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Hi everyone! Here I am again, starting a new series. I have 18 chapters written and plan to post once to twice a week. I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I did writing this. If you're a fan of my past stories, you can expect twists, turns and tension between the MMC and FMC. Teaser trailer: Emma Marie Rose is a cutt-throat and well-trained data thief, the top of her agency that is contracted to expose and blackmail their clients victims. She is given one assignment that she knew going in was risky, possibly the hardest assignment yet but the largest payout she'd ever see in her career. She was assigned not one, but four targets to blackmail and expose their deepest, darkest secrets. Like always, she'd plan to destroy a company from the inside out and then disappear. Little does Emma know, things would get much more complicated as she discovers her own deepest darkest secrets in the process and meets the CEO of a company who flips her world upside down. What starts as a mission of destruction quickly spirals into a high-stakes game of deceit and revelation, where Emma's own secrets threaten to unravel her carefully fabricated life as she knew it. Trigger Warnings: Mental health, ED, smut The Data Thief Chapter 1: The Assignment Emma fixed her makeup in the brightly lit marble lined bathroom, popping on her pink lip gloss and fixing her long soft wavy brunette, almost blonde hair, tied up in a ponytail with her bangs drifting messily to her left above her brow. “Gabriella Simmons, you can call me Gabby. Nice to meet you.” She said in the mirror softly, moss green eyes saying with conviction and a bright smile that was playful, maybe a hint flirtatious. Her face fell flat, her mask disappearing as she was happy with her look to go into the interview with. It was cute, girly and flirty, all to charm her hopefully soon-to-be victims. She was walking into an office full of white corporate assholes, her favorite specimen of male to cyber bully and embarrass, one by one. Some would quit. Some would deny everything she revealed of their personal chats and messages. Some would have a midlife crisis and buy an expensive car when their wives broke up with them. Emma flashed a wicked smile to herself in the mirror before swinging her purse over her shoulder, knowing she was going to quietly slow-torment an office into the fiery flames of corporate self-annihilation, just like she had many times before. She got paid a nice commission by her agency to do so and it was a rewarding job. She was the top of her agency, after all, no one was as fast nor as skilled in hacking as she was. Her targets didn’t even question or bat an eye as she tore their businesses apart, employee by employee. Emma took in a breath before leaving the bathroom, knowing this assignment was different than the rest. Usually, Emma didn't break a sweat, she barely even felt nervous. Exhilaration and excitement was all she felt yet, since the moment she was given this assignment, something felt off. Maybe it was because it was the highest commission she'd ever get on an assignment or maybe it was because her agency was losing it's star players left and right before she accepted it. She really couldn't pinpoint it and chalked it up to the higher payout which typically meant higher stakes. All she could remember vividly was when her coworker and best friend, Graham, announced this assignment and she confronted her manager about it. To say the least, that's how she ended up in this predicament as she was convinced by her boss to accept it, against her better judgement. “Emmaleeeeeesi! Here ya go, smoke show.” Graham smiled large with a mocking tone when he said ‘smoke show’ referring to what a past target called her on her prior job. He held up a file folder as Emma walked into the office with her iced coffee, passing him as she plucked the file from his hands. His soft brown eyes bouncing at the assignment. “Emmaleesi, queen of corporate fire, chaos and dragons is here, late as usual.” Bailey, her manager, muttered as she looked at her gold watch, waiting in Emma’s office as Graham followed behind. “Thank you, I will take all the compliments and bonuses that come with the title.” Emma smiled, setting down her iced coffee on her desk and dropping her bag in her desk drawer. “Your client wants to meet tomorrow at Starbucks around the corner at 9AM. Just make sure you’re on time.” Bailey said, going back to her own office, “I’m putting it in your calendar.” Graham closed the door and raised his eyebrows to Bailey, “Think the boss is mad about your tardiness.” Emma shrugged, “First off, I’m a contractor technically, not her employee. Not to mention, I was gone for 5 months on that last assignment and almost got sexually assaulted by the last target. Bailey can lay off me for a second, I didn’t ask for a higher commission. She’s lucky, considering I’m bringing in almost half of our clientele and getting her more referrals.” Graham smiled, “Bailey is dealing with losing Kiara over the weekend. I don't think it’s you.” “What happened to Kiara?” Emma asked, confused. “She got caught by her target. He found her in his files. She had to resign from our team, in case she is turned into the police for breaching private data. Worse, if her target finds out about our agency, we can get sued and exposed. Bailey is paranoid.” Emma rolled her eyes, “Well, I told Bailey that the assignment she gave Kiara was a suicide mission, hence why I didn’t even humor it. The target had fingerprint access to most of his encrypted data." Graham nodded, pausing a moment as he looked at the file on Emma’s desk, “Speaking of suicide missions…” Emma deadpanned Graham a look, “You’re not messing with me, are you?” She opened the file folder he handed her earlier and logged into her computer, looking at her email and the files Graham emailed for her new assignment. He stayed silent as she clicked through the notes, “Penn & Williams Consulting Agency, 4 targets in one office.” She scrunched her face in a cute way that if Graham was straight, he’d probably find her attractive, “What in the fuck is Bailey doing? You know what-” Emma got up, storming out of her office and across the building, passing coworkers who whispered to each other as Emma’s face was blatantly irritated. Bailey was on her phone, pushing back a stray hair in her light blonde hair into her tight pony tail. Her blue eyes widened seeing Emma storm in and close the door. “I’ll have to let you go for a moment here, Brittney.” She said goodbye and crossed her arms and looked to Emma, “Yes?” “Excuse my language, Bailey, but, what in the fuck type of assignment is this?” She held the file folder up, “I said I’m not doing suicide missions or attempting them. Thought I told you that loud and clear last time.” “It’s not a suicide mission, first off. Second off, you used to love assignments like this, why isn’t this enticing you? Thought you’d like a challenge since you’ve been taking the easiest assignments lately.” Bailey said, going to her desktop and typing an email, slightly ignoring Emma. “That was until I almost got caught a year ago, Bailey.” Emma said, her jaw tight. A silent anger bubbled in her chest, going to her neck, "And I'll have you know that last 5 month assignment was not easy in the slightest. I almost got sexually assaulted." Bailey crossed her arms with a sigh, “Well, we don’t have anyone else who could be up for this job. The target likes hiring petite and stunning mid-twenties women. No offense to our office mates, but we have too many guys on staff and mid-thirties women. It was either you or Kiara and, well, Kiara isn’t an option anymore.” Bailey said, sighing, “You have to pull your weight again, there’s not much we can do here. After this assignment you can take a month off. I’ll even throw in 10% extra.” She said, eyes sliding to Emma, knowing she was easier to persuade with time off and money. “Four targets and only ten percent? 30% extra and 6 weeks.” Emma sneered. Bailey turned to Emma, setting her hands together on the light brown desk with a sigh. After a pause of thought, she said, “20% extra and 5 weeks. Take it or leave it.” Emma stared hard at the desk wood, it wasn’t an impossible assignment… but, it was high risk. This was possibly the hardest assignment she’d ever get but could mean the biggest payout she'd ever see. “What’s the payment and contract length?” Emma asked, eyes meeting Bailey’s even stare. “400K and 6 months minimum.” Emma almost choked on air, “Who even has that type of money?” Her eyes widened. Emma got a 10% split on her assignments payouts as commission. 30% meant a whopping commission of 120K. She'd never seen a six figure payout, Bailey was desperate it seemed. Emma wouldn’t need to work for a year after that if Bailey would let her. “The client had a multi-millionaire family member pass away who owned a large company and got a considerable life insurance benefit check. She’s desperate to take down the whole company for what they did to her and heard of our work.” Bailey said, going back to her desktop, “Is that enough for you to move forward?” Emma’s mouth was dry from being open as she stood, “Sure, but-“ She shook her head, “what did the targets do to her?” What was bad enough to pay for $400,000 in revenge? That thought would keep Emma up at night, although it really wasn't her business. Bailey’s mouth fell in a line, “You’ll talk to her tomorrow.” The next day, Emma walked into Starbucks a bit hesitantly. She ordered her iced oatmilk latte and sat down in a unoccupied corner, awaiting her new client. The client walked in and Emma waved, with a friendly smile. A girl with warm brown eyes and blonde long hair walked over after getting her coffee. “Brittney, nice to meet you, uhm-“ “Gabby Simmons, nice to meet you.” Emma nodded, already in code name. This was a risky assignment and she wasn’t faltering, not even with the client. “Gabby, pleasure to meet you and no offense, but-“ She blurted, “you are just nothing like I expected.” Her brown eyes apologetic immediately following her words. Emma smiled, “You are fine, I get that all the time.” She didn’t know what it was, but a lot of clients thought she would be ugly or invisible, yet Emma was starkly visible and memorable. She had a charm to her that made her such a good asset to her assignments. She was quick-witted and undetectable, none of her clients knew what her true intentions were until she left them vulnerable and exposed. “Can I just ask a question?” Brittney asked, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. “Sure.” Emma nodded. “How did you get into this- uh, profession?” Brittney asked, curious. The girl was Emma’s age and, if not for being a client, Emma would have been friends easily with this girl. Emma licked her lips as her smile faded, “High school bullies. Sounds stupid but, ah, fuck them. They can all fuck off.” She said, with a confidence in her voice as a tinge of pain flashed in her eyes that Brittney caught. Brittney smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Only a shared sadness and sympathy reflected in Brittney’s eyes, “Then it sounds like I have the right person for this job.”

18-year-old Benjamin has just been evicted from the college dorms after he has failed out of college for the semester. He sits in the student lounge with his bags while he figures out his next moves. His former professor Megan is talking to her faculty friend and sees him sitting alone. She is confused because he is supposed to be in her class for the semester. "Hi Ben. I missed you in my class this semester. Are you okay?"

Hello everyone! Long time lurker but never poster. I've mostly written D&D campaigns, but after reading so many of Elfy's stories I wanted to try my hand at one myself. English is not my first language so I hope it's not too bad. Title might be a work in progress. I have more chapters planned out but I'd like to see the reception and perhaps get some feedback if possible. Thank you! I'll also provide i link to a google docs if the formatting doesn't work. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Z4dphIOARgEWAGIGvfLsoi6k5P6mERzskRKdbOnhGMQ/edit?usp=sharing A Dependent Model Alicia Eriksson wasn’t your normal 19-year old girl. She stopped measuring up to her peers several years ago, in height that is. Standing only at about 3.1 ft and weighing roughly 30 pounds created many vertical challenges in her life. It didn’t help that her natural, curly brown hair that dangled down her shoulders gave her a certain youthful look. She had to assert herself against many concerned mothers that tried - with good intentions - to help her out thinking she was lost while shopping in the supermarket or going for a stroll in the park. Sitting in said park Alicia scrolled through the jobsection of the local newspaper app. Across her sat the local playground, some trees, bushes and a flimmering billboard that never seemed to get fixed. Alicia had tried several times to find a job as her mother felt uncomfortable sending her off to college since she believed Alicia didn’t always ‘think things through’. Alicia had also tried several times to keep a job but time and time again her short stature proved a worthy adversary in getting her fired. She tried waitressing, but she would constantly have to watch out not to be bumped into, which happened, a lot. She abhorred selling tickets at the cinema as people either ridiculed her or thought she was just someone else’s kid playing pretend. Data entering…well that was just boring really, but still! “Come on,” she said to herself with slight frustration, “Somewhere there’s bound to be a job just for me. Where I don’t need to struggle all the time.” Her eyes then landed on a particular small section of the app. “Huh, ‘Stars Modeling Agency now searching for new talents. Please apply by this afternoon’,” she read out loud. She pondered for a bit. “I guess it’s something I haven’t tried yet, but would they have clothes my size?” Scrunching up her face in thought she decided, “Well I can at the very least try. What’s the worst that could happen? Hmm, I should get there quick before applications close.” Happy with her decision Alicia signed up for an interview on their website, took down the details of the place, and put it into her phone’s map. “Oh, it’s a bit across town, but closer than expected. I should be able to walk from the house and get there in 15 minutes or so. Alright, let’s get this bread!” Alicia confidently started to walk towards the Modeling Agency. Making her way across town, passing the cinema, an icecream parlor and several houses on the way. In a small alleyway she could read out the starry sign of the agency. Inside she spotted a waiting room which was painted pastel blue, a counter with a receptionist and two other - what Alicia thought- prospective models. “Huh, weird that they are both here with their kids,” she remarked as she saw two toddlers playing with some dolls in a corner, but she didn’t pay any other attention to them. Alicia went up to the receptionist, a middle-aged woman wearing a cream-coloured cardigan. “Excuse me,” Alica said. The receptionist looked around for a bit before settling her eyes down on the diminutive woman. “I’m here for an interview with,” Alicia looked at her phone, “Sofia Juarez?” She looked at Alicia quizzically. “Hi sweetie, are you here with your mo-” “I’m here by myself, ma’am,” Alicia interrupted already knowing where the lady was going with her questions. “Here’s my ID card, I’d like to speak with Mrs. Juarez if I may?” The receptionist took Alicia’s ID and looked it over. “Well, certainly, Ms. Eriksson. Please have a seat in the meanwhile.” The woman gave Alicia back her card with an amused look on her face, but Alicia didn’t care for the woman’s expressions. Alicia grabbed a seat and started looking through her phone in the meanwhile not noticing the odd looks the other two women in the waiting room were giving her. After waiting an hour for her turn she was called into the office where Sofia Juarez was sitting. She wore business casual attire and had long raven-like hair sitting tightly in a ponytail in the back. “Ms. Eriksson?” she said with a professional tone when Alicia entered. “That’s me Mrs. Juarez. Thank you for taking your time seeing me,” Alicia said. The latina woman looked at Alicia with interest on her face. “It’s just miss for me as well. Please have seat, Ms. Eriksson, pardon if it’s not adjustable.” “I can manage it. Thank you,” Alica assured her and climbed up on the chair. “So, Ms. Eriksson,” Ms. Juarez began, “ have you ever modeled before?” “Honestly, no I have not. To be perfectly frank I’m quite jobstarved at the moment and I’m looking for any kind of opportunity I can get,” Alicia said believing that honesty would be her best bet. “I see, thank you for your candidness, Ms. Eriksson,” Ms. Juarez said and wrote some things in a document, “well we all have to start somewhere.” Alicia smiled, maybe she had a chance? “I assure you, ma’am that I’m a quick learner and even though I’m short I’ll try working really hard.” “Oh your height is of no issue, dear,” Ms. Juarez replied. “So you do carry clothes in my size? That’s very forward thinking, Ms. Juarez.” Alicia couldn’t believe the good news. “Oh yes of course. Don’t worry we have a large sortment of clothes for a woman of your stature. Now a few more questions before we conclude this interview.” Ms. Juarez proceeded to ask Alicia general questions, whether she grew up in town, where she sees herself in a few years etc. Alica answered all of Ms. Juarez’s questions to the best of her ability and looked on nervously as she looked over her clipboard, hoping her lack of experience wouldn’t be an issue. “Well Ms. Eriksson,” Ms. Juarez began, “I think Stars Agency have found their new talent.” “Really?” Alicia beamed. “Oh thank you, ma’am. I promise I won’t let you down.” The latina handed over a contract that Alicia was more than eager to sign without looking too closely at its contents. “I’m sure you will be an excellent addition to our little family, Ms. Eriksson.” “You can just call me Alicia, ma’am,” Alicia said beaming with energy. “Oh, then I insist you call me Sofia. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old," she said. Alica took a brief look at Sofia who appeared to be in her late 20s. “Of course, thank you for this opportunity, Sofia.” “You’re welcome, sweetie,” Sofia said with a genuine smile. The ‘sweetie’ comment didn’t even register in Alicia’s mind as she was too busy writing down her details in the contract. “So when should I start?” Alicia said eagerly. “Can you come in tomorrow Friday already? Our photographer Michelle will be available in the afternoon around three o'clock and I could give you some pointers and assist with clothing if necessary? There won’t be any other models in at that time so we could take some time for you to learn the ropes.” Alicia thought it seemed a little odd that the hiring manager would help with clothing, but maybe Sofia was a ‘hands-on’ type of person. Yet that thought did nothing to damper her mood. “Tomorrow afternoon three o'clock, I will be there!” Alica said, hopping off the chair. “Excellent, well Alicia I will see you then. And again, welcome to the family.” Alicia felt like she traveled on air while going back home. Even an inexperienced model could earn a lot in comparison to other professions at the current job market and she couldn’t wait to earn some money to increase her independency. I mean it’s not like living with mom is a bad thing, but a girl gotta spread her wings, right? She thought to herself as she passed the trees in the park with the flimmering billboard acting up as usual. Alicia paused for a bit to take in the nice summer’s breeze. “From here on out my life is going to change,” she said before continuing back to her house.

Chapter One “Hey, Elliott? Come on downstairs. She’ll be here any minute.” As in, his babysitter. It was more annoying than embarrassing. Elliott was twenty years old, and way too old to need supervision while his parents were away for the weekend. As they had explained to him, however, this was more about his grades than his ability to stay out of trouble. Though he had coasted through his first year of university, the same couldn’t be said about his time as a sophomore. Elliott had low Bs in half his classes and mid Cs in the others. And, since he was living at home to save on room and board, his parents were well aware that he had a habit of slacking off and choosing video games over studying. He tried to assure them that he would be fine, just like he had been in December. Admittedly, he had crammed pretty hard in order to pass those exams, yet that also proved he was capable of doing the same this time around. His parents were less confident, especially since failing any of his classes meant that he would lose his scholarship. Which is why they hired Vanessa to make sure he studied properly over the weekend while they were on vacation. Vanessa was a neighbor, a young adult who had moved in a few months ago and had quickly established herself as a competent nanny. Between her experience and her availability, which couldn’t always be said for younger babysitters, she had great reviews and barely needed to advertise her services any more. Elliott’s parents, for example, met her at a neighborhood event once, and later heard good things about her from a couple a few doors down. There was also the fact that they couldn’t hire a teenager to watch their college aged son, so it made way more sense to ask someone like Vanessa. Elliott had never met her before, as he didn’t go to those events any more. He was too old to hang out with the neighborhood kids, and too young to have any interest in socializing with the adults. That, and he preferred gaming these days. It’s what he was doing when his mother called him from the main floor. Thankfully, he was playing a single player game with a pause function, or he would have to deal with the age-old explanation of how he couldn’t just drop everything when his teammates were relying on him and he had to finish the round before getting up. He quietly groaned to himself and stood up, heading out of his room and down the stairs to be polite and greet Vanessa. Maybe she would stay out of his hair if he played nice from the beginning. After all, he was a young adult himself, even if being in university didn’t make him quite as grown up as the nanny who had her own house and was running her own business. Hopefully she would realize that Elliott was self-sufficient enough, and proceed to leave him alone and take the easy money. The doorbell rang just as he reached the top step. Elliott only hesitated for a moment, before continuing the descent. He wasn’t sure what to expect, though there was really no reason to be nervous. This was all going to be more of an inconvenience than anything else. He definitely hadn’t prepared himself for Vanessa to be hot. As his mother opened the door, the redhead on the other side came into view, wearing a red dress that was quite the contrast to the t-shirt/jeans combo his babysitters tended to wear back when he was young enough to actually need someone around when his parents went out. “Good afternoon,” she smiled, “And thank you again for the opportunity. It’s always exciting to work with a new family.” “I’m just glad you were free this weekend,” his mother said, “Come on in. I can give you a quick tour, and answer any questions you have before heading out. Elliott is upstairs, but should be down in a minute.” The stairs led right down to the front door, so Vanessa could easily see him in the background. “That must be him,” she said, “Hey, Elliott. Ready for a productive weekend?” “Something like that,” he muttered. Her attractiveness was a little disarming. Though she was being ever so slightly patronizing with her greeting, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had a chance with her. Maybe not, considering the 5-8 year age gap; it was tough to get an immediate read on how old she was. Vanessa stepped inside, complete with her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, “A tour would be lovely. Elliott, do you mind gathering your academic materials for me in the meantime? I was given an overview of what you need to get done this weekend, but I’d love to go over the specifics with you.” Short of being needlessly difficult, he didn’t have a reason to say ‘no.’ The good news was, it was university. His parents only knew what classes he was taking, as well as the broad strokes of his GPA. Unlike high school, they weren’t in communication with his professors or anything like that. Ideally, he could ensure that Vanessa was in a similar boat in terms of not knowing exactly what he had to get done by Monday. He returned to his room, as there was no reason to tag along for a tour. Unlike babysitters from his childhood, Vanessa would be staying overnight, likely in the guest bedroom. Other than that, he assumed it would be the same. Ordering pizza with whatever money his parents were leaving with her, or perhaps cooking if she was into that; it really depended on the sitter. Of course, he preferred the former option. As for the materials she requested, there wasn’t much for Elliott to show. The semester was nearly over, which meant he only had a few assignments left to deal with. Other than that, it was simply a matter of studying for his exams the following week, which he hadn’t planned on starting until Tuesday or Wednesday. Not wanting to look bad, he at least took the effort to pull out each syllabus and turn to the last page. Partly to show Vanessa that her services weren’t actually needed, and because looking disorganized would validate his parents’ decision to hire her in the first place. Other than that, he wasn’t sure what to do while he waited. Deciding to avoid smalltalk and a drawn out departure where his parents were involved, he opted to stay in his room for the time being. It would be easier to figure out whatever his dynamic with Vanessa would be if he didn’t have to do so in front of his family. It didn’t take long for the tour to bring Vanessa to his bedroom; Elliott hadn’t considered that when returning to his desk and looking up potential builds for one of his mains in the MOBA he and his friends were into. There was no point in resuming what he was playing earlier, as he’d have to deal with Vanessa sooner rather than later anyway. “Hmm. It’s pretty messy in here,” Vanessa said. Barely one step into the room, and clearly in babysitter mode. “Maybe we should tackle this first? I bet you’ll be more productive in a cleaner space.” Hopefully she was just putting on a show for his mother, who was standing right there. Elliott did regret not tidying a bit before the tour led them upstairs. In his defense, this had been his bedroom for his whole life, and his habits hadn’t changed much since starting university. And, since he lived with his parents, there weren’t many opportunities for him to have a girl over. Though Vanessa was attractive, it wasn’t as if she was an instant crush or anything like that. At the same time, first impressions were still important. “Couldn’t hurt,” his mother agreed, “Although, good luck. I’ve mentioned the clutter for years. Anyway, are you all set here, Vanessa?” “Of course,” she nodded, “I’ve got both your numbers on speed dial for the weekend, as well as Leslie’s next door in case of emergency. Plus Elliott is older than my usual charges, so I’m sure he won’t be a problem. Isn’t that right, Elliott?” He was definitely old enough to understand a lose/lose question like that. Disagreeing would make him sound immature and needlessly difficult, yet he couldn’t think of a way to answer in the affirmative that wouldn’t sound almost as immature as doing the opposite. “We can still let Vanessa go home,” he pointed out, aiming to make it sound nonchalant. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to potentially hurt her, “Save a little money, and let me worry about school by myself?” “Vanessa is here because I’m worried about school,” she said, “Besides, she probably turned down another job or two after committing to this; it wouldn’t be fair to fire her at the last minute.” “You’re too kind,” Vanessa said, “And don’t worry, Elliott. I’m just here to supervise you. As long as you behave and get all your work done, we’ll get along just fine!” Uh huh. Except it still sounded like she was talking down to him. Probably a habit from being a nanny for said younger charges. “Great. Class information is right here.” He tapped the side of the desk that wasn’t occupied by all of his gaming stuff. “Thank you for putting that together for me,” she replied, with that same smile, “Why don’t you start by cleaning your room while I get settled? We can get started once your parents are on the road. Sound good?” Not really. But Vanessa turned and left the room without waiting for an answer. Elliott wasn’t sure where to start. He still had the teenage mentality that a pristine bedroom was idiotic when it made just as much sense knowing where everything was amidst a bit of organized chaos. His room also wasn’t that bad, especially compared to a number of his friends. Even so, he at least made the effort to pick up a few things off the floor and dealt with some of the more obvious corners that Vanessa might get on his case about. He was assuming she wasn’t expecting perfection, considering the main reason she was hired was for the sake of keeping him on task where his studying was involved. He only had a few minutes before he was being called down to the main floor again. The goodbye ritual with his parents was fairly quick. After living at home for his whole life, it wasn’t that unusual for them to be gone for a weekend. Normally he would either enjoy the place to himself the entire time, or host a LAN party with his friends that still lived in town. Obviously, either of those options were preferable to studying on someone else’s schedule besides his own. Once it was just the two of them, Vanessa got right to it. “Okay! Let’s go check on the progress you’ve made with your room, and then we can take a look at your classes.” “Umm, sure,” he said. Now he could attempt to set up some dynamic with her where she didn’t feel the need to pressure him to study, let alone do something like clean his bedroom. Thanks to the dress she had on, casual as it was, he felt several underdressed by comparison. “I really can deal with the school stuff myself, by the way. My parents are a bit paranoid about me failing, that’s all.” “Hmm, I guess there’s only one way to find out if I really need to be here or not,” she shrugged. She gestured towards the stairs, “Lead the way. Oh, and is ‘not failing’ really the best goal? I think you could pull a B in every class if you put your mind to it. It might even help to have someone around to keep you on task!” Elliott didn’t dignify that with a response. It was clear what she was getting at, and he was stuck in an equally impossible position of validating her supervision no matter what he did. Procrastinating would prove her point, while starting immediately would be as if it was happening because she told him to. He simply began walking, weighing other options along the way. As they stepped into the room together, Vanessa was once again quick to comment. “There’s still so much to do!” Giving the space a more thorough look, she clasped her hands together. “Okay. Why don’t you keep cleaning, and I’ll take a look at all your school stuff. Teamwork, yeah? Then we can make a plan afterwards.” “Why don’t we just work downstairs? That’s where I usually do my homework, anyway.” A total lie; Elliott was banking on the assumption that his parents wouldn’t have mentioned something like that to Vanessa. He wasn’t necessarily opposed to cleaning his room, though he also didn’t enjoy a nanny telling his young adult self to do so. “You should still have a tidy room,” she insisted, “Trust me, it will put you in a better headspace for studying. Speaking of your bedroom, it kind of smells like boy in here. Have you showered today?” He definitely didn’t see that coming. “Umm, yeah,” he said. Most mornings, as he had class every day. Not always on the weekend, as there were some days he would just be lounging in his room without any plans. “Huh. Well, maybe apply a bit more deodorant, just in case? It also couldn’t hurt to vacuum and do laundry. Don’t worry, I can help with some of that. Your main focus this weekend should be on your studies!” Well, so much for Vanessa treating him like an adult. She was making it sound like he was a teenager, especially in the way she mentioned his hygiene. “Everything’s on the desk,” he reminded her. The sooner she checked out the syllabi for his classes, the sooner they could move past what was turning into an awkward introduction. In the meantime, Elliott picked up where he left off in terms of tidying his room. Mostly since he wasn’t sure what else to do. Since Vanessa was at his normal spot, seated in his gaming chair and getting acquainted with what he needed to know for the upcoming exams, that really only left the bed. Plus his phone was still on the edge of the desk, and he was also trying to balance making a good first impression with not letting her treat him too much like a kid. A few minutes later, she glanced over her shoulder. “Elliott? Deodorant, remember?” Wait, that wasn’t a suggestion? He honestly didn’t know how to respond to something like that. “I already did,” he said. It had to be a joke. He was way too old to need that kind of oversight. “After my shower.” “It can’t hurt to apply a little more,” she said, “You don’t mind, do you?” He frowned slightly in frustration. “I guess not.” It was as if everything she said was a perfectly designed trap, yet always subtle enough that he couldn’t call her out on what she was doing. Such a simple request wasn’t worth arguing over, but being sent to the bathroom as a twenty year old for the sake of hygiene? That, and the fact that an attractive girl was implying that he smelled bad. Or, in her words, ‘like boy.’ Either way, it was tough to avoid feeling self conscious about it, even if he was convinced he had been thorough enough that morning. One perk of being an only child was that he had his own bathroom upstairs, rather than one he would otherwise have to share with a sibling. It only took a minute to head in and do a quick pass with the stick of deodorant. He was tempted to do nothing and see if she noticed, but decided against it. For all he knew, she could be right, though he was still convinced she was just making a bad assumption. More likely, the problem was his full hamper of dirty laundry, or maybe something else. When he returned, Vanessa greeted him with a smile. “Thanks, Elliott. Your room is looking better, too. If it’s not too imposing, I’d be happy to take over while you work. I think I have a general sense of your classes, though I’ll definitely look more in depth at all the ones you’re not currently studying in a few minutes. From what I can tell, Sociology looks like one of the more difficult courses. What’s your grade in that one currently, if I may ask?” Elliott considered lying. That was the thing about his parents hiring someone like Vanessa; she didn’t know anything about his classes or his GPA, nor was she a tutor. It was simply a matter of supervision. “A high C, I think,” he said, only slightly stretching the truth. Last he checked, it was closer to a C- than a C+, which meant it was one of the classes he would be cramming for more than the rest. “Well, then we have some work to do,” she said, “If you ace your exam, you can for sure bump that to a B. Maybe even a B+, based on the grading percentages I’m seeing here. Want to start with Sociology, then?” “Sure,” he replied. It didn’t really matter to him. Anything to remind Vanessa that he was a college student, and she was only here to worry about his studies. “Sounds like a plan,” she nodded, “Okay, get all your things for Sociology and meet me downstairs wherever you like to study. Kitchen? Living room?” Bedroom. Except he was committed to his recent lie. “Living room,” he said. More comfortable. “Got it. I can trust you up here alone for a minute or two, right?” she asked, “I’ll be downstairs.” The moment she turned the corner, Elliott sighed. It was going to be a long weekend. ------------------------ Check out my website: www.ladyluciastories.com And my SubscribeStar: https://subscribestar.adult/lady-lucia

This story takes place a couple of months after Mission Improbable, and about half a year after Keeping Secrets. It's hard for me to tell, but I don't think it's strictly necessary to read the previous stories to enjoy this one, but they do contain quite a bit of background information. And as always, I will be updating the tags as the different parts are posted to avoid spoilers. The same thing applies to the title. I just haven't been able to come up with a good one yet. (Suggestions are welcome) Updates for this text will be less regular than my previous stories since I'm still in the process of writing this one. ----------------- "Damnit, damnit, damnit!" Tracy gave her office door repeated kicks as she tried to turn the key. The humidity-warped door frame finally surrendered and the key turned in the lock with a metallic scrape. Pushing the door open with her shoulder, Tracy backed through it, pulling the suitcase containing her drones and the remote control systems over the threshold. She kicked the door closed and glared out of the window across the room. The rain was pouring down outside and even the quick run across the street from the parking garage had soaked her to the bone. Tracy hated rain. At least she hated rain when she had to be outdoors in it. Being curled up with a good book or a movie while the rain was beating against the window was a near-perfect afternoon. Also, the rain made her short hair frizzy. Usually Tracy's hair would refuse to be anything other than straight, even if she used ozone layer-ruining amounts of industrial-strength hair spray. So Tracy considered the damp, unmanageable half-curls a personal insult. Tracy opened the suitcase and removed all the drones, leaving them on her desk to dry. Then she headed for the bathroom, every squishing step leaving wet footprints on the floor. Tracy kicked off her shoes and shrugged off her jacket, hanging it to dry over the top of the door. The jeans were more of a struggle to get off. Even though Tracy favoured baggy trousers, they still seemed to cling to her legs, resisting every effort to be removed. After finally managing to pull the wet denim down past her hips along with her underwear, Tracy tried to step out of the pants, only to lose her balance and almost fall face-first against the door. She caught herself at the last second and sat down on the toilet to peel off the stubborn fabric. Her t-shirt was next, landing with a splat next to the inside-out jeans. Tracy stood and leaned on the sink for a moment, staring at the woman in the mirror. She looked wet and miserable; like a kitten after a bath. Tracy reached into the shower and turned on the water. It cycled through its customary three seconds of lukewarm before proceeding to glacial, then boiling, before settling at a somewhat comfortable temperature. She stepped into the shower, feeling the water pound down on her scalp. Her entire body felt gross and greasy. I guess that's what I get from having a three-day stakeout above a fast food joint. She poured a generous amount of shampoo into her hand. As she massaged it into her hair, a flowery smell filled the room. Hopefully it would get rid of the smell of deep fryer fumes. She couldn't wait to put the entire case behind her. It had started out innocently enough: A husband suspecting his wife of cheating on him. When he left town, Tracy had followed the wife to a no-tell hotel. Something in the building next to the hotel had made her small drones go completely haywire. So after having retrieved the drones, Tracy had had to resort to renting a room below her target and using an old-fashioned borescope through the ventilation system. The wife had not been having an affair. She was either having eight different affairs, or she was working as a prostitute. Five men, two women, and one person who had arrived dressed as Richard Nixon and stayed in costume the whole time. She hadn't left the room for three days. On the second day she had taken a break from having sex to run a five-hour high-stakes poker game. Tracy had to admit she was impressed with the woman's stamina. Over the entire three days, she hadn't slept or eaten anything, consuming nothing but copious amounts of alcohol and drugs that Tracy couldn't identify. Tracy had taken pictures of everyone she could, but only to document what went on. The woman's husband hadn't paid for identification, so she would have to ask him if he even wanted that after having seen the pictures. She hoped he would, since that would mean extra money for very little actual work. Tracy would mostly be waiting while the computer did all the heavy lifting. I'm going to sleep for a week. It had been almost sixty hours of watching people having sex through a fish-eye lens with no sleep and only rushed bathroom breaks. Usually Tracy would wear diapers during stakeouts, and not just for the convenience of fewer bathroom breaks. But after having taken one look at the shower in the room she'd rented, she had decided that there was no way she was going to risk tetanus and seven other diseases by using it. Tracy rested her forehead against the wall, watching the soap suds being rinsed off her body and spiralling down the drain. She let her hand wander down her stomach. She scratched the stubble she found and sighed. I guess I'll have to fix that. She grabbed the razor and soap and carefully shaved. She didn't actually need to, but she preferred to be clean-shaven when wearing diapers. It was less itchy, and the smooth skin felt better against the diaper. It also had the added bonus of getting praise from Kat. Tracy turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, drying herself before wrapping the towel around herself. She picked up the clothes and hung them all to dry over the shower curtain rod, on the sink or wherever she could find room. The bathroom would stink of old fry oil, but at least the rest of the tiny apartment wouldn't. She opened the tiny window ever so slightly before leving the room and closing the door behind her. I guess I'm doing laundry as well tomorrow. Tracy checked that the front door was locked then headed for the bedroom. She pulled the curtains closed and let the towel fall to the floor. What she wanted to do most of all was just to lie down and go to sleep. However, there was still one thing she needed to do. Reaching into the large plastic box under the bed, she pulled out one of her thick overnight diapers and unfolded it on the bed. Kat had picked out the overnight diapers using some very clear criteria. They had to be so thick that Tracy would have to waddle while wearing them. They also had to be big and noisy enough that they'd be pretty much impossible to hide. And finally, they had to be absorbent enough that Tracy could wear them for an entire night without risking a leak. Tracy sat down on the diaper and lay back. When she sprinkled baby powder on herself, she smiled as the fine white powder tickled her freshly shaved and sensitive skin. Spreading her legs far apart Tracy pulled the diaper up between them and held it to her stomach with one hand while taping it in place with the other. The thick material felt almost like a giant gloved hand cupping her entire crotch. It was a little too stiff to be comfortable, but Tracy knew that how to fix that. She scooted herself to the corner of the bed and sat there, rocking back and forth, using the corner to soften the material. It also had the added benefit of feeling good, but Tracy was too tired to even masturbate. She just wanted to sleep. Pulling an oversized t-shirt over her head, she punched her pillow a couple of times to give it the right shape, pulled a thin blanket up to cover herself and fell asleep almost instantly.

Four-year-old Macy is a big girl who just about mastered the potty. The only thing standing in her way are the diapers that she still needs to wear every night. But when she has a huge accident during New Year’s Eve, this got her thinking about wearing diapers more often. Macy’s potty training begins to get flushed down the toilet as she begins to have accident after accident. With the return to diapers eminent for Macy, how does she handle the adjustment in going back to diapers? Will she try to get her big girl underwear back or give up potty training forever? Chapter 1: Use the Potty Hi! I don’t think that I have seen you before, but my name is Macy Robbins. I would like to share with you how I spent my childhood wearing diapers, and all of the things that I experienced when I was growing up. Now I know that when I was growing up, most kids my age did not wear diapers. They wore big boy underwear if they were a boy and big girl underwear if they were a girl. So, how did I end up wearing diapers? It’s a very crazy story, and a rather long one, but I promise you that it’s good. Pinky promise. I will start my story where it all started when I was two years old. Back then, I lived with my family. I lived with two older brothers. An eight-year-old brother named Jake and a four-year-old brother named Randy. I liked Jake better since he was always nice to me, and he played with me sometimes. Randy on the other hand was a meanie. He always took my toys when I wasn’t looking and blamed me whenever he got in trouble. Jake always stood up for me whenever Randy was in the room, but Randy always tried to argue with Jake. I didn’t like the arguments, so I usually tried to stay away from them when they argued. I lived in a nice house with my mommy and daddy in Cincinnati that was right next to a golf course. I never understood golf growing up as it was just a game that grown-ups play by hitting little white balls with metal sticks. We also lived near a nice park that mommy and daddy took us to all the time. Mommy used to sell houses to people before my older brother Jake was born. My daddy makes a lot of money as a brain doctor. Another word for it is surgeon. He basically helps a lot of people with owwies in their head get better. I like how daddy is able to help so many people and it makes me happy. So how did I start wearing diapers? Well at this point, I have been wearing them since I was born. But this whole thing called potty training changed everything. And just two days after my second birthday, my mommy got me a little chair called the potty. I was supposed to pee in that, instead of my diaper. Now why did she want me to do that? She told me that it was all part of me becoming a “big girl”. I can vividly remember my first day of potty training, thanks to a journal that I kept when I was nine years old. “Macy dear,” my mommy told me. “Now that you are two years old, you are going to be potty trained. Be a good girl and use the potty.” I can remember just sitting on the seat while I still had my diaper on and looking back at my mommy with a pouty face. “No!” I told her defiantly. But my mommy knew the best way to motivate me. She gave me a smile. “Macy, for every time that you use the potty, I will give you one M&M…But you have to use the potty and not your diaper, okay?” That did it. M&M’s were the best thing in the world for me, so I wasted no time in using the potty whenever I could. Now I didn’t successfully use the potty right away. It took almost a week before I successfully used the potty. Mommy then gave me my first M&M. It was a red one and it was good. The other motivator for me using the potty was that my mommy took away my diapers and had me wear pull ups instead. This made me feel uncomfortable if I peed in my pull up, so I wanted to use the potty more and more. After six months of using the potty, I finally had no accidents in the daytime. So, about a couple of weeks after New Year’s Day, my mommy gave me my very first big girl underwear. They came in two colors: Bubblegum pink and blackberry purple. I was so proud of being able to wear my big girl underwear. I definitely felt like a big girl. Plus, my mommy kept giving me an M&M every time that I used the potty. However, I still needed to wear diapers every night. Even though I could hold it during the day, I always peed my diaper in my sleep. While I remained accident free during the day, a year later, I was still regularly having nighttime accidents in my diaper. It was mostly pee but was occasionally poop on occasion. When I got frustrated, my mommy told me not to worry about it and that I would grow out of it when I got older. At around this time, my mommy’s belly was huge. A few days later, we were in the hospital. My mommy gave birth to a new baby. It was a girl, and she named her Phoebe. I was so excited. I was going to be a big sister! But all of that excitement wore off two weeks later, when I discovered that my mommy was paying less attention to me. My little sister cried all the time and my mommy always had to feed her, change her diaper, or put her down for a nap. I was beginning to miss the attention that my mommy was giving me, so I began to pee my underwear on purpose. This happened for a couple of weeks before my mommy decided to put me back in diapers again. But this was only for a month. One month later, my mommy had an appointment with my pediatrician. She recommended that I get potty trained again and to pay more attention to me as my regression was caused due to the jealousy that I had towards the attention that my baby sister was now getting. About two months later, I was potty trained again, as my mommy doubled the M&M’s every time that I went both pee and poop in the potty. The reward for just going pee was still one M&M. I enjoyed my M&M’s as I successfully began to use the potty again. But I still kept peeing my diapers every night. That was something that hasn’t gone away. Even after my fourth birthday, I still needed to wear diapers at night. And as I began preschool, I began to make a lot of friends. When I had my first sleepover in the fall, I discovered that most of my friends were fully potty trained. I only knew about two or three that still needed to wear diapers at night. But by Christmas time, two of those three friends were fully potty trained. Christie and Susie both got to wear underwear at night while Cassie still needed to wear diapers at night like me. Christmas was a fun time that I spent at my grandma’s in Indiana. I had a lot of cousins, including two of them that were twin girls that were way older than me. After Christmas, it was now New Year’s Eve. My mommy cleaned the area between my legs and picked out my outfit for me to dress myself. At this age, I could finally wear all of the fun underwear that most kids get to wear when they are at the potty-training age. But since I was so small at two, I had to wear tiny underwear that fit my petite size. I put on my Anna and Elsa Frozen underwear and my pink dress. This day was going to be great, but I don’t think that I can stay up until midnight. My older brother Jake was playing a video game while Randy just watched. My little sister Phoebe was in her bedroom, taking a nap in her crib. I was about to go to my room and play with my dollhouse that I got for Christmas. What could possibly go wrong?

The one thing Madelyn desires most in the world is to wear diapers again, and she is prepared to do anything to make that wish come true. As inexplicable as that desire is for a twelve-year-old girl, it is one she has obsessed over for the past three years. Ever since Madelyn tried on a pull-up that a distant cousin had used for bedwetting, the thought of what it would be like to forego her underwear for that padded, crinkling sensation between her legs has been a desire she has been unable to shake. Every other plan to get her hands on diapers or pull-ups has failed up to now. But this time it is going to be different. This time it is going to work. This time she isn’t going to back out at the last minute. The plan is simple. All Madelyn has to do is intentionally begin to wet the bed at night. Then, her parents will have no choice but to get her the diapers she so badly desires. What could possibly go wrong? Chapter 1: Daydreams in Class I will not chicken out this time. That was what I had told myself two days ago. That was also what I had told myself yesterday. Third time was the charm, right? It was easy to put a bold face to my latest harebrained scheme to acquire diapers from the safety of my daydreams. It was much harder when the time came to actually carry out the plan that had been brewing in the back of my mind for the past year – one I had finally decided to put into motion this week. Why would a 12-year-old girl want to wear diapers in the first place? I don’t know. All I know is that for the past three years, nothing I have done has been successful at getting this obsession out of my head. I certainly didn’t have any interest in being a baby. My younger brother, Jackson, is only six years old. I discovered where Mom kept all his old baby stuff long ago. I’ve tried his old pacifiers, bottles, and sippy cups. None of those items held any appeal for me. I can’t stand kids’ TV shows. I can’t color to save my life. And don’t get me started on dollhouses, barbies, and whatever other toys babies like to play with. In every aspect of my life other than this strange desire for diapers, I wanted to act my age. My latest plan all started a year ago with a magazine and a desire to procrastinate on my homework. There had to be some level of irony to the fact that this latest idea came about when I was seated on the porcelain throne. Mom had almost a dozen different magazines she subscribed to. Most of them found their way to the bathroom, which was also probably the only circumstance where I would have even considered reading them in the first place. I was already finished doing my business, but leaving the bathroom meant needing to continue a homework assignment I’d been slowly picking away at for the past hour. The only reason I even bothered to pick up a copy of the Reader’s Digest on that day about a year ago was for the few sections where it had funny jokes and stories. That, and I had left my smartphone in the bedroom. I really didn’t know how my parents managed when they were my age. I skimmed through the first section of jokes. Whoever had put together this edition of the magazine had totally mailed it in. There was a completely unoriginal one about redheads and souls that had me tempted to toss the magazine in the garbage. I mean, with how many magazines Mom had, would she even miss it? Redhead jokes get old really quick when you’ve had people telling you them your whole life. It has been forever since I’d been told one I hadn’t heard before. And even longer since I’ve been told one that was actually funny. Maybe I would have better luck with the second humor section toward the back of the magazine. I flipped through the pages casually when one of the advertisements caught my eye. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. There it was. Right on the page. An exact replicate of the pull-up I had briefly stolen from a cousin two years ago. But there was more. That pull-up from two years ago had been the boys’ designs. This ad showed that there were ones for girls as well. And even though I’d had a pretty good growth spurt in the past two years, the product info indicated that I wasn’t even close to being too big to wear them. I didn’t tuck the magazine in the trash, but I did take it with me from the bathroom, burying it deep inside my box of miscellaneous things in my bedroom. I’ve looked at that page at least once a day for the past year. “Earth to Maddy. Earth to Maddy. We’re calling in.” My head jerked upright from the hard wooden desk in my math classroom to the sound of laughter. “Here!” I called back to our math teacher. “Well, thank you for joining us again, Maddy. Now,” he said, pointing to a cluster of numbers, letters, and symbols on the whiteboard, “that we’ve isolated ‘x’ on this side of the equation. Can you tell us what it is?” I had enough trouble paying attention in classes that I liked. For ones I hated? The temptation to daydream was hard to resist. And I hated math class. It was hard enough when we were dealing with regular numbers. I would be lucky to scrape by with a “B-” on my report card. But now, with the end of the school year in sight, my math teacher had ever-so-helpfully decided to give us a sneak peek of some of the things we got to look forward to learning next year in eighth grade. I sucked at long division. But it at least made sense conceptually. The numbers were real, even if doing the work to get the answer was tedious. But now there was this thing the teacher called Algebra, where we were supposed to be adding up letters as well as numbers, which was beyond my ability to comprehend. Every “x” and “y” on the whiteboard seemed designed to taunt me. May as well put a “D” or a “C” on the board, as that was about what I could expect on my report card next year if this was what was in store for me. I stared blankly at the whiteboard with the sinking feeling that even if I had been paying attention for the past five minutes, I wouldn’t be any closer to understanding what was going on. “Um,” I said, picking at my nails while I continued to stare ahead. I had to at least give some kind of guess. But my brain and my mouth sometimes aren’t exactly in sync with one another. “The spot.” “I’m sorry. What was that?” Mr. Thompson asked. “You know, the spot. Like, ‘x’ marks the spot.” The classroom was full of laughter again. This time with me rather than at me. I made eye contact with one of my friends, Angie, who turned to look back at me from the front row. We shared a smirk at the joke. Mr. Thompson sighed. “Everyone settled down, please.” He gave me a look that suggested he might be once again telling my parents about how I had apparently been disruptive in class. “Now, Maddy, if you had been paying attention as we worked through this problem, you would know that the answer was actually…” I didn’t even manage to pay attention long enough to get to the answer to what ‘x’ happened to be or what sorcery had been used to arrive at that conclusion. I fixed my eyes on a spot on the whiteboard, a method I had mastered to trick teachers into thinking I was actually paying attention to their nonsense when I’d rather be daydreaming. My thoughts slipped back toward my plans for this evening. The third time had to be the charm, right? It wasn’t really my fault the first two attempts at wetting the bed had failed. The first night, I had simply been too tired. We’d had an exhausting soccer game that evening that had gone on to overtime, and we’d been shorthanded, so I hadn’t spent almost any time on the bench. I had fully intended to stay up past midnight but had used the excuse of being tired to back out of it. Instead, I let myself drift off to sleep without wetting the bed. During the second night, I’d managed to stay up until 1 a.m., but I had found it impossible to make myself pee. I simply hadn’t had enough to drink. I had considered simply pouring water on my bed, but I was worried that might not be convincing enough should my parents make a closer examination of my bedding. I could have snuck off for a glass of water in the kitchen and stayed up another hour, but again, I chickened out and pushed the plan off to another night. But tonight was going to be different. I was going to be drinking as much water as I could tonight, and I would skip going to the toilet before going to bed. Plus, tonight was Friday, which meant it was pizza night, so as long as I picked out a caffeinated soda, I should be able to keep myself up late enough for this plan to work. I realized that I was likely going to have to keep this up for multiple nights. One random night of bedwetting — after having never wet the bed since I had been potty trained at the age of two — wouldn’t be enough to convince my parents to take action. But if I could have the courage to keep it up long enough, they would have no choice but to purchase the pull-ups shown on the magazine page for me. I would make sure to leave that old magazine out in a way that would get Mom to see the advertisement. It was a desperate move, but I couldn’t wait any longer for the pull-ups. I knew from other advertisements I’d seen that these pull-ups were sold in stores. Had there been a store close by that I could bike to, I might have considered going out and purchasing some for myself on a day when I had been left at home on my own. But that wasn’t an option for me. I still had over three years to go before I would be old enough to get my own driver’s license. I had already waited three years for this. I couldn’t possibly wait three more. “Maddy. Earth to Maddy. Hey!” There was the sound of hands clapping together a single time. More laughter. I blinked rapidly, adjusting my gaze over to Mr. Thompson, where he was standing at the front of the classroom with his palms still pressed together from making the noise he had used to so rudely interrupt my daydreams. “Maddy, please just take one of the homework sheets and pass the rest behind you.” I looked straight ahead, where Chloe was holding a stack of papers with her arm stretched out toward me. She rolled her eyes at me as I grabbed them from her. In a rare moment of self-control, I did not stick my tongue out at her. I took one of the homework sheets and passed the remaining one behind me to where one of my two best friends was sitting. The three of us had initially been seated next to each other. But Mr. Thompson decided a few weeks into the school year that doing so was too much of a distraction. Emma, who had been seated to my right, was switched to the seat behind me. Angie, who had been on my left, had worse luck. Not only was she moved to the front of the class, but she had to sit next to Ryan, who had the disgusting habit of picking his nose in public. But that was OK. We’d have the whole weekend together. Tonight was the beginning of the playoffs for our U13 soccer team. We’d had a moderately successful season, meaning we’d managed to somehow win more games than we lost over the past several months. It was disappointing that the spring soccer season was so close to coming to an end, but we had the opportunity to keep it going this weekend if we could manage to string a few victories together. The bell rang as the final class of the week came to an end. Mr. Thompson belted out more instructions about the homework as I slid the piece of paper, with all its archaic symbols and equations, into my backpack. I’d just ask Angie and Emma later to see if there was something I’d missed in his instructions. I joined my two friends in the hallway. We all lived in the same neighborhood, so we rushed off to catch the bus together. They chatted excitedly about the game tonight, but I walked alongside them in silence. My thoughts were somewhere entirely else. My mind settled on the image of the pull-up I had held in my hand three years ago. The few minutes where I had examined it thoroughly, my fingers tracing over its whole surface. How it had felt to wear it for a couple of minutes before I was forced to set it aside, not knowing the opportunity was one I wouldn’t get again for years. Should everything go as planned, I would be wearing a pull-up again in less than a week. But to accomplish that, I needed to wet the bed tonight – on purpose. <><><> Three years ago If there was a single moment that perhaps best defined the last three years of my life, it was that day three years ago when it all began. The day I first laid eyes on a simple object that would become an obsession I would never be able to shake off. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I knew, intellectually, that this was what people were supposed to do. But even the sight of my aged great-grandfather lying in the open casket hadn’t moved me to tears. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t sad, but it was a more abstract kind of sadness. That kind that has someone thinking heavy thoughts about what happens after death, not that kind that leaves someone bawling on their knees. I had no memories of the man lying in the casket. My parents said I had met my great-grandfather three times. But I had been too young to have any memories of those visits. My older sister, Grace, on the other hand, was devastated. It was her first funeral as well. She had memories of her great-grandfather. The man in the casket was not an abstract concept to her, but the ghost of someone who had played with her and held her in his arms. Jackson cried as well, but that was just because he was a baby. You could never exactly tell what it was that they were upset about most of the time. The three-year-old boy likely just needed a nap. But the funeral home wasn’t where that pivotal event in my life transpired; it was merely marked the event that gave cause for all my distant relations – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins – to join together from where they were all scattered across the country. The reception after the funeral was where the fateful moment occurred. The adults ate, drank, and smoked while kids split into playing games with others of their age. There was a cohort of preschoolers huddled around a TV, watching stupid kids’ shows. On the other end of the spectrum was a collection of angsty teenagers Grace had abandoned me to hang out with. They weren’t particularly welcoming of youngsters, and my normally friendly sister had shooed me off after I attempted to tag along with her. Not that I cared that much. Other than my sister, teenagers made me a bit apprehensive. Besides, there were a half-dozen other kids my age to hang out with. My mom introduced me to two boys shortly after we arrived at the house for the reception. One of them, Alex, was eight. Though he made clear he would be nine in a few weeks, which would make him as old as me. His younger brother, Timothy, was seven. The boys were distant cousins from half-way across the country. There was some technical term Mom used for exactly what type of cousin they were to me — second cousins, twice removed. That didn’t mean anything to me. All that mattered was that they were my age and more than open to finding some way to play in order to pass the time while the adults did whatever adults did. We hit it off immediately. We did what kids that age normally do. We fell into the habit of playing simple games with each other as if we had been friends all of our lives. The two brothers were staying at the house where the reception was being hosted, so it was only fair that they gave me a tour of the massive building. We explored the expansive backyard, winding our way through the adults in the garden until we were shooed away. We played in the basement for a while, which had foosball and ping-pong tables before the teens decided that was where they wanted to be hanging out instead. But there was still plenty of house to explore. Alex and Timothy led me up a winding staircase to some rooms upstairs, where they had been sleeping while their family stayed with the relatives who were hosting the reception. That’s when I stumbled across a stunning revelation. One that would shape my life for the next three years. Haunt my dreams. Hound my thoughts. Practically drive me crazy as I was often left incapable of thinking of anything else. There was something out-of-place sitting in the corner of the room on top of a pile of discarded laundry. I tended to usually say the first thing that came to mind without regard to whether it was socially appropriate to do so. I wasn’t any better at that at the age of nine. I pointed at a blue undergarment in the corner that didn’t exactly look like a normal piece of underwear. It was not as though I didn’t have a good suspicion of what it was. But I wanted confirmation. “What is that?” Timothy walked casually over to the corner and picked it up. “Oh, that’s my pull-up.” I looked at the item in his hand. He was seven. That couldn’t possibly be his. I felt sure I was the subject of some kind of joke. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re too old to wear pull-ups.” “Older kids sometimes need to wear pull-ups,” he said, still holding the item in his hand. His defiance left me no less confused. I rolled my eyes. “I doubt that even fits you.” I hadn’t intended in any way to dare them to put the pull-up on. But that must be how that statement had come across. Alex snatched the pull-up out of his brother’s hand and tugged it on over his dress pants. “See,” he said. “It fits. We wear them ’cause we still wet the bed.” They were bedwetters. And they weren’t the least bit ashamed of it. That was at least a topic that I understood. I had no intention of teasing or bullying them. While neither my brother nor I were bedwetters, my older sister had wet the bed up until a year or so ago. Why hadn’t I put together a connection between pull-ups and bedwetting? Come to think of it. I wasn’t even sure if Grace had worn pull-ups during her bedwetting phase. She had her own room, which I was very much forbidden from going into, so if she had, there wasn’t any way I would have known about it. When I had first learned of my older sister’s predicament, my parents had sat down with me and calmly explained what bedwetting was and how I was to never shame or tease her about it. And given how privately they had handled her condition, and the fact that it hadn’t ever impacted my life at all, I truthfully hadn’t ever given her bedwetting much of a thought. Alex mistook my pensiveness while considering my sister’s bedwetting to mean that I was still confused about the topic. He launched into a long explanation with words like enuresis, explaining how bedwetting was just a medical condition that he and his brother would grow out of. “Do you wet the bed?” Timothy asked me. “No,” I replied. I came close to continuing my reply and accidentally outing my sister, but I would never do something that mean to her. Alex still had the pull-up around his waist, completely unconcerned with how silly it looked. The pull-up had a picture of Spiderman, my favorite superhero, on the front. I pointed that out, which led to another conversation about which Marvel superheroes we liked best. Timothy was big on Iron Man. But Alex insisted that Batman was better than any of them. My eyes kept glancing down at Alex’s waist. I found myself unable to look away from the pull-up for long. The sight of the pull-up around Alex’s waist raised another thought. That pull-up would fit me just as well. My distant cousin and I were both about the same size, after all. I didn’t question the desire to wear the pull-up. Once the impulse had taken hold of me, there was little else I could think of as I distractedly continued the conversation with my cousins. Our parents called us down for dinner. Alex ripped the pull-up off and tossed it back in the corner of the room before we retreated down the stairs. I was unable to concentrate during dinner. Alex and Timothy were across the table from me, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut about what I had just witnessed. I was filled to the brim with questions, most of which I would have to keep inside unless I were presented with another chance to have a private discussion with those two bedwetting cousins. But there was one question more important than any of them. One perhaps best answered on my own rather than by asking them. What did it feel like to wear a pull-up? While the adults were content to sit and chat around at the table long after their plates were clean, that wasn’t the case for us kids, and soon we were back to running around; Timothy, Alex, and I were joined by another four cousins. Big houses and hide and seek go hand in hand together. We agreed that hiding upstairs in the house was against the rules for the game of hide and seek. That meant that the upstairs room where the pull-ups were waiting for me was technically off-limits. But I didn’t care one bit about the game. Anyway, making the upstairs rooms off-limits had been my idea. An absolutely brilliant stroke of genius for a then nine-year-old girl. In one move, I’d ensured that no one would be up there when I went looking for the pull-up and that I would be safe from anyone following after me. I took quick glances in both directions as I stood at the base of the stairway. Perfect. There were no other kids in sight. I leaped up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time with each upward lunge until I was safely around the corner and out of sight. I encountered my first problem when I made it to the bedroom where Timothy and Alex had been sleeping. I had somehow assumed that the pull-up Alex had ripped off could be fixed. I seemed to recall that the pull-ups my brother had worn a year ago had Velcro sides. But that wasn’t the case with these bedwetting pull-ups for some reason. But there had to be additional pull-ups elsewhere. There couldn’t be any way that the boy’s parents would risk them peeing all over the bed while they were spending the night as guests. I didn’t have any luck in the first suitcase that I looked through, nor the second, but the third one was where I struck gold. There were more than a dozen pull-ups tucked into the side of the suitcase. Surely, they wouldn’t notice if one of them happened to go missing. I grabbed a pull-up and bundled the pull-up into a ball, tucking it into the waistband of my skirt. I was sure that was not nearly as discreet as I thought it was at the time. But, to my good fortune, I was able to make it to a nearby bathroom without being caught. The adults were busy downstairs, and my cousins, who were playing hide and seek, were doing a better job than I was at abiding by the rules. I locked the bathroom door behind me. I double and triple-checked to make sure the door was actually locked. I removed the pull-up from under my skirt and held it in my hands. I didn’t stop then to think through how bizarre the whole situation was at the time. I think I must have stood there looking at it for several minutes. Feeling how it crinkled beneath my touch, testing out the sides to see how far they could stretch, rubbing my fingers down the padded interior. I was completely and utterly fascinated by it. The desire was no more explainable than a moth being drawn to a flame, a kitten to catnip, or a raven to a shiny object. I cautiously slid my arms through the leg holes, stretching the pull-up out in front of me. Not only was it more than stretchy enough for me, but it could probably fit a kid twice as wide as I was. Now came the moment of truth. I removed my skirt and underwear. The pull-up had a side that was helpfully labeled as the back, so I knew which way to put it on. As I brought the pull-up into place around my waist, it was like sliding the final piece of a puzzle into place. I turned around so that I could look at my reflection in the mirror. I lifted up the front of my skirt so that the whole pull-up was in view. It practically came up all the way to my belly button. There was something about the way it hugged my sides, the way the soft padding pressed against my skin as I sat down on the toilet lid and the way it crinkled quietly as I paced across the bathroom that left me completely enamored. There was just one thing left to do. And I didn’t have much time before everyone noticed that I was missing. I lifted up the lid of the toilet seat and sat down while still wearing the pull-up. One of my deepest regrets was that I had went to go potty right before the game of hide and seek began, meaning there wasn’t anything waiting to come out of my bladder at the moment. I tried. I really did. I wanted to know. I had to know. What would it feel like to pee into a pull-up? It couldn’t be bad. Alex and Timothy hadn’t seemed to be put off at all by waking up in a wet pull-up every morning. But nothing happened. The timing was off. My bladder wouldn’t cooperate. And time was up. I needed to be out of the bathroom in a couple of minutes. I considered it a radical idea. What if I put my underwear and skirt over the top of the pull-up? I could continue to wear it until I actually needed to pee. I nearly did it. I really, truly, honestly nearly did it. But then I chickened out. The same way I would, time and time again for years afterward. It was too risky. A small trickle of shame was diluting my euphoria. I knew that despite how ecstatic I was at my discovery, the reality of anyone else discovering this secret — and the relentless shame and teasing that would follow — would be devastating. I wasn’t like Alex or Timothy. I didn’t have the veneer of bedwetting to hide behind as an excuse for wearing a pull-up. I slid the pull-up off of my legs. I intended to put it back in the suitcase. Then it would be like nothing had ever happened. That’s when I encountered a second problem. Apparently, I had gone potty in the pull-up after all. Not a lot, just the teensiest of tinkles. But it was enough to leave a tiny yellow patch the size of a quarter smack dab in the middle of the pull-up. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had even noticed it in the first place. That would have made for an awkward situation for Alex and Timothy had I put the pull-up back in the suitcase. I peered into the trash can. I was in luck. I could make out two pull-ups at the bottom of the small trash can. One had been turned inside out, the color of its interior leaving no doubt as to the truthfulness of Alex’s description of his and his brother’s bedwetting. I bunched up the pull-up and tossed it in the trash can. I didn’t think it was likely that anyone would be paying too much attention to notice the addition of one more pull-up in it. My curiosity sated, I returned to the game of hide and seek, pretending that I had been expertly moving in between hiding places to avoid being spotted. I didn’t think anymore about the pull-up until later that evening when we were lying in bed at the hotel. Jackson was little enough that he could sleep on a padded mat and sleeping bag on the floor while Grace and I shared a bed – an experience that hadn’t gone well the past couple of nights, as it had been interrupted by midnight accusation of blanket theft. If it had just been Grace and me in the room, if Mom, Dad, and Jackson hadn’t been around to overhear it, I might have worked up the courage to ask my older sister about her bedwetting. I wasn’t even sure if she knew that I knew about it. But I had to know. Had she worn the same pull-ups as Alex and Timothy? Was there perhaps a style that came in colors and designs for girls? But we weren’t alone, and those questions went unasked. The drive home wasn’t any easier. I didn’t touch my tablet, which had been my constant companion on the trip here. Instead, I stared out the window. But I wasn’t paying any attention to the passing cities and landscapes. Instead, my mind was replaying the events of the previous day, in particular, the few precious minutes when I had my hands on the pull-up. I was filled with a deep sense of longing and regret. Why had I thrown the pull-up in the trash? Why hadn’t I put it back on beneath my skirt? I would have had it with me now. I could have been wearing it now. Of course, I did know better. I would have had no issue wearing the pull-up out of the house, but once we had gotten to the hotel, there wouldn’t have been any realistic way for me to have kept it concealed. But the acknowledgment of that reality did nothing to lessen my longing for the pull-up. I had nothing but time as I began to scheme up all the different ways I could get my hands on another one, or better yet, an actual diaper. What would I have done if I had known the wait was to be measured in years rather than days, weeks, or months? --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

Hello, this is another idea I've had for a fair bit. It may be slightly influenced by French Whines (kudos to the author of it; probably one of my favorite stories I've read on this site), except...well, this is more supernatural than anything. And now, for WARNINGS: there will be political undercurrents in this story. If you're not a fan of Israel or Arab countries, well, I will say this story probably won't be for you (as I am ethnically Jewish from my mom and have the utmost respect for all religions - so long as they aren't hurting people - including Christianity and Islam, my feelings, as much as I want to be an impartial observer, may spill out. I apologize beforehand, but this story is something I feel I had to write from the bottom of my heart after all that's happened). But I PROMISE beforehand, there will be a good ending to this; I may be cynical about our irl chances if/when another huge war spills out, but that doesn't mean this story has to be. Of course, politics and the bigotry (portrayed in antagonists INCLUDING THIS CHAPTER, JUST SO YOU'RE WARNED) are there, but I promise to be respectful in that regard. Violence is there, given the subject matter. Language is a given with any of my stories. And of course, gender-swapping is a major thing, and I promise to be respectful in that regard as well. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Thank you in advance! Now, to start the story: - Chapter One: Death is Not the End. - Lieutenant Lavi Zingel’s calm brown eyes were constantly aware of their surroundings, for danger was close by. He was deep undercover in Sayeret Matkal’s operation in Egypt; if he was found out, Israel could deny any involvement. Operation Rebirth was risky, but he had been the first to volunteer for it. It was all he could do for his country, was it not? Ten top Israeli scientists had been captured by a shadowy Iranian-proxy organization, and it required a delicate touch; only one man could be sent to infiltrate, and he was perfect, as he was of Arabic and Jewish descent (from his father and mother, respectively), and looked the part with dark olive skin, and a full dark-brown beard. Mossad was worried that Alraabitat Almunahidat Lilsihyuniati (Anti-Zionist League, honestly, couldn’t they think of a more original name than that?) was forcing the scientists to build nuclear weapons in Egypt, which would then be shipped to Syria and Lebanon. Zingel was as skilled a combatant as had ever gone through Sayeret Matkal; everyone in the secretive unit knew it. He had aced every test, physical, medical, psychological, had been pushed to his limits and beyond, and he had come out of it stronger than ever before, a weapon who could kill a man hundreds of different ways. But the main thing that separated him from the others was his mind. He was an omniglot, fluent in over twenty languages and dialects. He had graduated top of his class in high school, a 750 on the Psychometric Entrance Test, summa cum laude in all classes, with a bagrut certificate. He was knowledgeable about how nuclear weapons worked, having had his Egyptian-Israeli father and Israeli mother working on them. It didn’t surprise him that he was the first choice for the mission. What did surprise him, as he looked at the weapons, was that they were far from nuclear armaments. Quite simply, as he looked at the manifests, saw the tired scientists working (not just Israeli, but Egyptian as well), it was far from nuclear. This was a weapon of which the likes had never been seen on this planet before, something he had as much a clue about as the workings of God: in other words, none. Then there was shouting, and he turned around to see a large Arabic man hit a short, heavyset Egyptian woman, who took the hit with stunned disbelief. “I don’t want excuses!” the man roared. “I wanted Project Rebirth to be up-and-running a week ago! I should kill you all, you worthless piles of shit!” “But…what you’re asking…” one of the Israeli scientists, a woman, spoke up timidly. “It’s impossible. This is God’s work, not-” “I DON’T GIVE A DAMN WHAT PIGS LIKE YOU SAY!” the man shouted, closing the distance and shoving a gun in the scientist’s face. “I wanted this to be done long ago! It should’ve been sent to Lebanon and Syria long ago! It should’ve detonated in Tel Aviv, the city of rats like you, long ago!” Zingel was torn. On the one hand, nothing could compromise his identity. Mossad specifically said that the weapons were the priority. But compassion had been instilled in him as well from his parents, and he wanted to rescue the hostages - for clearly the Egyptian scientists were just as much hostages as the Israelis. He took a chance. “Excuse me, sir,” Zingel said politely. “Yes, what is it?” the man snapped. “If we kill them, all hope for Project Rebirth is lost.” The operative was using all of his silver-tongued charm to both keep his cover and spare the lives of the hostages. “And the Zionists would attack us without recourse. Wouldn’t it be better to spare them just a day?” The man gave the operative a cold look. “Who the hell are you?” he snapped. “Dr. Mourad Slimani,” Zingel said in a perfect Algerian Arabic dialect. “I’ve been on this project since day one.” The man gave him a smile. “Well, Dr. Slimani, I suppose there’s no harm,” he said with a shrug. “It’s mostly finished anyway. All that’s left is to shoot them.” Zingel didn’t even blink, didn’t give anything away. “And once the weapon has been tested? What’s stopping the Zionists from attacking? You have to know that they’d send someone?” “I’d be surprised if they didn’t, my good doctor. But I suppose a heretic is as good as an infidel for this purpose.” He holstered his first pistol and grabbed the heavyset Egyptian woman - who had surprisingly dark skin for an Egyptian - by the hair with one hand, a second gun in the other, as she pleaded, “Please, please, I’m a mother, I have children!” “Shut up, you warped whore!” The man hit her in the face with the pistol. “I’ve killed many mothers and their children; don’t think you can negotiate that way with your life on the line!” A cruel smile played on his face. “But I’m not going to shoot you. He is.” He flipped the gun to offer to Zingel. “You can’t be serious! I’m a doctor, I swore not to take lives!” he protested. “You can shoot her…or I can. I can give you five seconds to decide, Dr. Slimani.” Zingel was trapped, and he knew it when he felt the weight of the semi-auto pistol. There was only one bullet in the chamber, which could only mean one thing: he was burnt. Who did it didn’t matter; he knew his cover had been blown. What he did next was impulsive as hell, but he didn’t feel like he had an option. He took the gun…and dropped it, proceeding to draw a hidden knife from his lab coat, grabbing the large man by the throat and backing them both against the wall, as armed guards went in the room, aiming their weapons at them. “You know you don’t have to shoot any of them,” the operative said calmly, as more guards had arrived and had drawn their weapons, shouting at him. The scientists were cowering on the floor…except for the heavyset Egyptian, who was looking at him…curiously? “You know damn well that these aren’t nuclear weapons.” “Of course not!” the man laughed. “Is that what your precious Zionist special agency said, ‘Dr. Slimani’ - or, should I say, Lieutenant Lavi Zingel? They’re not infallible.” “Then what are they?” “Something that will end the lives of all Zionists, purge the Western infidels, and-” “Shut up!” Zingel spat, drawing a tiny bit of blood from the man’s throat. “I asked what the weapons did, not the overarching goal.” “Why should I tell you anything?” “We’re both dead men either way. Feel free to state what you were planning on doing. I don’t have a wiretap, on my oath to God.” “The oath to your god?” “No. It can be yours if you wish. But I have no reason to lie. You’re the leader of this project. So spill.” The man laughed. “You should’ve been born a merchant, not an Israeli pig with that tongue of yours. Devil’s tongue. You think I’m the leader of this project? You think I’m in charge? No, this reaches far beyond your limited comprehension, into the heart of your supposed ‘allies’.” Zingel’s heart dropped. “The United States.” “Very perceptive of you. That is correct: there is an element in the United States who wants this weapon and would pay us by knifing the Zionist regime in the back. I don’t care what the hell they do with this weapon; they’ve paid us with nuclear armaments already. Israel will soon be no more!” “Not if I have anything to say about it!” The man stabbed the Israeli operative in the leg with an odd stone knife and shouted, “Praise be to God! Open fire!” Zingel felt the pain from the stone knife lance through his leg, felt shots nail him in his torso, passing through the man to get to his heart, as the knives from both slipped from their grasps. He slumped against the wall, tearing out the knife he had been stabbed with - it had hit his femoral artery, and he knew he was a dead man anyway, no matter what - breathing ragged gasps. The Arab man was dead, a sadistic grin permanently etched on his face. “That. Is. Enough.” The Israeli looked in shock as the Egyptian woman, now twice as tall as any man and bearing animalian features all over her body: the paws and limbs of a lioness, a crocodilian tail and back, the breasts of a human woman, and the face of a hippopotamus. A very angry hippo. The scared guards aimed at her, but she merely waved a paw, and the guns melted away, the armed guards in the room shriveling into mummies in an alarmingly-short time. The Israeli and Egyptian scientists had their eyes closed and were seemingly sleeping before they vanished into thin air. “Wha-” Zingel coughed up blood, as the creature turned to him. He cowered; he knew enough about Egyptian mythology from his father to know who this…goddess was. But he saw her eyes soften when they saw him. “Shh…it is okay, little one,” she cooed. “I am here.” “But…Ta-wa-ret…” His eyes were tinged red, darkness slowly slipping over them, as he hacked up blood from his ruined lungs. “Yes.” Tawaret’s black eyes were warm, and a sense of security washed over the dying man. “The scientists are safe, away from here, their memories of these horrors gone. But you…you have been hurt with the weapon, my own powers. I cannot heal you, but there is another way I can keep you alive. You, the bridge between worlds, the one who does what is right, must stay alive, must find the ability to stop the world from warring once again, for it will be the end of all. Do you understand, little one? Just nod if you agree.” Lavi Zingel nodded once, as the last breath left his body and darkness swallowed him whole. - I will explain what all of the Israeli things mean (I hope Google Translator did okay with the rare Arabic...): Sayeret Matkal = Israeli special forces, equivalent to British Special Air Service and United States Delta Force. Specializes in deep reconnaissance for intelligence gathering, but also does black operations, combat search-and-rescue, counterterrorism, hostage rescue, manhunts beyond Israel's borders, etc. Mossad = National intelligence agency for Israel, responsible for gathering information, counterterrorism, and covert operations. Much like United States' CIA. Psychometric Entrance Test = Israel's standardized test/entrance exam, based on quantitative reasoning, verbal reasoning, and English. Scores range from 200 to 800. Basically, that means that Lavi's a genius. Bagrut certificate = A certificate that says a student passed the matriculation exam for Israel. High scoring ones like what Lavi had are necessary to go into higher-leveled jobs.

Prologue 19 Years earlier. "Sarah, I know you don't want me to leave but I want a better life for my child, I don't want her to grow up thinking bad about little's." "Liam little's have it better now then when we were kids, I know you still don't like how some are treated but there is not much we can do." "REALLY SARAH? DAD OWNS THE BIGGEST COMPANY THAT MAKES LITTLE DIAPERS, TOYS, CLOTHES, AND FURNITURE. WE ARE RICH WE CAN MAKE CHANGE BUT YOU AND DAD REFUSE TOO!!!!!" "Liam please calm down I don't need the stress we both know you mean well, why do you think I had the idea to go?" "I'm sorry Ella, I am trying not to yell anymore." "Ella, Liam I will make you a deal when dad gives me the company, I will save your share of it. Liam as long as you bring your new son or daughter to see me that's all I ask please?" Liam sighs knowing his sister means the best but is still too young to fully understand. "Ok deal once our child turns 18 we will come back and stay here if all parties want too." "That is fair Liam. Then I guess Liam and Ella its goodbye for now I'll miss you both." "Bye Sarah I'll miss you." "Bye my great sister in-law we will both miss you. bye for now but not forever." Both having said their goodbyes walk through the portal to Earth to start their new life. Present day. Chapter 1. 12 Hours earlier before the trip to see Sarah. "Mom where is my suitcase I need to pack some more clothes before we leave." "Amelia really? You have three so far you don't need anymore, we don't have a lot of room as it is." "Amelia listen to your mother, we can't take that much stuff we have a limit to what we can take with us to see your aunt Sarah. She said she will come pick us up once we get to her Dimension and take us out to eat. Remember Amelia once we get there, we will be a lot bigger, I was 13 feet before I left, and your mom was 12 almost 13 feet too and we were taller than most bigs. Both me and your mom think you will be maybe 12-13 feet, but we don’t know." "I know dad I just can’t believe you have a sister in the other Dimension, why didn't you tell me before?" "Me and your mom wanted to wait tell you were 18 before we took you to see her." "I know I'm a big, but you didn't have to wait to tell me you know." "sweetie we didn't think you would be ready tell you were older, but we are sorry we didn't tell you." "It's ok just please don't keep secrets from me." "We won't keep anymore secrets from you, from now on Amelia does that sound fair." "Totally." Amelia and both of her parent's pack their bags in the car and go grab some breakfast getting ready to leave in a few hours. "Mom can we have pancakes before we go?" "Sure, let me make a few you want anything on them?" "No mom I'm fine with plan." Amelia mom gives her and her dad some pancakes with butter to eat for breakfast, then sits down herself and starts to eat hers. "Mom can we get a few things from town to give to Aunt Sarah as a gift please?" "Sure, once your father and I are ready ok, go meet us in the car we will be out soon." "Ok mom you and dad hurry up." Amelia heads to the car and gets in the backseat to wait for her mom and dad. God, I hope they don't take forever I really want to get aunt Sarah something but what would she like? Hm I'll have to ask dad she is his sister after all. "Liam are you sure this is a good idea? I mean she has never been there, and we only told her about her aunt a month ago." "Ella it's ok I think she is at least old enough to know who my family and your family are. even if your family are bad people." Ella sighs loudly. " I know Liam that's why I hate my family. What they do to little's should be illegal." "Let’s just try and not be around your family too much ok Ella, lets meet them at the mall or somewhere public." "Sounds good dear you ready." "Yes, dear let’s get going to town." All Liam can think about now is how Ella's family will react when they find out she has a kid now. Ella can’t help but think to herself how her parents will react to Amelia, and to the fact we are visiting Sarah more then them. Ella and Liam make their way to the car and hope in and buckle up. "ok Amelia where do you want to go?" "Well um dad what does Aunt Sarah like?" "Well get her something that means a lot to you I'm sure she will love it cause it's from you." "How about I get a photo of us and fame it and give it to her?" "That sounds perfect dear let’s get her that." "Thanks for the help dad." "No problem Minnie." Liam says has he laughs a bit to himself. "DADDDD don't call me that I'm not 10 anymore." "Minnie be nice to your dad." "Not you too mom. I can't win, can I?" "Nope dear me and your dad always win." Ella says as she chuckles As the car takes off dad drives them into town to get a good family photo and get it famed he stops by the photo studio and asks how long the wait time is for one photo and gets told it can be done right away. Liam Ella and Amelia walk in and are sat down right away. "Make sure you smile. Now say cheese." "Cheeseee." all three say at once. After its done Amelia finds the perfect frame for it. "Mom Dad can we get this one? It says it can't break." "Sure, that way no matter what Sarah will always have it." "Ok get in the car Minnie." "Mom pleaseee. At least don't do that in front of Aunt Sarah." Both Liam and Ella laugh knowing she hasn't seen the back of the photo. The amazing family jumps in the car and heads home to finish getting ready for the trip tonight, knowing it will take about an hour to get to the portal and that they will be arriving just when it's just starting to turn night, so they can meet Sarah then head to her house to sleep and hang out in the morning. Amelia thinks to herself on the ride home about meeting her Aunt. I wonder what she is like or how tall she is dad has not told me much about her other then her and dad are rich on the other side of the portal. Guess I'll find out tomorrow morning not sure I'll be able to stay awake tonight. The family gets home and Amelia heads to her room to chill for the rest of the day waiting for 10 pm when they leave to go to the portal. "Ella I'm worried about Amelia she has never been on the other side of the portal, I don't want her to think different of us for leaving it." "Liam calm down please she will be fine no matter what she won’t change just because it has little's, if she is anything like me, they won’t affect her. Hell, they didn't affect your sister too. That reminds me did your sister ever get a little. I know the CEO of the biggest company that sells little stuff should have a little too." "Honestly honey I don't think she ever did get a little she thought they might slow down her work and she wanted to takeover dad's work after I left, and he told her she would be CEO." Liam and Ella spend hour's talking about Sarah the other side and Amelia hoping everything goes well. Amelia sits in her room excited to go to the Portal and see the United States a group of 60 country's that hate little slaves but have laws to protect everyone. As the hours roll by she cant stop thinking about her aunt and where she lives hoping her aunt likes her and the present she got her. 8:45 pm rolls around and Liam and Ella get ready to leave. "Amelia are you coming sweetie we got to leave so we can get there before 10 pm. We need to beat the traffic so we can get there on time." "Coming mom! Don't leave me I really want to go." "Sweetie we are going for you so we won’t leave you." "Ella Amelia you both ready?" "Yes dad." "Yes dear." Amelia and her parents get in the car and start the hour-long drive to the portal to go to the U.S on the other side. "Mom is it ok if I take a nap?" "Yes, go ahead you might need it, I'm not sure what your aunt has planned but it might be a good idea." As Amelia takes a nap her parents talk about what Sarah might have planned when they get to a stop light, they go once it turns green but both of them never see the drunk driver in the semi before he hits them cutting the car in half killing both her parents instantly, then slamming the seat into her face breaking bones waking her up for a split second before her half gets tossed into the pole break the car more and causing her seat belt to fail and toss her from the car back first into a tree. Amelia starts to come to in the back of the ambulance. "Wha....." She passes out and her blood pressure drops low and she goes into shock before the Ambulance works knew what happened. "Give her fluids to increase the amount of fluid in her body QUICK!! We need to keep her alive tell we can get to the hospital. She’s going into hypovolemic shock!! Drive as fast as you can to the one by the portal it has the best tech go 100 MPH if u need to just drive faster!!!" "Quick pass me some saline and some large bore needles we need to keep her alive tell we get to the hospital!" "Quick use the anti-shock pants. We need to keep the blood up near the heart as much as possible." "Mack she’s losing too much blood and I can't tell what is broken and what’s not." "Jimmy breath ok? we need to just keep her stable. GORGE DRIVE FASTER GET A ESCORT IF YOU HAVE TOO!!!" " We got one Mack and we can’t go faster I'm topping the speed. We only got 5 miles tell we get there, I already radioed them and told them to get the ICU team ready and get the best tech." The ambulance pulls up to the hospital and there are over 20 doctors and nurse's waiting to help. they get Amelia out of the ambulance and into the hospital and up to the ICU and start to work on her the best they can. "Dammit do we have any info on her anyone?" "Sorry Dr Howard both her parents were killed on impact and all the info we can find is she has a Aunt in the U.S." "Your shitting me? Crap get me the hospital director and call the lawyer and tell him to meet me in the director's office quick. Keep that girl alive while I'm gone do whatever you can." Dr Howard runs as fast as he can to the director's office hoping they can save this girl. "Jean I need your help Sally is on her way too we need to make a call and now." "Shawn what have I told you about calling me Jean?" "Find out who Amelia Holloway's aunt is quick we don't got much time." "Was she the one that just came in?" "Yes, now hurry!" "Jean Shawn I'm here what did you want?" "Sally get a transfer order ready to move a patient though the portal to U.S." Both Sally and Jean scream what at the same time. "You’re kidding, right?" "No, I'm not now find her aunts number." "I already did once you said her last name, I knew who it was...." Sarah Holloway sat on the top floor of her building look at quarterly reports seeing a 7 increase in sales this quarter. "Miss Holloway, we have a hospital from Earth on the line. What do you want me to do?" "A hospital from Earth? put them through I'll take it in here." "Umm is this Sarah Holloway? "Yes, may I ask why you are calling?" The director sighs hoping this goes well. "Well I'm Director Jean I have my chef Doctor Shawn Howard and I also have our hospital lawyer Sally. We have a problem here and we need your help and it is a matter of life and death." Sarah starts to get really worried knowing what might be coming next. "Who is it? Who is in the hospital?" "It's your niece Amelia. She was in a drunk driving accident and sadly I'm sorry Miss Holloway. But she’s the only one out of both her parents and her." Sarah can help but break down crying knowing her only family may die. "Miss Holloway?" "It's fine tell me what needs to be done money is not a option ok?!?!?!" "Miss Holloway, we need you to sign some papers or give us a verbal ok while its recorded so we can send your niece to the U.S. to get help. Her only hope is the Nantes now." "DO IT NOW I DON'T CARE WHAT IS NEEDED OR HOW MUCH JUST DO IT!!" "Yes Miss Holloway goodbye for now." "You heard her Shawn get her to the portal now!" Shawn runs back to the ICU and gets ready for chaos. "EVERYONE LISTEN UP! Get her and everything we need we are running to the portal to get her to the hospital in U.S!" "Umm jean." "Yes, Sally I know I'm calling the other hospital now to give them the heads up and to get a team ready and normal Nantes." "I wish Amelia and miss Holloway the best of luck they will need it." "Me too Sally Me too." Howard and his team wait at the portal door for them to be given the go to push he through it. At last they are given the green light and they push her through to the other side hoping she may live but knowing she has at best a 10% chance to live. Everyone hopes she can come back and bury her parents soon. "Jessica tell the pilot up time to start the helicopter up now I'm going to the hospital by the portal and tell him there are no speed limits today." Jessica has never seen her boss like this and is scared but does what she says. "Yes boss" Jessica gives the pilot the heads up as Sarah leaves to head up to. "Joe top speed to the hospital now I don't care about any rules I'll fix it my niece might die so MOVIE IT." Joe knows he needs to go stop speed fearing the worse for Sarah's niece. "Yes, boss right away." Both Joe and Sarah head to the Hospital as Amelia gets taken inside to the waiting team of doctors trying to save her life.

Chapter 1: The Bet Emma was practically bouncing with excitement as she welcomed her friend Olivia into her home. The two friends had been planning this baby-sitting gig for weeks, and finally, the big day had arrived. Or rather, the not-so-big kid would arrive soon. Finally, having a break from college, the two of them couldn't wait to spend time together, and babysitting made the perfect storm. They both had time off, and neither of their parents would argue about such a good-willed idea, such as watching a little kid for a family friend, and best of all. He would be too little to be able to tattle on them as they had some fun girl time. Sure, they had to keep the little guy entertained, but that's what cartoons are for. As they settled in, sipping coffee and chatting about their plan of attack (aka getting through the next few hours without losing their minds), Olivia suddenly zeroed in on the diaper bag sitting on the floor. "Hey, how old is this little guy again?" she asked, eyeing the assortment of diapers and other baby-like items with amusement. Emma laughed and replied, "2 years! I'm basically his personal butler now." Olivia's grin grew wider as she reached for the diaper bag, pulling out a random diaper to examine. "Wow, these things are huge!" She looked up at Emma with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, you know what? I bet I can get you to fit into one of these." Emma's smile faltered for a moment before she regained her composure. "Oh, no way, Liv! You think I could possibly squeeze myself into one of Timmy's diapers?" She chuckled, confident, knowing full well that a young adult like herself surely had to be too big for something meant for toddlers. "There's no way I'd even come close to fitting – I'm way too big!" Olivia raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Emma's confidence. "Oh yeah? Alright, let me raise the stakes a bit. If you don’t fit into one of these diapers, I'll let you call the shots for the rest of the night – no questions asked. I'll change all the diapers, get him all the snacks, anything and everything you want." She paused for dramatic effect with a mischievous grin. "But if you do fit... then you have to pee in it." Emma's eyes widened in horror at the prospect. "Uh, no way! There’s no chance that thing will fit me." Emma chuckled nervously. Olivia's grin started looking less like amusement and more like genuine excitement for a real challenge to start off their fun weekend. "Then you have nothing to worry about. But I'm warning you, Emma – those diapers look pretty big." Emma's eyes were fixed on Olivia, still trying to convince herself that there was no way she'd fit into one of Timmy's diapers. But the thought of actually wearing a baby diaper and needing to pee in it sent shivers down her spine. "Make it the whole weekend." Emma wasn't about to risk something so embarrassing for just the evening. They only had Timmy for a few hours. No, if she was going to go through with this, she needed more than just a few hours. "If she really thinks it'll fit, she'll go for it. Then I'll have her pay for the pizza this weekend AND start my history homework for next semester." ""Hmmmm..." Olivia paused, wondering if it was worth the risk. "Deal, but I get to video you wetting it." "What! No way." Emma took a few steps back, horrified at what that level of blackmail could do. "Hey, you're the one that wants to take something from a few hours, small and innocent, and turn it into the whole weekend. Besides, you're too big for it, remember? So you have nothing to worry about," Olivia mocked Emma, trying to push her buttons. "Fine, fine," Emma said, holding up her hands in surrender. "You win. Deal. Let's just get this over with before Timmy gets here. If we got caught, we'd never be trusted to have a weekend alone again." Olivia let out a squeal of excitement and quickly started preparing the diaper. She grabbed some wipes and cream from the diaper baby. "Okay, 'baby' needs her diaper changed!" Olivia grinned, confident in her abilities. Emma giggled nervously at Olivia's overly excited demeanor. "I might have just made a huge mistake." Olivia began to peel off Emma's skirt and underwear, much like she would with a real baby. Olivia carefully cleaned Emma's bottom, then slapped on a generous layer of cream. "Liv, you don't have to use that stuff you know! It's not like I'm a real baby needing their butt protected from rashes or anything." Emma rolled her eyes annoyed on how far Olivia was taking this. "Oh, relax, I'm just having a time of fun. Now, time for the diaper, baby!" Olivia cooed, picking up one of the enormous diapers and holding it out so Emma could see the design. Unfolding the diaper, revealing how large they really are. "Alright, lift your butt, I need to get this under you." Olivia giggled, enjoying every moment of their silly bet. Emma felt a flutter in her chest as Olivia placed the diaper under her, ensuring it was centered. "Good girl! Now, back down." Olivia genitally pushed on Emma's waist, one hand guiding it back down. "The moment of truth." Olivia swiftly pulled up the front of the diaper and began stretching the sides, trying to get them to wrap around Emma's large waist. "Ha! See, there's no way it'll fit." Emma felt a little more confident seeing Olivia struggle to get the first tape in place. "Hold your horses; these things stretch. Now, lie back down. I got a bet to win" Olivia pushed Emma's chest backwards so that she was laying flat once again. "It's not going to work," Emma mocked Olivia. Oliva just focused on getting the tapes in place; she pulled one side, stretched it, and placed it to its limit into place. Holding it briefly. To her shock, it stayed. "Ha! One down." Emma's heart skipped a beat, as she felt the snug tape stubbornly staying in place. "Yeah, but there's no way the other one stays. Like, I have to be able to stand up with this thing on for it to count." Emma had to find a loophole; otherwise... she might have to pee in a diaper for the first time in over 14 years! "Ugh! Fine, but this is going to work" Olivia started to stretch the other side. Pulling and tugging at the tape, trying to get it to reach. Then, finally, it did! "Shit!" This is going to work," the first tape snapped back into place. "Told you, my butts are too big" Emma grinned; she was so close to winning this bet. "No, it's not." Olivia pulled the tape back into place, holding both sides in place for a moment ot ensure they would have some sticking power. The tapes seemed to be holding, and Emma held her breath. The diaper seemed... snug. But still, surely there was no way it could possibly fit... Then Olivia stepped back to admire her handiwork. Emma looked down at herself in horror as she realized that the diaper did indeed fit – but just barely. It was stretched taut across her bottom, and if she shifted even an inch, it felt like it might fall off. She hoped that as she stood up, it would just fall righ off, but it didn't. It held on. Olivia let out a triumphant shriek, pumping her fist in the air. "Yes! You're so busted, Emma! I knew it would fit you. You’re such a baby." Emma's face went bright red as she stared at herself in the mirror in the living room. She couldn't believe she'd actually managed to squeeze into one of Timmy's diapers. It was absurd... and yet, here she was. The sound of a car pulling up outside broke the spell, and Emma's eyes snapped to the clock. "Oh no, Liv – Timmy's here! I have to get out of this thing" Olivia grinned mischievously, holding onto Emma's panties. "Yeah, yeah... but first, we have a little bet of our to settle."

Katie Ann What do you do when you look 7 years old, but you're actually a college student in your late teens? For Kathleen's entire life, she had fought against people treating her much younger than her actual age. Feeling obligated to grow up fast to show people she wasn't the age of her size, Kathleen never let her inner child out. Tired of fighting against the world, she explores the adult submissive world. What she finds, however, is an enjoyment of regression. Had she made a mistake? Would life be better if she just let people treat her how she looks, 7 years old? By Becky Anne ©2018-2024 ~o~O~o~ Chapter One: The Website Nineteen-year-old Kathleen sat staring at her laptop, working on the courage to create an account and profile on the website she just found. She had found this website after taking out her frustrations on the Google search engine. Frustrations she acquired by rage quitting her multiplayer roleplayer game. Baron, her master in the game, turned out to be like most guys she has met online, only wanting sex, cybersex in Baron’s case. Submissive Match, the name of the website, kept staring at her from her purple laptop. It was distracting her from figuring out what she needed to acquire for her return to Mountain College. Not realizing she was doing it, she clicked the yellow create account button. Moving some of her auburn hair out of her view, she flipped back to her list of supplies needed for her return to college next month. “Hmm, most of these things I already have…” she thought. “Oh, I better buy some more notebooks. While I am at it, I will buy that new book by Percy Jackson, ‘Sea of Monsters.’” “It is too bad that Stephanie had financial aid issues. I wonder how this Allison is? Is she going to have a problem with a college roommate who is short enough to be her little sister?” She continued to herself as she looked at her roommate's information pamphlet. Flipping back to the website, “Let's see what they want… I am a submissive… oh, that pulls up a whole new form… some of the standard stuff … Kathleen … Why do they want my middle name … Annabelle Telgenhof … March 16, 1987… I guess the owner's choice for a submissive name … Email… Don’t send me spam from your sponsors… Don’t share my email with suggested owners... Password… I am not sure why they want this information… Weight… 55 pounds soaking wet… Height ... 4’5” rounded up... their selection doesn’t even go that small. I guess I have to choose less than 5’... Location… Pennsylvania… I guess I am looking for an online owner. Oh, what the hell, an offline owner, too... Let’s see, a short questionnaire, a short description, and a recent picture will finish it off.” Looking at the time, “Wowser, that took longer than I thought it would,” Kathleen thought as she put her laptop to sleep. She meets her mother, Marlene, in the kitchen after walking out of her bedroom. “Hello, sweetie. Do you want some ice cream?” Marlene asked as she was scooping into a bowl. “You know I can never turn down cookie dough, Mommie.” "We can watch AFHV as we eat it.” “Sounds like a plan.” “What are your plans for tomorrow while I am at school?” “I told them I would do some volunteering at the zoo since time is getting short until my return to college. I need to stop for college supplies before or after; I just hope I don’t get pulled over for underage driving this time,” Kathleen mentioned. “That still happening?” Her mother asked. “Usually once a week, Mommie.” “Not much we can do about that, unfortunately, sweetie, except for you to grow a few inches,” Marlene pointed out. “Or afoot? Neither an inch nor a foot is going to happen, Mother. That ship sailed ages ago,” Kathleen said crossly, turning her eyes towards the TV. Marlene nodded and watched the television in silence. ~o~O~o~ Rolling out of bed at about 7 o’clock the following day, Kathleen booted up her laptop as she got dressed and ready for a day of volunteering. Coming back to the computer, she started her everyday morning computer habits, email, MySpace, Yahoo Messenger, and a few websites… before logging on to Submissive Match. “Let's see if I got any hits from my profile.” She discovered after she was finally logged in that there were three messages waiting for her. Looking at the first, “Eww, I really didn’t need to see that guy’s dick, this might of been a big mistake. … Oh, there is an ignore feature, thank god.” “Here goes nothing for the second, … interesting name… I seriously doubt his name is really Beast…” “Hello, Little Girl, you’re just the kind of young girl I would really like to meet. You would be perfect kneeling in front of me …” Other than the nickname for herself and himself, this guy isn’t too bad so far, Kathleen thought. “... with my legs spread wide open, and pants zipper down …” “EEEWWW,” Kathleen said out loud, “Spoke too soon!” and she couldn’t click the ignore button fast enough. Leaving the third message for later, she went to get a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Looking at the time, “I will have to leave the third message and college supplies ‘til after the zoo.” ~o~O~o~ “Hello Kathleen, thank you for coming. Why don’t you take the hedgehog and sit down on a bench just inside the entrance to the zoo? You should get plenty of exposure there,” Mr. Cooper, the zoo’s volunteer coordinator, instructed while thinking to himself about that also places her in a place where we can watch her. I am always worried she may be kidnapped, being so small and easy to be confused with an actual grade school kid. Kathleen nodded and headed to where the educational animals were kept. Continuing the thoughts, Mark took a memory trip back five years. “I first told her she was too young to volunteer. She had to be 14. I could have sworn it was a five or six-year-old asking to volunteer. I am kind of glad she pleaded her case and produced proof of age since she has been one of my best teenage volunteers.” He continued to himself, “I will never tell her, but that outfit is custom-ordered for her. I also purposely took the tags off to hide the fact that it is a size 7/8 girls' polo shirt.” Looking out of his office window towards the entrance plaza that it overlooked, he noticed Kathleen was setting up right where he requested her to. “I have never discussed it with her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she were self-conscious about her height. I would be if I were her,” he thought before returning back to his volunteer hours spreadsheet. ~o~O~o~ “Riiinnnggg” “Susquehanna Valley Zoo, Volunteer department, Mark speaking, how can I help you?” … “How old is your daughter?” … “Sorry, she is a few years too young. She has to be 14 to volunteer.” … “The one with a hedgehog today? She is actually 19 years old.” … “Unfortunately, a common misunderstanding with her. Have your daughter give me a call in a couple of years.” … “Talk to them then.” Hanging up the phone, he looked out the window at the object of the confusion. A group of grade school kids currently surrounded her. The only thing that set her apart from the other kids was the green polo shirt, which signified that she was a volunteer. ~o~O~o~ “OK, Mr. Cooper, I have returned the hedgehog to the education department.” “Thank you, Kathleen, five hours today?” Mark said, looking at the clock. “What was your driving time?” he continued. “Yes, that is correct, and it takes me twenty minutes each way to get here.” “When do I expect you back?” “Unless you have a better idea, I should return Wednesday at the opening,” Kathleen said, thinking of her plans. She had agreed to go out with some high school friends tomorrow. “Works for me. When do you return to college?” “My parents and I are going in a convoy next month, August 13th.” “You will be missed again this year.” “Aww, I will be back again next year,” Kathleen said as she felt her face color up. Showing her to the door, Mark turned his attention to entering Kathleen’s hours in his spreadsheet. “That girl is the closest thing to a little girl I would ever have. I can’t seem to produce the required X chromosome for a girl,” he thought, thinking of his three boys currently in daycare. Meanwhile, Kathleen started driving to a bookstore to buy her prize book and required school supplies. Seeing a cop tailgating her in her rearview mirror, she checked her speed. Noticing she was actually under the speed limit, she thought, “Not again. Can I ever drive without being pulled over for underage driving?” After five minutes and no lights, she wondered what was taking him so long to pull her over. Five more minutes later, the cop slowed and made a U-turn. Kathleen thought that was strange. He tailed me and didn’t pull me over. ~o~O~o~ Pulling into the driveway, she couldn’t get in the house fast enough to check that third message that had been calling her all day. After booting up her laptop, she went to the kitchen to get a glass of peach tea. “Let's see,” Kathleen said, entering her details on the website. “Oh, two new messages. I must have received another today.” Opening up the first message, the third from this morning, she began to read it out loud, “Dear Buttercup, I was inspecting the new profiles and happened to notice yours. I am intrigued by your profile, and I hope to hear from you. Master Adam” “Well, that was short to the point and not creepy,” Kathleen said, going to the second message... “Not another dick picture,” Kathleen screamed, going to the ignore button. After returning to Master Adam’s message, she checked out his profile. “Adam Dale, 25 years old, Pennsylvania, Looking for online/offline submissive, oh he isn’t bad looking.” Hitting the reply button, she typed, using the submissive name he gave her, “Dear Sir, Buttercup is intrigued by your profile too and interested in communicating with you. I am not sure how to go about the next step. - Buttercup.” Putting her computer to sleep, she went into the living room to watch some television. ~o~O~o~ Author's Note: Comments, and questions are always welcomed. I am currently writing chapter 69 of this story. -- Thanks Becky

Rei was a small 10 year old girl sighed as she entered her room and opened her drawer to grab her pjs to get ready for bed “Huh what are these I’ve never seen these before

Okay, I know I should be working on many other stories...but I love Helluva Boss, and after someone already did a Loona de-aging fanfic (that sadly had very few canon things there, but it was still a very good story despite that), I had to get on mine, since Loona's my favorite. For those paying attention to Helluva Boss, a fair warning: this story occurs a bit after Loona gets her Hellbies shot, so some of the other things that have happened aren't going to happen in this story. I've taken a few liberties with some of the Sins that haven't appeared and Loona's past as well (as we don't know exactly what happened), so take that into account as well. Anyway, as a warning, this is Hell, so there's going to be a lot of complicated content warnings for this story that I urge you to take heed of in the tags. I promise to warn you when they come, but I do want to warn you ahead of time. Anyway, on with the show! - Chapter One: Expectations. - Octavia was tired of hearing her parents fighting, especially when it involved her. Stolas and Stella - her father and mother - were screeching at each other like homicidal demonic barn owls (don’t ask her how she knew that; some things weren’t meant for living human minds), barely paying attention to her, and yet…custody. Fucking custody. Over her. Just…why? It wasn’t fair. Yes, Loona had said that families were complicated, but this right after she had run away the last time… The owl-like Goetia heiress froze. Loona. The hellhound was definitely a bit rough around the edges, definitely sarcastic and rude, but she could talk to her, maybe? The last time, when she was lost on Earth, looking for a meteor shower she had waited years to see, it had been Loona who found her…and unlocked a side of her she thought was missing. Octavia felt like - in Loona - she had a sister, an elder sister she could confide in, someone braver than she was, someone whom she could…look up to, maybe? Her fucking emotions were getting the best of her, maybe, but hell with it. Lucifer, what if I’m being…no, time to be brave, Via, show Father and Mother what a mistake they’re making. She was going to go to I.M.P., maybe read from the Grimoire, maybe find a way to placate her parents, somehow, maybe talk to Loona, see what she thought. She had no idea Loona was already having a bad day. - Loona was pissed at Moxxie. Fucking fatass (he wasn’t really fat, she admitted to herself, but she needed another reason to hate the smug little prick.) imp was beyond late to work along with Millie, his wife. Bad enough she had five fucking years worth of her yearly Hellbies shot (She hated shots. Shots in the pound usually meant…euthanization for the hellhounds who aged out…like she had nearly been before Blitzo - known to all as “Blitz”; the “o” was silent - had adopted her. Blitz had lied to her twice, by the way: it was not “one little prick”, and her ass was still sore from it, so he lied about not feeling it as well. Thank Lucifer the cone was off, at least.) a week ago, but now he was pacing the halls, trying to figure out where they were. “Goddammit, if you could be any later, Moxxie, I’d need a fucking stopwatch to fucking time you…” Blitz muttered. If his voice didn’t clearly show his annoyance, the tic of him scratching the white and black, curved horns on his bald head certainly did. Loona knew that if the imp paced any more, he was going to wear out the floorboards - and they had survived a fire from hellectric eels (don’t ask), so she personally knew how tough they were to destroy and/or wear out. She flicked her bluish-gray hair fur to one side, her red eyes firmly focused on her most prized possession: her H-Phone 666 LX, a gift to her from Blitz for her twenty-first birthday a year ago. Then Moxxie and Millie broke down the door - quite literally. “You know that’s coming out of your paycheck, fatass,” Loona said, not even looking up from her phone as it played VoxTube videos. No response. She raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Moxxie to not defend himself from her taunts. “Okay, why are you two fucking hours late?” Blitz demanded. “We were supposed to be using the Grimoire for our target, and-“ “Sorry, Sir, but…” Moxxie twirled a strand of his white hair nervously (not that Loona was paying any attention or cared what Moxxie thought; it was clearly phone time). “We’re expecting!” Millie finished excitedly in her Wrathian drawl, her yellow eyes gleaming as Moxxie brushed her glistening black hair. “What, like a prize for being late?” Loona snarked, not even looking up from her phone. “No, silly: a baby!” Millie giggled. Blitz’s eyes went as wide as full moons, as he looked at them, doing a double-take at them. “Wha-WHAT?!” he stammered. “So, you were-“ “Well, I took the test, showed red, then went to the doctor who confirmed it!” the female imp gushed with excitement, as Moxxie wrapped his small, gentle arms protectively around his wife’s stomach. “Oh, that’s, uh, congrats!” the head of Immediate Murder Professionals (hence the name “I.M.P.”) said, his eyes gaining a semblance of…warmth? An unfamiliar emotion was growing in the pit of Loona’s stomach. She didn’t know what to call it, but she didn’t like it one bit. “So, Sir, we all have a lot of back pay from our jobs, so…” Moxxie began. “First kid’s always worth a break,” Blitz said with a jovial laugh. “Loony-Toony might have to join us later on while Millie handles the Grimoire, but-“ Loona barely heard the excited imp talking because she recognized a different, yet all-too familiar emotion bubbling up to the surface: anger. The hellhound had a nice job as the secretary of I.M.P. Yeah, going out in the human world for occasional work was fun and all, but her job was simple: open a portal to the human world, listen for when the three imps needed to get back, reopen a portal back. She had a routine. She had time to go on her phone, go to the latest Sinstagram pics and VoxTube videos, get a cup of coffee, and wait by herself, with no one’s problems but her own bugging her. And now this…this was threatening the entirety of that safe routine. And she was realizing the unfamiliar emotion was very familiar, after all: envy. A fucking imp baby with Millie replacing her job, and judging by Blitz’s expression, replace his affection for her. That’s all she was, when it came down to it: replaceable. Even after she told Blitz that she’d be there with him, she was still replaceable. The next words tumbled out of her mouth before she could take them back. “How do you know that they’re telling the truth? I mean, are you sure Moxxie can even have kids?” Loona immediately realized she had said something wrong with the immensely hurt look in Millie’s eyes, a pulsing vein throbbing dangerously in Moxxie’s temple as he drew his pistol, pointed it at her and shouted furiously, “YOU TAKE THAT BACK, YOU BITCH!” But the worst was Blitz looking…disappointed, as he said, “Now, Loony, you need to apologize to Moxxie and Millie.” “How about he apologizes for calling me the b-slur?” Loona snarled at Blitz without even thinking, her rising anger taking over. “LOONA, you will apologize to Moxxie and Millie.” Blitz’s voice was surprisingly stern, even a bit angry - a tone that, to her knowledge, he had almost never taken with her. “Oh, so you can replace me with the little brat, huh, Blitz, be a real dad as you stalk them in their private lives like you usually do? Well, guess what, Blitz: you aren’t a fucking real dad! You aren’t their kid’s dad, and you aren’t my fucking dad either!” She felt a vile concoction of satisfaction and guilt course through her as Blitz looked as if she had hit him. It almost would’ve felt better to her if he had hit her back, if he said anything at all. Even Moxxie was stunned into lowering his gun. “I-is this a bad time?” a new voice asked. Octavia Goetia had made her appearance, all four of them looking at her in simultaneous shock, the same look the demoness had on her face. Loona took the Grimoire from the safe, and Blitz didn’t even protest, the hurt look in his eyes saying all that needed to be said. “C’mon, Via, we’re crashing at my place,” Loona said darkly, as she held the Goetia heiress’s clawed hand to the demoness’s shock, leaving the job, the silent absence of a protest echoing in her heart. - Hope y'all enjoyed~ I don't know if I'll have a regular schedule for uploading; I never do, but I'll do my best every week, I think.

Chapter 1: For Her Good I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters The problem was that she had three roommates. Yet, Sir always said that never being alone was for her good. Sir said it just like that, in a text message, in response to her worrying. Sir said that life goes on. Sir said that... I will not bury the lead. I will not sugarcoat it. Consent culture rightly necessitates that I lay this more bare than anything. We are trying to change your life. Remind yourself once again, Mari. Are we entering this agreement purely for sensation? It was conversations like these that made Mari blush more than the details of their agreement. Sir's language stripped Mari like she'd brought a bomb through TSA. Sir had so effectively undressed her fantasies and fears, in these months, Sir had so quickly probed and unwound her proclivities, that she still felt like a child going to a parent with something as trivial as a hopelessly knotted shoelace. Except that in the case of Sir, she'd shown up presenting her tangled up psyche. Sir had unraveled her problems just the same. Sir had found her mental G-spot with the precision and command of an award-winning chiropractor. Sir never had to say things like: You will cum for me now. Instead Sir would just say: ahhh...that got you there, didn't it? And Sir, as if they were in Mari's head and not in her phone, would always be right. Big girls would respond with more than just emojis, wouldn't they? Sir's presence was digital yet encompassing. Texted but seemingly scriptural. No manager, professor, teacher, or other esteemed individual in her life had so thoroughly outclassed her. She was a rowboat bobbing beside a cruise ship, when Sir's messages crowned her phone banner. Never before had she been so blissfully cowed. Nothing crossed her mind that Sir had not thought of first. No mental caverns existed that Sir could not, with just a few whispers, lead her out of. I understand what you mean. Know this. You are the brave one. You are facing who you are. Take your sense of unworthiness, Mari. Let us say that you're the fuckup. The dropout, the girl with the dead end job. The under-performer. Let's pretend that your three roommates are indeed smarter, better grown-ups than you. Let us say that you've screwed up every relationship you've been in because you're a needy crybaby. Let's own that, Mari. Let's ball it up – put it in a diaper. Change it often enough and it won't leak. If we do this, perhaps none of your faults will leak into your worthiness either. *** A few days before the beginning of her agreement, the first cardboard box (Sir said that there would be very many), lay unopened beside her bed. The box was tucked between her bedside table and the closet, wedged in the space so that she could not even exit her bed to that side without crushing it. It stood out little among the messiness of her room – another token of fuckupery that even Sir did not know about. Even her roommates called her Monster Mari for the way underwear, socks, and clothes were piled on the floor. At her best, she told herself that it was organized. That there was a method to Monster Mari. At her worst, she knew the panties were going in a shoebox, destined for the mail. For Your Good. Just days away from the beginning of her agreement. Sir's last question burned on the phone. Is this thing we are about to do purely sensational? She shot off a message. "No Sir," she said. She knew it was a little girl's answer, and that Sir wouldn't be pleased. Sir was going to coach her through her fears, once again, and in the end Sir would be right. Mari rolled over and groaned. Sir had owned her orgasms almost since they'd begun messaging. She'd almost begged Sir to take them; without prompting, one night when they were first messaging each other. Before diapers and all that took over their DMs. She'd just asked for permission, Sir ignored it. She'd asked again, hot, her fingers moving fast. The question had prompted another lecture from Sir – one of the hottest things she'd ever experienced. Sir would do no half measures. Sir played no games. Permission now is meaningless without a totality, Mari. And I won't get into something so serious, so flippantly. That night, she'd wanted it. "Can I?" she asked. Again and again. Mari. You can do whatever you like tonight. We can have a serious conversation about it, and I would like to. But we will not have it now. They'd had that conversation just a few days later. Mari, for all her distractibility, for all her reprimands at work for not being on the phones long enough, for not working as hard as she could be, had never been more focused on a thing in her life. Selling her pussy to Sir was a divine urgency; it was the only thing that could get her heart to stop beating through her ribs. She sat on calls at work, at her desk in her Monster Mari room, one hand constantly between her thighs. I have a standard for this, Mari. This isn't my first rodeo. You will only cum with my permission. When I command you to go to your room to play and cum, you will do so. I will not ask when this would be disruptive. Though it may not be what you want, I will always ask For Your Good. Honesty is up to you. You can have sex with any person and any outcome is acceptable, so long as you report it to me afterwards. The last part always struck her as odd. Almost disappointing. She was hoping at least for something savage. Anal chastity, the purchase of some grotesque implement to rail herself on camera. It took her months to test Sir's nugget of freedom. When she returned to Sir with reports of a cocktail-soaked conquest, she was surprised about how happy Sir was for her. "Aren't you...I used YOUR pussy like that? You know?" Use big girl words. "Aren't you jealous?" I get to talk to you as much as I do. You don't know who I am. I have no right to feel jealous. And least of all no cause. I'm proud of you. "But it's YOUR pussy and I just...used it..." It was a guy, right? And he fucked you? "Yah. It wasn't, like, amazing. But yeah." And did he cum inside of you? This sort of question, with anyone else, would have made her roll her eyes. But with Sir it piqued her. She was once again disrobed with a text and it took great discipline for her to not respond with an emoji. "Well...in a condom. But yeah." That's what pussies are for, Mari. I am like an underwriter for your car, if you had one. I would not be displeased if you drove your car. I would, however, like to know if you were spinning donuts in a parking lot with it. Think of it this way. Your pussy doesn't belong to me. Rather, it simply does not belong to you. We do not live in a world where a public pillory to display your entries is safe or acceptable. But know this. The world is a better place when you have been mounted and used. In the same way that the world is better when food is eaten and not left to spoil, just so I hope that those who want to enter you, may. It is the same with your eventual diapering. When the day comes, Mari. You are not giving up your adulthood. You are simply accepting that everyone – everyone – is more adult than you. She remembered thinking about this for a while, and almost forgetting to ask for permission. "Will this be the case when I'm in diapers?" Yes, of course. "Will I get an exception for my diapers when it comes to...sex?" Do you want an exception? "No..." Then why does a little girl ask this question?

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! I just want to say welcome back and that I am looking forward to completing this story. Pretty much as soon as I wrote the previous story, How an Elephant Saved Their Little, I came up with most of this plot. I will attempt to explain certain elements, but I expect that some background elements may be rushed or explained later, which could be confusing for some of you newer readers. Also, as it will be following a Big, some elements might be a little different than other DD stories, but if what I’ve seen on here is anything to go by, I think you all should enjoy a lot of the elements involved. Moving on, I’ve been watching the Olympics lately. Considering all that is happening in Paris right now, with my excitement in watching, there is a part of me that feels I should have at least included my DD Olympic story in the last poll. Still, I am still happy with writing this story and I have yet another idea for a story. As a future note though, I will probably include the original Olympic story in the long future (2026 at the earliest I’m guessing) at this point, but I’ll have plenty of stories until then as long as you all keep reading them. Next, speaking of the future, I will be trying an online poll for the voting of my next story. If I’ve set it up correctly, there should only be one vote per IP address. I will likely shut down the poll or delete it entirely once I have posted the results in the final chapter of this story as usual, but until then, I’m using this as a bit of a test going forward. It should be completely anonymous, so I think that will help garner more votes than before. Expect this to be included with the second chapter, which should be posted tomorrow or the day after. Also, as a bit of a side note here, I might be retconning something, but I don’t think I am in saying that the location for this story is in their version of Indianapolis. I have looked through all my notes, and due to my inclusion of ‘Queens Island’ in my previous story, I know it’s at least in that general area (being a few hours car drive away as mentioned in chapter 13), but I can’t seem to find an actual city name. I will fully admit that I wasn’t as organized back then with the locations in Libertalia, so it could be an oversight… like how I don’t mention a location in The CON series and retconned why later. I will investigate this much more thoroughly after my upcoming trip, but I just wanted to at least put that out there in case someone caught something that I haven’t at this point. Last but not least, I hope everyone enjoys the first chapter of this next story! Chapter 1: Sheets Bearing Marks of the Past Mildred and I were helping our precious Littles with their own bags to go to daycare tomorrow. The day would come early and between diaper changes, getting each of them dressed, and then out the door and into our van to take them to daycare, it would be enough of a challenge. At the task’s base, it was like wrestling with twitchy cute puppies. As a carer of the Littles under my charge, I performed my duties and remarked upon their cuteness, but that didn’t make the tasks any easier. Further, though, I had two other factors that kept my Littles more challenging than was usual in most cities of Libertalia. First, most had been regressed recently and were still coping with their losses from who they used to be. It’s hard to blame a Little for being upset of pooping helplessly in their diapers now when they might have once commanded a fleet of ships or walked down the runway in a gorgeous dress. Second, and more important to Safehouse 81 though, nearly every Little under my charge had been affected by some tragedy or had faced an abuse of some kind in their past. After all, being a safehouse for Littles in this type of society, we had to expect those sorts of residents under our roof. It was tragic, but we made sure each of our Littles were kept safe, were healthy, and knew they were cared for at the end of the day. Mildred and Penelope helped me out with them about as much as they could. Admittedly, of the two full-time employees here, Mildred helped to a lesser degree due to her Middle size, but Penelope more than made up for that and was essentially my second in command around here. She had already lightened my burdens recently by forming an attachment with Willy, a recently arrived Little who was escaping troubles of his own. Traumatized from his past and with only a stuffed animal, Tusk, to help ease his mind, I was glad he was feeling that relief here now at least. “Mildred,” I addressed to my shorter assistant currently stuffing Gina’s backpack, “make sure that she gets the ham sandwich without the crusts. She’s still particular about those kinds of things and the last thing we need to put on the daycare now is another tantrum from her if she... changes again like she did last week.” “Right, right. Definitely don’t want that,” she nodded back to me. “And the veggie chips instead of the nacho cheese ones, right?” I nodded and smiled over her increased awareness over the individual needs of the Littles under our care. She was still a prospective member of the staff, but her instincts were strong, and she had a good heart. Gina was spacing out again, experiencing one of her changes, a sad reminder of her own regression process, so now it was mostly up to Mildred to finish packing her bag and I was glad that she was taking to her tasks so well now. For the multiple backpacks I was packing, I finally looked down at Harry, continually perched and curious at the edge of the table where I was working. “Okay, champ… carrots or cucumbers tomorrow?” I wanted to give my Littles as many options in life as I could. Daily items or events like diapers and naptimes were non-negotiable under my roof if I deemed them necessary, but where was possible, I tried to give where I could. “Ummm… cawwots, pwease.” I smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. I was trying to instill manners in him after he came here over a month ago now. It had taken a lot of my patience, but coming from a Little smuggling operation, I couldn’t blame him for being a little blunt and rough around the edges. Still, he was making quick progress lately and I made a mental note to give him an extra cracker tomorrow when he got home from daycare if he wanted it. “Very good, Harry.” I turned over to Gina and wondered how the other Littles were doing upstairs. They were more regressed, but I still wanted to give them their options for tomorrow at daycare while they were likely still awake and playing with their babyish toys. Still, it was getting late, so I tapped Gina on the shoulder to try and get her out of her mental fog. “Gina? You in there, sweetie?” Gina turned around and grinned at me, her curly blonde hair twirling about as she did so, and her few missing teeth becoming rapidly apparent. She had been pulled out of the regression facility before they could truly deform her like her abusive original caregivers wanted, but the facility’s marks and effects on her mentality were still painfully obvious, especially when she was in this state. “Gina… do you wanna pick out the story tonight before bed?” I questioned further, now that I had her attention as best I could. Gina rapidly nodded her head up and down. “Uh huh! Maybe da pwincess one?” Her enthusiasm was near electric and contagious, but it still burdened my heart to see her like this. Working with her here and at the daycare, her incidents like these had dropped significantly, but it still hurt to witness when they did pop up. When she wasn’t in this regressed near-fugue state, her speech was unaffected and she held herself in an almost dignified way… or at least as dignified one could get while always holding her stuffed Octopus, Mindy. I had learned long ago to never try and remove Mindy from her arms. In a way, it just added to the tragedy of her story, a sadly familiar one that I had grown accustomed to over the years. Regardless, I was glad she had at least made a choice tonight. It would make her happy and that was my job here. Keep my Littles safe and happy. “Very good. I’ll make sure we read the one with Princess Lavendar tonight. I think she’s going to meet the gnome king and become the best of friends with him. Doesn’t that sound fu…?” The windows burst inward as two small black and shimmery objects were launched through them. Glass shattered and covered the floor. I immediately tried to grab Harry, Gina, and Mildred, but I was too late. The two blasts rocketed the whole house. More glass fell and I became dazed as men in black soon breached the house with a tremendous smash of my front door. The filed in one at a time and surrounded everyone as they knocked over furniture to clear their path. A single cabinet had fallen and partially blocked their way to the back kitchen though. Still, they then wasted no time and began hauling everyone together, upstairs and down. Even through my daze, I could see that one of them, likely the leader from the directions he issued out, had a very distinct snake tattoo crawling up one of their arms. I wanted to fight back, but I just felt nauseous, and my head felt like it was about to pop. Then, before I knew what hit me, that same tattooed man was pulling me to my feet. “You. We’re looking for this Little.” He shoved a picture in my face. It was a little blurry, but I quickly recognized it as snapshot of Willy with his stuffy. When I didn’t answer immediately, he shook the picture harder in front of my face and snarled at me. “We know he’s here from your database registration. Where is he?” Willy was new here, but he was now one of mine. I had made an oath to every one of my Littles and to the state that no matter what, I would protect these innocent smaller beings with my life. Being the leader of a safehouse often meant staring down the long barrel of threats from those who wished to do the residents here any harm. Such was the prejudice and malice of our world. Today however, was the first time a safehouse had been smashed into. Considering the high number of penalties against these men if they were ever caught, that wasn’t surprising, but regardless, my task remained the same. Keep my Littles safe. So, taking a deep breath and easing my nerves and getting ready for what was likely to come against me consequently, I straightened up, and looked at the man with the snake tattoo with about as much defiance as I could. “Those records are sealed. Only an admin or cop can access those, but anyway, the Little doesn’t look familiar.” My head lashed out at me, and the lights all seemed about 80% too bright from some reason, but I knew I had to keep up my defiance. Smashing the safehouse’s front window like that had set off a silent alarm. Help was on its way, but I still needed to play for more time now. “Hard to recall with the pounding in my head. You wouldn’t have done something naughty like that to a bunch of innocent Littles, would you?” I couldn’t help but taunt these men. If caught, I knew their punishments would be far worse than anything they could do to me. I had a few friends in the justice department, and I heard the rumors like everyone else. Dark Cliff Prison was a hole that every lost cause Little and every substantial criminal Big feared and never wanted to go to. For criminals like these, breaking into a safehouse was a one-way ticket right to their front door. Instead of pure rage as I had suspected though, the tattooed man gritted his teeth, groaned ever so slightly, and defiantly forced the picture in front of my face again. “I won’t ask you again. Where is he?” Before I could deny him again, I thought I heard a small groan coming from the kitchen. Not seeing either in the lineup of the resto f the safehouse in front of me, Willy and Penelope were in there still, and considering this tattooed man wanted him, likely dead or alive, I knew I only had one choice. So, hoping to press for more time and just hating the man on general principle, I looked back defiantly at the intruder to my house. “Screw you.” My words were direct and uncompromising. I had no intention of telling him where Willy was. With any luck, Willy would flee out the back. He was a Little, and that could be problematic, but he seemed to have some sort of strange luck or guardian angel on his side whenever trouble seemed to find him. Whatever the case truly was though, I just hoped they were with him tonight. The tattooed man didn’t take kindly to my blunt refusal of his question though and my insult of him after either. All at once, with one strike, his fist slammed into the side of my face. I fell to the ground. As I collapsed, Harry, Gina, and a few of the other Littles they were now gathering around me downstairs shrieked in terror. “Get the brats upstairs now!” the tattooed man commanded his men. “Lock ‘em in and hit ‘em with the smoke.” Four of his six goons nodded and at gunpoint, forced all my terrified Littles upstairs along with Mildred. They still weren’t looking in the kitchen, so I at least knew that Penelope or Willy was okay and moving around to escape. While the main tattooed man watched over me, his gun pointed right at my head as I managed to perch myself back on my knees, I began to try and figure a way out of this. Moments later though, even after thinking of a half dozen or so escape plans, my mind just couldn’t think straight, as I could hear the bang of a door and then a faint hiss coming from upstairs. A few tiny screams were soon muffled silent. Soon after, the men came back downstairs, alone. “Is it done?” the tattooed man asked insistently. “Yes, sir!” one of them answered quickly. “The Littles are locked away and the gas has been deployed. In such a confined space, they’re all out and memories of tonight will only be foggy at best.” “Good.” Seemingly satisfied that the majority of the house had been neutralized, the tattooed man then turned his attention back to me. “Now, your little ones are all upstairs and unconscious for the moment. Helpless,” he emphasized as he stroked the large knife on his belt. “Tell me where the Little known as Willy Galpin is, or things might just get nasty.” I panicked as I began to see the other goons begin searching the other floors and the rest of this one. Due to the elongated nature of the house and the debris left from the two grenade explosions previously, more furniture had been knocked over. It meant more obstacles for them and places to hide in general, and therefore the more time it took for the goons to search everywhere and reach the back kitchen. That being said, I knew it was only a matter of time before they did. Then, as if to answer my question about Penelope or Willy, I saw a speck of movement in the back kitchen. It wasn’t much, but I knew at least one of them were still here and actively moving about. If it was Willy, I was relying on his Little and likely scared nature to flee without question. If it was Penelope, I knew she would want to help me, being the good and loyal worker that she was in the safehouse, but I had instructed anyone who worked for me that the safety of the Littles was always a top priority. Knowing her, she wouldn’t defy that directive and Willy would be safe then as well. “Might still be upstairs… fifth floor,” I told the tattooed man with a sigh and look of defeat on my face. I was acting about as best I could, my right cheek already swelling from where the man had hit me. It was an outright lie, but again, I just hoped it would be enough of a delaying tactic for Willy or Penelope and Willy to escape. To my chagrin, just as the other goons went upstairs to fully check the house based on my suggestion, a near deafening squeak went off in the room. It came from nearby, and I had no idea what would have made that sound, except for one of the toys, but it didn’t matter. The goons practically rocketed back down the stairs and the one goon searching the dining room, about to move to the kitchen, ran to the noise as well. Curiously enough, I saw the backdoor pivot ever so slightly. Whoever I had seen move back there before, was now clearly on the move and likely gone from the house. I couldn’t help but smile in relief. “There’s nothing here, boss!” One of the goons reached down at picked up Eddy, Harry’s stuffed chimp. “Just this old, stupid stuffed animal.” The tattooed man groaned and only pointed for another goon to point their gun at me. Without a single word, he stalked over to the stuffed chimp, snatched him away, gripped the stuffy tight, and with fixed and deep fingers on its throat, snarled and tossed Eddy across the room. “You idiots! Go find Willy now! Move!” Everyone started to depart, but just as I felt that Willy would be safe, the tattooed man looked back toward the kitchen and saw the backdoor swinging slightly in the night breeze. “Wait!” Every single goon still within earshot stopped at once. “Did any of you morons check the back?” It was immediately evident that they hadn’t. The tattooed man groaned again and ran to the kitchen. “For the love of…! There’s a whole other Big back here and…” From the passageway to the back, I could just make out as his eyes darted all around. “You!” He quickly pointed to the clearly younger goon who had been tasked to search the first floor. Reluctantly, he jogged over. “Yes, boss?” The tattooed man picked up a bagged lunch and held it in front of the younger goon. “How the hell did you miss this?” The younger goon could only stare back at the tattooed man, clearly terrified, and unable to make a sound to save himself. “Someone was back here making their lunch for tomorrow.” One hand grabbed the younger goon and his other hand pointed sternly to the figure on the floor I knew was definitely Penelope with the more cleared debris between us now. “Here’s the Big… now where is the Little who belongs to this bagged lunch?” Before he had a chance to speak, another goon came from his previous searching of the upstairs. “Sir! There’s no one else up here! Fifth floor or otherwise!” The tattooed man shoved the younger goon backward. “You all!” he directed to his other goons, totaling about five, including the one who had just come back downstairs. “Find the Little. He can’t have gone far! You all better not fail me!” “Yes, sir!” the chorus of them rang out, saluting right before they dashed out the back entrance to find Willy. I hoped he could avoid them well enough, but I didn’t have much time to hope. With the other goons gone, Penelope very much unconscious, and the other members of my staff and the Littles being locked and apparently knocked out upstairs, I was essentially all alone. Before I could think a single further thought, the tattooed man growled and raced over to me. His eyes seemed hand picked from the bowels of the fiery core of the planet and as he picked me up, I felt completely helpless under his sheer power. The snake wrapping around his arm bulged with ease as I was nearly catapulted into a wall above his head. My feet dangled powerlessly off the floor. “Thought you could play a little trick on us, huh?” he barked at me. I didn’t say anything, and with a huff, the man tossed me back on the floor. “Stupid Big! You’re a traitor to your own kind!” He then spit on me and walked around me like a lion getting ready for their kill of the antelope. I swallowed as best I could in fear. I had delayed Willy enough that he had escaped. I just hoped it would be enough. For him, it might have been, but for the tattooed man, it was likely the worst-case scenario. With him still panting and grunting as he circled me, I didn’t make a sound, which seemed to only upset him more. In seconds after about his fifth rotation, he lunged in at me. That’s when the punches started to rain down on me. One after another. His relentless fury had been unleashed and I could feel the weight of his failure in capturing Willy outright as each fist slammed into my body. He didn’t even seem to care where he hit though, smashing nearly every square inch of my body. Even as blood squirted from my mouth and one of the open cuts now on my forehead over his black uniform, he didn’t care. In fact, as I began to turn into a bloody pulp, I could see a smile grow over his face. I felt a blackness begin to creep in. I felt like death had come for me. It wasn’t how I wanted to go out, but I had helped as many Littles as I could. I suppose there were worst ways… Just as I felt seconds away from the end though, the tattooed man suddenly stopped. Relief surged through my body. Only hearing about the beating of my own heart in my ears, I wasn’t sure if the cops had finally showed up. I felt they were much slower than they should have been, but regardless, I wasn’t being hit anymore. Unfortunately, my fear didn’t abate. Instead of purely stopping and running away from the cops though as I had hoped, the tattooed man, fists bloody and smeared in my blood, smiled. It sent chills down my back, and despite my pain, I could think of nothing else over the verry meaning of that cruel vindictive and playful smirk. If a cat could grin as it was about to swallow the canary whole, I imagine what I saw before me would have been exactly that. “Bring me the shot…” He said it with such finality to the younger goon. It was just ‘the shot.’ Nothing more. Like a serial killer everyone should fear and know about, it was so simple and yet so terrifying. But I could see the fear through the eyeholes of the mask the younger goon wore. His hands even trembled as he nodded and went to a case I had just noticed nearby. Producing a single shot with some kind of silvery substance, the tattooed man took it gleefully. It was massive and I tried to fight back. Clearly, I didn’t want it, especially based on the younger goon’s reaction, but my beaten body couldn’t do anything about it. So, with a sick and twisted smile, the tattooed man flicked the needle twice. “You want to protect the Littles so much? How about a taste, huh?” I was confused, but again, I didn’t have time to think. Without a single hesitation or flick of the wrist, the man turned the needle over like a dagger ready to plunge in my heart and thrust the needle straight down into my body. * * * “No!” I bolted upright in bed and clutched my chest where the needle had stabbed me that night. There was no wound… no pain anymore. Sadly though, it didn’t seem to matter. It had already been two weeks since that night. Our advanced Big medicine in our technologically advanced society had mostly cured me after the three days I had spent in the hospital. I still had a few lingering bruises, but I was considered a ‘miracle of modern medicine’ to even be alive as compared to even a few decades ago. I didn’t feel that way though… Sure, I was alive, and I could walk by myself now, so that was a bonus, but I had been having more nightmares recently about that night. Each one filled in more details from what I had forgotten about when I first woke up, and each was worse than the last one. I had in fact helped Willy and the others out, but I could still feel the tattooed man’s fists pound into me each night since I had come home. I could feel the heat of his body as he sat above me and beat me bloody. In truth, I was still very much afraid of him and so many other things now. But that wasn’t the worst part… All that was terrible. I will never deny that, and my diagnosed PTSD was going to take time to heal. I knew that and I had been told the same thing at least two dozen times by now. Unfortunately, though, as I lifted the sheets, I saw my larger problem. There, right by my crotch, was a soaked bed. It had only started at the hospital after my first nightmare about that night. The nurses were wonderful, and the doctor simply chalked it up to lingering ‘symptoms of stress.’ I hoped he was right, and for a time he was, but now, this was the third time in the past week… and it just seemed to be getting worse. My accident tonight looked almost twice as large as the first one I had on my last day in the hospital. So, doubt began to enter my mind and a single question plagued me every day; what was in that shot? I had tried researching it on my own, but I had no such luck. No answers… just more dead ends every day. Still, as I heard others begin to stir on the floors below me, I knew I couldn’t dwell on the situation. If I waited any longer, someone could see. A Little wetting the bed was a daily occurrence at Safehouse 81, and even a Middle could have the occasional problem, but a Big… that was just unheard of… taboo even. So, I gathered all my sheets, quickly stripped and wiped myself off, before running to the washer on the floor below me. While I stayed on the seventh floor, the rest of my staff stayed on the sixth. I knew it was a risk, and my pulse pounded as I trapsed down the steps to the washer there, but as I dumped in my sheets and pajamas, I felt finally… “Miss G?” I spun around and saw Penelope staring back at me. “What… what are you doing down here?” “Oh…” I tried to wrack my brain to think of an answer… any answer. My sheets were only halfway stuffed into the top loader washer, so the wet stains were very unfortunately as plain as day. “Uh… what are you doing up so early? Isn’t today one of your break days?” I tried to deflect. Penelope nodded her head. “That’s right, but I go jogging on my days off. You remember, right?” ‘Crap!’ I was still having a few memory lapses from right before that night. Considering that could be linked to my bedwetting though, I tried to pass it off. “Oh, of course! Right, right. You started… before… and all…” Penelope nodded, but then looked back at me questioningly and then even more so to the sheet behind me. “So… uh, is everything okay, Miss G?” I cursed my luck that this had happened the one day she had definitely had off in the mornings. Mildred and Jackie were on staff today for most of the Littles with us currently. After the assault, the safehouse agency we worked out of had given us a lighter duty in the area. Safehouse 82 would be taking in most of the Little not already under our care. Still, I knew I needed to give Penelope an answer. “Uh… just some stress sweats at night. Trauma and all that… you know?” Penelope looked at me with an odd look, and if I had been any more paranoid, I might have associated it with the look I gave myself to the Littles who didn’t believe the story they were being fed. Still, for now, Penelope seemed satisfied after another moment. “I see. Maybe you should go see someone about it?” If she suspected anything, she certainly wasn’t letting on, but still… to be frank, I was afraid to see another doctor. Given the unknown qualities of the shot I was given and my recent bed wetting, there were just too many unknowns in our society about the consequences of seeing someone so official. “No… I think I’ll be okay. Most of the crew has already been convicted or killed at this point after that incident at the warehouse with Willy and the gang they were all working for. I think I just need some time.” Penelope looked at me with a deep-set concern. I knew she wanted to help me… After all, she was the one that had called for the ambulance once she came to after the tattooed man and the rest of the goons had left. She sported a nasty bump on her head, one that was the aftermath of the furniture that had knocked her unconscious during the ordeal, but now, I could see she carried guilt over what had happened to me. I insisted I was fine, but her caring instincts were hard to quiet. She heavily sighed but then plucked her ear buds out of her armband. “Okay… just take some time if you need it… or if you ever want to talk, I’m…” “Thank you, Penelope.” I knew I was rather abrupt with my thanks, but it seemed to do the trick and Penelope gave one final reassuring smile and wave, and then trotted off downstairs. With her gone and my laundry in the wash, I quickly began my day and started to put another wet bed out of my mind. Gina, Harry, and the other Littles milled around their various cribs and beds. Not having any newborn Littles with us currently, the rest just required a few diaper changes. Of the five Littles with us still, it just so happened that each required diapers 24/7. Being a safehouse, it’s just how it was. Regardless of the start of my own morning though, I continued at my job like I always had. We received one new Little, Jonathan, who actually managed to pass the test to stay on the second floor, marking them as the most mature Little under our care here. Once he had settled in and started to mind his own business and reflect on his safety here like all others did, I went to work with the other aspects of Littlecare in a city safehouse. Jackie and Mildred were hard at work, and I quickly joined in with them. Mildred was a Middle but was one of our most diligent employees. Despite being the newest around here and considered an ‘intern,’ I was already considering offering her an official job in the next few weeks. Seeing her soothe Harry when he was running around and then tripped and started bawling, the few reservations I had with her were soon vanishing. The day continued much like that, and just as Jackie went back to her own home after her 12-hour shift, being only a part-time employee here, Penelope started on. She made quick work of making dinner for everyone and starting to plan out the schedules for the upcoming weekend. Everything was going just like it had before that terrible night, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself. Normalcy like this felt good. “What is this?” Jonathan asked as Mildred placed his tray in front of him on the table. Being the unregressed Little he was, he only required a booster seat at the table. Harry, Gina, and two others had been fed first, and two more had been fed after them. Now, it was just Jonathan and Ian. “It’s just some avocado, orange slices, and a bit of chili over half an English muffin. No tricks and nothing strange, I promise,” I said reassuringly to our latest charge. Mildred hesitated but I nodded her off back to the kitchen. I knew by now she could handle Jonathan, but I was already there to make sure that Ian at his food. The despondent Little slowly began to eat, but like usual, never made a sound. He had trauma like the rest of them, but unlike the others, his was written all over his body and actions with his never lightening mood. “So why is the plate a different color then?” Jonathan poked at his bright blue plastic tray with distrust. I couldn’t blame him. Littles were often subjected to the worst imaginable treatments out there, but still, he needed to eat while he was here with us. I refused to let a Little go hungry under my watch. “I promise that nothing is out of the ordinary.” Jonthan still looked at me with distrust painted all over his face. I sighed and I was feeling puckish myself, so I opted for the ‘nuclear’ option. “How about this? I eat a bit of your food, just so you know it’s okay, alright?” I could see the cogs in Jonthan’s mind already start to turn. It was a good sign, and I was glad that it at least seemed to be working. Bigs offering to eat a Little’s food was never a good practice or habit to get into. Sadly, food manufacturers more often than not slipped in extra chemicals to embarrass or even regress, temporarily or otherwise, a Little. Considering that Penelope had made most of the meal from natural ingredients, I wasn’t worried in this case though. While not as potent for us Bigs, laced Little food could still make for an uncomfortable following hour in the bathroom. Fortunately, though, Jonathan accepted my offer. The food was far too sweet for my taste, adhering to a Little’s preferences rather than a Bigs, but I got it down and Jonathan ate the rest of his food without complaint. Next though, was the staff and I’s dinner. Our food was pretty like what we had served the Littles, and while that wasn’t always the most exciting, I had learned long ago that Littles seeing something they could never have always been a bad idea. They could accuse us Bigs, or in Mildred’s case, Middle, of being unfair and withholding from them. So, we all then took a seat and began to eat our plainer food while the rest of the Littles were already asleep or happily reading a book or watching Adventure Sam in the nearby living room. The cartoon TV show was good for multiple mental ages, and occasionally, I even saw Jonathan peak up every once in a while, at it as ‘Sam’ traveled around our world and showcased the various animals and wonders of nature. Most Littles being from Earth these days, always gawked at the sheer scope and variety our world had to offer. Apparently, the woolly mammoth had been extinct on their planet for thousands of years. Here, though, it was just a trip to the zoo to see. Still, I could always see the wonderment in their eyes. For a brief moment, nothing else seemed to matter to them and I had to imagine that it gave them a sense of peace in a way. Still, with them settled, the rest of my staff, tonight only Mildred and Penelope, as Vivian was currently on vacation, seemed delighted with the food. For my own part, I sighed and wished for a good bottle of wine and some Itali food, but food was food. Interestingly enough though, as soon as the first spoonful of the chili hit my mouth, I couldn’t stop eating. I quickly ravished through my plate. Every crumb, piece of corn, and even juicy drop of the oranges at the end was a delight I just couldn’t get enough of. I had never experienced something so amazing in all my life. I was even sad to see that I had finished, but just as I set my plate down, having pulled it closer to my mouth to increase my speed of eating, I looked back at my staff. Penelope and Mildred were looking right at me, both clearly confused and maybe even a little horrified after what they had just seen. I quickly realized that they had witnessed every little detail of that event. My devouring had likely taken on an odd quality and one of madness or barbarity. I couldn’t help it, but seeing their faces, I knew I had to quickly play it off. I was their leader and showing weakness, in an already tense and shaky environment after the break-in, was something I simply couldn’t allow. “Whew!” I said exaggeratedly. “That was some meal, Penelope! I must have not eaten that much today. Just couldn’t get enough of it.” I tried to smile and joke, and while Mildred seemed to join in on the hilarity of the scene, I saw something lingering in Penelope’s face. Even behind her eventual smile, I could see something lurking there. Regardless though, the dishes were cleaned, all the Littles went to bed, and I made sure everything was set for tomorrow. It was still another weekday, but all the Littles were going back to daycare. They had been since the break-in, but tomorrow was going to be their first full day back, as opposed to the half days we had been adhering to for the past week and a half. So, with all that done, I closed my eyes and drifted asleep. * * * I felt a blackness begin to creep in. I felt like death had come for me. It wasn’t how I wanted to go out, but I had helped as many Littles as I could. Just as I felt seconds away from the end though, the tattooed man stopped. Relief surged through my body, but that only lasted for what felt like a few seconds. Instead of fully stopping, the tattooed man, fists bloody and smeared in my blood, smiled. It sent chills down my back, and despite my pain, I could think of nothing else. If a cat could grin as it was about to swallow the canary whole, I imagine what I saw before me would have been that. “Bring me the shot…” He said it with such finality to the younger goon. It was just ‘the shot.’ Nothing more. Like a serial killer everyone should fear and know about, it was so simple. But I could see the fear through the eyeholes of the mask the younger goon wore. His hands even trembled as he nodded and went to a case I had just noticed nearby. Producing a single shot with some kind of silvery substance, the tattooed man took it gleefully. It was at least a foot long and I tried to fight back. It was useless. I was too weak and beaten, and he was simply too strong. Then, with a sick and twisted smile, the tattooed man flicked the needle twice. “You want to protect the Littles so much? How about a taste, huh?” I was confused, but again, I didn’t have time to think. Without a single hesitation or flick of the wrist, the man turned the needle over like a dagger ready to plunge in my heart and thrust the massive needle straight down into my chest. * * * “No!” I bolted up again in my bed. My eyes darted around, and I tried to find some bearings of where I was. I was scared and confused, and I felt very small for some reason. To my relief though, I knew I was in my bedroom and the tattooed man had been dead for some time now. As I came to my senses though, to my dismay, I knew I had wet the bed again. “Shit.” Hearing more shuffling from downstairs through the floor, this time much earlier than usual, I rushed downstairs without thought. I hadn’t even bothered to wash myself off. I could always do more laundry when everyone else was busy… or so I thought. Right as I piled my soaked pajamas and sheets into the was again, I heard someone speak up from behind me. “I thought as much…” I spun around, and to my horror, I saw Penelope standing right there with a look of both annoyance and deep concern. “Penelope… it’s… it’s not what you think. I swear!” I could feel the fear of being discovered begin to gurgle up from my stomach. I felt like I was going to puke on the spot. Penelope sighed. “It’s okay, Miss G. I understand what happened… but we can’t keep doing this. I’ve seen you here before even yesterday. You aren’t as quiet as you think you are…” I swallowed and never thought that she would be awake if it wasn’t her morning shift. A constant night owl, she usually elected for the afternoon and night shifts here, but I should have known better. Her door looked right across the hallway at the washer and dryer room. It wouldn’t have taken her much to notice my presence here nearly every morning recently. “I knew you were hiding something, but this…” I was terrified she was going to make a scene, but instead, she just walked over and pinched a dry spot of my sheets and pulled them up a little to see the extent of the wet patch on them. It was horrible and I just wanted to die or bury myself in a hole someplace. “This is something more.” She turned to me, and all the annoyance or anger or whatever I saw before, was now gone. Instead, there was only sympathy and her previous look of concern. “We need to get you to the doctor. I’ve already called Jackie just in case this happened. They’ll think you’ve got the flu or something. Being around Littles, we all know how much that can happen.” I cracked the faintest of smiles. I could tell she was trying to get me to feel better at this point and truly was coming from a place of concern for my well-being. Embarrassing, but as she had mentioned, being around Littles just got one sicker than normal. The whole staff still remember the puking incident last summer when one stomach bug floated into our safehouse. It wasn’t pretty, and I just tried to get myself to think of this whole mess as just another version of that. It wasn’t, but the tiny relief the notion gave me was a welcome feeling. So, I quickly showered and piled myself into the car while Penelope drove me away. I wasn’t feeling up to it anyways, but it also maintained the illusion that I was sick. Littles under our care may have been damaged, abused, and regressed in all the ways one could be, but they had a curiosity and saw the world very much for what it was. If I left singing a tune and as happy as a clam, each one of them would have questioned me rigorously when we returned. A short drive later, Penelope parked in front of a pleasant brick and glass building. It seemed like dozens of other recently added office parks throughout the suburbs of the city and I at least admired the well-maintained flowers embedded in the flowerbeds around the base of the building. “Come on,” Penelope coaxed me out of the car, “he’ll be waiting.” “He?” For some reason, normally being the ‘in-charge’ person that I was, I normally scheduled all my appointments. This one though, I was going in completely blind. Penelope nodded and nudged me toward the door. “Yes, he. Dr. Benson is one of the best in the city at treating Bigs who have been…” She trailed off and I froze in place. “Penelope…” I tried to use my sterner voice on her but standing there and coming here for wetting the bed, I couldn’t help but feel a little weakened. “Is this doctor for…” I looked around to see if anyone was nearby. They weren’t. “Bedwetting?” I tried to whisper, but already inside the lobby by now, my voice seemed to echo all on its own. Penelope smiled but shook her head. “No. Not that. I figured you didn’t want to go there. Instead, Dr. Benson specializes in science experiments that have gone… well, to put it plainly, wrong.” I began to freak out internally. I hadn’t told anyone about the shot. “Wait… how do you know about the shot? I thought… I…” Penelope sighed and gestured for me to get in the elevator that had just dinged to the lobby floor. “Get in and I’ll tell you.” I sighed and complied without fight. The elevator jolted upward. “Look… I found you after I came to and they had left. I saw the shot and you…” I could already sense her hesitation. “Well, you freaked out a bit when you saw that thing.” “I did?” I had no memory of that. Penelope nodded. “You did. Not surprised that you don’t remember but the doctors and police bagged it, and I haven’t seen it since, but with everything going on… I put two and two together. I figured we would start here and go from there, okay?” It felt nice that I had such a loyal number two under my employ. Still, I trembled like a leaf as I entered the main office of Dr. Benson. It was even worse when we were eventually called back, but as the tall, clean-shaven, and dark with some gray steaks in it haired man in a lab coat entered, I felt oddly at ease. After Penelope excused herself, to give me at least a little privacy, Dr. Benson began. “Hello, Miss Glifford. I’m Dr. Benson,” he said calmly. His eyes seemed to nearly sparkle with intelligence and a kindness I really needed right then. “What seems to be the issue, or at least, why are you here today?” It took a second, and after a little coaxing, I finally managed to spit out everything that had happened. I felt a enormous weight lift off my shoulders, and I already felt better, but I knew I still had some problem. It didn’t help that Dr. Benson already seemed slightly worried as he began to write a few notes down on my chart. “Okay… not as unusual as you might think, so don’t panic there, but to see what we’re dealing with here and what you’ll need going forward, I’m going to need to ask you some questions, okay?” I nodded and with a glowing smile, he began. “How often do you wet the bed?” “Do you often daze out when interacting with Littles?” “Do you wear protection during the day currently, or do you have the desire to?” “Are there any authority figures in your life that you have started to defer to, both in times of stress and daily activities?” “Have you noticed any unusual habits in your daily routines, like drinking water, eating, or even brushing your teeth?” “Do you cuddle with any toy or object that brings you comfort?” With each one, I began to realize two things. First, each of his questions made me doubt my own existence in this world a little more. While most of the answers were a plain ‘no,’ there were at least 10 of his thirty questions, that I couldn’t exactly say ‘no’ to completely. Secondly, though, and more concerning, I started to realize the questions began to take on a nature of their own. While the first seemed silly, like asking if I spontaneously collapsed into a gelatinous substance when loud noises were present, I began to notice a pattern about halfway through that I could confirm by the 20th. Being the head of a safehouse, I recognized the questions as nearly identical to the ones I would ask a Little to gauge their maturity level. As soon as I realized that pattern for certain, I didn’t let Dr. Benson ask his 29th, let alone 30th question. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at, doc?” I growled at the man before me. “Are you even a real doctor? Can’t you see that I’m a Big, and not a Little?” Dr. Benson sighed and nodded. “I apologize for my questions, Miss Glifford, but I think we need to…” “No!” I didn’t want to let him finish that thought either. I was pissed. I was confused about what was happening to me. But above all, I was scared. His questions seemed to only be heading in one direction, and I didn’t like that place at all. I had said ‘no’ to all his questions, but with each that he asked, that ‘no’ became less uncertain. I was sure he knew that, and I was nearly petrified inside that soon, my answer would instead be a ‘yes.’ I couldn’t let that happen. “Screw this!” I edged my chair back and stomped up and over to the door before looking back at a worried and slightly bewildered Dr. Benson. “Thanks for nothing, doc! I’m not going to turn into some pile of good all of a sudden, so I think you can just take your tests and shove it!” Without letting him say another word, I turned about a headed to the elevator as quickly as I could without running. “Miss G!” Penelope tried to call after me. “Wait! Wait for me!” But I was already pushing the button and tuning everything else out. It wasn’t until the elevator beeped and I hopped on to leave this building altogether that I realized I should have handled that whole situation better. Normally, I was a level-headed person. I was focused on my job and caring for the Littles in my protection at the safehouse, the government required that much at least, but I was happy and content. Even keeled and not prone to outbursts was my reputation through nearly everything. A Little threw a toy at my head? I would scold or punish them, but never let my anger or pain get away from me. A Little called me dirty names and wished I was dead? Hurtful, yes, but I always kept my emotions in check. Or if a Little breaking free from a new employee while we’re at the park was terrifying, I always made sure to get them back safely and keep a clear mind about it. Now, all that seemed to be just out of my reach. I felt a burning anger inside my chest, a sadness in my eyes and trembling lip, and an unbridled fear in my head. I wanted it to stop… for it to be over, but it kept at it. Even when I got to Penelope’s car and waited for her to catch up, I still felt very much the same. I vowed to never return to Dr. Bensons, but as I wiped the snot and tears away from my emotional outburst on my sleeve, I knew something was definitely wrong with me. My pride might have been my downfall, but I wanted… needed to figure this out on my own. It was just a shot, and I was a Big. A bit of stress, PTSD, and some chemicals were not going to keep me down. As Penelope exited the building with a worried look on her face though, my resolve melted just a bit. I kept my outward confidence that I would d be fine, but a tiny bubble of growing doubt was buried deep within me. My gamble was certainly that, and I just hoped that everything would be okay.

This story is a translation from an unfinished story I wrote in French a few years back. I've changed up a few little things, but it's still mostly the same. I'm translating it in small bits at a time, but I'm also planning to keep going once I reach the end of what I originally wrote. Hopefully you guys enjoy it! The Awakening Chapter 1: A brutal awakening Everything is foggy. I’m trying to wake up. I feel like I’m trying to swim up from the depths of the ocean. Darkness turns to gray, then to blinding light. I’ve opened my eyes. It takes a few attempts until I’m able to keep them open for more than a second or two. I think I also dozed off in between those attempts. I’m not really sure. Eventually though, it seems like I’m able to keep them open. Where am I? My vision is very clouded, but I can see I’m lying in a bed. I think it’s a hospital bed : the room does look a lot like a hospital room. I’m covered with a very light sheet. I feel so weak, I can barely lift my head. There’s a pole next to me, with a bag of solute hung onto it and a tube goes from it straight into my arm. I feel like I’ve been asleep for months. But as much as I try, I can’t remember being in any sort of accident or anything that might lead to me being hospitalized. How long have I been here? My vision is awful, but as I look around me, I don’t notice any flowers, cards or any of the kind of stuff you would typically expect if I had been in a hospital and I had been visited by friends and family. Either it hasn’t been long enough for that to happen, or, and it makes me shudder to think, I've been there for so long that this kind of “get well” stuff has been removed and not replaced. That or maybe movies have been lying to me all my life about how these things go. This thought is enough to make me smile weakly. On that thought, I also realize that this hospital is weirdly silent. If this were really a hospital, wouldn’t there be nurses and people walking about everywhere? But I can’t hear anyone, as if I were completely alone. This thought wakes me up a little bit more, and I’m starting to feel tinges of panic making its way across the thick fog of my mind. With great pain, I try to move my arms, but try as I might, I feel like my arms have been replaced by wet spaghetti. With great effort, I move my head to look at them through my foggy vision. It’s hard to be sure, but from what I can see it seems like my arms are extremely skinny. I’ve never been fat, but those arms look like what you’d see in an african famine documentary! My heart starts beating faster as panic once again creeps into me. How long have I been here? I feel a piece of rubber near my hand. Moving my fingers to touch it, I think it’s another tube, and I think it’s going under the sheets. The discomfort I feel around my privates confirms that this must be a catheter. In fact, this piece of tube going inside me is so uncomfortable I wonder how I didn’t notice it before, though I’m still so numb to everything that maybe it isn’t all that surprising. For the first time the thought truly crosses my mind : I was in a coma. And looking at my arms, it seems obvious that I’ve been in that state for at least some time. Immediately I start thinking of those stories where people awaken after years in a coma and struggle to get back to their old life because it’s been so long. How long would it take for me to lose as much weight as I did? I try to remember how old I am. How.. old? I… I can’t remember. A vague memory of entering a brand new apartment flashes in my mind. And entering university? So I’m.. college aged? I try to reason. At most, I must have been asleep a couple weeks, maybe a few months at the max. People who wake up from a coma after years are extremely rare, and when they do they’re basically vegetables, unable to do anything for themselves. Vegetable. That word makes me feel a deep pit in my stomach. The silence of the room becomes suffocating. I don't understand why I haven’t seen a nurse yet. Shouldn’t I be hooked up to a machine that would warn them if I woke up, or something like that? I try to scream, but the only sound I’m able to produce is a pathetic moan. This attempt at screaming sends a wave of deep nausea across my body. It feels like I haven’t moved a muscle in years. A fresh wave of nausea mixed in with panic besieges me at the thought that this might actually be the case. I keep moaning, with barely enough strength to do it. Suddenly, I hear a door open, and can see the silhouette approaching. It’s speaking to me, but all I can make out is complete gibberish. I try moving my limbs, but once again, I can barely move any muscle in my body. Suddenly, through the gibberish, I can hear my name: “Miss Filion”. This woman’s voice knows my name. I’m actually in a hospital. They’re gonna help me. I’m gonna get better. Relieved that I am safe, but mostly because of exhaustion, I sink back into a deep slumber. I awaken once more, this time to a male voice. The owner of that voice flashes a huge smile upon seeing my eyes open. More gibberish follows: “Miss Filion! Welcome back among us, my dear one! I am doctor Brodeur. I’m the one who took care of your case since you’ve arrived here. - Oh, we have retinal reflex! She can even follow with her eyes!” As he was speaking his incoherent words, he pointed a small light in my eyes, and was waving it left and right in front of them. With great pain, I followed that light, having some vague idea that this is what I was supposed to do. I can hear how delighted he sounds after I do that, and it makes me weirdly proud. It’s weird, I feel like I should understand the words he’s saying, but somehow they’re all scrambled when I hear them. At least I can recognize the emotions in them. I attempt a weak smile to show the doctor I’m aware. I can feel spit dripping from the side of my mouth. “Miss, can you tell me what your name is?” I can hear his voice. I can hear that he’s asking me a question. I can even recognize that he’s speaking English. But I just can’t make out the meaning of what he’s saying. My pride turns to distress. I can’t understand him. I’m a vegetable. Fuck no no no no no! It seems that he’s noticed how agitated I’ve become. “Calm down, calm down! Everything is ok! You’ve been in a coma for a long time. You need to be patient!” A single word makes its way through to my broken brain: Coma. In a coma. I try to repeat the word: “aaaaaaaaah”. I’m pathetic. I can’t speak anymore. I forgot how to. I truly am a vegetable! But I did hear the word. Coma. And I am thinking to myself, speaking to myself using words in my head. Maybe I’m not completely a vegetable. I’m here. I am here. The doctor, seemingly in reaction to my attempt at vocalizing, speaks what I suppose are encouraging words. I don’t know what he’s saying, and I once again feel myself drifting off to sleep.

Chapter 1 Tish held the pen in her hand. She was shaking and wasn't sure she would be able to sign the document in front of her. It was partly from fear and partly from anger. She still couldn't believe this was happening to her. She felt so alone but knew that there were millions of others facing the same thing. She looked down at the legal document in front of her. She had read through it twice but it didn't matter. At the bottom of the last page were spots for two signatures. On the left was a signature line labeled "Minor Person", waiting for her to sign. How could she be a minor person when she was 20 years old? Her birthday was in 4 days. This was rediculous. On the right was a second signature line labled "Sponsor/Adult" and that line had already been signed by her friend and roommate Jenn who was sitting next to her. Tish looked up at Jenn who was waiting for her to sign. Jenn gave her a reassuring look and nodded towardsd the paper, encouraging her to sign. All Tish could think about was how unfair this was. She and Jenn were practically the same age, yet they were in entirely different situations. Jenn was only a few months older than her and she was the 'adult'? If only she had been born a week early she could have escaped what was about to happen to her. She put that out of her mind and brought the pen down and awkardly signed the paper in front of her. "Thank you Tish. I know this is awkard for everyone but just know what you are doing here could save the human race.", The woman across the table took the signed documents, quickly reviewed them for accuracy and put them in a folder. "Uh huh, that's what they say.", Tish retorted. "Tish! Don't be one of those people. You know the science is clear on this. The whole world is doing their part in this. You should be taking this more seriously.", Jenn pleaded. "Want to switch places then?", Tish snapped back. "Jenn is right. You both need to take this seriously. The documents you signed today show your committment. Jenn, since you are acting as her sponsor and guardian with regard to the new laws, you will be held just as accountable as her to follow the rules and instructions." "We understand.", Jenn confidently replied while Tish folded her arms and looked down. "Tish, I we realize this is hard for you to accept. You just missed the age cutoff by a few days but there a lot of people going through the same thing. Frankly, I haven't seen anyone as reluctant or resitant to this as you. Jenn has spent a lot of her time going through the training necessary to be your sponsor. She has sacraficed a lot of her time and is taking on a big responsibility. You are lucky to have her. There are many people who aren't so lucky! People who don't have anyone close they can depend on. Those people have to depend on complete strangers, and it won't be easy for them, but we are all in this together. I guess what I'm saying is you are a lucky, and you should realize that. So I don't want to hear of any trouble from you two, ok?" Tish looked up at Emma and Jenn. She didn't want to seem ungrateful for what Jenn was doing for her but it didn't change the fact that all this seemed uncessary and unfair. She was so sick of hearing that we were "all in this together", everyone needs to "do their part" and all the other buzzwords and phrases the media and government pushed on everyone. She was sick of it. Anyone that spoke out against these new measures was deemed to be some sort of irrational selfish jerk. "No Emma, you won't. This is just such a strange thing going on for everyone. Everyone will come around I'm sure. And maybe it won't take long to find a cure or whatever. I'm pretty hopeful about that, but until then I'm sure we'll be fine once we get going and into the routine.", Jenn stated while massaging Tish's shoulder, trying to comfort her. "That is everyone's hope Jenn. Now if you don't mind, I've got about 50 more of these appointments today for the other stragglers. Please find your starter kit on the way out. It will be labeled with both of your names. Everything you need for your first week is included. Remember your training and everything will go smoothly. Remember, we have an appointment in 1 week from today, but remember that random inspections may happen at any time. Carry your ID with you at all times. Jenn, because you look young, you may be asked for proof of age. Tish of course won't have that problem. Good luck and I'll see you in a week." Tish and Jenn walked out of the office into a lobby full of people sitting and fidgeting awkwardly. All eyes were on them as if trying to seek out any information about how their meeting went. The room was full of different people of all ages. Guys, girls, children and their parents, friends, couples holding hands, and others. Tish wondered about all of the weird situations the new law would cause for people and their relationships. She wondered about her own relationship. Her boyfriend was 22, so he was immune to the restrictions. At first it made sense that he would be her sponsor but that option was quickly removed from the table. As the laws were being debated back and forth over the many months, some lawmakers got their way that there could be no opposite sex minor/sponsor relationships unless both parties were married or the person was a legal guardian. Of course, the government failed to take into account all sorts of other lifestyles, situations, exceptions etc. It was a typical bearucratic mess that you would expect. There were protests and speeches and marches, but in the end things move so fast that is how it ended up. No solution was perfect and no side of the argument got everything they wanted. The other fact was her boyfriend lived 45 minutes away which would also be inconvenient for other reasons. Luckily he was very supportive and said he would stand by her over the next year. Jenn found the box with their names on it and they loaded it into the car. The drive home was awkard. Jenn tried to make small talk and assure Tish everything was going to be ok. "You say that, but I'm the one having to go through this. I'm just really worried about John. He says he will stick by me." "He will. I've always like John, Tish." "I know but a whole year without sex? I just don't understand why we can't, you know, do other things. Why are they being so strict with all of it?" "Tish! We've talked about this before. You know why. The future of the human race is a stake. Even if you don't believe it or whatever, it's true!" "Yeah yeah, I know.. the science. But maybe we can sneak around somehow." "Tish, you know the rules. If you get caught.. Well, and...." "What?" "Umm, it's just that messing around is going to be pretty impossible for you." "Huh? Just what does that mean? Tell me!" "I'll explain everything in a bit ok? I'm really not supposed to tell you anything until we open the box later together." "Geez Jenn, like who is going to care. But whatever, you are always the rule follower." They arrived at their apartment in about 15 minutes and took the large box inside and set it on the floor. It was Sunday afternoon and they both had to work tomorrow, but they had a little time to relax before having to get ready for tomorrow or discuss the kit. They worked around the house for awhile, made dinner and opened a bottle of wine. When they were cleaning up dinner Jenn finally broke the ice. "Tish, it's time to go through the kit. There is a little worksheet we will have to do and things to discuss. We both have busy days tomorrow so we just have to do it and get it over with." Tish had noticed a slight change in Jenn's tone. Almost an suble aire of superiority or authority. She wondered if this was how it was going to feel for the next year. "I know.. I know I'm putting it off. I still can't believe this you know?" "I know.", Jenn took Tish's hand and squeezed it as she lead her over to the box. She knew a lot more about what was going to happen than Tish did. She had been through several training classes to become Tish's sponsor. For some reason they didn't want the minors, as they were called, knowing all the details. She knew right now all over the country people were about to do what they were doing. Open these boxes and have their lives changed. She knew people were probably live streaming it, blogging and posting things on the various social media sites. She tried to ignore the noise of all that and focus on what she could best do to support her friend through this. Jenn figured that after a couple of weeks the newness of all of it would wear off and people would just have to accept that this was the way of life for awhile and the world would adapt. Jenn handed Tish a pair of scissors. Tish slid the blade across the heavy tapes and the heavy cardboard box poped open. The scent of the air from inside the box hit her nose. It was unfamiliar to her but not unpleasant. She took a deep breath and peeled back the edges and looked in.

In the middle of the living room, Daniela observed the blank canvas. She was waiting for the spark that would initiate the next phase of her creative process. On the coffee table beside her, countless sheets of paper with drawings of people, landscapes and objects were giving shape to what she liked to call her essence: the ordinary messiness of everyday life. She grabbed a pencil, then glanced down at the sheets. The profile of a woman with a dark complexion and a stern, concentrated face was the opener to the pile of suggestions. Dimensions, colors and tilt. Quite a challenge. Thus, she executed a long series of delicate strokes to the left and right. She had shaped an early version of the head, a rhombus and round cheekbones. She looked forward to building that face. Next, she drew curved lines: one horizontal and one vertical dividing the first in two. There the forehead, eyes, nose, right cheek and mouth would take their place. From top to bottom, the same order in which she studied the subjects before she began to put ink on paper. A few minutes later, the woman's face had been gone over with a black pen. Wide forehead with a few folds of wrinkles, half-closed eyes, aquiline nose, and, finally, thin, bursting lips. Daniela widened her mouth in a satisfied smile, this version was better and worthy evolution than the one in the stack of papers. "Who is that lady, Mom?" asked a sleepy voice behind her. She turned to the child, her little troublemaker. "Good morning to you too, sweetie. Did you sleep well?" Willy rubbed his eyes with one hand. He sharpened his vision by narrowing his eyelids toward his mother's picture. Uncertain, he said aloud, "She looks like a bad person." He moved closer to catch a better glimpse of her. Daniela let out an amused laugh. The little boy may have been right; after all, it was a drawing with no information about who the person depicted was. The possibilities of giving an identity to that face were endless, and without a bit of imagination, it would remain a mere face without a story. "It may even be a good person," she commented happily. "I have just finished contouring it; I will color it in a little while. Until then I'm open to any ideas." Willy turned his head toward the papers stacked on the coffee table. Curious to see his mom's work, the little boy tried to get closer. He rarely saw her sketches, partly complicit in the fact that she kept them sealed in her office, the only room in the house where he could not enter. This was his chance to see one live. "Hold it right there, sweetie!" she called to him, tugging at the back of his pajama shorts. After that she took him in her arms and they walked upstairs. "Did you think I forgot about your friend between your legs?" Friend. How he hated that word! Yet it was not his friend, why was she calling it in that way? "Mom, can't you take it off after we have breakfast?" he complained irritably. "Please!" "No, because after breakfast you will definitely go to the bathroom. So, better to do it now than later." He put on his snout. He found this step in his matutinal routine unfair. The first thing one did as soon as one woke up was to eat breakfast, not to go back to his bedroom and let Mom do the things moms were supposed to do! Arriving in his room, Daniela laid the little boy on top of the clothes drawer. She removed his shorts and, without any warning, tore the two ribbons from his diaper. The intense, penetrating smell of pee plugged their noses. Instinctively, his cheeks turned tomato red and he covered his nose with both hands. His mother said nothing, merely smiled in her usual sweet way. With one hand, she took the ends of his legs and raised them in the air. With the free one, she pushed the soiled diaper away from his private parts and butt. After that, she let them go. She gave him a wipe both front and back with a damp washcloth, then sprinkled him with moisturizer. She did not want irritation to develop in just his most delicate areas. Finally, she slipped a clean diaper under him and tied it off. Lifting his head slightly, Willy reluctantly squared it. The feeling of freshness and softness attached to his skin was reassuring and beautiful, but he sensed that something was wrong. So, he asked his mom, "Have I to wear it in the daytime, too?" "Isn't that what you want?" she replied nervously and confused. "Would you rather I take it off?" He sat down. The diaper made everything more comfortable, as well as everything safer and cleaner. He wanted that state of comfort to never end. "No... it just... feels all wrong. Maybe... it was a bad idea, Mom..." "Willy, I know it's a big change, but don't let your insecurity keep you from being happy. Do you like wearing a diaper even though you are a big baby? I will put it on and support you without a second thought." "What if someone finds out?" He clasped his hands between his legs, his voice turned into a whisper. "I'm afraid of being made fun of by anyone." "As long as you have your clothes on, no one will find out." Mom hugged him. "And if anyone finds out, it's okay. We'll just say you had an accident and the doctor said you have to wear it. We'll use excuses, nothing that problematic." The nine-year-old became agitated. He frowned in an expression of sincere contrariness. "I don't want to tell lies, Mom!" "Unfortunately, you'll have to, Willy. Otherwise, no diaper." At what appeared to be blackmail, the little boy stood firm in his position. "I don't want to tell the lies... why do I have to?" Daniela felt her heart clench. "Sometimes, people don't understand the uniqueness of others. They tend to... become mean and despicable. That's why I'm asking you to tell a lie. I will not punish you for doing so. Just be honest with me. Whatever happens, you must tell me. Okay?" Willy nodded solemnly, not wanting to find himself alone and without friends to play and have fun with. He concluded that speech with a question, "Can I go for breakfast now?"

Hi guys! Just out of curiosity how did it feel to wear a diaper for the first time after being potty trained for so long. Like didn't feel weird, did it feel embarrassing, did it feel natural, did you take to it right away? I would love it if y'all would describe what you felt when wearing a diaper for the first time. Thank you! Have a good day!🙂♥️

This is going to be a follow-up thread to "is it worth having a life as a full-time baby?" thread. Anyway, I got to thinking recently about what it would be like to be physically small, like baby size but still be cognitively aware and have all your faculties intact. I'd imagine that it would be very scary at first because everything would be bigger and you'd be a lot smaller. But in time you would adjust to your new lifestyle and adapt accordingly. I often wonder how I would react if I was placed in that situation. what I think, what would I feel, would I like it, would I not like it? I'm of the opinion that I would like it. Having to master my 11 month old baby body, learning how to crawl, learning how to walk, sit up, hold on to things as I learn to move around and get used to wearing my diapers. It all sounds really great! And I'd imagine that it would be pretty easy for my Mommy and Daddy to check my diapers. As weird as it sounds I kind of like the idea of everything looking bigger to me as I got small, to baby size. There's just something about it that brings a level of uneasiness and insecurity that I really love. Like it says "hey, I'm too small for this big world that I'm living in" and it makes me feel like I have to rely on Mommy and Daddy more, which I love. Cuz when you're a baby EVERYTHING is BIGGER and intimidating and I kind of like that feeling to be honest. Having that makes me feel loved and secure and it makes me think that I made the right choice to be a baby if a scenario like that ever happened to me. My diapers would look huge, my clothes would look huge, my bottles, my toys, my plushies, my playpen, even my pacifiers, Would look huge and everything would be larger then it actually is. Which I think is awesome! Does anybody else feel the same way or is it just me?

Hi guys! I have a question for those of you that have caregivers that change your diapers. Do any of y'all have plushies that you get to hold while being changed by Mommy or Daddy, and if so what's your favorite one? How does it make you feel when being changed, does it make you feel safe and comfortable, does it add an extra level of security during your diaper changes? I only ask because the thought of having a plushie while I get my diaper changed sounds very appealing to me as of recently and I just wanted to know everybody's thoughts on it. Oh and by the way, is Mommy or Daddy still able to get the job done changing your diapie while you hold your teddy bear tightly in your arms?

This will be my first story that I have written on DailyDiapers. I don't consider myself a writer and most of my writing experience over the last ten years has been scientific papers. I welcome any constructive criticism and feedback to make the story better. This story is something that I have been thinking about writing for around a year and I think I have all of the major plot points down with an ending planned and epilogue. I don't know exactly how long this story will be but it will be a novel length. I plan on averaging a chapter a week at this point. The story will center around our main character William Gauss, who is an applied math graduate student at Arizona State University. The story is centered around an illness that Will gets in the beginning. This story will be a slow burn in the beginning, as far as ABDL content goes, but if you stick with the story, our main character will be in the deep in of diapers soon enough. Since I am new to writing, I did base all my characters off of people in my life but all the names and relationship types are changed. I also am trying to make this story as realistic as possible, so I will use real places in the US. I plan to draw a lot from my own experiences for this story, but I have never lived in the places or attended the universities in this story. The only science fiction of this story will be Will's illness, but I will do my best to make it as realistic as possible from a medical standpoint. Saving Grace Chapter One I leaned back into my chair, stretching my arms above my head. It was getting close to 5 pm and after a long afternoon of grading 60 calculus II student's homework, I had finally finished for the day. Shutting my eyes for a second, I contemplated the lowly life of an applied mathematics Ph.D. student and Teaching Assistant. Don't get me wrong, I love the classes I am taking, and I discovered that I love teaching the calculus recitation classes and working at the tutoring center. Even my students tell me that I make a great teacher. But out of all my responsibilities, there is one thing that I have the hardest time motivating myself to do; grading 4 to 8 hours a week. With 60 students, it can be very mind-numbing. I open my eyes and look around my small office. I share this office with two other Ph.D. students, but unlike them, I use our office. They like to do most of their work at home if they can and I usually only see them briefly a few times a week. Not that I don't mind, it's nice to pretty much have my own office. I shut my laptop and stuffed it into my backpack and grabbed my bike that was leaning against the wall opposite of my desk. Opening my office door and pushing my bike out, I turn around and lock my door for the day. Pushing my bike down the corridor, I make my way to the elevator. As I get halfway there I hear someone behind me shout out, ``Hey Will.'' I turn around to see it is one of my friends and fellow grad students Steven walking down the corridor toward me. Steven is a guy of average height, maybe a little shorter, with an average build. He has shaggy black hair, a full beard that is kept neat and trimmed, and brown eyes behind a pair of glasses. We have been friends since starting at Arizona State University almost two years ago. We met at in-service week, the week before classes started. As he made his way to me, I said, "What's up, Steven.'' "Getting ready to leave for the day; have you started on the Abstract Algebra homework yet? I am stuck on the proof dealing with factor rings,'' Steven told me. I said, "I started all the proofs for each problem but have not really delved into trying to solve them yet. I plan on spending a few hours tomorrow trying to get the homework done.'' "Cool, hit me up tomorrow when you get done with classes and we can meet up and work on the homework together,'' he said. "Will do, I will shoot you a text when I am walking out of my last class tomorrow. See you tomorrow.'' I made my way to the elevator and hit the call button. The doors open up to reveal no one inside, so I push my bike into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. After a short ride, the doors open up and I push my bike towards the exit. Hitting the handicap button by one of the exit doors. I push my bike through the exit and say a silent prayer to myself, thanking God for the Americans with Disabilities Act, or it would be a hassle getting my bike in and out of the building. Walking out of the Wexler Building, the eight-story building that has been my home during the day since moving here, I push my bike to the end of the sidewalk. I hop on my bike and begin my two-mile daily commute to my apartment just off campus. It is early March and even though I am in the desert climate of Tempe, Arizona, just outside Phoenix. The temperature can still get chilly and thankfully, I have my hoodie on to protect me from the slight chill in the air on my bike ride home. As I am riding my bike through campus, I think to myself how different Arizona is compared to my home state of Georgia. The place I called home until moving here a little over 18 months ago. The high temperatures never bothered me too much because of the lack of humidity, but the lack of humidity did take me some time to get used to. I definitely had to start using lotion and lip balm regularly to keep my skin from peeling off my body. Looking off into the distance, I can make out one of the sights that make me love this place, the mountains that surround a third of the city. After a short 10-minute bike ride, I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex, passing by my parked silver 2011 Toyota 4-runner that I rarely drive during the week. My apartment building is a two-story building, with a stucco exterior with multiple light colors adorning the walls. I hop off my bike at one of the stairwells that lead to my apartment on the second floor. Hoisting my bike over one of my shoulders, I make my way up the stairs and down the catwalk that runs along the front doors to all the apartments. Standing at the door of my home, I unlock the door and push my bike inside. Walking into my one-bedroom apartment, I lean my bike against one of the chairs of my dining room table. My home is not the most luxurious, but as a single student in my twenties, I made it a very cozy place for me. Furnish by mostly thrift stores and use items off Facebook. The main open floor plan of my apartment has a desk on one side of the front door facing the window, made using two old filing cabinets with a one-inch thick piece of stained hardwood to form the top of the desk. Beside my desk is a large whiteboard mounted on the wall for writing reminders and working on homework. My office area is complete with a nice leather chair. Beside my office area is my living room area complete with a cloth couch with two end tables on either side with lamps and family pictures on top of the tables. In front of my couch is a nice used area rug with a hardwood coffee table stained a dark brown. On the wall opposite my desk is my large flat-screen TV. mounted on the wall itself. On the other side of my front door is the dining area with a white wooden table and four white chairs with wicker seats. The kitchen area consists of a large island with a stove in its center, and cabinets below the counter, and a breakfast bar on the other side. There are three hanging light fixtures above the island. Running along the wall are floor-to-ceiling cabinets with counters and a sink, dishwasher, and refrigerator. The walls are painted off-white with an accent light green painted on the kitchen wall and island. The floors are a composite light wood pattern that runs throughout the apartment. There is an alcove behind the kitchen that leads to the bathroom and the bedroom. I kick my shoes off by the door and I am greeted with the smell of pot roast that has been cooking in the crock-pot all day while I was at school. I walk through the kitchen into my bedroom. My bedroom consists of a queen-sized bed in its center with a nightstand on one side with a lamp and my wireless phone charger sitting on top. To my right is a large dresser with a lamp and a middle-size flat-screen TV. on top. All the furniture is made of hardwood and stained dark brown to match. Beside the doorway is a closet that runs the length of the wall with large light green sliding doors. Tucked away on one side of the closet is a washer/dryer combo. Walking to my dresser, I pull out one of the drawers to grab a pair of gray sweats and a white tee shirt. I strip my clothes off from the day and throw them into the hamper beside my dresser. Quickly slipping on my sweats and tee shirt, I can now put the long day behind me. Walking back into my kitchen, I take a small pot from one of the cabinets by my stove and set it on the stovetop. Turning around I reach into my pantry cabinet and grab the half-empty large bag of white rice. Turning the stove on, I mix enough rice and water into the pot to make 4 cups of rice. With twenty minutes to spare, I walk over and collapse on the couch, and grab the remote to turn on Netflix. Flipping through Netflix for about 10 minutes, I could not make up my mind and decided to re-watch Taylor Thomson's latest special. A few minutes into the show, my rice is now done and I get a bowl out of the cabinet by the sink and a fork out of the drawer next to the sink. I serve myself half the cooked rice and take the lid off my crock pot to ladle in a big helping of pot roast with potatoes and carrots. I sit back down on my couch with my dinner and a can of sparkling water and continue watching my show. I take a bite and savor the flavor of the roast and how tender it is after slow cooking all day. I may not be a chef, but when I set my mind to it, I can always put together a good home-cooked meal. After finishing the bowl and taking a few sips from my beverage, I decide on seconds and finish off the rest of the rice with another helping out of the crock-pot. With my stomach full and my show wrapping up, I go to the sink to rinse out my bowl, and the pot and load them into the dishwasher. Turning my attention to my pot roast, I slid the pot with the lid out of the crock-pot and set it into the refrigerator to heat up and eat off later this week. With it only being 8 pm I lay back down on the couch and turn on Shane Gillis' latest special. As I lay there watching t.v., I notice that I am getting tired and having a hard time keeping my eyes open. I think to myself, that the day must have taken more out of me than I thought. Deciding to call it an early day, I turn off the TV, throwing the now empty can in the trash, and walk into my bathroom to get ready for bed. Walking into my small bathroom, with a small white vanity with a sink and a cabinet mounted on the wall above with a built-in mirror, a toilet right beside it, and a bathtub/shower along the wall opposite the door. The bathroom is completed with white walls and light brown tile for flooring. I look into the mirror and see a young man looking back. I am tall, at 6 feet even, with a slim build. I have dark brown hair, a full beard that is kept neatly trimmed, and hazel eyes that seem to change from an almost brown to an almost green color depending on the lighting. I begin my short nightly routine by brushing my teeth and rinsing my mouth out with mouthwash. After spitting a couple of mouthfuls of water from the sink faucet, I look back into the mirror, taking note that my hair is starting to get shaggy. I make a mental note to get a haircut this weekend. I take a pit-stop over to the toilet to empty my bladder and with a quick wash of my hands I move towards my bedroom. Crawling into bed under the covers, I set my alarm for the morning, noting that it was only 9:30 pm, and set it on the charger. Turning over in bed it only takes me a few minutes to succumb to sleep. I wake in the middle of the night from a dead sleep, with the immediate need to throw up and throw up now! I bolt from my bed and rush to the bathroom. I make it over the toilet just in time to projectile vomit all over the bowl. My stomach is twisted in knots and feels like it is turning inside out as I throw up the contents of my stomach. When I finally stopped, I took some toilet paper to wipe my mouth with and flushed the toilet. Before the toilet could finish flushing, I was hit with another immediate need. I need to poop and I need to poop now! Turning around and jerking my sweat pants and boxer briefs down, I plant my butt on the toilet seat in time for a massive wave of semi-solid poop to exit my rear. After sitting on the toilet for a few minutes, I can finally take stock of what is going on. I notice that all my joints ache and I feel like I am coming down with either the flu or a stomach virus. After wiping, I turn around to flush and notice that I pooped a lot. The amount suggests that I have not gone in a few days, even though I had a normal bowel movement the morning before like I do every morning. Stepping over to the sink I wash my hands and wash my mouth out with mouthwash. I step into the kitchen and grab a glass of water to sip on. I walk back to my bedroom with the glass of water. Looking at my phone, the time is shortly after 1 am. I hope to myself that I feel better by tomorrow morning. I crawl back into bed and as soon as my head hits the pillow I pass out. Waking again, I notice that it is still dark outside and I feel nauseous and I have to poop again. I jump out of bed, run to the bathroom, and sit on the toilet to have my bowels explode into the toilet. As I sit there, I get more nauseated and I have to lean over to the bathtub to throw up what consists of stomach bile into it. Again, my joints ache, and I now have a headache to add to the list. I sit for a moment to collect myself. I wipe, flush, and rinse the tub out. I go to the sink to wash my hands and mouth out and go back to bed. As I am lying in bed, I think to myself that I am glad I don't have any teaching responsibilities tomorrow, I will definitely need to stay home from school. No less than 5 minutes later I fall back to sleep.

Here's an Article from the UK Daily Mail on why Diapers are fast becoming trendy and normal https://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-13514437/Why-adults-Britain-wearing-nappies-misled-using-seeking-treatment.html

Long time lurker. This is the first story I have written. Writing isn’t my strength, and It takes me forever to write, re-read, and rewrite. I have already written 20 chapters. I hope everyone finds this story different but interesting. This is a slow burn, but it does get into the diapers and regression. It will take a few chapters to really get into it. I can see this going for at least another 20 chapters on top of the twenty chapters already written. Chapter 1: The New Intern Avery let out a deep sigh of relief as he read the email he had just received from the biomedical technology department. He was finally being recognized for his hard work and dedication. His complex calculations and programming to demonstrate the interactions between a relatively new drug and a person's DNA had proven correct and valuable, leading to him being hired over a month ago - despite the doubt and ridicule from his colleagues. He leaned back in his chair, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. On the one hand, he was elated that his efforts were beginning to be acknowledged, but on the other hand, he felt uncertain if this would lead to further respect or more challenges from those who never believed in him. A sense of pride mixed with apprehension began to stir within him, thoughts of the potential applications of this research tumbling through his mind. Ever since Avery Sage was a little boy, he has experienced problems with keeping his pants dry. Maybe it had something to do with the car accident that claimed the lives of his parents. Perhaps the foster homes he cycled through caused him stress, or maybe he would have always had this problem. All he knew for sure was that he needed to wear protection when out in public because when he got stressed, his bladder gave way. As a result, whenever he left the security of his home, he wore pull-ups, which made him feel like a little kid and dampened his confidence. His confidence wasn't helped because he was only five foot and one inch tall for a young man. These anxieties certainly didn’t help his mental health. He suffered from depression, anxiety, and insomnia. He regularly saw a psychiatrist and was on medication, but life could still be a struggle. He thought back to his first week of work. Avery graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics and Biochemistry at the age of 18. A year later, he was offered an internship while working on his master's in Biochemistry and Genetics. Avery stepped through the doors of DNA Pharmacia, feeling equal parts nervousness and excitement. He had been preparing for this moment his whole life – the chance to finally earn some respect and prove all those who had doubted him wrong. Flashbacks filled his mind of all the running between foster care families he had endured; it had made his self-confidence falter, but nonetheless provided the motivation for him to finish high school years early and break free from the wings of his current foster family. Now was the time to show what he was made of. As Avery sat in the HR office, he wore his dress clothes for his first day, which was saying much– a little too large for his slim, small frame – but still managing to make him feel small and helpless against the world around him. People seemed to look through him everywhere he went as if he were invisible, yet he couldn't shake off the nagging sensation that all eyes were upon him. His shoulders sagged under the weight of defeat that shrouded his self-confidence. His wavery, untamed hair was combed back the best it could be. “Ok, Avery.” Julian, the HR representative, said. “You're done. You're officially an employee of DNA Pharmacia.” “I won’t let you down. I promise.” Avery smiled as he stood up and reached across the desk to shake Julian’s hand. Julian's expression was warm and encouraging as he shook Avery's hand. Julian was a tall, distinguished man in his late thirties, wearing a navy blue suit and a striped tie. His brown eyes twinkle with kindness, and he has a slight, friendly smirk while speaking to Avery. His handshake was firm but slightly frail, making Avery feel nervous that he had no idea if he could uphold such a promise. Doesn't everyone think that on their first day at work? Avery thought to himself. Julian just smiled back at him from his kind face, like he could read Avery's mind. “Great, I am hoping for good things from you. Shall I show you to your new desk and department?” Julian returned the smile. “Yes, please,” Avery followed Julian out of the room. They took two flights up in the elevator to a department called “Chemical DNA Sequencing Department.” and walked side-by-side down the long corridors of the main building. They passed glass panels on every wall and Avery marveled at how modern this building was. He watched sensors scanning vials of chemicals and equipment, feeding data into computers across the room. It was clear no money had been spared in making DNA a cutting-edge company. Every window they passed made him want to stop and ask what was happening; it all looked so exciting, and he couldn’t wait to start. All this made him forget that he secretly wore a pull-up underneath his clothes as protection was needed. It was down one of these corridors that Avery met an older man. The man had a strong jawline and sharp features, aged but wise. His eyes were a deep blue, crinkling at the corners when he smiled. His gray hair was neatly trimmed, and his beard was flecked with silver. He wore a crisp white shirt with black trousers and polished black shoes. He towered over Avery with an air of authority, yet his demeanor was warm and friendly. Avery recognized him from some of the interviews he had gone through to land this job. “Welcome! You must be our marvelous new intern. I am Bryan Wells, and you'll report directly to me! At your desk we have a laptop and a corporate iPhone with the works waiting there for you. From your resume and job interviews, my colleagues have noticed your peculiar knack for math and biochemistry, so we have an exciting task ahead for you! On your desk is a folder that outlines our challenge: debug a computational logic program that looks at DNA to determine designer drugs for fighting cancer. It's a riddle waiting to be solved - think you can do it? Report back any bugs as soon as possible, and we'd be grateful!” Bryan said cheerfully as he led Avery to his desk. “Yes, sir,” Avery replied. He would have agreed to do whatever Bryan needed. He was eager to impress. Bryan continued to talk to Avery. It was a one-sided conversation. Avery was too in awe of everything he was seeing to really contribute much. For him, this place was like a dream—top-level research with some of the smartest people in the world where his work could actually help people. Avery looked around the room. A long row of cubicles ran down one wall with a dozen or so scientists already hard at work on their projects. Avery's desk was tucked into the corner by an emergency exit. The light blue walls were sparse, containing only a few motivational posters and pictures of animals from Earth. Bryan led him to his chair and showed him how he could adjust it to fit him since the chair was probably to tall for him. Avery blushed a little but said nothing about it. Bryan reviewed with him how to log in to the server and the IT policies on using company-issued equipment. Bryan also went over where the relevant programs were located; he would review the folder with all the notes on the development of this program. “If you need anything, come to find me over there,” Bryan pointed to his private office. “The other scientists and engineers should be coming around to introduce themselves to you today.” “Ok, sounds good… And thank you for this opportunity,” Avery said as Bryan returned to his office. On that first day, he met a few scientists and a few engineers. They all seemed friendly enough, even though Avery didn’t have much to say. He wanted to just focus on the task at hand. He felt he had something to prove. Avery had been dealt a tough hand; growing up in the foster care system meant that he was constantly met with obstacles and negative comments. He was told time and again what he couldn’t do, but instead of accepting those limitations as his fate, he used them as motivation. Everyone’s doubts about him only strengthened his desire to prove them all wrong. The rest of the day was slow. Avery needed help concentrating on the program he had been asked to look at. Quite frankly, it was dull, and after seeing all the other scientists and engineers doing much more exciting things, Avery was keen to do something that felt more meaningful. This need to do something drew him to the thick handbook about all the research involved with this program and more. He was fascinated with it. Avery brought the program to his apartment that night. He abstained from indulging in his usual nightly video game escapades. Instead, he spent hours poring over the computational intricacies of DNA's involvement in cancerous growths, absorbed in deciphering the energy states of cancer cells. The realization that this program was an amalgamation of these complex calculations completely captivated him, particularly as he examined how the drug had to be manipulated to match the energy state of the cancer cells so that it would interact effectively with them. It was nothing less than astounding. As he delved deeper into the notes, he discovered a vexing inconsistency in one of the mathematical formulas that disrupted the programming and prevented it from reaching a conclusion on what drug was needed for treatment. Avery closed the notebook for the night, satisfied he knew what he could start looking at and he was glad to be out of the pull-up for the day. As he lay in bed, his mind kept running through what he had read. His insomnia medication meant he wasn’t awake for long, but even in sleep, it felt like his brain was searching through everything he had learned the previous day. The morning came too quickly as his alarm went off. “Ugh, I hate mornings,” Avery muttered as he hit the snooze button repeatedly. The alarm kept ringing, and every time it did, Avery reached out a hand and hit the snooze button again. It was an almost instinctive reaction to the annoying noise. His brain wasn’t clicking into gear. All he knew was that he wanted more sleep. At one point, as the alarm went, Avery pawed at the snooze button yet again but only ended up knocking his phone off the bedside table. “Oh shit,” He said as he looked up at the clock. It was 7:30 a.m. He was supposed to be at work at 8:00 a.m. His alarm had been going on and off since 6:00 a.m. this morning. Avery quickly removed his boxers and slipped on new pull-ups, light gray tan dockers, and a maroon golf shirt. He quickly wet down his hair and combed it back, knowing it would still look like a mess when his hair dried. Avery quickly left to grab the bus to work at 7:30 a.m. and hopefully be at work at 8:00 am. It was a rush, and Avery didn’t feel particularly ready, but as he walked out of the front door into the early morning air. He didn’t know how anyone could be a “morning person” when he always felt… tired. That morning, when Avery got to work, the first thing he did was get a large cup of coffee. Afterward, he sat down at his desk and began to take a look at the code. The code wasn’t easy to follow. It didn’t follow too much of a logical path in his mind. Two hours later, John Taylor, the most Sr, Engineer on the project and project lead, stopped by his desk. John was a 45-year-old engineer with a commanding presence and an ego to match. He stood at an imposing 6'2" and had a burly build that spoke of years of physical labor. Despite his advancing age, his muscles were still firm, and his torso remained taut, reflecting an unwavering commitment to physical fitness. Avery thought John's walk exuded confidence, each step resonating with a deliberate thud. His posture was impeccable, with his chest puffed out and his chin held high. He had a square jaw and piercing blue eyes that seemed to bore through any obstacle in their way. This made Avery very anxious to be around him. He was very much the opposite of Avery, who was dressed in a pair of tan dockers and a collared maroon shirt That he had quickly thrown on minutes before leaving the house. If someone were to judge Avery. They would say he dressed not to cause a stir and just wanted to blend in. The differences between the timid Avery and John, who exuded machismo and confidence, couldn’t have been starker. John wore an expensive suit that hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his chiseled physique, a testament to his attention to detail and his love of the finer things in life. “Impressive work on one of my projects, huh?” John scowled as he snatched the notebook off his desk. “I wouldn't waste your time with all the irrelevant data scribbled in here. It'll do nothing but distract you.” He flicked it to the other side of his desk like an afterthought. Avery noticed John's hazel eyes were framed by creases that spoke to years of meticulous research studies and calculations. “I tried to get a grip on it, but honestly, I stumbled over the complex calculations necessary for developing designer drugs. Despite that, I was still captivated by the work yesterday." Avery sighed, not convinced of his own abilities to do this kind of research but determine to make a difference still. “Well, just weed out the bugs and get the program working. My team and I will take care of the rest.” Johns said with a condescending smile. “If you do that, you will do good here, kid!” “It’s just….” Avery started. He wanted to prove his knowledge by suggesting a change to the handbook. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.” John cut Avery off with ease. Avery felt a little put out by this overconfident man. He had been hired to be equal to all the other scientists, and yet John was acting like he was somebody hired to do data entry. He knew he could make the program run better and make the handbook better; he just needed John to listen to him. “I’m just thinking that if we…” Avery tried again. “If you have any suggestions, just write them down and slip them under my door,” John said as he started walking away without looking over his shoulder. The rest of the day went on without a hitch. A few people came by and tried to introduce themselves to him, but he kept the small talk to a minimum and just wanted to look over the program. Avery took a lot of notes that day. At the end of the day, he decided to retake the notebook home and leave the laptop at the office. He left the office at 4:30 p.m. to catch the bus at 5 p.m. If he missed the bus past 6 p.m., there wouldn't be another bus till morning. He was hungrier than normal because he skipped lunch all day to work on debugging the program. He stopped by a McDonald's and ordered a Big Mac. As he stood in line, he couldn't help but notice the Happy Meals on the counter, offering small Lego kits to children. It was a cruel marketing strategy to exploit parents and make them buy more Lego sets for their already spoiled kids. He knew this well, but it only reminded him of his own childhood, one filled with deprivation and lack of affection. He watched as the children played with their toys, ignoring the food in front of them - something he would have cherished as a child. But no, he was never allowed such frivolous things growing up; his foster parents made sure to remind him how unworthy he was of such luxuries. The memory brought back painful emotions that festered deep within him.

Well, here goes nothing. I have posted on ABDL sites before but I don't think my heart was really in those stories. That has changed now, this story is one that I have put plenty of work into and I am finally ready to test it out on a real audience. I have a few chapters ready in the coming weeks but, based on how things go I hope to move to a regular schedule as I have lots of plans! Note regarding grammar, well I am terrible at it. I don't have an editor and rely mainly on re-reads and free web grammar checks so, don't judge me too bad, ha! Hope you Enjoy! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The sound of a flip-flop smacking the bottom of a foot and the ground in an annoying, repetitive beat filled the car as they approached their destination. “Tara, stop that!” her mother spoke sharply. Tara leaned up from the clenched position she was in at the back of the van and pressed her foot down hard to stop the tapping. She had been holding back her bladder for the better part of the trip. The freeway separating Tara’s house from her mother’s best friend was legendary. She had been holding back the two colas she had pounded at lunch and was thankful the end was nearly in sight. “I keep telling you it's not healthy for you to keep doing this to yourself; I thought we were past this.” Diane continued. In her current condition, Tara couldn’t help but agree with her. Ever since she was little, she had issues with bathroom breaks. As a small child, she was potty trained early, but that did not stop her from constantly having accidents. Her mom always said she had her ‘head in the clouds’; she would be so focused on something that nothing else would matter… nothing. As she grew older, Tara continued to have accidents that would go up and down in frequency. When she started school, she earned the unpleasant nickname ‘Tinkle Tara’. Between accidents and a bout with bedwetting when she was 7 and 9 years old, it looked like she was doomed to it. However, for whatever reason, a switch had flipped, and it had been nearly 8 years since ‘Tinkle Tara’ was uttered. On the other hand, in the last few months, Tara has been putting her bathroom training through the ringer. Time after time, she found herself holding her bladder and aching from the effort. Whether it was at the mall, watching a movie, or sitting through classes, the urge to go was becoming more frequent and urgent each time. She had not told her mother that she almost always felt the need to go ‘right now’ whenever she had to pee. It never helped matters that her mother was a health nut and had drilled into her to keep hydrated, so she always was drinking water. It was a habit, but then again, it was only in the last few months that things started to go sideways. Now Tara was also going to be playing ‘big sister/babysitter’ to a 10 year old. Her mother and Brittany’s, had been friends since High School and now work for the same company. Both had been married and are now divorced. With lucrative jobs and a daughter, they were about as close as any family member. So when they both were chosen to go overseas to be in charge of operations in a new business move for the company, they quickly decided the plan. As Tara was 18, she would watch and take care of Britteny until the two mothers got back, which would be around the beginning of the summer. “Now remember, you have to be in charge of Brittany and keep up with your school work. Those are the two most important things,” her mother said, for about the hundredth time. “Mom, I know. I have hung out with Brittany plenty of times before,” Tara countered. “Not for this long and with this many responsibilities. Plus, Cathrine has… Well something else that you are going to have to keep track of,” her mom finished. “Oh?” the girl raised her eyebrow. “She will tell you,” her mother said giving her a look that said, this is serious. As the van pulled into the garage of Cathrine and Brittany’s home, Tara shot like a bullet out the door into the house. Catherine was blurred as she shot for the bathroom in the room she usually stayed in on the second floor. Scrambling through the door, the sight of the bathroom made Tara relax. “No!” she gasped, hurriedly tired to get the button on her shorts undone. She had relaxed too early, and now things were out of control. Finally sitting on the seat, a sharp but blissful relief crept over her. She had not realized how much and how painful this time had been. Tara knew that she should stop doing this but, for now, inspected the damage to her shorts. The whole crotch of the garment was a darker shade of blue and was a lost cause. Luckily, she had one other pair close to these that she could grab from her bag and slip into. This was only the third time this had happened, but it certainly was not something she enjoyed. Slipping into fresh clothes, she made her way back down to the living room to ‘officially’ greet Cathrine and Brittany. “Whew, sorry about that,” she greeted Catherine. “It’s alright, pretty on par for you, ha!” Cathrine jested, then her voice went low,“Follow me to the kitchen.” Her mother was talking with Brittany, and the girl was looking like she did not have much to say, so she followed Catherine. “So there is something that I have been keeping from you; I just told her mother last night,” she let out with a long breath. “Oh no, is something wrong?” Tara blurted out. “No, no, nothing serious, but… Brittany has been having some troubles. Bathroom troubles,” she responded flatly. A heat rose in Tara’s cheeks, and she simply said, “Oh…” “Now I know that you had your own issues, but I recently saw a book about accidents among older children and teenagers. I have Brittany following some rules that are designed to help her get through this phase.” Cathrine explained as she put a hardcover book on the counter. “The front of the book explains how the rules work - the ins and outs as they were. And in the back there is the list of rules and a little chart if you need it,” she went on. Tara picked up the book, and before she could utter a word, Cathrine continued, “You obviously don’t have to read it, and Brittany knows the first two rules by heart now, but you should read them and she has to follow them. Supplies are in the upstairs hall closet.” “Supplies?” the girl questioned. “Well, in a nutshell, Brittany has to use protection whenever she has accidents. The more accidents, the more protection, and the more…eh… privileges she loses.” the older woman explained. “Ah, well, I guess that makes sense.” Tara concluded. She couldn’t believe it, Brittany was in diapers! It was a shock only because there had never been a hint to her that her little friend may have had such troubles. Well, Tara herself was smaller, but not terribly so, but she was still taller by a couple of inches. Brittany had a heart shaped face, round blue eyes, and shorter brunette hair, while Tara had sandy blonde hair past her shoulders, brown eyes, and a longer face. Both had followed their mother’s genes, like matched sets. “Cathrine, we need to get to the airport,” her own mother called out. “Oh yes, coming!” she replied, and then to Tara, “Just read the rules and make sure Brittany follows them, simple as it gets!” With that, she hugged Tara and made her way to the living room, where her daughter and Tara’s mother were. There were the usual tearful goodbyes, as the realization of how long it would be before they were all together again sunk in. All too soon, it was just Tara and Brittany watching TV in silence as the girls both recovered from the painful departure. Tara ordered pizza as a way of cheering them both up, and by the time the large pizza and sodas had been consumed, it was close to bedtime. She, Tara, knew it was time to broach the subject. She decided to do so in a manner that showed she trusted Brittany to know what she had to do. “Well, I guess it is time for bed, Brit,” she stated. Brittany yawned. “Yeah, I guess so.” The girl got up from the couch and made her way to the stairs. “Wait, Brittany!” she called to stop the girl. “Is there something we need to talk about? Some rules?” The younger girl froze, and she stiffened as she turned to face Tara, so she went on the offensive. “Before you say anything, it's alright. I had problems when I was around your age,” she tried to soothe Brittany. “I don’t want to follow the rules without mom,” she almost spat back at Tara. “Look, this will go smoothly if we just follow what your mom wants you to do.” Tara countered. “But… it's just… It's so embarrassing, and I want to just be normal.” Brittany pleaded, “Please don't make me do them.” It nearly broke Tara’s heart to see Brittany clinging onto a small hope that she would be out of whatever she had been enduring. “What exactly are the rules you are supposed to follow, i haven't read them yet because I want you to tell me,” Tara said. “Well, umm… you… There are five rules, and if you have any, you know. Then you start at 1 and go from there.” Brittany mumbled. “I see, and what rule are you on now?” She questioned further. “1B,” Brittany said out of the side of her mouth. “1B?” “Yeah, the first rule has three parts… some kind of like grace period before the rest of the rules, I guess.” Brittany had crossed her arms and had not looked at Tara since she started talking about the rules. “How far have you gone down the list?” Tara asked with complete curiosity. “Just two, but it was awful.” Brittany huffed. Tara was in a bind; she didn’t want to fight Brittany for weeks on end. And she didn’t want to have to deal with Brittany having accidents she could prevent. But most of all, she did want to have fun with Brittany; she really was like a little sister. The girl shouldn’t have to feel alone in this… then it hit her. It was drastic, but it just might work. “Alright, let's look at 1B,” Tara announced. Going into the kitchen, she opened the back of the book and found the page with 1A at the top. She read out, “1A - a single day-time accident will result in a pull-up for 1 day and night.” Turning the page, she also read, “1B - a single night-time accident will result in regular pull-ups for 2 days & night-time pull-ups for 2 nights.” Brittany was bright red but Tara talked fast to ease the embarrassment. “So you…” “The night before last, this is my second night. Mom let me go without during the day today because she was leaving,” the girl clarified. “Good, then we will both follow the rules going forward.” Tara stated. “Both?” Brittany asked. “Both,” she replied. “What good is that? It's still just me that will have to do any of it!” Brittany screeched. “Hold on. Did you see me dash upstairs when I got here?” Tara asked, and the girl nodded. “Well, I didn't quite make it, and my shorts got a bit wet. So I guess that puts me on 1A, right?” she said, matter of fact. “You're lying,” Brittany huffed, but Tara was prepared for this. A quick trip to her room and her shorts from earlier presented to Brittany were all the evidence she needed. “Whoa!” Brittany exclaimed. “Told you, so we will both be in pull-ups tonight. Your mom gave you a break, so we will just go with the pull-ups tonight. And if we are both dry in the morning, this all resets, right?” She asked cheerily. “Yeah, but… but… “ Brittany couldn’t come up with an argument. “Now come on, we are still about the same size; let's see if they fit and we can get off to bed.” Tara led the dumbstruck girl up the stairs and to the closet. It was packed with white boxes, each labeled in the upper corner. The shelf at chest height had two opened boxes, one of the left read ‘Slims’. Thinking these must be the pull-ups she grabbed two, and handed one to Brittany. “Let’s both get pjs on, i will come to your room in about 10 minutes.” Tara said as she closed her door behind her. Throwing the pull-up on the bed, it suddenly hit Tara what she was about to do. It had been so long since she had worn something like that she almost felt as if it stared back at her. As if this meant more than just a means to an end. Shaking her head, she inspected the pull-up; it wasn’t any of the major brands she knew. In fact, it only had an “R” in the center of the waistband to indicate a brand. The sides were just a bit longer than the width of her hand and the padding looked fairly thin, but then it was just a pull-up. Changing into a tank top with thin shoulder straps, she placed her usual PJ pants next to the pull up on the bed. Stepping into the pull-up she began to doubt that she would fit, yet as she dragged it up to her waist, it never seemed to tighten. Standing there, 18 years old, and in a pull-up, it may as well have been fitted for her. It clung to her a bit but didn’t feel tight, and she felt the leg holes conform around her leg just below her butt, a perfect fit. She walked around and noted the extra padding and the overall ‘bulk’ she was not accustomed to as she moved. Satisfied, she pulled her PJs over the pull-up and went to see Brittany. Knocking on the door, the girl called out that she was ready. Tara was momentarily taken aback as Brittany had some small shorts and the diaper spilled out of the top and the sides. “All set?” she asked. “Yeah… I guess,” but Brittany kept glancing at Tara's PJs. Pulling the band of her pants down a bit, Tara showed the top of the pull and said, “Fitted just fine.” Tara began to giggle, and a smile reached Brittany's face as well. Soon they were laughing hard at the situation, and the tension was broken between them. “Night, Brit, see in the morning.” Tara chuckled out. “Night, Tara” was the reply as the younger girl got into bed. Back in her own room, Tara turned off the lights and got under the streets, exhausted. However, she almost immediately realized why Brittany’s shorts were so small. Being under covers, in pants, and in a pull-up was not the most comfortable thing. But tiredness eventually overtook Tara, and she drifted off.