Search the Community

I made a subreddit for people to find ABDL rps if anyone is interested! Here's the link

You will play as the character in the pic above. Note: I'm not a fan of private parts or baby talk. I also like characters urinating and defecating with water and mud rather than pee and poop! Our characters can also sit on water or mud to fill up diapers as well! I'm looking to do a sci-fi themed plot where we have been texting for a while and you suggest head to one of the Holo deck motels where the rooms can be turned into any environment imaginable. You figured we could both could use some diaper fun~ your goal is to make me cum as many times in my diapers as possible for the whole day and my goal is to not cum to anything~ you are able to change the room into various environments like a hot summer playground, indoor crawling tubes type playgrounds, a rainy jungle, whatever gets our diapers dusty and bloated! Your also able to make NPCs too such as getting your friends along to make me blow my load easier! I recommend looking at my social links to see what gets me aroused~ Twitter: @diaperboy28_Sam Bluesky: @diaperboy28-sam.bsky.social F-list: https://www.f-list.net/c/sam fwomper/ Some diaper designs that turn me on~ Tykables Camelots / Rearz Critter Caboose / Rearz Safari / Try againz / Tinimals / Peekabus / Landofgenie Panda / Any pamp with polka dots~

Can someone please change my messy jeans. Im starting to feel very horny, causing me to play with it in my jeans. What do you think of my big brown stain all over my butt?

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

So I am a coder, and I created a fully interactive Diaper Dependency Tracker, that has stickers, milestones, bedwetting tracker, a wet/dry log, a Foley catheter use log, and a daily checklist. All you gotta do is copy/paste the html code into the "Webcode" app that's available in the Google Play Store, then hit the play button at the top! I hope you all enjoy what I've created🙂🍼👶 <!DOCTYPE html> <html lang="en"> <head> <meta charset="UTF-8" /> <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0" /> <title>Diaper Dependence Tracker</title> <style> body { font-family: 'Comic Sans MS', cursive, sans-serif; background-color: #fff0f5; color: #333; text-align: center; } h1 { color: #ff69b4; font-size: 2.5em; } .section { border: 3px dashed #ffb6c1; padding: 15px; margin: 20px; border-radius: 25px; background-color: #ffe4e1; } button { font-size: 1.2em; padding: 10px 20px; margin: 5px; border-radius: 15px; border: none; background-color: #ff69b4; color: white; cursor: pointer; } .milestone, .sticker, .bedwetting-log { margin-top: 10px; } .sticker img { width: 50px; } </style> </head> <body> <h1>Diaper Dependence Tracker</h1> <div class="section"> <h2>Permanence Meter</h2> <progress id="permanence" value="0" max="100"></progress> <p id="permanenceText">0% Diaper Dependent</p> </div> <div class="section"> <h2>Wet or Dry?</h2> <button onclick="markWet()">Wet</button> <button onclick="markDry()">Dry</button> <p id="wetDryLog"></p> </div> <div class="section"> <h2>Foley Catheter Tracker</h2> <button onclick="updateFoleyDays()">Add Foley Day</button> <p id="foleyDays">Foley Catheter Days: 0</p> </div> <div class="section"> <h2>Daily Checklist</h2> <label><input type="checkbox" onchange="checklistUpdated()"> Drank extra water</label><br /> <label><input type="checkbox" onchange="checklistUpdated()"> Stayed diapered all day</label><br /> <label><input type="checkbox" onchange="checklistUpdated()"> Used baby talk or roleplay</label><br /> <label><input type="checkbox" onchange="checklistUpdated()"> Did bladder relaxation drills</label> <div class="sticker"> <p>Stickers earned: <span id="stickerCount">0</span></p> <div id="stickerDisplay"></div> </div> </div> <div class="section"> <h2>Bedwetting Tracker</h2> <button onclick="logBedwetting(true)">Woke Up Wet</button> <button onclick="logBedwetting(false)">Woke Up Dry</button> <ul id="bedwettingLog" class="bedwetting-log"></ul> </div> <script> let permanence = 0; let foleyDays = 0; let stickerCount = 0; function playSound(path) { new Audio(path).play(); } function markWet() { document.getElementById('wetDryLog').innerText = 'Marked as Wet'; playSound('https://www.myinstants.com/media/sounds/anime-wow-sound-effect.mp3'); new Audio('https://api.streamelements.com/kappa/v2/speech?voice=Brian&text=Good%20job%2C%20baby!').play(); addSticker(); increasePermanence(1); } function markDry() { document.getElementById('wetDryLog').innerText = 'Marked as Dry'; new Audio('https://api.streamelements.com/kappa/v2/speech?voice=Brian&text=Bad%20baby!').play(); } function updateFoleyDays() { foleyDays++; document.getElementById('foleyDays').innerText = `Foley Catheter Days: ${foleyDays}`; increasePermanence(2); } function checklistUpdated() { stickerCount++; document.getElementById('stickerCount').innerText = stickerCount; addSticker(); new Audio('https://api.streamelements.com/kappa/v2/speech?voice=Brian&text=Good%20job%2C%20baby!').play(); increasePermanence(1); } function addSticker() { const img = document.createElement('img'); img.src = 'https://i.imgur.com/UdLJ6GZ.png'; document.getElementById('stickerDisplay').appendChild(img); } function increasePermanence(amount) { permanence = Math.min(permanence + amount, 100); document.getElementById('permanence').value = permanence; document.getElementById('permanenceText').innerText = `${permanence}% Diaper Dependent`; } function logBedwetting(wet) { const entry = document.createElement('li'); const date = new Date().toLocaleDateString(); entry.innerText = `${date}: Woke Up ${wet ? 'Wet' : 'Dry'}`; document.getElementById('bedwettingLog').appendChild(entry); if (wet) { new Audio('https://api.streamelements.com/kappa/v2/speech?voice=Brian&text=Good%20job%2C%20baby!').play(); addSticker(); increasePermanence(1); } else { new Audio('https://api.streamelements.com/kappa/v2/speech?voice=Brian&text=Bad%20baby!').play(); } } </script> </body> </html>

Hope you enjoy this story I created back in 2023. At that time in my life I was going through a breakup and finding Mommies online. Lately I’ve been getting back into reading diaper stories and I wanted to share my own. Rereading it has been baffling with some mistakes I’ve found, but my battles with dyslexia is real since with my regular job has me staring at Excel spreadsheets all day. This 6 part story has been on Fet for a while I never really got any feedback I was hoping for besides couple of hearts. I’ve been contemplating picking the pen back up. Enjoy 😁 —————————————- Four contracts in one day. I was pooped. As I finish off my work week on Friday afternoon I begin to pack up my things to head home. The Wi-Fi in my apartment died the night before so I was forced to go into the office. Usually, we only are required to come into the office on Tuesdays and Wednesdays so the office was a ghost town on Friday. Since I knew that the office would be barren I thought now would be a good time to have some fun and go to the office in my favorite Tykable diaper. Before I left in the morning I even through a booster pad during my change since I knew I would use it to its max. Before I shutdown my laptop I wished Vanna (the girl from Marketing two floors above me) goodbye via our chat on Teams(internal company messaging). Before she could reply I closed my laptop and stuffed my notepads in my backpack. As I stand up the unmistakable sound of a badge scanning the door beeped and the door popped open. My eyes raced over to see who was there since nobody had scanned in all day. In came Vanna from Marketing and my heart jumped to my throat. Vanna was a self-made woman who took no shit from anyone. If you worked with her you would not find a more loyal and determined colleague, but if you were on the opposite side of that coin then she would either eviscerate you or roll right over you. She was 31 and never mentioned anything about relationships or social life. She was a mystery besides her loving cat that she had framed all around her office. Her passion has always been her work. Like everything in life there are two sides to every story, little did I know her determination at work was only a fraction of what truly made Vanna her wonderful self. Vanna was an absolute bombshell of a woman who looked like she inspired Victoria to start having secrets. She had an hour glass body frame that she never used to her advantage in her ruthless climb of the corporate ladder. I was easily head over heels for this woman but I couldn't find a way to express this to her. Now this Goddess was looking right at me and all I could think was, "How do I get out of this?" My heart raised as I shift in my chair resulting in crinkles for all to hear in the ghost town office space. As she walked through the door reality hit me hard and fast. There was nobody on my floor besides me and I'd been sitting in a soaking wet diaper that I could even smell while I was working. The combination of being alone and smelling like a wet toddler made my heart race as she came closer and closer. "Hey Frankie" Vanna sang out as she walked over to my cube. Luckily I had my do not disturb drawer pulled out that blocked others from entering my cube. This was done strategically earlier so no one could see me humping my chair making cummies in my diaper like a dirty baby. She noticed the block and made hand gesture like she was going to leave and catch up with me later. I sprung out of my chair like someone threw hot coals down my back to greet her and tell her to come by. She turned around and approached my cube while I came to terms with what I just did. "How are things on the smelly 2nd floor?" She said waving her hand back and forth as if she had smelt a soaked baby boy. "Ha, no change from the usual. Hey, I thought you worked from home on Fridays." She rolled her eyes," Ya I'm closing this giant deal and all my colleagues are too scared to make moves without me so they keep pestering me. I come in when it is quiet and I can get work done." Vanna looks me up and down, "Oh, is that a new shirt?" Confusion hit me like a ton of bricks because I rarely buy new clothing. What is she getting at? She was staring directly at my waste line so I began scanning my waistline wondering what she could be referring to. Then...I saw it. One of the wing tips from my diaper was poking out from my Hawaiian shirt that I was wearing specifically so this WOULD NOT happen. In an instant I felt all of my blood rush to my feet. I was frozen with embarrassment as I tried to muster a response. "AHHUH, ya it's new and I haven't taken the tag off," I said as I tried to shift around in my seat to make this "new tag" shift under my clothes. "Well it looks like the purchase has been finalized, lets get that tag off." Before I could react Vanna slithered past my useless pullout drawer that was supposed to keep others out and grabbed the wing of my diaper with pinpoint accuracy. She moved so fast that I had no time to react. When she pulled it and the "tag" didn't come off but instead got bigger, she let out an audible gasp. My face was now on fire as she began to put together what she just discovered. Here I am staring at the most sought-after woman in the company and she just realizing that I am in a diaper. "Is...Is that a DIAPER?!" She asked. My jaw literally hit the floor as I contemplated jumping up to running out the door. As I tried to form words all I could do was breathe heavier and heavier until it sounded like I was running half marathon. "And is that stale smell I'm sensing coming from...YOU?!" The sound of my heart pounding was all I could hear and it felt like I was on a wooden rollercoaster with my adrenaline going through the roof. "Are you wet? Are you peeing right now??" I braced my chair, "NO! I...we are so close to the bathroom." She cut me off, "You bring up a good point. You are close to the bathroom and yet here you are in a diaper." As she said "diaper" I could feel the blood start to pump in a very focused direction. My squishy wet diaper began to have solid formation that was poking towards the voluptuous figure in front of me. How could I be aroused in a time like this? As I shifted around to hide the tent currently being pitched in my pants the sounds of a crinkly diaper emerged. Vanna giggles, "OMG you crinkle!!" She said as her face lit up. She covered her face and pointed at me as she started to laugh. The excitement I felt from her pointing out my diaper suddenly went away in one heartbeat. It dawned on me that my chances with this incredible woman of my dreams were now shattered. "Why would any woman want to be with a 33-year-old stuck in diapers?" was the thought that was shooting across my mind. Vanna continued laughing as she turned her head to soak in what she was witnessing. A feeling of hopelessness came over me as she turned away to compose herself. My vision started to become blurry as tears began to overrun my eyes. As she turned back around my head started to sink into my chest as a low sob began to slip from my lips. "Ohhhh noo...Frankie!" she expelled as she started to move closer to me. I felt her hand gently rube across my arm and another caress my cheek. "I'm so sorry you poor little thing." The tone of her voice hit my ears which unlocked a feeling of comfort that is rarely felt outside of a loving mother/son relationship. This juxtaposition of feelings was so extreme that it caused me to lose focus for a second. Her hand continued down my cheek to the back of my neck which sent shivers down my spine. In a moment of euphoria I felt this genuine sense of vulnerability as I looked into Vanna's mystical eyes. It triggered a warm sense of love and security that I hadn't felt before in years. I never wanted this feeling to go away as I lost myself in this paradise. It was so intense that I could feel the warmth building inside until I noticed another warm spot but it coincided with giant wet spot on my pants. "OH MY GOODNESS FRANKIE!" I open my eyes and Vanna is right in front of me hands over her mouth as she looks at the very visible stain on my jeans. My vision became blurry again as the levey broke in my eye ducts. Vanna grabbed my chin and made me look into her eyes. "Do you want me to find a way to make things better for you?" My head began to bounce up and down as my noise began to bubble up in conjunction with my eyes cascading tears. Vanna took my hand and said, "Ok baby, you are going to follow me ok?" She grabbed my hand and pulled me up from my chair where she threw a jacket around my waist. "Everything is going to be ok you just need to follow me and do as I say ok?" I nod my head again and try to prepare for the unexpected.

Warning As with my previous stories, this one contains several elements inherent to the pre-established 'Diaper Dimension.' These include, but are not limited to: Diapers and their usage for their intended purpose Breastfeeding Non-consensual mental regression through various means (Including possible drugs, hypnosis, and/or surgery) References to surgery to achieve various nefarious goals Humiliation Giants, aka, Amazons or Bigs Predominantly female domination (some male) Babying of adults (perceived or otherwise) Experimentation on humans Kidnapping Coerced or manipulated actions through possible means of white lies, gas lighting, or incentives Mild language or use of explitives Depictions of death, illness, or handicaps Graphic imagery associated with any of these warnings This story has not been labeled as mature, due to a lack of specific references to anything overtly sexual, but this warning serves as a 'turn back' point for any readers who do not wish to read about the previous warnings. Lastly, this list is subject to change during the course of writing this story. While most of the plot is ironed out, more warnings may be added if needed. Hey everyone! Welcome back and I hope everyone had as good of a break as I did! Work was stressful, but it’s always nice to get away for a little bit from trying to meet my own personal deadlines, especially after such a large project as my last two stories were with all the completely new world-building and whatnot. Now, though, it’s just as equally good to be back and writing stories again. That being said, this story has definitely grown over the past two weeks from my original plan. Initially, I fleshed this thing out to be around ten chapters, but soon realized it needed more on my first pass. Seeing a lot was missing from the plot for the type of story I wanted to tell though, the chapter count now stands at 24, but checking out a few later, I can absolutely say that there might be more. As I promised before, since these stories are based on previous works of mine, I will try to include all the stories that might need to be read before this one. As it is a sequel, the primary previous story would be Project Nurture, as several of the characters from there will be mentioned and parts of this story will also align with that one. I would also suggest for more background that The Opening would be helpful as well, as it discusses when the portals first opened and gives some background on the two worlds in general. Lastly, looking at the map of Libertalia (in the Reference Guide) or the DD Timeline might be useful. As I try to do for each of these stories in the DD though, I will try to write most of this where reading them is not required, but as a warning, further details and some plot elements may not be discussed. Next, as is typical these days, I will post the next poll at the start of the following chapter. Since this is only the first DD story, my rule of two won’t apply yet, so I’m thinking I will include two DD and one non-DD story this go-round. So, be on the lookout for that. Also, looking ahead, I’m absolutely tasking myself with writing/editing three chapters a week. That being said, with 24 current chapters and at three a week, this will definitively bump into late May/early June, which means that I will be pausing at least at one point for a multi-day vacation. Considering it’s Florida and I always come back with at least three new story ideas, take comfort in the delay at least for future stories from me. Last but not least and as usual, I hope everyone enjoys this first chapter of my next story! Chapter 1: Hello. Name’s Ashley Cutters, Journalist It’s a small, unassuming house, but within lay so much more, particularly with a fringe member of LRG being tasked to look up the dirty laundry of the government here in Libertalia. Considering all the security measures in place and all the others that had ‘gone missing’ over the years from the organization, Vincent didn’t want to take a chance this time. “Alright… let’s see what we’ve got on the menu tonight…” Vincent was practically licking his lips in anticipation of what he could find in his search of the dark web tonight. “Join the Littles Revolution Group they said… Challenge yourself and change the world!” Vincent couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little at that tagline that had so easily ensnared his wide-eyed and younger and more hopeful self. LRG was a smaller group back then… more manageable and under the radar. Hacking to get free music initially, Victor had stumbled into the law a few times but always managed to get away. After his Little friend got kidnapped though, Victor had turned his attention to LRG and signed up to help after only a week of seeing what they were trying to accomplish. With his skills, incidents like the initial opening of the portals between worlds and the opening of Dark Cliff Prison were almost commonplace stories amongst the more rebellious Little population of Libertalia now. Being a Middle himself meant he was more or less immune from most of the horrors that came with being a Little in this world, but he saw a need and tried to fulfill it for others that definitely couldn’t. Little did he know that path of righteousness and good intentions would lead him here… somewhere in the backwoods of the state of Virgan. It had been a year since he last went to the movies… six months since a bar, and three weeks since even the dinky grocery store just off the main road from here to Columbia. Another LRG got him groceries now… especially after he found some piece about some new drug called ‘FOY’ and was almost immediately flagged and shut down by the Feds. Ever since, he had lived in a state of paranoia… hence the practically ghost cabin set in the middle of nowhere as his main base of operations now. Still, Vincent sighed and tried to think of all this as a game. It had worked in the past when these hacking sessions went into tedious or potentially dangerous places. The FOY thing was great and all no doubt, but… this wasn’t living. He needed something… anything to break up his routine. Maybe he would talk to Carlos the next time he stopped by for a food run about taking a vacation… maybe. Grumbling a little, Vincent shook his head and returned to the monitor as he finished off the last of his cheesy puffs. “Now… what do you have for me tonight?” His thick sausage-like fingers clacked on the keyboard with a rapid regularity that indicated years of practice at this sort of thing. As such, minutes later, Vincent had opened one of the deep web chatrooms like he was simply passing from one room to another. “Let’s see… anything to help LRG pass those restraint laws… equality and all? Anything at all tonight?” Vincent’s eyes strained against the bright screen, but an hour later, despite his impressive and extensive skills, he was still no closer to something definitive to send back. It was just that way sometimes. Yes, there were scores of plans and threats on there, but nothing with substance that could either be classified as reportable or even actionable. Just a bunch of hot air and… “Oh?” Vincent noted with some surprise, leaning in from his wide chair to get a better look at what he was seeing. “What’s this?” The posting was very strange to the point where Vincent even ran a check on it to make sure it was clean and wouldn’t upload a virus or crash his system. He had learned that the hard way back as a junior in high school. Looking more closely, something snagged his attention right away. “Holorecording’s, huh?” Vincent checked the file at least three times just to be sure he was reading it right, but it was confirmed and that piqued his curiosity more than any tagline associated. Vincent knew full-well that Holorecording’s were all the rage years ago, especially when agents of the old academy used to travel to Earth and pluck humans away for testing purposes before the dawn of portal travel and when they exploited soft spots instead. Seeing the ‘.vid.e’ label though, Vincent could already tell that it was the enhanced version instead of the original 2D video like any other old-fashioned video recording. In this case, enhanced meant 3D recordings and possibly sensation feedback and even mental thoughts if he was lucky. Not wanting to turn away now, Vincent clicked into the posting further. A brief description at the title of the page noted something about the files being ‘vital’ and ‘critical to understand.’ Vincent had his doubts about that, especially since 90% of the other posts said that, but he shrugged and kept at it… curious if nothing else over the holorecording file contained within. “Hmmm… seems intriguing enough…” Getting to the main page of the file and knowing what was next, Vincent got up and went to the backroom of the cabin where he stored most of the excess electronics and equipment associated. Looking around, he finally found the box he was looking for, a good layer of dust covering it that had to be blown away first. “Ah. Gotcha! Almost got rid of you last month to store an extra supply of rum in here. Good thing I decided I didn’t need more alcohol here… I guess.” Continuing to dust the box off, Vicent made his way back to the computer before sitting down again and then popping the lid off. Peering inside, he could see the headgear, visor, and even the contacts for one’s temple. “Looks okay… hard to tell really until I actually just go ahead and test this thing out.” Vincent blew a little more dust off and then gently placed the device over his head. Wincing a little at first, he made quick work of the device to relieve the tighter pressure and expand the halo section until it fit his head more comfortably. Taking the attached cord, he blew on it lightly and then hooked the device in. Soon, the screen before him blinked, and Vincent completed the preliminary set up as the newly clicked holorecording files were downloaded onto his server. Applying a little petroleum jelly to the contact points at his temple, he took a breath and looked over the various warnings on the box. “Warning… excessive use can lead to seizure, brain hemorrhage, and even death. Do not use with potentially corrupted files and do not use while alone.” Looking around the empty room, Vincent shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well… can’t stop all the time just because I’m a one-man team up here.” As he clicked on the final steps for downloading the files, Vincent felt a little fear over using this old technology once more. There was a reason for the warnings… why the technology had been dropped in favor of other more recent models here in Libertalia. Newer methods were safer… more legal. Looking around at half the equipment in here used just for pirating signals and hacking into government servers, it might have been an odd fear, but holorecording’s tended to brute-force their way into local servers rather than ask permission at all. It gave the recordings a true 3D experience to the viewer later, but the legality was sketchy at best in court cases, so the technology had largely been dropped in favor of more… legal ways. So, to see it so plainly on here for that fact alone was curious if nothing else. Vincent didn’t want to hope, but there were only so many who used this technology in the past few years… and they were either illegal, which could mean some great dirt on something out there that could hurt the Bigs, or they were less poised with technology, which could mean they were more desperate and likely more interesting. Either way, it boded well for Vincent’s mission and ultimately, LRG. Clicking onto the first recording once it had downloaded, the first screen showed the typical warnings yet again about using this technology, which Vincent promptly clicked through rapidly, understanding the risks… and quickly ignoring them. Next, and most curious, before the instructions, there was a brief blurb about what he was about to watch. It was something about someone named Ashley and this footage found from her imbedded camera. Most fascinating though, although maybe a little worrying or disappointing, it noted that ‘some pieces are missing’ from the recording and it is ‘unknown if they had been deleted by the user’ or were simply ‘too corrupted.’ Either way, Vincent pressed on with curiosity like that of a child potentially finding buried treasure in their backyard. The screen cut away, and then another popped up. “Place device on head now.” Vincent did as he was instructed, and as he remembered from the last time that he used this thing over six years ago now, the visor remained clear so he could see the screen and the next instructions. “Press here to proceed.” A decently sized green button then appeared below. Vincent hovered his mouse over the button, took a deep breath, and pressed it before relaxing back in his chair. * * * Black. Nothing. The screen was just a myriad of inky blackness, punctuated occasionally by a little blip or static on the screen. “Ah, shit!” a male voice called out from the abyss, remaining faceless in the darkened void. “Oh, perfect, Stuart!” a female voice said with a sigh and no small amount of clear frustration. “Just what this footage needs… cursing right from the start! This could be the beginning of some very serious report one day, you know.” “Sorry…” presumably Stuart apologized, grunting a little like he was trying to adjust something. Briefly the edges of the void curled in and flicked with static and a few green, blue, yellow, and red dots… and then pure nothingness once again. “Ugh! I just realized that the audio and video were off before. Now, it’s just the video and I’m…” He grunted again. “Trying to adjust that.” “Well, can you fix it?” the female voice asked, sighing heavily again and now sounding more than a little impatient as well. “This whole plan isn’t going to go very well if this stupid thing doesn’t even wor…!” * * * Day 0 – 12:30 P.M. EDT – Earth The screen cut back, and a white border, like from one of the old video systems, popped on as a frame around the main picture, which wasn’t much more than a computer lab somewhere, punctuated in several spots by at least ten twenty-foot-long sections of three-inch-thick wires. Multiple spots were frayed and pulled apart, while other sections were fully intact. One desk was cluttered with all sorts of odd metallic objects and scraps of wiring, while the other desk appeared to contain some sort of toolset and even a medical diagram of the head and an eyeball… though with something dark right behind the iris in this case. “Okay… that should do it…” a pale and scrawny figure noted, possibly Stuart, now coming into the frame. Unsettlingly in some way, he was looking directly at the camera with a calculating and curious expression. Before becoming too awkward though, he then briefly looked away and back to another monitor just off screen. “Okay… single feed up and running. Blink once for me, will you, Ashley?” The feed momentarily went black before snapping back to its previous image. “Like that, Stuart?” the female voice, presumably Ashley, questioned. This time, instead of one of annoyance, it sounded more hopeful. “Yep. That’s good, Ashley.” Stuart then hopped back and briefly went out of frame behind the monitor on the more crowded desk, and the sounds of clicks and clacks could be heard like he was typing something in. “Okay… now blink three times in succession. This might feel a little weird after, but we need this thing to reach out to other sources if you want more than a single shot from your eye. No point in this level of technology if we can’t get all the angles… just in case.” The feed temporarily dipped down and back up, almost as if Ashley was nodding while holding a camera. Then, the feed blipped out in three short bursts. Suddenly, the feed switched, and the previous single view of the camera now showed something more akin to a 3D image panning around the room. One watching from the outside would have likely felt the sensation that they could touch everything, rather than as if they were just watching a movie. The view shifted more, and more of the room could be seen. Nearby, lying down on an exam chair of sorts, like one would find in any dentist’s office, was a tall and skinny blonde woman, her blouse and slacks contrasting heavily was the disposable bib around her neck. “You good, Ashley? Still with me?” Stuart asked, pressing in on the blonde woman. “Yeah…” Her voice shook a little and her answer was anything but confident. “Just a little… dizzy, I guess?” She patted her eye tenuously and then quickly looked back at her fingers, almost like she was expecting something to be left there. “At least the bleeding’s gone now.” Stuart nodded. “Yeah. Not going to lie… you looked a little grizzly earlier when I was trying to adjust the feed. It looks like the micro surgeons did a great job though. No scarring from what I can see… which is impressive, because… you know… there’s…” He didn’t seem to be able to finish that thought and gestured with his hands awkwardly. His social skills didn’t seem to be one of his strengths, but Ashley only smiled back. “Because there’s a camera embedded in my eye now?” Stuart nodded and she laughed a little. “Yeah… feels strange to say, but you know the Amazon’s technology. It’s decades at least ahead of our own… even now with everything they’ve been trading to us and all the advances we’ve made since the opening of the portals.” “Yeah… this whole place… building and city too… run off what they’ve given us.” Stuart then rolled back to his monitor. Then, without looking back, he cleared his throat. “But also… Bigs.” Ashely looked at him strangely for a moment. “What?” “Bigs…” Stuart noted again. “You called them Amazons. They’re called Bigs. ‘Amazon’ is almost a derogatory word… especially coming from a Little.” “Oh… I completely forgot about that.” Ashley seemed momentarily stunned and nervous for a moment. “Hey… no big deal here, right?” Stuart leaned back over and looked at Ashley with reassuring eyes. “Just… keep it in mind when you’re going over there.” Ashley frowned and then suddenly looked defensive. “What? I’m not… I…” “Fine, fine,” Stuart said, retreating a little bit back to his monitor. “Don’t tell me about your plans with the tech I just helped set up, but I’m just trying to help. Don’t want a smacked bottom two seconds into your trip over there, do you?” Ashley grimaced a little and then looked slightly embarrassed. “Oh… yeah. Sorry, Stuart. Just… you know how these things go, right? Mr. Swarthout wants doubly sure that all this stays under the radar… at least until publishing. You know how he gets.” Stuart nodded. “Right. I mean, you are talking to the person who sets all this undercover stuff up in the first place for the magazine. Heck, discretion might as well be my middle name these days.” Ashley smiled and Stuart went back to clicking all over his monitor. “Okay… now, let’s check out the feeds. Turn your head up and down and side to side.” Ashley did, but the view didn’t change, and instead still seemed like a 3D experience and not being stuck in one spot. “Good. The feed didn’t change intensity or direction when you did that.” He clicked a few more times. “Now, blink.” Ashley nodded, but this time, the feed popped off and went back to completely blackness whenever she did so. “Oops. Need to… adjust… that… okay, now try again.” Ashley nodded again and blinked, but this time, the feed didn’t black out. “Phew! That could have been bad. Need to make sure you still have a view even if your eyes are closed… or blindfolded.” Ashley only nodded, a small amount of fear seemingly lingering in her eyes over why that would be a top priority that was needed. “Alright… lastly, let’s see if this other feed works… the mental one, I mean. 50-50 shot of this thing even functioning, but… let’s give it a go, shall we?” “Uh, do I need to do something?” Ashley looked around and she blinked a few times and even resorted to snapping her fingers, but nothing appeared to be working. “Hmmm….” Stuart looked closer at his monitor and clicked in a few places. “Let’s try it this way. I’ve increased the number of input feeds. Might feel a little funny, and we might still only capture some of your thoughts, but something would be better than nothing, you know?” Ashley nodded and her face soon relaxed. ‘I hope this works…’ Stuart’s eyes lit up. “Aha!” He seemed near ecstatic over what he was seeing on his screen. “Did you just think ‘I hope this works’ just now?” “Oh shit…” Ashley seemed petrified for a moment that all her thoughts were going to be recorded now, but it was soon supplemented by a look of fascination as well. “Intrusive suckers, those Bigs, huh?” “Maybe… no, definitely if even half the rumors are correct.” Stuart then wheeled away from his desk and came over to Ashley to start getting her ready to leave. “But just think about all those times where you couldn’t speak, and a recording of your thoughts might have helped. I remember you didn’t seem too pleased from that one assignment you had in the Middle East where you had to recall all that stuff for your article weeks after it had occurred.” Ashley nodded, seemingly appreciative of the technology more than worried by it. “You always bring up that assignment, Stuart. I’m still not forgetting how skeptical you were of me when I volunteered for that one.” “Alright, alright,” he said, defensively holding up his hands as he backed off. “I was wrong back then, and you proved to everyone of your skills as an investigative journalist. Just don’t go mucking everything up with this one just because you’re part-cyborg now or whatever. This tech is just a recording device… not a bail out.” Ashley sat up on the chair and waved his concern off. “I know that. Just tell me this… how does thing store data or how do I get it back to you all? Do I needed to do something further?” Stuart nodded and flipped one of screens back to her which soon switched from an MRI scan of her head to one of a process diagram. “Simple really… it has a memory of 400 TBs, but with our modification, it also will attempt to reach out and link to any satellites in the area and send back the feed to a safehouse. Then, if everything goes right, about one to two times a month, they’ll come back here and show us the footage.” ‘If everything goes right…’ The monitor pinged and Stuart looked back at it, and both smiled and seemed hesitant. “Yeah… I’ll admit it’s not the most assured plan using Littles over there to get us the footage, but it’s either that or we send in a person to take it from you, which could blow your cover, or we extract you early, with or without a story.” Ashley rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. Just… I guess as long as the footage comes back intact for me to do a story after…” Ashley then hopped off the chair and walked over to where Stuart was sitting. “Now… how about that battery life? What am I working with here?” Stuart seemed more hesitant in this answer and then waved his hand around. “Well… difficult to say really. It could last anywhere from two months to…” * * * Day 0 – 12:30 P.M. EDT – Earth The clouds stretched for what seemed like miles as Ashley looked out over the budding metropolis of Philly. The so-called ‘dark times’ had hit the city pretty bad, but with the Amazons… Bigs bump in technology, the city was breathing a long sigh of relief and hope once more. Buildings shined, stonework had been repaired, and the streets now remained clean and devoid of pretty much every gang that once roamed so freely. Ashley was just a kid when all that was going on, and was mostly shielded by her parents, but now, both they and that old festering city were long gone. “Ashley?” Ms. Abernathy called from her desk, to which Ashley spun around. “Mr. Swarthout will see you now.” Ashley nodded and proceeded through the large wooden double doors and into Mrs. Swarthout’s office, the CEO of the magazine here. “You wanted to see me, boss?” Mr. Swarthout was looking at a painting behind his desk but then turned to see Ashley. “Yes… please have a seat.” As he gestured to the open seat in front of his desk, his mouth was grinning, but his eyes bore a heavy aura of dismay and even worry. “Is this about the assignment?” she asked, sitting down and getting comfortable while also trying to maintain a good posture in front of her boss… someone who could pull the plug on all this at the snap of his fingers. Mr. Swarthout sighed before sitting down himself and folding his fingers together. “Well, you are the investigator. I guess I shouldn’t try to hide my intentions of this meeting…” Ashley hesitated by ultimately shook her head. “Very well… I just wanted to check on a few things, but primarily…” He quickly looked like he wanted to puke or curse. “You have until the end of October to get back here and report your story. Beyond that, and regardless of your progress… I pull the assignment. Understood?” Ashley did and nodded, but her face seemed to swarm with questions. “I won’t need that long, right? I mean, if our reports are anything to go off, I should find a story worth all this effort in no time at all and be back before the end of August if my other timelines are anything to go off.” “Maybe…” Mr. Swarthout was a cautious man, but bold as well when he needed to be. Today, his cautious side was showing far more than usual. “It’s just that our reports also indicated that you could encounter no small amount of… trouble. And frankly, Ashley, that’s putting it mildly. I know you’re no stranger to conflict… civil wars, violent dictators, drug trafficking… your resume speaks for itself by now, but…” He trailed off and his eyes hung heavy with something like fear. ‘The pictures… the reports… he must be thinking about the same packet of information we got back from one of our vacationing reporters over there that sparked all this initially…’ Ashley shifted uncomfortably, likely recalling the effects on one such individual that escaped back here, as opposed to their own journalist which had not. “Yes, sir… I know the risks. Those other assignments had their own risks, but at the end of the day, a Kevlar jacket can keep a bullet away. Over there though… not sure how much I can do to stop some even half of what I’ve heard about if it comes to that.” “Exactly.” His words seemed happy that Ashley was showing that she wasn’t going into this blind, but the risks were clearly still sticking around in the front of his mind. “Just remember that most will be out to stop you if you get anywhere near one of the better stories. You will be a target already the moment you step foot on their soil… stats on humans returning from over there who stay more than a week aren’t good. Potentially, with the October cutoff even, you could be over there for over 140 days... more if even the slightest thing goes wrong. Plus, you could be walking right into a trap and not even know it until it was too late.” Ashley sighed, and she was clearly processing everything, but she nearly unbothered by it not long after. “Maybe… but I’ve done that before, and besides… maybe I won’t even deviate from the tour group I’m already signed up for? Could be something interesting there… Diamond Tours I think I heard? Or maybe that was the other one I investigated and then rejected…” The tiny scoff from Mr. Swarthout was audible, but he also didn’t press it any further. “Well… I guess I can’t stop you at this point. You’re stubborn, and that makes you a great journalist, but still, as they used to say… be it on your head then.” Just as Ashley started to stand after nodding in acknowledgement back to him, he then stood up. “Oh, wait… Ashley…” She stopped herself from leaving. “Speaking of tour group… do you have a backstory yet? Your name could be well-known… even to a bunch of Bigs.” This time Ashley smiled with confidence and then pulled out a thick manilla envelope from her bag. “All in here, Sir. Stuart set me up as usual, and I don’t open this thing until I’m locked-in back home. You just never know who could be watching and wind up blowing my cover…” “Hmmm… very diligent of you.” His eyes went down to look over the packet now gripped tightly in her fingers. “I’m sure it will all be up to our standards. Still though…” Worry eclipsed his face once more. “I’m just… I’m concerned about you, Ashley. Would you…” He briefly grimaced. “Would you maybe reconsider? As a favor to an old man?” Ashley frowned at first, shaking her head and then backing away from the seat in front of his desk with a warmer smile instead. “No, sir. I’m not giving up this assignment for anything. I value your concern, sir, but now. Besides, I’ll be fine. I’m not a rookie anymore… so please… stop worrying, will you? I’ve got everythi…” * * * Day 0.1 – 12:30 P.M. EDT – Earth A small room came into view, suitcases and cardboard boxes taking up a majority of the initial frame. Some framed photos were perched nearby, but most of the items besides the main furniture pieces seemed to be souvenirs from around the world, presumably from Ashely’s travels in her job. One could tell a lot about a person looking at just their walls, and Ashley was no different, definitely being the type of person who valued degrees and awards over relationships, and beads from a far-off country to even something as simple as a pet. “Okay… back at my apartment now…” Ashley blinked a few times as she stared into a nearby mirror, temporarily pressing around the feed of her eye. “Still find this strange that everything is recording. Going to the bathroom felt wrong at first… but Stuart assured me yesterday that a filter will be applied before all this stuff gets submitted. Better not be lying about that, or so help me…” Ashley cracked her knuckles and then shook her head. “Whatever… this assignment is going to be a little strange, but first step… pack up the apartment.” She momentarily tapped one of the nearby cardboard boxes perched on a side table of sorts. “Mr. Swarthout is instituting the usual policy of paying for my lease for three months, but after that… the rest of my stuff will go into storage until I get back.” Her face clouded a little in sadness. “Gosh… I still miss my old place before the assignment I took in Germany that lasted another month longer than I thought it was going to.” She then shook her head and looked right into the mirror. “Regardless, I wanted to specifically include this bit for the future for two reasons. The first… well, is me.” She then waved into the mirror. “Not sure how all these angles work exactly, but hey! My name is Ashley Cutters, and I’m an investigative journalist for the magazine, Times Reporting. We cover a lot of local news, but since the ‘dark times’ ended, the magazine has been branching out more onto the country and now world stage.” Ashley then walked into what best could be described as her dining room, though the cluttered table seemed far from sitting anyone comfortably for a meal anytime soon. “So, just to note as well… I requested this assignment. Basically, I was reading a few articles from escaped Littles in the other dimension, plus the one from our own reporter, and I just knew there was a story there waiting to be told. It just felt like too good an opportunity to pass up, so I volunteered right away when Mr. Swarthout wanted to publish a story of some kind from over there. He wasn’t super specific about what, but it gives me plenty of leeway for any type of story I want. Just needs to be compelling.” She then walked over and sat down in front of a large stack of papers. “Now, I also wanted to do this…” She paused and reached for the large and thick manilla folder she had previously received from Stuart and then shown to Mr. Swarthout. “I want to see inside, and I really need to start memorizing everything in here. I’ve got about three days to do this, and if I’m discreet, I can do the rest of the finer details on the bus ride after the portal facility and travel… I hope.” Popping the folder open, Ashley seemed curious as to what was truly inside for this little operation of hers and moments later began to fish out what looked like a passport, cash, personal items, and several other odds and ends. “Well… I guess it could be worse.” She then pulled the ID card close into her face before showing it off at different angles around the room. “Still not sure how this tech works, but I don’t want to take a chance. Guess I need to reach out to Stuart before I leave about the specifics for all that, but for now…” Her finger then pointed to her name. “Looks like I’m now going to be Ashley… Stevens.” She paused and squinted at the ID card for a moment. “Hmmm… first name is the same. Easier to memorize, but not the best for covers.” Setting the ID down with a sigh, she started to read over a thick packet of information. “And it looks like I’m a personal trainer originally from Seattle, Washington. I guess…” she then glanced down at her body, “I guess I could pass for one. Need to check out a few facts and routines maybe first before I leave, but still…” She then sighed and looked at one of the few photo frames in the room. “Sgt. Gideon… Elias could’ve done better….” She picked up the frame and gently caressed the photo within, clearly showing herself and a taller and muscular man geared in desert camo. “Best military contact I ever had. Never worried about ID’s, background, or keeping my butt safe. He did that and more…” She left her words hanging on the air for a second as she lowered the frame to her lap and looked longingly out her apartment window. Looking back down about a minute later, she shrugged her shoulders. “Oh well… I’m sure he’s off protecting someone else by now. Wish he was coming with me, but… oh! And here are the portal tickets.” Ruffling through the spilled-out contents a little more after setting the frame of her and Sgt. Elias aside, Ashley then produced a large rectangular ticket that shimmered in sections underneath the overhead lights. “Good. Three days from now. Plenty of time to get all this memorized for my purposes. And… interesting.” She then pulled the ticket closer to her face. “Leaving from the portal in Philly but going to their portal facility across the country in Niveis… our Nevada. Curious…” Swishing around the finer details of her mission and some further notes on her background packet of detail to memorize for her undercover identity, Ashley finally stood up and began to pace around the room. Each time she made another lap around her furniture; she would switch to reciting another fact about ‘Ashley Stevens.’ Before long, she stopped and went back to the mirror she had started with. “You are Ashley… Ashley Stevens…” She said it, her voice shaking a little at first, and from her tense facial muscles, it seemed to deeply bother her. ‘Go again, Ash… Try it with more confidence… practice makes perfect, right?’ She then gazed back into the mirror. “You are Ashley Ste… Stevens…” ‘Crud! Again, and get it right this time.’ She sighed and took another huge breath. “You are Ashley Stevens.” This time the words came to her much more easily. “You are… Ashley Stevens!” A smile began to creep over her face. “You are Ashley Stevens! Ashley Stevens! Ashley Stevens!” * * * Day 0.4 – 11:16 P.M. EDT – Earth “Ashley Stevens checking in.” Ashley was now dressed more sporty, complete with tennis shoes and a pair of yoga pants as opposed to her previously more typical rugged clothing, born from years on the road and in foreign countries. Her high-top ponytail just seemed to add to her new persona as she handed over her fake ID to the ticket person at the newly constructed portal depot. Working exclusively in glass and steel almost seemed to be a requirement with the design of this building, looking both futuristic and intimidating but welcoming at the same time. For a moment before entering, Ashley hesitated just to look at the newly added structure to just outside of Philly. It was just another example of how everything was changing at breakneck speeds recently. After a second, bringing her attention back to the present, the ticket person looked back at Ashley and smiled. “Oh, yes. Sorry about the wait. Still upgrading from the original systems here. Those old hunks of junk were slow but steady and never crashed. These new ones from the other dimension, well… let’s just say I do a backup of my computer once an hour now… just in case.” “Oh no!” Ashley seemed to feign her concern over such a simple matter. Ashley had a heart for sure, but it was more calculating sometimes when it came to others. Ashley Stevens, though, was a character and needed a more jovial nature to blend in better and form connections which she could later exploit for her story. Stuart being Stuart had laid all that out in detail in her briefing packet. “Don’t you just hate it when that happens! My studio just got the new system last month, and ugh! Never seen so many crashes in my life.” The ticket person smiled while also rolling their eyes. “Oh, that’s just terrible. I’m so sorry.” The computer then whirred to life and a scanner-like noise could be heard followed by a single beep. Smiling back, the ticket person handed Ashley back her ticket. “Alright, hon. You should be all set to go.” The ticket person’s eyes then dropped to their screen. “Huh… portal station to the east of Carson City and north of Prata… strange… Why don’t they just call it Las Vegas like we do? I mean, they call their Philadelphia, Philadelphia as well, you know? Silly Bigs, right?” Ash nodded but she knew the answer and just didn’t seem to be able to hold back. “It’s already Greek. Their dimension pulls a lot from the Greek and Latin. The attendant stared back blankly for a moment, and from a quick widening of her eyes, it was evident that Ashley knew she had pushed her knowledge too far. Sure, a personal trainer could know that stuff, but it might have been more unusual for them to point it out. “At least… that’s what I read in Times Reporting last month!” The ticket person quickly smiled once again. “Oh! That must be it. They do have the most fascinating articles on all that silly stuff.” Ashley clenched her fist temporarily but made sure to maintain her smile above the ticket counter. “Now then…” The ticket person’s finger then pointed to a wide-set hallway with several numbers above it. “Follow pathway 6 and you should be all set to go for your 12:30 departure time to portal station, Niveis 1!” Grabbing the ticket, Ashley smiled broadly back at them, clearly relieved that she had mustered her way out of that slip-up in character. “Perfect! You have yourself a wonderful day!” Waving goodbye like she had once seen in an old movie, the ticket person waved back without incident. ‘Whew! Definitely going to have to get used to this chipper personality that Stuart set me up with…’ In truth, Ashley could have changed it, but by now, she knew that for the moment, she could get more with a more empathetic and bubblier persona than her own. She almost always reverted to her usual self, but she made no more mention of it and proceeded calmly through the newly designed and built portal terminal building. * * * Day 0.4 – 12:26 P.M. EDT – Earth “Next, please!” a stubby and smiling man said, gesturing to the line Ashley was in while scanning everyone’s tickets before sending them off and down the ramp to the large metallic circle at the far end of the room. “Have your tickets out and ready to scan!” Ashley was more than ready by now and eagerly tapped the extended handle of her suitcase. She had shown up early and had spent the past hour getting some coffee and a small pastry. She wanted to eat more, but one of the top suggestions for portal travel was ‘don’t eat or at least eat light’ beforehand. As she scanned her ticket and saw the portal, her face seemed both relieved and content. ‘At least it’s Philly and not one of the ones out in the middle of nowhere. I think they still use the tech that fries your DNA or something and you have to go into medical hibernation for a week… or was it a month?’ She shook her head and kept moving toward the portal entrance… still lying dormant. “Attention!” the seemingly head scientist announced, clad in his pristine lab coat near the top of a platform next to the portal. Everyone below waiting in line immediately turned to him. “Now, I know this will be new for some of you, so just hold on and I promise! Everything you are about to see, hear, and witness is completely normal. Once activated, we will proceed one at a time. But first, please take the pill you are being handed now.” A smaller scientist, dressed in more hospital-like scrubs, came along and handed everyone a pill. Looking down at her palm after being handed one, the blackish green pill didn’t seem to sit well at all with Ashley. ‘Oh boy! Just gotta do this and get it over with. Can’t be worse than the scorpion shot down in Mexico last year, right?’ Wincing a little, Ashley immediately popped the pill into her mouth and visibly swallowed. “And now,” the head scientist continued, “we shall proceed! Activate the portal!” Almost like a performance of sorts, portal travel still fascinated most. For Ashley, the vibrations that started when the switch was thrown unnerved her just a little bit. ‘What the hell is that?’ Everyone had heard what portal travel was like, but seemingly like the universe was getting pierced into two, the whole room shook with tremendous fury. An audible whine and groan of a sound echoed off the walls, and soon, everything just turned to an unsettling hum. ‘God! I can feel it in my stomach!’ Several others groaned, but like the popping of ears after a flight, everything suddenly went still. Briefly everything became fuzzy within view, complete with static on the fringes of the frame by the date and time stamp, but when it snapped back, the portal quickly erupted with a viscous blue fluid. Shimmering and almost magical, it was entrancing to most. Ashley could only stare back in wonder at what was unfolding before her. Then, like a pool of water settling after being disturbed by a rock being thrown in, the liquid-like substance stopped and only briefly rippled within the metal circle device above everyone. “Wow…” Several of the crowd nodded in agreement with Ashley’s short but quite accurate reaction to what they had all just witnessed. “This way! This way!” the head scientist squawked again, looking at his watch quickly as if he had a pressing schedule to keep. The entire room hummed with life and the blue energy coiled through the wiring leading to the perimeter of the metal circle that now contained the liquid-seeming center. It was all quite mesmerizing and… “Feeling nervous, honey?” Ashley turned around to see a slightly taller woman smiling kindly down at her. Ashley wasn’t short by any means, but this woman easily eclipsed her by a good foot at least. Ashley quickly shook her head. ‘Crud! Is she an Amazon? Crud! I mean… Big!’ Everyone knew by now that physical compression between the portals was common. Most Littles over there shrank at least an inch, but coming over here, the same applied to Bigs… just not as well. Most towered over the rest of the population and were pretty obvious once pointed out. “N… no!” she blurted out, a little more defiant and defensively than she had anticipated. “I mean… no. Just… hungry.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the whole truth either. The taller woman smiled. “No worries, dear. There’s nothing to any of this anymore. Once the pill enters your stomach, you might feel a little woozy on the other side, but nothing a nice nap can’t fix. Just breathe easy and you’ll be right as rain.” “Thank you…” Ashley blushed a little, feeling a little overwhelmed by her presence alone, but at the same time… there was almost something alluring to her voice and overall demeanor. Something inviting… something… ‘No, no, Ash! Not that crud. Stay strong and stay focused. Just keep walking… just keep walking…’ “Ticket please,” one of the scientists requested as soon as Ashley was second in line to the portal. Nodding, she handed the ticket over, which was then scanned, and a small hole was punched into the bar code. “Walk forward and don’t forget to just keep breathing.” Their voice was almost mechanical… definitely without any shred of emotion or sympathy, but Ashley could only sigh and step forward. ‘Maybe complacency just means they do this all the time? More portal travel; less problems, right?’ The unease on her face didn’t seem to mix with her inner confidence, but she just breathed slowly as instructed and closed her eyes for a second, gripped her suitcase tight, and stepped through the… * * * Day 1 – 9:33 A.M. PDT – Earth 2 “Talk about a rough landing, huh?” another one from Ashley’s tour group asked her as he hobbled forward with everyone else toward the sign marked ‘Busses.’ “Yeah… you could say that…” Ashley brushed off the feeling of exhaustion blanketing over her already but just seemed glad to be here now. ‘At least I didn’t stumble… would’ve made a terrible first impression with the Bigs… Lost an inch or two though I think…’ “Come on, everyone!” one of the Bigs directed as they stood erect against the wall along the hallway leading out. “Don’t stop. Plenty more coming behind.” Ashley might have looked to check if the Big was lying or not, but the sheer size and sternness etched deep into the Big’s face made her snap her head back facing forward. ‘Don’t question… don’t poke… at least not yet.’ Getting outside, the sun blinded nearly everyone, and Ashley had to shield her eyes away from its intense glare. Everything felt bigger… more tactile, more dangerous here already… and that included the sun. ‘Man… please don’t burn already. I packed my sunscreen down deep. I thought I wasn’t going to need it until later… Stupid brain! You should have remembered to always be prepared with that kind of stuff after Iran last year!’ “Alright everyone!” another Big announced, stepping up in front of the group. “Per your tickets, you all are here for the Hermes Travel Company, correct? First stop, Alati Lake City?” Almost everyone nodded with the exception of two who then checked their ticket and ran off to the signs listing ‘Prata’ and ‘Carson City.’ A few giggled at their expense. Smirking as well, the Big continued. “Excellent! All good now, I’m sure. Welcome! I’m Miss Ripert, your tour guide.” A few clapped, but most seemed more or less out of it already. “Now, I’m sure you’re all pretty exhausted, so just let me check you in and then hop on board. While you wait, let our driver, Stephen, take your bags. I promise… they will be safe.” Ashley didn’t like to let go of all her belongings here to a complete stranger, but she relented as the portly man ambled up and asked to take her suitcase with a smile. “Ashley Stevens,” she said boldly when asked by Miss Ripert her name and for her portal ticket and confirmation number. ‘Please don’t be an issue… I don’t think I can defy someone this tall on my first day… at least not feeling this tired…’ “Let’s see… Ashley… Ashley… Ash… ah! Here we go.” Scanning the ticket and verifying her number, the little tablet in her large hands beeped. “Perfect. You’re all set.” Ashley nodded. “Thank you.” Climbing on board next, she eventually found her seat. Moments after Stephen popped the bus on and it roared to life, Ashley couldn’t fight it anymore and sleep soon overtook her, blacking out the feed once more. * * * Day 1 – 2:50 P.M. MDT – Earth 2 The bus hit a bump, and everything popped back on suddenly. “Wha…?” Ashley sleepily stirred to life and instantly stretched. Looking at her watch, it showed that she had been asleep for over five hours. “Gessh… guess I really was tired.” ‘At least I memorized more of my backstory before I left instead of relying on the bus ride…’ The bus then started to turn and Ashley shifted toward the window from the force of the pull. It wasn’t major, but it was just enough that it slightly shifted her gaze to the left… which just happened to be the perfect timing to see a large glimmering city just out her window. “Wow… I guess that’s Alati Lake City…” “Yep,” another passenger on the tour bus confirmed. “Miss Ripert just announced that a few minutes ago. Should be arriving in the next hour or so depending on traffic getting into the city.” “Thanks…” Ashley smiled back at her fellow tourer and then looked immediately back at the city. A mirror counterpart of Salt Lake City, the surroundings seemed near identical, but here, due to the advanced technology, the city now almost seemed to shine like silver and gold against the bright sun overhead. The pale blue and expansive Alati Lake could just be made out to the west of the city against the backdrop of the near mountains. ‘I wasn’t so sure about this location… especially in comparison against all the rest… but I don’t think I’ll be disappointed here as a first stop… even if it is for almost a week.’ Minutes later, as if to confirm and elevate her excitement even more, Miss Ripert stood up in front of the bus. “We should be arriving within the city soon, and then it will be about another 15 to 20 to get to our hotel, depending on traffic. For now, though,” she smiled playfully and gestured outside of the lefthand of the bus, “this is Alati Lake City. One of the most populous cities in the state as well as being the capital of Utem. I’m sure in the next few days, all if you will get to explore the wonderful outdoor recreation and hub of religious culture that the city is known for.” Miss Ripert then cleared her throat. “That being said, though, I just wanted to give out a few warnings. Us Bigs are good people, but a few may be more inclined to certain… impulses. To avoid these, there are a few simple steps you can follow. Trust me, you’ll want to pay attention to these. They could just mean the difference of you all leaving back through the portal… or something more… permanent.” A few of the Littles murmured in fear, but most stayed silent and listened closely. “Now, first up, never talk…” * * * Day 1 – 4:55 P.M. MDT – Earth 2 Busses hissed to a halt outside the large and opulent sandstone and blue building that was their hotel. It wasn’t the tallest around, but the buildings on either side from this angle shrank close to the ground. As Ashley stared up at the tall building, she couldn’t help but hold her mouth agape in awe. ‘Wow… technology and art fused around here so seamlessly… and it’s only day one.’ “Okay,” Miss Ripert began to shout over the more populated streets, “we’ve all checked in and offloaded your luggage into your rooms for the night. With this tour, we will spend about six days here and in the surrounding mountains, exploring several sites and visiting several companies I think you might find most… illuminating.” Moving away from the hotel, Miss Ripert began to explain all about the city and its founding. “Founded almost two centuries ago now, a breakaway sect from the mainstream religion at the time settled here to practice as they wished. As a result, laws here became more flexible, and desires flared to make a city that would not only last the test of time but also break free of the shackles of many cities to the east that derived their city planning from Europa’s cities at the time.” Looking around as they walked, Ashley could see the validity of Miss Ripert’s words. While there was almost a neo-classical feeling to some of the buildings and statues around, there was also a clear push for styles corresponding to more retro-futuristic in some parts and touches of Brutalism in others. It seemed an odd combination, but it also gave the city a variety that was missing from most cities back on Earth lately. With many destroyed or in need of heavy repairs, most began to look eerily similar as they were rebuilt. Here though, the uniqueness along with clear city planning and a dash of color everywhere, stood out strongly in contrast. “Now, of course, subsequent renovations to them have closed this gap in recent years, but Alati Lake City stands as a testament to…” “Ophelia! Get back here!” a woman screamed from nearby. The group looked over and saw, with the reaction of many gasps of horror, a Little was running through the streets and away from a Big. “No, sweetie! Not into traffic!” Clearly panicking, she seemed to wilt in seeing the Little dodge cars whose hoods she barely stood over. “Someone! Anyone! Stop her!” Most of the group seemed stunned, but Miss Ripert acted quickly and used herself as a shield to block our movement any closer to the Little now blocking traffic. “Stay back everyone. They need to solve this on their own. Trust me… you don’t want to get involved.” As if right on cue, the crowd began to depart. That, and plus the stopped cars, formed some semblance of a circle around the Little, supposedly called Ophelia. From her expression, some doubt definitely seemed to be present in Ashley’s mind if that was even her name though when she first heard it. “Come on, honey. There’s no way out. Come back to Mama.” The woman Big seemed genuinely concerned about ‘her’ Little, but the whole scene still felt very much out of place and even illegal at times if looked at from the right angles… especially regarding the relationship between Big and Little here. Ashley edged forward, but Miss Ripert blocked her path to get a better look. Ashley’s frown showed she didn’t appreciate that, but not pushing it further, anyone could see that she was trying to listen in, despite her distance away from the scene. “Never! I would rather die than go back to be your baby slave!” The Little wasn’t calm, but was clearly level-headed enough to speak without any signs of mental or physical impairment. ‘I don’t know what would be worse to see… a Little that was mentally affected, or a Little that was so physically affected, that their mentality didn’t mean much anymore. Ugh… best not think about it, Ash…’ Regardless, the scene unfolding was aligning with what about Ashley had read about and then been briefed on before coming here. It was a terrible one, but it was realization of the truth that yes, there was a story here somewhere. Ophelia practically growled in response. “Heck no! You stay back, lady! I can’t even curse anymore because of you!” Ashley looked puzzled for a moment. ‘I wonder what the heck that means?’ She paused but then quickly turned her attention back to the unfolding scene between Ophelia and the Big. “You even forced me into…” An odd sort of look came over Ophelia’s face and her eyes squinted in pure hatred toward the Big. “You know what? I don’t need to wear these anymore.” She stomped her foot and then reached right under her dress… and pulled off her diaper, clearly being a cheap alternative that would even allow for that sort of thing. Most from Earth by now already had heard at least the rumors about ‘unremovable’ diapers, but from the reports, Ashley knew they were much more than just rumors. Still, despite the oddity of a Little even being able to tear off their diaper, it was still a clear act of defiance here and many gasped in the crowd around Ashley. “Take that, lady!” Ophelia hissed back at the Big with more confidence than someone who had just been wearing a diaper ought to have. The Big temporarily scowled. “Mommy! It’s ‘Mommy,’ Ophelia. Remember that?” Ashley seemed perplexed for a moment regarding the Big’s demeanor. ‘Which was she more upset about? The diaper or the lack of term to address her?’ “No!” Ophelia screamed again, this time stomping her foot on the ground and then over top of her diaper. “You’re not my mommy! My mommy is back home and…” Right as she said it though, it was clear to anyone watching that she hadn’t meant to say that… or at least not come across so childish when referring to her true parent back on Earth. Before anyone else could react though, a series of high-pitched whistles rang out through the streets and two police officers ran to the scene. “Ma’am? Is this one your Little?” The Big nodded her head. “I’m very sorry, officer. I promise you that she’s normally not like this. I…” “Ma’am… if she is under your care, then I’m afraid you are both going to need to come to court.” The officer didn’t mince his words at all, now only pointing back to where they had come from, which one could just see beyond the crowds was their police car. “Or… that’s at least what will happen if you can’t resolve this situation in the next minute, understand?” The Big now genuinely seemed fearful, but seconds later, resolved as well. Looking back at Ophelia, she smiled, but now also seemed burdened by the alternative if she failed now. Ashley leaned closer, knowing something was about to happen between them. “I’m sorry, Ophelia…” “Sorry?” Ophelia questioned. “Sorry for wh…?” Before she could speak another syllable though, the Big had rushed up to her, wrangled her into her arms, and then popped a large bulbous white pacifier in Ophelia’s mouth before hitting the front button at least three times. Needless to say, Ophelia seemed outraged and more worryingly, in pain now. ‘Wow… I hope I’m capturing all angles of this… this could be a great story… Poor Ophelias though…’ Ashley seemed sympathetic to a fellow Little, but the journalist in her wasn’t just going to stop and looking at this story from all the angles. Abuse. Being held against one’s will. Infantilization to the highest degree. A corrupt system. The normality of the treatment. Ashley could see all the titles of her next article so perfectly, but as she looked around, her smile of a possible story began to fade. ‘No one’s even batting an eye over this. If they’re not reacting harshly to this, then it’s already at least mostly normalized… which means there’s another story that no one wants to talk about… or even can for that matter. No… this isn’t my story.’ “Good work, ma’am. Just try to keep a closer eye on her. I might even suggest some… modifications, or some equipment maybe,” one of the officers noted swiftly once Ophelia had been pacified and was now being held firmly in place, not going anywhere… even as she struggled heavily… even more so after he mentioned ‘modifications’ and ‘equipment’ being used. “Now… being a parent myself to a Little, I might suggest you rediaper her. Never can be too careful, right?” The Big smiled and bounced Ophelia gently, despite her continued protests. “Oh no. Definitely not. Fortunately, we live right up the street. Absolutely not going to let her ruin the new carpet I just had put in.” A few of the Bigs laughed nearby but Ashley didn’t seem to know how to react. ‘If I laugh, I’m a terrible person without empathy towards a fellow Little. If I don’t laugh… I could seem suspicious. Ugh… well, maybe just roll the dice and see what happens.’ So, instead, Ashley just opted for silence instead of compliance. She seemed to catch the suspicious and maybe even evil glance shot her way by one of the locals, but otherwise, most didn’t comment. “And also… rest assured officer,” the woman Big continued, bouncing Ophelia in her arms, “little Ophelia here won’t be practicing anymore escape attempts under my watch. I can assure you of that.” She patted her Little on the butt a few times as Ophelia let out a small whimper of defeat and most definitely fear. The officer only tipped his hat, smiled, and left. As for the reactions from the rest of the tour group… they were less inclined to say anything. It only took a second though, to realize that most now seemed too petrified over what just happened in front of them. Most grimaced even further when the Big got Ophelia to wave her hand back at everyone and babyishly say ‘goodbye’ for her to the crowd there. It was an unsettling sight to say the least. Still, the scene now over, Miss Ripert glanced back at the group. “Now then… no worries, my darlings. Just a small escapee of a Little. These attempts happen all the time here now, but you have to give their tiny failures a little sympathy at least… and nothing more.” Ashley knitted her hands together, clearly trying to distance herself from all that was happening. It was all terrible to see, but the complacency of every Big now that Ophelia had been taken away was disconcerting. This wasn’t her story, but as Ashley listened on to excuse after excuse by Miss Ripert over what just happened, it felt more like a conspiracy embedded into the very fabric of the society here than anything else… and certainly not the fault of a small and clearly traumatized Little. Ashley didn’t have a story yet, but seeing it was only Day 1 and this had happened literally right in front of her when she wasn’t even looking, her overall confidence seemed to bloom that yes, she would find a story. ‘I vow to myself now… I’m not leaving here until I get the story I’m looking for. ‘Ashley Cutter’ will soon be a name on everyone’s lips back home. The Little that figured out the truth of this terrible place!’ It might have been a simplistic platitude, but it provided the tiniest of smiles. Even in a place like this, it was good to have hope that everything would be okay. So, for Ashley, that absolutely meant that by the end here, she would have her story.

Been making some amateur diaper and water sport videos with my gf and uploading them to PornHub... would love to hear some feedback to help us make our videos look better we only uploaded 2 Shorties and an 8 minute video so far but would like some pointers or outside perspective on what others look for in these videos especially for gratification to find us look up the name "SuperSoakerBae" would love and appreciate your support ❤️ ✌🏼

Chapter One: The Scent of Lavender and Longing Notices: I haven't been posting much because of my college, it's complicated and I have a lot of work and I also have to work to pay for it, but I promise to post more chapters. If you want to support me, there's a link to my ko-fi and my buy me a coffee. Sorry for any spelling mistakes. I'm learning to improve my English, it's not my native language. *** The summer sun hung lazily over the sleepy suburb, casting golden streaks across the lawns and rooftops. For Lily Harper, it was supposed to be a peaceful day—curled up in her room with a dog-eared paperback, or maybe binging the latest sci-fi series she’d been raving about to her friends. At sixteen, she was a whirlwind of curiosity and independence, her short auburn hair perpetually tousled from biking through town, her hazel eyes sharp with the kind of defiance only a teenager could muster. But peace wasn’t on the agenda today. Her mother’s voice had cut through her plans like a knife that morning: “Last-minute work trip. You’re staying with Aunt Clara. No arguments.” Lily hated visiting Aunt Clara’s house. The air there always smelled of lavender and regret—a cloying mix that clung to the furniture and seeped into her clothes. It wasn’t just the scent, though. It was the way the house felt: too quiet, too still, like a museum of unfulfilled dreams. She stood in her bedroom now, shoving her Kindle, a sketchbook, and a tangle of earbuds into her suitcase, muttering under her breath. “I’m sixteen, Mom. I can stay home alone. I don’t need a babysitter.” Her mother, already halfway out the door with her own suitcase, didn’t budge. “Clara’s expecting you, Lily. Be good. It’s just a week.” A week. Seven days in that suffocating house with her aunt, who always seemed to hover too close, her smiles too wide. Lily sighed and zipped up her bag, resigned. She didn’t know it yet, but this summer—her sixteenth—was about to unravel in ways she couldn’t imagine. **** Forty miles away, Clara Bennett stood in the checkout line at the supermarket, her fingers tightening around the handle of her basket. She was 28, with soft blonde hair pulled into a neat bun and a floral sundress that screamed “housewife.” She worked part-time in marketing—crafting slogans for products she didn’t care about—but her real life was at home, waiting for something that never came. Her husband, David, was a salesman who spent more time in hotel rooms than with her, and their marriage had withered under the weight of a single, devastating truth: he was infertile. Clara’s dream of motherhood, once a vivid tapestry of nursery rhymes and tiny shoes, had frayed into a quiet, gnawing ache. The two women ahead of her in line didn’t help. They were her age, chatting brightly as the cashier scanned their items. One cradled a swollen belly, her hand resting proudly on it. The other held a pack of diapers, grinning. “I’m having my first,” the pregnant woman said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Twenty-eight feels like the perfect time.” “Absolutely,” the other replied, tossing the diapers into her bag. “Plenty of energy to chase them around, change those diapers, enjoy every second.” Clara’s chest tightened. She stared at the jar of lavender candles in her basket, pretending to read the label. Enjoy every second. The words stung like salt in a wound. All the women her age were becoming mothers—posting baby photos online, swapping stories about sleepless nights—while she was left with an empty house and a husband who barely looked at her anymore. But today, something shifted. Her phone buzzed in her purse, and she fished it out to see a text from her sister: Lily’s staying with you for a week. Work emergency. Thanks, sis! Lily. Her niece. Sixteen, bright, a little wild—like Clara had been once, before life sanded down her edges. A slow smile crept across Clara’s face as she paid for her candles. She’d always adored Lily, hadn’t she? The girl’s visits were rare, but they’d given Clara a taste of something she craved—someone to care for, to fuss over. And now, a whole week. An idea flickered in her mind, fragile at first, then blazing. Lily could be more than a guest. She could be Clara’s chance. Not just to play aunt, but to have something—someone—to call her own. A little girl. Her little girl. The diapers in the woman’s bag flashed in her memory. Cute clothes. Soft blankets. A nursery she’d never gotten to use. Clara’s smile widened as she walked to her car, the summer heat pressing against her skin. This was fate, wasn’t it? Her luck was finally changing. Back at home, Lily dragged her suitcase down the stairs, her sneakers scuffing the hardwood. She’d argued with her mom until her throat hurt, but it was no use. “Clara’s lonely,” her mother had said, almost as an afterthought. “She could use the company.” Lily rolled her eyes. Lonely or not, Aunt Clara was weird—always watching her too closely, asking too many questions about school, about her life. Last time, she’d even tried to braid Lily’s hair, her fingers lingering like she was savoring it. It creeped Lily out. She tossed her suitcase into the backseat of her mom’s car and slumped into the passenger side. As they drove toward Clara’s house, the city faded into tree-lined streets and tidy lawns. Lily stared out the window, her Kindle resting on her lap. She’d survive this week. She’d hole up with her books and shows, tune out Clara’s hovering, and count the days until she was free again. The car pulled into the driveway of a modest two-story house, its shutters painted a faded blue. Lavender bushes flanked the porch, their scent already curling through the open window. Clara stepped out the front door, waving eagerly, her sundress swaying in the breeze. “Lily! Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” she called, her voice too bright, her eyes glinting with something Lily couldn’t place. Lily forced a smile and grabbed her suitcase. “Hey, Aunt Clara,” she mumbled, brushing past her into the house. The air hit her like a wave—lavender and regret, thick and inescapable. She didn’t notice the way Clara’s gaze lingered on her, or the way her aunt’s hands clasped together, trembling with a quiet, desperate hope. This was going to be a long week.

*Tanjirou was walking up to the Love Hashira, better known as Mitsuri Kanroji. mansion He walked through the gate and approached the front door, took the box that was on his back off, and placed it down on the doorstep before ringing the bell.*

Chapter 1 The glow of Jeremy’s monitor bathed his small, cluttered apartment in a sterile blue light. It was 1:47 a.m., the witching hour for his peculiar pastime, and the only sounds were the faint hum of his overworked laptop fan and the occasional creak of his cheap office chair as he shifted his weight. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, a half-drunk can of energy drink sweating on the desk beside him. The chat window blinked with a new message from “BigDaddyTX,” a name that had become a fixture in his late-night routine over the past three months. “Katie, baby,” the message began, “tell me how it feels when you’re all padded up. Does it make you squirm knowing you’re stuck like that? Does it get you hot?” Jeremy smirked, a flicker of amusement curling his lips. He wasn’t Katie—not even close. He was a 32-year-old warehouse worker with a scruffy beard, a receding hairline, and a life that hovered somewhere between mundane and mildly pathetic. But online, he could be anyone, and “Katie” was his masterpiece: a 20-something flirt with a penchant for diapers and a fantasy life he’d spun out of boredom and a twisted sense of curiosity. It had started as a prank—catfishing guys on obscure forums for a laugh—but somewhere along the way, it had morphed into something else. Something he couldn’t quite explain. He cracked his knuckles and typed back, letting Katie’s voice flow through his fingertips. “Oh, it’s intense, Daddy,” he wrote, the words dripping with a coyness he’d perfected. “The way the diaper crinkles every time I move, how thick it feels between my legs—it’s like I can’t hide it. I dream about someone making me wear them all the time, forcing me into them, taking away all my control. The thought of wetting myself, helpless… it’s humiliating, but it’s thrilling too.” He hit send and leaned back, sipping the lukewarm drink, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He didn’t know why he kept doing it. Maybe it was the power—stringing along guys like BigDaddyTX, watching them fall for the bait. Or maybe it was the stories themselves. The diapers, the public humiliation, the loss of dignity—they weren’t just lies he told; they were scenes he’d started imagining in vivid detail, late at night when the apartment was quiet and his mind wandered. He’d picture himself in Katie’s place, trapped in some absurd scenario, and the thought would linger, a strange mix of shame and fascination he couldn’t shake. BigDaddyTX—Victor, as he’d casually revealed a few weeks ago—was different from the others. He didn’t just bite; he devoured. He’d press for specifics: what kind of diapers, how they’d feel soaked, how she’d react if someone caught her. Jeremy fed him everything, layering on the details—plastic-backed, crinkly, embarrassingly bulky—until the chats stretched into hours. Victor’s responses were polished, almost too articulate, hinting at a life beyond the screen Jeremy couldn’t quite picture. Rich, maybe. Powerful. It didn’t matter. To Jeremy, he was just another mark. Weeks rolled by, and the game deepened. Victor’s messages grew more insistent, his fantasies more elaborate. “Imagine I’m there,” he’d write, “strapping you into a diaper so thick you can barely walk, parading you around a crowded mall. Everyone staring, whispering. You’d be mine to show off.” Jeremy would laugh, typing back as Katie with exaggerated gasps and playful protests, but inside, something stirred. He’d catch himself wondering what it’d really feel like—the weight, the sound, the exposure. He’d push the thought away, but it always crept back. It was a Tuesday, three months into their chats, when the first crack appeared. Jeremy was sprawled on his couch, a frozen pizza cooling on the coffee table, when his phone buzzed with an email notification. The subject line stopped him cold: “Hello, Jeremy.” His pulse thudded in his ears as he opened it, pizza forgotten. “I know who you are,” the message read. Attached was a screenshot of his driver’s license—his real one, complete with his grainy photo and full name, Jeremy Alan Carter. Below it, a single line: “Meet me at 5th and Elm tomorrow, 3 p.m. We need to talk about your interests. – BDTX.” His stomach lurched. How? He’d been meticulous—separate email, VPN, no personal details. He scrolled back through months of chats in his mind, searching for a slip, but nothing stood out. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as he reread the email. Victor knew. Victor had found him. Sleep didn’t come that night. He paced the apartment, bare feet scuffing the worn carpet, his thoughts a tangle of panic and defiance. He could ignore it, block Victor, disappear online. But the folder—God, what else was in it? His job wasn’t much, but he couldn’t afford to lose it if this went public. And then there was the other voice, quieter but insistent: What does he want? What if it’s… interesting? By morning, exhaustion had dulled the fear into a grim resolve. He’d go. He’d face this creep, call his bluff, and end it. He showered, pulled on a faded hoodie and jeans, and headed out, the autumn air biting at his unshaven cheeks. The corner of 5th and Elm was busy—shoppers, suits, a street musician plucking a guitar—but Jeremy felt alone, exposed, as he scanned the crowd. A black SUV purred up to the curb, tinted window sliding down. “Get in,” a deep voice said. Jeremy hesitated, then climbed inside, the leather seat cold against his legs. The man behind the wheel was older—fifties, maybe—silver hair swept back, eyes sharp and unreadable. He wore a tailored suit that screamed money, and his smile was thin, practiced. “I’m Victor,” he said, extending a hand Jeremy didn’t take. “BigDaddyTX, if you prefer. We’ve got a lot to discuss, Jeremy.” The drive was silent, the city blurring past as Victor navigated to a gleaming high-rise downtown. Jeremy’s mind raced, rehearsing demands—delete the file, leave me alone—but his tongue felt heavy, useless. The SUV dipped into an underground garage, and Victor led him to an elevator that shot up smoothly, depositing them in a penthouse that looked like something out of a magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a sprawling view of the skyline, marble floors gleamed under recessed lights, and the furniture was all sharp angles and expensive leather. “Sit,” Victor said, pouring two glasses of scotch from a crystal decanter. Jeremy sank into a chair, the cushion swallowing him, and watched as Victor slid a folder across the glass table. He opened it with trembling hands. Chat logs—hundreds of them, highlighted and annotated. IP traces linking back to his apartment. A photo of him leaving work, timestamped last week. His life, laid bare. “You’re good at pretending,” Victor said, sipping his drink. His voice was calm, almost admiring. “Katie’s quite the creation. But I’m better at finding the truth.” Jeremy’s mouth was dry, the scotch untouched in his hand. “What do you want?” he managed, voice cracking. Victor leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locking onto Jeremy’s. “I want to make it real. Everything you’ve told me—Katie’s fantasies, the diapers, the humiliation. I can do it. I’ve got the resources—tech you’ve never dreamed of, medical advancements my companies have kept off the market. I can turn you into her. For real. Permanently.” Jeremy barked a laugh, harsh and involuntary, but Victor’s expression didn’t waver. “You’re insane,” he said, shaking his head. “What, you’re gonna wave a magic wand and make me a girl?” “Not magic,” Victor replied. “Science. Gene therapy, nanotech, hormonal restructuring. You’ll be 4’9”, female, and—how did you put it?—‘completely dependent on diapers.’ I’ll make you Katie, inside and out. And I’ll take care of you. Show you off, just like she begged for.” The room spun. Jeremy gripped the armrests, the leather creaking under his fingers. “You’re blackmailing me into some sick game?” Victor shrugged. “Call it an offer. Say yes, and we start tomorrow. Say no, and this—” he tapped the folder “—goes to your boss, your friends, your family. Online, too. You’ll be famous, Jeremy. Just not the way you’d like.” Jeremy stared at the amber liquid in his glass, his reflection distorted in its surface. He should run, fight, call the cops—something. But Victor’s calm certainty pinned him in place, and beneath the fear, a tiny, traitorous spark flickered. What would it be like? To live it, not just type it? He hated himself for wondering, but he did. “Why me?” he whispered. Victor smiled, a predator’s grin. “Because you asked for it, Katie. Every word you wrote—you begged me to do this.” The rest of the meeting blurred. Victor laid out terms—clinics, timelines, a vague promise of “care”—and Jeremy nodded numbly, trapped by the folder and his own tangled thoughts. He left the penthouse with a card in his pocket, an address for the next day, and a weight in his chest he couldn’t name. Back in his apartment, he sat on the couch, staring at the blank TV. He should delete everything, burn his laptop, disappear. Instead, he opened the chat logs, rereading his own words as Katie. “Force me,” she’d said. “Make me helpless.” His stomach twisted, a sick blend of dread and anticipation. He didn’t sleep. By morning, he’d made his choice—not out of bravery, but surrender. He’d go. He’d see what Victor could do. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find out what Katie really felt like.