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All right, this is my very first story, so please be kind. The ideas surrounding this have been kicking around in my head for a while and I finally thought I could share to this site that has so many wonderful, understanding people. I've already got several chapters lined up, but we'll see how far things actually get. (edit: I went back and reposted with better formatting and one or two minor grammatical changes) ---------- Chapter 1, Found "Bye hon, I'm off to class," Sarah called out as she gathered her keys and headed towards the door. Oh my gosh, I had almost forgotten it was Thursday. I looked up and called out to my wife as she reached the door, "Have a good class, see you when you get home.” And with the realization she had class tonight, things started to wake up in my loins. Class nights were when I had some private time. Sarah would be gone for at least four hours, from 4:00 until 8:00. With luck she would text around 7:30 saying she would be going out with 'the girls' and be even later. You see, I do love my wife of three years dearly, but I've always kept one deep secret from her. To put it simply, I'm an adult baby. If you don't know what that is, to put it simply, I like to dress up in diapers and pretend I'm a baby. It may sound strange, but we AB's, as we often refer to ourselves, get emotional and sexual satisfaction from it. And with Sarah off to class, I can indulge this part of myself for a while. So, when I heard the car door shut and her driving off, I got up and headed to our bedroom. As I have done many times, I quickly shed my 'big boy clothes' and dug into the back of the closet where I kept my diapers hidden. A new package, it took a moment to tug the first one out and then went over to the bed. As I lay on top of the opened diaper and lowered my bum onto the soft padding, my cock was already wide awake knowing it would soon be embraced in the absorbent garment. Pulling it up between my legs, the brush of the elastic leg bands against my thighs sent another thrill through me. As I tugged the tapes in place my bladder gave a small twinge and any normal person would have gotten up to use the bathroom. But then, I'm not exactly normal and thought, "Perfect, after playtime, baby is going to have an 'accident'." That thought brought a smile to my face and a small giggle. Time to log onto my favorite web site to see if there were any new pictures or captions. So off to the home office, I sat down with a crinkle and clicked until I found the "What's New" tab. It wasn't long before I found a new one that was enough to make me move my hand from the computer mouse to my diaper. A woman's chest, wearing a nursing bra with one cup opened. The caption read, "Good little babies can have mommy's special treat.... Good little babies wet their didees." I must confess, this hit all my 'buttons' and soon my other hand rose to my face and I was sucking my thumb on one hand while my other hand slipped into my diaper. It wasn't long and my eyes were drifting shut in incredible bliss as the only noise in the room was the crinkling of my diaper as I masturbated to another incredible climax. My thumb slipped from my lips as I gasped, catching my breath as the afterglow came over me when suddenly I heard... "Looks like you're having fun." My heart leapt into my throat as my head jerked around to see Sarah leaning against the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. Thoughts raced through my mind, "How long was she there... oh DAMN,she saw what I just... shit shit SHIT!!!" "Sarah! I... I... what are you... I thought you went to class," I stammered and stalled, trying to deflect the conversation. "You...you shouldn't be skipping..." All the while, she was walking slowly towards me as I sat there frozen, hand still in my diaper, computer still displaying the captioned picture. "It’s fine, I told the professor I wouldn't be able to make it this week. But is that REALLY what you want to talk about??" She smirked a little as she reached down, kindly but firmly gripping my wrist and pulling my hand out. Then, matter-of-factly, she declared, "First, we need to clean those fingers, I don't want your cum everywhere. Come along." With that she tugged my wrist and I rose up to follow her, down the short hallway and into the kitchen, over to the sink. Having just orgasmed and my heart still pounding, the last thing my bladder needed was the sound of running water as Sarah turned on the tap. "One thing I won't abide is you getting your cum everywhere," Sarah declared as she thrust my hand under the cool water and squirted some soap on it. The cold water made my bladder twinge and I felt a little pee leak out, with her back towards me, my other hand swiftly gripped the front of my diaper and I managed to stop the flow as she quickly washed my fingers. As she shut off the tap and turned, I blushed and jerked my free hand away from my diaper. Sarah grabbed a tea towel and started drying my fingers, saying quite clearly, "We need to talk." Oh dear, I've heard that before from when I dated other women. 'The Talk' always ended up with them leaving, me crying alone, and another round of depression. Resigned to my fate, I dropped my gaze to the floor and said softly, "Fine, I'll go change and we can..." Sarah interrupted, "No, in the living room. Now." She put a hand on my shoulder, turned me in that direction and gave me a small push. As we entered, I realized the drapes where still open and I'm waddling in front of them wearing nothing but my t-shirt and diaper. I hesitated for a moment, but Sarah urged me onward. Sarah pointed to a spot on the sofa and simply said, "Sit." Then she sat down beside me, turning towards me. She was quiet, apparently waiting for me to start. When the silence started to grow deafening, I suddenly remembered something she had said. She had told her professor last week she wasn't going to be in class tonight. I looked up and into her waiting gaze, "You planned this. You knew!! How long have you known??" Sarah put her elbow on the back of the sofa and leaned her head against her hand, "Since before Christmas." No further explanation, no criticism, just a simple statement and she once again was quiet. I did the quick math, it was now mid-April. "But that was more than four months ago, and you didn't say anything? You didn't..." Sarah looked directly at me, "I am well aware of how to use a calendar, Michael." She went on, "And how to research things on the internet, how to review your browser history, and how to search through the trash every Friday morning." I sat there, thinking how dumb I've been to have left such obvious evidence, but she continued. "I even made a couple of appointments with Cyrstal. You remember I've told you about her? My old college friend? She's a clinical psychologist now, she helped me understand quite a few things." I felt the blood drain from my face, "You...you told her? How could you do that?" Sarah sat up straight again, reached over and gently put her hand to my cheek, "Michael, she's bound by patient confidentiality. She said she's heard a lot worse. And I love you, I want to know how to help." "You mean you want to 'cure' me... good luck with that. Do you think I haven’t tried stopping? Try to be more 'normal'?" Despite her not shouting like some other women have in the past, I hung my head down and felt the tears about to start. I just know she's about to leave me just as ever women I've ever known. None have ever compared to Sarah, but I was certain our short blissful marriage was about to end. After a moment of silence, I felt her hand on my shoulder, she pulled me toward her. Pulling my head into her arms, against her chest, she hugged me tight. "Shhh... shhhh... no, I'm NOT going to do that. Crystal explained it, you can't help it anymore than you can stop breathing. It's a part of you, I understand that." She continued, while gently rubbing my back. "I am a little upset that you never told me, but my research online taught me a lot," she softly explained. "It's like there is a wall separating your two lives, your two halves, and for them to meet in real life, well I know it must be upsetting. It's like breaking a glass, sometimes it's just a chip, sometimes it shatters. But I'm here to help either way." All I could do was nod into her chest as I felt the tears trailing down my cheek. "So you're, you're not freaked out and going to leave me?" "Nope. Not at all. In fact, we're going to open up that wall together, starting right now. I want you to wet yourself. Right now." I started to sit up but her arms held me firmly. "You can't mean that, I mean I can't do that. Please don't." I whimpered. "Now Michael, every Friday for months now, I've found a diaper in the trash. And a large number of them were wet. I know you do it, there's no point in denying it. I just want you to admit it to me and show me that you trust me." And with that simple declaration, she hugged me tighter to her chest and slowly started to rock me in her arms. The tears slowed as I felt her warmth, holding me. She didn't say anything more and the room fell silent. My mind was conflicted. Part of me wanted this, wanted so much to be held in loving arms that cared for me. But years of shame and rejection are hard to overcome. I reached and hugged her arm as I closed my eyes and tried to relax. This is different, I told myself, this is Sarah and she loves me. She knew all this time and she didn't get mad, she tried to learn more she says she wants to help. After what seemed like ages, the post orgasmic need, the cool air on my legs, the stress, I finally calmed down enough, nuzzled her breast and let it happen. At first just a trickle and as so often happens, when the first trickle hits my skin I clenched reflexively and stopped it. But then I relaxed again and let go fully. All those stories about hearing it I'm sure were exaggerations, the silence in the room was so strong you could have heard a pin drop. But I felt the warmth spreading like so many times before, the padding swelling up as it did it's job. But Sarah knew, perhaps by the soft sigh as I relaxed, the tension in my muscles finally easing. Whatever it was, she knew. I felt her shift a little, then she patted the front of my diaper, "Good baby.... Good little babies wet their didees.' Hearing her say that, where had I heard that? At any rate, I blushed hard and buried my face deep into her chest as she once again hugged me tight. I was an emotional mess, from orgasmic ecstasy, to shock, fear of rejection, slowly calming and then this final step, quiet contentment and bliss. I didn't want to move from this spot ever again. But of course Sarah, ever the practical one finally stirred. Patting my diaper she said, "Okay, time to get up sweetie. It's almost six now and I made dinner reservations for seven. I want you to shower, get dressed up nice, we're going for Italian at Canale's." I'm normally not that fond of Italian, but I wasn't about to argue. Here I am, my life suddenly turned upside down and my love wants Italian. So tonight, Sarah is getting Italian. As I got up and headed for the master bath, this woman that loves me called out, "And don't forget to put your diaper in the trash sweetheart." A quick shower, dressed and when I reappeared Sarah had fixed her makeup, stood up and gave me a hug. "You look great darling, let's go." But what I wasn't expecting was as we left the bedroom she grabbed my butt and said casually, "No diaper? That's okay.... baby steps love... we'll work things out in baby steps..." ...to be continued

Alessandra or alex for short is a recently graduated from college and after all the stress from her time at school she decides he needs some down time and goes online and finds a place where she can have someone else take care of her so she decides to sign up. What she doesn't realize is that the place has all the guest wear diapers and soon regress into toddlers and babies.

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/

The idea for this story wouldn't leave me alone until I started writing it just to get it out of my head. This is my take on the diapered prisoner trope along with a dash of dystopian horror. It's set in the future, a few centuries from now. No flying cars, but we've got moon and mars space colonies! And mentions of gangs and cartels doing gang and cartel things. My favorite are two adorable squishy cuddly diaper boys who come in a little later (no, they're not prisoners. They're victims and survivors) and they're the sweet and sugar to balance out any bitter. If you've read any of my other stories, you know I suffer from chronic Happy-Ending-Itis. This story is a bit different for me. I'm experimenting with a few things . I haven't written the ending yet, and I have no idea how that will turn out. 😂 SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL by Cute_Kitten aka C.K. Kat In this day and age, humanity likes to delude itself with beliefs of progression, of evolving civilization with basic dignity and human rights for everyone. Even for us convicts. I’m here to tell you right now that is a bunch of bullshit propaganda. Politicians lie and people give themselves pats on the back for progress that only exists in theory and on paper, not in reality. Who I was on the streets does not matter. What I did in the past does not matter. At least, it shouldn’t matter enough to strip away my basic human rights and violate my dignity. That is what they do in here. They strip you of everything. Literally and figuratively. I made mistakes. I can admit that. I was a poor, fatherless boy and young teenager growing up in lawless, dangerous streets. I had no choice except to do the things I’ve done. Anyone would have done the same. Survival demanded it. What would you have done in my shoes? You would make the same choices me and thousands of other lost, misfortune souls made. Let the vicious, unforgiving streets eat you alive or run the streets? Society gives you no choice. Then, when you get caught- and you will sooner or later because it happens to us all- society demands you pay the price for the choices it forced upon you. Each of us in this life think we’re smarter, we’re more clever, we’re better than the fools that get caught. We all think “I’ll never get caught.I’m not like those losers.” Until they slap the handcuffs on you and shove you into a cell. Then you realize you’re not that smart or you fucked up somewhere. I’m only twenty one and I’m going to spend the rest of my life behind bars. It’s a gross misappropriation of justice. My sentence is purely political, just so the police and politicians can look good, like they’re fulfilling their campaign promises to “get tough on crime and finally clean up the streets after decades of violence and bloodshed. Let’s make this country safe again!” This crackdown on crime resulted in harsh, lengthy sentences that turned criminals into victims of an extreme, vindictive regime. I’ve been speaking in a lot of generalities and abstracts. Let me get specific so I can help you understand. First off, the judicial and penal systems are very different in many countries. Some places execute drug smugglers (and my international gang never dared to set up shop in that country because the police are rabid and trigger happy) while other places hang homosexuals and stone to death women who were raped. My country does not have the death penalty. I wish it did. Death would be a blessed end, a heavenly release from the decades of confinement and torture I have yet to endure. I’m getting ahead of myself. I often do that. Sorry not sorry cuz I’ll probably do it again. So, my country is a tiny, insignificant dot on a map. We’re not a global superpower or political heavyweight in the international or intergalactic spheres. Hell, most people could not find our little country on a map. We’re a proud people who love our country and our culture very, very much. We were the death capital of the Milky Way for over fifty years. For five decades, two gangs ran the country in constant warfare for territory and to eliminate each other. The government barely clung to a tiny corner of land and power. They only maintained existence by striking deals with the gangs. Yeah, that’s right. Even the high and mighty bureaucracy feared us and paid us for the right to exist so we didn’t roll into the capital and curb stomp them into oblivion. The army and police were also terrified of us. We ran the prisons. Our two gangs were huge. International, with branches or tribes in nearly every country. We were working on setting up shop in the moon and Mars space colonies when there was an election. No one in my gang paid any attention. Who cared what boot-licking figurehead won? In a day or two the new president would come crawling on hands and knees, offering up a monetary tribute if we promised not to kill him. Toothless paper tigers, the lot of them. The gangs were the true power and the whole universe knew it. The citizens all feared and respected us. We literally held their lives in our hands, able to kill on a whim without repercussion. Do you see now why I had no choice but to join the gang who ruled my village when I was twelve? Survival of the fittest. Law of the wild, law of the jungle. The law changed with the new president who shook the very foundations of our country. He was a third party candidate. For over five decades, two parties dominated politics and ran on empty promises to wage war on gangs. Civilians, so sick of the death and violence and useless parties, decided to throw all their desperate hopes on a virtual unknown. We laughed. How could a no-name upstart from an insignificant third party change the very fabric of our country, our society, our communities and our very way of life? We knew he would fail just as all those before him failed. If a war broke out between the various gang factions and the government, we knew we would win just as we’d always won in the past. And that’s without the rival gangs calling a ceasefire and teaming up. Hell nah, dog. We don’t play like that, fool. The other gang is our mortal enemy. We would fight and kill each other and the government goons all at once. Even if we did get arrested, we had judges and lawyers in our pockets. We knew how to exploit the law. Even if we did go to prison, so what? We could still issue orders and run things from the inside. This new president said war, and he meant it. We thought it was just the usual political bluster. Months passed. Life carried on as usual while the president worked behind the scenes to destroy our safety nets. Judges were impeached and removed once an investigative panel found them corrupt. Prisons were restructured. A state of national emergency was declared. A new prison, a megamax specifically designed for the most violent gang members, was built in only a few months. Once the preparations were complete, the new president was ready to launch his offensive. A state of emergency was declared. Laws and due process were suspended so that swift, sweeping arrests could be made and streets cleaned up. This new president studied where and how his predecessors failed. He increased the power of the police and established special gang task forces with the sole duty of rounding up gang members. How would they identify gang members? Tattoos. These chumps had five decades to study the gangs and knew well how we operated, what each gang’s tattoos and symbols are and what they meant. Tattoos are very special and important to gang life. You have to earn them. They show off your rank within the gang, the things you’ve done for the gang, your accomplishments, and what tribe or branch of a huge, international gang you belong to. Tattoos give you instant respect and street cred. They identified you, told your story. Any non-gang member who replicated the tattoos because they thought it was cool or wanted to emulate us and appear all tough like a Billy Badass got their throat slit. If a gang member got a tattoo they had not earned, we cut it out of their skin, flaying them alive. The only way to get a tattoo, to get respect and rank, is to earn it. The government goons knew it all, every ink-stained secret compiled into a book for their jackboots. That, too, was new. We waited for the president to come grovel before us, begging on his knees for a peace deal as was tradition after each election. He never came. We should’ve realized what this meant. In our arrogance, we assumed it was because he was terrified and trying to find his balls. The special task forces were new. The Emergency Martial Laws were new. The net was wide; preparations thorough. We didn’t realize the noose was closing until too late. City blocks, suburban towns, small jungle villages; all were hit in random blitz-krieg attacks of armed men in armored, bullet proof cars rolling in and rounding everyone up for inspection. Kinda like the Nazis did to the Jews. Civilians were let go. Anyone with gang tattoos was immediately arrested. Having a gang tattoo was now a crime. No warrants, no due process. Your tattoos rendered you automatically guilty. Non-gang tattoos were immediately released with the other civilians. Skip court and go directly to jail. No bail cuz you got gang ink in your skin. You can talk with a lawyer and judge later. This is a war against violent sub-human scum, as my arresting officer told me. He also claimed they were taking the country back so kids could have childhoods and play outside and go to school without fear of trafficking, being sold or shot. The soldiers went from building to building. House to house, shop to shop, looking everywhere. Civilians- those who were once so terrified of the deadly, brutal consequences of ratting out gang members to the police- now happily cooperated because the soldiers made them feel safe. They even helped the soldiers check by pointing out all of our hiding places. We used to use civilian non-gang affiliated houses and shops when it was convenient for us. Anyone who refused suffered. Maybe a body part was cut off as a punishment and warning to others. Usually a child’s. Parents become swiftly docile when you threaten to cut off their kid’s ear or pluck out an eye. If they lived in gang territory, their lives and their property belonged to the gang. We always made sure to collect our dues. These raids were not a one and done deal. They happened repeatedly at random, snaring more gang members each time. The high ranking members, we who ran things, went straight to the brand new supermax prison built just for us. Now that you have a general idea of what has been going on in my country, let’s get to the heart of the matter. This new super prison, the diapers, the forced incontinence, and the numerous human rights violations. Yes, that’s right. Diapers. We have to wear diapers.

So this is my first time, trying to write any kind of story revolving around ABDL and also one of the first time I've ever tried sticking my nose into creative writing at all. This is basically a preview. I would like some feedback on my writing style and also if this is an "story idea and concept" that people would like to see me put some time and effort into. To zero and back Chapter 0: ” You GOT to be joking!” My mother stared back at me with a dumbfound look on her face. “You can’t be serious, about such an idea!?” Her eyes didn’t flinch, as she just stared right at me, with a blank expression. “Mom, seriously, it’s a great idea and it’s NEVER been done before. And the people at the magazine already signed off on it. They think its brilliant! This could be my big break!” I could easily tell, that my attempts at convincing her, had little to no effect. “So let me get this straight.” Taking a zip of her coffee, she learned forward in the couch, staring even harder at me, from the other side of the living room table. “The biggest child and parent’s magazine in the country, “Mommy Mag” has agreed for you to write a parenting guide on potty-training, by first unpotty-training yourself and then training yourself again, alongside your baby cousin!? And how long did they give you to write this article?” “Two years.” I mumbled, trying to break free of her locked stare. “So what, one year to unlearn everything and then when your cousin turns three, you got one year to learn everything again alongside him and write this damn thing!?”. “Pretty much.” Her eyes did not flinch, she had barely blinked since the conversation started. “And what does the deal include.” She took another sip of her coffee. This was my shot, my one opening to sell her on the idea. “They have agreed to take care of all expenses, WHATEVER that may include, also I would be under full time contract the full 2 years, but will not have to meet into the office to work on the article. And Mom, the salary is great and when the 2 years are up, if the article gets printed, I’m guaranteed to have my contract renewed and is free to work on whatever I feel like afterward. It’s a great deal and I really think this could be my big shot, at making it in the business.” That last part wasn’t a lie, I truly did believe that this could be my chance of making it big in the journalism business. Ever since getting my degree almost a year ago, nothing had really gone my way and 12 months after finishing school, I was still living at home with my mom and had, little to no luck at getting my foot in the door anywhere. That was one of the reasons of this project of my, but there was another, one that nobody and especially my mom needed to know about. I’m an ABDL which stands for adultbaby diaper lover, it’s a kind of fetish that has its roots in ageplay and regression often revolving around wearing and using diapers. So basically being able to wear and use diapers and combine it with my work, which may lead to something bigger, while getting PAID to do so, was the ultimate dream come true. But first, I had to convince my mother, since I was living under her roof and this would come to affect her day and life. “And what does your aunt Karen and uncle Rob think of this?” “They are pretty cool with it, I’ve already ran the idea by them and it’s not like it’s really going to affect them. Especially not until cousin Jack turns two and then it’s still limited how big a part of it, he and they are going to play. I’m the test subject, Jack is only playing the role of control test, so I’ll have some routines to follow, while training myself back up.” She took another zip of her coffee cup, still looking skeptical, but her stare had lightened. “I still can’t believe, that my sister agreed to this.” She exhaled deeply. “And how exactly are you planning on….UNtraining yourself?”. “Well...” I hesitated for a second. “I’ve been reading a lot about it on the internet, there are actually a lot of information on the subject, believe it or not. In reality, it’s like un-training any other muscle and there’s also hypnosis and stuff, that should help with the process.” She continued to stare into her cup, not giving me a second look as she spoke. “Well Patrick, you’ve seem to have already made up your mind. And you’re an adult, it’s not like I can stop you and you seem to have done your research. If this is want you think you NEED to do, to get your career going and if you promise to take good care of yourself.” My eyes lit up, as she looked back up at me. “Then go for it,” JACKPOT! Chapter 1: After a rather quiet, but especially awkward dinner, I found myself sitting in front of my laptop, armed with my company credit card and ready to begin my project. Seeking out diapers was my first priority, it didn’t take me long to find a local site that sold incontinent product and offered express shipping. I ordered a case of plain white adult diapers, in medium thickness and capacity and continued on to the second target on my “to do list”. I had been looking at hypnotic ABDL files for a while. Most of them seemed too good to be true, offering complete incontinent and mental regression. But at one point I stumbled upon a webpage that didn’t promise too much and actually sported some great review of their files. One file offered help to induce urinary incontinent, making the listener more open to the thought of becoming less bladder control aware and accepting this fact. Another offered the same but included bowel incontinence. But the one I had my eyes on, offered both of these, plus included ties to mental regression and acceptance. Linking the thought of becoming incontinent, with the thought of being a toddler or infant. Mentioning allowing the user to not be embarrassed by the idea of wearing and using diapers, because that is what babies would do and making “giving up control” easier, as this train of thought and connection between the two grew stronger. That was all I needed to read and within seconds the file was ordered and arrived in my email inbox. That would be all, I would need for now and I put my trusted company card away and decided to call it a night. But not before transferring the hypnotic file to my phone, so I could listen to it while I slept. Laying in my bed, I plugged my headset in and played the file, which sadly turned out to be a disappointment. The field proved to be some sort of subliminal message, just a random mix of radio scatter and sounds bites. The only noticeable feature, was a faint sound of a nursery lullaby appearing from time to time. But still I found the simple thought of the promised effect and what awaited me in the near future arousing and jacked myself to a major orgasm, before falling asleep, the file still playing in my ears. I woke up the next morning refreshed and excited. Luckily Mom had left for work, when I got up so awkward encounter ruined the morning as I had breakfast and started my day. I did not achieve a lot that day, as I constantly found myself checking the driveway waiting for the delivery of my diaper order. But I did manager to kill some time in front of my laptop and after much thought came up with a name for my article. “To zero and back” I said to myself as a wrote the headline on the word document. That name seemed fitting, as I would be going back to zero potty training and then back again afterwards. The mere thought of that, got me excited. Finally, the doorbell sounded and I sprang across the house. Opening the door, I was greeted by a UPS driver, holding a large cardboard box in his arms. Quickly signing for the order and sending him on his way, I ran back across the house and into my room, throwing the box onto my bed before ripping it open. Inside I found exactly what I ordered. A shipment of plain white diapers, enough to surely last me a while. At least in the beginning. Now came the part I had been waiting for. Time to put on, what hopefully was my first of many diapers for a long time. I ripped one of the diapers out of the box and sniffed it. No apparent smell hit, to my disappointment, so I quickly continued to open the diaper and spread it out on my before, taking a second to admire it, before slowly unbuttoning my jeans and letting them drop down around my ankles, before stepping out of them. Next I removed my underwear, realizing this may be the last time in a while, that I wore such a pair of boxerbriefs. I turned around and placed my bum on the diaper, it felt thinner than expected, but still the feeling of the soft padding, sent chills down my spine, as I laid back and put the front up between my legs. Next came the tapes, which proved to be quite a challenge, as each side sported 2 pieces of sticky material. It took a lot of fiddling and several on and off attempts but finally I had all four pieces of tape attached and the diaper secured around my waist. After standing up and walking over to my bedroom mirror to inspect myself, it became clear that “secured” may have been an overstatement. The diapers were hanging rather loose and slightly crocket around my hips. It took 5 more minutes of fiddling and opening and reapplying the tapes, before I ended up with a semi acceptable result. There I stood, dressed in nothing but my t-shirt and a crinkly white diaper. This was a dream come true, but the dream quickly ended as I heard the front door open and my Mom enter the house. I panicked and quickly ran to pick up my pants, we may have had the talk and this may be a dream come true, but I was nowhere near ready to let my Mom see me, in just a diaper. The pants proved to be a challenge to put on, the diaper was thicker than expected and it took quiet a lot of effort to force my pants up and over the diaper, but I managed to close them around my waist and went to greet my Mom. As I entered the kitchen to meet her, I became aware of the crinkle that followed my every step, as a result of the diaper moving around my hips. I slowed my movement, careful not to walk to fast, as a mean to dampen the noise of my new underwear. “Oh there you are, so how has your day been?” My Mom was busy unpacking the groceries as I entered. “Fine I guess, I’ve got a bit of writing done and I even came up with a title for my article.” I picked up a grocery bag from the table and start unloading it into the cabinet. My Mom stood quiet for a moment, staring down at me, as I was kneeling in front of the cabinet. “So, how does it feel?”. I looked up at her with a confused look. “What do you mean?” I folded up the bag and stood back up. “How does it feel being back in diapers?” My mouth dropped for a second. “How did you know?” My response triggered a chuckle from her. “It pretty hard not to notice, that crinkle is pretty hard to ignore, also its peaking up from the back of your pants when you squat down and when you entered, you were waddling almost like a toddler trying to hide it.” She continued to chuckle, as she put the bags away. “Guess it’s something we both have to get used to. It’s not like you can sneak around for the next 2 years, trying to hide it.” At this point my face was burning bright red, this was one of the things I hadn’t thought about, but she was right. I spent the next few hours “hiding” in my room, trying to avoid awkward diaper contact with my Mom, until the time came for my bladder to declare itself “full”. “This is it.” I mumbled to myself, as I stood up from my desk. Standing in the center of my room, I closed my eyes and relaxed my body. Nothing. I took a deep breath, exhaled and relaxed. Again, nothing. This was proving to be quite a challenge, and this whole untraining concept, may be harder than expected. Once again I took a deep breath, held it, exhaled and FINALLY. I felt a warm flow spread around my crotch, as the diaper flooded and consumed the urine flowing from my body. The warmth continued to spread across the front of the diaper, slowly making its way towards the back and… DOWN MY LEG!? I opened my eyes, just in time to catch the first drops of liquid, roll my thigh and onto the floor. “SHIT!” I mumbled loudly. The flow of urine stopped, but it was clear that my diaper had leaked and I had managed to make a mess on the floor. “Guess I didn’t do such a good job after all.” I thought, as I stood there contemplating my situation. I quickly made my way to the bathroom. First to rip off the “failed” diaper and wash myself off with a cloth, before grapping a roll of paper and run back to my room for a quick clean up. With the mess taken care off, I dropped the used diaper in the bathroom waste bin and soon found myself back in my room, fresh diaper in hand and ready to give it another try. Once again I placed the diaper on my bed and started placing it around my hips. AND once again I found myself having to fiddle with the tapes for several minutes, applying and reapplying them, before I ended up with an acceptable result. At this time, Mom was yelling that dinner was ready, so I threw my pants back on and slowly snuck my way to join her. Nothing particular happened for the rest of the night, as we both tried avoiding starting any awkward conversation during dinner, before I quickly snuck my way back to the safety of my room, where I spent the rest of the night, until it was time for bed. Laying in my bed that night, the hypnotic file playing through my headset. I quickly discovered that falling asleep wearing my new underwear would prove to be a challenge. The extra padding between my legs, made laying on my side rather difficult, not to mention the loud crinkle that followed my every movement and the extreme heat that was generated around my groin. But finally after much tossing and turning, I drifted off to sleep. 1 day down, 729 to go.

Chapter 1: “Abby, is this really necessary?” A whine sounded from her throat. Dani crossed her arms over her chest, pouting at the ceiling as her legs were held up by the ankles. A warm wipe made its way over her nether regions, cleansing every inch of her dirty bottom and between her legs. “Yes, Dani, this is necessary. It’s necessary when you willfully disregard all instructions not to eat gluten. Really, Dani, what were you thinking?” her voice was firm, not angry, but the disappointment was clear. She’d only had a tiny bite of cake left on the counter and it was only too tempting dipping her finger into the frosting and biting into the yummy sweetness. The doctor said she had Celiac disease but Dani hadn’t believed a word they said. These Amazon’s were on a power trip and the only thing the doctor believed she should be having was milk straight from an Amazon’s tit. But now her tummy ached and the messy explosion down below was the result. Abby stared down at her with the same condescending look given to all Littles trying to prove they were bigger than they actually were. “Just because you are a Little does not mean we are all out to get you. Believe it or not, Doctor Heany actually wanted to help you. This is all your own fault, Daniella. You have no reason to be upset.” Okay, she did have a point, the Little reluctantly agreed. But, that didn’t mean she had to diaper her! Dani squirmed, wiggling around on the table as the Amazon woman reached down below, pulling out the thick padding. “NO!” She cried out, anxious to get away from the monstrous article of clothing, if it could even be called that. Dani knew she had been extremely lucky the past several years. The apartment building she used to live in decided they’d no longer accommodate unadopted Little’s after her neighbor had left the sink faucet running and fell asleep which resulted in the flooding of the entire apartment. The damage wasn’t extreme but the Landlord was not pleased. The Little was adopted not even a day later and the Landlord refused to rent to Little’s any longer. It wasn’t that Dani didn’t understand the Landlord’s frustrations but everything in this world was Amazon size, meant for those eight feet and taller. They had step stools and ladders and accommodations were made for the regressed but the average unadopted Little hardly stood a chance, especially when they couldn’t even reach a sink faucet - a task that would be simple if she wasn’t so short. And she’d gotten lucky, finding an Amazon that would even rent to her in the first place because most places wouldn’t even entertain the thought. A Little pretending to be an adult, no more mature than a toddler, yeah that’ll go well… Knowing she was about to be booted out on the street, tears welled up in her eyes. She was the prime candidate for any Amazon. They just couldn’t ignore their parental instincts, seeing a Little in distress (or any Little in general). The urge to smother them with “love” back into diapers and turn their brains to mush was too strong. But Abby wasn’t like the other Amazon’s - not really, well, kind of - she was different. Abby had saved her. But it’s not how she saw it at the time. Dani had been arguing with the Landlord, a grumpy ten foot tall man who never had time for Little’s and their whims (as he liked to put it) about just needing another day or two to move out her stuff. Her best friend said she could stay with her for a while until she was sorted. But she had too much stuff to move in twenty-four hours coupled with the fact there were about fifty other Little’s moving out the same day, it was an impossible task they were meant to fail at. Look at all the Littles, too immature to follow directions correctly. Too tiny to even lift and carry out all their items. That is why instead of them doing the carrying, they need to be carried by a big and strong Amazon. He’d all but laughed in her face as she continued to argue her case, not only for herself but other fellow Littles. However, it wasn’t until after, she’d realized she’d gone a bit too far. “I’m half tempted to call the adoption center!” The man exclaimed. “Not even able to follow proper instructions, disrespectful and talking back? This is a serious case of Maturosis.” Oh god. Her heart had dropped to the bottom of her stomach, unable to do anything as she watched him pull out her phone. “Please!” She pleaded. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry-” “What’s going on here?” They’d both turned around at the sound of the voice. An Amazon, one of the tallest she’d ever seen, came strutting over across the lobby. The woman must have been about thirteen feet and that was tall for Amazon standards. Unconsciously, she backed up, eager to be rid of both Giants because while one was worrisome, two was a nightmare. “Miss Brady!” The man’s voice turned jovial at the site of his fellow Amazon. “Nothing to worry about here. Just the standard case of Maturosis, I’m dialing the adoption center as we speak.” Tears poured down her cheeks and the Amazon stared down at her, blue eyes shining with an expression she couldn’t make out. The Amazon was beautiful and blonde with curves she could only dream of having. “Oh don’t do that,” the woman smiled, waving her hand. “I’ve been searching for a Little for myself actually! I think Little Miss -“ “Daniella Avery.” Said the man with a Cheshire cat grin as he hung up his phone. “Miss Avery would be absolutely perfect! You don’t have to worry about her apartment. I’ll take it over as well.” The Little didn’t have time to run as she was quickly scooped up and swung over her shoulder. The girl let out what could only be described as a tantrum. Kicking and screaming and pounding on the Amazon’s back, that should have been the end. At twenty-one years old, this should have been the point where her life drastically changed forever and any happiness she contained disappeared. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was quite the opposite. OoOoo Abby won in the end, like always, and could only smile at the pouting Little who couldn’t have been any more adorable in her puffy pink diaper secured tightly around her waist. Honestly, she’d be content making her go out dressed in only that but Abby really didn’t have the energy to deal with the tantrum that would surely ensue. “Why can’t I at least wear a pull-up?” “Do I really need to explain this Dani?” She did not. The Little stayed silent. “You know what we agreed on. Say it.” Her hand landed down on her pale thigh tainted pink, having been slapped one to many times in response to her poor behavior. Dani frowned, rubbing at her wet eyes. “Mommy knows best and Little girls need to learn that their naughty behavior has consequences,” diapers being it. All Abby really required was obedience and a companion to watch over but not regress. The Amazon, unlike most others, did not desire a baby to look after or to be called Mommy or diaper full-time. She wanted a Little she could snuggle up with at the end of the night, a Little that would still maintain their adult mind and could have normal conversations yet acknowledge their place in an Amazon's world. Dani could handle that because her Mommy, for all-intents and purposes, always said, it could be a lot worse. She had freedoms, too many to count and it just came over the small price of being fussed over and treated at the most like a five to six year old. However, the times she was diapered, dressed up in humiliating garb and made to nurse were her own fault. It was her own stupid actions having landed her in this position. Like now. But Dani knew, if she even voiced a desire to be regressed, Abby wouldn’t hesitate. Instincts always won over in the end. “Very good,” Abby smiled, patting her head. “Arms up.” The Little complied, allowing the sparkly blue dress to be slipped over her head ending just past her knees. Abby would’ve had her permanently dressed in pink just like her nursery and about every babyish outfit she owned but seeing a diapered Little in pink and alone in public was a recipe for disaster. Hands under her armpits, she was lifted to the ground. Her legs wobbled attempting to catch her balance having been on her backside for way too long. Her head didn’t even reach halfway up to the changing table just like every other item in Amazonia and while Dani was proud to be Little, she wished she were just a few feet taller. Only at 4’8, she was short even for Little standards which made her even more delectable to the Amazons and absolutely impossible to be taken seriously, more so than her fellow Littles. Now, Abby hummed a tune, something familiar from her childhood as they stood at the mirror, brushing her red curls back into a low ponytail. “All my friends are going to see that I’m wearing a diaper,” Dani sulked looking down at the ground because she couldn’t bear to stare at her own reflection. “You don’t have to play with your friends. We can always stay here and have a Baby day. We can watch your favorite movie and cuddle and have bathtime. I know how much you love bubbles.” Her cheeks turn pink at every word, worse than the last. Dani was mortified to admit how much she actually enjoyed herself during those times. It was maybe only a year after she’d been adopted that she truly let herself relax and indulge in the lack of responsibilities, realizing she wouldn’t be taken advantage of. Being taken care of for once instead of having to worry about her every little move, was a nice change. Still, Dani couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing this was exactly what so many Little’s were fighting against, what she had fought against, and here she was enjoying it. Even now, Dani wouldn’t mind a cozy day in her favorite fuzzy pajamas. But the Little knew it was more of a punishment and there was no fun in being reminded of how stupid she’d been. “What if they say something? What if they laugh at me?” “Then they are not your friends.” Finished tying the black ribbon at the top of her hair, she was lifted into her arms. “My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore though. I don’t need a diaper, really. I’ll be fine.” “But we can’t be sure, can we?” The woman gave her a look. “Besides, you don’t have to go to your friend's house at all but I know how much you were looking forward to the, what was it… bachelorette party?” No! She couldn’t miss it! Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth as she carefully considered her next words. Abby would keep her home if she really wanted too. She didn’t even have to let her keep seeing her friends and that’s what Dani appreciated the most. But like everyone, the Amazon had her limits and Dani was inching dangerously close to crossing the line. “You’re right.” The Little finally muttered in defeat. There was no arguing her way out of this one. “Of course I am!” She bounced her in her arms. “Mommy is always right!” OoOoo It was a sunny August day as they made their way outside from the third floor and out onto the busy street. Surprisingly, Dani had no fight as she was strapped into the pink stroller (which was always a problem). Abby watched as she laid her head back, soaking up the sun and her eyes closed. A hint of a smile appeared on her lips at the very visible sight of the puffiness beneath her dress, pulled up by the strap between her thighs. She’d fussed at the frilly white socks and Mary Jane’s but really, it was the least of her concerns. Even just the tiniest argument allowed her to maintain her sanity, showing that she still had a voice to fight back against her imprisonment. She closed her eyes as to not see all the cooing Amazon’s, pretending she was somewhere on a warm island sipping a Mimosa and not stuck in this horrible contraption they called a stroller. It was a quick walk, about twenty minutes away yet it couldn’t have felt shorter as they came to a stop in front of the five story building. Tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, the area was predominantly occupied by Littles and Inbetweeners, not quite as big as Amazons but still tall enough that they were ignored by the Amazons. “Here we are!” Abby chirped. Leaning down to undo all the belts, Dani didn’t hesitate to hop out, seeing that they were alone on the street. “Here is your phone and gift for your friend,” she reached down into the bottom pocket of the stroller. “Are you fine to go in on your own?” “Yes!” Dani said eagerly, grabbing the wrapped present and tiny flip phone. The last thing she needed was her friends seeing her Mommy walking her inside like a baby. “Very well. Do you remember our rules?” Abby bent down, taking her chin in her hand so she couldn’t look away. “Yes,” she sighed. “No drinking, no dirty behavior and no boys.” Dani struggled not to roll her eyes. It was the tiny restrictions like this that got her the most fed up. She was twenty-one years old for crying out loud and the girl had needs! “I will be back at six pm but text me if you need me beforehand or want to come home early. I will be here in a jiffy.” “Six?” Dani sputtered, doing her best not to stomp her foot. “That’s only five hours! The party is going on all night -!” “Daniella!” She said sharply. “I’ve been very patient all morning with your little fits. Do you want me to make it shorter? Do you want to go at all? We can turn around right now and go back home. We could also go upstairs and spank your little bottom in front of all of your friends.” A dark look had settled over her eyes, warning she was on her last straw. “B-but,” tears just about welled up in her eyes. “I hardly see Carly and it’s her most special day! Can I stay until ten at least? Pleaseeee?” “Absolutely not. Six o’clock.” “What about nine?” Abby paused, seemingly considering her words. After a pregnant pause she said, “eight o’clock.” “Eight-forty five-“ “Daniella…” her hand warningly grasped her bottom. “Fine.” She relented. “Eight o’clock.” The Amazon sighed. “That’s your bedtime so I don't want any whiny girl later on and don’t even try to argue for overnight since there is no adult present.” “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I’ll be good!” Dani couldn’t help but squeal, knowing this was the best she was gonna get. Attacking Abby with a hug to the neck and a thousand kisses to the cheek, really she was grateful. How sad was that… happy for just another two hours… oh how much she’d fallen. Her reaction was adorable, melting the Amazon’s heart because all she wanted was for her Little girl to be happy. She didn’t want to leave her alone with a bunch of other Little’s, especially with the very grown up behaviors they still presented, but it was a necessary sacrifice if she didn’t want Dani to despise her forever. Unlike other Amazon’s, she actually cared how her Little felt which was not a popular sentiment. “Now run along,” she sighed, disentangling her arms and patting her bottom. “You don’t want to be late.” OoOoo The receptionist knew her by now, a kind Inbetweener who really didn’t care if she was Little or not just as long as no trouble was caused. She said hello, practically skipping towards the elevator that for once was placed at the right height so she could press the button. The only reason Dani hadn’t moved in here was because the complex had reached their quota for Little’s allowed. Only thirty-five percent could be occupied by Little’s in order to accommodate the Inbetweeners so they wouldn’t feel upstaged. Not that it really mattered in the end, but still, it made her pissy just thinking about the stupid rule. It was a quick ride up to the fourth floor and the party was already in full swing. “Dani!” Squeals broke out throughout the room as she walked through the unlocked door. She was embraced with hugs from her already tipsy friends, not only drunk on happiness. “Congratulations!” She exclaimed finally seeing the blonde bombshell of her best friend. She embraced the bride to be in a short white dress meant to show off her boobs and ass in the best way possible. Abby would have a stroke if she saw what she was wearing right now. Dani couldn’t help but think. “Wha-what are you wearing?” Carly stepped back, finally taking in her appearance. Her face heated up, realizing all eyes were on her and the room had gone quiet. It wasn’t a secret that she was adopted but it was embarrassing knowing she was different from everyone else. Sometimes, the energy was just off. There was them and then there was her. It was almost as if they were weary of her, as if her Littleness would rub off on them somehow. They were still her friends, nothing would change that, but these days she felt even more insecure. “Abby.” Is all she said. Hums of realization went around the living room. “I’ve got clothes and makeup in my room,” said Carly. “Go change and for fucks sake, take off the diaper. No Amazon is ruining our night.” Oh, she didn’t have to say that twice! A smile lit up her face as the energy resumed and she rushed off. A few minutes later, there are large exaggerated bangs on the bedroom door. “Knock knock knock! Open up bitch!” Olivia. She smirked. “I’m naked!” “Even better!” The door opened to reveal the girl who had been with her through thick and thin. The girl who’d contemplated begging Abby to adopt her just so they could remain together before Dani had told her what a stupid ridiculous idea that was. But that’s who Olivia was. Crass, confident and unequivocally lovable. Her caramel skin positively glowed, hair pulled up in a crown of long braids in a short midnight black dress and don’t even get her started on her long tanned legs. She’d always been the hot girl in college. The one all the boys chased after and every other girl wanted to be. “You look hot. Is that a new brand of diapers? Gucci? I heard they’re making them extra absorbent nowadays.” “Oh shut up!” They collapse into a fit of laughter, jumping on their friend’s queen size bed. Olivia was the one person she didn’t need to hide around, the one person who could turn any awkward situation into a joke and who didn’t really seem to care about her new status in life. “Help me choose an outfit before they start wondering where we are. Jesus, she’s got so many clothes.” She walks to the closet, pulling out a blood red corset dress with a dangerous slit up the side. “Too slutty?” Oliva’s brows wiggled in a suggestive manner. “Not enough!” “Perhaps, we should consult with Mommy dearest. I wonder, does she have any matching red diapers?” “Don’t give her ideas,” Dani shuttered at the thought. “Now help me into that thing and do my makeup. I want to look our age for once.” OoOoo Bachelorette parties were supposed to be sweet and wholesome, celebrating the start of a new chapter in the woman’s life. For Carly, there would be none of that cutesy crap. As Littles they already dealt with it enough. Early marriage wasn’t uncommon for Littles in Amazonia because one day you could be free and the next day stuck in a crib. You never knew how much time you had. Dani hadn’t even gotten to the point of finding a boyfriend before being adopted and the thought of marriage was a faraway dream. That’s why she couldn’t have been any more happy for her friend, getting to live out all of her fantasies. “Are you staying the night?” Olivia asked as she carefully applied her eyeliner. “Until eight.” Dani sighed. “Let me guess, Abby?” “You bet.” She muttered. ”Good thing you’ll be here for the stripper then.” “Stripper!” Dani gasped, eyes flying wide-open. “Shhh!” Olivia put her fingers to her lips. “It’s a surprise. We planned it for Carly. Don’t say anything to her!” “H-how’d you even find one?” “The Underground, duh. How else would we?” It was no surprise that any raunchy, sexual activity including drinking were off limits to Little’s. Anything that threatened the innocence of a Little was outlawed. That’s why there was the Underground. Anything a Little needed could be found there. Alcohol, Lingerie, certain activities… you just needed to know where to look. “We figured you couldn’t stay the night so they’re coming at half six.” Dani was grateful for the thought, yet her face still turned as red as her hair. They shouldn’t have to make decisions like this in the first place or change the plans just to accommodate her. Often she wondered if her presence was more of a hindrance. “Don’t be like that,” Olivia nudged her playfully. “I love you. Carly loves you. We all love you. Let loose, have some fun before you go back to baby jail. Perhaps you’ll just meet the love of your life.” Dani barked a laugh. Imagine. A stripper and a diapered Little. That would make one hell of a story. OoOoo A/N: Hey all! I know it’s been such a long time since I’ve posted but I’ve been so busy with school. I’m coming up on my last year of college, I’m in the middle of an internship and getting ready for Masters programs so literally I’ve had no time for anything else! I just wanted to post a little something because I need a break from everything. I know that I have so many stories going on but when something pops in my head, I’ve got write it down! I’ve got about one hundred drafts of different stories written but I’m still working on Baby Dolls and whatever else is posted right now. I’m not really sure how long this story will be but please stick with me! This is my first time writing a diaper dimension story so please share your thoughts and as always, I love reviews! Also, I had no clue what to title this so any better suggestions are welcome!!!

As a work from home programmer, I had it made. My wife, Susan, was beautiful, big breasted, with red hair and a fiery personality to match. I got to work a few hours a day, and spend the rest of the time doing whatever. We had no kids, something she was biologically unable to produce because of a rare condition, so we spent our money on ourselves. Her bad habit was travel. She was always on the road for work. Sometimes in Europe, sometimes in Asia, and there were multiple yearly trips to Vegas for some stupid conventions. That left me with a lot of time by myself, and I indulge in my vice -- diapers. I had experienced a bedwetting issue during puberty, that reared its ugly head now and then, usually when I drank too much. That exposed me to the solution my parents eventually landed on -- diapers. Now as an adult, I bought and used adult diapers all the time when I was alone. It was my forbidden escape, my stress reliever. One day, when I was home by myself, and Susan was on one of her business trips to who knows where, I was sitting in a very wet diaper in the living room, on a towel on the couch. On the big screen TV I had attached my laptop. On the TV was a vial bi-sexual diaper porn. A naked woman playing "mommy" was "breastfeeding" two adult baby boys as they had their hands in their diaper stroking their cocks. I too had my hand in my diaper watching the sexy scene unfold on screen lost in the moment as I approached orgasm. That's why I didn't hear the garage door open, or Susan quietly walk into the room. "What in the holy fuck is going on here Max? Is THIS what you do when I'm not home?" Susan screamed. My eyes shot open, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Susan stood in the doorway, her luggage dropped to the floor. She was supposed to be in Japan for another three days. Her eyes were wide with shock and anger as they scanned the room—the diaper I was wearing, the towel beneath me, and the explicit scene playing out on the TV. I quickly hit the pause button, my heart racing like a jackrabbit in a cage. "S-Susan," I stuttered, desperately trying to find the right words to explain my humiliating predicament. But before I could form a coherent sentence, she stormed over and slapped me across the face. Hard. Her palm stung like fire on my cheek, and the shock of it sent a jolt through my body, freezing me in place. The TV flickered with the paused image of the "mommy" figure smiling down at her "babies," adding to my mortification. Susan's eyes were blazing with a fury I had never seen before. "How could you?" she spat, her voice trembling with disgust and hurt. "Is this what I've been missing while I'm slaving away for us?" I couldn't meet her gaze. The wetness of the diaper felt like a cold, clingy truth, a stark reminder of my secret life laid bare. "I—I don't know," I murmured, feeling the weight of her accusation crushing my chest. Susan's breathing was heavy, her chest rising and falling with rage. She grabbed the TV remote and turned the volume up, the woman's sultry voice echoing through the room. "Look at yourself, Max," she hissed, pointing at the screen. "This is what you get off to?" Just then, the two adult diaper clad men on the screen began to play with each other, grinding their diaper covered cocks against one another, while the "mommy" encouraged them on. She was fingering her pussy. Susan's jaw was on the floor, stunned with what she was watching. "I-I can explain," I managed to squeak out, my voice shaking with fear and embarrassment. "It's just something I do to relax." As I spoke those words, one of the diapered men in the video untaped the diaper of the other and took his cock in his mouth. I instinctively groaned in delight, forgetting for a split second that Susan was in the room. Her eyes snapped to me, the rage in them now mixed with a hint of curiosity. "Is this what you need?" she said, her voice eerily calm. "Is this why you've been so distant lately?" The question hung in the air, heavy with accusation and pain. I tried to pull my hand out of the diaper, but my cock was still watching the porn, refusing to let go. "Susan, it's not what you think," I whispered, my voice cracking. But she wasn't listening anymore. She was staring at the TV, the scene now depicting the two adult babies in a passionate sixty-nine, their diapers peeled back to reveal their erections. Susan licked her lips. Then one of the men mounted the other, shoving his cock inside him and calling him his "Diaper Slut." That's all I needed to hear. My cock, which had a mind of its own, was triggered, sending me into a very obvious orgasm as I shot load after load of cum into my wet diaper. "Oh my god!" I shouted. Susan spun around and stared at me appalled at the site before her, rage boiling in her eyes. "You're disgusting," she murmured, the words cutting through the silence like a knife. I sat there, my diaper now soaked with cum, feeling more exposed and ashamed than I had ever felt in my life. The scene on the TV continued, but it was as if someone had hit the mute button. All I could hear was the hammering of my heart and the harsh sound of my own ragged breaths. Susan stepped closer, her eyes never leaving mine. "Do you know how much this hurts me?" she whispered, the anger in her voice now replaced by something else—something that scared me even more. "I-I'm sorry," I choked out, the reality of the situation crashing down around me. "It's just... a thing. It doesn't mean anything. It's just for fun." "Well I'm going to show you just how much you're hurt me today with this... with this... whatever it is." In a swift motion she unbuckled her black leather belt and pulled me up off the couch. She sat down in a close by chair and pulled me over her lap. In what seemed like no time she had pulled down the back of my diaper and began spanking me as hard as she could with her belt. The sting was intense, each smack echoing through the room. The sound of the leather slapping against my bare ass was like a drum beat of humiliation. I couldn't believe this was happening. The pain grew with each hit, and my body jolted with every strike, but my cock remained stubbornly erect. "You want to be a baby?" she sneered, her hand rising and falling in a rhythm that was punctuated by my grunts and yelps. "Then I'll treat you like one." I didn't know how to process that statement, all I knew was that the beating continued without end. My ass was on fire, moving from pale white, to pink, to deep red, to spots of purple. "I can't believe this is what you do behind my back," she said with each smack. "What else are you hiding from me?" With that she threw me from her lap onto the floor. I was sobbing now, rubbing my abused ass. I looked up at her, tears streaming down my face. "I'm sorry," I whispered again, not knowing what else to say. Susan's expression softened for a moment, but then it was as if she remembered her anger. She stood up and walked over to me, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my face to look up at her. "You're going to tell me everything," she said, her eyes cold. "Everything you do when I'm not here. Every little detail of your pathetic little life." "Yes... mommy." The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, a reflex from the porn I had been watching. But as soon as they were out, I realized they weren't just a slip of the tongue. Some part of me craved the role Susan was playing, the power and control she had over me in this moment. The rage in her eyes flickered with something new, something darker, and she tightened her grip on my hair. "That's right," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "You're going to tell me everything, and then maybe, just maybe, I'll decide if I even want to stay married to a man who's been hiding in diapers like some kind of... some kind of sicko." I nodded, tears still streaming down my face. The pain from the spanking was intense, but the fear of losing Susan was even worse. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "It started after my accident when I was younger. I just... I can't help it." "Look, I know you've wet the bed a few times in our marriage, mostly when you went through that depression and drank too much, but this?" "Actually, it happens more than you know. You're just gone so much, and we're never intimate in the mornings, so you've never noticed that I've been wearing a diaper off and on for a few years now." That wasn't the right thing to say, I could see it in her eyes. "Every morning?" she asked, her grip on my hair loosening slightly. "You've been wearing diapers for years and you didn't think to tell me?" Susan's other hand slapped me across the face. "How could you keep this from me?" she yelled, her voice shaking. "How could you be so...so...twisted?" The force of her slap sent my head spinning and my eyes watered. "It's not like that," I managed to croak out, the sting of the truth burning my tongue. "It's just something that...I don't know." Susan's expression was a tumult of emotions—fury, betrayal, and a hint of something else. "Get up," she ordered, her voice laced with a firmness I rarely heard from her. I struggled to my feet, my legs wobbly and my ass throbbing with pain. She pointed to the corner of the room. "You're going to stand there," she said, "and think about what you've done. But first, tell me where you hide all this stuff, because I want to look at it all." I mumbled, "In the back of my closet. On the floor." Susan let go of my hair and walked over to our bedroom, leaving me to stand in the corner, my diaper still hanging open and my cock still hard. The coldness of the room made my skin pebble, and the pain from the spanking was a constant throb in the back of my mind. I could hear her rummaging through the closet, tossing things around, and then she emerged, her arms filled with diapers, baby bottles, pacifiers, and a few other...toys, including my spanking paddle, and a long, black dildo. "What in the fuck, Max?" Her voice was a mix of rage and disbelief as Susan dumped the contents of my secret stash onto the bed. She held up the spanking paddle, her eyes narrowed. "You've been playing with this?" I only nodded. "Well then let's get some use out of it." With that she sat on the end of the bed and pulled me back over her lap for the second spanking in the last 10 minutes. It was a leather paddle made for spanking that I bought at a local porn shop. It even said "SLUT" in red letters. As she raised it high, I felt a mix of terror and something else...excitement? The first smack was like a bolt of lightning on my already tender flesh. "You're going to get ten," she announced, her voice firm, "and you're going to count them out loud." The spanking was a symphony of pain and pleasure, each blow making me flinch and whimper, the sound of the leather on my skin punctuating the silence. "One," I managed to choke out, my voice shaky. "Two." The pain grew with each number, but so did my arousal. It was a confusing mix of emotions, but I couldn't deny that the sting of the paddle was turning me on. As Susan brought it down again, she said, "And you're going to tell me everything about this little... hobby of yours." The third smack hit me harder than the others, making me gasp. "I've been wearing them because it... it makes me feel safe," I confessed, the truth coming out in a rush. "When I'm stressed or anxious, it's like... I don't know, it just makes everything okay." "I'm supposed to do that for you, Max!" The fourth hit was the hardest. "Four," I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's not just the diapers. It's... the whole experience. The way it feels, the smell, the warmth." I could feel the wetness spreading in the diaper with every smack. "And the humiliation," I admitted, my voice barely above a murmur. "It turns me on." Susan paused, as if she was thinking. Then the spanking resumed with extra ferocity. "Five," I called out, biting my bottom lip to keep from screaming. "Six. Seven." Each number grew softer as the pain became too much to handle. I began openly sobbing. Susan paused, looking at me with a mix of anger and something that looked almost like pity. "Why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why would you need this?" "It just... it feels right," I managed to say between gasps. "It's like... it's like I'm being punished for something I don't even know I did." Susan's arm paused mid-air, the paddle hovering over my crimson ass. "Punished?" she echoed, her tone skeptical. "Yeah," I choked out, "It's like... it's like I'm being disciplined. It's a release." Susan's grip on the paddle tightened, her knuckles white. She brought it down again with a sharp crack, making me yelp. "You want discipline?" she spat. "You're going to get it." The final few blows were in quick succession and harder than ever. They made me squirm and cry harder than ever before. "Ten," I whimpered, my voice a pathetic wisp. She tossed the paddle aside and stood up, her expression unreadable. "Take it off," she said, pointing to the diaper. "Take it all off." I complied, my trembling fingers working to untape the soggy mess. The cool air hit my skin, making me shiver. I felt more exposed than ever before. The diaper fell to the floor with a wet slap, leaving me naked with my obvious hard on. "Now, tell me why you do this," Susan demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. My body was a canvas of pain, but the fear of losing her was the most overwhelming feeling. "It's just something that started when I was a teenager," I began, my voice shaking. "After the accident, it was like... a comfort thing." Susan's eyes searched my face, looking for something—understanding, maybe. "But you didn't tell me," she said, her voice tight. "You kept it all hidden from me." "I was afraid," I admitted, my voice small and pathetic. "I didn't think you'd understand." Susan's face softened a fraction, but the anger didn't leave her eyes. "Understand? Max, I'm your wife. I'm supposed to understand you, support you." "But it's so weird and embarrassing," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you'd be able to handle it." Susan sighed, her eyes scanning the pile of diapers and toys on the bed. "I don't know if I can," she said, her voice filled with a sadness that cut through me like a knife. "But I'll try." "What... what does that mean? Does that mean you won't throw all this away? Does that mean you're not divorcing me?" Susan looked at me, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. "It means," she began, her voice measured, "that I want to understand. I want to know why you need this. Maybe there's something I can do to help you. Or maybe..." she trailed off, her gaze lingering on the diapers and toys, "maybe there's something here for me too." My cock heard that answer before my brain did and rose to attention. Susan noticed, her eyes flickering down to my crotch before snapping back up to my face. "What the hell?" she said, her voice filled with confusion and a hint of revulsion. "He... uh... has a mind of his own." Susan stared at my erection with a look of horror, but I couldn't bring myself to be embarrassed anymore. I was too relieved she wasn't immediately kicking me out or calling a lawyer. Then she did something I never would have expected. As she began undressing she started talking in a measured and serious tone, "Honey, you know that I can never give you a baby. It's impossible. That's why we've never worried about condoms. There's no need." I nodded my head. I was lucky there. "But maybe you can give me a baby?" By this point she was down to her underwear. She had a hot red thong on, and a matching bra that was trying but failing to contain her enormous tits. "What... what do you mean?" Her eyes met mine, a fiery intensity burning within them. "I mean," she said, her voice low and deliberate, "that maybe there's something in this...this lifestyle that we can explore together." My heart pounded in my chest as Susan reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting her breasts spill out. They were magnificent, full and firm, the nipples erect with arousal. She slid her thong down her legs, revealing her bare pussy, already glistening with wetness. My cock throbbed in response, the pain from the spanking forgotten in the face of her sudden openness. "Maybe you can be my baby, Max? I'll diaper you, feed you, spank you when you're bad. You could even suck on my boobs and see if they eventually produce milk." My cock jumped at that suggestion. "But first... fuck me one last time as my husband." Without thinking about what that meant I pushed her onto the bed. Her eyes widened with a mix of surprise and desire as she fell back onto the soft mattress. I climbed over her, my body trembling with anticipation and fear. The smell of her arousal mixed with the faint scent of the diaper, creating an intoxicating aroma that fueled my need. My cock, still hard despite the pain, found its way to her wet opening, and I slammed into her with an urgency that surprised us both. She gasped, arching her back, her breasts bouncing as she wrapped her legs around my waist. The pain from the spanking was a distant memory now, replaced by the fierce pleasure of Susan's warmth enveloping me. Her nails dug into my back as I pounded into her, her moans growing louder with each thrust. The bed creaked beneath us, a rhythmic soundtrack to our desperate coupling. I could see the shock slowly morph into something else in her eyes—desire, mixed with a hint of the love that had always been there. My hips moved faster, driven by a primal need to claim her, to show her that even in my most vulnerable state, I could still be a man she could want. Susan's legs tightened around me, her heels digging into my ass, urging me on. I'm not a well endowed man, but I can fuck... I think... and I was doing it with gusto. "Ugh... ugh... ugh... your pussy feels incredible!" As I continued to fuck her, Susan's eyes rolled back into her head. It had been months since we were intimate together. It had become a rare occurrence where she mostly laid there and waited for me to quickly finish. But tonight, I had cum already, so I had a little stamina in me. Her pussy was tight around my cock, gripping it like a vice as she matched my rhythm with her own desperate movements. "Cum for me, Max," she moaned, her voice thick with passion. "Fuck me, baby. Yes, just like that. Cum inside me!" Her words sent me over the edge, and with a roar, I did just that, filling her up with everything I had. It was a release like nothing I had ever felt before, a culmination of guilt, fear, and an overwhelming desire to be accepted by the woman I loved. Susan moaned, a little lust and a little disappointment that I didn't last longer all mixed together. Then she did something she had never done before. "Now clean it up. With your tongue." My heart raced as Susan's command pierced the quiet post-coital moment. She didn't have to repeat herself. I leaned down, my mouth watering with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The taste of her was sweet and tangy, a mix of her juices and my sperm. As I licked her clean, I realized that she was just as into this as I was. After a few moments, she grabbed my head with her hands and screamed as she finally orgasmed from my feast. When I was done, Susan sat up, her eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement. "Now, let's talk about this," she said, her voice still shaky with arousal. "I don't want to just ignore it, Max. If this is what you need, I want to be a part of it. But we need to set some boundaries." I nodded eagerly, willing to agree to anything she said. "Of course," I murmured, my heart racing. "You will wear diapers 24-7 and use them for their intended purposes. No more toilet for you. Understand?" I nodded, the gravity of her words sinking in. This was really happening. Susan was giving me the chance to embrace my kink with her, but it came with a price—complete submission to her rules. "I am in charge. ALWAYS. What I say, goes, and if you disobey me, you will be spanked. Is that clear?" Her voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation. I nodded vigorously, my heart racing with both excitement and fear. "Yes, Susan," I murmured, my voice thick with anticipation. "I will feed you. We will buy a highchair that will fit you, and that's where you will have your meals. When you behave, I will let you suckle on my breasts. I will also investigate what it may take for me to actually produce milk out of them. Got it?" I nodded again, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events. This was not how I had ever imagined my life playing out, but in that moment, I was more turned on than I had ever been. "When we go out, you must wear a diaper under your adult clothes. We may have some outings where you are in more babyish clothing, which I guess I'll need to buy, but most of the time you will be dressed normally. Ok?" I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. "Okay, Susan." "Now for a few you may not like as much. First. you will now sleep in the guest room. I'll put a rubber sheet on it so you don't ruin the mattress, but we are going to make that room your nursery. I will outfit it accordingly as we do this. That also means you are never sleeping in this room again. It is now MY room. This... is MY bed. You are the baby, and sleep in the baby's room. No argument." My heart sank a bit at that, but I knew she was in charge now. "Yes, Susan." "Second, while we are home, you will address me as "mommy." Failure to do so will get you in trouble. Clear?" "Yes, mommy," I replied meekly, the word feeling strange and yet oddly comforting on my tongue. "And finally, that was the last time we will have vaginal sex ever again. You are my baby now. You are no longer my husband. If you need to "make cummies" because you're horny, we will find other ways to find you release." I was shocked... stunned. This is not what I wanted. "But Susan?" She swiftly slapped me across the face. "No arguments." I nodded, sheepishly. "When mommy needs a release, I too will find other means of that, and you will not interfere. Understood?" The words hung in the air, heavy with their newfound implications. I nodded, feeling both scared and exhilarated by the sudden shift in our dynamic. The sting of her hand still lingered on my cheek. "Otherwise, the consequences will be severe..." she paused for effect "...and expensive. Tell me you understand." I nodded, my throat tight with a mix of fear and excitement. "Yes, mommy," I murmured, the words feeling foreign yet surprisingly right. Susan stood up, her naked body a testament to the power she now held over me. She picked up the wet diaper from the floor and tossed it into the trash can. "Now go lay down on the guest room... I mean nursery bed. I will get a diaper and wipes and meet you there." I felt a mix of excitement and fear as I walked to the guest room, my legs still wobbly from the spanking and the intense orgasm. The room looked so much smaller and more juvenile than I remembered. The reality of my new life was setting in, and it was both terrifying and thrilling. When Susan joined me a few minutes later, she had a fresh diaper and a pack of wipes in her hands. She approached the bed with a stern look, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of our newfound role-play. She looked so powerful, so in control, and I found myself craving her dominance. "Lay down, baby," she said, her voice a mix of authority and tenderness. I obeyed, feeling a strange comfort in her command. She began to wipe my still hard cock clean, her touch gentle yet firm. I watched as she handled me like a mother would her toddler, her eyes never leaving mine. As she secured the fresh diaper around my waist, Susan spoke again, "Now, let's talk about this new arrangement. You're going to follow all my rules, and you're going to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?" I nodded, my voice quivering slightly. "Yes, mommy." Susan's eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of resistance or mockery. Finding none, she gave a curt nod. "Good boy," she said, and the words sent a shockwave of pleasure through me. "Now, let's get you dressed for bed." She pulled out a t-shirt I owned but hadn't worn in a while. It was quite childish with carton characters on it, not unlike the cartoon dinosaur on the diaper I was wearing. "Where did you find these diapers anyway, Maxy baby?" "Online mommy, you'd be surprised what's available on Amazon." "I guess I would," she chuckled and shook her head as she pulled the shirt over me. "Now stand up," she said firmly, and I did. SWAT! She spanked my diapered butt with her hand. I winced. "You will have regular bedtime spankings to remind you who is in charge, but I think your ass has had enough punishment for one night. Now get under the covers." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of warmth in it that I hadn't heard in a long time. I complied, sliding under the sheets and feeling the coolness of the fresh diaper against my skin. Susan bent down and kissed me gently on the forehead. "Goodnight, baby," she said, her voice a gentle purr. "Remember, this is your new life now. If you're a good boy, I'll take care of you."

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.”

I am back with a new story. I have been inspired by reading a few dark fantasy/demon romances this year and got an idea for an intense & cute ABDL story that has perspective switches. It's a bit new and different. The chapters are very *intentionally* incorrectly numbered - if anyone is wondering where a chapter is, that is why. Besides that, I'm excited to hear your thoughts on this new story and enjoy!☺️ Also to note, I have written this story in full and will post weekly. Follow to get notifications! This story should be fully uploaded by October, a perfect read for Halloween! Eternally Bound by Flames & Diapers Teaser Trailer: Some secrets are summoned. Others awaken. After the sudden death of her husband, Lileth Hart retreats into solitude, carrying with her a strange leather bound book she found near his grave. Grieving, haunted, and seeking answers, Lily escapes to a remote woodland cabin on Halloween weekend. Armed with wine, whispered memories, and a secret side of herself she’s never dared reveal. But grief can open more than wounds. It can open portals. What begins as a playful, if desperate, séance turns into something far more dangerous when Lily unintentionally summons a being not of this world. Ancient. Beautiful. Predatory. He calls himself Zeke. Bound to her through blood and forgotten magic, Zeke claims he cannot leave. But as the nights grow colder and reality bends, Lily begins to question who summoned who and why he seems so drawn to the darkest parts of her shame. As a forbidden bond forms between mortal and demon, Lily will uncover secrets buried not just in the earth... but in her soul. Some flames never die. Some are bound to be reignited. Warnings: dark nature, sexual/smut, BDSM elements All characters depicted are 18+. AI Disclosure: I used AI to help brainstorm, get over my deep writer’s block, and enhance a few scenes, but the story is still very much my own. Most of it was written and edited by me, even before using AI. Writer’s block has stalled my past projects and I hope to continue those with some AI help in the future. _____________________________________ Chapter 1: Death Do Us Part I stared at our picture in the graveyard, my flowers I laid down from the week prior withering away. My tear-stained cheeks were raw from hours of crying. I felt my satchel vibrate on what I assumed was missed calls and texts from my sister, my mom, and probably Marissa. She always reached out around times she'd think I'd need her. It was the darkest day of my life’s anniversary, after all. Correction: our darkest day’s anniversary. I felt guilty thinking I was alone, yet, I was alone. Anniversary. Huh, why did that sound so funny? I let out a laugh as a fresh tear rolled down my cheek, remembering our first wedding anniversary two years ago. His brown hair. His blue eyes twinkling at dinner, so alive. So fucking alive. A year would pass, and he’d be dead. Gone. A tragic accident on the expressway, hit by a drunk semi-truck driver. I remember it clear as day: the call came at 2:08 AM. “Lileth Hart?” My brain was half-awake. “Uh, yeah?” “Your husband is Aaron Hart, correct?” a voice said over the phone, with muffled sirens in the background. Panic bled into my chest. “Yes, uh, who is this? This isn’t a prank, right?” I sat up suddenly, dread creeping in. Aaron had gone out to the bar that night with Kenney. He usually texted me by midnight. “No, ma’am. This is Officer Renley. I’m sorry to inform you that we found Aaron in an accident. He... didn’t survive.” My heart squeezed painfully as I felt my lungs give out. He kept talking as my cheeks felt wet. “We are trying to retrieve his body now. We’ll update you with the next steps. I’m very sorry, Miss Hart.” I turned on my lamp, gasping for breath as a panic attack overtook me. The world spun. Nothing felt real. He was supposed to come home. He was supposed to be... No. Stop. Days later, I’d be at my husband’s funeral. A widow at twenty eight. He was my senior year of college hookup that turned into a full-fledged relationship. We met at a party, went on a few dates and then crossed third base. Before I knew it, I had my master’s in psychology and we were engaged. It happened so quickly I didn’t have time to process that maybe I shouldn’t have gotten married, considering he never knew who I truly was. It seemed the natural thing to do though. Once you date for a few years, you move in and get married, right? That’s what I thought and I did, hiding my true self like I was good at. 5 years went of a vanilla, boring relationship. God, how awful was I to say boring about my late husband? Fuck, I was a villain in some book, that was certain. My greatest regret of our relationship was never indulging in my inner dark mechanisms and telling Aaron who and what I was. I knew I had weird things I liked since a young age, yet I’d always been terrified to tell anyone. Not my best friend, not my past boyfriends and surely not my husband. Admittedly, I had dark and weird desires. Diapers. Specifically, diapers. Yes, fucking diapers. Being babied. Treated like a little girl. From the age of seven, I daydreamed about being regressed, punished, put back in diapers. I never told a soul. Not friends, not boyfriends, not even Aaron. Sometimes, I’d book solo weekends, wear diapers, read erotica, and indulge in the weird darkness I couldn’t explain. I told myself it was wrong. Gross. Unloveable. Guilt seeped into me over the years of dating, being engaged and then getting married. The lies, the stories I made up of girl’s trips and the bingeing and purging cycles ate at me. When I finally was gaining the courage, it was like the universe punished me and Aaron died. I’d be lying to say how many times I’d imagined him diapering me and being a strict Daddy, yet I couldn’t tell him. No matter how many times I reasoned with the ideas of ‘if he truly loved me, he’d do it’. Part of me was so afraid of him leaving me. Now the jokes on me, I guess, because he left anyways in another way. A final way. I wanted to tell him. I did. But I waited. And then, he died. Now he was gone, and part of me... felt relief. I hated that thought. But it was true. I could wear diapers whenever I wanted. I could finally be myself. Still, grief clung to me. The security I craved died with him. I mourned the future we’d never have. The person I never let him know. I sat on my knees at the grave, sniffing in my own self-pity as I stared at our wedding picture. A part of me grieved him and a part of me got relief from the trap I put myself in. That thought fucked me in the head. I had a recurring thought that we’d have gotten divorced anyways. Maybe, just maybe, it was a good thing he got a stable, good relationship out of the 5 years and passed away quickly. He deserved a good life, even if a short-lived time, right? God, those thoughts fucked with my head. What if I had told him, he left me, and then he died? Wouldn’t that have been better? My phone buzzed again. I checked it. Marissa texted: Thinking of you today. Want me to come by later? I smiled faintly. Still my rock, I texted back: I’ll let you know. Just need a few hours. I sat on my knees at the grave, sniffling, staring at our wedding photo. Part of me missed him. Part of me was freed by his absence. That thought? That thought fucked with my head. I turned to leave and spotted something near the tree line. A tattered, dark brown leather book. I crouched, fingers brushing the edge. A strange symbol that was witch-like or maybe satanic, was etched into the cover. I picked it up and instantly gasped. “Fuck!” A sharp edge cut my finger. Blood trickled down, falling onto the symbol. The symbol shimmered, absorbing the drop. A puff of steam curled from the book. I stared. I tilted my head, “Huh?” I said to myself, blinking and staring at the blood that vanished into the cover. It almost looked like steam rose from the cover, yet I couldn’t tell at my angle and through my blurry eyes from crying most of today. I shook my head, grabbing the strange book and the moment it was in my hands, I felt like the book got warmer. I looked around a final time to see if it’s owner may be around and I took another moment, staring at the book and deciding that I’d keep it for now, still feeling delusional from what I just witnessed and feeling like the damn book was alive, yet I couldn’t leave it. It felt like I should open it and I couldn’t help but keep it for now, rather than let it get ruined by weather or impending rain of the night. After I got in my car, I put the book in my satchel. I sat for a few moments and then looked into my rearview mirror, blotting my face with my sleeve to take away the mascara stains of my tears. “Waterproof mascara my ass.” I muttered to myself as I pulled out of the parking lot. “I don’t know why I even bothered with makeup today.” I said, knowing full-well that ever since Aaron passed, I had gotten into a habit of talking to myself like a crazy person. It seemed loneliness tended to do that to you, really. A few days passed and I forgot about the strange book that was in my satchel. It wasn’t until that weekend after work I laid on my bed in the guest bedroom in my pajamas, watching the movie The Craft that reminded me of the strangely old book in my satchel. I paused the movie, feeling crazy and like a child who believed in witchcraft and magic. I grabbed the book and took it to the guest bedroom, taking a picture on my phone of the cover and checking Google Lens on what the symbol was. “It’s a pentagram, you dumbass.” I mumbled to myself, opening the cover to yellow and tattered papers that smelled stale. I blinked at the first few pages, a blood stain smudging the first few sheets. My eyes stared at the pages as I kept skimming, seeing multiple pages of illegible words in a old language and symbols. It looked like some type of thesaurus with some hand draw symbols every few pages and illustrations. I took a few images and Google Lens to see it was all written in a Latin. The more I searched the phrases, I found it written not in the ‘correct’ or ‘modern’ latin but in an older Latin. After an hour of trying to translate a few words, it became clear that this handwriting was hard to translate since the letters were rough. I gave up after a few hours, finding that the only words I could gather was ‘blood’, ‘séance’ and ‘fire’, with a symbol on that one page. I stared for longer and Google Lens the symbol, finding only a few Wikipedia pages denoting the ‘symbol of summoning the underworld’. My eyes flashed, shaking my head at my internal thoughts of believing that magic could bring my dead husband back. It was stupid… but Halloween was in a week and it didn’t seem too far off, right? I was atheist after all and didn’t believe in anything… What could a little séance hurt? _____________________________ As always, I'd love to know your thoughts and feelings about the characters and where the plot may go! I love reading your comments & thoughts as they motivate me to keep writing and sharing/posting regularly what I love as a hobbyist writer here! ☺️

As much as she tried, Ava couldn't stop darting her eyes from one point to another across the beach. The joyful screams of children, the indistinct chatter of adults beneath nearby umbrellas, and the hypnotic sound of the water gently lapping against the shore were making her uncomfortable. She clenched the end of the yellow, lightweight dress her mom had told her to wear before leaving the house, and bit her lower lip. Had anyone seen her? As she walked beside her, she could feel the curious gazes of passersby. Damn, she shouldn’t have agreed to put it on before leaving! Mom was helping Tommy apply sunscreen. Her little brother turned his back to let her spread it on, laughing with delight as he squirmed from the ticklish sensation. Ava felt a slight pang of envy watching them. After all, Tommy was seven and needed different attention than she did. I wonder if Mom would have put it on me if I had asked her, she thought. She glanced toward the other lounge chair. Michelle was also having sunscreen applied with Dad's help: she was doing her arms while he worked on her legs. Like her, her little sister wore a pink swimsuit with floral patterns around the shoulders, neck, and legs. It was cute and colorful, like a rainbow in a clear sky. "Are you not putting on sunscreen, sweetheart?" Mom asked, peering at her from behind Tommy. She joked, "If you thought you could sneak into the water without it, you’re sorely mistaken!" Ava smiled and shook her head sincerely. Unintentionally, her eyes fell on the skirt of her dress. She let out a frustrated sigh. The dress wasn’t doing as great a job as she’d hoped. It was way too obvious! “I-I don’t feel like going in the water right now,” she stammered, tugging at the dress but with no success. “I-I just... prefer staying here in the shade.” “But we’re at the beach!” Tommy exclaimed, his excitement contagious. “We’re here to have fun, not to sit still!” Ava nodded again. He was right. Under normal circumstances, she would have slathered on sunscreen and jumped straight into the water, not caring who was looking. But right now, with this thing on... Her mother met her gaze, sending her a loving smile. “At least I’ve got someone keeping me company.” Great! Once they were done, Dad would take Tommy and Michelle swimming, and she’d have to stay there with Mom. Sweat was beginning its path through her hair, trickling down her face in the dim light. She would probably be asked to show it to her like she had when she was little, learning to use the potty. How embarrassing! Suddenly, a sharp clap made her jump. Dad looked at her and her siblings, then at Mom. “Who wants to go swimming?” Tommy and Michelle chirped eagerly, like little chicks waiting for their mother to feed them. “Alright,” he said, heading toward the sound of the waves, “last one in is a sea cucumber!” He dashed off with Tommy and Michelle squawking behind him. Ava watched the scene helplessly, crumpling the dress in her fists with all her energy, blushing. She wanted to cool off and have fun with her dad, Tommy, and Michelle. She let out a puff of air; this was so unfair. Her mom sat beside her. “I know that look,” she started, gently massaging her back in slow, rhythmic movements. “I owe you an explanation and an apology.” That serious voice, with a sweet tone. Ava could have listened to it forever, if she had the chance. She bit her lip and let her words erase her pout. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you that question before we came here,” she said, looking at her, her gaze moving over her freckled face. “Your dad and I want you to feel good about yourself, at all times. Taking the first steps isn’t easy, especially with that under your clothes.” Ava lifted her head to look at her and sighed. “I-I’m afraid that I could...” “You could have an accident?” Her cheeks turned bright red, eyes lowered. “Mom...” “Sweetheart,” she continued firmly, “that’s what diapers are for. Even if you don’t have problems with incontinence, like Tommy does with wetting the bed.” “But I... I’m 13,” Ava admitted, as if confessing something shameful. “I shouldn’t be wearing it, and I shouldn’t have said yes when we were at home. What if someone sees it? They’ll be laughing, saying, ‘Hey, that girl still wets herself!’” There was a brief moment of silence. Tears were pushing to fall, and her heart refused to stop racing. She could already imagine the mocking, cruel laughter of everyone on the beach. Even the fish would join in if they could. “Do you know why you wanted me to put it on you?” her mom asked, still holding that gentle tone. “You wanted me to take care of you, and to clean up your bottom too!” Ava burst out laughing with her. The noise and chatter of the passersby seemed to fade away entirely. She felt her mood lift, so she gave her a sincere smile. Her mom went on, never taking her eyes off her: “This is the face I want to see: happy and sunny. Remember, we love you just as you are, even if you’re wearing a diaper. With or without, you’ll always be my sweet Ava.” She opened her arms wide, looking like an eagle with its wings spread. Ava studied her mother’s loving, expectant face for an answer. Tears tumbled down her hot cheeks. She opened her mouth uncertainly, leaning forward and resting her head on her belly. She wrapped her arms around her with all the love she had inside her. “And what if I don’t like it anymore?” she whispered. “What if I want to go back to being a big girl?” “As long as you tell us, we’ll take it off you,” her mom said gently, lifting her chin to meet her gaze. “You don’t always have to wear it. Think of it as... a special occasion outfit.” Ava raised an eyebrow. “Is this a special occasion?” “In a way, it is,” her mom chuckled. “If we ever go out and you want to wear it under your clothes, you’ll have to be ready for what comes with it. Do you remember the little backpack I asked you to pack? It’s your diaper bag, although there are some for Tommy and Michelle too.” Ava’s dark eyes flicked to the purple backpack at the foot of the umbrella. She gasped, shocked at the mention of their names. She clearly remembered putting in three diapers her size, but were there really others for Tommy and Michelle? Why had Mom thought to put them in without telling anyone? She whispered, “You mean they...” “They probably want to follow in your footsteps,” her mom replied, confident in her reasoning. “You’re their big sister, after all. That’s why, before we go home, the three of you will stop by the bathroom, where we’ll talk about this. I want all of you to feel good about yourselves, starting with you.” Ava lowered her eyes to her yellow dress. She still wasn’t used to the tightness around her waist and the occasional plastic rustles as she walked. Up until now, she had felt calm and was happy to have it on. “Did you pee?” her mom asked softly, her tone filled with affection. Ava looked up, embarrassed, her face red as a tomato. Now there were those questions that could come up in the most awkward situations! Before she could respond, her mom grabbed the backpack and nodded her head toward the exit. “We should move to a more private place, don’t you think?” Ava could only nod. After all, her mom was right. The prying, curious stares of the passersby were starting to get on her nerves, so she took her hand and let her lead her to a more suitable place to talk.

Chapter 1: The Show That Changed Everything Terry had always humored Genevieve’s curiosity. So when she found a flyer for an adults-only hypnosis show and asked if they could go, he agreed with a shrug. “Sure, babe. Could be fun.” He didn’t expect what followed to flip their entire world. The theatre was dim, cozy, filled with couples and clusters of friends sipping wine. There was a buzz in the air—like everyone knew they were about to see something forbidden. The stage was set simply: one couch, one chair, and a single overhead spotlight. When the hypnotist walked out, a tall, silver-haired man with eyes like polished stone, the crowd hushed. “Tonight,” he said, his voice rich and slow, “we play with the mind. But more than that—we play with who you think you are.” Volunteers were called. At first, it was silly—people clucking, dancing, barking. But then it shifted. Terry and Genevieve watched as the hypnotist selected a tall, shy man near the back. He looked out of place—gangly, nervous, like he hadn’t meant to volunteer but got pressured by friends. The hypnotist guided him gently on stage and spoke in low tones. The man’s eyes fluttered. “Drop for me,” the hypnotist said. “That’s it. Let go.” Within moments, the tall man was kneeling. “You feel small now,” the hypnotist whispered into the mic, “so small you can’t think unless Daddy tells you what to think. You want to feel useful to Daddy. Don’t you?” The crowd murmured, caught between shock and arousal. The man nodded. “Good boy. Now crawl to your waiting Daddy. Show the room how eager you are.” From the edge of the stage, another man stepped out of the shadows—broad-shouldered, in a tailored vest, waiting patiently with a smirk. He radiated confidence, his eyes fixed on the hypnotized boy with hunger and control. As the submissive crawled to him, Daddy’s expression deepened into something almost reverent—he was watching someone surrender utterly for him, and he relished every second. “Present your mouth,” the hypnotist commanded. The boy moved between Daddy’s legs, hands settling gently on his thighs, eyes wide and adoring. He leaned forward, lips parting, and began to suck with slow, reverent eagerness. It wasn’t clumsy—it was worshipful. Daddy’s arousal was obvious—not just physical, but psychological. He exhaled slowly, his chest rising as he leaned back slightly, letting his hand rest possessively in the boy’s hair. His smile was content, yet hungry. Each motion of the boy’s lips and tongue coaxed out more than just sensation—it fed his dominance. He watched the boy with half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight: the flushed cheeks, the glistening lips, the soft gagging sounds that only made it sweeter. The pleasure wasn’t just from the act—it was from the power. The absolute control. The boy’s eagerness was intoxicating. “You see him?” the hypnotist purred to the audience. “That’s devotion. That’s a good little cocksucker giving Daddy everything he has.” The submissive moaned around him, trembling, hips subtly grinding against the floor. He was in deep—obedience and humiliation turning into raw pleasure. He never once broke contact. Daddy stroked his cheek with pride. “Look how much he needs this,” the hypnotist continued. “And look how much Daddy enjoys being worshipped.” Daddy’s other hand gripped the armrest, knuckles white, pleasure mounting as the boy increased his pace—sloppier now, more desperate. His legs tensed, hips lifting subtly into the boy’s face. His breathing deepened, each moan a confirmation of just how close he was. Then came the moment: a slow intake of breath, a growl of satisfaction, and the boy burying deep, holding himself still as if offering himself completely. Daddy’s eyes fluttered shut. He held the boy close for a moment, savoring the aftermath, fingers gently stroking through his hair. It wasn’t just release—it was fulfillment. Power and pleasure, perfectly intertwined. The boy’s body shook with his own climax, silent and overwhelmed, his cheeks still wet. He didn’t stop until Daddy exhaled and leaned back with a whisper of approval. When the hypnotist clapped his hands, the trance lifted. The boy blinked up, dazed, resting against Daddy’s leg like he’d just woken from the most vivid dream. The room erupted in applause. Terry blinked. “Holy shit,” he whispered. Genevieve didn’t answer. Her hand had drifted to Terry’s thigh, fingers squeezing slightly. That night, as they walked home, she was quiet. But her eyes sparkled. “Did that turn you on?” she finally asked. Terry hesitated. “I mean... it was intense. Hot, yeah. But more weird than anything.” Genevieve grinned. “I think I’d like to try learning it.” He laughed. “To get me to bark like a dog?” “No,” she said softly, voice husky. “To make you beg like him.” Terry didn’t sleep much that night. Neither did Genevieve. But for very different reasons. That was the night everything began. Let me know if you want more!?!?!?

Hello everyone, it’s been a while, and I’d like to try my hand at writing again. I know this particular concept isn’t exactly original, but I wanted to do something that doesn’t take place in the Diaper Dimension. This story ignores the Covid-19 pandemic, since I started writing it a long time ago before all that happened. I hope you enjoy what I have so far anyway! ############ Prologue: Day 7,118 Name: Emory Mason DOB: 21/07/2002 CIN: D14R5721 Citizen Lifestyle Assignment Sorting and Sectioning (CLASS) Result: Little Emory stares at the letter in disbelief. She feels numb. Hollowed out. She’s always been good at hiding it, making the profilers say whatever she wants them to say. It’s not hard, the questions are pretty straightforward, the answers easy to manipulate. Or at least, they had been until now. Her eyes burn, tears welling up, making the letter impossible to read--not that it matters now anyway. She’d been a fool to think she could manipulate the results of the most comprehensive, and thorough personality test ever conceived. Although, she thinks, there was more to this test than the basic questionnaire she’d filled out every year at school. Those had been simple things, designed to help the teacher understand their class. The actual CLASS exam had been a different beast altogether. There’d been bloodwork, physical ability tests, cognitive assessments...much more than she’d been expecting. She’s always done well in school, and although she’s no athlete; she’s too small and underweight to really be able to participate in sports, she likes to think she’s in good shape. But in the end, it’s the bloodwork that has given her away, her body has betrayed her in ways she hadn’t anticipated--enzymes and hormone levels can’t be fabricated, not without drugs, and a positive drug test before Classification is an immediate prison sentence. “No…” Emory whispers quietly. Her life is ending. All her careful answers to the questionnaires, all the effort she’d put into studying and getting good grades to get into a good university...all wasted. Her parents will disown her--they’ve made no secret of their hatred for Littles, they see them as inferior, a drain on the resources of society. All her friends are either Neutrals or Caregivers, but all the Caregivers are spoken for, and none of the Neutrals are at a point in their life where they can foster her until she finds a permanent placement. The only other Caregiver she knows is her roommate, Melody, but Melody’s never said anything about having a little, so that might not be an option either--she might not even want one... Emory might be able to continue her university education, but not without a Caregiver to sponsor her, and she certainly won’t be able to live unsupervised, like the adult she’s so desperately worked to become. “No!” She howls, and crumbles the letter into a tiny ball. Not that it matters, not really, every Federal, State, and Local agency already has her classification on file--the letter is really just a formality. She’s had her phone on silent, delaying the inevitable as long as possible until now, but she can’t hide from the results anymore. That realization is like a sucker punch, knocking the breath from her lungs and tying her stomach into an anxious, aching knot. She flops bonelessly onto the sofa, hugs a pillow to her chest, and sobs. The weight of her despair is crushing, the ache of her dreams being shattered winds around her chest like a band, squeezing the life out of her. Emory fumbles for her phone, crying and shaking so badly that she can barely dial the number she needs. “Hey, Emmy, I just got done at work, is everything okay?” Emory sucks in a shaky breath, forcing herself to control her breathing so she can speak. “Mellie, you gotta come home…” she chokes out, hiccupping. “Em, you sound really upset, what happened?” Melody’s voice is unbelievably tender and gentle, and the bands around Emory’s chest loosen a little. “I got my results today…” “Oh? Were they not what you expected?” “I’m...I’m a Little…” Emory manages to explain, before bursting into tears again. She’s said it out loud now, so it’s real, and definitive and inescapable. “Okay. It’s gonna be okay, Emmy, I promise. I need you to listen to me very carefully though, alright?” Emory nods, then realizes that Melody can’t actually see her. “Mhmm.” “I put an Emergency Littles Kit in the medicine cabinet. It comes in a bright blue box with a white ribbon on the front, like a Christmas present. I need you to get it for me and open it okay? I’ll be right here with you the whole time.” “O-okay…” Emory forces herself to get up and go to the bathroom; her legs feel like they’re made of lead. She opens the medicine cabinet and takes out the box. Inside the box are four round candies that look kind of like lifesavers, one each of green, yellow, purple, and a clear one. There’s a chart on the inside of the lid, with the color of the candies and a corresponding string of letters and numbers, but it’s indecipherable to Emory. “I’ve got it Melody…” Emory sniffles, sitting down on the closed toilet lid. “Good. You’re doing such a wonderful job Emmy. I need you to taste the candies and tell me which one you like best. If you don’t like one, you can just spit it out into the garbage, okay?” “Okay. Here goes…” Emory says, swallowing nervously. The green and yellow candies taste horrible, and she spits them out immediately. The purple candy tastes incredible, and she feels a little less awful after eating it, though she does wish there were more of them. The clear candy is completely bland--not as bad as the first two, but she spits it out anyway. “I’m all done. I really like the purple one, but the green and yellow ones were nasty. The clear one didn’t really taste like anything.” “Alright. I’m going to be home in five minutes. I want you to go into the living room and turn on Super Squad; you like that show, right?” “Yeah…” Emory frowns. She’d never really thought anything of her interest in the childish TV show until now, and it irritates her that she’d been so oblivious. “Good. Just try to relax and wait for me to get back, alright? I have to go so I can drive.” “Okay...I’ll see you when you get back, I guess. Drive safe.” “I will. See you soon.” Melody replies, and then she hangs up. A fresh wave of tears rolls down Emory’s cheeks at the silence, and she shuffles out to the living room to follow Melody’s instructions. She curls up on the couch dejectedly with her pillow, trying to focus on the cheerful music and whimsical nature of the cartoon, but it doesn’t really help all that much--she’s too busy catastrophizing, imagining all the ways her life is about to be upended. She feels so incredibly alone and vulnerable, and the only thing she can do is watch TV and cry about it. After what feels like a lot longer than five minutes, Melody is kneeling down in front of Emory. “Oh, sweetheart...you’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?” Melody says, in the same gentle, lilting voice she’d used on the phone. Her face is kind and understanding, her brown eyes warm and inviting. She’s put her hair up today, in a messy bun. Her hair is a slightly darker shade of brown than Emory’s. She opens her arms for a hug, and Emory lunges into her arms, bursting into tears all over again. “Mellie...What am I gonna do?” Emory presses her face into Melody’s chest. She’s probably getting Melody’s shirt all snotty, but Melody only holds onto her tighter. She smells like baby powder and vanilla, and her embrace is warm and safe. At least for now, Emory doesn’t feel quite so terrible. “Shhh, honey.” Melody reaches underneath Emory’s shirt to rub her back. The skin-to-skin contact is soothing, and it helps to ground Emory amidst the swirl of emotion she’s feeling. “One thing at a time. I know this must be pretty scary for you, but I promise, it’s gonna be okay. First, we’re gonna cuddle here for a little bit until you’re calmer. Then, we’re gonna get you in a nice warm bath, and then we’re going to go to the store for some things, okay. We’re not gonna worry about anything else for right now.” Emory wants to protest, to say that of course she’s worried about literally everything else, but she doesn’t. Melody seems so sure that things will work out, so in control of a situation that’s completely unfamiliar to her, it seems foolish to argue. “Okay…” Melody rocks them for a bit, continuing to rub Emory’s back. The fact that Melody is so much bigger than her had always bothered Emory, because she’d wanted to be seen as an equal, which was hard to accomplish with Melody being so much taller than her. But now, it’s not so bad, since Melody can easily hold her. As much as she wants to deny it, Melody’s affections really are helping to calm her down. Melody stands and carries Emory into the kitchen, before sitting her down on the counter and filling up a glass with water. “Here,” Melody says gently. “You must be thirsty.” Emory nods and drains the glass; she hadn’t realized that she was thirsty until Melody’d mentioned it, and she drinks a second glass, then half of a third for good measure. “Thanks. I guess I was really thirsty.” “You’re welcome. You said you liked the purple candy?” Melody asks as she puts the used glass into the sink next to Emory. Emory nods, smiling a little at the memory of the taste. “It was really good! There was a chart on the inside of the lid, but I don’t know what the codes mean.” She reaches out to hold onto Melody’s shirt, keeping her close. Even the little bit of distance between them now seems like too much, like the world might just swallow her up in her newfound helplessness. Melody smiles gently and presses a kiss to Emory’s forehead. “That’s because those codes aren’t for you to worry about honey. Those are for me, so I know what to put into the kiosk at the Little’s Supply store--it will generate a shopping list for us to make sure we don’t miss anything. The candy should help you to feel a little more relaxed for the rest of the day.” “Oh.” Emory frowns as an awful thought occurs to her. “Will you take me to an assignment center? I know I won’t be allowed to live on my own, and I’m not sure if you even wanted a Little or not, so…” Melody raises an eyebrow, and Emory suddenly feels chastised and small. “Didn’t I just say that we’re not gonna worry about all that right now?” Emory looks at her lap, eyes welling up with tears all over again. “Yeah. Sorry.” Melody smiles and lifts Emory onto her hip. “It’s okay, sweetheart. And no, I’m not going to take you to an assignment center, those places are horrible. I don’t have a Little, because I haven’t really bonded with anyone in that way yet. Taking on a Little is kind of a big deal, you know, it’s a big commitment and a lot of responsibility. Caregivers are required to do lots of stuff to make sure Littles are taken care of, and if things don’t go well, we can end up in a lot of trouble.” “Really? I didn’t know that…” “Yeah. Mostly it’s just to make sure that Littles aren’t taken advantage of or abused. If someone takes on a Little, then they’re required to provide for them, just like you would for a child. There are things to help with all that of course--the government gives out a pretty hefty stipend to make sure people have enough money to get what they need, but it doesn’t always get used for the things it should be. Some Caregivers are only after status, and they’ll use the money on themselves and neglect their Little in the process.” “Oh.” Emory nibbles her thumb absently. “That seems pretty scary.” “Not really. It’s just something you’ve gotta take seriously. Sometimes Littles and Caregivers will have to part ways like if the Caregiver gets sick and can’t be responsible for the Little anymore. But outside of really serious stuff like that, it’s very difficult to separate from someone once you’ve made that commitment, at least legally speaking.” “Is that why you don’t have a Little yet?” Emory wonders. “Partly. I don’t want to let anyone down, you know? I mean, I know I can handle it, it’s just a lot to think about before making a decision. And, not all Caregivers are the kind who want Littles. Some people just like to help others in need--a lot of firefighters and police and stuff are Caregiver types. And, not all Littles need to have a Caregiver around all the time--it really depends on the person.” “Wow. That is a lot to think about.” Emory plays with Melody’s hair thoughtfully. “But don’t worry. Right now, I’m going to take care of you.” Melody heads back into the living room and then sits down on the couch with Emory in her lap. Do you mind if I read your letter? I’m gonna need some info from it for when we go to LS later on.” “Sure.” Emory uncrumples it as best she can and hands it over. “Does it say anything bad? I don’t really understand the technical stuff.” Melody is quiet for a moment while she reads, pausing occasionally to take notes on her phone, and then she smiles at Emory. “No, it doesn’t. It basically just says that you’ll be required to have supervision at all times. It also says that you’ll need diapers if I’m reading the section on bloodwork correctly--the rest of that stuff at the end is just info for the machine at the store.” Emory frowns and folds her arms. “How is having to wear diapers not a bad thing? What if I don’t want to be supervised all the time?” “The supervision is for your safety, and as far as the diapers go, you might not need them right away, but it’s indicated in your letter. You don’t want to be having accidents all the time do you?” Emory frowns. “No...but I’ve never really had a big problem with that.” “That’s part of why getting Classified is so important. You wouldn’t want that to be a surprise, would you?” “I guess not. But I haven’t had any accidents for a long time. I don’t see why it would just suddenly become a problem now.” “It’s different from person to person. Some Littles have accidents all their lives, and some only start having them after classification. The genetic markers in your bloodwork that identify you as a Little all activate at different speeds for different people. You might not be having problems now, but they’re coming, and it’s better to be prepared, right?” “Yeah...I don’t want to be a Little though.” “I’m sorry sweetheart. But there’s nothing that can be done about it. Just like you can’t help how tall you are or what color eyes you have. It’s not a terrible thing though, I promise.” “It’s not fair.” Emory points out. “I know. But that’s the way it is. Thank you for letting me read your letter. I know it’s a big adjustment, but I really think you’ll be happier once everything isn’t so new and different to what you’re used to. And I’m gonna be here to help you too.” “Thanks…Won’t you be in trouble at your job though? If you’re here with me?” Emory wonders. “No. There are all kinds of legal protections for Caregivers who live with someone who gets classified as a Little. They don’t last forever, but there’s nothing to worry about yet. I don’t actually need to go into the office anyway, it’s just nice to get out of the house sometimes.” Emory lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and rests against Melody’s chest. Her future is still very uncertain, but knowing that Melody will be with her makes it a little less terrifying. “You’re very welcome, munchkin. Now, what do you say we get you into a nice, warm bath, and then we’ll get ready to go to the store. Sound good?” Emory nods, nibbling on the thumb of her free hand. “Yeah.” And then, before she can stop herself she says: “Will you stay? I don’t wanna be alone right now…” Melody scoops her up and settles her on her hip. “I’ll be right here with you the whole time. I know this must be really overwhelming for you. Just relax and let me handle everything okay? We’ll talk more about what to do next in the morning; right now we’re just going to try and relax. You just do what feels natural to you, okay, I’m not going to judge you or tease you.” Emory slips her thumb into her mouth experimentally, cheeks heating up in embarrassment, but Melody doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. She feels a few soothing pats against her bottom, and she just relaxes into Melody, feeling safer than she has in a long time. She’s conflicted--she knows she should be mortified, appalled at herself even. But, all the same, she...isn’t. Emory’s life has been turned upside down in an instant, and if Melody is volunteering to navigate this crazy situation for her, maybe it’s best to just let her. And besides, maybe knowing her...tendencies as a Little will be helpful in the future. “Do you want bubbles in your bath tonight, Emmy?” Melody asks, setting Emory down on the floor so she can begin filling the tub. “Yes please.” Emory says around her thumb, taking hold of Melody’s shirt again. She squirms, the tiles are cold against her feet, and her bladder has begun signaling that it’s probably time to start heading for the toilet. It throbs painfully, and Emory can feel her eyes welling up with tears all over again. “Mellie, I gotta-” And that’s as far as she gets before her bladder throbs again, and then she’s wetting herself, liquid splashing down the inside of her thighs and dripping onto the floor beneath her. She just stands there, wet and pathetic and horrified by what she’s just done. Sure, she’s had her share of close calls, but she hasn’t actually had an accident like this since she was a little kid. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Accidents happen, it’s not a big deal.” Melody pulls Emory into a hug despite her wet clothes, and Emory is eternally grateful for the comfort. Melody’s statement doesn’t feel very true to Emory, but it’s easier not to be so upset about it since Melody isn’t bothered by it. “Okay, Emmy, I need you to put your hands on my shoulders so you don’t fall, alright? I’m gonna help you get out of these wet clothes.” Melody’s voice is soothing and gentle as she helps Emory to get undressed. Emory’s beginning to feel like she’ll never stop crying at this rate. “I can-I can do it myself…” She hiccups and tries in vain to stop the flow of tears. “Shhh, babe, it’s okay.” Melody soothes. “I know you can. But, I’ve got it this time, okay? Emmy, please, just let me help you.” Emory doesn’t really feel embarrassed at being naked in front of Melody; it’s not the first time it’s happened, and anyway, she mostly just hopes she doesn’t pee on the floor again. The air in the bathroom is cool against her skin, and she shivers, hugging herself for warmth. “Come here,” Melody says softly, gathering Emory to her. She presses a kiss to Emory’s temple. “How are you feeling right now?” “Lost. Scared. Angry. Confused...Sad...It’s a lot. I had my whole life planned out, a good career, a nice apartment on the ritzy side of town...But it doesn’t matter now.” “Just because you’re a Little, doesn’t mean you can’t be successful. Sure, you might not be able to live on your own or do certain jobs, but there’s plenty of stuff out there for you if you want it.” “But-” Emory begins to protest some more, but Melody interrupts by taking her by the shoulders and giving her a serious look. “Shh. No more ‘buts’. I know you probably have tons of questions, and I will answer all of them, tomorrow, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep. This is how things are now, and you can either spend your energy worrying over how things are going to be, or you can try to be open about the experience and take things as they come. I promise you, I won’t let anything bad happen to you okay? So try to relax. I’ve got you.” Melody presses a kiss to Emory’s forehead, probably to emphasize her point. Emory nods. “Okay.” “Is this a good temperature for the water?” Melody asks, as she adds the bubble bath solution to the tub. Emory tests the water, and is pleasantly surprised to find that it’s just the right temperature. It usually takes her a bit of fiddling to get the water how she likes it, and Melody has nailed it on the first try. It’s a small thing, but it makes it a little easier to put her trust in Melody to look after her. “It’s just right,” Emory says with a smile. “Good,” Melody answers, smiling back at her before lifting her into the tub. “Do you want to wash on your own this time?” It’s a simple question with monumental implications. Emory sucks on her thumb absently, thinking. The warm water has eased her stress levels a bit more, and she’s beginning to realize how worn-out she feels. She thinks back to what Melody’d said earlier, about experiencing this new reality and taking things as they come, and she makes her decision. “Could you do it please?” Emory says around her thumb. “Sure thing! You just sit back and relax. Thank you for trusting me little one, it means a lot to me.” Melody says, and reaches for the soap and washcloth. Part of Emory is irritated at the new nickname. But, if she’s being honest with herself, it makes her feel warm inside, and it’s not really all that embarrassing either. The cognitive dissonance is exhausting and it’s giving her a headache. She doesn’t have the energy to keep protesting and behaving like pre-Classification Emory would. So, she decides to just let Melody take charge for the night. Melody is very gentle when she scrubs Emory down, but not so gentle that it’s inefficient, and she even takes extra special care to avoid getting soap in Emory’s eyes. When she’s finished, she pulls the plug on the drain and wraps Emory in a big, fluffy towel before picking her up again. “Thank you Mellie. That was...really nice.” Emory says honestly. “You’re welcome sweetie. Now, let’s get you dressed, and we’ll head over to the Littles Supply. Do you want to get ice cream when we’re finished there?” Emory nods. Ice cream sounds like the perfect comfort food after a day like today. Melody brings her to her room instead of going to Emory’s and lays her down on the bed. “Stay still, okay munchkin? I’ll just be a sec.” Melody rummages around in her closet for a moment before getting a moderately-sized blue bag with the same ribbon on it as the ELK from the top shelf. She takes out a plain white diaper, powder, and some lotion, as well as a pastel purple onesie with a snap crotch. Emory fidgets, uncertain. She’s a little embarrassed, but she’s also very curious about how it’s going to feel to be in a diaper for the first time since she was a baby. “This will only take a minute, sweetheart. Try not to wiggle around too much, okay?” Emory nods and slips her thumb into her mouth again. “‘Kay.” She says softly. Melody puts lotion on her entire body, not just her diaper area, which she hadn’t been expecting. It’s hard not to squirm, since Melody seems to have a knack for finding all of her ticklish spots, but she does her best. The lotion has a very pleasant smell though, so she doesn’t mind. Melody doesn’t even ask Emory to do anything during the diapering portion of the process, she just lifts Emory by the ankles before sliding the diaper under her. She dusts Emory with powder before pulling the diaper up between her legs and securing it snugly with the tapes. The smell of baby powder and lotion in combination is incredibly relaxing, and it takes Emory a moment to realize that Melody is talking to her. “Are you okay?” Emory nods, giving an experimental wiggle. The diaper isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s definitely going to take some getting used to. Still, it’s not nearly as bad as she’d been afraid it would be. “Mhmm.” She answers. “It actually feels kinda nice…” “Oh? Well, I’m glad to hear that!” Melody says, before helping Emory to sit up. “Arms up, please.” Emory complies so Melody can dress her in the onesie, which feels strange, but like the diaper, it isn’t uncomfortable either. She smiles at the realization, maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Melody reaches into the bag and takes out a black pair of overalls and an oversized purple hair bow and helps Emory dress before tying her hair back in a ponytail. She takes a few items out of the bag and sets them aside--apparently there were different sizes of everything in, and they’d only needed what Emory was wearing. Emory looks at the pile and is kind of embarrassed to realize that the only size missing from the pile is ‘extra small’ and she hadn’t thought that she was that tiny… Melody helps Emory stand and guides her in front of the mirror. “All done, what do you think?” Melody wonders. Emory blinks at her reflection, her own blue eyes staring back at her. Her lighter brown hair is tied back with the oversized bow that Melody had taken from the bag, and she realizes that she looks like a toddler, only a bit bigger. She’s a little embarrassed to notice that the overalls also have snaps in the crotch, but other than that, it’s a pretty normal-looking outfit. She’d even go so far as to say it’s cute...And, as an added bonus, the diaper isn’t obvious at all, it’s the snaps in the crotch that give that away. “I like it. It’s comfier than I thought It would be, but walking around in a diaper feels a little weird.” Emory confesses, turning to look up at Melody. “I’m glad you like it. The bag didn’t leave me with many options, but you’ll have a chance to pick some things out at the LS. They make some pretty cute stuff, but it’s okay if you prefer the plainer side of the spectrum.” Emory shrugs. “I’m not sure what I’d like best...I’ll have to see what they’ve got.” She feels a little nervous at the prospect of going out in public as a Little for the first time, and without really thinking about it, she lifts her arms toward Melody, hoping to be picked up. It’s only after she’s lifted into Melody’s arms that it dawns on her what she’d just done. “Alright, little one, let’s get a move on. I’d like to get you to bed at a reasonable time tonight, and we have lots to do.” Part of Emory bristles at the thought of being given a bedtime, but she ignores it and says: “Okay.” Melody smiles and kisses Emory’s temple--Emory doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of being shown affection like that, and she snuggles a little closer to Melody without really meaning too. Melody pats Emory’s bottom; it’s something she’s done many times before, but it’s somehow more comforting now, and it makes it easy to put aside her fears of going out. “Don’t worry,” Melody says as she heads for the door. “I’ve got you.” *~*~*~*~* The Littles Supply store isn’t very busy when they arrive. Or, at least it doesn’t seem that way, as Emory spends most of her time looking at the ground. She still hasn’t gotten used to walking in a diaper, and she’s almost sure she looks a little awkward. She just holds Melody’s hand and tries to keep pace with her much longer stride. “Well hello there!” Someone says. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” Emory can feel her face heating up a little and she makes herself look up to see who’s speaking to her. There’s a lady sitting in a chair by the entrance with red hair, blue eyes, and a bright smile who’s waving at her. She’s got on a name tag that says ‘Beth’, with the Littles Supply logo on it. Emory moves a bit so she’s mostly behind Melody. The employee’s greeting doesn’t scare her, not exactly, it’s just that she feels kind of exposed, and she isn’t quite sure that she’s ready to be seen like this by people other than Melody. “Hi…” Emory answers, very quietly, giving the employee a small wave. “Aww, someone’s a little shy today. That’s okay. Would you like a lollipop or a sticker?” Emory shuffles forward a bit to see her choices, before looking back at Melody to make sure this is okay with her. Melody smiles at her and gestures at her to continue. “Go on sweetheart, it’s alright. Pick anything you like.” “You can have one of each if you’d like.” Beth whispers, like she’s letting Emory in on some big secret. Emory gasps a little in surprise without really meaning to. “Wow…” After a moment of deliberation she chooses a purple lollipop and a sticker that says ‘Superstar’ with a golden star wearing sunglasses. “Thank you.” Emory says in a small voice, and then goes back to Melody, taking her hand immediately. She hands the sticker to Melody once they’re inside the store. “Oh, is this for me?” Melody wonders. Emory nods. “Mhmm. I just wanted to say thanks for taking care of me. I’m really glad you’re my friend.” She feels like she’s said too much, but it’s too late to take it back now. “Aww, thank you sweetie.” Melody says, and puts the sticker on her shirt. She stops in front of the carts, some of which are much bigger than the usual-sized ones and looks at Emory. “Do you want to ride in the cart? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” “Yes please.” Emory says, she’s already feeling kind of drained from the day, and the less walking she has to do, the better. Melody lifts her gently into the cart. “If you want to get out to look at stuff, just let me know, okay?” Emory nods. Their next stop is the kiosk that Melody had talked about earlier. It’s kind of unassuming, just a big screen with a keyboard under it and a little printer beside it that has a sign above it that says: ‘First Time? Start Here’. Melody pauses to consult her notes, types a few things into the machine, and after a moment, the printer whirs to life and spits out a ribbon of paper. “Okay, we’ve got our list. Are you ready to get started?” Melody asks. Emory nods. “Alright then, Off we go!” Melody says cheerfully. The store is a lot like the other big-box retailers in town, but it sells exclusively stuff for Littles, everything from clothing to those giant inflatable bouncy castles. Their first stop is the section Emory has been dreading the most, the diaper aisle. There are tons of options to pick from, and although she’d rather not even be in this section, she knows that it won’t do any good to complain about it. She looks around at the packages and finds herself drawn to the ones with animal designs and some of the ones with spaceships and stars. “I like those.” Emory says, pointing to them. Melody takes a box of each of them and puts them into the cart. “Those are pretty cute.” Melody says. “We can have more delivered to the house in bulk, so we’re not gonna get a bunch right now. Do you see any other kinds you like?” Emory points out a few more that also get put into the cart. They head to the next aisle, one that has pacifiers, bottles and formula on one side, and various comfort items like blankets on the other. “You don’t need to have formula, don’t worry.” Melody says before Emory can ask. “But you are going to need a cup with some kind of no-spill lid. Do you want to pick some, or do you want me to just go by the designs on your diapers?” Emory shrugs, blushing a little at ‘your diapers’. It’s true, but it’s still kind of embarrassing to hear it out loud. “You can pick. I think I’d probably take forever, and I’m kind of tired.” “Okay. If you see anything you like just shout.” Melody says, and begins sifting through items and putting them in the cart. Emory lets her eyes wander before they land on a bottle with zoo animals that comes with a matching set of pacifiers and a very soft blanket. “Can I have that? Please?” It’s embarrassing to ask for it, but she really wants it, so she swallows her pride. Melody adds it to their rapidly filling cart. “Of course you can. Thank you for using such good manners, sweetheart.” She tosses in a few other pacifiers and clips for good measure. Emory smiles at the praise. They turn the corner into the next aisle, one that has carseats, some of which are just upscaled versions of seats for toddlers. “Wow...They’re huge!” Emory points out. “Yep. They’re meant to replace the actual seat in the car. We’ll just get a ticket and take it up front, and they’ll install it overnight. There’s a shuttle that will take us home, and we can come back in the morning for the car. If you were a little bigger, we could probably just get away with replacing the seatbelt with a harness, and you could still sit up front. but I think the full-size carseat is the would be the safest option for you. Do you wanna try some of them out and see which ones you like?” Emory feels a bit sad at the realization that her days of sitting up front are over, but nods. All of the seats are comfortable, but she settles on a black one with light blue cushioning. It’s got a cupholder, a built-in charging port for her phone and it even reclines. It’s a little on the pricier side though, and that makes her think of something else. “Um, Mellie? How am I gonna pay for all this stuff?” “When you got classified as a Little, there was an account set up in your name that’s tied to the ID on your letter. You’ll get a card for it later, but until you get a Caregiver, the government stipend for Little care will go into that account. All we have to do is put in that ID number at the register, and everything will be taken care of. Didn’t you read any of the info things they gave you at Classification?” Emory shakes her head. “Only the ones for Neutrals and Caregivers. I was so sure I wasn’t gonna end up as a Little that I didn’t bother with those.” She realizes as she says it that that lack of foresight is exactly the kind of thing one would expect from a Little. It seems so obvious now… “That’s okay. We can talk more about all that later. We’re almost done, we just need to get you a crib, a changing table, and some clothes. Unless you want to look at some toys first? I know you’ve got your computer at home and the Playstation, but I thought you might want to do some other things sometimes too.” “I have to sleep in a crib too?” Emory frowns. It doesn’t sound all that bad, but she feels like she should protest on principle. “Yes, babe. Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to get out in case of emergency, and I’ll put a monitor in your room in case you need something.” Mallory explains. “I can’t really have you up and roaming around the house if I’m not awake to watch you, at least until we Little-proof things.” Emory huffs. “I’m not gonna go around sticking forks in light sockets or eating the dishwasher soap thingies, Mellie.” “I know, but you aren’t really in Littlespace right now either. Once you get more comfortable with things, I think you might be surprised. Besides, you can keep your TV and stuff so if you wake up before me, you won’t have to sit in there and be bored.” Emory just pouts. “Do you want to look at toys after we’re done picking out your crib and changing table?” Emory smiles. Even before she’d gotten Classified, she’d enjoyed walking through the toy section just to look around, even if she’d only ever gotten her stuffed bear, Rufus, from there. “Okay!” It doesn’t take them long to order their furniture, but Emory lets Melody handle that part. She does hope that the people coming to install it don’t take a long time to do so though; she’s uncomfortable enough with all this without a bunch of strange people in her house... Emory stays close to Melody at first when they get to the toy section, since none of the toys for the really little Littles are very interesting. The shape-sorting toy seems like it would get boring pretty fast. She does like the blocks though, and gets a pretty big assortment of those. The aisle with all the Legos is the most exciting though, since she’d always loved playing with them as a child, and it’s really cool to see how complex some of the things she could build are now. She spends more time than she probably should browsing, and when she looks up to ask Melody if she can get a few things, she realizes that Melody is...gone. Inwardly, Emory knows that Melody wouldn’t abandon her, but she can’t stop herself from panicking. She manages to stave it off momentarily by remembering that she can just call Melody and ask where she is. But, when she pats herself down, looking for her phone, she remembers that it’s still on the floor at home. The gravity of being alone hits her like a freight train; now that she’s a Little, she doesn’t have many options for getting back home by herself. Without her phone, she can’t use a ride-sharing service to get home, if she’s even allowed to do that now, and she knows for a fact that buses won’t take unattended Littles either. She might even get taken to an Assignment Center. Her breathing picks up, and her vision blurs as she bursts into tears, her heart jackhammering away inside her chest. Before she can really start crying, someone’s pulling her into a tight hug--she knows it’s Melody by the smell of her perfume. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why all these tears, hmm?” Emory just cries, unable to pull herself together quickly enough to respond right away. She just holds on tighter to Melody. “Can you tell Mellie what’s wrong, little one? I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.” “I c-couldn’t see you. An’ I got scared…” Emory chokes out. “I’m sorry little love, I thought you heard me when I said I was going to the next aisle over for a minute. You know I’d never leave you here all by yourself, right? Never ever.” That makes Emory feel a little better, and she feels kind of silly for getting so worked up over such a little thing. “I know…’M sorry I freaked out like that…” “You don’t ever have to be sorry for having feelings, Emmy. It’s perfectly okay to cry if you’re scared. Did you find anything you’d like?” Emory nods and gives Melody a watery smile before moving to show her what she’d been looking at. After picking out a few things, they move on to the clothing section. Their trip through the clothing section is by far the longest part of their visit to the store. Emory gets out to help Melody pick out some things--she gravitates toward the plainer, pastel colors, but Melody is definitely a fan of the more overtly cute stuff with designs and little sayings on it. Thankfully, she doesn’t pick out anything too outlandish. And that’s when it happens. Emory’s trailing behind Melody a bit, pausing to look at things, but always making sure that she can see Melody, when her bladder throbs. She suddenly regrets her decision to drink so much water earlier and she knows immediately that she doesn’t have long to get to a toilet. And, with the extra steps to undress because of the overalls, onesie, and diaper, she isn’t even really sure that she can. She squirms a bit and opens her mouth to let Melody know what’s going on, when her bladder fails entirely with a painful spasm, and she wets her diaper. She stands there awkwardly, brow furrowing at the unfamiliar sensation. She’d had to go even more than she’d realized, and she ends up rooted to the spot, hoping she can finish before Melody notices what’s happening, as unlikely as that is. The feeling of wetting her diaper isn’t bad, but it’s foreign to her, not to mention embarrassing. She’s glad to be wearing it though, since no one knows what’s happened except her, and maybe--probably--Melody. At least she hasn’t left a puddle on the floor… Emory looks up to see Melody in front of her, arms open for a hug, like she knows exactly what just happened. Emory doesn’t waste any time taking advantage of the offer. “‘M sorry…” Emory says quietly, fighting back tears for the umpteenth time that day. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Emmy” Melody soothes quietly, rubbing Emory’s back. “That’s what your diaper is for. It’s better than leaving a mess, right?” Emory nods. Melody reaches down to pat Emory’s bottom. “Your diaper can hold a lot more than that, but I understand if you want to get changed now. We’ve got a little time before the shuttle gets here to take us home, and they already set up delivery for your diapers, so we don’t need to do that. We can hurry and go to get ice cream after we pay, or I can change your diaper, but we might not have time for ice cream after that.” “But you said we could…” Emory feels her eyes welling up with tears at the thought of missing out on ice cream. She rubs them gently with her fists, trying to stop herself from crying again, and sort of surprises herself when she yawns. “Oh, little one, you’re so tired...I know I did. Can you wait to get changed until we get home?” Emory nods. A wet diaper doesn’t feel great, but it’s not terribly uncomfortable either. And besides, it’s worth enduring if it means she gets ice cream. “I can wait…” “Okay.” Melody says and fishes a tissue out of her purse. She holds it up to Emory’s nose. “Blow, sweetheart.” she says, and Emory does. Emory’s thumb drifts toward her mouth, but Melody stops her. “Oh no, Emmy, don’t do that, it’s icky. We’ve been touching lots of stuff that other people have handled, and I don’t want you to get sick. Do you want to try a pacifier instead?” Emory thinks about it for a moment, and then nods. No one has teased her or mocked her since she arrived at the store, so maybe she’s worried over nothing. Melody hunts through her bag for a moment before finding one, it’s the same shade of purple as Emory’s shirt.. She takes out a clip for the pacifier and clips it to Emory’s shirt for her. “There you go, sweetheart.” Emory gives it an experimental suck, and realizes two things: First, that it’s faintly vanilla flavored, and secondly that it’s way better than sucking her thumb. She suckles on it happily and smiles at Melody. “Thank you!” Melody chuckles. “You’re too cute. You’re very welcome Emmy. Do you want to walk, or ride in the cart to go back up front?” “I can walk,” Emory says, afraid she’ll fall asleep if she sits in the cart, and she doesn’t want to miss out on her opportunity for ice cream. “That’s fine. Hold my hand though, I don’t want you to get lost.” Melody says. “I’m not gonna get lost…” Emory protests. “Emmy, you almost got lost earlier because you weren’t paying attention. We’re not gonna do that again, okay? I know this is all very new to you, but I need you to listen to me.” “I can do it myself!” Emory responds, too loudly, and stomps her foot without really meaning to. She’s exhausted and out-of-sorts, and it’s so hard to keep a lid on her emotions when everything is so new and overwhelming. “Excuse me? That’s not a very nice way to talk to someone, Emmy.” Melody says, raising an eyebrow, and taking Emory by the shoulders. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. I know you can do it yourself, but I don’t think that’s a very good choice right now, do you?” Emory harrumphs and turns around to face away from Melody, too upset with everything to speak. She’s mad at herself for not being able to control her emotions better, mad at Melody for not letting her prove that she’s capable of doing things on her own, and mad at the Classification test for doing this to her. “I’m mad!” she says, like it isn’t already obvious. “That’s okay.” Melody says, and her calm, gentle voice is somehow even more irritating--a reminder of how grown-up and in-control she is, everything that Emory isn’t. “You’re allowed to be mad. Do you need a minute to calm down so we can talk?” Emory folds her arms and flops down onto her butt without answering. She’s grateful for her diaper, since sitting down so hard would definitely have hurt otherwise. She feels Melody’s lips against the top of her head. “Okay.” Melody says. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready to use your words.” Emory’s crying again before she can stop herself. She knows she’s made a mistake, but everything is so different and wrong and it’s hard to know what to do. She gets up and turns around to face Melody, sobbing and reaching for her. “Oh, honey…” Melody’s voice is almost a coo as she lifts Emory into her arms. “We’ve had a stressful day, haven’t we, little one?” She wonders, but she doesn’t seem to expect an answer from Emory. Emory presses her face into Melody’s chest. “‘M sorry!” she bawls. “It’s okay sweetheart, everything is forgiven. But do you understand why I want you to hold my hand?” Emory nods. “So I don’t get lost and scared again.” “That’s right. I don’t like seeing you so upset. Do you know what makes me feel better when I’m sad?” Melody asks. “Cuddles?” Emory ventures. “Yes, do you know what else cheers me up?” Emory shrugs. “Ice cream. Would you like to have some after we pay?” Emory nods. “Yes please.” “I think that can be arranged,” Melody says, and smiles at her before setting her down in the cart. “Let’s go pay for our things.” With their cart piled high with loot, they head for the registers at the front. Emory falls asleep before they get there, dreaming of ice cream.

Sunday morning, wet and ready to start day. Need to change.

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 All! It's been a while since I've posted a new story, but I'm back with a project I'm very excited about! "You Know What They Do to Girls Like Us in Brighter Days?" is the story of Rei Akiyama, a young girl trying to navigate through life in a near future dystopia where the age of majority has been raised to 28 for girls and regressive behavioral therapy has become popular to help girls adjust to these new laws. The world this story is set in is very strongly inspired by/based on the world building of Alteredstates, so a lot of credit goes to him! For those unfamiliar with Alteredstates, he does world building through ad copy and other cultural artifacts. While you don't need to be familiar with his work to understand and appreciate this story, I strongly recommend you check it out! Not only because it will help you immerse yourself in this world, but also because it's genuinely really good! You can find him on Tumblr, Twitter, and Patreon! Without further ado, I give you the prologue and first two chapters of "You Know What They Do to Girls Like Us in Brighter Days?" Prologue The night of Wednesday, October 4th, 2028, was unseasonably cold in the city of Greenham; snow was in the forecast for the next day in a city that rarely saw a snowflake until at least January. By 7:28PM, there were already flurries dancing through the cold wind that whipped through the dumpsters behind City Hall, where John Bennet, the head of City Hall security, stood with his foot propping open the emergency exit of the east stairwell. He blew out a lungful of smoke as he dropped his cigarette on the pavement below and crushed it beneath his shoe. John was nothing if not a creature of habit; so much so that, if one cared to be so observant, they could predict exactly what time John would take the last smoke break of his shift before he did his final sweep of the building. He would then go home to his shabby apartment. That night, however, was different. That night, John wouldn’t be going home; he would be meeting a 28-year-old girl he had met on the internet. That night, John’s phone rang just as he was about to go back inside. He fished his phone out of his pocket, smiling when he saw his date’s name on the caller ID, and swiped his finger across the screen as he raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, baby girl,” he said, trying to sound smooth, “I can’t wait to see you.” On the other end of the phone, a young-sounding voice poured honeyed words into his ear as he turned and walked back into the building. Another night, under less distracting circumstances, John would have almost certainly noticed that the door never clicked closed behind him, but the telling silence was lost amongst the words that sent his blood pumping. In a bar a few miles away, Edward Cook was ordering a drink for a girl who looked too young to be there. The girl blushed as she slid her ID and emancipation card across the counter at the bartender’s request, brushing her blue hair behind her ear to look coyly at Edward out of the corner of her eye as she did. Edward never even noticed the girl on the other side of him, or her hand as she slipped a hard plastic card at the end of a black lanyard out of his suit jacket pocket. The card, printed with Edward’s picture and the seal of the Office of Juvenile Affairs, disappeared into the girl’s clutch purse as she quietly slipped away from the bar. She checked the time on her phone as she stepped out into the frosty night: 7:34PM. Elsewhere, the number 9 county bus was pulling over for an unscheduled stop due to a disturbance on the bus involving three young girls. The driver, Richard Lawson, broke up the altercation with the help of another passenger and removed the girls from the bus. That taken care of, an exasperated Richard reported the incident to dispatch, who noted the number 9 bus was running ten minutes behind but was resuming his route at 7:47PM. Back at the courthouse, John, having finished his final sweep of the building and found nothing out of the ordinary, put the finishing touches on his security logs for the night and leaned back in his chair, eyes sweeping over the bank of CCTV monitors that showed snapshots of the interior of the courthouse. It was, however, the clock that John was truly focused on, his eyes constantly flicking between it and the monitors. The moment those numbers turned from 7:59 to 8:00PM, John pushed himself out of his chair and jabbed his finger at the button that caused all of the monitors to wink out simultaneously. Had he waited just a minute longer, he might have seen the black garbed figures slip in from the emergency exit in the east stairwell. He could have watched as they crept up that staircase and slipped into second floor hallway. Another camera would have shown the figures slink down the hallway, past the Permits Office and the Office of Parks and Recreation. On a third camera, the figures stopped in front of a frosted glass door with Office of Juvenile Affairs printed across it in thick, black block letters. One of the figures swiped a card by the panel next to the door, the light turned from red to green, and the figures quickly disappeared through the door. Later, security logs would be pulled showing Edward Cook had accessed the office at 8:04PM; the subsequent investigation would find Cook was not guilty of any direct involvement but would still lose his position on the grounds of gross negligence. By 8:15PM, Greenham City Hall was silent and empty. At 8:17PM, the number 9 county bus blew past the empty bus stop at the far end of the City Hall parking lot. On an ordinary night, Richard would typically idle at this station for a few minutes, but he was working hard to make up for lost time. The next few stops were just as empty, which wasn’t unusual for this time of night on a weekday. It was 8:34PM when the bus pulled up to the stop at Greenham Community College, where three girls and four boys boarded the bus, all of them in their late teens and early twenties. Richard Lawson wouldn’t even think to mention this to investigators later, though they likely would have made nothing of it if he had. By 8:50PM, the city of Greenham, a suburb of the nation’s capital city, was settling into its slumber. A few bars and restaurants were still pouring drinks for late night clientele, but curfew was quickly approaching and all those affected were either already home or else rushing to get there. At 8:54PM, the electric engine of the number 9 county bus was humming along through the streets of one such sleepy neighborhood, empty but for Ricard Lawson and a small handful of passengers: a young girl with black hair and tawny skin carrying a bookbag tight to her chest, two boys with their feet on the seats laughing raucously in the back of the bus, and a mother and a daughter riding together. Richard glanced up at the passengers in his rearview mirror and caught the eye of the daughter. She had bright blue eyes, a practical waterfall of golden curls, and looked to be in her early twenties. Richard smiled at the girl in the mirror; he had to admit, she was adorable in her pink shirt and plaid skirtall. She smiled back at him from behind the shield of her pacifier. The mother turned away from the book in her hand and leaned over the girl, slipping one hand up the girl’s skirtall. Richard quickly averted his gaze, suddenly feeling like he was invading their privacy. “Oh, Rebecca,” the older woman sighed quietly, but still loud enough to be heard easily on the otherwise silent bus, “your pull-up is soaked; did you even know you had to go?” The girl’s smile disappeared into her blush as she mumbled some words from behind her pacifier. The mother chuckled. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she ruffled her daughter’s hair, “we’re almost home! Then we can get you changed into your nighttime diapers and feed you a nice bottle before bed, would you like that?” She booped her daughter’s nose and sent the girl into a fit of laughter. The black-haired girl shifted in her seat across from the mother and daughter, obviously trying to avoid looking at them. She glanced at her phone, 9:52PM. Richard Lawson shifted in his seat and tried to ignore the cooing and giggling going on behind him. Little single-family homes passed by as he made his way down Ridgemont Street, and only more in sight as he turned right down Wrighton Square. The bell dinged and Richard slowly pressed the brake, bringing the bus to a stop at the corner or Wrighton and Central Lake Drive. Richard wished his passengers a good night, stay safe, as they all got off. Glancing back in his rearview mirror to confirm the bus was empty, Richard slowly accelerated into the night. Peter Grant watched the bus pull away from the front seat of his Greenham Police Department Cruiser. He scanned the passengers leaving the bus stop. Two young men cross the street and kept walking up Wrighton Square while three women started walking up Central Lake Drive and toward his cruiser. He checked his clock: 9:56, damn near too late for young women to be out alone. “Let’s check it out,” he said to his partner, Dave Clusky, as he stepped out of the cruiser and started crossing the street towards the trio. As Peter approached, the women were backlit by a streetlamp, but he could make out the vaguely feminine shapes of three women. Two of them walked side by side as the third, at least a few inches shorter than the other two, walked a couple of feet behind. Peter raised his flashlight, “Excuse me, ladies,” he called out officiously as the beam of light cut through the night, bringing the slowly drifting flakes of snow into heavy contrast. The three ladies stopped in their tracks. The shorter of the two in front whimpered behind her pacifier and clung to the older woman next to her as they both blinked against the light. The girl behind them gasped inaudibly and stared ahead like a deer in headlights for a moment before raising a hand to protect her eyes from the worst of the light. “Evening, ma’am,” Peter nodded to the older woman, “these your children?” The woman glanced behind her, then back to Peter, “just this one,” she replied, squeezing Rebecca close to her. Peter nodded, “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. Best get your little one inside, it looks to be about her bedtime.” The mother laughed politely, “yes, we’ve had a very long day, thank you, officer.” She tugged on Rebecca’s hand and quietly urged the girl on. Peter swept his flashlight over a few degrees to focus his beam on the girl in the white button up shirt and plaid suspender skirt. “Could you lower your hand, miss? How old are you?” “Uhm, nineteen,” she replied nervously, “I know it’s—” “It’s almost curfew,” Peter interrupted her, “you allowed to be out past curfew?” “Um, no, sir, I—” “Yeah, didn’t think so. What’s your name? What are you doing out so late?” “Um, Rei, sir, and I’m coming home from college, sir, I was—” “College?” Dave chimed in, “you got parental permission for that?” “Yes, sir, and I—” “What were you doing at college this late?” Peter asked. “You go to Greenham CC?” “Yes, sir, I was studying—” “Studying,” Dave scoffed, “yeah, right.” “I was, sir, I have—” “You got a pass from your professor?” Peter asked. “Yes, sir, it’s—” “Well?” Dave said impatiently. “Let’s see it,” Peter demanded. “Yes, sir,” the girl reached into her backpack and produced a folded sheet of paper that was immediately snatched out of her hand. “Professor Lewis? English?” Peter read key words off the piece of paper before handing it off to Dave. Dave looked the sheet over, made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, then handed it back to Peter. “Looks legit” “You know it’s almost curfew, kid?” Peter turned back towards the girl, thrusting the paper back at her. “Yes, sorry, I was—” “Yeah, you were at college, you said. You live close by?” “Yes, sir, I—” “Where at?” “Just up the street,” she raised her hand and pointed behind Peter. “Uh huh,” Peter sounded skeptical. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time: 9:59PM. “Think you can get home before curfew hits, little girl?” He smiled maliciously. The girl’s knees went weak; she clutched her bag to her chest as if it could protect from him the malice in his smile. Her vision tunneled in on the face of Peter Grant and the world around her sounded like it was moving through water. Tick. 10:00PM. As curfew went into effect all over Greenham and it’s surrounding townships, the eastern wing of the Greenham City Hall exploded outward, raining fire and rubble into it’s expansive parking lot. The sound of the explosion tore through the still night air, audible as a low rumbling miles away on Central Lake Drive. A portion of the horizon of the night sky lit up. “The fuck…?” Peter cursed. “Fuck me!” Dave swore. The girl let out a quiet yelp and resisted the urge to make a break for it. Silence filled the air in the aftermath of the explosion, and then the radios on Dave and Peter’s shoulders started squawking. They completely forgot about the girl as they scrambled back to their cruiser. Chapter One Snowflakes were melting in Rei Akiyama’s hair as she slumped against the front door of her house. She was still shaking and trying to steady her breath. “You’re late,” a voice said from the living room. “I know, I’m sorry, Mom,” Rei said, still panting slightly as she took her shoes off before entering the room. “The bus was running late; I ran all the way here from the bus stop.” Ms. Akiyama made a sound in her throat as she looked her daughter up and down. “You were studying? Let me see your pass.” “Yes, Mom,” Rei said as she pulled out the now slightly crumpled piece of paper out of her bag and handed it over. “You’re working too hard in school,” Ms. Akiyama said matter-of-factly. “Well, whatever, I’m glad you’re home,” she discarded the paper on the end table, “I was starting to get worried when I heard that rumbling. Did you hear that?” “Yes, Mom,” Rei nodded and chewed on her lip, unsure what else to say on the topic. “Rei, stop chewing your lip, it’s a bad nervous habit.” “Yes, Mom, sorry.” Rei forced herself to stop and instead just looked down at her shoes. “Well?” Ms. Akiyama asked expectantly a moment later. “It’s almost bedtime; shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? The news said we were supposed to get a few inches of snow, so school will probably be cancelled tomorrow, but I want you in bed on time just in case, okay?” “Yes, Mom,” Rei replied. She tried her best not to turn and run up the stairs, but instead walked casually up them as if it had just been a normal night of studying. Her mother watched her go, sensing something was off about her daughter, but she was unable to put her finger on what, exactly, she was sensing. Rei stopped briefly at the top of the stairs, turned back, and gave a small smile and wave when she saw her mother was still watching, then disappeared around the corner. Ms. Akiyama sighed quietly: what was she going to do with that girl? She was worried what kind of ideas her school was filling her head with, and Rei being out all-night studying didn’t do anything to allay that worry. Picking up the pass Rei had given her, Ms. Akiyama turned and settled back down on the couch. According to the pass, Rei had been working on her midterm essay for English with Professor Lewis. Sighing once more, she set the note aside, making a mental note to ask Rei what she was writing her essay about (maybe that would give her a clue on exactly what kind of idea’s the school was filling Rei’s head with), and turned her attention back to the TV where a mature looking woman was smiling back at her while holding a colorful package. “That why I decided to try new Pampers Overnight Diapers! They are expertly designed for girls who wet the bed,” as the woman delivered the line, she reached her free hand out the side and pulled a young girl of about eight or ten into the frame and into a side hug, “and those who don’t,” the camera pulled out and panned over to reveal an older girl about Rei’s age staring distractedly at her phone seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, “yet,” the mother added after a beat and punctuated it with a wink. Upstairs, Rei leaned against the wall, just out of sight, focusing on getting her breathing back to normal. The night hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but, so far, nothing had gone terribly wrong. She could only hope it stayed that way. Rei pushed herself away from the wall and made her way down the hallway towards her bedroom, closing her door behind her just as downstairs the TV alerted her mother to breaking news. As Ms. Akiyama was stunned to hear of the bombing just a few miles from her, Rei was tossing her backpack on the floor next to her desk and throwing herself face down on her bed. She was slightly dazed and more than exhausted. Part of her couldn’t believe the events of the night. Yes, they had been making plans for weeks now, she had known this night was coming, but now that it was done…it felt surreal. She was terrified of what would come next. Still, there was one more thing she had to do before this night was over. Rei crept back to her bedroom door, listened carefully, then cracked the door ever so slightly. The distant sounds of the TV still drifted up the stairs and the hallway was empty. Closing the door silently, she rushed across the carpet in socked feet to her desk, which, looking back over her shoulder towards the door, she inched away from the wall. Kneeling down, Rei reached behind the desk and pried off a piece of the baseboard to reveal a small crevice between the wall and the floor from which Rei produced a cell phone at least a decade old. It was black with a silver lined screen and a numeric keyboard. Rei brought up the messaging app only to be greeted with over a dozen texts; each was from a different number, but they all said the same thing: “home safe.” She sighed with relief, painstakingly typed out her own missive (“home safe”) on the numeric keyboard and pressed send before immediately replacing the phone in its hiding place and putting everything back in order. Now, Rei thought, it was time to get ready for bed. Chapter Two “It was confirmed early this morning that there were no casualties or injuries in last night’s explosion at the Greenham City Hall, which occurred at exactly 10PM and destroyed most of the building’s eastern half. While authorities have yet to make any statements regarding the cause of the explosion, many are already speculating that this was an act of domestic terrorism committed by the radical leftist feminist group Rebel in response to recent social policy legislation restricting the rights of women under twenty-eight. Supporters of this theory have been quick to point out that the offices of the newly established Office of Juvenile Affairs, which was formed to enforce these new policies, was located in the eastern wing of the Greenham City Hall. We’ll be sure to bring you all the breaking details on this story as it develops. Back to you in the studio, Steve.” As the news switched back to less interesting stories, Ms. Akiyama turned her attention away from the tablet propped up on the kitchen counter and back to the cast iron skillet in front of her where the pancakes were beginning to form bubbles along the edge of the batter. She flipped them with the kind of perfection that only came with years of practice and shook her head, it was just terrible what had happened. She knew some people thought the new laws were going too far, but surely bombing buildings was going just as far, if not further. No, it wasn’t the proper way to go about voicing dissent at all. And if this was the kind of stuff feminism was preaching these days, maybe there was some sense to these new laws. Certainly they didn’t teach girls to behave that way when she was younger. Ms. Akiyama just prayed Rei’s head wasn’t being filled with this kind of stuff at that college she had begged so hard to go to. Maybe it wasn’t too late to put her in a vocational school; with a little discipline, Rei could make an excellent secretary. Or maybe she could get Rei a job working at a daycare; Rei always liked children, and maybe tapping into Rei’s maternal instincts was just what was needed to make sure she stayed on the right path. Or, there was always… No, no, Ms. Akiyama shoved that thought away. Rei was a good kid; a bit headstrong, but a good kid, surely that option was too drastic. Ms. Akiyama sighed as she stacked the pancakes on the steadily growing pile; she just wanted Rei to be safe and have a nice, happy life. She didn’t want her daughter falling in with the wrong crowd and getting herself in trouble. It wasn’t easy raising a daughter in such complicated times. Ms. Akiyama was still musing on such matters when Rei shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, almost instinctively following the smell of pancakes. “Pancakes?” Rei asked hopefully. “Does that mean school is canceled?” Mom typically never made pancakes on weekdays. “It sure does,” Ms. Akiyama replied cheerfully, trying to hide the somber mood the news had put her in. “Have you looked outside? We got quite a lot of snow!” Rei grinned and rushed out of the kitchen and into the living room and its bay window overlooking their front yard and the street beyond. Everything was white and brilliantly bright in the morning sun, covered in what must have been at least five or six inches of snow. Even the road was covered; it seemed like the snowplows hadn’t made it to their neighborhood yet. Rei couldn’t help but stare out the window in wonderment; she had always loved the snow. There was just something magical about it. Behind her, Ms. Akiyama leaned against the door frame and grinned. When it came to snow, kids were always kids. “Come on,” Ms. Akiyama said after giving Rei a few moments to take in the wintery spread, “the pancakes are getting cold.” She turned and headed back in to the kitchen without checking to make sure Rei was following her. The news was once again talking about last night’s incident, so Ms. Akiyama quickly turned it off as she grabbed the plate of pancakes; she didn’t want to upset Rei with such terrible news first thing in the morning. “So,” Ms. Akiyama said as she set the plate of pancakes on the table and Rei settled into her seat, “you were working on an essay with your professor last night?” She grabbed the syrup from the fridge before settling into her own seat. “Um, yeah,” Rei responded simply as she loaded her plate with pancakes, “my midterm essay,” she added after a moment. “Oh, that’s nice,” Ms. Akiyama passed the syrup across the table and took a couple pancakes off the stack for herself. “What’s it about?” “Um,” Rei was drenching her pancakes in syrup, “well, it’s…well, our professor gave us some articles to choose from and we just have to like respond to one of them.” “Interesting, what kind of articles?” “Just, you know, current events stuff.” “Uh-huh, and what article did you choose?” Sure, Ms. Akiyama was testing the waters, trying to see what kind of stuff Rei was learning at school, but, to her credit, she was genuinely interested in her daughter’s life. Rei, on the other hand, was getting nervous. Her mother didn’t usually ask her this many questions about her schoolwork. Rei liked that her mother didn’t ask her about her schoolwork. Rei thought the less her mother asked about her schoolwork, the better. Why was her mother suddenly interested? She thought about lying, but if her mother asked to see the essay, she’d be caught immediately. “Well, just about…about the passing of The Hayes Act…” “Oh, I see.” Rei shoveled a too large bite of pancakes into her mouth to avoid having to respond. Oh, I see? What did that mean? Rei tried to smile around the bite of pancakes, but her eyes were searching her mother’s face for anything that might hint to her true reaction. Ms. Akiyama worked to keep her face as passive as possible, raising her cup and taking a long, slow sip of coffee to help her efforts. She had barely discussed the act with her daughter since its passage six months ago. She hadn’t needed to much, and it had always felt like such a…touchy subject. “Why did you choose that article?” Ms. Akiyama asked, trying hard to sound casual but interested and definitely non-confrontational. Just a mom interested in her daughter’s schoolwork. Rei speared a hunk of pancake with her fork and cut it away from the rest with her knife, “Um, I just thought the article was interesting,” she spoke with her head down, giving her voice a muffled quality. “What was the article about?” Ms. Akiyama knew Rei had strong feelings about The Hayes Act, and she couldn’t blame her. Rei had turned nineteen a month before the law had passed; she had been an adult for thirteen months when she once again became a child in the eyes of the law for another nine years. Of course, Ms. Akiyama understood why her daughter felt so strongly about it; she respected Rei’s passion, but she wished Rei could accept that there was nothing that could be done. She wished Rei could just accept that the world wasn’t what her mother had promised it would be she told Rei she could grow up to be whatever she wanted. “Just,” Rei shrugged, “I guess the author was talking about how it shouldn’t have passed and stuff…” The two were in a minefield; they both knew it. Neither wanted this to end in an explosion, but one couldn’t leave, and the other couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Oh,” Ms. Akiyama said, “do you talk about that kind of stuff a lot in school?” The last time they had discussed The Hayes Act had been when it had come time for Rei to enroll in her second year at Greenham Community College. With Rei then legally a child, she needed Ms. Akiyama’s permission to continue attending college. Ms. Akiyama could have stopped her; she had certainly been tempted to do it. Rei shrugged, “What do you mean ‘that kind of stuff’?” “Stuff like The Hayes Act? Politics?” “I guess, sometimes.” “What kind of stuff do they teach you about it?” Rei shrugged, “I mean, they just like…explain how it came to be. Historically, you know?” “I see.” Ms. Akiyama could sense her daughter getting…defensive? Evasive? She was certainly becoming something. Maybe it was time to pump the brakes. “I just worry,” Ms. Akiyama said, genuinely thinking it would help defuse the situation. “Worried?!” Rei said a little too loudly, “there’s nothing to worry about, Mom!” “It’s just…I hear a lot these days about what kinds of things colleges are teaching and—” “Mo-om!” “—and I don’t want them filling your head with the wrong kinds of ideas, that’s all!” “Mom, they are not…brainwashing me, okay?” “I didn’t say brainwashing, okay? I just hear what kinds of things colleges teach these days, that’s all,” Ms. Akiyama repeated. Rei slumped in her chair. Her mom had managed to ruin pancakes. “I just want you to be happy,” Ms. Akiyama said after a long, awkward pause. She reached across the table to take her daughter’s hand. “College just makes things harder for most girls these days, and, besides, you study so much, it’s not good for you.” “But I like school, Mom. It makes me happy.” “Well, why don’t we sign you up for one of those extended high school for girls programs?” Ms. Akiyama smiled, genuinely thinking it would be a good suggestion. “Ugh, Mom,” Rei withdrew her hand and shot her mother a withering look, “those are just housewife classes.” “There’s nothing wrong with that, Rei!” “I’m not saying there is,” Rei protested, “it’s just not what I want to do.” “I know, you want to be a teacher, but I just don’t…well…you can’t be a teacher for another nine years, what if by then they don’t let women be teachers anymore?” A silence fell over the room as both mother and daughter felt the weight of that thought. It was a legitimate concern. “I don’t know, Mom,” Rei said at last, sounding crestfallen. “But what am I supposed to do?” Ms. Akiyama frowned. Like most mothers, deep down she just wanted her child to be happy. Part of her really wished her child could have her dream, but most of her knew it simply wasn’t meant to be and there was nothing that could change that. Most of her just wanted to help Rei find another way to be happy. Without a word, Ms. Akiyama rose from the table and cleared their plates. Breakfast was clearly over. On her way out of the kitchen, she lightly ruffled Rei’s hair, “Go on,” she said, “enjoy your snow day, okay? But just…think about the extended high school program?” Rei nodded.

This story follows a 13 year old boy from England, who’s life is about to head in a totally unexpected direction. Tommy’s Trials Chapter One - Calm before the Storm Tommy was like any other 13 year old boy in England. He went to school, played video games, loved football, and had few cares in life. The boy lived a very normal life, but all that was about to change. “Wake up Tommy, it’s time for school!” shouted Mum Groggily, the lad rubbed his eyes and threw off his covers. He pulled off his grey Pokémon pajamas, allowing them to pool on the floor, with Pikachu’s yellow figure smiling back at him. Tommy loved Pokémon, even if the other kids thought it was too babyish now. He grabbed his grey school shorts, white shirt, clip on tie, black blazer, and prepared to put on his regular ensemble. It was the first day back at Riverside High School, and the summer break was over. The boy had so much fun, and now was the return the monotony of secondary school. “I made you boys some toast” said mum, as Tommy walked into the kitchen. “Thanks mummy!” squealed Tommy’s little brother Riley. The 7 year old boy was always full of energy, despite the fact it was 8am. The boys ate breakfast and prepared to leave, their emotions greatly contrasting each other. “Let’s go Riley, we’re gonna be late” exclaimed Tommy, grabbing his little brother’s hand. So they set off, with their first stop being Riverside Primary for Riley. Tommy was a good big brother & walked his annoying sibling to school every day. They arrived at Riley’s school, just a five minute walk away from Tommy’s. The boys hugged and said goodbye, but not before the supervising teacher stumbled upon them. She was new, the boys had never seen her before. “Okay boys, come on, school starts soon, get yourselves inside” said Miss Lisa, ushering them inside the great gates. Tommy instantly realised what was happening. The uniforms were similar and his secondary school blazer was in his bag, the teacher had mistaken him for a primary school kid. Tommy was small for his age, often mistaken for much younger than he was. The two brothers were similar in size, and many adults believed them to be twins at first glance. “I don’t go to this school” Tommy glumly replied, “I’m in high school”. “Oh I’m so sorry, I thought you were another one of our boys” apologised Miss Lisa. “Apology not accepted” thought Tommy, he was sick of being mistaken for a little kid, wondering when he would finally have a growth spurt. So Riley marched in excitedly, and Tommy left for Riverside High. His eyes set on the familiar ancient blue gates, a lighthouse guiding the way for ships of tired sailors in the dark morning. He mentally prepared himself for the first day of school, unknowing of the crashing waves which were about to sink his life into a totally different direction.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first attempt at a story and I wanted to clarify one thing. This is at its core a transfem MTF transformation story. As a trans woman I have some experience with the feelings, emotions, and hurdles of this, but I absolutely do not have a cis woman's perspective on anything. There will be sex and body exploration moments, and as someone without a vagina I had to research what this is like. Hopefully it doesn't come across like some dumbass virgin wrote it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy ------------------------------------------------------ Chapter 1: In Which She Makes a Wish Ryan stared in awe at the being hovering before him, a beautiful woman with long flowing chestnut colored hair held in a ponytail by a turquoise band, a matching bedlah top covering her chest, and gold bands around her wrists. Piercing blue eyes regarded the boy, a hint of a smile touching them. However the most notable thing in Ryan's estimation was that just below the navel her body ended and below that she was made of a lavender smoke that endlessly emanated from an ornate antique bottle, twisting and flowing in eddies and swirls that seemed to hypnotize him as he beheld the being before him. “Well met, Master,” intoned the strange ethereal woman. “I am known as Sisu the Giving, genie of the bottle. I give you my most humble thanks for freeing me. In return I shall grant you all your heart’s desires. May I ask the name of my Master?” Ryan stared slack-jawed. He had found the bottle in an antique shop tucked away in an alley that he’d never meant to go down in the first place. He’d bought it as a gift for his girlfriend’s birthday. Andrea loved antiques and Ryan had thought she’d love the bottle especially, but when he pulled out the stopper this was the very last thing he’d expected to happen. Finally after a moment of stunned silence he spoke to the genie before him. “I’m, uh, Ryan,” he said lamely. “You…you're really a genie? I mean, uh, obviously you must be, but…I didn't know genies were real.” “Indeed I am,” Sisu the Giving said. “Alas, my kind are rarer in this age. I can feel only three others of my kind left in this world. Many of us have passed to realms beyond, or shall never be found again and have wasted away. ‘Tis a great tragedy, but unfortunately not one that I may remedy, for my bond is to you, my Master. As he who has freed me I am bound to your eternal servitude. As they say, your wish is my command!” Sisu smiled brightly and twirled in midair as bright glittering sparks flew about her from her fingertips, painting her as the very picture of ethereal beauty. Ryan was awed by her, still hardly believing what was happening. “Wish? You mean you can really grant any wish I want?” he asked. “Of course, my Master! I shall grant anything you desire. Fame, fortune, love, anything you ask of me shall be yours!” Ryan paused, suddenly wary. “Hold on,” he said cautiously. “In stories genies aren't always so kind in granting wishes, there's always some kind of twist.” Sisu’s eyes twinkled as she regarded her new master. “Indeed,” she agreed. “Many of my kind have done these things. I, however, shall not warp your wish into some unfavorable or nefarious outcome. Your wish shall be granted perfectly and according to your true desire.” Ryan waited for a moment for Sisu to speak. “But…?” he prompted. Sisu smiled a wan and dry smile. “Of course,” she confessed, “a price must be paid. For everything you receive something from you shall be taken. This thing I will not tell you and you shall not know until it is gone, but I give you my solemn vow that neither you nor those you love shall come to harm, nor shall your wish be tainted.” Ryan considered this. If what Sisu was saying was true it wasn't as bad as the stories had said it would be. However, this could potentially be just as bad, especially if he didn't know what he'd have to give up. Still, the trade-off might be worth it in the end after his three wishes were through. Actually…wait a minute. “Wait,” he exclaimed as the thought occurred, “you haven't told me how many wishes I get!” “That is because there is no limit,” Sisu proclaimed. “I do not limit you to one, three, or even five as some of my brothers and sisters may have. You may decide yourself when the price becomes too high for you to ask for more.” Ryan paled slightly. These trades must be pretty serious if Sisu thought he would give up on his own accord. What would be the breaking point? What would be taken from him that would cause him to quit? And just because something wasn’t harmful doesn’t mean it couldn’t be bad. “That's…different,” he muttered uneasily. “Is there anything else I should know? Any more rules like no killing or no love?” “Nothing of that sort. Love is easy to manipulate, even if it can get a bit unpleasant. If you truly wish someone to die then it shall be done, but the price of ending a life shall be severe.” Sisu’s eyes turned steely and sharp. Ryan could see the weight of her words reflected in her expression as she spoke. “I would also caution against raising the dead,” the genie continued. “It can be done, but things tend to get…messy. Besides these, I give you one final warning.” The swirling smoke comprising Sisu's lower half suddenly shifted inward and formed into slender legs with a gold and turquoise pair of pants to match her bedlah top. Sisu touched down on the floor and took one quick stride to be face to face with Ryan for the first time. She stood at eye level just a few inches away and Ryan instinctively took a half step back. “What is done cannot be undone,” she warned, the severity shining in her eyes once more. “Neither wish nor sacrifice may be reversed. What you get and what you lose shall remain for all your life. Choose wisely.” With her warning completed Sisu floated back up into the air, taking a pose as if she were lounging on a chair, her head propped on her arm and her legs crossed, all trace of seriousness gone. Ryan swallowed nervously. “So, my Master,” she smiled. “What is your wish?” Ryan regarded the genie nervously. A pit had begun to form in his stomach as he weighed the choice before him. He could have anything he wanted. But was it worth the risk? What could he want so bad that it would be… He paused, and the pit grew deeper. Ever since the lavender smoke began pouring from that bottle a thought had played at the back of his mind, a thought that had grown stronger even as Ryan tried to shove it down, shove it back into the dark place of his mind where he kept it locked. Some days it stayed put, content to stay away, but it was always there, waiting, and on the nights when it broke free it consumed him and left him aching, sleepless, and hopelessly despairing. But now there was no avoiding it, and 27 years of repressing this feeling had finally taken its toll. It was free now, and the thought, that terrible ache, could be made real, and almost without even thinking Ryan spoke. “I…can you…” He hesitated. “Hm?” questioned Sisu, a curious look on her face. “What is it that troubles you, Master?” Ryan could hardly breathe, he felt like he was being choked. He forced himself to take a deep breath and count in his head until he was calmer. 1 and 1 is 2. 2 and 2 is 4. 4 and 4 is 8. “I wish…” he started. 8 and 8 is 16. 16 and 16 is 32. Sisu smiled, and unbeknownst to Ryan she used a tiny portion of her magic to loosen his tongue. She had a sneaking suspicion what his wish would be. It was not the first time she had seen this happen. “Speak, Master,” she intoned. Ryan counted 32 and 32 is 64, took a deep breath, let the pit fill his entire being, and spoke. “I wish I was a girl,” she commanded. Sisu did a midair somersault and landed in front of Ryan, her eyes glittering and her grin wide. Just as she’d suspected. "Your wish is my command, Mistress.” Smoke poured from the bottle, surrounding Sisu until she was no longer visible. At once the column of lavender haze drifted towards Ryan, enveloping her in a soft caress from head to toe. She shivered as she felt herself begin to change. Her short hair grew, lengthening to halfway down her back, light and smooth. Her shoulders and waist began to narrow at the same time as her hips began to widen. She suddenly felt very tight in her jeans and worried about them ripping as she felt her butt also begin to expand. She couldn't be too sure through the smoke but she could swear she felt herself shrinking. It was all too much. She could hardly breathe. It felt as though there was a heavy weight on her chest. She put her hand up and gasped, feeling the mounds beneath her shirt as her new breasts began to swell. She was suddenly very scared of how she hadn't specified anything about this, but there was nothing to be done now. Just as she was beginning to worry that they were going to get too big the swelling slowed and stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief, but tensed again as she heard Sisu’s voice in her ear. “Apologies, Mistress, this next part is going to be a bit invasive, but I need to be precise here. I promise I shall be gentle and make it nice for you.” The smoke receded from her head and feet, gathering at her crotch and moving into her pants. She squealed in fright as she felt her manhood begin to shrink, then let out a soft moan as she felt pleasure radiate from it. She shook and her knees buckled as she suddenly felt the greatest orgasm of her life rock her. Pure ecstasy radiated out from her crotch as she sat on hands and knees, unable to move as the genie continued her work. It came in waves in ways she had never felt before, reverberating through her whole body, shaking her to her core. As the bliss rolled over her she felt the genie moving deeper and deeper inside her new genitals. She could feel things inside her moving, being rearranged, transformed from her previous male organs to her new female ones. Soon the waves of pleasure subsided and she was left panting on the floor. Eventually she was dimly aware of the smoke coalescing in front of her as Sisu appeared again, looking proud and grinning from ear to ear. “I must say,” bragged the genie, “that this may be my greatest work in centuries.” Ryan looked up at Sisu, eyes wide, still catching her breath. “That…that was…” she panted in an unfamiliar high-pitched voice. “I’m really quite good,” the genie said, evidently very pleased. “Still, we're not quite done. There's one last finishing touch.” Ryan cocked her head to the side. What could possibly be left? Everything about her was fundamentally different now, even the world looked bigger. “What-” she started before Sisu knelt down, took her head by the chin, and kissed her firmly on the lips. Ryan's eyes went wide as suddenly thoughts, memories, and knowledge flashed in her mind. How to put on makeup, how to wear a bra, how to manage a period, everything one could ever need to know about being a woman was beamed directly into her head. At the same time Ryan felt something else leave her mind, some small piece of former knowledge taken. Was this the trade? Sisu broke the kiss after just two seconds, though to Ryan it had felt like an eternity. She wobbled slightly on hands and knees, then fully collapsed on her side, whimpering, the room spinning above her. Sisu drifted down to rest beside the poor girl and placed Ryan's head in her lap. The genie began to stroke Ryan’s hair and spoke softly to the new girl before her. “It is alright, Mistress. You have been through a lot. Just breathe and it will pass. Sixty…sixty-ffffff… Ryan's head was still swimming with the process and couldn't really focus properly on her numbers. But as her head began to clear she tried to focus on what was taken from her mind, something important, something she felt like she had all her life that was now missing, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't remember. “What was it?” she asked the genie unsteadily in her new higher, softer voice. “What did you take?” Sisu smiled down at Ryan. “Nothing too important. You'll find out soon enough.” Ryan blinked up at the genie. She was beautiful, and from here she looked almost motherly. As the last of the head fog cleared, Ryan sat up as straight as she could, if a bit unsteady, next to the attentive genie. Did Sisu get bigger? Or did… Ryan propped herself on the coffee table and slowly pulled herself up. Sisu stood and offered a helping hand which Ryan took as she took stock of everything. No, she wasn't imagining it, Sisu was taller than her, but only because Ryan was shorter. She had been at eye level with the genie before but now Ryan had lost at least eight or nine inches. Even her clothes hung weird and her jeans bunched up considerably around her ankles and under her heels. She'd have to have Andrea measure her when- “Andrea!” she squealed at the thought of her girlfriend. “What's she going to think seeing me like this?! I didn't even think about how she'd react! Sisu, change me back! She’s supposed to come over tonight!” Sisu gave a tsk tsk noise and wagged her finger at the girl. “Apologies, Mistress, but as you recall one of my rules was that wishes cannot be undone. I believe there's a delightful phrase in this time, ‘no take-backsies.’” Ryan groaned. Of course, stupid stupid Ryan, never thinking ahead. What was she going to do? “If I may, Mistress,” Sisu said, “I'd advise you to worry less about your girlfriend and more about yourself. You seem to be having some…difficulties?” Ryan looked up at the genie, still helping her stand, wondering what she was talking about, when she suddenly felt something very warm between her legs. She looked down and jumped back in alarm as she saw a growing wet stain around her crotch that was beginning to run down her legs, completely soaking the front of her too-tight jeans. It took a second for her to fully realize what was happening, but when she did she was utterly mortified. “What the fuck what the fuck!” She shrieked. She tried desperately to put her hands between her legs in an attempt to stop it, but to no avail. Under no control of her own she was wetting her pants and could not stop.

1 Despite being six years old, Alice still wets herself. My wife and I are working hard to make her stop and, to avoid finding her without underwear and pants to wear, we have imposed that she wear a diaper and tell us when she has an accident. Alice did not protest; in fact, she was happy with our idea to the point that she pulled down both her pants and underwear because she couldn't wait for us to put one on her. (Luckily, we were in the bathroom and my wife had brought a pack of pull-ups with her.) While I was setting up the new changing table in the bathroom, Alice approached me and tugged on my shirt to get my attention. She was looking down, and on her little face, there was only shame and humiliation. I knew she had had an accident, but I preferred that she tell me explicitly. "What's that sad little face?" I asked, lifting her chin. "I… I wet myself," she admitted regretfully. "My underwear told me, and I didn't listen." "I'm sorry, little monkey," I said, giving her a hug. "I'll finish setting up the changing table and then give you a good cleanup. In the meantime, would you do me the favor of trying to go in the potty?" Alice looked at me puzzled and then did as she was told. A few moments later, I laid her down on the newly set-up changing table. I pretended to have trouble tearing the tabs on the left side of the pink pull-up to cheer her up. Of course, she giggled amusedly, and I let her tear the other side. She exclaimed happily, "Daddy, I'm as strong as Superman!" I grabbed a wet wipe, gently wiped her private parts, and removed the wet diaper from under her bottom. After taking a clean pull-up, I slipped it between her legs up to her knees and rubbed the tips of my fingers with moisturizing cream to prevent irritation. "Daddy, what are you doing?" she suddenly asked. "I'm putting cream on you. Both in the front and in the back." "Why?" "So the bad germs won't hurt you." "Shouldn't you put it on me everywhere?" she then asked. "Germs are small and are everywhere!" I held back a little laugh. I said, pretending to be an intellectual, "Our whole body has a shield to defend itself from them; but in the areas where we pee and poop, this shield needs a hand." You have the right to criticize my answer; I'm not exactly an expert in science and biology. "But you don't put it on Tyler!" she suddenly retorted angrily. "Is it because he has a penis?" I burst out laughing heartily. "No, little monkey. We put it on him too. Even though he pees differently than you, he still needs the cream." "Then, why don't I have one?" "What?" "A penis." To date, this change has been the funniest ever. From a normal curiosity to wanting to be a boy like her older brother. I should have scolded her for saying that word, but it would have been useless. After all, she was a curious little girl and would have taken little time to discover their real function. 2 I was helping Tyler with his literature homework when he asked me this question: "Dad, why do you let me wear diapers again?" I looked up from the book, surprised and confused. Unintentionally, I made a face of disgust, forgetting that the return to diapers was recent and my wife and I needed to get used to it again. I asked him to repeat, I admit that part of me wanted to tell him to focus on his homework. He put down his pen. "I'm twelve years old and I shouldn't be wetting and soiling myself. So why am I wearing a diaper?" And here comes the moment of explanation, the thing I hate most in my entire parenting life. "Ty, I know it might seem like a big contradiction to you, but you've seen for yourself that the diaper is… it's doing you good. You're no longer nervous and angry; you don't scream in front of the TV anymore; plus, you've started reading books! Something you hadn't done since third grade!" He gave me a puzzled look, then nodded. "You're right, Dad. But I feel… like a retard." I panicked. It was the first time his words had pierced my heart. "You are perfect, Tyler," I reassured him as best I could. "We put it on you to make you stress less. You're not retarded, you're just… a kid who's concerned about his mental health. Usually, it's an adult thing, but it's something that affects kids like you too." A big smile spread across his face. "I have a book in my room about mental health. Could you read it to me tonight before bed?" "Of course," I said, relieved and happy. "Now finish your homework. By the way, did you pee?" He shook his head. "No. Can I go?" I furrowed my brow. What a stupid question was that? "If you need to go, go!" I scolded him. "Holding in your pee is not good for your body!" Shortly after, I took him to the bathroom to change him. I put him on the changing table and noticed his red cheeks. "What's wrong?" He let himself go on the table and started staring at the ceiling. "It's… it's the first time you're changing my diaper," he stammered, whimpering. "D-Do you think it's weird…" Immediately, I picked him up and cuddled him like a baby. My little Tyler… All this must be hard for him: school, having to grow up and… diapers. I felt like a failure, a nothing. Seeing him cry was a rare thing. Whispering sweet words to him, I laid him down on the changing table and started rolling up my sleeves. The whole time, Tyler sobbed, repeating one word: "Sorry." After fastening the new diaper around his waist, I put him down and knelt to his level. Calm and peaceful eyes fixed on his red and shiny ones. I wanted to make sure he was okay. "Do you feel better now?" He nodded. "I don't think you're weird. I don't think that and I never will. And that's also why your mother and I allowed you to wear them: to make you feel good about yourself. When you don't feel good, you have to tell us. Understood?" He nodded again. "Dad?" "Yes, Ty?" "Can you hold me? I want to be with you for a while." I granted his wish without thinking and whispered in his ear: "As long as you want, buddy." "Thanks, Dad. You're my hero." --- I hope you enjoy these short stories. If you have any ideas or suggestions, feel free to write them below! -Milo

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.

Before we start, I would like to point out that this is an experiment. It relies on audience participation. If there is none, it will probably be ended before the story is complete. To make a long story short (pun intended), this will be sort of a collective choose-your-own-adventure story. At the end of each part of the story, there will be two alternatives to determine where the story goes next. You, being the audience, will have the opportunity to vote on these two alternatives. Please note: Only votes cast at The Scriptorium will be counted. (That is, after all, where I primarily post my work.) I will count the votes seven days after the story has been posted, and then proceed to write the next part based on which alternative gets the most votes. (If you have a suggestion you think is better than mine, feel free to add that to your vote. I might incorporate it somehow.) This introduction is fairly long but the following parts will be shorter, giving you all ample opportunity to influence the plot. Updates to the story will be posted at the same time both here and at The Scriptorium. Now, with that out of the way, on to the story. ----- THE ORDER Maria stared at the holographic screen floating in front of her, its dim glow casting long shadows on the walls of her tiny apartment. At 27, she felt like she was living someone else’s life, a life she hadn’t chosen and couldn’t escape. Her job as a data entry clerk for a mid-tier interstellar shipping company was as soul-crushing as it was mundane. The endless stream of numbers and codes blurred together, a monotonous symphony of mediocrity for a paycheck that barely covered her rent. Her personal life wasn't much better. Relationships, whether with men or women, always ended in disaster. There was Jake, who ghosted her after three months. Then came Sara, who accused her of being too clingy. And let’s not forget Alex, who turned out to be married. Each failure left her more jaded, more convinced that she was unlovable, destined to be alone. Most nights were spent scrolling through the vast expanse of the galactic net, searching for something, anything, to distract her from the gnawing emptiness inside. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, half-heartedly chasing rabbit holes of trivia and gossip. That’s when she saw it: a fleeting mention of something called *The Maternal Covenant*. The name caught her eye, not because it was flashy or bold, but because it felt... familiar, like a whisper from a dream she couldn’t quite remember. Curious, she dug deeper. But the more she searched, the more elusive the Covenant became. She spent weeks obsessing over it, her already lacklustre work performance suffering. There were no official websites, no clear descriptions, only vague hints and second-hand accounts on fringe forums. Some called it a religious order, others a cult. One forum post described it as "a place where the lost find home," while another warned it was "a one-way ticket to oblivion." One poster claimed their sister had joined and never contacted them again. And yet another said they’d received an invitation but had been too afraid to accept. There was even a cryptic reference to a "mother" who led the order. Maria devoured every scrap of information she could find, but the Covenant remained shrouded in mystery. The only consistent detail was that members of the Covenant gave up their former lives entirely, severing all ties to the outside world. It was as if the Covenant deliberately stayed out of reach, a ghost in the machine. Then, one evening, weeks after her initial discovery, an email appeared in her inbox. It was unmarked, untraceable, and addressed directly to her. The subject line read simply: Invitation. Her heart raced as she opened it. The message was brief but direct: Ms Rosso, you have been invited to join The Maternal Covenant. We sense your longing for connection, your desire for purpose. We offer you a place among us. To find us, travel to the planet New Mojave, coordinates attached. You have ten days to decide. This is a one-time invitation. Accept or decline, but know that once the door closes, it will not open again. Attached were detailed instructions on how to reach New Mojave, a remote planet on the outskirts of colonised space, barely inhabited and rarely visited. The message ended with a single line: The choice is yours, child. Maria read the email over and over. Her mind whirled with questions. How did they know about her? How did they find her? And more importantly, should she go? The following days were a blur of agonizing deliberation. She thought about her job, her tiny apartment, her handful of acquaintances who barely qualified as friends. What would she be leaving behind, really? But then there were the warnings, the whispers of cults and brainwashing, the fear of losing herself entirely. What if this was a mistake? What if she was walking into a trap? Was it even real at all, or just some elaborate hoax? She considered talking about it with her co-worker Jenna, but how could she explain the pull she felt toward something so unknown? Jenna would think she was crazy, or worse, desperate. So Maria kept it to herself, her secret weighing heavier each day. Yet, the pull persisted. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore; it was something deeper, a longing she couldn’t name. She found herself staring at the stars through her apartment window, imagining New Mojave out there, waiting for her. Waiting to give her something she’d never had. On the ninth day, she made her decision. She booked a ticket to New Mojave, her hands trembling as she confirmed the purchase. She packed a single bag, realising how sad it seemed that most of her meagre belongings fit in it. As she stood in her empty apartment, she felt a strange sense of peace. For the first time in years, she wasn’t running from something, she was moving toward it. The journey to New Mojave was long and solitary. Maria booked a seat on a cargo freighter, the cheapest option available, and she spent most of the trip in her cramped quarters, staring at the walls and second-guessing herself. The freighter’s crew barely acknowledged her existence, which suited her just fine. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, not when her entire life was hanging in the balance. As Maria stepped off the freighter, New Mojave greeted her with a stark, otherworldly beauty. Tall, jagged mountains rose on all sides of the spaceport, and the sky above them was a deep shade of blue, almost violet. The air smelled faintly of something sweet she couldn't identify. The closest city was New Newcastle, a name that annoyed Maria with its lack of imagination, and she was waiting for the transport there when she heard her name over the spaceport speakers, asking her to come to the Teranic Trans-galactic Transport desk. It took Maria a while to find it, since Teranic Trans-galactic Transport, despite its ambitious name, turned out to be a small ore-hauling company. Their desk hidden away in a corner of the goods terminal of the spaceport and manned by a single, middle-aged man wearing a dusty jumpsuit. "Yeah?" the man said, looking up from his screen when Maria cleared her throat. "Maria Rosso." Maria pointed up at the speakers. "Oh. Yeah. We have a charter for you. I just need to see some ID." Maria fumbled around in her bag, pulling out her ID card and handing it over. The man scanned the card and handed it back to her. "Shuttle 3," he said and pointed to the door to the loading docks The shuttle turned out to be a cargo hauler. As she approached, the cockpit door opened and a head popped out. "You my passenger?" the pilot asked around an enormous wad of gum. "Yeah, if you're shuttle 3." "Yep. Hop in." Maria climbed into the cramped cockpit and barely had time to strap into the spare seat and put on the offered ear muffs before the engines rumbled to life. The next several hours was spent in silence, with the exception of a couple of stops to unload or pick up cargo. She learned that her coordinates were on the outskirts of one of the many deserts in the equatorial regions. Eventually, the pilot pointed out the window and mimicked landing his hand on the console between the seats. They landed with a heavy thump that made Maria feel like her stomach took a little trip down to her pelvis before bouncing back up to its usual position. The pilot shut down the engine so the dust they had kicked up would settle. "You sure this is your stop?" he asked. "This is literally the middle of nowhere." Maria looked out the window at the ochre cloud outside. "These are the coordinates, right?" "We're about as accurate as this baby can get. So it's about two hundred metres or so in..." The pilot checked his instruments, then pointed forward and slightly to the right. "...that direction. I figured you'd want some distance for when I take off." Maria only nodded. "Look. I'm coming back this way the day after tomorrow. If you're still here, I'll give you a lift back." "I'm sure that won't be necessary," Maria reassured him. "But thank you for the offer." She picked up her bag and climbed out of the cockpit. Walked ahead in the direction the pilot had pointed, stopping when she had reached what she figured was a safe distance. Then she turned and gave a thumbs-up signal. As she turned and continued to walk, she heard the engines starting up and felt them kicking up sand and grit, stinging the back of her neck. Then the transport was gone and Maria was left in a silence unlike anything she had heard for years. There was no hum of machinery. No people talking. Nothing. She looked around. There was nothing to see either. No buildings, no people, practically no vegetation save for a few scraggly bushes here and there. In short, it was just her, the sand, and an absolutely spectacular sunset. "I guess I wait," she said to herself. Mostly to fill the silence. She sat down on the warm sand. The horizon still held a hint of red when she heard it: a distant whine of engines. It gradually grew louder as a small silver ship descended and landed. Maria picked up her bag and walked over to it. As she approached a door opened silently. She looked inside the empty cabin. The ship had to be either remote controlled or automated since there didn't seem to be any cockpit nor a pilot. There was a small piece of cardboard with her name on one of the seats. Maria climbed in and sat down. The trip was a lot quieter and smoother than the previous one and eventually, Maria nodded off. She awoke as the ship landed and an alarm began chiming softly. Through the open door, she could see lush grass and tall trees lit by the twin moons. Then she saw it. It was as if someone had tried to carve a gothic cathedral out of a dark mountain, but stopped when they were half-finished and then let it melt. There were curves that looked almost organic, but also symbols carved into the smooth walls, giving it the appearance of being both natural and artificial; both grown and constructed. A dimly lit path led from the landing path to the building. Following the path, Maria arrived at a large wooden door. She paused. This was it. The moment of no return. Her mind raced with doubts. What if they’re not what they seem? What if I lose myself? What if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life? But beneath the fear, there was something else, a flicker of hope, a whisper of possibility. What if this was the answer? What if, for once, she would belong? Maria took a deep breath, steeling herself. Then, with a resolve she didn’t know she possessed, she knocked. ----- Who answers the door? Edit (15.April): Please note that if you want your vote to be counted, you HAVE TO cast your vote at The Scriptorium. Alternative 1: A large robot with a spotlessly polished chrome plating Alternative 2: A woman wearing a long, flowing robe with a hood that hides most of her face her face.

The Importance Of Being Specific By: The Unknown Author I “My Ass Has Grown And My Dreams Have Shrunk” It’s funny that with all the advancements in society and technology that people still fit into weird molds, that they still end up embodying these weirdly specific archetypes that you think is just something you attached to them as a high school student, but then as an adult you see someone else that checks certain imaginary boxes in your head and you assign that person a nickname or descriptor based on that fact. Larry Conrad was the kid in my school who’s mom still cut his hair, we’d laugh at him getting dropped off in the morning, his mother fussing over some unimportant detail about his appearance and blowing him kisses as he stepped out of the car and hurried into the school to get away from the eyes and snickers of his peers. Michelle D’Angelo was the girl that took an inordinately long time to understand the basics of hygiene so she didn’t smell like roofing tar all day when she was on her period. Cameron Lance was saddled with the unfortunate rhyme of ‘Cameron Lance shits his pants’ during a field trip to the zoo in second grade and nearly eradicated the memory until a repeat performance in the lunch room freshman year brought it back to life. Weird is weird, and we as a society, whether we admit it or not, base our assessments on people by what our senses tell us about them when we first encounter them. Am I proud that I laughed at these people? No. Do I think I’m better than them as a person? I did back then, but now, no. Larry Conrad became an internet billionaire, wrote a book and made more money, bought an island and fucked off from society. Michelle D’Angelo just wrapped up filming on the third season of the show she created and directs, a show that everyone is watching and that everyone loves. Cameron Lance, ironically, owns and operates the largest chain of dry cleaning stores in the continental United States and leaned into his shameful past by calling them “Lance Cleans Pants”. I’m not without my own successes, I mean, in comparison I’m average, but I was prom queen and married my prom king a little after graduation. We have three kids, Beckah is our oldest and is nearly done with high school herself and has decided arguing with me is her extracurricular activity of choice when she’s not sneaking out to go party with friends and do God knows what else. Jeramiah is thirteen and has mastered not only computers and pretty much anything digital you put in front of him, but also hiding the articles of clothing he masturbates into in all kinds of fun places around the house. Molly is our youngest at four and is, let’s say, ‘taking her time’ with the whole big girl thing, her room is still decorated the way it’s been since she was born and we’ve gone from training pants to diapers more times than I can count. Jason, my husband, works at the factory he got a job at when he graduated and spends most nights glued to his phone, but when he finally unplugs for the night, then he complains about the younger generation that’s starting pay is almost as high as his and that more and more robots are being installed at the plant and he’s worried they’ll replace him. Once a week I try and get him hard and more often than not he ends up pushing rope inside me for an embarrassingly short amount of time before he finishes and passes out, leaving me to wonder just how I managed to lose control of my life so completely that I’ve ended up as the married mother of three that fingers herself to grocery store romance novels in the tub, the woman that imagines being married to Larry Conrad or Cameron Lance and cries at how pathetic and unsatisfying her life has become. My typical day revolves around getting everyone where they need to go once Jason leaves for work, Beckah rides shotgun with her headphones in, Jeremiah is always holding some kind of device and toiling away on cracking some code or what have you, and Molly is in her car seat looking out the window at the world while I absently wonder if I’ll have time to dig the stretch pant wedgie from my ass before anyone in the general public notices. Because of her delayed potty training, we haven’t been able to get Molly into daycare, something that frustrates me more when the car begins to fill with the odor of a messy diaper and my errands for the day haven’t even begun. The one week out of the year that everything becomes bearable is when the carnival comes to town. I love it because Jason becomes his old romantic self again, winning me a stuffed animal at a cheesy game, holding my hand as we walk beneath the strings of lights while the kids fuck off to the corners of wherever to entertain themselves. Jason loves it because it reminds him of when we were dating, and two of our three kids were conceived on a night the week of the carnival. Beckah loves it because she can sidle up to a carny running one of the rides and score free sips from his flask and maybe some pot. Jeremiah loves it because there’s games and rides, and not because he can see up girl’s skirts on the Ferris Wheel. Molly loves it because she’s a baby, and bright colors and lots of sound are exciting, I could shine a flashlight at her and jingle some keys in her face and she’d probably love it equally if I’m being honest. It was the last night of the carnival and we’d gone every previous night with the desired results of peace and happiness among every member of the family, but tonight was the best night because it was mostly empty. Beckah and Jeremiah had gone off on their own, and Jason had stepped up to take Molly back to the car for a clean diaper and I was sitting on a bench waiting for his return, wondering if I could seduce him into fucking me somewhere moderately secluded after we found Beckah and pawned Molly off onto her for a little while. I got up and wandered a little, walking past the rows of arcade games, claw machines, and sawdust covered pools of vomit when I saw a fortune telling machine with a creepy animatronic Gypsy head inside hovering over a crystal ball. “Wishes granted for $1.50” I read off the gold and ruby colored sign on top of the machine. I smirked and checked my purse, finding exactly six quarters in the small change pocket of my wallet and fit them into the slits on the metal protrusion in the front of the machine before pushing it in and watching as the machine sprung to life. “Madame Zelna is here to grant your wish!” the robot Gypsy declared in a warbly sounding voice that was probably as culturally insensitive as it was technologically impressive for the time period it was made in. The lights inside the glass case Madame Zelna inhabited dimmed and the crystal ball filled with white mist as the robot inside jerked and noisily looked down into it. “Close your eyes and speak your wish and Madame Zelna will make it come true!” she said, sounding like an old drive thru speaker. I didn’t close my eyes at first, but I did look around to make sure no one was nearby to film the middle aged woman about to make a wish at a crappy carnival game or someone lurking in the shadows to rape murder me and when I was satisfied that I was well and truly alone, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “I wish I could trade places with my daughter.” I said longingly. “Your wish will be granted at the stroke of midnight!” Madame Zelna proclaimed before launching into a wheezy sounding cackle that ended abruptly when the machine went dark. I chuckled and opened my eyes, patting the glass with my hand, “Thanks a bunch, Madame Z.” I said to the lifeless robot head before I headed back to the bench to wait for Jason. We as humans are very inattentive, so focused on our own things that we fail to see what’s all around us. In my defense, my eyes were closed, so the shooting star that passed over me as I spoke my wish went unnoticed, and I can be forgiven for assuming the fairy gorging himself on discarded cotton candy was a moth, his chuckle going unheard thanks to the distance between us and the difference in our size, the fact that it was exactly seven o’clock on the seventh day of the seventh month was a minor detail that passed by without notice, the point is that a few things happened when I made my wish, and none of them were noticed by me. ********** “God dammit, Hannah!” the distant raised voice of Jason stirred me from my slumber. “What happened?” I asked dreamily as I rolled over and banged my elbow into something I wasn’t expecting to be where my elbow was heading. I opened my eyes and gasped at the tall bars stretching upward around me and the mobile of stuffed stars and rainbows and clouds dangling high above me. Somewhere I heard myself crying, though it was a form of crying I never did, the anguished wailing of someone very young being very scared that someone was yelling at them and they didn’t know why. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I repeated as I sat up and felt my stomach drop as I looked through the bars at Molly’s room beyond. I pushed the blankets off of myself and shuddered involuntarily at the sight of pink footed pajamas with a distinct bulge in the crotch on my little body, looking at my hands and wiggling my feet to verify that the absolute worst thing in the world had happened. “Jason!” I yelled, more than slightly panicked. “What the hell is happening?” Beckah asked in the hallway. “I don’t know, your mom pissed the bed and now she’s screaming and crying and Molly is yelling my name.” Jason grumbled before he pushed the door of the nursery open and came to the side of the crib. His pajamas were drenched, the smell of pee radiating off of him, “Jason, I made a wish last night to switch places with Beckah but it got messed up and I switched with Molly instead!” I explained, standing up in the crib and holding the bars to steady myself on the mattress. He blinked at me, opened his mouth and then closed it and then looked at me in disbelief, “What?” he asked. I groaned, “I fucked up, honey, but I need you to help me fix it.” I said. He grumbled something about coffee as he sighed and rubbed his temples before turning around and leaving the room. “Hey!” I shouted, rattling the bars angrily. “What’s wrong with Molly?” Beckah asked Jason as he left the room. “Ask her yourself.” Jason grumbled. Beckah poked her head in the doorway a moment later and came over to the crib, “What’s wrong, Molly?” she cooed, letting down the side of the crib and picking me up to set me on her hip. Internally I was mortified at the girl I’d intended to switch with holding me like the baby I now was, “Beckah, it’s me, your mom.” I said, my cheeks burning with shame. Beckah practically dropped me in surprise but managed to regain control of me, holding me away from her so she could look into my eyes, “Mom?” she asked. I repeated my explanation to her and had to endure her laughter as she set me back down on the mattress to keep from actually dropping me as she held her stomach and wiped a tear from her eye, “Why did you want to be a baby?” she asked. “I didn’t!” I argued, “I wanted to switch with you!” I told her. She stopped laughing, “You wanted to be me?” she asked. I nodded softly. “Wait, so I’d be stuck in your body?” she sneered. “Don’t say it like it’s so terrible.” I said, “You’d be an adult!” I offered. She shook her head, “Yeah, but what’s the point when you’re an adult that’s like given up on being hot?” she asked. That hurt. “Hey!” I snapped, “I’m still your mom, Beckah!” I added. She smirked and patted my head condescendingly, “And I’ll bet widdle Mommy needs her diapie changed, doesn’t she?” she cooed. I batted her hand away, “It’s not my fault Molly isn’t potty trained!” I snapped. She put her hands on her hips, “Isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, you never really tried with her, you just kind of gave up because she didn’t seem interested.” she pointed out. I groaned, “Look, you’re not a mom, you wouldn’t understand.” I sighed. She lifted the side of the crib back up and locked it in place, “You’re obviously cranky because you need more sleep.” she said, a wicked smile on her face, “We’ll see if some more time in your crib doesn’t improve your mood.” she added, heading to the door. “Wait!” I called out, but she was already shutting the door behind her, leaving me alone with an unpleasant clamminess in my diaper. ********* “So, you were so unhappy with your life that you wanted to trade places with your teenage daughter?” Jason asked me later once he’d had his coffee and dealt with our wet bed and calmed Molly me down with a bath and a pacifier and then changed my diaper and dressed me for the day. He’d foregone a diaper for me at my insistence, but Molly’s lack of underwear meant that one of the training pants she’d given up wearing was under the denim shortalls he’d put on me. Beckah was on the couch with Molly me, stroking the girl’s hair as she lay with her head on Beckah’s lap sucking softly on her pacifier, the sight of me being lovingly soothed by my teenage daughter was weird, but the pacifier and the towel she’d laid out beneath Molly me to avoid ruining the couch were making my head spin. “How was I supposed to know the wish would come true!?” I exclaimed. He shook his head, “The point is that you wanted to be someone else, Hannah.” he said calmly, “I want to know why.” he added. I chewed my lip softly, “I don’t know,” I said, “I miss being young and hot and partying.” I said, avoiding talking about sex with my four year old daughter’s voice and my teenage daughter present. He sighed, “Well, you’ve fucked everything up six ways from Sunday, Hannah.” he said, “First, Molly is stuck in your body and that means that I need to go get adult diapers for her so we’re not living in a piss and shit stained house until we can fix this.” he said, “Then, I need to come up with some excuse for work that allows me to be a stay at home dad to my baby brained wife and my adult brained baby daughter.” he continued. “I can stay home and watch them, Daddy.” Beckah offered. I shook my head, “No, you need to go to school, young lady.” I said, not realizing how ridiculous my toddler voice sounded trying to be authoritative. “Actually, I have the credits I need to graduate already, and I’m sure a call from Daddy about a family emergency would allow me to miss the rest of the year without any issue.” Beckah explained. “Then you can keep going to work and I can make sure Jeremiah gets to school and that the babies are taken care of.” she explained to Jason, smiling at me when she said ‘babies’. “I’m not a baby!” I reminded her. Jason sighed, “Alright, I’ll call the school and tell them your mother had some kind of stroke or mental breakdown or something so that if someone comes by to check they’re not surprised to find her in diapers carrying on like a four year old.” he explained. I fumed at being left out of the discussion, “Don’t I get a say in any of this?!” I yelled. Jason shot me a glare that made my blood run cold and my training panties run warm, “No.” he said simply, “You didn’t include me or Beckah in your little wish making decision, so we’re not including you in this.” he explained. “You’re Molly now, and until we can figure out how to fix this you’ll be treated exactly as she was.” he added. I looked at him in stunned silence and then at Beckah who merely smiled at me in the most sincere looking insincere smile I’d ever seen. “I think it would be best for Jeremiah if he didn’t know about the wish and the switch.” Jason said, “I’ll make up a story to explain why his mother is behaving like a baby, but you need to act like Molly around him, is that clear?” he asked. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing, you want me to pretend to be a baby?” I asked incredulously. He nodded, “I do.” he said simply, downing the rest of his coffee and setting the cup on the table, “You’ve turned enough lives upside down, Hannah, spare Jeremiah the weirdness that our life has become and pray that Molly isn’t permanently scarred because of this.” he added. The small dribble of pee that had escaped me when glared at me was cooling rapidly and I didn’t look forward to Beckah discovering my accident, but Jason was standing and going to collect his keys and wallet from the bowl by the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can with the diapers, do your best, Becks.” he said before heading out the door. Like a cat that ate a canary, Beckah turned and smiled at me, “I suppose I should make breakfast for my hungry girl’s, huh?” she asked in that bubbly babytalk voice we all used with Molly. I watched as she sat Molly me up and took her by the hand and led her to the table where I was already seated in Molly’s highchair, my blush at having to endure the conversation that had just concluded while seated in a highchair and now with damp training panties had almost subsided until I watched Molly me be sat in a chair by Beckah and kissed on the top of her head as she sucked her pacifier and my cheeks were burning hot once more. “I know you probably think I’m going to abuse you or something.” Beckah said as she got out the eggs from the fridge. I shook my head, “No, why would you think that?” I asked. She turned and looked at me, “Because you think I’m all about partying and fucking guys or something.” she said, “That’s why you wanted to be me, right?” she asked. “I don’t-” I started to say. “Doesn’t matter!” she cheerfully interrupted, “What matters is that I’m going to show you how wrong about me you were.” she said as she got out the orange juice and filled two sippy cups up and screwed on the tops before bringing them to the table and setting them in front of myself and Molly me. “Can’t I have a normal glass?” I protested. “If you can’t have it when Jeremiah is here then you can’t have it when he isn’t.” she said as she started cracking eggs to make breakfast. “I’m going to show you that Molly is ready to be a big girl and potty train her, or you, you know what I mean, and you’re going to see that everything runs smoothly with your hot, smart, capable daughter at the wheel.” she explained. I sighed and watched Molly me pick up her sippy cup with both hands and lean back in her chair to guzzle her juice and picked up my own sippy cup and started sucking juice down, secretly relieved that Beckah wasn’t planning to humiliate me while I was stuck in Molly’s body, I just had to hope that I didn’t have to do anything to humiliating to pass off that I was Molly to Jeremiah. To Be Continued…

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.

May 22, 2016 Hi, I’m Eddie. This isn’t a diary; it’s a journal. I like to write, and I want to become a better writer, so I decided to start a journal. My teacher said writing in a journal is a good way to become a better writer. I wasn’t sure what to write about, so I asked my teacher. She said, “Write about yourself, it’s what you know best.” Well, what can I say about myself? Let’s start with the biggest thing. I’m fifteen years old, and I still wet my bed. It’s not even just sometimes. It happens almost every night. I haven’t been dry since January. That’s right! I’m in high school and I’ve peed my pants 134 nights in a row. My mom used to keep track of stuff like that, but she stopped a few years ago. I still keep track, but I don’t know why. It makes me feel like a baby. Some kids stop wetting the bed when they are two years old, and most stop when they are three. I’m fifteen, and I still pee in the bed like a little baby. I guess there are some other teenagers who wet the bed, but for most of them, it’s because something happened that they can’t control. It’s not like they aren’t fully potty-trained. I’ve done this all of my life. I’ve never stopped. The longest streak I’ve ever had is three nights in a row, and that only happened once. A few years ago, I thought it was getting better. When I was twelve years old, I didn’t wet the bed every single night. It still happened, and it happened a lot. It happened more often than not, but I stayed dry at least once a week; that’s when I had my three-night streak. I certainly didn’t wet my bed 134 nights in a row! That’s for sure. Unfortunately, it stopped. I began to wet the bed more often than before, and not less. My doctor thinks I’m sleeping sounder because I’m growing. Trust me, it feels like we’ve tried everything. We tried the medicine, but that just made me feel sick and I still wet the bed. We tried an alarm, but that just woke everybody else up. I slept through it and still wet the bed. My mom used to wake me up in the middle of the night to take me to the bathroom, but I hated it. Who wants to be an eleven-year-old kid who needs his mommy to take him to the potty? Most of the time, I didn’t even remember using the bathroom. Sometimes I was already wet. My mom would change my sheets, and I would wet the bed again. I’m not allowed to drink anything after six o’clock and I can only drink one glass of juice after school. I’m always thirsty and it’s not even helping. My mom made us wear diapers when I was younger, but she stopped when my little sister didn’t need them anymore. Emily was only four years old and could stay dry all night. She didn’t need diapers anymore, but her big brother and big sister still did. Sara was twelve years old and had to wear a diaper every night! I can’t imagine being that old and having to wear a diaper. Mom didn’t even use Pull-ups; she used Pampers! We wore the largest size she could find. I was nine and Sara was twelve, and my mom treated us like we were babies. After that, Sara didn’t want to wear diapers anymore. She threw a couple of tantrums, which only got her in trouble. It never changed Mom’s mind. One night she begged. She promised to do the laundry if she wet the bed. Amazingly my mom agreed. She said, “You two aren’t babies anymore. No more diapers, but you have to take care of your bed.” I think it worked for Sara, but it never worked for me. I thought maybe I would stop when I turned thirteen, just like it did with Sara, but it didn’t. Now, I use Goodnites, which are kind of like diapers. They are padded like diapers, but my mom doesn’t have to put them on me. They are meant for older kids, and don’t have little kid designs. Mom says that nobody can tell when I’m wearing one, but I think it’s pretty obvious. Unfortunately, they leak! They don’t leak all the time, but it happens a lot. I think I just pee too much. Sometimes, I forget to put my sheets in the washing machine. When that happens, my mom gets mad. Yesterday she yelled at me, “For God sakes Eddie! You’re fifteen years old. You shouldn’t wet the bed and you’re old enough to take care of it when you do. The least you can do is put the sheets in the washing machine.” I think my mom is frustrated and I understand why. Who wants to have a teenager who isn’t fully potty-trained? My mom is normally supportive and tries to help. Yesterday, after yelling at me about the sheets, she told me about a doctor who can help older kids who wet the bed. His name is Dr. Albert Bennet. Apparently, his program takes about six months. He said that 80 percent of his patients stopped within a year, and those who didn’t, learned how to manage their bedwetting. They recondition your brain, and you learn not to wet the bed anymore. Mom asked, “What do you think?” “I think it looks good.” “If we do this, will you follow the rules? I don’t want to do this if you won’t cooperate.” “I guess so. What do I have to do?” “I’m not sure, but conditioning means that you’ll have to do something. Do you want to try it?” I told her, “Yeah, I guess so. Yes, I’ll try anything. I don’t want to wet my bed anymore, and if this helps, I’ll try it.” Mom replied, “Okay, we’ll set up an appointment with Dr. Bennet.” I don’t know what they mean by conditioning my brain, nor what it looks like to manage my bedwetting. I don’t care, I just want to stop wetting my bed. I want to be potty-trained before I go to college.