the hedges. She stood out of its way, mindful of the submissive posture expected of a slave-servant. Hands at her back, head down. The delivery truck rumbled on, and whether the driver had seen or cared about her or not, she couldn’t tell. By now her diaper was heavy with urine, and she knew it was yellow all the way up the back. It was no good denying herself water and coffee in the morning, and she hadn’t tried that since prison. No servant would do anything but order her to her cage, even the nice ones, but Gillica’s list was extra long, and working was worth the risk. Sometimes the servants forgot to log her sinful pee in the ledger of improvement. Attorney General Angelina Bisgrave was not just her mistress, was not just her once-upon-a-time top jailer, and was not just Gillica’s punisher-in-chief. She viewed things more expansively. She viewed herself as something of a maverick and innovator to Shamurians, a mold cut from the stock of the Americans. She was all those things, mistress, jailer, and punisher, as well as goddess, granter, and mercy conditional. But over and on top of all these things, Angelina Bisgrave viewed herself as correctional. There were eleven servants who were servants and not slaves of the Bisgrave Manse. Ten of them served the eleventh, the majordomo Polliver, to whom the two slaves also served. In the evenings, the slaves also served the servants, tending to their dishes and their occasional needs. It was not uncommon for Polliver to add the servants linens to the list of responsibilities that the two slaves had to handle, though most days one of the servants themselves handled the accumulated laundry of them all. The servants preferred to keep the slaves out sight. It was better to keep the smelly diaper-bound slaves on tasks that couldn’t contaminate their own spaces and autonomy, however meagre they were. They would send them on tasks into the town for personal errands. Some snacks from the grocery, some envelopes from the post-office, or something for the Manse that was needed. Any servant could task her if the slaves were not still working through their daily bill. Finish the tasks too late, and get punished. Finish them too early and get sent into town without even an apron to cover her breasts. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance. Instead, it was Boris. The shimmering of his braces flickered through his smile. His coarse orange hair was unkempt, and if Densen Polliver found him he’d order him into his quarters to comb it. He probably already had, but it was a losing battle. Boris’s hair was as untamable as he was.being handcuffed, Gillica had seen the back of Yara’s diaper bow outwards as her slave’s laughter turned to pleading. They’d gotten Yara on a checkup violation, something about skipping parole meetings. There was a long court proceeding where Yara accused Gillica of preventing her from doing her obeisances to her overseers. That was the only court proceeding that Gillica had won, and Yara was sent down to prison again. But not, Yara celebrated on the day of her release, for as long as Gillica would be sent down. Not nearly. Gillica wondered what happened to Yara. Probably back in front of a court again, she figured. She didn’t wish ill will on many. Not even on obnoxious Penelope and her persnickity lording of the slave quarters. Pick up my piss cloths, shitter. It became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. But she did at least hope for discomfort for Yara. Maybe not all the way back to Stenton Prison, though that felt inevitable for that idiotic woman who would have fought Gillica off if Gillica had not kept her chained. Maybe just a harsh patron. A real upstanding elite who was unimpeachable and unyielding. Someone like Mistress AG Bisgrave. A real correctional. Gillica knew the servants were buzzing about the Manse now. Bisgrave had arisen and left in her car, driven by one of the servants, and they’d crunched up the gravel road while Gillica was emptying her bucket of twigs. She could see them in the windows, through the steam that came out of the western wing’s smokestacks, indicating that the labors of meals were well underway. Their maid uniforms, complete with dresses, flitted through the windows. Wet, with a diaper that felt not just wet up the back but wet in the front too, Gillica headed back into the servant quarters to get the window cleaning supplies. She’d get her outdoor window cleaning done before one of them spotted her and caged her, so long as she could get in and get out without one of them noticing. She entered the side door, which took her through the living quarters for the servants. It was a hallway of dorms, and the newer ones slept two to a room, while the more advanced servants slept alone. They would be empty at this time, Gillica guessed, and this morning she guessed correctly. Her diaper was sodden and sweaty, and she wanted out, but it barely registered as discomfort. Paddlings were discomfort. Wetness and itchiness were life. At least it wasn’t stewing underneath the old fabric of an orange jumper. At least she wasn’t in the cage. Yet. Her guess having paid off, Gillica only had to cross the main area of the servant quarters, take a left, and open the closet. This was the danger zone, as by being in the closet and by facing the closet, her rump was facing the whole openness of the main area, including an open angle into the kitchen. The number of times a hey, slave! Had come to her when she was in this closet was innumerable. It was a gamble, and the last three consecutive days had seen her go from closet to cage. Being soiled at this closet probably got her caged 75% of the time, no matter what time of day. Those were good odds. All of her other chores took her into the main living areas, and into the teeth of the rest of the servants. She looked both ways from the living area hallway, saw nobody, and made her move. She opened the closet, honed in on the extendable mop and the washbasin. She found the adjustable squeegee to stick on the end of it so she could reach the highest parts. Footsteps. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. Exuberance. You know what, a cage is a place I belong. A cage keeps me where I belong. A cage reminds me of where I’ve been and it doesn’t let me hide from where I’ve been. It’s not a box. It’s transparent, and by seeing through it they can see right into me. Onto what I’m wearing, and what I’m really worth. The footsteps continued, and Gillica picked up her bucket and stick and headed back to the living quarters. She waddled crazily now, carrying her supplies and all of her pee. But she made it to the door without a shout from one of the servants down the hallway, without any of the servants stepping out of one of the bedrooms to see the worried face she wore. She wasn’t worried about leaking. The attorney general she called her mistress, Angelina Bisgrave, the one who ruled her world, the one who sat on a throne of discipline that Gillica ministered within far below, had access to the best sort of diapers. PGV3000s, which Gillica worked out long ago meant Punishment Garments, Version 3000. They were designed to hold, because they were designed to become as uncomfortable as possible for the wearer before causing a problem for those that lorded over the wearers. Leaks hadn’t been a problem for her three years at the Manse. They hadn’t been a problem all throughout prison either. Only on her last night in jail, the night before they put her on the Ferry of Justice to take her where she belonged, to the cage within the cage within the cage and the true start of the life she deserved, did she make darkspots on her bed and jumper. The piss just kept coming that night. Uncomfortable it became, and the ever-tropical weather of Shamuria began to take its effect. Cleaning the tall windows that lined the facade was difficult work, and it splashed soapy water down on top of her (the soap and water she was able to get from an outdoor shed hidden behind some bushes on the far side of the Eastern grounds.) Her bonnet was sprinkled, and now and then a dollop of soapy scum got in her eye, and she bent and struggled with the hem of her gown to dry it out. She had to get her back and hips into the scrubbing, and the curled up posture of her cage-bound sleep came to haunt her. The stamina in her legs bailed on her quickly. The rhythmic pumping of her thighs to reach the highest parts of the window made the bloated diaper swing between her legs. Still she worked, moving her bucket down the row of windows when each one was finished. By the end, Gillica resolved to cage herself. Her body ached, and she guessed it was barely ten in the morning. She leaned the mop handle against the wall of the Bisgrave Manse, walls that were made of large stone blocks, and felt herself. Wetter than she had been, more than could be accounted for than just sweat. The cage was calling. The cage lurked around every corner. She packed up her equipment. She took the bucket and dumped its contents on the leafy floor of the palm grove that flanked one side of the grounds. She took the squeegee off and threw it in a trash bin by one of the sheds. It was covered in a brownish-green grime typical of the seaside tropics. Yara used to complain about that muck all of the time. Browner than my cocksucking diaper, she would curse. She brought the bucket and the pole back to the closet, and this time, the servants didn’t fail to notice her. She didn’t bother to tell them that she was going. She simply said. “Yes sir.” The servant who saw her had been sitting at the servant table, taking a quick break with the newspaper. He saw her come and and as soon as she turned her back on him, he barked at her. He was one of the mean ones. Male and eighteen and clearly the communist type, despite his role as a servant. At least what Bisgrave does keeps them in check, was something she’d overheard him say in the servants quarters. Them being her kind, them being the wealthy who were wrong. He relished humiliating Gillica and Penelope, finding any opportunity he could to take them leashed and in just diapers and sandals to the town. Never thought it’d come to this, up there in your villas, all high and mighty. Did you? Over and over again he’d make her respond. “Yes sir, I didn’t sir. But I’m glad sir. I need it sir. I was wrong sir. You were right sir. Whatever you say sir. This is my place sir. Humility is a lesson I still need to learn sir, and I appreciate your patience with me sir.” You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance expected of you and expected of any woman truly committed towards putting their lives of crime behind them. “What are you doing, look at how much piss is in that thing,” he said, setting the newspaper down. Another servant, an older one, entered in from the kitchen, looked at Gillica, shrugged, and continued to the living corners. “What are you thinking? It seems like your disgusting ass likes it.” “I don’t like it, sir. I’m still learning responsibility sir.” “I think the cage is right for you then!” “I agree sir. I’m going to my place now.” Oh, how the little man enjoyed it. Boris was his name, and his teeth were still in braces and his hair was all mopped. She walked herself into the slave quarters, aiming herself for the cage. She wanted the cage. Earlier she thought to approach her day with a mind to minimize the amount she took the paddle, but now she hardly cared. She was so tired, and her cage was calling. Penelope could take an hour to filter down and wipe her pussy, and thus absolutely doom her from finishing even most of her chores, but at least her legs could rest. As she entered the quarters, something stirred next to her, and she saw that it was Penelope, on her back where she had been earlier. She was changing herself, and this time her diaper was far worse than Gillica’s. A pile of stained wipes grew to cover the open mess on the diaper. Gillica didn’t even flinch. This was life since the day they came for her, when she found herself with cold steel on her wrists, when Yara bricked herself because she knew she was going back. Penelope looked at her, and then returned to her work. Her neck craned down her navel to observe the work cleaning the shit off of her ass. There was nothing to say between either of them. “Don’t just fucking look at it, get in your cage and wait for me, you useless idiot.” Wordlessly, Gillica did as she was told. Even the thin mat and blanket felt comfortable on her aching muscles. She watched Penelope’s progress, knowing that the job of packing the dirty diaper up and bringing it to the disposal a few yards away would be her job. “Are you shitted?” “No,” Gillica answered. “Goddamn it,” Penelope answered. “You’re going to make me wipe your cooch all fucking day aren’t you?” Gillica didn’t answer. “You know. In four years. When I’m free of all this, I’m going to come and buy your ass off Bisgrave. You know I still have an estate, right? I’ll have enough if she’ll sell you. She’ll be tired of you by then. And then I’ll get back at your shitty ass. I’ll make it so miserable on you that you’ll finally learn to clench that wide open asshole you have.” Both of them were required to use their diapers. Penelope’s requirement was a legal one, a stipulation for all former occupants of Stenton prison who were still on parole. Parole was not a post-punishment phase, it was a reintroduction phase. Penelope had to exist in the world while being seen as the least of it, the base and mean denominator of all of Shamuria. If she tried to escape her new role in things, if she was ever found clothing herself more than ordered, or if she was found using a toilet, she’d risk trading her steel mesh cage for a concrete cell again. Some owners were lenient, Gillica heard. The top cop of Stenton was no-nonsense. Correctional did not mean forgiving. Gillica’s reasons were simpler. Finally, Penelope rolled herself off the table, a new fresh diaper taking the place of the old one. Gillica once again understood her queue to get to work removing the detritus of the old one, doing her best to avoid touching any of the shit that her fellow slave left behind. She balled up the diaper, taking care that all of the soiled wipes were contained within it. She used the tapes to wrap it into a ball, a technique she’d learned from countless prison guards ages ago. She carried it like nuclear waste over to the bin, stepped on the foot locker, and deposited on top of her and Penelope’s overnight briefs. Then she washed her hands in the bin, and began to undo her gown, while Penelope re-did her own. On the table once again, Penelope stood over her and got to work. Gillica felt the tapes of her PGV3000 come undone, exposing her pussy once again to the brick walls of the humble slave quarters. She tried to relax on the slab of the table, lowering her head and letting Penelope’s grunts and taps instruct her on whether to raise her legs or lower them. Just then, the door opened. It could only be a servant, and Penelope dropped the cold wet cloth she had been drawing through Gillica’s buttocks to face the door at attention. Gillica turned her head on the slab to see who it was, but she did not feel that, in this position, her movement was required unless it was Bisgrave herself. And Bisgrave herself never came down here. Instead, it was Boris. The shimmering of his braces flickered through his smile. His coarse orange hair was unkempt, and if Densen Polliver found him he’d order him into his quarters to comb it. He probably already had, but it was a losing battle. Boris’s hair was as untameable as he was. “Got bad news for you idiots,” he said. “Penelope. The domo just came by, and I told the domo that I caught you taking a dump in the Opiante room. He’s very displeased.” “Did you tell him that I was profusely sorry, and the need came over me and I couldn’t get out of the sacred room in time?” “You know he doesn’t care. He expects more out of his slave-one.” Gillica could feel the rage coming through Penelope, a quivering anger that threatened to rise up from her ankles into a fighter’s stance that would culminate in a savage punch to Boris’s askance teeth. And a trip back to Stenton prison, should she actually punch, and stripped of the small rights she had over Gillica, no matter how she begrudged them, and the cruel inevitability of the dock. What was more, Penelope had obviously tried to shit herself in the Opiante room on purpose, as a sign of disrespect. Gillica could see right through it, and could see that Penelope’s rage was half-directed at herself and the fury that her act of defiance had ended in capture. No room codified the brilliant patriotism and public service of the Bisgrave genealogy than the Opiante room. It was a room Gillica had heard of, and an event Gillica was very familiar with, long before her life changed and they came for her. The pride and joy of the Bisgrave family, the Bisgrave estate, and the Manse itself. At least when Gillica was caught soiled in there, there was the defense that she couldn’t do much about it. Penelope had no such defense. “I’m sorry sir,” Penelope said. She hid her anger well, but Gillica had known Penelope longer than Boris did. They’d overlapped at Stenton Prison, and Gillica knew the stance and tone of someone obeying a haughty guard. “I will accept whatever the majordomo deems necessary to correct my behavior.” “He said to cage yourself.” “I will do it gladly and await his further instruction, sir,” Penelope said. She turned briefly toward the cage, and then stopped. “Sir, should I finish changing slave-two?” Boris’s face expanded into a wide grin. He looked at Penelope, and stared at her from sandals to bonnet. “No, slave-one. The domo made it clear that your caging should be interrupted for nothing. I’ll finish with Gillica,” he said. The room was silent for a moment. The quivering anger that Gillica had observed in the twitching of Penelope’s calves, in the sway of the inches-deep padding of Penelope’s pristine white diaper, gave away. The anger was displaced by a stunned stiffness, stunned, like a small rodent paralyzed as the wheels of a mighty vehicle bear down upon it. Gillica’s pussy felt cold there on the slab. “Yes sir,” was all Penelope could say. She said it stiffly, and she didn’t look at Gillica. Instead she turned on a heel, exposing her diaper to the two of them, and walked toward her cage. Gillica could tell it took all of Penelope’s effort to hold her head high. Boris watched her go into her cage, and then stepped forward and found the key on a loop on the wall, and addressed the lock. Penelope was on her knees, her head bowed, her eyes staring blank out at the door to the slave quarters, as if hoping that by somehow watching, Densen Polliver would not arrive. “And you,” Boris said, coming closer to the slab that Gillica still laid on. “How far along in this change are you?” “Slave-one just started, sir,” she said, to the scruffy-headed eighteen year-old. “Alright,” he said. He looked over her nakedness like a starving man viewed a five-course meal. If it was left to the servants to deal with Gillica’s diapering, it was generally one of the older, more established ones. Never in his short tenure had it fallen to Boris, the newest and youngest of the group. Gillica wondered if he’d ever touched a vagina, or touched a woman at all. He seemed to know how it went, though. He found the wipes and got to work. He was not mindful of their coldness against Gillica’s skin. To his credit, he did not linger on her pussy, as she expected (and would have tolerated, no, would have enjoyed). Penelope treated her sex as if it were poisonous, even though Gillica knew for sure that Penelope had succumbed to the allure of tenderness during her incarceration. Gillica had no aspersions that her piss-covered pussy was romantic. She tried not to think about love at all, anymore, but sex was hard-coded into her body. The only way men touched her anymore was on a changing table, and her mind had learned enough to crave it. Even if the guards had discovered her sharing many cots in lockup, searching for the same tenderness that Penelope had sought, it was men she wanted, and it was changing tables where men found her. Even eighteen year old servants like Boris. “I always wondered why you chose this,” he said as he wiped the piss off her groin. “You’re not under threat of prison anymore,” he said. There were many answers to that. But Boris supplied his own. He took a wipe and held it up, showing to Gillica that there was more than pee, but less than poop on it. “Now I understand,” he said. Yes, you dolt. At least you know the difference between a pissed on pussy and a moist one. And no. It’s not for you. It’s just that your hand is male. You’re not Penelope, that’s all. And it’s certainly not why I swear myself to Attorney General Angelina Bisgrave! But she could do nothing but mutter a ‘yes sir,’ to him. It was a damn shame that she could not for a moment relish the cowing of Penelope before stumbling further into her own humiliation. She tried to distract her mind as her legs went in the air and he dealt with her asshole. Penelope. Penelope is in for it. Maybe I’ll be wiping her ass again, as it was for the short while after she arrived, until she stole that job from me. Maybe the shoe was soon to be on the other foot. Maybe her station was rising in the Manse. It didn’t matter if where you rose wasn’t high, it did matter if where your rose was as high as you deserved to go. There was something to be said for that. “You’re not out of the woods either,” Boris said, finding a fresh diaper for her. His words crushed her out of her brief reverie, and back into the disgusted awareness that his motions on her privates felt good. “You cleaned the windows, didn’t you?” If there was anything that could dry her pussy up, it was that question. She would have squirted for the mop-headed fool if it meant he could never have asked it. “Yes sir,” he said. “Well unfortunately, you’re going to have to do it again. You left streaks, big ones, on every window.” “I understand sir,” she said. Streaks, what streaks! Was this a joke? Her muscles cried out in rebellion. Cage, I just want to crawl into my cage. I thought it was going to be just me and my nice little cage! “The mistress herself came back in her car and was outraged. All of the servants will have to work extra hard to pick up the slack from the both of you. She wants you to give the windows another shot, and if she isn’t pleased the second time when she personally inspects them…” Boris shined his braces once again. This time, his fingers did linger as he spread lotion on her crotch. She felt herself moisten again. Felt his strength and imagined his cock. It had been so long since she’d felt a cock go inside her. She didn’t care who owned the next cock, she’d fuck it if she had a chance. But to feel like this in this context was torture. “Yes sir,” she muttered, again. “I will do the windows again, and accept the Mistress’s judgment,” she said. All she felt was a warm, rushing sensation. A pooling, trickling, splashing one. Boris yelped and stepped back in surprise. Gillica sat up to see a fountain of piss exiting herself onto the opened and formerly dry diaper that Boris had been preparing for her. “Disgusting, pathetic. Idiot. I can’t believe this happened to me on my first time!” Boris said, examining his shirt to see if she’d gotten pee on it. He continued to inspect himself, cursing and sputtering under his breath every time he found her urine on his servant’s uniform. Gillica laid down her head on the slab once again. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated.
  8. Hey everybody! First time poster, longggggg time lurker (and I DO mean LONG. Like, 15+ years at least). Here is a little story I have been cooking up. It’s your standard fare “be careful what you wish for story”. Not meant to revolutionize the ABDL fiction game or anything, but just some nice, hot material for those who want it. It started out as prompts for captions I was planning to make, but ended up 6,000+ words, soooo...oops! Anyways, enjoy! Feedback/encouragement is always appreciated. Love our community- love you all! Stephanie’s Descent Stephanie was a beautiful, petite young lady of 26 who seemed to be grabbing the world by the horns. She had a job in an office doing clerical work while she was in school to become a lawyer, and had a sexy boyfriend named Mark. Sure, she felt insecure in her mature office suits, looking up at one well-dressed man or woman after another from her small stature with her girlishly cute looks. And sure, she had her suspicions that Mark was being unfaithful to her with another friend of hers. Yes, the schoolwork was intense and difficult, and despite her being so charming, this caused her on more than one occasion to be snippy or bratty to her other classmates. But Stephanie did not worry about this. Things would work themselves out. They always seemed to for girls who had it all, like her... One rocky living situation after another led her to have ask her mother if she could return home while she continued to work and study hard. It was a blow to Stephanie’s ego, but her mother Karen was secretly ecstatic. Karen supposed she should be happy for the strides in adulthood that Stephanie was making, but at times she would be so mad about the passage of time that she would do anything to get her little girl back. She would shake these thoughts from her head, as she already had an 18-month-old chubby baby girl to contend with named Lily. Lily’s father quickly left after Karen gave birth, making Karen all the more protective of her girls. She would use this time to impose motherly control and rules on Stephanie, whether she liked it or not. Plus, she could use a helper with Lily, so Stephanie added “caregiver” to her growing list of responsibilities... Stephanie stared down at Lily sleeping in her crib. She smiled and took a deep whiff of the smells of her baby sister’s nursery. Baby powder, baby wipes and the distinct smell of Pampers danced around her nostrils as she sighed, looking around the pink nursery adorned with infantile motifs of baby Disney characters and Winnie the Pooh. “I wonder what it would be like to be a baby again.” Stephanie wondered out loud as she headed over to the changing table. “No adult responsibilities- just toys, and baby shows and....diapers.” She felt a tingle shoot through her as she caressed the crinkly padding piled high under the changing table, imaging herself wearing it. “Oh sure, it would be SO embarrassing, but it might be kinda fun.” Stephanie bit her finger and looked around nervously. Her little shaved pussy throbbing and juices dripping into her panties, she took a breath and yanked her pants down. Then came her now soaked underwear. And now she stood in her baby sister’s nursery, naked from her bellybutton down, except for a cute pair of socks, ready to do something girls her age should not even be considering... Stephanie grabbed one of Lily’s diapers and a bottle of baby powder and placed it deliberately on top of the changing table. She took a big breath, unable to believe she was about to do what she planned to do and hoisted herself up onto the white padded surface. The cool, slick plastic of the changing surface caressing her bare bottom and privates sent another jolt of tingles through her body. Lying on her back she opened the thick diaper and gently fluffed it out to ready it to wear. Just like she did for her baby sister countless times. “If everybody could see me now! I wonder what they would say.” Stephanie again wondered aloud, this time with a chuckle. She bit her lip, lifted her small, perfectly smooth butt and slid the Pampers underneath her. She plopped her tushy down on the waiting, thirsty padding and shuddered as she began to feel more and more like a baby every second. She shook out a liberal amount of sweet-smelling baby powder over her already somewhat infantile looking, perfectly shaved crotch. Her heart was pounding as the mix of nursery aromas and baby sensations brought back feelings of helplessness and memories of daycare. She pulled the diaper up snugly in between her legs and taped it shut tightly against her. She knew from countless shopping trips previously that baby Lily wore the biggest size Pampers available on the market, being a chubby baby and all. The baby diaper fit Stephanie’s slender frame like a glove. She nearly spasmed as she looked down to see Sesame Street characters smiling up and waving at her from the top of the diaper. No, it was HER diaper now. The padding was thick, and almost oppressive, as it pressed securely into her most sensitive areas. The sensation was undeniably babyish. Even slight movements of her butt or legs caused a tell-tale crinkle to emit from her new infant underwear. Her powered pussy encased in her Pampers was dripping with a level of excitement she had never felt before. She was in pure baby bliss. She hopped off the changing table and waddled up to the full-length mirror near Lily’s crib. She was unable to stop herself from toddling, the thick diapers forcing her legs apart and causing an embarrassingly cute cascade of crinkles to follow her as she moved. She looked at herself in the mirror, her large puppy eyes and small figure complimenting her new choice of babyish undergarments. She giggled innocently and smiled as she examined her diapers from all sides. Caressing the outer padding and pulling them up tighter between her legs, she checked out her butt while moaning. Every touch and every movement cause the soft insides of her Pampers to further stroke and rub against her now incredibly sensitive clit, making her purr with pleasure. She looked to her right and glanced down at her still sleeping baby sister. Her gaze shot back to her reflection in the mirror, she popped her thumb in her mouth and in the most babyish voice she could muster exclaimed “More!” She giggled, twirled her hair and began bouncing in place. “More! More! More!” She chirped as she set about the nursery to further enhance her naughty, but incredibly pleasurable experience. Stephanie practically skipped over to Lily’s Winnie the Pooh dresser and threw open the drawers to rummage for more goodies to complete her immersion into babyhood. She practically ripper her halter-top off and unhooked her bra in an instant, letting her pert little breasts bounce free as she did so. She pulled from the dresser the biggest shirt she could find- a nursery yellow My Little Pony shirt featuring cartoon ponies hugging each other on the front. The immature shirt clung to her tightly, barely stretching down to her navel, and holding her small tits close to her chest, making her look flatter than ever. From the top drawer she pulled a small hairbrush and two hair ties with two bright pink plastic balls attached to them. With a sense of urgency, she deftly secured her brown hair into two high pigtails on top of her head. She fished around in the top drawer for a little while longer until she found what she sought, an all-white pacifier with a pink ring on the front of it. She popped in her mouth and almost bit down on the nipple with the surge of pleasure she felt from debasing herself even further from her adult self. She crinkled back up to the full-length mirror with a waddle and gasped at the reflection greeting her. From head to toe she looked every bit a baby- not a day older than her sister Lily. Gone were the fancy suits she wore in the office. Gone were the trendy clothes she wore to stay noticed in college. Gone were the date night dresses she donned to look sexy for her boyfriend Mark. Here she stood completely raw and infantilized for the world. She looked so cute and babyish it was humiliating. She blushed at her appearance and her rosy cheeks only served to make her look MORE like an infant. She looked down and felt her body to make sure it was really her she was looking at in the mirror. She had never felt more infantile or embarrassed. The butterflies in her tummy and the warmth wetness she felt in her private parts signaled to her only one thing...she loved this. End of part 1. I will most definitely be posting more!
  9. My latest book in the Diaper Plague series, Book 6 - A Smart Girl in Diapers, has been released on Amazon in Kindle format. Here’s the blurb: When all the women in the world are incontinent from the plague, those that come after never knew a time without being wet and in diapers. But what's a smart girl to do in this world? This is the sixth in the Diaper Plague series. It is the story of Emma Boxer, the smartest girl in her class, possibly in the whole school. Her tale illustrates how a brilliant girl, deprived of a properly stimulating education, still manages to find love and grow. Things are not all sunshine and rainbows for a smart girl, though. She must learn to navigate this man's world or face the consequences.
  10. Julie is a spoiled and rude 10 years old girl, whom her mother can not longer manage. One afternoon in which she come home during school hours accompanied by a police man, because she was accused of stealing a videogame, her mother decided that it’s too much. Then he search someone who give him some advice about how to correct the mistakes in the girl’s education. Some hours after, the man saw an email in her mailbox that said: “do you have a problematic child? Don’t worry! Contact me and nanny Melinda will resolve your problems in four weeks. Satisfied or refunded” Under it there was a telephone number and a mail address. (I'd like play the role of Julie , I can play nanny Melinda role too if you want, the role play start with Julie who is accompanied by a policeman in front of the door of his house. Please don't write short answer but be descriptive and not sissyfication. I hope you like the idea. I am available to modify some details in this Roleplay including the The gender of my character is his age as long as there are not too much difference between the one will be decided and the one that I proposed)
  11. Aizawa Shouta had been relaxing in his usual spot, curled up in the sleeping bag near his desk, when he felt his bladder twinge. Grunting tiredly, he rolled onto his side and tried ignoring it, which turned out to be a mistake. Much to his dismay, he felt like he was about to pee right then and there! This wouldn’t normally be so bad-he could usually just get out of the sleeping bag and use the toilet, no problem-but today the zipper was stuck. Trapped, he had no other option but to try holding it, which ultimately failed. Warm wetness spread through the bag and onto the floor. A puddle formed directly underneath him, and he felt disgusting, his piss-drenched clothing pressing against his body. Finally, he could open the bag, but he was absolutely soaked. He stood up, wincing when he heard his clothing squish into his body, wet and hot. It was so gross. Aizawa could only hope that nobody would notice his drenched shirt and pants, or the telltale puddle under his bag as he peeled himself from the floor, dripping.
  12. Eraserhead had gone through enough already without his students being so reckless. One of his students had foolishly charged into battle even after he warned them of the danger, and had nearly gotten themselves hurt. This could not be allowed; it was illogical to let his student leap into danger and disobey direct orders, even if they were only trying to help. At the end of the day, he called in the student who had done this; Uraraka. He had never needed to punish one of his students before, and the principal allowed teachers to discipline students as they saw fit, so this would be a new experience for both of them. Eraserhead-or Aizawa-sensei, to his students-had procured a few supplies to punish such unruly children. They were hidden from prying eyes, locked in the closet at the back of the room; it was just a shame he had to use them right now. Now all he had to do was wait for Uraraka to enter the classroom, to begin her punishment.
  13. Hey everyone, I'm a hobby writer and would love to get some feedback regarding my current story (incomplete). I'm aware that there will be an excess of spelling mistakes and errors as I often write on my phone and transfer it into my working document as I go. Cheers LOVE PLUSH.pdf
  14. Hi there, Looking for some self punishments I could do when home alone. Nothing public please Thanks, Mel
  15. Hi everyone I’m a 21 year old girl and I’ve known my boyfriend for a little over a year. I’m very much a diaper girl. I love the feeling of diapers, I love wearing them, but I’m also really into age play and humilation. My boyfriend has admitted that he likes to baby me which made me really excited. We already experiment with a bit of dominant/submissive power dynamics but I really want him to force me into a diaper and force me to wear diapers around him and even wear and use them when we go out. I love the idea of him forcing me to use my diapers, punishing with spankings when I refuse, and even exposing me a little in public. He already calls me his baby girl, but I really want to take this to the next level. Help please! <3
  16. Alex struggled helplessly in his binds. Stuck in a diaper and dress, gagged with an oversized pacifier, and with a bright red ribbon wrapped around, he could do nothing but wait. He supposed that was what he was a Christmas present for someone. The only question was for whom. It was a question that had haunted him since the day he arrived at the training institute. Like everyone, he knew there was someone paying for him. Like most, he had no idea who they were, when he
  17. Miranda wathced Kayla from across the campus cafetiera. Everything about her SCREAMED spoiled rich girl. She was attractive sure,but spoiled and Haughty. Green eyes watched as Kayla held court in the open cafetiera floor. She felt a small smirk come across her features. She had been foolish enough to ask Kayla out once. And she ahd been rebuffed, publicly and cruelly. But she had a plan for retricution and to finally have the snotty girl.
  18. Lys had been feelings extremely horny the past few days. It’s been at least 4 days since she last saw her Daddy, and the feeling between her legs was getting stronger and stronger. She at least made effort to calm her desires, but there’s only so much a battery operated boyfriend can do; well, that and a plethora of fantasies. Before she met Daddy she had been a total prude. Her last sexual relationship was as exciting as watching paint dry, or at least, that’s how she likened it to. The most risqué act she had ever performed was having missionary style sex in her parents house while her parents were still home. She felt content before, but now, now she’s been exposed to more and her libido has begun to crave the attention. Tonight, she was going to solve her dilemma. No more cravings, no more sleepless nights, so more unfulfilling solo sessions. Tonight she was going to solve her problem whether or not Daddy wanted her to. When she first got back from out of state, her Daddy had given her a key to his place. She didn’t feel like she had earned it as they’ve only been playing together for a few weeks now. As she stood in front of his door, that line of logic faded. What mattered now was she wanted to quench the hunger dwelling in her sex organs. She wanted him in her. And now. Slowly, and with much trepidation, she slide the key into it’s hole. Gently at first, as she wasn’t sure was doing the right thing. She didn’t want to violate his trust with this forceful entry. After a few deep breathes, she didn’t care anymore. She knew what she wanted and she was going to take it. She turned the key, sliding the dead bolt from it’s receptacle and freeing the door. Feeling brave, and in control, she opened the door. As it revealed the living room, a rush of cold air from the AC’d house rushed over her bare legs. As the humid and warm outside air mingled with the cold dry air now brushing over her, her legs tingled. On any other day prior to meeting Daddy, she would have simply felt the goosebumps. Actually, prior to Daddy, she wouldn’t be wearing such a short dress. Or a dress at all. Prior to Daddy, she was a jeans and random t-shirt kind of girl. Prior to Daddy, a fun night would be her and her boyfriend hanging out and playing games, as she lounged around in comfy sweat pants. She would be preoccupied with raids and work, not hormones. Prior to Daddy, she wouldn’t feel the cold air rushing up her dress and hitting her wet diaper. As soon as she remembered she was wearing a diaper, she lost all her confidence. The butterflies in her stomach had made her forget she put it on earlier in the day to help her satisfy herself. Prior to Daddy, she would never have dreamed that she’d actually be begging to be put back in diapers. To have that thick padding between her legs constantly rubbing against her most sensitive spots. 4 weeks ago, the thought of wetting herself, on purpose, was outlandish. She shook her head, trying to refocus. Yes, she’s wearing a diaper. Yes, she’s in a wet diaper. A very wet diaper, actually. But this is what Daddy liked, and she wanted to give Daddy anything and everything he wanted so long as he takes care of her needs. Needs that she never knew burned so deeply. Quietly, she shut the door behind her. Daddy wasn’t in the living room which meant he was either in his bedroom, or in his office working. She wasn’t sure if this worked out for her. If he was in the living room, the surprise would already be over. She could face the consequences for showing up unannounced. Now, she had to sneak around the house as quietly as a crinkling diaper would allow her. There was a light on down the hallway, which meant he was in his office working. He would probably also be listening to music, a podcast, or listing to whatever video he was currently working on. It would certainly make sneaking up on him that much easier With care, she inched her way towards the office. Her every thought, her every breath even, was focused on being as quiet as possible. She could hear the crinkle as her legs moved, and the slight creak in the floor as her weight shifted. She knew Daddy had a good sense of hearing and unless she was careful, he could clearly hear her coming. Lys peaked around the corner, hoping her Daddy hadn’t heard her. Slowly the sight of her Daddy came into view. His back was still to do the doorframe. A wave of relief came over her. She accomplished her goal of sneaking up on Daddy. But now; now she had to actually surprise him and convince him to take care of her needs. The thought of what punishment lay ahead of her finally crossed her mind. Would a severe spanking be worth it? Last time he gave her a spanking it hurts for days afterwards. A constant reminder than she was owned. Worse, that she was just his little girl and he would honestly treat her as such. She hadn’t been spanked like that since she was 10. A few months ago she felt like an adult. An in-control adult. The floor suddenly creaked under her weight. She cursed these old floors. Daddy was certain to hear that, even with headphones on. Her breathing stopped, waiting for the reveal. What would her Daddy do? He hadn’t moved. He was still typing and clicking as if nothing ever happened. He must be editing some music, she thought. As she creeped closer, her breathing as controlled as she could with her nerves as volatile as they were. Even her hands were shaking from the anticipation. Never had she been more keenly aware of every inch of her body as she was right that second. That second when she raised her hand to finally make him aware of her presence, she noticed his screen. He hadn’t been working on a video like she had thought. No, he was working on a document. It looked kinda like a story actually. She couldn’t read most of it because of how small the font was, but the last line seemed to be in a larger font. It read “That’s when Daddy heard his little girl scampering across the room in a vain attempt to surprise Daddy. Only, little girls should know they can never get the better of their Daddy. That’s why they’re little girls still wearing diapers.
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