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Description An introverted volcanologist, Olivia, stumbles across a demon during a hike up a volcano. The demon of humiliation follows her and makes her do embarrassing things such as wetting herself and messing herself. Chapter 1: Olivia’s Volcano Trek in Montserrat The heat was stifling, even through the thick protective suit Olivia wore. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead, stinging her eyes as she ascended the jagged slopes of the Soufrière Hills volcano. The air was thick with the acrid smell of sulfur, a constant reminder of the volatile power slumbering beneath her feet. Yet, the danger was intoxicating. Olivia thrived on the adrenaline, the thrill of exploring the raw, untamed heart of the earth. Montserrat’s landscape was a testament to the volcano’s might. Lush rainforest abruptly gave way to barren ash fields, scarred by the fury of past eruptions. Olivia’s boots crunched on the brittle ground as she navigated the desolate terrain, her eyes scanning the landscape for signs of activity. Her instruments beeped and whirred, recording every subtle tremor, every shift in temperature, every whisper of the volcano’s breath. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ash fields, Olivia decided to make camp for the night. She settled down in a small depression, shielded from the wind by a jagged outcrop of rock. As darkness fell, she huddled closer to the fire, the flickering flames providing a small haven of warmth in the chilling night air. Suddenly, a bone-chilling cold enveloped her. The fire sputtered and died, plunging her into darkness. A sinister presence seemed to fill the air, a silent menace that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Then, she saw it. A figure emerged from the shadows, its form shimmering and shifting like the flames of a dying fire. It was short and gaunt, with eyes that burned like embers. Olivia gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. The figure moved closer, its eyes fixed on her with a malevolent intensity. Olivia tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. She was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or even breathe. The figure reached out, its hand glowing with an eerie light. It touched her forehead, and a wave of icy cold washed over her. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure vanished, leaving Olivia trembling and alone in the darkness. The rest of the night was a blur. Olivia stumbled back to base camp at first light, her mind reeling with the terrifying encounter. She boarded the plane home in a daze, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of fear. But the horror wasn’t over. As the plane soared through the clouds, Olivia felt a cold sensation creeping up her legs. She tried to ignore it, but it grew stronger, more insistent. Finally, in a moment of mortifying humiliation, she realised she had wet herself. She rushed to the nearest bathroom with her bag, luckily she carried a extra set of clothes for if she spilt something on herself. She quickly got unclothed, cleaned herself and put on the fresh pair of clothes before quickly stuffing her bag with the soiled pants and panties along with her other clothes. As Olivia stepped off the plane onto British soil, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still being watched. The unseen presence that had tormented her on the volcano seemed to have followed her home. She knew, with a bone-chilling certainty, that her ordeal was far from over. Chapter 2: Arriving Home The taxi pulled up to the curb, its engine sputtering into silence. Olivia stepped out onto the familiar pavement, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the volcanic heat she had recently escaped. She lugged her heavy suitcase up the path, her keys jingling in her trembling hand. With a sigh of relief, she unlocked the door and stepped into the comforting darkness of her home. The house was silent, save for the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Olivia flicked on the light switch, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. She dragged her suitcase into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa, exhaustion washing over her. But the unease that had settled in her gut on the plane refused to dissipate. A cold dread clung to her like a second skin, a constant reminder of the unseen presence that haunted her. With a sigh, Olivia pushed herself off the sofa and headed towards the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea would soothe her frayed nerves. As she entered the brightly lit room, her heart lurched. There, perched casually on the kitchen counter, was the demon. It hadn’t changed. It was still the same gaunt figure, with eyes that burned like coals. It watched her with a chilling intensity, a smirk playing on its lips. Olivia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. “Surprised to see me?” the demon purred, her voice like the rasp of dry leaves. Chapter 3: Olivia’s Not So Welcoming Guest “Aw, did I scare you wittle Olivia? Make you wet your panties like a baby on the plane?” the demon sneered, its voice dripping with malice. “Don’t worry, it’s only going to get worse. Maybe you’ll need these to keep you dry.” It held up an adult diaper, its own grotesque face leering from the front, surrounded by erupting volcanoes. Olivia’s voice cracked as she spoke, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and fury. “Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?” She clenched her fists, her eyes flashing with defiance. “This is wrong. You can’t just invade my life and humiliate me. I won’t let you!” “Such anger,” the demon murmured, feigning concern. “Is it because you can’t control your bladder, or is there something else troubling you, dear? Perhaps I can help alleviate your distress… if you’re willing to cooperate.” Olivia gasped, her legs trembling as she realized she was wetting herself again. “Please,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you want from me? Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, just please stop this!” A dark shadow fell over the demon’s face as it spoke. “You will obey me, Olivia. You will wear the diapers, and you will do so without complaint. Failure to comply will result in… consequences.” Its voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air. Olivia’s voice trembled despite her defiant words. “No, no, no!” she cried, backing away from the demon. “I won’t do it! I refuse! You can’t make me wear those… those things. I’m not a baby anymore!” “Well, well, well,” the demon drawled, its voice thick with sarcasm. “Looks like someone needs a little assistance with their wardrobe.” It snapped its fingers, and Olivia found herself clad in the demon’s personalized diaper. “Voila! A fashion statement fit for a queen… or should I say, a baby?” The demon chortled, revelling in Olivia’s mortification. Olivia’s body shook with rage and humiliation as she futilely tugged at the diaper. “This is wrong!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the house. “You can’t do this to me! I’m not your plaything! You have no right!” The diaper was not coming off of her. “This is just the beginning, Olivia,” the demon cackled, its voice filled with glee. “You will wear this diaper as a constant reminder of your helplessness. And when you’ve had enough, when you’re broken and begging for release, then you may grovel at my feet for a changing.” With a final, mocking bow, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia trapped in her degrading predicament wearing just a diaper and t-shirt. Chapter 4: On Purpose The moment the demon vanished, a burning thirst overtook Olivia. Her throat felt like parchment, her mouth a desert. She stumbled to the kitchen, diaper crinkling, her hands shaking as she filled glass after glass with water, gulping it down desperately. A wave of nausea followed, a sickening realization dawning upon her. This was the demon’s game. The thirst, the diaper – it was all a cruel ploy to break her. And with the amount of water she’d consumed, she knew she’d soon be wetting her diaper. Olivia’s stomach churned as the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Damn it, she thought, her voice catching in her throat. She had to find a way to avoid soiling this diaper. A walk, maybe? Fresh air might clear her head. She waddled into the living room, the diaper’s plastic crinkling with each awkward step. Reaching the stairs, she gripped the banister, hauling herself up one agonizing step at a time. In her bedroom, she grabbed a pair of jeans, relief flooding her as she managed to pull them up over the bulky diaper. But as soon as the zipper closed, the denim vanished, leaving her exposed once more. “No!” she cried, a sob escaping her lips. They were her favorite jeans, a soft, worn reminder of simpler times. Now, she was trapped in this infernal diaper, a prisoner in her own home. The thought of venturing outside, of facing the world’s judgment with a demon’s face plastered across her backside, on a diaper of all things, was unbearable. Despair washed over her, threatening to drown her in its icy depths. She needed a distraction, something to anchor her to reality. Spotting her old colouring book on the shelf, she snatched it up. Flipping through the pages, her eyes landed on a familiar image: a volcano, its slopes bathed in fiery reds and oranges. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Volcanoes used to be her passion, her refuge. Now, they were a symbol of her torment. The volcano on the coloring page stared back at Olivia, a mocking reminder of her predicament. Crayons in hand, she tried to focus, but her thoughts kept returning to the demon’s taunting words and the humiliating diaper encasing her. Each rustle of the plastic felt like a brand, a constant reminder of her helplessness. Desperate for a distraction, she dumped out a jigsaw puzzle, hoping the intricate pieces would occupy her mind. For a while, it worked. But as the image of a tranquil meadow began to take shape, a familiar pressure built in her bladder. Olivia squirmed, squeezing her thighs together, her focus shattering. The potty dance she’d outgrown decades ago made a reappearance, a desperate attempt to hold back the inevitable. But the urge became unbearable, a searing pain radiating through her lower abdomen. With a defeated sigh, Olivia released a tiny trickle, hoping to relieve the pressure and stop after. But the floodgates opened, and a warm steady stream poured into the diaper, she was soaking the absorbent padding on purpose. The heat spread through her groin and to her bum, a mix of shame and a strange, forbidden thrill. It was a surrender, a perverse fulfilment of the demon’s twisted desire. Olivia stood over the jigsaw puzzle, the sodden diaper clinging to her skin, a warm, but cold reminder of her degradation. The stench of urine filled her nostrils, a wave of shame washing over her. She couldn’t stay like this, wallowing in her own filth. With renewed determination, she tugged at the diaper’s fastenings, her nails digging into the unyielding plastic. A desperate trip to the kitchen yielded a pair of scissors, but even those proved useless against the demon’s magic. Trapped, defeated, she sank to the floor, the wet diaper chilling her princess parts. Never in her life had she felt so violated, so utterly helpless. Yet, a flicker of defiance remained. She wouldn’t let this demon break her. Returning to the puzzle, she forced her mind to focus on the remaining pieces. As the final piece clicked into place, a triumphant smile briefly touched her lips, quickly replaced by a gnawing hunger. Her stomach rumbled, demanding attention. The diaper squished and crinkled unpleasantly with each step as she made her way back to the kitchen. Wrenching open the fridge, she grabbed the container of prune stew she’d prepared before her trip. She devoured it greedily, the sweetness a temporary comfort. Avocado toast followed, the familiar routine offering a semblance of normalcy in this bizarre, degrading situation. Chapter 5: Uh oh… Olivia pushed away her empty plate, a wave of nausea replacing her hunger. As if summoned by her discomfort, the demon reappeared, a fresh diaper dangling from its bony fingers. “Ready to admit defeat, little one?” its voice oozed with smug satisfaction. “All it takes is a simple plea. Just ask nicely, and I’ll grant you the sweet relief of a clean diaper.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but defiance hardened her voice. “I’ll never beg you for anything,” she retorted. “Get me out of this diaper, now!” The demon’s smile widened, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “Oh, but you belong in it, don’t you, Olivia?” It gestured towards the dampness spreading across her thighs. “You’ve already proven that.” Olivia’s gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet the demon’s taunting eyes. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her. “And here’s a little secret,” the demon continued, its voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That prune stew you just devoured? It’s going to make you… well, let’s just say you’ll be needing a change sooner rather than later. See you bright and early tomorrow, Olivia.” With a final, mocking chuckle, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia frozen in horror. The implications of its words hit her like a thunderbolt. She’d wet the diaper, and now… now she was going to soil it. The thought was unbearable, a new level of degradation she hadn’t anticipated. “No,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible. But it was too late. The demon was gone, and Olivia was left alone to face the consequences of her actions, her stomach churning with dread, shame and stew. Panic rising in her throat, Olivia bolted from the kitchen, her sodden diaper slapping against her thighs. She needed a plan, a way to escape this humiliating fate. But the demon’s words echoed in her ears, a cruel reminder of her powerlessness. “You’ll be needing a change sooner rather than later.” Her frantic search for a solution led her to the bathroom, where she frantically rummaged through drawers and cabinets. Toilet paper, sanitary pads, even a plunger—nothing seemed capable of staving off the inevitable. A wave of nausea swept over her, a visceral reaction to the thought of soiling herself in front of the demon. She collapsed onto the cold tile floor, tears welling in her eyes. Was this really happening? Was this her life now, at the mercy of a sadistic demon and a humiliating diaper? Time seemed to warp and stretch as Olivia sat huddled on the bathroom floor, her mind a whirlwind of panic and humiliation. The initial wave of nausea subsided, replaced by a dull ache in her lower abdomen. She knew what was coming, but the thought of succumbing to the demon’s twisted game filled her with a visceral revulsion. Minutes turned into an agonizing eternity. The pressure in her bowels intensified, each gurgle a symphony of impending doom. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and her legs trembled with the effort of holding back. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into her thighs, a desperate attempt to maintain control. But it was a losing battle. With a defeated groan, Olivia finally relented, her body betraying her resolve. A warm, viscous substance oozed into the diaper, a sickening contrast to the chill of her fear-soaked skin. The stench filled the small bathroom, a pungent reminder of what she just did in her diaper. She buried her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body. The demon had won, for now. But deep within her, a spark of defiance remained, a tiny ember refusing to be extinguished. Exhaustion finally claimed Olivia, her body collapsing onto the bed, the soiled diaper a heavy, shameful weight against her skin. Sleep came fitfully, plagued by nightmares of the demon’s leering face and the suffocating stench of her own waste. Each toss and turn was a reminder of her predicament, the diaper chafing against her raw skin, a constant source of discomfort and humiliation. She had succumbed to the demon’s twisted game, her own actions fuelling its cruel amusement. The weight of her shame was crushing, a dark cloud suffocating her spirit. Yet, even in the depths of her despair, a flicker of defiance refused to die. This was not the end, she vowed silently. She would find a way to break free, to reclaim her dignity and her life. Chapter 6: You got me begging… Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom. Olivia stirred, a groan escaping her lips as she tried to stretch her cramped limbs. But something was amiss, a sticky warmth clinging to her skin, a foul odor invading her nostrils. Memories of the previous night flooded back, and a wave of nausea washed over her. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” a voice purred, its honeyed sweetness a jarring contrast to the demon’s grotesque form. Olivia jumped as her eyes snapped open, her gaze colliding with the demon perched on the edge of her bed. It wore a sickeningly cheerful grin, its eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. “How was your night? Did you sleep well?” Olivia recoiled, pulling the soiled diaper closer to her body, a futile attempt to shield herself from the demon’s scrutiny. “Go away,” she croaked, her voice raspy from sleep and shame. “Oh, come on now, don’t be like that,” the demon chided, its voice dripping with mock concern. “We have so much to discuss. After all, it’s a big day for you, isn’t it? Your first full day in diapers.” Olivia’s cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. “Leave me alone,” she hissed, her voice barely a whisper. She tried to sit up, but the diaper’s weight and the lingering nausea held her back. “Oh, come on, Olivia,” the demon coaxed, its voice dripping with false sympathy. “You can’t stay in that dirty diaper all day. It’s uncomfortable, unsanitary, and… well, frankly, it smells awful.” Olivia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The demon was right, of course. She desperately needed a change, but the thought of begging for it, of submitting to its twisted game, made her stomach churn. The demon leaned closer, its breath hot against Olivia’s skin. “Just ask me nicely, Olivia. Say the words, and I’ll grant you relief.” A war raged within Olivia. Pride and defiance battled against the overwhelming urge for cleanliness and comfort. Finally, her resolve crumbled. “Please,” she choked out, the word tasting like poison on her tongue. “Please change me.” The demon recoiled, its grin twisting into a sneer. “That’s not how you ask for a favor, Olivia,” it chided, its voice sharp as a whip. “Where’s the gratitude? The humility? The desperate plea for my mercy?” Olivia’s cheeks burned with renewed shame. She swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat like jagged shards of glass. “Please,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, master, would you be so kind as to change my diaper?” The demon cocked its head, studying her with a critical eye. “Better,” it conceded, “but not quite there yet. You need to sound more… pathetic. More desperate. More like the helpless creature you’ve become.” Tears welled up in Olivia’s eyes, her voice thick with emotion as she spoke. “Master, I am nothing without you,” she choked out. “I beg of you, please grant me this small mercy. I am filthy and unworthy, but I plead for your kindness. Please change my diaper.” The demon’s smile returned, a predatory glint in its eyes. “That’s more like it,” it purred, snapping its fingers. A fresh diaper materialized in its hand, its design identical to the soiled one. “I like it when the new ones beg for diapers. Now, be a good girl and lie still.” Olivia obeyed, her body trembling as the demon slowly and deliberately changed her diaper, its touch lingeringly cold and impersonal. “Could have just clicked my fingers,” it purred, its voice dripping with sadistic amusement. “But where’s the fun in that? A snap of my fingers, and poof! No mess, no fuss. But where’s the entertainment in that? Seeing you squirm, begging for my help… now that’s truly delightful.” The demon chuckled, a sound like nails scraping down a chalkboard, and held the soiled diaper up, the stench assaulting Olivia’s nose with renewed intensity. A cruel grin spread across the demon’s face. “Well, well, well, look at the state of you. Seems like you made quite a mess last night, didn’t you, little one? Perhaps you underestimated your ability to hold it. Or maybe you reveled in the mess a little too much, making a game of it all. You naughty little girl.” Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to spill over. The demon’s words were like acid, burning away her last shreds of dignity. The demon cackled, a sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. With practiced ease, it used a wet wipe to clean her princess parts and her bum, its touch rough and impersonal. “Hold still,” it commanded, its voice devoid of any warmth. Once Olivia was clean, the demon barked, “Legs up!” and waited impatiently for her to comply. With trembling hands, Olivia lifted her legs, offering a brief glimpse of her exposed bum. The demon wasted no time, swiftly sliding the fresh diaper underneath her. It then sprinkled a layer of baby powder over her princess parts and bum, the cool powder a stark contrast to the burning shame radiating from her core. Finally, with a flourish, the demon lifted the front over crotch and snapped the diaper tapes into place, securing it snugly around her waist. “There you go, all clean and… well, relatively fresh,” it sneered, sniffing the old soiled diaper in the air with exaggerated disgust. “But remember, Olivia,” it added, its voice dripping with false sympathy, “accidents happen to the best of us, especially when they’re wearing diapers like a little baby. And when those accidents happen, you’ll know exactly how to beg for my… assistance.” The demon’s grin widened, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. As it leaned in close, its breath reeking of sulfur, it whispered, “And make sure you beg well, because the consequences for disobedience are… unpleasant, to say the least.” With a final, lingering stroke of her cheek, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia alone with the lingering stench of shame from her soiled diaper next to her and the chilling realization that this was only the beginning of her torment. Chapter 7: The Demon’s Assistant Despite the lingering trauma of the demon’s touch, Olivia found herself oddly relieved to be in a fresh diaper. The clean, dry sensation against her skin was a stark contrast to the soiled diaper that now lay discarded on the floor, a tangible reminder of her humiliation. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, the emotional turmoil of the past hours taking its toll. She crawled back under her covers, the fresh diaper a small comfort amidst the chaos. Sleep came easier this time, her dreams less haunted by the demon’s menacing presence. As the morning sun streamed through her window, Olivia woke with a renewed sense of determination. She wouldn’t let the demon control her life. She would find a way to break free from this twisted game, to reclaim her dignity and independence. A loud knocking at the door startled her, interrupting her thoughts. Could it be the demon again, so soon? She cautiously approached the door, her heart pounding in her chest. Olivia cautiously cracked open the front door, shielding her diaper-clad body from view. “Package for Olivia Parker?” a cheerful voice chirped. “Yes, thank you,” Olivia mumbled, snatching the box and swiftly closing the door. A wave of relief washed over her. Just some LED lights she’d ordered before her disastrous trip. A perfect distraction from her current predicament. Parcel tucked under her arm, she turned towards the stairs, only to be halted by another insistent knock. With a frustrated sigh, she set the box down and yanked open the door. “Lucille,” a woman declared, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, “the Demon’s assistant. I’ll be coming in now.” Before Olivia could protest, the woman swept past her, her movements a whirlwind of chiffon and perfume. “Excuse me!” Olivia sputtered, indignation rising in her throat. But her protest was cut short as the woman—Lucille—snapped her fingers. In a flash, a bright pink pacifier appeared in Olivia’s mouth, silencing her. She gagged, her fingers clawing at the plastic, but to no avail. The more she struggled, the tighter her mouth clamped around the pacifier, her own body betraying her. Humiliation flooded her as she realized she was now not only trapped in a diaper but also reduced to an infantile state with the pacifier. Lucille surveyed Olivia with a critical eye, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Well, well, well,” she drawled, circling her like a predator sizing up its prey. “Looks like someone’s been a naughty girl. Didn’t your master teach you any manners?” Olivia glared at her through the pacifier, a silent fury burning in her eyes. She tried to speak, but the pacifier rendered her words into muffled, infantile gurgles. Lucille chuckled, a sound like wind chimes laced with venom. “Don’t worry, darling,” she cooed, patting Olivia’s head with a manicured hand. “I’m here to help you adjust to your new… lifestyle. The Demon has big plans for you, and I’m here to ensure you’re properly prepared.” She snapped her fingers again, and a mountain of baby supplies materialized in the middle of the living room: stacks of diapers, bottles filled with a milky liquid, jars of pureed food, and an assortment of pastel-colored toys. Olivia’s eyes widened in horror as Lucille began unpacking the items, her movements efficient and practiced. “Now, now, don’t look so glum,” Lucille chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful. “This is just the beginning. You’re going to have so much fun with all these new toys, aren’t you, sweetie?” She picked up a rattle shaped like a volcano, shaking it enticingly in front of Olivia’s face. Olivia recoiled, her disgust evident even through the pacifier. This was a nightmare, a grotesque mockery of her life. But as Lucille continued to unpack the supplies, a chilling realization dawned on her. This wasn’t a temporary punishment; this was the demon’s vision for her future. A future filled with diapers, baby formula, baby food, and the constant presence of Lucille. Lucille perched herself on the arm of the sofa, her gaze fixed on Olivia like a scientist observing a lab specimen. “Now, Olivia, darling,” she began, her voice a sickeningly sweet melody, “let’s talk about our new arrangement.” Olivia, still struggling fruitlessly against the pacifier, let out a muffled growl of frustration. “Oh, hush now, there’s no need for that,” Lucille chided, her tone saccharine but her eyes cold. “I’m here to help you, after all.” She leaned forward, her words dripping with condescension. “From now on, I’ll be your… caregiver, shall we say? I’ll be in charge of all your needs – feeding, changing, playtime, even bath time.” A sly smile curled on her lips. “And of course, discipline when necessary. Maybe even rewards! However, the Demon expects complete obedience, you understand?” Olivia’s eyes widened in horror. This was worse than she could have imagined. Lucille, with her patronizing tone and condescending touch, was to be her constant companion, her jailer in this infantile prison. “Don’t worry, darling,” Lucille cooed, misinterpreting Olivia’s silence. “You’ll get used to it. You’ll learn to love your new life, with all its simple pleasures and childish delights.” She picked up a teddy bear from the pile of baby supplies, its beady eyes seeming to mock Olivia’s despair. Olivia shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. This was not her life, not who she was. She was a scientist, a volcanologist, a woman with a career and a future. But the pacifier in her mouth prevented any protest, any plea for reason. All she could do was watch helplessly as Lucille laid out the grim reality of her new, demeaning existence. Lucille reached out a manicured hand, her fingers pinching the pacifier between Olivia’s lips. With a swift tug, she removed it, a triumphant smirk on her face. “There now,” she purred. “Don’t you feel better already?” Olivia gasped, her lungs filling with air from her mouth for the first time in what felt like hours. “You can’t do this!” she cried, her voice hoarse with emotion. “This is wrong! It’s insane!” Lucille raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Insane? Perhaps. But it’s also the Demon’s will, and as his humble servant, I’m merely following orders. Besides,” she added, her voice dripping with condescension, “you seem to be adjusting quite well already. Look at you, in your pretty little diaper, sucking on your pacifier like a good girl.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but anger fuelled her defiance. “I’m not a baby! I’m a grown woman, a scientist! This is degrading and humiliating!” Lucille shrugged, her expression nonchalant. “Oh, darling, we all have our roles to play in this grand cosmic drama. Yours just happens to be a bit more… infantile. But don’t worry, you’ll soon learn to embrace your new identity. And who knows,” she added with a wink, “you might even find that you enjoy it.” Olivia’s stomach churned with disgust. The thought of finding any pleasure in this twisted situation was abhorrent. But as she met Lucille’s gaze, a cold fear settled in her heart. She knew, with a bone-chilling certainty, that this was just the beginning of her ordeal. The demon and its assistant had a plan for her, and she knew now that she was powerless to stop them. A sudden warmth spread through Olivia’s diaper, the familiar sensation of wetness bringing a fresh wave of humiliation. She looked up at Lucille, who wore a triumphant smirk, confirming Olivia’s worst fears. “See?” Lucille purred, her voice a chilling melody. “You can’t control it anymore, darling. One minute you’ll be playing with your toys, the next… whoops! A little accident. Such a shame for a grown woman, wouldn’t you agree?” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Olivia’s ear. “But don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll get used to the constant wetness, the never-ending cycle of shame and dependency. Welcome to your new life, Olivia. It’s going to be a messy one, now that’s for sure.” The demon chuckles at her humiliation. Chapter 8: Who’s Humiliation? Yourmiliation. Olivia’s cheeks burned as the warmth spread through her diaper, a mixture of shame and anger coursing through her veins. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the pacifier quickly appeared in her mouth stifling any protest. Her eyes, filled with a mix of defiance and despair, locked onto Lucille’s mocking gaze. Lucille, sensing Olivia’s inner turmoil, continued her cruel taunts. “Oh, don’t be so glum, darling,” she cooed, patting Olivia’s head condescendingly. “It’s only pee, after all. It’s a natural bodily function, even for big girls like you. But now, you’ll have to rely on me, your ever-so-capable assistant, to clean up your little messes. How thrilling!” A wicked gleam entered Lucille’s eyes as she reached for a diaper bag overflowing with supplies. “Don’t worry, though,” she chirped, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “I’ve brought everything we need to keep you nice and dry. After all, we wouldn’t want your pretty little bottom getting sore, would we?” She paused, a sly smile spreading across her face. “But first, let’s see how well you can crawl. Maybe a little spanking will motivate you? A nice, firm reminder of the consequences for disobeying your new caretaker.” She tauntingly said as a menacing paddle appeared in her hand. The thought of being spanked like a child sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. She had always been fiercely independent, a woman who commanded respect in her field. Now, reduced to a crawling infant, she was at the mercy of this sadistic caretaker. With a heavy heart, she obeyed, lowering herself onto her hands and knees. The crinkling of the wet diaper against her skin was a constant reminder of her humiliation. “That’s a good girl,” Lucille praised, her voice laced with a sickeningly sweet tone. “Now crawl, Olivia. Show me how eager you are to please.” The assistant pointed towards a pile of diapers at the other end of the room, a wicked glint in her eye. Olivia, fuelled by a mix of shame and defiance, began to crawl, pacifier in mouth. Each movement rocked her wet diaper back and fourth against her princess parts, she felt herself getting hot and bothered. She wanted to reach inside of her diaper and touch herself, but she shook her head and gritted her teeth, focusing on the pile of diapers, a beacon of hope in this degrading ordeal. With each agonizing inch, she prayed for the strength to endure this humiliation, clinging to the belief that she would find a way to break free from this twisted game before she actually started to enjoy it. Lucille watched Olivia’s progress with a predatory grin. “Not bad, darling,” she purred. “But you could be faster. Remember, the quicker you get there, the quicker you’ll be out of that soggy mess.” Olivia’s muscles burned with exertion, but she pushed herself onward. The diaper, heavy with urine, rubbed against her sensitive skin, a constant reminder of her helplessness. She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the edge of a diaper package, a spark of hope igniting within her. But just as she was about to grasp it, Lucille’s foot came down on top of the package, pinning it to the floor. Olivia looked up, her eyes pleading for mercy, but Lucille only laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the room. “Not so fast, little one,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. “You haven’t earned your reward yet. A few more laps should do the trick.” She felt her heart flutter as well as her princess parts as she turned around. Olivia whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. She was exhausted, humiliated, and desperate for relief from the sodden diaper clinging to her skin. The smell of urine was overwhelming, filling her nostrils with each ragged breath. Lucille, however, seemed to revel in Olivia’s discomfort. “Aww, is the little baby feeling icky?” she cooed, her voice a sickening blend of mockery and amusement. “Did the naughty girl have an accident? Don’t worry, darling, a few more laps and you’ll be rewarded with a nice, fresh diaper. Or maybe you enjoy the feeling of that warm wetness against your skin?” Olivia’s face burned with shame and curiosity. Did Lucille know she was getting turned on? But she refused to give Lucille the satisfaction of seeing her cry. With a defiant snarl, she resumed her crawl, the soggy diaper squishing and rubbing against her parts more and more with every movement. Olivia let out a little moan as she crawled. As Olivia continued her humiliating crawl, a strange sensation began to emerge from the discomfort. The constant friction of the diaper against her sensitive skin, initially a source of irritation, was now sparking a warmth that spread through her lower body. Each movement, each shift of her hips, ignited a flicker of pleasure she hadn’t anticipated. A wave of confusion washed over her. She was disgusted by the situation, mortified by her own incontinence, yet her body was betraying her, responding to the forbidden stimulation with a growing warmth. She tried to suppress the feeling, to focus on the anger and humiliation, but the pleasure was insistent, a siren song luring her towards a dangerous precipice. Lucille, ever observant, noticed the subtle change in Olivia’s demeanor. A knowing smirk spread across her face. “Oh, I see,” she purred, her voice laced with amusement. “Looks like someone’s starting to enjoy herself. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, little one.” She leaned closer, her breath hot against Olivia’s ear. “Embrace the sensation, darling. It’s only going to get better from here. Crawl faster!” The demon’s assistant clapped her hands together, the sound echoing through the silent house. “Well, well, well,” she chirped, her voice dripping with feigned delight. “Looks like someone’s finally getting the hang of this. But we can’t have you dilly-dallying now, can we, darling? Pick up the pace! Your reward awaits, but only for those who earn it.” Olivia, caught between mortification and a growing sense of arousal, obeyed. She quickened her pace, her hands and knees hitting the floor with rhythmic thuds. The diaper, now saturated, clung to her like a second skin, the friction against her most intimate areas intensifying with each movement. She gritted her teeth, a low moan escaping her lips as the pleasure became almost unbearable. Lucille’s laughter filled the room, a cruel melody that fueled Olivia’s growing shame. “That’s it, darling,” she encouraged, her voice laced with a sadistic glee. “Crawl for me. Crawl like the good little baby you are. The faster you go, the sooner you’ll be rewarded. But remember,” she added with a menacing edge, “if you stop, the punishment will be severe.” Driven by a potent cocktail of humiliation, desperation, and a dark, forbidden pleasure, Olivia surged forward, her limbs moving faster than she thought possible. The room blurred around her, the only focus the pile of diapers looming closer with each frantic crawl. A tingling sensation built within her, a familiar pressure that she knew she couldn’t hold back any longer. With a gasp, she reached the pile, collapsing onto the soft, absorbent mound. The dam finally broke, and a torrent of warm liquid flooded her diaper, she sucked on her pacifier harder as she squirted into the pee-soaked diaper closing her eyes with pleasure. A shudder wracked her body, a mix of shame and undeniable relief. She had lost control, given in to the demon’s twisted game, yet a part of her revelled in the orgasm she just had in her pissy diaper. Lucille clapped her hands, her laughter echoing through the room. “Bravo, Olivia!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Such a good girl. Now, wasn’t that so much better than holding it in?” She leaned down, her face inches from Olivia’s, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “But remember, darling, this is just the beginning. There are so many more ways for you to please me. So many more messes for you to make.” Lucille pressed her hand against Olivia’s diaper, rubbing it firmly through the wet fabric. “And we’ll have a lot of fun cleaning them up together. Won’t we, little one?” Lucille, sensing Olivia’s heightened vulnerability, plucked the pacifier from her mouth with a triumphant flourish. “Well, well, well,” she cooed, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Someone seems to be enjoying her new reality. Tell me, Olivia, are you ready to be a good little girl and obey my every command?” Olivia, still flushed with pleasure and shame, nodded eagerly, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “Yes, yes!” she chirped, her words barely coherent. “I’ll be good, I promise!” Lucille chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “I’m sure you will, darling,” she purred. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” With practiced efficiency, Lucille peeled away the soiled diaper, a wave of embarrassment washing over Olivia as the stench filled the air. The demon’s assistant tutted disapprovingly, her eyes narrowing in disgust. “Someone’s been a messy little girl,” she scolded, her voice laced with sarcasm. Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame. The brief moment of pleasure had evaporated, replaced by a deep sense of humiliation and self-loathing. Disgusting. How could she have let herself get to that point? The smell of her own waste filled her nostrils, a constant reminder of her degradation. She squeezed her eyes shut, the image of the overflowing diaper a horrifying tableau burned into her mind. Had she really just gotten off on crawling around like a baby, whimpering for a diaper change? Shame radiated from her core, a sickening heat that threatened to consume her whole. But beneath the shame, a flicker of something else remained – a morbid curiosity, a twisted echo of the pleasure she had experienced. It was a terrifying realization, a seed of darkness planted in her mind by Lucille’s cruel game. The touch of the wet wipes against her skin snapped Olivia out of her momentary haze. Reality crashed back in, a harsh wave of disgust and despair. She gritted her teeth, tears welling in her eyes. This wasn’t her, this wasn’t who she was. But as Lucille fastened a fresh diaper around her waist, the crinkling of the plastic a stark reminder of her new reality, Olivia knew she was trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight. Chapter 9: Playing With Teddy The clean diaper did nothing to alleviate Olivia’s despair. The crinkling plastic only amplified her humiliation, a constant reminder of her infantilized state. As Lucille stepped back to admire her handiwork, Olivia’s mind raced, searching for a way out of this twisted game. “There,” Lucille chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful. “All clean and dry, just like a little baby.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied Olivia’s face. “But you don’t seem very happy about it, darling. Is something wrong?” Olivia glared at her, a silent fury burning in her eyes. She wanted to scream, to curse, to lash out, but the pacifier in her mouth stifled any sound. Her only response was a defiant shake of her head, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Lucille’s smile faltered, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “Oh, come now, Olivia,” she chided, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Don’t be difficult. We have so much fun planned for you today.” She gestured towards a pile of colorful clothes on the bed, a collection of frilly dresses and oversized t-shirts adorned with cartoon characters. Olivia’s eyes widened in horror as she recognized the outfits. They were the epitome of childishness, the kind of clothes she hadn’t worn since she was a toddler. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her as she realized what Lucille had in store. “Now, darling,” Lucille purred, picking up a particularly garish pink dress with a matching bonnet. “Let’s get you dressed for the day. It’s time for you to embrace your new role, Olivia. The role of a sweet, innocent little girl.” Olivia shook her head violently, the pacifier bobbing against her lips as she let out a muffled protest. She would not wear those ridiculous clothes. She would not be reduced to a caricature of childhood innocence. Lucille’s patience was wearing thin. “Olivia,” she warned, her voice laced with steel. “Don’t make this difficult. Put on the dress, or I’ll have to find other ways to persuade you.” Olivia’s defiance wavered. She knew Lucille was capable of cruelty, of finding new and inventive ways to humiliate her. But the thought of parading around in those childish clothes was almost too much to bear. “Fine,” she mumbled through the pacifier, her voice barely audible. “I’ll wear the dress.” A triumphant smile spread across Lucille’s face. “That’s a good girl,” she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension. “Now, let’s get you dressed and ready for playtime.” Olivia stood there, her head bowed in shame as Lucille helped her into the frilly pink dress. The fabric felt cheap and scratchy against her skin, a stark contrast to the comfortable clothes she was used to wearing. The bonnet, with its ridiculous oversized bow, was the final indignity. She felt like a clown, a mockery of her former self. As Lucille led Olivia towards the playpen, the plastic structure loomed before her like a miniature prison. The brightly colored bars mocked her with their childish cheerfulness, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile feeling that emanated from the interior. Inside, a collection of baby toys lay scattered on the floor, their plastic forms gleaming in the harsh light. Olivia knew what awaited her: forced playtime, infantile games designed to further humiliate her and chip away at her remaining sense of self. The playpen wasn’t just a confinement; it was a symbol of her new reality, a place where her mind and body would be moulded into something unrecognizable. Before leaving Olivia to her fate, Lucille produced a baby bottle filled with a milky white liquid. “Here you go, darling,” she chirped, thrusting the bottle into Olivia’s hands. “A little snack to keep you fueled during playtime. Make sure you finish it before I get back, or there will be consequences.” Olivia eyed the bottle with disgust. The thought of drinking baby formula, of being treated like an infant, made her stomach churn. But the memory of Lucille’s earlier threats was still fresh in her mind. She knew better than to disobey. “And remember,” Lucille added with a sly smile, “milk always makes babies need a diaper change. So don’t be surprised if you find yourself feeling a little… wet… soon. It’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?” She winked, a gesture that sent a chill down Olivia’s spine. With a final, mocking pat on the head, Lucille left Olivia alone in the playpen, the bottle of formula a heavy weight in her trembling hand. Olivia stared at the milky liquid, her mind racing. She had to find a way out of this, a way to escape the demon’s clutches and reclaim her life. But for now, she had to play along, to survive this twisted game until she could find a way to fight back. With a deep breath, she raised the bottle to her lips, the taste of the formula a bitter reminder of her powerlessness. The formula, surprisingly, wasn’t as repulsive as Olivia had anticipated. It was sweet, cloying, and left a sticky residue on her lips. As she drained the last few drops, a warmth spread through her lower abdomen. It was the familiar, dreaded feeling, the precursor to another humiliating episode of incontinence. She tried to hold it back, to clench her muscles and resist the urge, but it was futile. A warm trickle escaped, followed by a steady stream. The diaper quickly became saturated, the heavy, wet sensation a stark reminder of her helplessness. Just as Olivia was sinking into despair, the door creaked open. Lucille swept into the room, her eyes scanning Olivia with predatory interest. “Well, well, well,” she purred, her voice laced with amusement. “Looks like someone couldn’t hold her tinkles. Did the yummy milk make the baby girl tinkle in her diaper? Tell me what you’ve done little girl.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, a tear tracing a hot path down her cheek. Her voice trembled as she spoke, barely audible over the crinkling of the soaked diaper against her skin. “Y-yes,” she stammered her helplessness a bitter pill to swallow. “I wet myself. Please, I need a change.” Lucille’s lips curled into a sly smirk. “Oh, sweetie,” she crooned, her voice dripping with false sympathy, “did you forget already? It’s playtime now. Big girls need to learn patience, you know?” She gestured towards the scattered toys in the playpen, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Now, be a good girl and play with your toys. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll consider changing you after.” Lucille collected her things from the room and went away again. Olivia’s heart sank. She knew there was no point in arguing. The discomfort of the wet diaper was unbearable, but the fear of further humiliation was even worse. With a defeated sigh, she reached for a brightly colored rattle, her mind racing as she tried to devise a plan. She couldn’t stay like this, trapped in this infantile nightmare. There had to be a way out. Olivia halfheartedly shook the rattle, the hollow sound a mocking echo of her own emptiness. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – anger, humiliation, and a deep-seated fear that this was her new reality. But beneath those emotions, a spark of defiance remained, a refusal to completely surrender to the demon’s twisted game. As she played, her eyes darted around the room, searching for any potential escape route. The windows were too high, the door locked from the outside. Her gaze fell upon the diaper bag Lucille had brought in earlier. Perhaps there was something in there, a tool, a weapon, anything that could help her break free. Mustering all her courage, Olivia crawled towards the bag, her movements cautious and deliberate. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric. A surge of hope coursed through her veins. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she could escape this nightmare. With trembling fingers, Olivia unzipped the diaper bag, her heart pounding in her chest. The contents were a grotesque parody of a baby’s essentials: talcum powder, a tube of diaper rash cream, a handful of pacifiers, and a stack of brightly colored diapers. Olivia’s stomach churned as she realized there was nothing useful in the bag, nothing that could aid her escape. A sob escaped her lips as she slumped back against the playpen wall, a wave of despair washing over her. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own home, reduced to a helpless infant. The demon had won, and her life as she knew it was over. As if sensing her defeat, Lucille’s voice echoed through the room, a chilling reminder of her presence. “Having fun, Olivia?” she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement. “Don’t worry, darling. The beginning is starting now. You’ll soon learn to love your new life, with all its messy little pleasures.” Olivia’s body tensed, her stomach clenching in response to Lucille’s taunting words. The formula, now churning in her belly, triggered a familiar urge, a pressure building within her. She tried to fight it, to hold back, but the demon’s influence was too strong. A solid mass of warmth flooded her diaper, the sensation a mix of relief and utter shame. She had lost control again, her body betraying her in the most humiliating way possible. The smell of her poop filled the playpen, a pungent reminder of her degradation. Tears welled up in Olivia’s eyes as she whimpered softly. She was no longer just wet; she was filthy, a helpless infant adult wallowing in her own excrement. This was the lowest point of her life, a nadir of shame and despair. She had become the very thing the demon wanted her to be: a helpless, infantile creature, utterly dependent on its cruel whims. Lucille’s laughter echoed through the room, a cruel melody that twisted Olivia’s insides. “Oh, Olivia,” she cooed, her voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet tone, “what a mess you’ve made. But don’t worry, darling. We’ll take care of it.” With a snap of her fingers, Lucille conjured a new toy, a large, plush teddy bear with soft brown fur and innocent button eyes. The bear was oddly oversized for the playpen, its limbs sprawling across the limited space. “Look, Olivia,” Lucille purred, “a new friend to keep you company. I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun together.” Lucille says as she snaps her fingers again, this time filling Olivia up with libido. As she spoke, an unsettling warmth began to spread through Olivia’s body. The sensation was different from the shame and disgust she had felt earlier. It was a warmth that tingled and pulsed, a growing heat that seemed to originate from her princess parts. Her eyes darted to the teddy bear, a new and unfamiliar desire taking root in her mind. Lucille, sensing the shift in Olivia’s demeanor, let out a low chuckle. “Yes, darling,” she whispered, her voice a seductive caress. “Let your imagination run wild. Play with your new friend, and don’t be afraid to explore your desires. After all, a little mess is nothing to be ashamed of, is it?” Lucille bumps up Olivia’s libido with a click of her fingers. The shame that had consumed Olivia moments before began to morph into something else, a tingling curiosity that pulsed through her princess parts and body. Her eyes remained locked on the teddy bear, its soft fur and inviting curves a stark contrast to the cold, sterile plastic of the playpen. Lucille’s words echoed in her mind, a tempting invitation to explore a forbidden realm. “Don’t be afraid to explore your desires,” she had said. And in that moment, a wave of rebellion surged through Olivia. If this was the life she was forced to live, she would find a way to make it her own, to carve out a sliver of pleasure from the humiliation. With a newfound determination, Olivia crawled towards the teddy bear, her eyes never leaving its plush form. She reached out, her fingers sinking into the soft fur, a shiver running down her spine. The sensation was oddly comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, clinical touch of Lucille’s hands. Emboldened by the rising warmth within her, Olivia pulled herself onto the teddy bear, straddling its plush body. The diaper, already heavy with her excrement, shifted against her sensitive parts, the friction igniting a spark of pleasure that sent a jolt through her body. She gasped, her fingers tightening in the bear’s fur as she rocked against it, the forbidden sensation growing with each movement. Olivia’s body writhed in pleasure as she grinded against the giant teddy bear, the contents of her messy diaper rubbing against her pussy with each movement. The wetness and warmth of the padding only heightened her arousal, her clit throbbing with need. Lucille watched with a smirk on her face, enjoying the humiliation of the adult woman humping a stuffed animal in a wet and messy diaper and recorded her. “Well, well, well,” she taunted, “looks like someone’s enjoying their messy diaper a little too much.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t deny the pleasure coursing through her body. She pushed harder against the teddy, her orgasm building with each rub of the poopy wet diaper against her princess parts. Lucille leaned in, a playful smirk twisting her lips, “Someone’s already making quite the mess, aren’t they? And it’s about to get a different type of messy, isn’t it, wittle Olivia?” Her eyes sparkled with malicious delight, a hint of purring entering her tone. Olivia couldn’t hold back any longer, her climax hitting her like a wave. She cried out, her pussy pulsing with pleasure as she came into the wet and messy diaper. She continued grinding and grinding, its foul contents spreading further, while she had orgasm after orgasm until she lay against the teddy bear exhausted, but in ecstasy with a very messy diapered bottom. Lucille’s voicedripped with saccharine sweetness, a stark contrast to the cruel glint in her eyes. “Oh, Olivia, what a good girl you are!” she cooed, clapping her hands together in mock delight. “Look at the lovely present you left in your diaper. Such a big, smelly surprise and a sticky one too!” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Olivia’s ear. “Aren’t you proud of yourself?” she whispered, her voice laced with a perverse kind of satisfaction. “Such a dirty little baby, making a sticky mess like that. Mommy’s so pleased.” Olivia, already burdened with humiliation, felt a fresh wave of shame wash over her at Lucille’s twisted praise. Tears welled up in her eyes anew, not from the discomfort of the soiled diaper, but from the crushing weight of degradation. She had never felt so small, so utterly debased. “Please,” Olivia choked out, her voice barely a whisper, “just… just clean me up.” The words tasted like poison on her tongue, each syllable a surrender to the demon’s cruel game. Lucille’s smile widened, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “As you wish, my sticky little mess maker,” she purred, her voice laced with malicious glee. With deliberate slowness, she began to clean Olivia, her every touch a reminder of the scientist’s helplessness. Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of her situation. But even with her eyes closed, she could still feel Lucille’s cold, mocking gaze upon her. The cleaning process was agonizingly slow, Lucille taking every opportunity to prolong Olivia’s torment. She cooed and praised Olivia’s “good behaviour,” her voice a grating symphony of condescension. Olivia, exhausted from humping her teddy, fell asleep during her diaper change. Chapter 10: Life Could Be A Dream (Finale) When Olivia awoke, she found herself not in her bed, but in a crib, its bars cold and unyielding against her touch. Panic flared as she realized she was locked in, the familiar surroundings of her bedroom warped and distorted by the dim light filtering through the slats. A desperate urge to pee gnawed at her, the sensation growing stronger with each passing moment. Olivia squirmed, her diaper rustling with her movements, but there was no escape. Tears welled up in her eyes as she succumbed to the inevitable, the warmth spreading through her diaper a humiliating reminder of her helplessness. The door creaked open, and Lucille entered, her silhouette framed by the dim light. Her eyes gleamed as she took in the sight of Olivia, trapped and soiled in the crib. “Ah, my little baby,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did you have an accident? Such a shame. But don’t worry, Mommy’s here to take care of you.” Olivia clenched her fists, her cheeks burning with shame and anger. “Let me out of here!” she demanded, her voice a mixture of defiance and desperation. Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “Not yet, my dear,” she purred. “First, we need to have a little chat.” She walked over to the crib, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. Olivia shrank back, her body pressed against the cold bars. Lucille leaned over the crib, her face mere inches from Olivia’s. “You see, Olivia,” she said, her voice soft and insidious, “this is your true nature. Helpless, dependent, in need of a mommy to change your dirty diaper.” Olivia’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’m not a baby!” she hissed. “I’m a grown woman, a scientist!” Lucille smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. “That’s what you think, my dear. But deep down, you crave this. You crave the comfort of a diaper, the security of being taken care of, the thrill of submission.” Olivia wanted to scream, to deny everything Lucille was saying, but the words died in her throat. A part of her, a small, insidious part, whispered in agreement. Lucille reached into the crib, her fingers gently tracing the outline of Olivia’s diaper. “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” she purred. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. You’ll see, it’s much more fun to be bad.” A strange sensation washed over Olivia, a mixture of shame, excitement, and surrender. She closed her eyes, her body trembling as Lucille unlatched the crib and lifted her out. “That’s it, my little baby,” Lucille crooned, her voice a hypnotic lullaby. “Let Mommy take care of you.” She carried Olivia to the desk, where the strange contraption hummed with an unsettling energy. Lucille placed a helmet on Olivia’s head, its cold metal pressing against her temples. “Now, my dear,” she whispered, her voice filled with anticipation. “Let’s explore your deepest desires together.” The world around Olivia dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, her consciousness slipping away into the realm of dreams. The chill of the helmet pressed against Olivia’s skin, plunging her into the swirling chaos of the dream realm. She found herself in a dimly lit classroom, the air thick with the scent of chalk and old books. Rows of wooden desks faced a blackboard covered in complex equations and diagrams. Olivia was seated at one of the desks, her legs dangling above the floor. She was wearing a school uniform, a pleated skirt and a white blouse, but the most noticeable feature was the thick diaper peeking out from under the hem of her skirt. A figure stood at the front of the classroom, a stern-looking woman with wire-rimmed glasses and a tight bun. It was Professor Lucille, her voice booming across the room as she lectured on the intricacies of quantum mechanics. “Now, Miss Olivia,” she said, her gaze fixing on Olivia with a disapproving frown. “Can you explain to the class the principles of quantum entanglement?” Olivia squirmed in her seat, her face flushed with embarrassment. She had no idea what quantum entanglement was, and the diaper bulging between her legs made it difficult to concentrate. “I… I don’t know, Professor,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. Professor Lucille sighed, a sound of exasperation mixed with a hint of amusement. “Of course you don’t, you silly girl,” she said, her voice softening. “You’ve been too busy playing with your dollies and wetting your diaper.” A wave of shame washed over Olivia. She knew Professor Lucille was right; she had been neglecting her studies, her mind preoccupied with childish fantasies and the comfort of a full diaper. “But don’t worry, Olivia,” Professor Lucille continued, her voice taking on a seductive purr. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to teach you all about the wonders of science… and the joys of diaper submission.” She walked towards Olivia, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. Olivia shrank back in her seat, her heart pounding in her chest. Professor Lucille stopped beside Olivia’s desk, her hand reaching out to gently stroke Olivia’s hair. “You’re such a bright girl, Olivia,” she whispered. “But you need discipline. You need guidance. You need… a firm hand.” Olivia felt a shiver run down her spine, a mixture of fear and excitement. She knew what was coming, and a part of her, a dark, forbidden part, craved it. Professor Lucille stepped back, her gaze intense and unwavering. “Stand up, Olivia,” she commanded. Trembling, Olivia pushed herself up from her chair, her legs shaking beneath her. She was fully aware of the obscene sight she must have presented, her diaper sagging heavily between her legs, a wet patch spreading across the front. “Bend over your desk,” Professor Lucille instructed. Olivia did as she was told, her hands gripping the edge of the wooden desk as she leaned forward, her bottom thrust out. She could feel the cold air on her diaper, the material still damp from her earlier accidents. Professor Lucille moved behind her, her steps measured and deliberate. Olivia closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable. The first slap came down hard, the impact echoing through the classroom. Olivia gasped, her body jolting forward. The sharp pain radiated through her, a stark contrast to the comforting warmth of her diaper. Another slap followed, and another. Each one stung, the pain building with every strike. Olivia couldn’t help but moan, her body writhing beneath the assault. “Is this what you need, Olivia?” Professor Lucille asked, her voice thick with desire. “Discipline? Control?” “Yessss,” Olivia whimpered, the word barely audible. She was beyond shame now, beyond embarrassment. She was lost in the sensations, her body betraying her with each whimper and moan. Professor Lucille continued the spanking, each slap harder and more intense than the last. Olivia could feel her diaper growing even wetter, the heat from her punishment mixing with the warmth of her excretions and the heat from how horny she was getting. Eventually, Professor Lucille stopped, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Olivia’s bottom and princess parts were a throbbing mess, her body aching with the abuse. “Very good, Olivia,” Professor Lucille said, her voice soft and comforting. “You have learned your lesson.” Olivia stayed bent over the desk, too exhausted to move. She could feel the trickle of wetness trailing down her legs, her diaper now thoroughly soaked and leaking. In that moment, she belonged to Professor Lucille. She was her student, her submissive, her plaything. She had surrendered herself completely, her body and her mind. And she had never felt so alive. Suddenly, the classroom vanished, the scent of chalk and the echoing lecture fading into oblivion. Olivia gasped, her eyes flying open as the helmet was removed from her head. The dream’s lingering warmth clung to her skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of her bedroom. Lucille loomed over her, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “Well, my dear,” she purred, “it seems you’ve discovered a hidden talent for academic submission.” Olivia recoiled, a wave of revulsion washing over her. The memory of her dream-self, the meek student eager for punishment, filled her with shame and disgust. “No,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “That’s not me. That’s not who I am.” Lucille chuckled, her voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t be so naive, Olivia,” she chided. “That is who you are, deep down. You crave authority, discipline, the thrill of surrendering to a dominant figure.” Olivia shook her head vehemently, her eyes blazing with defiance. “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “This is just a dream, a twisted fantasy you’ve implanted in my mind.” Lucille raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Oh, is it?” she challenged. “Then why is your heart racing? Why are your cheeks flushed? Why can’t you deny the undeniable pleasure you felt in that classroom?” Olivia’s resolve wavered. The lingering warmth of the dream, the memory of Professor Lucille’s firm hand, the thrill of submission… it was all too real, too intoxicating. “This isn’t me,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. But even as she said the words, a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. Lucille leaned closer, her breath warm against Olivia’s ear. “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” she whispered. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. You’ll see, it’s much more fun to be bad.” The helmet descended once more, its cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of Lucille’s touch. Olivia braced herself, unsure of what awaited her in the depths of her subconscious this time. The world dissolved into a dizzying vortex of colors and shapes, before solidifying into a starkly different scene. She found herself in a grand ballroom, chandeliers glittering overhead, the air filled with the strains of a waltz. But Olivia was not a guest at this elegant affair. She was dressed as a maid, her uniform crisp and starched, a frilly apron tied around her waist. A diaper peeked out from beneath her skirt, a stark reminder of her subservient role. Across the room, a figure stood out from the swirling crowd of dancers. It was Lady Lucille, resplendent in a flowing gown, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched Olivia navigate the crowded room, a tray of champagne flutes balanced precariously in her hands. Olivia’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as she stumbled, her diaper rustling with her every movement. The guests snickered and whispered as she made her way towards Lady Lucille, her heart pounding in her chest. “Ah, there you are, my little maid,” Lady Lucille purred, her voice a seductive melody. “I see you’re having a bit of trouble with your duties.” Olivia lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I apologize, my lady,” she stammered. “I’ll be more careful next time.” Lady Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “No need to apologize, my dear,” she said, her voice softening. “Accidents happen, especially to clumsy little maids who can’t seem to keep their diapers dry.” Olivia’s face flushed crimson. She could feel the warmth spreading through her diaper, a humiliating reminder of her inadequacy. Lady Lucille reached out, her fingers gently lifting Olivia’s chin. “But don’t worry, my dear,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I have a special task for you, a task that will require all of your… unique talents.” Lady Lucille led Olivia through the throng of dancers, her grip firm on Olivia’s arm. They reached a secluded alcove, hidden from the prying eyes of the guests. The air here was thick with the scent of perfume and something else, something primal and intoxicating. “You see, Olivia,” Lady Lucille began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I have a… particular interest in those who find pleasure in serving others. Those who revel in their own submission, who find joy in fulfilling their master’s every whim.” Olivia’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew where this was going, and a part of her, a part she had desperately tried to suppress, thrilled at the prospect. Lady Lucille’s hand trailed down Olivia’s arm, her fingers lingering on the curve of her hip. “I’ve heard whispers,” she continued, her voice a seductive purr, “of a brilliant scientist who has a secret, a hidden desire for something… more.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but she couldn’t deny the truth in Lady Lucille’s words. The dreams, the fantasies, the forbidden desires… they were all bubbling to the surface, threatening to consume her. “Don’t be afraid, Olivia,” Lady Lucille whispered, her breath warm against Olivia’s ear. “Embrace your desires. Embrace your submission. Embrace your diaper.” Her hand slipped under Olivia’s skirt, her fingers brushing against the damp warmth of the diaper. Olivia gasped, her body tensing, but a wave of pleasure washed over her, erasing all thoughts of resistance. Lady Lucille smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. “There you are, my little pet,” she purred. “Let me show you how truly wonderful it can be to serve.” Lady Lucille’s fingers trailed along the wet fabric of the diaper, making Olivia shiver with desire. She could feel her heart racing, her breathing shallow and ragged as the older woman continued to touch her. “You like that, don’t you?” Lady Lucille murmured in her ear, her breath hot and heavy. “Feeling my fingers on your wet diaper?” Olivia could only nod, too overwhelmed with pleasure to speak. She had never felt anything like this before – the combination of shame, excitement, and arousal was intoxicating. Lady Lucille’s other hand reached up to caress Olivia’s breast, her thumb circling the nipple through the fabric of her dress. “Such a good girl,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry. “So eager to please, so willing to submit.” Olivia felt herself sinking deeper into the pleasure, her mind clouded with thoughts of servitude and desire. She wanted nothing more than to please Lady Lucille, to do whatever she asked of her. “Take off your panties,” Lady Lucille commanded, her voice firm and authoritative. “Let me see your diaper.” Olivia’s hands trembled as she obeyed, sliding her panties down her legs and stepping out of them. She stood there, exposed and vulnerable, her diaper on display for Lady Lucille to see. “Such a good girl,” Lady Lucille murmured again, her hand reaching down to stroke the wet fabric of the diaper. “So obedient, so eager to please.” Olivia felt herself melting under the older woman’s touch, her body trembling with pleasure. She had never felt anything like this before, never experienced such intense arousal and submission. “Now, go back to the party,” Lady Lucille said, her voice still firm but with a hint of amusement. “But remember, you belong to me now. You are my pet, my submissive, my little girl in diapers.” Olivia nodded, her mind still reeling with pleasure and desire. She turned and walked back to the party, her diaper wet and heavy between her legs, her mind focused on Lady Lucille and the new world of pleasure she had opened up for her. The opulent ballroom dissolved into a hazy blur, replaced by the stark familiarity of Olivia’s bedroom. The helmet was gone, the echo of Lady Lucille’s seductive voice fading into a distant memory. Olivia blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The sensation of the wet diaper between her legs remained, a tangible reminder of the dream’s intense reality. A wave of shame washed over her, followed by a pang of longing. She touched her cheeks, still flushed from the dream’s passionate encounter, and the denial rose within her. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head fiercely. “This isn’t me. It can’t be.” Yet, the memory of Lady Lucille’s touch, her whispered promises of pleasure and submission, lingered in Olivia’s mind like a tempting siren song. The logical part of her, the scientist, rebelled against these newfound desires. But another part, a darker, more primal aspect, yearned to succumb to the forbidden thrill. Lucille watched Olivia’s internal struggle with amusement. “Still clinging to your illusions, my dear?” she asked, her voice a silky thread weaving through the silence. “Denial is a powerful tool, but it won’t shield you from the truth forever.” Olivia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “This is wrong,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re manipulating me, twisting my mind.” Lucille tilted her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Am I, Olivia?” she countered. “Or am I simply revealing what’s been hidden within you all along?” Olivia’s resolve wavered, her mind caught in a tug-of-war between reason and desire. She longed to believe that this was all a twisted game, a cruel trick played by a manipulative demon. But deep down, a gnawing doubt gnawed at her. “You’re lying,” she insisted, her voice a desperate plea for reassurance. “This isn’t who I am.” Lucille’s smile widened, her eyes glittering with triumph. “We’ll see about that, my dear,” she purred. “The night is young, and we have so much more to explore.” The helmet’s familiar weight settled upon Olivia’s head, and the world around her dissolved once more. This time, she found herself in a brightly lit playroom, filled with toys and colorful decorations. But the atmosphere was far from cheerful. Olivia was seated in a high chair, a bib tied around her neck, a half-eaten bowl of mush in front of her. She wore a baby blue onesie, and a thick diaper bulged between her legs. A stern-faced woman in a nanny uniform stood before her, a spoonful of mush hovering in the air. “Eat up, Olivia,” she commanded, her voice firm but laced with a hint of amusement. “Big girls need to finish their dinner if they want to grow up strong and healthy.” Olivia scowled, pushing the spoon away with a petulant whine. “I don’t wanna,” she mumbled, her voice thick with defiance. Nanny Lucille’s smile tightened. “Oh, but you will,” she insisted, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “You’re a naughty little girl who needs to learn some manners. And I know just the way to teach you.” She set the spoon aside and reached for a wooden paddle hanging on the wall. Olivia’s eyes widened in alarm as Nanny Lucille approached, the paddle held menacingly in her hand. “This will teach you a lesson, young lady,” Nanny Lucille declared, her voice dripping with mock disapproval. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before disobeying your nanny.” The paddle connected with Olivia’s bottom, a sharp sting that sent a shockwave through her body. Tears welled up in her eyes, but a strange heat bloomed in her core, a mixture of pain, humiliation, and a forbidden thrill. Nanny Lucille continued her discipline, each strike of the paddle igniting a conflicting symphony of sensations within Olivia. She whimpered and cried, yet a part of her reveled in the punishment, her body responding with a growing warmth and a tingling arousal. “There, there,” Nanny Lucille cooed, her voice a soothing balm as she set the paddle aside. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now, are you going to be a good girl and finish your dinner?” Olivia nodded meekly, her cheeks flushed with shame and a strange excitement. She opened her mouth as Nanny Lucille scooped up another spoonful of mush, a flicker of defiance still burning in her eyes, yet her body already yielding to the intoxicating power of submission. The playroom scene dissolved, leaving Olivia blinking in the dim light of her bedroom once more. The helmet was gone, the echo of Nanny Lucille’s stern voice and the sting of the paddle fading into a disturbing memory. She was still in her onesie, the diaper heavy and warm between her legs. The lingering sensation of the spanking, a mix of humiliation and a strange warmth, sent a shiver down her spine. “Well?” Lucille’s voice cut through the silence, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Did you enjoy your little lesson, my dear?” Olivia recoiled, her cheeks burning with shame and confusion. “No,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “This isn’t me. It can’t be.” Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. “Oh, but it is, my dear,” she purred. “These are your dreams, Olivia. Your desires. Your fantasies.” Olivia shook her head vehemently, her eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” she insisted. “This is just some twisted trick you’re playing on me. I’m not like this.” Lucille leaned closer, her eyes boring into Olivia’s. “Are you so sure?” she challenged. “Why else would you dream of such things? Why else would your body respond with such… enthusiasm?” Olivia’s resolve wavered. She couldn’t deny the strange pleasure she had experienced in the dream, the conflicting emotions that had stirred within her. Could Lucille be right? Were these truly her hidden desires, her deepest fantasies? “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” Lucille whispered, her voice a seductive caress. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. Embrace your little girl side.” Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat. A part of her, a small, vulnerable part, yearned to believe Lucille. Yearned to surrender to the comfort and security of being a helpless little girl in a diaper. But another part of her, the scientist, the rational thinker, screamed in defiance. This couldn’t be her. This couldn’t be what she wanted. Lucille watched Olivia’s internal struggle with amusement. “The choice is yours, my dear,” she purred. “You can continue to deny your true desires, or you can embrace them. The decision is yours.” The helmet’s familiar chill once again enveloped Olivia’s head, and her surroundings dissolved into a swirling vortex. This time, she found herself standing on a sun-drenched beach, the warm sand between her toes, the salty breeze tousling her hair. But something was different. Olivia was clad in a bright pink bikini, her body tanned and toned. Yet, beneath the skimpy fabric, a thick diaper bulged prominently, its outline unmistakable. A giggle escaped her lips as she ran towards the sparkling waves, the diaper crinkling with every step. A group of friends waved to her from the shore, their laughter echoing across the beach. Olivia plunged into the water, relishing the cool embrace of the ocean. But as she swam, a strange sensation spread through her diaper – a warmth, a wetness, a sense of fullness. Emerging from the waves, Olivia felt a pang of excitement mixed with a hint of embarrassment. She knew her diaper was soaked, but instead of shame, a thrill coursed through her veins. She waddled back to her friends, the diaper sagging heavily between her legs. To her surprise, her friends didn’t mock or tease her. Instead, they showered her with compliments, their eyes filled with admiration. “You look so cute in that diaper, Olivia!” one of them exclaimed. “It’s like you’re a little baby again.” Olivia giggled, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. The feeling of the wet diaper against her skin, the attention from her friends, the undeniable thrill of being babied – it was all so intoxicating. She spent the rest of the day playing in the sand, building sandcastles and splashing in the waves, her diaper growing heavier and messier with each passing hour. But the discomfort was outweighed by the sheer joy of embracing her newfound freedom, of reveling in the childish abandon that the diaper represented. As the sun began to set, Olivia’s friends gathered around her, their faces glowing with warmth and acceptance. “We love you, Olivia,” they chorused, their voices filled with genuine affection. “And we love your diapers.” Olivia beamed, her heart swelling with happiness. This was it, she realized. This was what she truly wanted. The freedom to embrace her childish side, to revel in the comfort and security of a diaper, to be loved and accepted for who she was, messy diaper and all. As the beach scene began to fade, a realization dawned upon Olivia. This wasn’t just a dream; it was a reflection of her deepest desires, her hidden yearnings. The joy she had felt, the acceptance, the pure, unadulterated pleasure of embracing her childish side – it was all real, all hers. Lucille, sensing the shift in Olivia’s demeanor, paused mid-motion, the helmet hovering inches above her head. “What is it, my dear?” she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Olivia’s eyes snapped open, her gaze meeting Lucille’s with newfound clarity. The shame, the denial, the confusion – it all melted away, replaced by a sense of liberation. “I see it now,” Olivia whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I see what you’ve been trying to show me all along.” A slow smile spread across Lucille’s face, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Do you, my dear?” she purred. “And what is it that you see?” Olivia took a deep breath, the words pouring out of her like a dam bursting. “I see that I’m not the person I thought I was. I’m not just a scientist, a rational thinker. I’m also a little girl, a playful, curious, sometimes messy little girl who loves her diapers.” Lucille nodded, her smile widening. “Yes, my dear,” she affirmed. “That’s exactly who you are.” Olivia continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. “I see that I don’t have to hide anymore. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I can embrace my desires, my fantasies, my love for diapers.” Lucille lowered the helmet, her touch gentle as she removed it from Olivia’s head. “You are free, Olivia,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and encouragement. “Free to be yourself. Free to be the little girl you’ve always been.” Olivia smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up her face. She looked down at her diaper, no longer a source of shame, but a symbol of her newfound freedom. “Thank you, Lucille,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you for showing me the truth.” Lucille returned the smile, her eyes filled with affection. “You’re welcome, my dear,” she said. “Now, go and play. Be the little girl you were always meant to be.” And with that, Olivia, clad in her onesie and diaper, skipped out of the room, her heart filled with joy and a newfound sense of self-acceptance. A wave of euphoria washed over Olivia as she skipped down the hallway, her diaper swishing with every step. But as she rounded a corner, a sense of unease crept over her. The familiar decor of her house seemed off, the colors too vibrant, the proportions distorted. A chilling realization struck her: this wasn’t real. She was still dreaming, still trapped in the illusion crafted by Lucille’s insidious device. The joy she had felt moments ago turned to dread as she understood the implications. “Lucille!” she cried out, her voice echoing through the empty hallway. “This is a dream! I know it is!” A giggle echoed behind her, and Lucille materialized from the shadows, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Very clever, my dear,” she purred. “But even in your dreams, you can’t escape the truth.” Olivia whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest. “Let me out of here!” she demanded, her voice a mixture of fear and defiance. Lucille raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, but you are out, my dear,” she countered. “You’re right where you belong.” With a flick of her wrist, Lucille removed the helmet from Olivia’s head. The dream world shattered, the vibrant colors fading into the familiar darkness of the bedroom. Olivia found herself back in the crib, her onesie damp and clinging to her skin. The realization of her predicament, the undeniable truth of her desires, hit her like a tidal wave. “No,” she whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. “This can’t be real. This can’t be who I am.” Suddenly, the world around Olivia transformed once again, the familiar chill of the helmet pressing against her temples as she entered a new dream realm. This time, she found herself in a lavish bedroom, the air filled with the sweet scent of jasmine and musk. The room was dimly lit, casting a seductive glow over the scene unfolding before her. Lucille stood before her, a sultry smile playing on her lips as she gazed at Olivia with hunger in her eyes. Lucille was dressed in a sheer robe that barely concealed her curves, the fabric clinging to her skin in all the right places. Olivia’s heart raced at the sight, a mixture of desire and trepidation swirling inside her. “Welcome, my dear Olivia,” Lucille purred, her voice sending shivers down Olivia’s spine. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Olivia’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight before her. She was no longer the innocent student or in a classroom or a maid in a ball; she was now a willing participant in a seductive game of pleasure and submission. Lucille approached Olivia, her hand reaching out to caress Olivia’s cheek with a feather-light touch. Olivia’s skin tingled at the contact, her body responding to the intimate gesture. “You’re such a good girl, Olivia,” Lucille whispered, her words a tantalizing promise of what was to come. “Let me take care of you.” With a deft movement, Lucille lowered Olivia to the plush bed, her hands expertly undoing Olivia’s clothing until she was left in nothing but her soaked diaper. Olivia’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal, a heady mix of emotions swirling inside her. Lucille’s touch was electric as she traced a path down Olivia’s body, her fingers dancing over the wet fabric of the diaper. Olivia couldn’t help but moan at the sensation, her body arching instinctively towards Lucille’s touch. “Such a naughty girl,” Lucille murmured, her voice a husky whisper. “Let’s see just how wet you can get for me.” With skillful fingers, Lucille began to rub Olivia’s pussy through the diaper, eliciting gasps of pleasure from Olivia’s lips. The fabric became slick with Olivia’s arousal, the friction sending waves of pleasure through her body. But Lucille wasn’t done yet. She produced a vibrator, the buzzing sound filling the room with anticipation. Placing it against the soaked diaper, she teased Olivia with the vibrating sensation, driving her wild with need. Olivia’s hips moved involuntarily, aching for more stimulation, more release. Lucille watched with a wicked gleam in her eyes, enjoying the sight of Olivia squirming under her touch. “Such a good girl,” Lucille cooed, increasing the intensity of the vibrator against the soaked fabric. Olivia’s moans grew louder, her body on the edge of ecstasy. And then, with a devious smile, Lucille presented a giant teddy bear, its plush form inviting and enticing. She guided Olivia’s hips towards the bear, urging her to hump the soft toy with abandon. Olivia couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge, the combination of the vibrator, the soaked diaper, and the commanding presence of Lucille pushing her towards a mind-blowing climax. She rode the teddy bear with abandon, her body shaking with pleasure as she reached the peak of ecstasy. As Olivia’s body trembled with release, the sensations washing over her like a tidal wave, she felt a sense of liberation unlike anything she had experienced before. In that moment, she let go of all inhibitions, all reservations, and surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure of the dream. The room faded away as the helmet was lifted from Olivia’s head, leaving her breathless and exhilarated. The memory of the dream lingered, a potent mix of desire and arousal that left Olivia questioning everything she thought she knew about herself. Lucille leaned over the crib, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “But it is real, my dear,” she purred, echoing Olivia’s words from moments before she went into her dream. “And it is exactly who you are.” She reached into the crib, her fingers gently tracing the outline of Olivia’s soaked diaper. “You see, Olivia,” she continued, her voice a soothing melody, “your tears, your denial, it was all part of the process. You were fighting against the truth, clinging to an outdated image of yourself.” Lucille’s touch sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine, a strange mixture of shame and pleasure. “But now,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “you’ve seen the light. You’ve experienced the joy, the freedom, the pure bliss of embracing your inner little girl.” Olivia’s gaze fell to her diaper, the physical manifestation of her surrender. A tear rolled down her cheek, but this time, it wasn’t a tear of despair. It was a tear of acceptance, of release. She had fought against the truth for so long, but now, finally, she understood. This was who she was, this was what she wanted. And as the tears streamed down her face, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was a little girl, a messy, playful, diaper-loving little girl. And she was finally home with Mummy Lucille. The End. You can read more of my stories on my deviantart page or my site.

Chapter 1: Mikey sat in the passenger seat of Emily's car, his mind racing with a chaotic swirl of fear and confusion. The drive to her apartment was a silent torment, the only sound the low hum of the engine and the rustle of leaves that seemed to whisper ominous secrets outside. He couldn't believe how quickly his life had spiraled out of control. One moment he was a confident college student, and in the next, he found himself blackmailed into a bizarre and unsettling situation. As they pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, Mikey’s heart pounded violently in his chest. “What’s going to happen when we get inside?” he thought, his stomach churning with dread. He reluctantly followed Emily up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. She unlocked the door and it creaked open, revealing a cozy apartment bursting with whimsical décor that only intensified his anxiety. “Welcome to my little sanctuary!” Emily chirped, a wide grin plastered across her face, but there was something unsettling in her cheerfulness. Mikey grimaced, trying to mask his discomfort. “Sanctuary?” he echoed nervously, scanning the room for an escape. She led him through the living room, past a kitchenette adorned with colorful, childlike magnets, and into a dim hallway. Pausing at the door to a room that felt distinctly different, she turned to him, her expression almost predatory. “Are you ready for this, Mikey? I promise it’ll be… unforgettable,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a mix of sweetness and something darker. Mikey’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the sight of the door painted a soft pastel blue, a small, childish doorknob gracing the handle. A strange blend of curiosity and dread washed over him, his instincts screaming that he should run. “What lies behind that door?” he thought, a shiver creeping down his spine. "Come in, Mikey," Emily said, her voice soft but firm, an unsettling sweetness lacing her words. She pushed the door open, revealing a room that felt like a haunting dreamscape. The walls were adorned in pastel hues that whispered innocence, while the furniture, all scaled down to a child’s size, created an unsettling atmosphere. Toys lay scattered like forgotten memories, and in the corner stood a crib that seemed to loom larger than life. The most chilling sight, however, was the array of adult baby items neatly arranged on shelves and tucked away in drawers, each object a stark reminder of the reality he was being pulled into. Mikey's eyes widened in shock, his stomach knotting. "Emily, what is this place?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as dread settled heavily in his chest. Emily turned to him, her expression shifting to something more serious, almost predatory. "This is my special room, Mikey. It's where I come to be myself," she stated, a strange delight flickering in her eyes. "And now, it's where you're going to learn to be my baby boy." His mind raced, battling disbelief and fear. "Emily, I can’t do this! I can't be your... your baby boy. This is insane!" The word slipped from his lips, desperation creeping into his tone. Emily's expression hardened, her gaze narrowing like a hawk sizing up its prey. "You don't have a choice, Mikey," she said, her voice cold and unyielding. "You cheated on that exam, and if I tell anyone, your life will be ruined. Expelled. Your future, gone. But if you do as I say," she leaned in closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'll keep your secret safe." Mikey felt a surge of anger and frustration boiling within him, a scream rising in his throat. Yet, deep down, the fear of losing everything choked him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself against the whirlwind of emotions. "What... what do I have to do?" he asked, his voice trembling, the weight of his fate hanging in the air between them. Emily's face softened slightly, her voice low and soothing. "It's simple, Mikey. You just need to embrace this new identity. You'll wear diapers, and I'll take care of you like a baby. You’ll learn to trust me, and in time, you’ll see that this is the best thing for you." Mikey's stomach churned at the thought, his heart racing in his chest. "But Emily, I don’t—" he started, a tremor of panic creeping into his voice. He had always been independent and self-reliant; the idea of regressing to a baby-like state was terrifying, an abyss he felt himself teetering on. But he knew he had no choice. He nodded, his eyes downcast, a lump forming in his throat. Emily smiled, her eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and excitement. "Good boy," she cooed, her tone unmistakably manipulative. "Now, let’s get you changed." As she led him to a small changing table, Mikey's heart raced. "Please, Emily... I can’t do this," he whimpered, feeling a suffocating wave of humiliation wash over him. "Shh, Mikey," she said firmly, her grip unyielding as she began to undress him, peeling away his clothes like layers of a carefully constructed facade. With each garment that fell away, his sense of control slipped further into the shadows. He cried out softly, "Stop! I don’t want this!" Emily's response was calm and collected, her hands steady as she removed his last shred of independence—his underwear. "You need to accept this," she insisted, gently slipping a diaper around his waist. The soft fabric enveloped him, and with it came a strange, conflicting mix of shame and something he loathed to admit: relief. "Emily… please," he begged, his voice breaking as she fastened the diaper in place with a practiced touch. When she helped him into a onesie, the soft fabric clung to his skin, and he felt utterly exposed, as if he had lost all control over his body and his life. Emily stepped back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "There you go, Mikey," she said sweetly, a cruel smile spreading across her face. "You look perfect." Mikey looked down at himself, his mind racing. A tumultuous tide of shame crashed over him, mingling with an unsettling fear and a perverse sense of relief. He felt trapped, utterly bound to Emily's whims, yet there was an inevitable pull that compelled him to submit to her plan. Emily's voice sliced through his turmoil as she led him toward the small crib nestled in the corner of the room. "It’s time for your nap, baby boy. You need to rest and get used to your new life," she said, her tone deceptively sweet. Panic surged in Mikey’s chest. "No, Emily, please! I can’t—" he stammered, his heart pounding wildly. He didn’t want to be in this room, in this diaper, in this crib. Her eyes, unwavering and cold, met his. "You don’t have a choice, Mikey. You’re mine now. Just relax." With that, he lay down, his body trembling with fear and humiliation. Emily's hands, gentle yet resolute, tucked him in. The soft fabric of the sheets felt heavy against his skin, a tangible reminder of his helplessness. As she turned to leave, Mikey's heart sank into despair. "Emily, don't leave me!" he cried out, his voice barely a whisper. The door clicked shut, sealing him in darkness. A wave of despair washed over him as he grappled with the reality of his situation. He was trapped in a world devoid of control, where his very existence hinged on Emily's desires. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the terror that enveloped him. But the soft hum of the room and the rustle of the sheets only amplified his dread. As he drifted into an uneasy sleep, Mikey's mind raced with haunting questions. What awaited him in this unfamiliar life? Would he ever reclaim his old self? He knew the journey ahead was fraught with fear, but there was no turning back. He was Emily’s baby boy now, and he was inextricably tied to her whims. Emily, watching from the doorway, saw an opportunity for mischief. She had always been a meticulous planner, and this was no exception. Armed with her camera, she tiptoed into the room, her eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and malice. “This is going to be perfect,” she whispered to herself, a wicked grin stretching across her face. She snapped playful photos of Mikey in the crib, capturing every detail of his vulnerable state. The soft click of the camera shutter was barely audible, yet it echoed ominously in Mikey's subconscious, stirring a deep sense of unease. With a gentle but deliberate touch, Emily placed a blue pacifier in Mikey's mouth. “Sleep tight, baby boy,” she cooed softly, her voice dripping with mock tenderness. He stirred slightly, his lips parting instinctively to accept the foreign object, but he remained blissfully unaware of her presence. “Just a little longer…” she murmured, her heart swelling with twisted satisfaction. This was her moment, her triumph. She had him exactly where she wanted him. Hours passed, and the room grew darker as the sun began to set. Mikey eventually stirred awake, his eyes fluttering open to the dim light filtering through the curtains. The first thing he noticed was the pacifier in his mouth, and a surge of frustration and embarrassment washed over him. “What the...?” he exclaimed, his voice trembling with disbelief and fury as he spat it out, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and anger. “Emily! What did you do?!” "Emily, I’m done with these baby games!" Mikey shot back, his voice trembling with a blend of fear and determination. He sat up rigidly in the crib, gripping the colorful rails as if they were his only anchor. Emily, lurking just outside the door, sauntered into the room with a slow, smug smile that sent chills down his spine. With a flourish, she whipped out her phone, her fingers gliding over the screen as she thumbed through a gruesome gallery of their shared secrets. "Oh really?" she mused, her voice playful yet laced with an unmistakable edge. "Because if you keep this up, I might just have to share these delightful snapshots—like the one where you were caught cheating on that test,” she warned, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Mikey felt his heart thunder in his chest, the walls of the room closing in like a trap. Each image on her phone was a haunting reminder of his powerlessness, igniting a storm of despair within him. The vibrant colors of the nursery, with their cheerful innocence, felt like cruel taunts against his fragile dignity. "Emily, please… don’t,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, knowing full well the stakes of his defiance. Emily's eyes glimmered with a twisted mixture of satisfaction and disdain. "You know, Mikey," she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery, "you have no choice but to do as I say. Embrace this new life, or... well, let's just say the consequences won't be pretty. The choice is all yours, darling." Mikey's mind whirled, a tempest of fear, anger, and desperation crashing within him. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating him with dread. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to summon some semblance of resolve. "What do you want from me, Emily?" he asked, his voice barely piercing the thick tension, trembling on the edge of anxiety. Emily leaned closer, her smile widening into something predatory, her eyes sparkling with a sinister excitement. "I want you to be my baby boy, Mikey," she purred, her tone syrupy sweet yet laced with malice. "I want you to trust me, to surrender yourself to me... Let me take care of you, and I promise," she leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'll keep your little secret safe, hidden away from the world." Mikey felt the weight of her words pressing down on him, anger surging within him like a storm. His heart pounded, desperate to rebel, to fight back against this twisted demand, but he could see the iron grip she had on his life. Defeated, he nodded, his gaze falling to the floor. "What do I have to do?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur, filled with a mixture of resignation and dread. Emily's face softened slightly, a mixture of warmth and something else—was it possessiveness? "It's simple, Mikey," she said, her voice low and persuasive. "You just need to embrace this new identity. You'll wear diapers, and I'll take care of you like a baby. Picture it—no worries, no responsibilities. Just let go of everything." Mikey's stomach churned at the thought. "But I... I don't want to be a baby, Emily!" His voice trembled, a mix of defiance and fear. The idea of regression felt like a dark cloud looming over him. He had always been independent and self-reliant, and the thought of surrendering to this terrifying fate left him breathless. Emily leaned closer, her eyes locking onto his with an unsettling intensity. "You don’t have to fight it, Mikey. You can trust me. Just think about how safe you’ll feel, how loved. In time, you'll see this is the best thing for you." He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but every word she spoke sank deeper into his mind, registering the conflict of submission versus his desperate need for survival. "What if I don't want to?" he whispered, his voice barely above a tremor. Chapter 2: Mikey's heart pounded violently in his chest as Emily approached the crib, her eyes glinting like dark jewels filled with excitement and determination. She lowered the rail, her fingers brushing against his as she gently helped him out, guiding him like a toddler. Mikey’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and simmering anger, but deep down, he knew he had no choice; defiance was futile. Emily's grip was unyielding, and the warning in her eyes felt like a storm looming on the horizon. As she helped him onto the changing table, her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she relished this control. She began by checking his diaper, her fingers sliding into the leg holes with an unsettling familiarity. Mikey clenched his legs together, panic rising in his chest as he realized the urgent pressure building inside him. He had been holding it in for too long, and now it felt like a volcano ready to erupt. “Mikey, you’re all dry,” Emily said, her voice dripping with a sickly sweetness that made his stomach churn. “You know, it’s much easier to use your diaper than to go to the bathroom. You can trust me on this.” Mikey’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice a desperate whisper. “Emily, I can’t do this! I can’t just... use a diaper like a baby. I’m not a baby!” But Emily’s smile remained unwavering, her gaze piercing into him like a drill. “You can and you will, Mikey. It’s for your own good. You need to learn to trust me and let go of your old habits. This is the first step in becoming my baby boy.” The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, while Mikey felt his heart race in horror. Mikey's heart pounded in his chest, his mind frantically searching for an escape from this humiliating situation. He attempted to defy her, but Emily, with her cunning and mischievous nature, had already anticipated his every move. She caressed his thighs, her touch a mixture of tenderness and authority. "Shh, my sweet boy. It's time to let go, to embrace your new identity. Wet the diaper, my little one, and become my baby." "Please, Emily," Mikey pleaded, his voice cracking with shame. "I can't... I won't do this." He tried to pull away, but his efforts were futile against her unwavering control. Emily's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned closer, her breath warm on his cheek. "Oh, but you will, my dear Mikey. You'll learn to love it, just as you've learned to love your new mommy." Her fingers trailed up and down his legs, sending shivers through his body. "Sing with me, baby. 'Diaper change time, diaper change time, Mikey's got to pee, pee, pee...'" Mikey's cheeks burned, his resistance crumbling under the weight of her words and touch. The nursery rhyme echoed in his mind, mocking his struggle. He clenched his teeth, desperately trying to maintain control. Emily's voice rose in intensity, her delicate fingers meticulously tracing patterns along his thighs. "Let it go, Mikey. It's okay. You can do it. Just be a good baby for me." Her gaze was unwavering, as if she could see right through his disguise. Mikey's heart raced, tears of frustration and embarrassment pooling in his eyes. "I... I can't, Emily!" he stammered, his voice trembling. The weight of his shame felt unbearable as he clutched the fabric of his shorts. But despite his desperate attempt to hold back, his body betrayed him. With a final, agonizing struggle, his bladder released, warmth spreading and filling the confines of the diaper. A crushing wave of shame washed over him as reality settled in—he couldn’t stop it. Emily’s smile transformed into a triumphant grin, her eyes sparkling with delight. "See, Mikey? You really are my baby that needs his diaper. Wasn’t that easy? Just trust me, and I promise I’ll take such good care of you." Her voice dripped with condescension, each word a reminder of his vulnerability. Mikey blushed deeply, his face turning a bright crimson as the weight of his humiliation washed over him. “No! This can’t be happening!” he gasped, his voice trembling. He couldn’t believe what had just unfolded. He had lost control, and Emily had effortlessly claimed victory over him. “You… you wouldn’t!” he stammered, his heart racing with a mix of anger and deep embarrassment. “Oh, sweetie,” Emily cooed, her tone dripping with playful mockery, “this is just the beginning. You’re my little baby now. Isn’t that exciting?” Mikey’s eyes widened, his breath hitching at her words. A strange sense of relief mingled with dread filled him; he was trapped in this twisted new reality, a world where he was reduced to a helpless infant, utterly under Emily's thumb. “I-I can’t do this…” he whispered, feeling the walls of his pride closing in. “Oh, but you can—just look at you!” she teased, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “And you’re going to love it, my little one.” He swallowed hard, knowing he had no idea what else she had in store for him, but the thrill of submission both scared and exhilarated him. Mikey's heart pounded in his chest as he lay there, the wetness between his legs betraying him. "N-no, Emily, p-please..." he stammered, his voice weak and childlike. "I... I don't wanna be a baby no more. P-please let me go." But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Emily's smirk widened, her eyes sparkling with a cruel delight. "Aww, poor baby Mikey is all wet. Does he need his mommy to change him?" She leaned close, her breath hot on his ear. "Or maybe you like this, huh? Maybe you want to feel the shame of peeing yourself, all warm and wet. Is that it, baby?" With each word, she tightened the restraints, ensuring his helplessness. "You're my little baby boy now, and I decide when you get to feel good. And right now, I want you to squirm and blush, knowing that I can make you cum in your diaper, and there's nothing you can do to stop it." As she spoke, she trailed the tip of the wand along his body, avoiding any pleasure points, just teasing and tantalizing. "You're so cute when you're blushing, Mikey. Such a pretty baby. And soon, you'll be all sticky and sweet, just like a good little abdl." Mikey's eyes bulged with sheer panic, his breath catching in his throat as the impending mortification dawned on him. "Emily, stop, please!" he pleaded, his voice cracking under the weight of his dread. He struggled frantically against the unyielding bonds, his efforts only serving to heighten his sense of helplessness. "You can't do this, I—I can't bear it!" Emily's smirk remained fixed, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. She leaned closer, her voice adopting a playful, maternal tone. "Hush now, little one. Mommy's here to take care of you." With a calculated move, she positioned the vibrating massager against the front of his diaper, the intense vibrations reverberating through his most sensitive areas. Mikey's cheeks burned with shame as his body betrayed him, responding instinctively. His manhood stiffened, the evidence of his arousal becoming painfully obvious within the damp confines of his diaper. The conflicting sensations of degradation and pleasure left him utterly disoriented, reducing him to a blubbering infant in his mind. "Aww, is my little Mikey getting all big and strong down there? Does my baby enjoy the feeling of his special diaper?" Emily cooed, her fingers gently caressing his thighs, her mockery laced with feigned maternal affection. Mikey's frustration was palpable, his breath catching in his throat as the wand's relentless vibrations sent shivers through his body. He fought against the rising tide of pleasure, but his efforts were in vain. The sensations were too much, and he could feel his control slipping away. "Oh, Mikey, you know you can't hold back," Emily whispered, her voice laced with a teasing tone. She knew his breaking point was near. With a swift move, she produced a pacifier from her pocket, the sight of it causing Mikey's heart to skip a beat. "N-no..." Mikey stammered, his eyes pleading as she moved closer, her gaze intense. "I—I can't... Emily, please..." "Hush now, my sweet baby," she cooed, her voice soothing yet firm. With a swift motion, she pressed the pacifier between his lips, silencing his protests. "Mommy knows what you need." Mikey's face contorted, his eyes reflecting the shame and desire that battled within him. He attempted to push the pacifier away, but Emily's grip was firm, her touch both gentle and commanding. "Y-you... I... I don't want this... "Oh, but you do, my little one," she whispered, her breath warm on his cheek. "Let go, Mikey. Let Mommy take control." As her words washed over him, Mikey's resistance crumbled. His body arched, every muscle tensing as the climax hit him like a storm. He cried out, the sound muffled by the pacifier, his release a mixture of ecstasy and humiliation. Emily's eyes gleamed with a mischievous delight as she caressed Mikey's blushing face. "My, my, look at my little baby boy all flushed and cute," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Did you enjoy that, sweetheart? Was it as good for you as it was for Mommy?" Mikey squirmed under her touch, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "Y-yes, Mommy," he whispered, his eyes downcast. "I... I mean, it was different, but..." "Shh, it's okay, my dear," Emily interrupted, her tone turning soothing. "You don't have to explain. I know this is all new and exciting for you. And guess what? We're just getting started. Oh, the things we'll explore together, my sweet, obedient baby." Mikey's heart raced, a mixture of fear and anticipation coursing through his veins. He tried to speak, but his words failed him, leaving him at the mercy of this dominant woman who had turned his world upside down. Chapter 3: Mikey lay motionless, his small body quivering from the overwhelming release, the pacifier in his mouth serving as a permanent marker of his newfound role. Emily's delicate touch caressed his flushed cheek, her gaze radiating a blend of triumph and mischief. She relished the power she held over him, rendering him utterly helpless and dependent. "That's my good boy," she whispered, her tone tender and soothing. "Mommy's little angel has been such a good listener. You've made Mommy so happy." As she leaned closer, her warm breath tickled his ear. "Now, it's time to share with Mommy what you've done in your nappy, my sweet baby." Mikey's eyes darted open in sheer panic as the implication of her words hit him. He attempted to protest, but the pacifier rendered him speechless, allowing only incoherent mumbles to escape. Emily's thumb gently pushed the pacifier further, silencing any potential resistance. "Hush now, my darling," she whispered, her voice lulling him into submission. "It's alright, baby. Mommy just wants to know your secret. Tell Mommy, what did you do in your nappy?" Her free hand wandered to his crotch, caressing the damp diaper, soaked with his pee and release. The sensation sent a rush of conflicting feelings through him, a blend of shame and excitement, reinforcing his infantile state. "N-no... I... I can't..." Mikey stammered, his face flushing crimson. "Oh, but you will, my sweet boy," Emily purred, her voice dripping with authority. "Mommy knows you want to please her. And Mommy always gets what she wants." Mikey's cheeks burned with shame as Emily's touch sent a jolt of awareness through his body, betraying him. He squirmed, desperate to escape the overwhelming sensations, but his efforts were futile. Pleasure engulfed him, causing his limbs to shake uncontrollably. "Come on, sweetie, confess to mommy," Emily coaxed, her tone a mixture of authority and tenderness. "You know the rules." Mikey's thoughts whirled in panic, searching for an escape. But resistance was futile. He inhaled sharply, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "I-I wetted... and m-made a mess, mommy. I'm s-sorry." A triumphant gleam lit up Emily's eyes, and her smile grew. "That's my good boy. Now, tell mommy again, with all the details. Let me hear your sweet, little voice." Mikey's cheeks burned, a blend of shame and relief painting his face crimson. His body quivered, still reeling from the intensity of his release. This was only the start, he realized, and the thought of what Emily might have planned next sent a shiver down his spine. He was trapped in this strange, new world where he was reduced to a mere infant, and Emily held the reins as his caretaker. "Oh, my sweet baby," Emily cooed, her fingers gently massaging his groin through the damp diaper. "You're all wet, aren't you? Just like a little one." She leaned closer, her breath warm on his ear. "Tell mommy, did you make a mess in your diaper?" Mikey's voice cracked as he whispered, his eyes downcast, "Y-yes, mommy. I... I wetted and... and dirtied my diaper." He sucked on the pacifier, the childish sound accentuating his humiliation. "That's my good boy," Emily praised, her tone both soothing and commanding. "Mommy's so proud of her baby. Now, let's get you all cleaned up, shall we?" Emily's eyes sparkled with mischief as she took a step back, her phone in hand. She captured Mikey's image, his cheeks crimson with shame, his body quivering from the recent release of his passion. The damp diaper, a testament to his infantile state, hugged his form, leaving no room for denial. With a tap on the screen, she zoomed in on the telltale wetness indicator, its transformation from yellow to a vibrant blue serving as undeniable proof. "Oh, my sweet baby," Emily cooed, her words dripping with playful malice. "See this little blue patch here? It's like a magic marker, telling Mommy that you've been a very wet boy. No more hiding it, my dear. You wanted to be a baby, and now you are." Mikey's eyes grew wide as the realization dawned upon him. He attempted a protest, but the pacifier, a silent guardian in his mouth, rendered him speechless. Emily's delicate touch pushed it further, silencing any potential pleas. "Hush now, my little one," she whispered, her tone softening. "Mommy's here to take care of you. No more worries, no more struggles. It's time for a fresh diaper, my darling baby boy." With a gentle grace, she moved to the changing table, gathering the necessary tools for her motherly duties—a fresh, soft diaper and a pack of baby wipes, all laid out within his view. Mikey struggled, attempting to expel the pacifier from his mouth, but Emily's reflexes were swift. She halted his rebellion, her gaze sharp as she swiftly secured a fresh pacifier around his head this one a gag he couldn't get off, leaving him no chance to escape her infantilizing grasp. Mikey's eyes betrayed his surprise, yet he understood any further defiance would be futile. With calculated slowness, Emily proceeded with the diaper change, deliberately intensifying Mikey's mortification. She delicately lowered the damp diaper, exposing the entirety of his soiled state. The diaper, saturated with urine and cum, emitted a potent odor that permeated the air. Emily lifted it, her smirk triumphant. "Oh, my poor baby, what a mess you've created," she cooed, her tone a blend of sternness and tenderness. "Mommy will take care of it, but you must learn to behave. Now, let's get you all nice and clean." Her fingers, gentle yet resolute, worked the wipe across his skin, meticulously eradicating every trace of his accident. Mikey's cheeks burned, a blend of shame and relief painting his features as his body continued to shudder from the residual pleasure. This was only the commencement of his journey, he realized, and the unknown path ahead, orchestrated by Emily, both terrified and intrigued him. He had been reduced to a mere infant, and Emily, his doting mother. "There, all clean," Emily cooed, her eyes sparkling with delight as she finished tending to him. She reached for a fresh diaper, the vibrant Elmo print catching Mikey's attention. This one was significantly bulkier, a fact Emily relished. "My sweet boy requires a super-absorbent diaper, for he's such a heavy wetter," she teased, her tone playful yet authoritative. With gentle precision, she positioned the diaper beneath him, ensuring a snug fit around his waist. Mikey's eyes betrayed his surprise as the weight of his situation truly sank in. Chapter 4: Mikey's heart raced as the diaper's crinkling sound echoed in the room, a symphony of embarrassment. "Oh, my, this diaper is quite the attention-seeker, isn't it, my dear Mikey?" Emily's voice was a mix of amusement and motherly affection. As she undid the ankle straps, Mikey's breath hitched, the cold plastic a stark contrast to his skin. "There we go, my little one," she whispered, her touch sending shivers down his spine. "Now, lift those legs, baby. Let's get you all cozy." Mikey obeyed, his eyes widening at the sight of the vibrant red plastic pants. "Higher, my little Mikey, let's make sure you're nice and snug." The pants enveloped him, and with a decisive click, Emily locked them in place. "Perfect! All secure, just like my little prisoner." Mikey's panic rose as he realized his limited mobility. He tried to move, but the wrist restraints and the rustling diaper kept him in place. "Oh, the struggle is adorable, sweetie. Don't fight it, embrace your new look." Emily's words were like a taunt, her eyes gleaming with mischievous joy. Approaching the bed, she held up the Elmo onesie, its redness a bold statement. "Story time, Mikey! Let's get you dressed for the occasion." She carefully dressed him, her movements slow and calculated, ensuring the restraints remained in place. "There we go, arm by arm, nice and snug. Oh, look at that, the pants are jealous of all the attention you're getting!" The crinkle of the plastic accompanied her playful banter. "Bib time!" Emily's voice took on a singsong quality. "This will catch any drool or spills, my little drooly baby." She fastened the bib, her touch gentle yet firm. Stepping back, she admired her handiwork. "Oh, Mikey, you look absolutely precious. My little baby boy, all dressed up and nowhere to go." Her mock-sweet tone sent shivers down his spine. "Now, let's moisturize that delicate skin, shall we?" She applied the lotion, her fingers massaging it into his skin, her touch both comforting and strangely arousing, leaving Mikey's emotions in a tumultuous state. Emily's fingers then traced the outline of the plastic pants, the sound of the crinkling plastic filling the room. "You're all locked up tight, baby boy. No escaping now," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. Emily unstrapped Mikey from the table, her movements efficient and practiced, a chilling precision that made his stomach churn. As she helped him off, her grip on his wrist was ironclad. He recoiled, a surge of resistance flooding through him, "No! Stop! I won't!" But Emily’s grip only tightened, her smile unsettlingly sweet as she led him into the kitchen, where a highchair loomed in the corner like a dark sentinel. Mikey's heart raced, each beat echoing his rising panic. “Please, Emily, don't put me in there!” he pleaded, desperately digging in his heels, but a sharp spank on his diapered backside made him gasp, heat flooding his cheeks. The humiliation crashed over him like a tidal wave as he stumbled forward, trembling with a cocktail of fear and shame. “Get in, baby boy,” Emily commanded, her voice silky yet firm, devoid of any trace of compassion. Each word was an order etched in stone, leaving no room for debate. Reluctantly, Mikey climbed into the highchair, the plastic seat biting into his skin like an unwelcome embrace. As she strapped him in, the click of the buckles resonated in the stillness, sending an icy shiver cascading down his spine. He barely had time to lift his hands before she slid the tray into place, locking his wrists beneath it. Trapped. Completely at her mercy. With a deliberate turn to the counter, Emily moved with the grace of a predator. Mikey’s breath quickened as he glanced away in desperation; she mixed baby food with something sinister in a bowl, the clattering of utensils a sharp reminder of his helplessness. The rhythmic sound of the bottle being shaken filled the room—a chilling prelude to what awaited him. “Just relax, sweetheart,” she cooed mockingly, as if she reveled in the power she held over him. “This is going to be a fun little treat.” Emily turned back to him, a smirk playing on her lips. "Time to eat, baby boy," she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement. With a flick of her wrist, she removed the pacifier gag, revealing his frustrated expression. Then, she scooped a spoonful of baby food, feeding him with a slow, deliberate motion, letting some droop onto his Elmo bib. "Oh dear, look at you! Such a messy little boy," she teased, using her fingers to wipe the excess from his chin, relishing the power she held over him. "Please, Emily, I can’t—" Mikey gasped, his words falling short as she stuffed another spoonful into his mouth. He instinctively opened and closed like a baby bird, the irony of his situation not lost on him. The gurgling in his belly intensified, the laxatives already wreaking havoc. As he swallowed the last of the baby food, Emily produced a bottle, the sight of it sending a jolt of panic through him. She held it to his lips, tilting it with an insistent smile. "Drink up, baby boy. You need your milk," she cooed, though there was an unmistakable edge of command in her tone. Every swallow felt like it was filling him with more dread, the pain in his stomach escalating. "No, please, I—" he protested weakly, attempting to pull away, but her grip was unyielding, her eyes fixed on him with an unsettling mix of control and delight. "Just a little more for you, darling," she said, her voice honeyed yet sharp, as if she took pleasure in his struggle. His belly churned violently, pain coursing through him as he squirmed in the highchair, a primal instinct to escape rising within him. Emily, unfazed, patted his back soothingly, the condescension clear in her tone. "There you go, baby boy. All better now,” she sang, her satisfaction evident as he fought back tears, humiliation and physical agony galloping hand in hand through his mind. Chapter 5: Emily unstrapped Mikey from the highchair with a swift, calculated efficiency that made his heart race. "Time for some fun, sweetie!" she chirped, her voice dripping with playful malice. She gripped his wrist firmly, a playful dominance in her hold, and led him towards the ominous corner of the room. Mikey's eyes widened in horror as he laid eyes on the adult baby bouncer, a cruel grin stretching across Emily's face. "No, please! I don’t want to!" he pleaded, desperation lacing his voice as he attempted to pull away. But Emily's grasp was unyielding. "Oh, come now, darling. You'll love it once you settle in," she cooed, almost mockingly, as she sat him down in the bouncer and adjusted the straps, ensuring only his toes brushed against the ground. The unsettling sensation of being suspended in mid-air ignited a surge of panic within him, his breath quickening as he shifted uncomfortably. "Let me go, Emily! I swear I'll behave!" he begged, the edge of his voice trembling with fear. Mikey squirmed, desperately attempting to shift his weight inside the bouncer. Each movement sent jolts of discomfort radiating through his abdomen, the relentless bouncing only intensifying the pressure coiling in his belly. “No, no, no…” he gasped, panic creeping into his voice. He pressed a hand to his stomach, willing the sensation to subside, but it only worsened, like a storm raging inside him. “I can't—I can't do this,” he whimpered, his heart racing as the oppressive reality crashed over him—he had to poop. The thought churned in his mind, igniting a mix of dread and defiance. “Emily! Please, let me out!” he cried, his voice tinged with desperation as the weight of his situation bore down on him. He clenched his butt cheeks, desperately trying to hold it in, but the pressure became a relentless torment. "No, no, not now!" Mikey gasped, panic creeping into his voice. He squirmed, searching for a position that might ease the discomfort, but every slight movement only fueled the relentless bounce, driving the pain deeper into his core. "Please, just let me go," he whimpered, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. The urge surged like an uncontrollable wave, overwhelming him. His body started to betray him, and as his breaths quickened, he could hear Emily's mocking voice echoing in his mind, "Aw, such a little baby. Can't you just let it out?” Emily watched him, a chilling smirk dancing on her lips. "Oh, what’s this? Looks like my little Mikey needs to go potty," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock affection. Mikey shook his head vigorously, desperation flooding his wide eyes. "No! I-I’m fine!" he insisted, his voice quavering with a mix of fear and defiance. Emily's laughter rang out, cold and cutting, as she leaned closer. "Oh, sweet baby, you can’t fool me," she teased, her gaze unwavering. "Your little body is telling the truth. You’ve got to poop, don’t you?" Her tone was both soothing and suffocating, a predator playing with its prey. "You know I can make this harder for you if you keep fighting it. Just let go, Mikey. Mommy’s here to take care of you." Mikey's face turned a deep shade of crimson, a tumultuous mixture of humiliation and fury swirling within him. "Emily, please! You can't do this to me!" he cried out, his voice wavering as he fought against the overwhelming sense of dread that clawed at his insides. "I-I’m not a baby! You have to understand!" He clenched his buttocks with an almost desperate fervor, as if that might fortify his resolve against the impending doom. Each involuntary bounce of the bouncer sent ripples of discomfort through his core, the pressure building in his belly like a brewing storm, threatening to erupt at any moment. “I—I won’t let it happen!" he gasped, desperation lacing his words like poison. Emily leaned closer, her voice now a sickly sweet murmur, “Oh, my little Mikey, it’s time to let go. Just relax, and I promise it’ll all be better soon.” Emily turned on the TV, and the room filled with a strange, almost hypnotic melody that wrapped around Mikey like a shroud. The show flickered to life on the screen, its vibrant colors too bright, too engaging. It was a cartoon, but unlike any he had ever seen. The characters were adult babies, and the theme of the episode was about the twisted joy of pooping in diapers. “No, no, no... this can’t be happening,” he muttered under his breath as the main character—a chubby, grinning baby with a bright pink pacifier—began to sing a whimsical, yet degrading song about the comfort and relief of letting go in a diaper. “This isn’t real… it’s just a show… I don't want this!” But the melody was catchy, and somehow it burrowed into his mind, each note a reminder of his own predicament. Mikey’s eyes widened in horror as the lyrics echoed around him, their childish simplicity cutting deep into his sense of self. “Come on, Mikey, just relax! It feels so good!” Emily cooed mockingly, leaning closer, her smile unnervingly sweet. He squirmed in the bouncer, the sensation of his full diaper suddenly overwhelming him. The pressure in his belly became a tidal wave, washing over his thoughts, drowning them. “No, I won't give in!” he yelled, voice shaky, desperation edging in. But the more he twisted and turned, the more the bouncer bounced, amplifying the pressure and drowning out his resolve. “Please, Emily... I can’t… I don’t want to… I’m not a baby!” “Oh, but sweet Mikey,” Emily sing-songed, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something darker, “you are exactly where you need to be. Just let go… it’ll feel so much better.” "Emily, please," he begged, his voice trembling with desperation. "I can't do this! I need to use the toilet. I—" Emily's smirk widened as she leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "No, baby," she cooed, her voice sweetly mocking. "You're going to poop in your diaper like a good little baby boy. It’s what you’re meant to do now." With that, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pacifier, its plastic surface gleaming menacingly under the harsh light. Mikey shook his head vigorously, fighting back the wave of humiliation that threatened to crash over him. "No! Emily, don’t—" But she was insistent, her grip firm as she grabbed his head and forced the pacifier into his mouth. The soft 'pop' echoed in the room, silencing his protests and filling him with dread. The cheerful, upbeat song from the TV continued to play, its jarring contrast emphasizing Mikey's mortification. "Listen to the music, baby," Emily chirped, her tone dripping with condescension. "Just relax and let it happen. There’s no need to fight it." With a swift motion, she reached down and pulled up and down on the strap of the bouncer, making Mikey bounce higher and harder. Each jolt sent a fresh wave of pressure surging through him, tightening like a noose around his sanity. Panic washed over him, and he felt his heart race as he clenched his butt cheeks tightly, fighting against his body’s betraying urges. “Stop it! Please, I can’t—” he gasped around the pacifer, struggling against the overwhelming sensations that danced between fear and an all-consuming despair. "Emily, please," he mumbled around the pacifier, his eyes wide, pleading, desperation oozing from every pore. Emily smiled, a serene yet wicked glint in her eyes, never breaking her gaze from his face. "It’s okay, baby. Just let it go. You can do it," she cooed, her tone dripping with a mix of sweetness and authority. Mikey felt a fart escape him, a small mercy in the chaos, but then another, and another, each one jolting him higher in the bouncer. He felt something else building, a pressure he couldn't contain, almost as if the rhythm of the bouncer was orchestrating his downfall. He clenched his teeth around the pacifier, his mind racing, searching desperately for an escape from this waking nightmare. And then it happened. The warmth spread through his diaper, an involuntary surrender he couldn’t have prevented even if he’d fought with every ounce of strength. The humiliation crashed over him, a tidal wave of dread and defeat. He looked up at Emily, his eyes round with shock, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Emily caught his gaze and chuckled softly, the sound almost melodic in the charged air. "Good baby boy, you poopy," she purred, her voice cruelly soothing, intertwining praise with the sting of shame. She reached down, her hand patting his diaper firmly, but with a false gentleness. "You did a good job, baby. Mommy is so proud of you." The words wrapped around him, a bittersweet embrace that left no room for defiance. Mikey felt a tumultuous blend of relief and overwhelming humiliation wash over him, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. "No... this can't be happening," he murmured to himself, the words barely escaping his lips. He had lost all control, and the devastating truth dawned on him—he was now Emily's baby boy, forever trapped in this infantilizing nightmare. The cheerful song blaring from the TV felt like sinister mockery, its upbeat melody jarring against the grim reality he faced. As he absently sucked on the pacifier, tears threatened to spill from his eyes. "I... I can’t be a baby! Emily, please," he pleaded, his voice quivering with desperation. Each syllable felt futile as his mind raced, searching for an escape route that simply didn’t exist. Emily knelt closer, her tone dripping with sugary condescension. "Aww, sweetie, according what is in your diapy which is poopy makes you a little baby," she cooed, her eyes glinting with a mix of affection and authority. “But I don’t want this!” he shouted, the panic rising within him. “I want to go home!” Yet deep down, he knew—he was trapped, and the walls were closing in, with no escape in sight. Chapter 6: The poop kept coming out; he couldn't stop it. Waves of mess surged forth into his diaper, each one a reminder of his utter helplessness. Mikey cried around his pacifier, his voice muffled and desperate. "Make it stop!" he whimpered, panic rising in his chest as the sensation overwhelmed him—a grotesque blend of relief and humiliation. His body convulsed with each wave, the diaper squelching sickeningly around him. Emily watched him with a twisted mix of amusement and satisfaction, a patronizing smile spreading across her face as she gently rubbed his back. "There, there, baby boy. You're doing just what babies do, aren’t you? Such a good little boy, pooping your diaper like a pro," she cooed, her tone soothing yet dripping with authority. Mikey turned a deeper shade of crimson, embarrassment flooding his face as he squirmed in a futile attempt to escape the humiliation. But the bouncer kept him trapped, bouncing higher with each movement, forcing him to confront the reality of his situation. The television played its hypnotic melody, a cheerful song about the joys of pooping in diapers that had transformed into a cruel mockery of his circumstances. Every note sent shivers down his spine, deepening his despair. Mikey's mind raced, searching for an escape, but there was none to be found. He was completely at Emily's mercy, and she was relishing every second. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pooping came to a halt. A strange mix of relief and exhaustion washed over Mikey, but his body wasn’t done yet. He felt a warm, wet sensation spread through his diaper as involuntary release followed the previous assault. He couldn't control it; his body had betrayed him entirely. A soft whimper escaped him, the pacifier muffling his cries as he realized the full extent of his powerlessness. Emily’s voice turned soft again, laced with a sickening mix of comfort and mockery. "Good baby, you did so well! You used your diaper just like a good little baby boy. Mommy is so so proud of you," she crooned, patting his back gently as if he were a cherished pet. Mikey’s eyes brimmed with tears, the humiliation spiraling beyond what he could bear. He wanted to scream, to claw back some semblance of dignity, but he was ensnared—physically and emotionally—by her disdainful care. Emily, with a smirk dancing on her lips, reached for her phone, the screen already open and poised to capture his degradation. She pointed it at him, and mockery dripped from her every word. "Look at you, baby! You made a big stinky in that diaper!" she teased, her eyes sparkling with delight. His heart raced as he cried harder, tears streaking down his cheeks. "You did, didn’t you, baby? You can’t deny it now," she continued, her voice both taunting and sweet. Each click of the camera echoed in Mikey’s mind, amplifying his dread. This was blackmail in its most raw form—Emily was building a collection that would chain him to this moment forever. He tried to protest, tried to beg her to stop, but the pacifier rendered him voiceless, each attempt slipping futilely into silence. With a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, Emily continued, "You’re such a good baby, Mikey. Really, Mommy is so proud of you," her tone thick with false affection as she recorded every tear, every whimper, every humiliating moment. Mikey felt an overwhelming sense of despair and resignation wash over him. There was no escape; he was trapped in this degrading role. He was Emily’s baby boy now, and deep down, he knew it all too well. The cheerful tune from the TV blared on, a cruel juxtaposition to his grim reality. He clutched the pacifier, his mind racing as he struggled to process the totality of his plight. There was no escape. Emily left the room, leaving Mikey alone with his thoughts, the weight of his humiliation pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. The TV continued its insidious tune, a cheerful melody that grated against the chaos swirling in his mind. He squirmed in the bouncer, desperately trying to push against the confines that held him tight, but it was no use. The straps pinched his skin, and the mess in his diaper squished uncomfortably, a sickening reminder of his powerlessness. “Emily, please! You can’t do this!” he shouted, his voice laced with desperation. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Emily returned, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and malice that sent a shiver down Mikey’s spine. In her hand, she held a massage wand, its sleek design and powerful vibrations pulsing with foreboding energy. His heart raced as she plugged it in, the low hum of the motor breaking the silence with a teasing menace. “Do you really think you can escape, Mikey?" she said, a wicked smile creeping onto her lips. “You’re mine to play with now.” His eyes widened in horror as she stepped closer, the wand buzzing ominously in her hand, and he could feel his resolve crumbling, overwhelmed by the humiliation of his situation. “No! Please! Just let me go!” he cried, the sound echoing off the walls, a plea swallowed by the darkness that threatened to engulf him. She pressed the wand against his crotch, directly over his diaper, and Mikey's entire body tensed at the sudden stimulation. "Please, Emily... I-I don't want this," he begged, his voice cracking with desperation. But Emily only smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The wand's vibrations penetrated through the diaper, sending a shockwave of pleasure and discomfort through Mikey's groin. "N-no... stop! It's... it's too much!" he cried out, squirming as the sensations overwhelmed him. The warm mushiness in his diaper shifted with his movements, the feeling of his own filth only adding to his humiliation. Emily: Shh, it's okay, baby. Just relax and let it happen. You can't fight this, can you?" As the wand glided down to his diapered butt, the vibrations seemed to intensify tenfold. Mikey's body betrayed him, responding to the stimulation despite his protests. He could feel the warmth of his arousal, the wetness of his diaper, and the shame of his situation. "I-I can't help it! Please, just... let me go!" Emily: "Oh, my sweet Mikey, you're so cute when you're all messy. Can you feel it? Your little pee-pee is so hard, even with the smell of your own mess. That's it, cum for me, baby. Cum in your dirty diaper." Her words were like a spell, both taunting and comforting, leaving Mikey powerless against the sensations coursing through his body. Emily's voice oozed with malicious delight as she taunted, "Oh, my sweet baby Mikey, are you enjoying this? Is my little one getting hard in his soiled diaper? Only a baby would respond like this, wouldn't he? Cumming in his own mess, how adorable!" Her words cut deep, each syllable a knife to Mikey's pride. Mikey's pleas became more desperate, the pacifier hindering his speech, "Em...ily, p-please! I-I don't want this, p-please let me go!" He squirmed, trying to escape the bouncer's grip, but it was futile. The gentle bounce only served to emphasize his powerlessness, his body trembling with a mix of shame and pleasure. A sinister smile played on Emily's lips, her eyes sparkling with cruel amusement. "Listen, my dear, if you can control yourself and not cum, I might consider letting you go. But if you do cum in that dirty diaper, it's proof you belong in this role. You'll stay, and you'll confess your little accident on camera. Do we have a deal, baby?" Her tone was a sickening blend of mockery and false gentleness. Defeat washed over Mikey, his resistance crumbling. "D-deal," he whimpered, his voice cracking. The humiliation was overwhelming, and the sensations were too much to bear. He could feel his body's traitorous response, the diaper's wetness and warmth intensifying his arousal, every movement of the mess inside his diaper rubbing against his skin. Emily's voice, a soft yet commanding melody, sent shivers down Mikey's spine. "You must endure, my sweet boy. Hold on for just 10 more minutes without releasing your climax," she whispered, her words both a challenge and a taunt. Her fingers tightened around the wand, guiding it in slow, deliberate strokes through the mush of his soiled diaper. "No... please, Emily... I... I can't..." Mikey's voice cracked, his resistance crumbling under the onslaught of sensations. The wand's path was relentless, stirring the mess within his diaper, creating a chaotic dance of pleasure and humiliation. He felt every nerve ending come alive, his body betraying him as it responded to her touch. "Shh... It's okay, baby. Let go of control. You're safe with me," Emily cooed, her voice like a siren's song, drawing him further into the abyss. Mikey's eyes widened as he felt the familiar build-up, his body preparing to surrender to the inevitable. The warm, squishy feeling between his legs intensified, becoming a chaotic symphony of sensations as the wand's vibrations grew stronger. "I... I can't stop it... Please, Emily..." Mikey's voice was desperate, his mind a battlefield of conflicting desires. He wanted to fight, to prove he wasn't just a helpless infant, but his body had other plans. The diaper's contents shifted with each movement, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. "Oh, my sweet boy, let it happen. Embrace the release," Emily purred, her voice a mixture of dominance and tenderness. Mikey's world narrowed to the sensations she inflicted upon him, his body a puppet to her whims. As the wand glided through the mess, Mikey's resolve shattered, and he surrendered to the overwhelming tide of pleasure, his cries echoing through the room. Chapter 7: o Mikey's eyes darted towards Emily, pleading for mercy. "Please, Emily... I-I don't want this... Let me go, please!" He begged, his voice cracking with desperation. But Emily, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, only giggled softly, her baby talk sending shivers down his spine. "Aww, wook at my wittle baby, so cutesy in his diapy. You're mine now, all wiggly and messy, just like a wittle baby should be." Her words cut deep, contrasting sharply with the intense sensations he was experiencing. As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, Mikey's body trembled uncontrollably. "N-no... I... I can't..." He whimpered, his face contorting as he fought against the overwhelming sensations. The bouncer's gentle bounce mocked his struggle, emphasizing his powerlessness. He gripped the pacifier, sucking desperately, his eyes pleading with Emily to show some mercy. "Shh, it's okay, sweetie. You're such a good boy, making a big mess for me. Feel it, my cute baby, feel how tiny I've made you." Emily's voice was like silk, her words taunting and soothing at the same time. She increased the wand's speed, sending Mikey's senses into overdrive. His body arched, and he cried out, the pacifier falling from his mouth as he surrendered to the sensation. "No... I... I'm... Not a baby..." Mikey gasped, his face flushing with shame and pleasure as he climaxed, his body shaking uncontrollably. Emily's smirk widened, her victory evident as she continued to tease and please, ensuring Mikey's humiliation was complete. Emily abruptly halted the wand's motion, her confident smile widening as she savored her victory. With deliberate slowness, she withdrew her phone, her eyes sparkling with malicious glee. "Game over," she cooed, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. "Admit it, Mikey, say the words." Mikey's thoughts whirled in panic, but he was acutely aware of his helplessness. He was entirely at her mercy, and she knew it. Emily raised the phone, her thumb poised to start recording. "When I hit record, you will confess," she said, her tone both commanding and strangely comforting. "You'll coo and babble like the infant you are, 'I-I'm just a widdle baby, I made a yucky mess in my diapee, oopsie! Mommy, I need you to change me and make me all better, 'cause I'm such a goo' widdle baby boy.'" Mikey's heart sank as he realized the depth of his humiliation. He struggled, but his efforts were futile against Emily's unwavering control. Mikey's heart pounded in his chest as he realized the only way out was to fully submit. He felt a surge of desperation and shame as he opened his mouth, his voice trembling with forced innocence. "M-Mommy, I...I'm just a widdle baby, I made a big mess in my diapy, pee-pee and poo-poo. I need my mommy to make me all better, pwease?" His face burned with humiliation. Emily's smile turned triumphant, "That's my good boy! You know you love being my little diaper baby. Now, let's get you all nice and clean." She gently let him out of the bouncer. Emily's eyes sparkled with a mix of triumph and sadistic delight as she led Mikey to the bathroom. The soft, warm glow of the room felt like a spotlight shining on his desperation, each flicker of light mocking his humiliation. "Welcome to your new sanctuary," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. She stood by the door, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on her lips. Mikey swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, a mix of fear and anger surging within him. “You can’t be serious,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I’m not a child, Emily!” “Oh, but Mikey, look at you,” she teased, glancing at the bubbling water, the lavender scent wrapping around them like a suffocating blanket. “You could use a little pampering. Don’t you want to feel relaxed?” “I want to feel like myself!” he shot back, desperation lacing his words. “Trust me, darling,” she purred, stepping closer, her smile widening. “You’ll love it. Just let go.” His mind raced as he stood at the threshold of the bath, the boundaries of his dignity slipping away. "Come on, sweetie, let's get you all clean," Emily cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness that made his skin prickle. She guided him to the edge of the tub, her hands gentle yet unnervingly firm. Mikey winced as he felt the dampness of the diaper clinging to him, a reminder of how utterly vulnerable he was in her grasp. Emily's fingers traced the edge of the diaper, her touch sending a wave of humiliation mixed with dread coursing through him. "Such a messy boy," she teased, a gleam of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Don't you want to be a good little baby for me?" Mikey swallowed hard, fighting against the tightening knot in his stomach. "Please, Emily, I can clean myself," he stammered, desperation creeping into his voice. Her laughter rang out like a dark melody. "Oh, but sweetie, this is so much more fun! Let’s get you all nice and clean. You need my help, don't you?" With a swift motion, Emily peeled off the soiled diaper, revealing the mess beneath. Mikey's face flushed with shame as he felt the cool air against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the diaper he so despised. "You always make me feel like a baby," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with indignation. Emily's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she tossed the diaper into the trash, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "You need this, Mikey," she replied, her voice a blend of command and mock sympathy. “Let’s get you in the tub—now.” His heart raced, a pulse of anxiety coursing through him as he stood there, naked and vulnerable, trembling at her relentless gaze. "I can do it myself," he protested weakly, but deep down, he feared her reaction more than the situation itself. Mikey hesitated, his mind racing with a mix of fear and humiliation. "I can’t do this," he murmured, the tremor in his voice betraying his desperation. But deep down, he knew he had no choice but to comply. With a deep breath, he stepped into the tub, the warm water enveloping him like a tight grip. Emily's hands were gentle, yet they felt like chains as she guided him down, the bubbles tickling his skin in a mocking sort of way. She picked up a soft sponge, the weight of it felt like a reminder of his predicament. As she began to wash him, her touch was both soothing and humiliating. "There you go, my little baby," she said, her voice sweet yet taunting, like a lullaby sung to a frightened child. "Mommy's going to make you all clean and fresh. Doesn’t that feel nice?” Mikey’s heart raced, and he couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped in a role he loathed. "This isn’t fair," he whispered, desperation lacing his words. Mikey's muscles coiled like a spring as Emily's hands, soft and soapy, roamed his body, claiming ownership over every inch of his skin. The sponge's path across his chest, arms, and legs was almost clinical, but when it ventured lower, he couldn't suppress the traitorous response. His breath caught, and his body reacted, betraying his mounting shame and desire. "Oh, look who's wide-eyed and eager now," Emily purred, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "My, my, someone's a frisky little thing, aren't they?" Her words, laced with playful mockery, sent a jolt through him. As she rinsed away the soap, her hands became instruments of torture and pleasure, leaving his skin tingling in their wake. "Shh, it's okay, my sweet baby," she whispered, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. "Just relax and let Emily take care of you. You'll be all clean and fresh soon." Emily wrapped him in a soft towel, her hands gentle as she patted him dry. She guided him out of the tub, her touch firm yet comforting. Mikey's body trembled as she led him to the nursery, a room filled with mocking innocence he had never seen before. The walls were painted in soft pastel colors, and the furniture was all baby-sized, making him feel tiny and vulnerable. A crib stood in the corner, a mobile spinning slowly above it, casting dancing shadows across the floor, and a changing table loomed ominously against the wall. Emily's eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she helped him on to the changing table. She picked up a fresh diaper, her hands gentle yet firm as she secured it around his waist. “There you go, my little baby,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “All nice and clean and fresh.” Mikey's heart raced, a knot forming in his stomach. “Emily, please… I’m not a baby! I don’t want this!” he protested, desperation creeping into his voice. Emily chuckled softly, not missing a beat as she fastened the diaper. “Oh, but you are, Mikey. Look at you! You fit right in here.” She leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. “And you’re going to love it, won’t you?” He closed his eyes, wishing to wake up from this nightmare, but Emily's laughter echoed in his ears, a chilling reminder of the reality he couldn't escape. Next, she slipped on a pair of crinkly plastic pants over the diaper, the sound sharp and unsettling in the still room. Mikey's body tensed as the cool material pressed against his skin, a chilling reminder of his vulnerability. Emily's hands moved to his feet, slipping on a pair of footed pajamas that rendered his hands useless. The fabric clung tightly, restricting his movements, and panic swelled in his chest as he realized the extent of his helplessness. Emily's eyes sparkled with an unsettling satisfaction as she guided him toward the crib. "Time to settle in, sweetie," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. Laying him down, her hands were gentle yet firm, and he felt trapped beneath her gaze. "There you go, my little baby," she cooed, the words twisting like a knife in his gut. "All nice and cozy in your crib." Mikey's body tensed further, his heart racing as the soft blankets enveloped him, stifling and warm. "No. Please, no," he pleaded, but the words barely made it past the tightness in his throat. "Shh, it's okay, baby," she murmured, her tone soothing yet mocking. "Mommy's going to feed you now." She picked up a bottle of warm milk, her eyes gleaming with a predatory satisfaction as she held it to his lips. Mikey's body tensed, panic rising within him as he felt the warm liquid filling his mouth. He swallowed, his mind screaming to stop, but his body betrayed him, drinking greedily. “Stop! I’m not a baby!” he protested, his voice muffled around the bottle. Emily leaned closer, her smile chilling. “Oh, but you are, Mikey,” she replied, her tone dripping with condescension. “Just look at you, drinking up like a good little boy.” The sparkle in her eyes only deepened as she moved to the second bottle, her touch gentle yet unyielding. Again, Mikey’s body tensed as he felt the warm liquid flood his mouth. “I won’t drink anymore! You can't make me!” he shouted, frustration lacing his words. Yet, Emily continued, her gaze unwavering. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Isn’t this what you wanted?” She smirked, her hands steady as she fed him, delighting in his helplessness. Finally, after the third bottle, her eyes shining with triumph. “There you go, my little baby,” she cooed, her voice like a haunting lullaby. “All nice and cozy in your crib. Mommy’s going to tuck you in now.” She leaned in closer, whispering, “You’ll always be my baby, whether you like it or not.” Mikey's body tensed as the soft blankets enveloped him like a cocoon. Emily leaned close, her fingers brushing his cheek as she slipped the pacifier between his lips. "Shh, it's okay, sweetie," she murmured, her tone dripping with an unsettling sweetness. "Mommy's going to tuck you in now." He could see the playful glimmer in her eyes, a stark contrast to the cold knot tightening in his stomach. "Emily, I—" he started, but the pacifier stifled his protest. With a lingering, satisfied smile, Emily flicked off the light, plunging him into darkness. The shadows wrapped around him, and he felt utterly vulnerable, the familiarity of the diaper pressing against his skin only amplifying his fear. "You know the bet, right?" she whispered, her voice a silky taunt. "If you don’t wet your diaper, you’re free to go tomorrow. But if you do... well, then you’ll have to admit on camera that you’re just a baby who needs his mommy, and you’ll do everything I say." Mikey's heart raced, the gravity of her words crashing down on him. "I won’t... I can hold it," he stammered, still struggling against the suffocating sheets. Emily chuckled softly, almost mockingly, as if she could sense his resolve faltering. "Oh, but what if I spiked those baby bottles, hmm? It’s going to be a long night, baby." As he lay there, the pacifier lodged in his mouth, Mikey couldn’t shake the chilling thought of what awaited him in the morning. Did he really have a choice? As sleep began to pull him under, he couldn't help but wonder: what had he gotten himself into? But he was confident he could win. To be continued……

About 2 years ago I introduced my GF to ABDL and diapers! She is super cool about me wearing them and will even wear a pull-up sometimes in the bedroom. By all counts I’m lucky.However we are struggling with my enjoyment of wetting and her acceptance of this. I’m sure there are some that would say to just not use my diapers, however this is something that is a large part of my enjoyment of diapers. Note that I do not mess.Certainly some of you out there have encountered and felt with similar scenarios. Any advice or guidance?

After being disappointed with the lack of ABDL fantasy-adventure stories I decided to create my own. It’s just a silly little thing, but hopefully a bit of fun for those who carry on reading. This is a prelude to the story, so just setting some stuff up here, which may or may not come into play in the future... I dunno, we'll see, might not get that far lol. Either way, the prelude doesn't really have much in the way of ABDL content, purely world-building and story. Hopefully it's still entertaining. I'm uploading chapter 1 as a separate story. This is a re-upload. After some useful comments, I've decided to just upload all the stories in a single topic, which will be updated, and that should make everything easier to follow. Episode 2 will be out in a few weeks (as of 18/12/2021). Law of the Diaper - Prelude - Embos stood at the edge of the water. It crashed far beneath her, obeying only the wind. She had been waiting for her older siblings from across the ocean for a whole hour now, standing in a harsh storm that battered and bruised the cliff face below. Liefyr, her closest brother, had gone to get the others ready. So, she stood alone. The wind howled between her ears and tugged at her hair, and threatened, occasionally, to push her into the waters below. But she was the God of Craft. Embos wore boots of Caerson Steel, strong against the wind, and light to walk in. Each of her sibling gods on this side of the world had given their peoples a gift. Hers was Caerson, a metal both bountiful and useful. Embos hated waiting like this. She needed to do something, to be somewhere, though she didn’t know what on either account. Being the eldest of her siblings, at least of those that left Panthos, Embos felt a great responsibility to the others. A responsibility to nurture and raise. Despite being closer to Liefyr, in age she was similar to her older sibling Vafyr. And that made things complicated. Damn you Vaf, she thought, thinking of the young god. Why had he stayed with the others? Vaf was the weakest of their lot, and certainly wouldn’t be treated as their peer. With Embos and the others, he would be an equal, and great guide for the people here. Her head boiled again with anger, it had been more and more recently. Anger at the war, anger at her elder siblings, anger that she had little power by herself, and anger all she had to rely on were the youngest of gods. No, not anger. Disappointment. Instantly, she felt a pang of shame within her. They are just as valuable, just as powerful in their way. She had to admit, she was surprised at how seriously they were taking it. Normally Pelyr, the youngest of them and the God of Play, convinced Ranos and Liefyr to flunk this sort of thing. Maybe it was because Pelyr would never be able to play again if they failed, that he was taking it so seriously now. Whatever the case, Embos hoped it would last. Another great gust of wind barrelled across the grass, threatening to push Embos into the sea below. Waves crashed against the shore, the ocean’s white teeth foaming against jagged cliffs below. Dull beats, like someone playing the drums, echoed into the sky. The storm whistled around her ears, singing across the ocean. It was a tune she recognised. Looking up, Embos saw her older brother, Vafyr, silhouetted in the ocean mist. He walked on the air itself, using the wind as a path to the safety of the cliff. Around him, the grey mist somehow blushed a bright blue, as if he walked in a halo of sky. It was as if he was the colour of the world. Then again, Embos supposed, I guess he is. Within moments he was stepping onto the rock as if it were still the air, floating across newly budding grass. “Vaf!” Embos couldn’t help but let relief and no small amount of joy flood into her voice. Of all the people they could have sent, this was perhaps the best possible outcome. “Hello sister.” he said calmly, a broad smile across his face betraying any stoicism he might have masked himself with. “They thought you wouldn’t hurt me, so I was sent in place of a messenger.” Vafyr walked to Embos, he was more relaxed than she remembered. “Why would I hurt a messenger? Why would any of us--” “Em, please, I don’t think you’d hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. But that’s not how they think, is it?” Vafyr said as they walked down the shallow incline that led to the village below. Embos saw an opening. Now was the time. Now, after so many years, it was the perfect opportunity to ask. “Then why are you still--” but before Embos could finish, Vafyr cut her off. “I’m sorry, but I cannot say. I have my reasons, and hopefully you will find out soon.” “But I want to know now!” said Embos. She only realised how childish that must have sounded after she’d said it. However, Vaf didn’t seem to mind. He smiled broadly again, a glint in his eye. “Em,” he said, stopping and gently putting his hands on her shoulders. He was a foot taller than she was, towering over her. “I promise, now is not the time, but you will find out.” and that was all he said. Embos knew that was the end of it, she wouldn’t get anything else out of him. Time to move on. They continued their descent to the village. “So, why did you want to speak to us?” Embos asked, “I suppose it would be too much to ask for your loyalty?” The wind picked up again as Vafyr smiled, but the cold never came. Vafyr was too warm for that. “Unfortunately not.” he said, and then he went suddenly serious, his smile fading into what was almost a grimace. “The others want to make a deal with you.” Embos couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “You’re kidding. After all of this?” she said though a deep, slightly hysterical laughter. “After all you’ve put us through, now you want to make a deal?!” This was utterly ridiculous. Her older siblings never, never, made deals with those who were below them. And now they wanted to make a deal with not only ‘lesser gods’ but the enemy? “Now, I know what you are thinking-” Vafyr started to say, but Embos, finally managing to get control of herself, cut him off before he could do any more damage. “No, I’m sorry but no. You expect me to trust them after what they’ve done, not just to us, but the people of this world? This is stupid!” she said, and carried on walking towards the village. Vafyr stopped her, grasping her arm tightly, and suddenly this wasn’t so funny. Embos’ smiling face twisted into a scowl. “If you don’t trust them,” he said, looking deeply, so very deeply, into her, “Trust me.” They held a deep stare for a moment, before Embos broke away. What did he want? What was his plan? Their plan? He was serious, and Vafyr was rarely serious. “What aren’t you telling me Vaf?” He was holding something back, Embos knew it. There was something in his eyes, something curious, something important. He sighed, seeming resigned. “This is big Em. This is bigger than all of us. We came to a decision the other day, that this is the only way we’ll win this war.” He looked almost scared. Embos hadn’t seen him like this before. “What war?” “The only war that matters. There is … something coming.” Vafyr’s eyes glowed with a fearful anticipation. Whatever he was talking about, whatever was coming, was inevitable. The storm picked up again, blowing wind through the hills that edged the cliff face. It rippled across the grass, sending waves of darkness across the landscape. Trees, dotted here and there, swayed and danced about to the tune of the wind. Far above, clouds sped past. They swirled into each-other and ran towards dry land. Tiny droplets of rain hit skin, like pins-and-needles prickling across Embos’ body. Everything moved, everything was dynamic, everything had so much potential. For the first time, she realised how delicate it all was. While blades of grass flickered in the weather, one could simply halt each one with their thumb and forefinger. What would happen if all of this, this beautiful chaos, just … stopped? Embos realised she had been staring into space for a while. Vafyr had let go of her. She looked to her brother, searching for … something, some sort of solace, some sort of answer. Should she let him speak? Let the traitor influence their minds? If Vaf was lying they could lose their lands, their people, and their way of life to the gods across the water. But if he was telling the truth… “Em!” an energetic voice shouted from below. The two siblings atop the cliff whipped their heads around to look. It was Pelyr, their youngest sibling. Far below, the village people were out about behind him, interested to see what was going on. They all wore brightly coloured clothes, some in dungarees, some in onesies. Pelyr, spotting Embos, called again. “Em, c’mon, the others are back!” They could lose everything. If Vaf was right, everything would just stop. Embos raised her arm, shooting him a thumbs-up. Then, turning, she began again down the cliff. Vafyr stayed behind. “Sister …” he said, and Embos turned again. “Come on.” She said, “We have much to discuss.” Law of the Diaper - Episode 1 - FOST Fost waddled across the marsh. It was a miserable day, clouds had blocked the warm sun, leaving a thick grey gloom beneath. The marsh itself didn’t help much to quell the air of dullness that hung here either. It was slimy, squishy underfoot, and stank. And that wasn’t the only thing that stank. Fost fiddled with the leak guard of his diaper, attempting to make it more comfortable around his leg. It didn't do much. The diaper was just getting too full to ignore, he’d have to find that village as quick as possible, lest a rash set in. What’s worse, is that he was beginning to feel a little full in the bladder, and he didn’t suspect the diaper could hold another heavy wetting. “Damn.” he said to himself, stepping onto a raised patch of ground that was elevated comfortably out of the mud. Mud. The evil stuff came right up his leg, threatening to cling to his onesie. Not that much further, he thought to himself, then I can have a warm bath and a change. To make the rest of the journey easier on himself, he reached for his pacifier. It was attached to his neck with some old twine. It was nice, calming, and placated him enough to continue, at least for now. Now that his mind was clearer, Fost thought back to that old woman, and the conversation they had had a few days prior. What was it she wanted again? Ah, yes, that book on Strange Dymatagy. Apparently it was a rare thing that contained many more words than it did pictures. Fost scrunched his nose at the thought -- how strange. Books with many words were by no means rare, but they were usually owned by Mommies or Daddies, not another Little like himself. Though the woman was ancient, she was definitely a Little. It could only be a thick diaper between her legs that gave her that waddle, and besides, everyone knew that Littles were the only ones who could do proper Dymatagy. What a strange woman she had been. Living alone in the middle of nowhere, reading books not meant for her eyes. Oh well, thought Fost somewhat bitterly, a job’s a job. He was beginning to run low on funds besides much else, not that he had much to begin with. Besides, the village blacksmith here was apparently quite well known, and he needed a new sword as desperately as he needed a new diaper. After this, he’d be out of money. Hopefully the old woman’s job would set him up for after all of this. Before long, he had reached the bottom of a particularly high hill that had prevented him from seeing over the horizon. Salty mud and matted clumps of grass dotted the eleven foot tall mound, made worse by the recent rains. Fost looked at the hill and sighed heavily. Then, taking a large step, he pushed himself up and onto the mound, grunting loudly. Beneath his bare feet, the mud squelched and bubbled, rising through his toes. Another step, onto the steep slope. He placed his foot down and -- sloop. He slipped in the mud, falling backwards onto his polka-dot cloak and down into the mud below, pacifier flying out his mouth. Getting slowly to his feet again, Fost surveyed himself. He had a streak of brown mud down his favourite cloak. What’s worse, his onesie was now speckled with the stuff. Great, he thought, it’s going to be one of those days. He stepped forward again, making sure to be extra careful where he stood. One step up. His toes gripped into the mud. Two steps. He pulled his weight up. Three. Sloop. He slipped back down, falling onto his hands and knees. He tried again. One step. He gripped a tuft of grass, hard. Two steps. He yanked himself up. Three -- swooppllhh. Fost hit the mud with a loud splat. “aaaaAAAAHHH!” he shouted angrily. For the third time, he found himself at the bottom of that damned mound. Why was it so hard to climb a silly little hill? He used to be a soldier! A warrior! And now he was beaten by a little mud. “This is absurd!” he said through labored, angry breaths. It was. He brought his hand to the pacifier around his neck, intending to calm himself again. It was gone. No. No. It couldn’t be gone. Anger turned to panic, as he pressed his hand against his chest, hoping, desperately hoping, that it was just down his onesie. When he couldn’t find it there, he dived into the mud. It had to be here. It had to be here. Fost splashed and flailed in the muck, splattering the thick mess everywhere. He scooped through thick lumps of it, diving deep into the thick ooze to try and retrieve the pacifier. But he couldn’t find it. Panic turned to fear. His heart beat wildly in his chest, and his eyes felt heavy, watery. It was getting hard to see. On the very edge of tears, Fost just stood there, unable to move, unable to think. What would happen if he lost it? That one reminder? No. No. Fost was on the edge of storm, a raging tornado in his chest. He closed his eyes, feeling the tempest gather within him. It was energy. It was power. Without a thought for the consequences, he dived into the eye of the storm, summoning it to his will. The rage and the panic and the fear swirled around him, and when he opened his eyes again, a bright white glow consumed them all. He clapped his hands to the sky, feeling the energy inside him burst out and cascade across the air. Ignoring the resulting cramp in his stomach, Fost opened his hands as if pushing a great force outwards. As he commanded so the mud obeyed, and like a great gust of wind, a circle of force was drawn around Fost, clearing the mud. The pacifier, blue and starry, lay on the ground, helpless against the mud that had consumed it. Fost smiled when he saw it. It was safe now. He bent down, delicately picking it up. The twine had snapped. Of course it had. No longer raging, the storm died down, and without thinking, Fost dropped his area of force. His face strained for a moment, and the cramp in his abdomen grew. Automatically, he pushed, and a thick mass of his own mud entered his already full diaper. He sighed deeply, content. Now that nothing was holding it back, the mud that surrounded him swept back to fill the emptiness, and within a moment, he was standing in it again. It was okay. It was okay. The pacifier was nestled between Fost’s cupped palms, sitting against the warmth of his skin. One hand closed tightly, ever so tightly, around the pacifier, and he used his other to swing his travel-sack off from beneath his cloak. It was small, only containing some food, some coin and a couple of books, but all had escaped the mud. With grace only seen in a parent caring for a child, he placed the pacifier into the bag, safe with the last of his money. Then, swinging his bag on his back again, he looked back to the slope... ...And refused to climb again. He quickly found a small stone and picked it up. With all his might, with all his effort, he imagined throwing the stone as far as he could, as hard as he could, over the hill. Then, closing his eyes, he dropped the stone. The storm of potential blew inside him again. It was much less this time, more of a strong gust of wind really. But it was enough, and with one great push, he leapt over the hill in a single bound. Well, just over half the hill. He only just passed the summit, before hitting mud, and falling on his bottom with a splat. Underneath him, the poopy diaper squished and pushed a little of his mess out of its confines. He felt the damp of fresh pee as he had another accident, a consequence of the magic. He slid down the other side of the hill, and landed at the bottom with a small splat, feet first. Fost was breathing heavily again. Even using basic Dymatagy usually took a lot out of him. He was muddy, tired, and now in dire need of a change. But, looking up, he saw what he had come for. Perched on a small island in the middle of this gods-forsaken flat, was a little village. Smoke puffed gently from a couple of chimneys, and small wattle and daub cottages stood proudly above the mud. So, brushing off as much of it as he could, he waddled towards the small settlement, trying to ignore his very full pants, and the pee dribbling down his leg. LARIA “Do you think they’ll be back?” Laria asked. She was sat on a porcelain potty, pull-up at her feet. The blacksmith wasn’t that busy at the moment, it rarely was these days. Her business partner, Krisp, slouched behind the wooden counter, where normally the bearded man stood proud. He had just been staring aimlessly at the door for about ten minutes now and, if she was honest, Laria was starting to get a little bit worried. “K?” she asked the man, stretching her head round. He didn’t answer. “Krisp!” she said loudly, and the man jumped slightly. “Sorry,” he said in that deep baritone of his. It always calmed her to hear his voice, it sounded like waves crashing along the beach. The man, normally red-faced, had somehow managed to go an even deeper shade of scarlet, “I’m fine, I was just--” “Dude, it’s fine.” Laria said, sighing, “I know what you were thinking.” There was a moment of reflective silence between them. The shop was always empty. Except for them. Laria almost thought Krisp would fade back into his daydream, but before long he spoke up again. “You making progress?” he asked, looking over to where Laria was perched on the potty, just next to the counter. “No, false alarm I think.” she said. “You’ll get the hang of it. Should have seen me trying a few years back, it was a nightmare. Pee went everywhere.” Krisp said, clearly trying to make Laria laugh. It didn’t really work. She looked down longingly. All this was so hard. Although most people on the Dullen Isles wore pull-ups well into their second decade, they were expected to be fully potty-trained within ten or so years of coming of age at 20. Most were trained years before that. At 28, Laria was starting to get worried. All her friends in Trully, her village, were completely out of their pull-ups. Although, Mossa, from down the road, still wore them for the occasional accident. Laria on the other hand, still used the underwear as her primary method of going to the toilet. To make matters worse, she had to admit that she actually enjoyed doing it sometimes. Not only were they convenient during long days at the forge, where one hardly had the time for potty breaks, but it also felt good to let loose where you stood, to feel the warmth growing around the pseudo-diaper. In Luin, the southern kingdom that ruled over Dullen, they used their diapers without a care in the world. People around here weren't usually friendly to southern visitors, but Laria found herself remarkably jealous of them instead. Although there were new, mandatory changing spaces in every shop, just as there was a potty, Laria would always be treated with an air of suspicion if she took up that lifestyle. Even more since Dullen was now a vassal of the more powerful kingdom, and resentment was skyrocketing. Mind you, they’d always be better than those barbarian pants-wetters in the West -- people who soiled their pants with no protection, no discretion. No matter what, Luin and Dullen would always unite against their wrath, even as reluctant allies. Eventually, Laria gave up trying to go pee in the potty, resigned to the fact that she would probably end up messing her pull-up later anyway. She raised herself off the potty, grabbed her pull-up and tugged on her trousers over the top. The potty, as always, stayed where it was beside the counter, in case a visitor needed it. Then, she moved to the back of the shop to where the fun stuff happened. The forge. “You didn’t answer my question.” Laria said to Krisp as she left him at the counter. The smithy itself was quite bare on the inside, with a few cabinets scattered about the front room displaying swords, knives, and other sharp objects. The bigger ones -- halberds and the like -- sat comfortably on the wall. Behind the counter was a door that led to the smithy itself, where most of the work was done. “I didn’t hear your question.” Krisp answered loudly, shouting across the smithy floor. “Liar!” she shouted amusedly back, moving into the smithy proper. “I don’t know what you mean!” Krisp said. Laria smiled, hearing the grin in his voice. Thick wafts of woodchip smoke from the fire, and a perpetual heat, hit Laria as she entered the forge. The back of the shop was much larger, messier and all around a much more interesting place to work. Beside a small wooden stool, a few swords were lined up, ready for polishing and then, hopefully, sale. Laria liked it back here. She liked the energy of the place, heated by the fire, always crackling; she enjoyed creating, crafting, and making something from something else; and she loved the feeling it gave her while doing it, almost like she was a sorcerer, doing magical things that no one else could. In a way, that was true. That’s what made potty breaks even more gruelling. The damned thing tore her away from her work, her beautiful work. It was the same feeling of uselessness she felt while on the counter, just waiting for customers that didn’t exist. So, Laria sat down on the small wooden bench, her pull-up padding her bottom on the hard wood, and got to work. While she rubbed oil along the slender blade of a newly forged longsword, she looked towards the door. Boy, Krisp really doesn’t want to answer that question she thought, smiling to herself. “Krisp, are you going to answer or not?” “Do you really want an answer?” he asked. It was a tough topic to talk about in his defence, but they needed to be prepared, and this was the beginning of that laborious process. “Yes, I want your opinion. Do you really think they’ll be back?” Although Laria was looking at the sword, careful of where her hands were, she was sure to keep her ears towards the door. It would be nice to just focus on the sword, but she knew she couldn’t until the question was answered. She was beginning to feel a little full ‘down there’ again as well, now that her pee-fright had gone. But before Laria could put much thought into it, Krisp spoke up again. “Honestly ... yes.” he said sullenly “I think they’ll--” He switched his voice abruptly, the slightly worn baritone sparking into a lighter greeting. “Welcome! How can I…” Krisps greeting petered out, and all Laria could hear were mumbles from the door. A customer! Finally, something was going up in this godsforsaken town. She went back to her work, only to be called out again a few moments later. “L, grab that Caerson arming sword we made a few months back.” Laria frowned and got reluctantly up. She moved towards a rack where she and Krisp kept the finished weapons, and grabbed the small arming sword. Then, she carefully made her way out front, to see what all of this was about. They never got visitors, especially ones asking for something so expensive. If she was to be distracted from her work, at least it was for a sale. The customer stood on the opposite side of the counter, chatting idly to Krisp as they waited. He was a young man, dwarfed by gargantuan Krisp, but taller than Laria. He leant on the counter, messy blonde hair straggled across his face. It was curly, unruly stuff, splattered with mud. In fact, now that Laria looked, the man was covered head to toe in the stuff. Clearly a Little from the onesie and multicoloured polka-dot cloak, the man looked rather unhappy in his current state. “Here you go sir.” she said, passing the sword to the man. He took it, looking somewhat unsure, and then looked it up and down. Only as she stood there for a moment, watching the customer, did Laria notice the smell. It was that all too familiar stench of a messy diaper, a very messy diaper. Now she looked, the loaded thing bulked between his legs, forcing them slightly apart. Although it was probably rude to stare, Laria couldn’t take her eyes off the thing. What does it feel like? To have so much weight down there? In fact, she only stopped staring when Krisp nudged her, and she snapped sharply out of her daydream. Rather luckily, the customer was still inspecting the sword. It was quite funny watching him. The poor fellow clearly didn’t know what he was looking for, either that or he was distracted. Maybe it was the diaper… “My partner here can give you a run-down if you’d like a good sir?” Krisp said, putting the man out of his misery. “Yes,” the customer answered, sounding relieved, “That would be great.” and he handed the sword to Laria. As she smiled, taking the blade from the customer, she couldn’t help notice that her bladder seemed considerably fuller than it had before. Oh well, can’t stop now, she thought, besides, I’ll probably just freeze back up if I try the potty again. Laria balanced the sword on the tips of her fingers, showing the customer where the blade’s centre of gravity was. She looked towards the man, who proceeded to nod gently. Then, moving with the grace of the wind, she threw the sword in the air, and caught it by the hilt. Krisp chuckled, seeing the customer waddle back slightly in surprise. She swung the sword around a little, getting a feel for it. “Arming swords are usually side-arms.” she said, slicing through the air. This felt good, a blade in her arms. It had been so long since they’d had any customers, she’d almost forgotten how freeing it felt to wield a sword rather than craft one. I’ll have to take this up again! “Did you want one this size?” she said calmly, hiding the energy, the potential, deep inside her chest. “Yes. Something easy to travel with, light and agile. I... I used to have a similar weapon in the army.” the customer said, the last bit subdued somewhat. He glanced to the ground as he said it. Was he ashamed? Embarrassed? Surely he should know how to wield a sword if that were the case? Laria thought it best not to press him. She stopped her routine, and gently handed back the sword. He took it. “This should suit your needs quite well then.” said Laria. She glanced down at the man’s full diaper for a moment, but when she raised her eyes, she caught the customer’s gaze. His pale skin went suddenly red. It was almost as if he hadn’t even realised his diaper was that full until now, and was suddenly self-conscious. How couldn’t you realise when you’d messed yourself? Laria thought back to all the times she’d had an accident, and the bulge that stuck out of her pants. She remembered the earthy smell, the way it forced you to waddle along. Were Littles that oblivious? Krisp interrupted her train of thought, as per. “Is there anything else we can do for you?” he asked. For a moment, Laria didn’t know if it were possible for the man to blush more, but somehow he managed. “You … errr… you don’t know where I could change around here? I have my own supplies...” Krisp giggled slightly, but thankfully it seemed the man had gone as red as he could go. Now it was Laria’s turn to interrupt Krisp. “Yes, of course. This way Sir …” “Fost. Just, Fost.” “Okay Master Fost, this way please.” and she led him to the changing room out the back. FOST “Just back here.” the woman who ran the blacksmiths said. Fost waddled behind her as best he could, trying not to leak over their floor. Although he could handle the odd wet, or even messy, diaper, it had been two days now. He needed this so badly. It was clammy around his legs, the mess was dry and peeling, clinging to his skin like a crustacean. He followed the woman through the back of the shop and into the forge. A hazy fog of fire-smoke floated through the air ahead. “Through there,” the woman said, pointing at a door to Fost’s side. “Just go ahead and get started.” the woman continued, walking toward the forge’s fire, “I’ll just heat some water for you.” She didn’t bring her head up as she spoke, focusing intently on the fire and water instead. Fost nodded, though the woman didn’t see, and waddled into the small side-room. It was pretty standard as far as changing rooms went, though compared to the rest of the shop, it looked relatively new. The wooden walls were cleaner than the rest of the smithy, and a newly clay-tiled floor lay comfortably under a wooden table. It was the length of a man, and a leather cushion lay at the other end. It all looked barely used. Climbing onto the table was a little bit of a struggle. Fost didn’t particularly want to leak, these people were doing him a courtesy after all, and getting excrement everywhere would be extremely disrespectful. That was perhaps the one thing this strange place and his own homeland had in common -- it was always, always, impolite to make a mess when making messies. Of course it happened occasionally, accidentally. But only those barbarians in the south would be so disgusting as to do so deliberately. When Fost managed to get onto the table, he lay down, getting comfortable. Then, with practiced hands, he unbuttoned his onesie, and tore off the tapes of his diaper, which now rested on his upper waist. Presently, the woman entered with the water. Steam drifted off the surface, gently curling and swaying in the light breeze of the closing door. The woman placed the bowl down onto the tiles below, along with some small towels she carried. She drew another bucket out from under the table, and placed it at her feet. Then suddenly, she wrinkled her nose, apparently hit by the stinky onslaught of smells for the first time, especially now that the Diaper was open. Fost felt his face go hot, flushing. “I’m so sorry Miss.” he said out of sheer embarrassment. Normally in Luin, whenever changes happened, it wasn’t seen as a big deal. Everyone was used to it, and it was even enjoyable. Mommies and Daddies made their Little feel at ease, treating it, rightly so, as something that was perfectly natural. Clearly, here in the Dullen Isles, people weren’t so used to hiding their reactions. The woman seemed to blush a little as well. “It’s fine Sir … sorry I forgot your name.” “Fost.” he said, thankful for the change of subject. He relaxed a little at that. “I’m Laria,” the woman said. Laria. She was slightly shorter than Fost, though the height of the table seemed almost perfect for her. Dark skin glistening with the sweat of the forge, Laria wiped her forehead. She moved her already rolled sleeves up her arm a little, and bent down to soak one of the rags in the warm water. Then, she got back up, brushed some of her black, curling hair out of the way, and opened the front of the diaper. Even by Little standards, Fost had to admit it was horrid. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t had a blowout, especially considering the dirty thing had been leaking for a good hour now. Lara scrunched up her nose again, and this time even Fost was forced to follow suit. “I am so sorry.” he said, his ears, cheeks, and neck burning in shame. “No no!” Laria said, somewhat less calmly than he was hoping to hear, “It happens to everyone.” Not around here though, thought Fost shamefully. She began to wipe him down, taking the wet cloth and squeezing the dirty water into the empty bucket. It felt amazing. After all he had been through over the past few days, to have the icky mess finally coming off him was utterly blissful. He felt light down there, clean, and fresh. He felt like the steam rising from hot water. He felt like the cool currents of the ocean. He felt like a gust of wind in the sky. Fost enjoyed this transcendent experience for a few moments, enjoying the peace, enjoying the silence. He looked to Laria, she was completely consumed in the work, focused and stone-eyed. It was an admirable trait, the likes of which Fost hadn’t seen in a very long time. Although she looked a little uncomfortable, maybe even slightly distracted at times, she continued working diligently. Only for a moment did she break her glance -- catching Fost in the act of looking, then swiftly returning to her task. Fost looked down quickly, not keen to make an awkward situation of it. “So,” Laria said eventually, still intent on her work, “What brings you so far north?” She said it almost absent-mindedly, but there was a quiet chorus of intrigue that rose from behind. Should he tell the truth? Should he say why he was here? He couldn’t see it causing much harm. It was just a book after-all. Besides, he concluded, maybe she can help. “Oh, I’m looking for a book.” said Fost, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “For a client down south.” “Oh Really? What does it look like? Maybe I can point you the right way.” Laria asked. Fost took a moment to answer. Not because he didn’t want to tell her, but rather because he didn’t know what to tell her. He couldn’t recall the woman mentioning what it looked like, other than it’s contents and… “It has a symbol on the front, I think. A sword on a shield, engraved into the cover.” he said, satisfied at the little victory over his memory. Laria, who was in the middle of her final wipes, stopped suddenly. She seemed to squint slightly, as if trying to remember something. Then, shaking her head, she went back to work. “Sorry, I can’t remember seeing anything like that.” she said. Eventually, she finished cleaning Fost down, his sparkly clean bare bottom on the cold table. Laria shuffled through Fost’s bag and found a clean diaper from the stash he left Bermont with, they were well stocked in the Capital. “Okay, bottom up.” Laria said, hoisting Fost’s legs upwards and laying out the white padding underneath. Fost noticed something different about her now. Whilst she was still focused on the task at hand, it was becoming clearer and clearer that she was struggling to maintain composure. The blacksmith was starting to wiggle a little, moving from side to side, almost as if… “You okay?” Fost asked as Laria did the tapes of his diaper up. “Yeah, I’m … I’m fine.” she said unconvincingly. Fost had seen that struggle before. It was common in these parts, where people weren’t so relaxed about just going in their diaper -- Laria was doing a pee-pee dance. “If you need to go, you should just go.” he said, as calmly as possible. “You do wear some sort of protection around here don’t you?” Laria looked up, seeming somewhat startled. Then, she nodded quickly. “Well I - ahhh - I should really be going in the potty.” She was really moving now that she didn’t have to hide it, blushing slightly as she gave into the full pee-pee dance. With a hand pressed between her legs, Laria wiggled up and down, stepping quickly from foot to foot. She was starting to go even redder too, though Fost didn’t know if it was from the strain or embarrassment. He should do something. Help somehow. “Would you like me to go and get the potty for y-” “No!” She almost shouted, before Fost could finish asking. “No, it’s … it’s fine…” Laria’s struggle seemed to hit a limit, and suddenly she stopped. “It’s fine, ahhhhhh.” as she spoke, her legs seemed to go weak, and a relieved smile crept onto her face. Fost couldn’t help but smile amusedly as well. She lent slightly forward, breathing heavily, for about two minutes, completely in her own world. Silence filled the room, so much so that Fost could hear the gentle trickle of a quickly filling pull-up. “You … err … you done?” he asked. Laria, clearly remembering she wasn’t alone, snapped her head up and shot up straight. “Heh, erm, sorry about that.” she said, blushing slightly. Fost had to suppress a giggle. It was strange to hear someone apologise for something that happened all the time in the south. “It’s fine, I’m used to it.” he said. Laria looked down to inspect the damage, and her long hair fell in front of her face. “Would you like a change or…?” Fost trailed off, watching Laria to see what she’d say. “Um…” “Oh, sorry, is that not … do you not do that here? In the south we generally swap and stuff but --” Fost spoke quickly, muttering that last bit. Laria interjected before he had a chance to finish. “No, we … we do that here too, for those of us who are still… y’know.” she said. “Oh, cool … that wasn’t … I’m sorry if it was out of line …” “Not at all!” she said, moving her head quickly up, and stepping forward slightly. “It’s fine, I would have asked the same thing.” “Okay, sorry if I …” “No, you don’t need to say sorry …” “Did you … did you errr … you still want me too-” “Yes!” she said quickly, a smile flickering on her face, “Errr, yes … yes please.” Fost’s face was scorching with embarrassment, and it was clear Laria was as well. Fost jumped down and went to find the supplies that Laria kept around, while she jumped onto the table. Then, soaking some clean rags, Fost got to work. Changing a pull-up was much the same as changing a diaper, though the garment was considerably less bulky. Laria had completely soaked through hers, and Fost was, for the second time today, surprised no-one leaked. “Y’know,” he said, taking the heavy pull-up and placing it beside the waste bucket, “You’d make a good Little with how much you soaked this thing.” “And you’d make a good Islander with that quick potty suggestion earlier!” Laria said, eliciting an embarrassed chuckle from Fost. Now that things were a little more comfortable, Laria seemed to open up a bit, and as Fost wiped her down, they talked a little about weapons. “You won’t find many larger ones around here,” Laria said, “They’re bought up quickly and used for war. At steep discounts too…” “I guessed as much, that’s the way things have always been in Luin. Always at war, always ‘acquiring’ weapons. Most non-army folk don’t get a word in.” “Yeah. Although, if you don’t mind me asking, you’re only looking for a book. Why do you need a sword?” Laria asked as Fost did the tapes of her pull-up. “Better safe than sorry, right? Bandits and all sorts on the road.” “Not around here. That’s one of the few good bits about --” DONG. DONG. DONG. A large bell rang through the village outside. Laria snapped up. “Oh no.” she said, and walked out of the room without bothering to put on her pants. Fost watched her go, slightly confused for a moment, and then decided that it would be best to follow her. What in the name of the gods is happening now? He cursed silently. Outside, people were gathering around a bell that stood in the middle of the village. Like Laria, a few of the younger folk were out here with their pull-ups on full show. Fost started to worry a little. This couldn’t be good whatever it was, and he was in a foreign town with foreign people. All around, people in the crowd glared at him. He pushed through the crowd and eventually found Laria, standing at the front. “Laria,” he asked, “what’s going on?” but he didn’t have to wait for an answer. Opposite the small crowd was a group of soldiers on horseback. Like Fost, they all wore bright cloaks, onesies, and each had a distinct diaper-bulge. There were at least thirty of them at the back, all wearing similar clothes to Fost, though with added armour plates here-and-there. Three of the newcomers stood proud and tall at the front. The one in the centre sucked on a pacifier haughtily, looking so utterly regal that he probably thought he shat gold. On his right was a woman, thin faced, and paler than ice. On his left was a man, hooded -- a cloak of deep twilight-blue. Fost felt something strange, like the gears of possibility shifted within him. But then something else caught his eye. Strapped to the hooded man’s waist was a book. A book with a shield and sword engraved on the front. END OF EPISODE 1