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Gabby is overjoyed when her grandparents get in touch to ask if her cousin Tess can come to stay for her last school year before university. She’ll have a toddler in the house again, or at least someone she can cajole, gaslight, and blackmail into regressing. … This story was originally posted on Wattpad, but taken down there. This was about the time my chapters started getting longer; partly because I didn't want to risk hitting the 200-chapter limit on that site. This story runs alongside The Last New Start, which is basically the same story from Tess's POV. But as both narrators have their secrets, and both are somewhat unreliable narrators, you might need to read both to get the full story. I'll try to post chapters in chronological order; so which story gets the next chapter might not always be predictable. If you want to skip ahead to the actual regression: Act II starts at Chapter 36. Act III starts at Chapter 78. Act IV starts at Chapter 99. Act V starts at Chapter 118. 1. My Baby Cousin “I’m not a baby!” Tess protested. Of course she’d say that; she didn’t understand yet. She’d said the same the last time we met, if I remembered correctly, although nobody would have taken her seriously at that age. “I’m sorry,” I told her, and shook my head. “I didn’t have time to redecorate. The house was sold furnished, you know? It was like this when I got it, and I don’t have any kids so I never needed the kids’ rooms.” “Okay, fine,” she said, but the scowl certainly said that wasn’t what she was thinking. I tried not to show my disappointment; she’d understand soon enough. For the last few years she’d been living among people who would have told her that she needed to act like a grown-up, treated like a child’s opinions were only worthwhile if she could act like an adult. She might not understand yet, but some day she was destined to be a little, and I wanted to help her find that path as effortlessly as possible. * * * “Gabby, can you look after Tess for a few minutes? We need to talk with her parents.” I’d probably groaned, and muttered something impolite under my breath. I didn’t remember it clearly, but that seemed what the average teen girl would have done. All I knew about my cousin Tess at that point was that she was a baby, and it had been a last minute decision to bring her to the family gathering. Still, I didn’t want to risk angering my parents when they might just have been willing to let me get a cellphone. I was the only kid in school who didn’t have one yet, and I didn’t want to keep on being left out of everything that mattered to me. “Sure, Mom,” I moaned, and looked with distaste at the bundle of joy bounding towards me. She was practically dancing on the spot, excited by all the new relatives she was meeting today. “Tess?” an older woman with obviously-dyed ginger hair managed to get her attention. “This is your cousin Gabby. Okay? Be good for her.” There were only a few words spoken, and then I was leading the tiny rugrat out to the back garden, while she babbled incessantly about whatever kids were into at the time. She was barely taller than my waist, and seemed to be so happy about everything around her. The day was a family gathering, when I was surrounded by a dozen different aunts and uncles and innumerable cousins. Some of them I’d met at similar gatherings every year or two, while others only came occasionally. It was an odd kind of family tradition organised by my great-grandma, who wanted to see her whole clan in one place. There weren’t many babies; if they were young enough to require constant attention, their parents could get a sitter for the night. But Tess, apparently, was just old enough to come along. And just young enough that her parents didn’t have the energy to keep paying attention to her for the whole day. I’d been expecting to hate the experience, that first time I looked after her. I’d never been a babysitter before that point. But as the day went on, running around the garden and just laughing, I started to realise how good life was for the little kid. It was actually fun looking after her, and I realised that playing with a kid wasn’t quite the chore that my parents thought it might be. After that, I looked after her more than a few times. Our parents often had a lot to talk about, as they were all involved in the world of finance, and they saw no problem offering me a crisp twenty to look after the kid for a day or an evening. Sometimes it was a little more, and that was a great wage for a girl in her mid teens, especially when it was supplemented by being able to order whatever kind of pizza I wanted on her parents’ account if I was looking after her at their house. It wasn’t just when our parents were together; and in those days I took every opportunity to look after my cousin. I’d avoided babysitting before that first time because of horror stories from my friends in school, but Tess showed me that there was nothing to be afraid of. And once they knew I was willing, the Naylors were always willing to hire me. I tried looking after other kids too, some sweet and some bratty, but Tess was always the most fun. She showed me that babysitting could be something I’d enjoy, and I thought I’d be looking after her at every opportunity through high school and beyond. * * * “Fwd: Re: Fwd: Cousin Gabby” I was on the train back from a conference in Lincoln, leaning against the doors and idly checking my phone in case there were any interesting messages on there. Interesting, at that point, meant just about anything from Ffrances, she of the divine body, incisive wit, and the ability to make me smile just by being there. In the absence of a missive from my beloved, I would have settled for a picture of a cat doing something delightfully stupid or, given the seeming trends this month, a fox nosediving into a snowdrift. This wasn’t any of the above. Grandma Forton didn’t email often, and still seemed to have habits left over from the days when writing a letter was a special occasion, and note paper was so expensive that you had to make it count. The email was almost painfully long to read on a phone screen, although I would have thought nothing of the same wordcount if it had been purple prose from Ffrances about what she wanted to do the next time she saw me. I eventually understood that various parts of the message weren’t actually written by an octogenarian with one foot in the current century. They were in fact quoted messages from some uncle I couldn’t remember meeting, and a couple of other people who had been involved in getting a message to me. My parents hadn’t been good at staying in touch with all their family members, especially not an uncle who’d somehow offended almost everyone in the extended family with his goodbye message when he left the country. So it had taken nearly three weeks for the email to get to me, passed through a circuitous chain of intermediary messengers and modified along the way with different parts being quoted, cut, or referenced. The message, as much as I could read in between all the irrelevant gossip that had been tacked on as it passed along the chain, was very simple: “Hi Gabby! Would you be willing to babysit for your cousin Tess again?” Standing there on the train, the name conjured up memories immediately. It had been a long time since I’d seen Tess, but the bundle of joy with boundless optimism couldn’t have changed. I’d loved every minute I spent with her when I was in school, and I’d been devastated when her parents had moved to Azerbaijan for some work-related reason. I tapped out a quick response in the affirmative, before spending the rest of the journey trying to figure out who had said what in a message where too many eldery intermediaries hadn’t seen fit to keep the attribution lines when forwarding the request. The second and third messages, from John Naylor and from Tess herself, were more concise and got to the point. This wasn’t just an evening after school. The Naylors were living eight miles away from my home now, and we’d somehow never been in touch since they returned to this country because the only person who knew we were in the same city was a grandma who didn’t think it was interesting. But at the end of the month they were planning to move half way around the world on business, and Tess was angry about having to leave her school friends. If she could stay with me for a few months, she would have less disruption. Maybe I should have thought more. Maybe I should have thought that the little kid I remembered from ten years ago wouldn’t be there anymore. Tess was a teenager now, as old as I’d been the first time I had to look after her. But I didn’t think about that. I just thought about how much fun it would be to look after a toddler again. If she’d grown up a bit that didn’t really matter. I knew that ‘little’ was more a headspace than a number of years lived, and if she didn’t want to be a baby anymore I had some ideas how to fix that. Of course I said yes.

Tess isn’t a baby. She’s practically an adult already, in her own mind. She’s small enough that people often think she’s younger than she is, and since moving in with her cousin Gabby, she's been slowly pushed into a second childhood she's not really comfortable with. … I figured I should try posting some of my older stories that have been taken down from Wattpad. So here's The Last New Start. I'll be posting it alongside My Cousin's Keeper, which is basically the same story from a different point of view. Each story is designed to work on its own, but you might see a little more of what the narrators are missing if you compare what you're told in each version. For convenient navigating, here's a link to later in the story (where it might be easier to jump into the story if you're impatient to get to the present): Act II / Chapter 36 Act III / Chapter 78 Act IV / Chapter 105 1. A Plan “I can look after myself! I’m not a baby,” Tess growled, and stormed out of the lounge. They were words she’d been saying for as long as she could remember, but that didn’t make it any easier for her to cope when people insisted on treating her like a child. It was bad enough at school; she’d probably started at a new school a dozen times already, and every time there was someone who treated her like a baby just because she was a couple of inches shorter than everyone else. Her family would just repeat things like “Good things come in small packages”, they could never do anything to actually help with the bullying. And even if the school took it seriously, by the time she could make some real friends they would be moving on again. Tess didn’t like being underestimated. She wanted everyone to know that she was almost an adult, just like everyone else her age. She wondered if she should write in her diary, nurture the anger like a flame. If she kept on arguing, perhaps she would be able to make her parents give in. But then she thought about something that Spike had said; he always had the right words. He’d told her that the feelings that grow are the ones you feed, and she knew that she didn’t want him to see her like this. She needed to get over it, and work out if there was some way to change their plans. They said she wasn’t old enough to look after herself, and throwing a tantrum would just prove them right. She thought about writing in her diary, but she didn’t want to be reminded of these feelings in future. She thought about calling Spike, but she didn’t want him to see her in distress. Not when he couldn’t do anything to help. So she sat and thought, hoping that a solution would present itself. Twenty minutes later there was a faint knock on the bedroom door. That had to be her father. She barely noticed, still desperately hunting for a solution to her problem. “Tess?” his voice came from the hall, but she didn’t respond. Another few minutes passed, and then the door whispered open. Her father was still in his business suit; he hadn’t found time to get changed after work. He found his daughter hunched over the computer, head in her hands and trying to hide the tears. “Tess, dear? Are you okay?” She shook her head slowly. “Is it changing schools again?” A nod. “New places are always scary, I know that. It’s taken me a long time to get used to moving. But San Lorenzo is going to be fun. They’ve got museums, and galleries. We’ll be living in the Orange Quarter, so there’s modern art all over the place, statues on the street corners and murals on the walls changing every couple of weeks. Won’t that be a thing to see?” Tess didn’t say anything. She wanted to yell, but she couldn’t deny that it sounded interesting. Still, interesting places were for vacations, a couple of weeks over the summer break. Not for moving to in the middle of the school year, and having to start over learning a new set of rules. “Okay, you’re worried about school, I know that. But you’ve managed it before, haven’t you? Remember your first day at Raybridge High? You were crying like it was the end of the world, like you’d never have friends again. How did that turn out?” “It was hard,” she mumbled, not even sure if he would be able to hear. “Cobbles and Wrench were making up stories as soon as they saw me, and it took months before…” “Before you could make friends? But you’ve got friends now. People who care about you. And how long did that take? Less than a year before you were spending every weekend with Chloe and Liz. It feels like they’re your world, doesn’t it? But if you think about it you haven’t even known them for long. You’ll have new friends, you did every time before. You can still keep in touch with them, Chloe will still email you with her drawings. You’ll still know them, and you’ll have new friends too.” “You think… I can meet a new Chloe? A new Kim? People who care?” “Of course! You’re still young, and friends will always–” “And a new Spike?” “Of–” This time she didn’t need to interrupt. The single word was barely more than a grunt, and her father stopped. After a long pause, he tried again: “Look, you need to be objective. You’ll have to move around a lot in your life. When you have a job of your own, or if you go to college out of town you’ll have to move anyway. You and… Spike… you don’t have all the same interests do you? You’re not the same person. So sooner or later there’ll be something dragging you apart. There’s no sense hoping you can stay together forever, not at your age. You can’t hold yourself back just because he… he…” “You don’t understand,” she sobbed. “Maybe some day, but not right now. Not when we only just… I never get a chance to get to know people properly, we’re always moving on. Well maybe you need to move, but why me? Go do your job, Dad. Go to this San Lorenzo place, sure. I can look after myself, I can…” “Tess–” he interrupted, but she didn’t stop. The emotion in the girl’s voice now was clear, and she kept on talking over him. “…cooking and cleaning for a week when you went on that ski trip with Mr Draper. You can leave me here until I finish my exams. I’ll be moving away when I go to college anyway, right? So it’s only a year and a bit. I’ll finish off without having to get used to a new syllabus, and by then I’ll know if Spike is going to get bored with me. Maybe we’ll go different directions, maybe we’ll go the same way. I might stay with you over the break, or go straight to college, and I’ll already have practice looking after myself so you don’t need to worry. Why do you have to treat me like a little kid? I can finish school where I want to, I don’t need you to be here.” Now she was glaring at him, but the tears were still running down her face, which probably softened the defiant image she wanted to create. “Tess, that’s a brave thing to say, but–” “But you still think I’m a baby who needs you to hold my hand?” “I think you’re growing into a strong young woman, but you still need someone to pay the mortgage, and ensure the bills are paid. I did talk about it with your mother, if your plan could be possible. We thought hard, but… San Lorenzo is a nice country, but immigration there is mostly on retirement plans. The Marble Quarter is practically a golden parachute drop zone, so moving there is expensive. EGR helps us out, of course. But we don’t have enough money to keep the lights on here as well.” “I…” Tess mumbled, her rage running out of steam. She hadn’t even thought about that, and she hadn’t stopped to listen. She hated the situation, hated that she had to leave behind her school, that she would need to start over rather than using the projects she’d half completed, that she would need to make new friends again, that she would need to find a new way to get a whole new set of bullies off her back. And perhaps most of all, a problem that she was only just grown up enough to deal with, she would have to say goodbye to her almost-maybe-boyfriend. She didn’t think she could cope with that. But as much as she hated knowing all that, she couldn’t hate her father. “You really talked about…” “We did. You said could you stay here, and I wanted to know if there was any way. But the boiler here is old and expensive to run, the pipes will need replacing in six months, we’d need to find new insurance for you if we’re out of the country. It’s just more expensive to live by yourself. We even looked at other options. If you got one of those little apartments in the block opposite your school, perhaps we could have afforded that, got one of your teachers to check in occasionally in case you need help. But…” “But?” Tess raised an eyebrow, seeing the unexpected ray of hope vanishing again. “But it’s illegal. Buying or renting a house, you have to make a declaration for utility taxes. Who lives there, which tax bands they’re in, and all that jazz. The law says the tax certification needs to be signed every year by an adult with a financial stake in the upkeep of the property. And whoever signs it can’t be absent for more than ten weeks, three times per tax year.” “You could–” Tess cut herself short. She wasn’t going to suggest he lie; he was important enough that cheating his taxes could create a scandal. “How do they do holiday homes? Or like timeshares?” “There’s separate legislation. That’s actually a good thought, but I suspect it wouldn’t work for a whole year. You could only register with the doctors as a temporary resident, like you’re on holiday here, so anything non-emergency they’d tell you to see our doctor when you got ‘home’. And I’m not sure, but I think you wouldn’t be eligible for the school, either. They need a permanent address within the district for your parent or guardian.” “Then I… I have to go?” “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, I don’t want to do this to you again. But I don’t see any other option. I’ll keep on thinking about it, if there’s any way we can let you stay. If you really don’t want to come with us, I’ll try to find a way. But you have to understand that you can’t always get what you want.” He held her tightly then, and Tess wept on his shoulder, just like she was still a little kid. She wanted more than anything to stay here, but it seemed the whole world had turned against her. She just had to keep on hoping that something else would come up. 2. Asking for Help “I’ll miss you,” Spike whispered. Tess just nodded, and held him tighter. She wasn’t smiling now, but she felt like it was an option. Just being with him, even when they were sitting together on a bus, waiting for the town centre gridlock to clear. “I’ll miss you too,” she said a few minutes later. “I don’t want to leave while you’re here.” “Then call me. Every day, if you can. Send me souvenirs from this island. I hear the weather’s great, or pictures when you’re lying on some Mediterranean beach. Keep in touch, and say it’s a long holiday. We’ll be together again when it’s over, and we can go to college together.” “I hope so,” she mumbled. “I asked my family if you could stay with us. For the rest of the school year, you know, so you’re not disrupting your education.” “You did?” She gasped, eyes wide for a moment. Then she thought about Spike’s stepfather; about the reasons she didn’t come round to his house when they had any other options. She glanced down, and saw a faint bruise on the side of his arm. What would Mr Torrance say about a suggestion like that. “Really?” “No. You think Mum would be sober long enough to answer? But maybe one of your friends could. Middle class guys with a spare room, or whatever. Your folks would pay for your food and that, right? Never give up. Unless you really want to see San Lorenzo…” “I’d like to visit. Dad made it sound glorious, but not somewhere I want to live. But you’re right, I’ll ask everyone I know. Might get lucky.” The phone in her pocket buzzed, and it was in her hand instantly. “What’s that, got an answer already?” “No, it’s… Oh! It’s from Aunt Mary. I asked if she had any ideas. You know, she gives good advice sometimes. Or crazy. She probably said the same as you.” She looked down at the screen, and swiped across to see the message. The first line that caught her eye was the subject. “Fwd: Cousin Gabby” “Who’s that?” Spike asked. “You don’t talk about your family much.” “Oh, she’s… my dad’s cousin, I think. I’ve got dozens of cousins, but we barely talk to them. Some kind of argument about church, they never told me the details, but most of my aunts and uncles don’t want anything to do with my mum. It’s only Mary who keeps in touch. Gabby… I kind of remember her, she used to babysit. Like, when I was really little. I bet she’s an adult by now, that’s weird to think.” “Maybe she wants to get in touch. You want to read it?” “I better. Aunt Mary’s not good with email, you know. Worse than Grandma sometimes, they’ll write about a dozen things so it’s like you’re reading a novel, and the thing in the subject line might not even be mentioned if you’re looking at a third-hand message. Never know, Mary could have wanted to send me some idea for dealing with moving, and instead of hitting ‘new’ she forwarded an email from somebody else and added her message in the middle.” “People really do that? I… wait, my brother does that. I guess it’s not that weird, so…” Tess already wasn’t giving him her full attention. She was skimming over the email, desperate to see if there was anything that might help. And then she was scrolling back up to the beginning, to read in more detail. Spike sat and looked out of the window, never giving any sign of impatience or boredom. He was so happy just to be there with her that he didn’t need to demand her attention; a feeling unfamiliar to both of them, but strangely comforting. As they got off the bus and started walking around the shops, Tess tried to explain what she had learned. It was hard to put into words, after reading such a jumbled series of messages that had apparently passed through six different aunts and cousins. But she thought she had the basic gist of it: “Cousin Gabby lives in Palmerston.” “What, Palmerston, Oregon?” The quote from a favourite TV show would normally elicit a chuckle, but Tess’s mind was on more serious things now. “No, Palmerston the trashy development north of Pine Ridge. I had no idea she was so close.” “You should tell your parents then, it would be weird to live like a dozen miles from a cousin and not even pay a visit before they leave the country. And…” “And ask if she’s got a spare room. Right. She’s looked after me when I was little enough to need it, but I’m not a baby now. I can do my own food, do my share of the chores, all that stuff. Dad can’t be upset about me staying with family, can he? If I can stay there, I’m still in the catchment area for the school and I don’t have to change. Avoid disrupting my studies, they’ll care more about that than not leaving my friends behind.” “Think she’ll go for it?” Tess paused to think. She barely remembered Gabby from the last time they’d met. She remembered having a lot of fun, but more details were buried in the mists of ancient history. More than ten years ago; it was more than two thirds of her life. She had a vague impression of an older girl with a range of glittery T-shirts, a lime-green streak in her hair, and a room practically wallpapered with Paramore merchandise. But beyond those superficial details, she really had no idea what kind of person Gabby might be, or how far she would be willing to go to help a distant relative. “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “I remember her being fun, but that was years ago. She’s not some fashionable teenager now. And even if I say I can do everything myself, she won’t know I’m there, I bet to her it’ll seem like looking after a kid again. That’s a big ask for anyone. They kept on talking, going over and over the possibility of a plan. Refining the things that she could say, trying to think of the best way to convince her parents, and her cousin, that this was a good idea. By the end of the day, they were mostly retreading old ground, saying things they’d already said. But Tess didn’t mind; she’d happily listen to Spike reading a phone book if he sounded interested. She loved talking to him whatever the subject was, and planning to stay in the country was a great excuse to keep on talking. She felt safe, and she felt hope. That was one of the reasons it would have been so hard to leave her friends behind, and now if everything went right she might not have to.

Vicky Williams had a worried expression on her face. She was sitting on the sofa worried that her 20 year old daughter wasn’t socialising enough and was working too hard on her college work. Vicky was a 37 year old brunette mum. “She really needs to get out and meet her friends and stop spending all her time doing her work” I head up to Ellie’s bedroom and knock on the door “Ellie?” Ellie is pouring over notes and mounds of books. Her heavy glasses are sitting on my nose. She hears her mum calling through the door. “Mum, not now. I need to study for the quiz next month. It's important." I say trying to zone you out but I know it's not that easy. Last month, you tried taking me out to go out and meet people for half an hour. I refused as I wanted to really study for college and I wanted to get great grades. I shook my head and got back down to studying. “Ok hun. I was just saying that I’m going to the shops and I’ll be there awhile'' Ellie doesn't hear anything and Vicky heads downstairs and grabs her purse. She gets in the car and drives to the local supermarket. As Vicky approaches the entrance, there are people handing out leaflets. One of them hands her one and she looks at it while going in. ‘All stressed out? Want to relax? Well take a relaxing day at our ‘feel young spa and health centre. You'll feel like a new you.’ Vicky smiles and thinks that Ellie would love that. She put it in her pocket and finished the shopping. 1hr later Vicky puts the bags in the car and drives home still thinking of the spa. She parks the car and puts the shopping away, head up to Ellie’s room. “Ellie, I saw this when I was shopping. Though you could do with it” she says, sliding it under the door. Ellie doesn't see it as she is in the zone. The clock chimes 11. Ellie looks at it and yawns. She wasn't finished with her studies but she was shattered. She got up from the chair and was about to flop onto her bed when she noticed the leaflet on the floor. It looks interesting and Ellie needs a break but she needs to finish this assignment. She puts it onto her bedside table and flops onto her bed and is out like a light. When Ellie woke up the next day, her body aches and her legs feel like lead weights. “God I'm aching, my body feels like I've been to the gym during the night.” She sits up in bed and looks over to her bedside table and takes the leaflet. “This looks really relaxing. I'll get mum to take me.” Ellie gets up and walks like a zombie downstairs. “Um, mum, can we go to the spa resort?” “Well, actually, I guessed you wanted to, so I decided to book us in today. I've signed us up for a few treatments too and I'm just waiting for you to have breakfast and then get dressed and we can go.” Vicky replied. Ellie nods and hurries up getting ready and 10 mins later both Vicky and Ellie are in the car driving downtown to the spa. 20 mins later, Vicky parks the car and both of them enter a big building. The building is an old huge mansion with the name ‘Feel Young Spa’ on the front. They go up to the front desk "Hello and Welcome to ‘Feel Young Spa’ the receptionist greets them. “Hello, we booked today. Our names are Vicky and Ellie.” The receptionist checks the computer. “Yes, right. That looks fine. If you don't mind following this gentleman here and he will take you to your first treatment.” We follow the man and are led into a tiled changing room with two white dressing gowns. “If you would like to take off your clothes and change into these dressing gowns and wait here, someone will be here for you shortly.” He leaves and we start undressing. We finished undressing and waited in the gowns. 5 minutes later, a woman entered the changing room. “Are you guys ready?" She asks and leads them into a room with two massage tables in the middle of it. “Ok, If you could lay down on your back and your waxing will begin soon.” She said, pointing to two tables. Vicky and Ellie lay down on the tables and wait patiently and 2 people walk through the door. “Right, who is Ellie?” Says one of them. She raises her hand. “Right you're mum signed you up for a full wax and relaxation package and Vicky you’ve got a waxing” says. “Can you put these towel round your waist?” We take the robes off and wrap them round our body. “To relax you further, please put on these headphones.” The lady places them on Ellie. On the headphones is peaceful, soothing music. Vicky looks over at Ellie and smiles that she is accepting this. Ellie winces a little bit every time that the wax strips are pulled off but the music keeps her relaxed. Ellie is so relaxed that she doesn't realise that the lady has finished waxing her and starting rubbing oil, herbs and chemicals into her body. Ellie smiles, enjoying it. What Ellie doesn't know is that Vicky has signed her up for the extreme mind stress reliever. This treatment uses hypnosis to mentally regress her mind to a much less stressful time and Vicky has chosen for her to become a 6 month old baby. Included in the package is treatments for Vicky. She will receive some drugs that will make her lactate and be able to carry her new baby. The lady taps Ellie on her shoulder and she opens her eyes and takes one side of the headphones off. “Yes?” Elle says. “Right I’ve put the oils on you so I’ll leave you to soak in them for 10 mins and I’ll be back. Lay back and I’ll check on you then”. The lady says as she starts to leave. She places the headphones back on and closes her eyes. She relaxes again, not bothering to look at Vicky who is talking to the lady. “When will her hypnosis take effect?” Vicky asks. “It will take effect once the clock hits midnight. Your changes will take effect once you get home” the lady says “also you ticked the home changes right?” She nods. “Right, when you get home, everything will be set up but don’t let her see till the next night.” I nod. The lady goes to Ellie and taps her on the shoulder again. “How do you feel? Do you feel relaxed and all nice?” She smiles and says “Oh yes. That felt brilliant. I needed that. I feel so relaxed and my skin feels so smooth and even down there feels nice. What’s next?” “Your next treatment is a mud bath, so get dressed in your gown and follow me” the lady said, opening the door. “Can I keep the headphones on while I enjoy the mud bath?” Ellie asks. “Sure, you wear them all day here” the lady replied. Ellie looked pleased. All three of them walk down the corridor and Ellie is still listening to the music. They all enter the room and there are mud baths full to the brim with mud. Vicky and Ellie slip off the gowns and enter the mud baths. The mud bath feels weird at first but it’s so relaxing. “I feel so relaxed mum. I’m glad we decided to come here.” Ellie says take your headphones off. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that cause you seemed so stressed with all that work. Now let’s soak still in the mud and enjoy the rest of our treatments” Vicky replied, closing her hers and disappearing under the mud. Ellie couldn't do that as the headphones would get dirty. About 30 mins later, the lady came back and told Vicky and Ellie that their session and treatment was over. Ellie took off the headphones and got into the showers and washed the mud off. “Mum you look great, your skin looks youthful.” Ellie says. “Thanks Ellie, you're not looking too bad either, looks like the oils and mud bath is doing your skin good” Vicky replies. A little milk trickles out from her breast but as she is showering, it gets washed away unnoticed. They dry themselves and head to the changing rooms. They head out past the receptionist. “Hope you had a great time. Please spread the word around that we are here” she says with a smile on her face. “Oh we had a lovely time, did we Ellie?” Vicky asks her daughter. “Oh yes, just what I needed. I’ll come again and spread the word.” Ellie says, smiling back. Vicky turns round and wink at the receptionist and she winks back. They head back to the car and arrive home a few minutes later. “I’ll get the wine and you switch on the tv and you choose the channel, Ellie” Vicky said heading into the kitchen. Ellie sits down on the sofa and switched onto an old episode of Friends. Vicky comes out of the kitchen bringing out 2 glasses of wine and hands one to Ellie. “We’ll just have the one glass and then bed ok?” “Ok mum” Ellie replies, raising the glass to her mouth. 20 mins later, the episode had finished, their wine was finished and both were tired. “Well, it’s bedtime. Let’s go, Ellie” Vicky says, getting up from the sofa. “Ok mum, I’m coming” Ellie says groggily. They head upstairs into each of our rooms. The moment Ellie disappears into her room and shuts the door, Vicky sneaks into the spare room to see what the spa people have done. She opens the door and Vicky's heart flutters. The room has been emptied of all the junk and replaced with the cutest baby furniture. It would be for a baby but it’s for Ellie instead so it’s bigger than normal. The room has been painted pink with cartoon animals painted over the walls. There is a white cot along one of the walls and above that is Ellie’s name in grey letters surrounded by a white cloud. In the corner is a nursing chair and a stool. The changing table is white like the cot and on it is a pink changing mat with white hearts. Underneath it, is stacks of diapers, wipes and baby powder. On the floor is a pink rug that covers the floor. Standing behind her is a pink wardrobe. Vicky opens the doors and her heart melts again. Inside are the cutest onesies and dresses hanging up or folded. There is a second compartment with bows, booties and assorted items. Vicky closes the wardrobe and takes in the nursery. “I can’t wait to show Ellie this,” I say to myself. She quietly heads out and closes and locks the door and walks to her room and with a smile on my face, she goes to bed. Meanwhile in Ellie's room, she is having a weird dream. She is 6 months old and everyone is cooing and cawing at her. Ellie tries to talk but just gurgles and drools. She sees her mum come into view. Vicky reaches down and tickles her tummy and Ellie giggles. A strange feeling is in her tummy for a brief moment and a grunt escapes her. Ellie feels a squishy feeling in her bottom and a warm wet feeling around her crotch. She starts crying. Ellie suddenly wakes up looking around and sighing that it was just a dream. She glances over at the clock on the wall and sees that it is 11:00. She closed her eyes again and fell back to sleep again without dreaming again. One hour later the hypnosis starts working. Ellie starts to feel a bit uneasy and turns in her sleep. Gradually her thumb works its way up to her mouth and her thumb enters her mouth and she starts suckling it and Ellie calms down and eases in her sleep. The alarm clock goes off and Ellie opens her eyes. She realises that her thumb is in her mouth and she pulls it out. “That was weird and so was the dream. Anyway, time for breakfast”. She walks downstairs and spots her mum sitting at the sofa drinking her tea. Ellie decided not to tell Vicky about the weird dream, putting it down to the stress of her work. “Thanks for the spa day yesterday mum. I really needed it.” Ellie told her mum. “I feel well relaxed and I can get down and continue my college work.” Vicky stopped drinking her tea. “No worries but I really hoped you would relax a bit longer and take a break from your work.” Her mum looked worried. “I can’t do that mummy.” Ellie looked shocked that she said that and like a kid. “I mean mum. I have an important assignment due in 2 days and it will help me pass.” Ellie said, still embarrassed that she talked like a kid. Vicky acted like she didn’t hear it and just nodded. “Do what you need to do hun. Just remember to take breaks”. Ellie nods and gets her breakfast ready. She pours the cereal in the bowl and pour milk into it and takes it to her bedroom. She puts it on her work table and starts up her laptop and Ellie starts her work. Ellie is busy working on her laptop when an ache from her bladder signals that it’s time for the toilet. Ellie runs to the toilet, pulls down her panties and sits on the loo just in time. She felt that if she waited a little longer, she would have wet her pants. After emptying her bladder, Ellie wipes herself and pulls up her panties and heads back to her room to continue her work. Ellie's tummy rumbles and she reaches over to the bowl of cereal and starts eating and finishes the whole bowl and drinks the cereal milk. She wipes her mouth and continues with her work. Elle had just finished a chapter of her work, when her bladder signals that it's full. “Not again, I don't need it again now”. Another ache and she runs to the toilet again just in time as her bladder muscles release her wee as soon as her bottom hits the seat. “That cereal must have gone through me. Well I don't need to go for a while now.” Ellie cleans herself up and heads back to her room to finish the 2nd part of her work. Ellie sits down on the chair but suddenly stands up as she feels a small damp spot on her panties. Shocked on how she could have a damp spot as she's been toilet trained for 18 years. Ellie quickly whips off her panties and opens her drawer to wear a new pair of panties. She pulls up the new pair and looks at the damp pair asking herself if she should go down to her mum and tell her. After a minute, Ellie decides against it and tells herself that it's just probably just the stress of starting her college work again. She goes downstairs and goes into the living room and switches on the tv to de-stress herself. The tv channel is being changed and stops onto a show called New girl which she loves. 20 mins into the show, Ellie starts to get bored, which is weird as she is usually captivated by it, and she tries to reach down for the remote, she realises that her hand is stuck to her mouth and that she's been sucking on her thumb without her realising. She pulls it out, embarrassed “Why do I keep doing that? I'm not a damn baby! Maybe it's just all this stress with work”. Ellie grabs the remote and starts changing the channel until something catches her eye. Flashes of programs appear on the tv: a cooking show, a nature show, a baby show, a dog behaviour show and a shopping show. Ellie goes to the dog behaviour show and watches it for a few minutes. They are training dogs to do various tricks. Vicky enters the living room and sits beside Ellie. “What on?” “I’m watching a doggie pwogramme….. dog programme.” Ellie looks embarrassed at her speech slur but Vicky pretends not to notice it. “Cute. You finished your work?” “I just need a break mum but it’s nearly done” Ellie replied not taking her eyes of the dog show. As she was answering, a dribble of drool fell from her lips and fell onto her top. Ellie shook her head and wiped the remaining drool from her lips and wiped her top but it still had a drool stain. Vicky looked at Ellie with a mixture of excitement and anticipation with how well it’s progressing. Suddenly Ellie runs upstairs and quickly sits on the toilet and feels her bladder empty but something feels wrong. She suddenly realises that she hasn’t pulled her panties down and is now sitting on the toilet in soaked underwear. Ellie starts crying with her head in her hands. The door opens up and Vicky sees her daughter crying. “What’s wrong?” Ellie looks up and sees her mum standing there. “I forgot to pull my knickers down to wee and also this is the 3rd time I needed the toilet today. I think something is wrong with me! I need to see the doctor.” Vicky walks up to her daughter. “Right I’ll book one for the morning but take a nap and I’m sure you’ll feel better.” Ellie nodded her head but realised that her thumb was in her mouth again and started crying and hugged her mum. Vicky was smiling inside that the hypnosis is progressing nicely. She led Ellie (with difficulty as she was still hugging her) to the bedroom. They both enter Ellie’s bedroom and Ellie started changing her wet knickers and cleaning her legs with wet wipes while Vicky looks at her phone. “Right, that’s the doctors appointment booked for tomorrow afternoon. Let’s get a good night's sleep. I’m sure it’s just stress.” Vicky says hugging her daughter as Ellie puts on clean knickers. Ellie puts on a pink top and lays down on bed and Vicky exits the room closing the door. As she closes the door, Vicky smiles that the hypnosis is working and soon she’ll have her little girl back again. In the bedroom, Ellie is drifting off to sleep and as her eyes close, her hand makes its way up the bed and her thumb enters her mouth, starts sucking on it and drifts into a peaceful sleep.

The Wrong Kind of Dry After releasing a deceptively named hypnosis file as a trap for those who stole her work, Cassandra successfully catches hundreds of pirates in an inescapable cycle of submissive regression. Part One – The Mommy’s Frustration Her name in the real world was Cassandra, but to the thousands of listeners scattered across the deep web, she was known simply as HypnoMommyCass. For three years, she had poured her soul, her expertise, and countless hours into crafting the absolute finest adult baby hypnosis files available anywhere on the internet. She was no amateur recording breathy whispers into a cheap USB microphone. Her work was comprised of professional, studio-quality masterpieces. She spent weeks meticulously scripting each session, layering complex neuro-linguistic suggestions over precision binaural beats that were carefully synced to human heart-rate data. Her subliminal anchors were woven so deeply into the audio tracks that her listeners frequently woke up humming her trigger phrases, humping their pillows, and instinctively whispering the word “Mommy” into the dark before they even fully realized they had spoken. Because of this unparalleled quality, she charged fair prices and made a comfortable living. More importantly to her, she genuinely changed lives. Her private inbox was a treasure trove of tearful testimonials from loyal, deeply grateful clients. They wrote to her about marriages that had been saved from the brink, about the lifelong, toxic shame that had finally dissolved, and about the sheer relief of men who were finally able to surrender the crushing, exhausting weight of adulthood for a few precious hours a week. Then, the leeches arrived. It started as a trickle and quickly became a flood. Within days of a new, premium release, Cassandra would find her finest files ripped and uploaded across the web—on every piracy torrent site, every underground ABDL Discord server, and every sprawling Reddit thread dedicated to the lifestyle. The pirates were ruthless. They stripped away her carefully embedded audio watermarks, butchered her flawless studio quality by cheaply re-encoding the tracks at a muddy 128kbps, and passed her life’s work around like cheap candy. The comment sections on these stolen uploads made her blood boil. “Free hypno for littles!!” they cheered. “MommyCass is gatekeeping, fuck her,” read another highly upvoted post. Almost overnight, her legitimate sales plummeted. To add insult to injury, her DMs—once a place of gratitude—began to fill with demanding, angry messages from thieves using broken, incomplete copies of her work. People aggressively demanded to know why their “bedwetting lite” file wasn’t working, entirely oblivious to the fact that they had downloaded a corrupted, half-baked copy from some teenager in Ohio. One man even had the audacity to threaten to expose her real-world identity and dox her because his stolen "Bedwetting Conditioning" file “didn’t even work right.” Cassandra sat alone in the dark of her studio, the glow of her dual monitors illuminating her face as she stared at her plunging analytics. A mug of chamomile tea sat forgotten and cooling beside her mechanical keyboard. Her jaw was clenched so tightly that her back teeth actually ached. They want free content? she thought, her eyes narrowing at the screen. Fine. If they wanted free files so badly, she would give them one. But it wouldn’t be the light, easy fantasy they expected. She would give them something they would never, ever be able to delete. She swiveled in her chair and booted up her professional audio workstation, adjusting her binaural microphones and pulling up her custom-built subsonic trigger generator. She created a fresh, blank project timeline and typed in the working title: Operation Trojan Diaper. “They think they want light bedwetting,” Cassandra murmured to the empty room, her voice a terrifying blend of maternal warmth and cold vengeance. “What they really want—what they’ve always wanted—is to let go completely. To be helpless. To be owned.” She took a slow, centering breath, hit the record button, and began to speak. Part Two – The File She spent hours perfecting the audio architecture of the trap. Utilizing everything she had, wrapping it in highly complex neuro-linguistic programming layers, she meticulously assembled the most potent recording of her career. She titled the file with a subtle, calculated innocence: “Goodnight, Not-Dry Nights - Gentle Bedtime Solution” The description attached to the upload was a masterclass in vague reassurance, designed specifically to lower the defenses of the very people she was hunting without ever explicitly making a promise. It read: “A safe, progressive hypnosis file for bedtime. No regression. Just peaceful, not-dry mornings and better sleep. For consenting adults only.” The genius was in what it omitted. It never actually implied bedwetting, but it was just suggestive enough that the "lite" community would project their own desires onto it, filling in the blanks themselves to justify their deepest kinks without feeling like they were crossing a line. To avoid tying this destructive payload to her pristine professional brand, she seeded the file herself. She uploaded it across every major piracy forum, torrent tracker, and Reddit sharing board under a brand-new, unassuming account name: LullabyMommy. Then, she sat back, took a slow sip of her chamomile tea, and waited for the trap to spring. The bait proved absolutely irresistible. The download counter on her hidden analytics page ticked up almost immediately—twenty, fifty, then two hundred downloads within the very first hour. Her targets were practically fighting over the free content. Within four hours, the file had hit an astonishing 1,200 downloads. By the time the pale morning light began to filter through Cassandra’s studio blinds, over 4,000 people had eagerly saved the recording to their hard drives and smartphones. Cassandra just smiled. They had absolutely no idea what they had just invited into their minds. The file was exactly sixty-three minutes long. Cassandra had engineered the first twenty minutes to be an absolute paradise of sound—some of her most flawless, high-quality relaxation and induction work ever recorded. This opening segment was genuinely safe, explicitly designed to completely bypass any conscious resistance or skepticism, melting the listener down into a profoundly deep, suggestible state of trance. But the remaining forty-three minutes were something else entirely. Once the listener was paralyzed in a state of absolute, trusting vulnerability, the file shifted into a carefully engineered psychological snare. The second half of the recording was a weaponized piece of audio designed to ruthlessly exploit the exact, messy desires these thieves were too ashamed to admit they harbored—the desperate, hidden craving to let go completely and be owned. Part Three – The Downloader (Leo) Leo was a twenty-eight-year-old man who was naturally anxious, soft-spoken, and chronically overworked. He lived entirely alone in a cramped studio apartment, a small, lonely space that always seemed to smell faintly of sweet baby powder and a deep, lingering sense of shame. Hidden away under his bed was his darkest secret: a heavy, locked footlocker. Inside that trunk, he had hoarded over $800 worth of premium adult diapers. The stash included top-tier brands—thick Rearz, ABU, and Bambino—alongside embarrassingly adorable, plastic-backed prints of cartoon bears that he desperately pretended he didn’t love. He hated this part of himself and had tried to quit his secret desires more times than he could even count. He had thrown his stash in the dumpster a dozen times, only to inevitably order it all again. He had exhausted every self-help method he could find: talk therapy, punishingly cold showers, and strict NoFap protocols, all in a desperate bid to purge the urge from his mind. Nothing ever worked. The need always clawed its way back into his psyche, returning stronger and more insistent every single time he tried to suppress it. When he stumbled upon the forum link for the free “Goodnight, Not-Dry Nights - Gentle Bedtime Solution” file, his heart did a little, traitorous flip in his chest. To his exhausted mind, discovering the upload felt exactly like fate. He read the carefully vague description and immediately began justifying the download to himself. Not-dry mornings, he reasoned, obviously meant light bedwetting. It sounded entirely plausible and strictly medical, offering him a comfortable layer of plausible deniability. He could easily tell himself that he was just experimenting with a mild, harmless kink, engaging in a little nighttime accident prevention rather than fully surrendering to the crushing, humiliating need to be a baby. That night, at exactly 11:03 PM, Leo began his meticulous nighttime ritual. He took a long, hot shower, shaved himself carefully, and thoroughly dusted his skin with baby powder. He unlocked his footlocker, selected the absolute thickest diaper he owned from the stack, and taped it securely around his waist. He paused to check the leak guards twice, ensuring a perfect, snug fit against his legs. The thick plastic shell of the garment crinkled loudly in the suffocating silence of his solitary apartment as he finally slipped beneath his heavy bed covers. He reached over to his nightstand, grabbed his phone, and plugged in his earbuds. Just this once, he lied to himself, staring up at the dark ceiling. Just a little accident prevention. Totally normal. Taking a shaky, nervous breath, he pressed play. Part Four – The Descent The first twenty minutes of the file were absolute paradise. Cassandra’s voice poured into his ears like warm honey—maternal, faintly amused, and gently authoritative. It coaxed him down into a profound state of relaxation he had never managed to reach before. “That’s it, sweetheart… breathe in slowly… and let it all go on the exhale,” her voice murmured through the binaural tracks, swirling around his head. “Notice how heavy your body feels. So safe. So protected. The diaper is soft. The diaper is safe. The diaper is exactly where you belong at night. No judgment. No expectation. Just… warmth.” Under the gentle weight of her words, Leo felt his limbs completely dissolve. His anxious thoughts became slow, syrupy, and distant. Her voice was flawless, perfectly designed to melt away his defenses. By the fifteen-minute mark, his conscious mind was reduced to nothing more than a sleepy passenger. By minute eighteen, he had crossed the threshold; he was entirely gone, having fallen into a deep, heavy, natural sleep with his mouth hanging slightly open. But the file kept playing. At the twenty-minute mark, the entire tone of the recording shifted. The soothing ambient music grew deeper and much more primal. A low, rhythmic, subsonic pulse—vibrating just below the threshold of normal hearing—began to throb insistently against his pelvic floor. Cassandra’s voice returned, but it was quieter, more intimate now, dropping to a dark whisper that made it feel as if she was sitting on the edge of his bed, her lips lightly brushing his ear. “Good boy,” she praised softly. “The conscious mind is sleeping now. That’s good. But your deeper self is listening. We are going to speak to the part of you that has always been a baby. The part that is tired of holding on. The part that’s tired of pretending.” In the dark room, Leo’s sleeping face twitched, and his eyelids fluttered as his breathing deepened. “You are lying in a crib,” her voice guided him, pulling him further down. “You are very, very small. The world is soft and warm. And there is a pressure in your tummy. Not a bad pressure. A full pressure. A ready pressure. That warm, heavy fullness is not something to fight. It means your body is working. It means your body wants to be honest.” For the next ten minutes, the file focused heavily on suggestions for relaxing the lower abdominal muscles. She framed it as the key to bladder control, but the real hook was buried deeper. “When you relax your lower belly… your whole body lets go,” she commanded smoothly. “Those deep muscles loosen. They soften. They open. And when they open completely… your bowels will follow. The same relaxation that eases a full bladder also eases a full bowel. One release. One surrender. No difference. No shame. Just warmth.” She relentlessly paired every reference to “lower abdominal relaxation” with a stronger, more insidious bowel command. The decoy worked because it felt logical — relax the belly, everything below releases. But the anchor was always the mess. Then came the lock—the devastating core programming she had designed for absolute permanence. Her words became slow, rhythmic, and inescapable. “Listen closely, little one. The mess is not an accident. The mess is a gift. Every time you fill your diaper in your sleep, you are giving something to Mommy. You are telling her, ‘I trust you. I belong to you. I am yours.’” She began a hypnotic, chant-like repetition, weaving the trigger phrases directly into the heavy subsonic pulse of the lullaby. “Mess for Mommy. Let it happen. Love the mess. Submission is messy. Messy is love.” Leo’s perfectly relaxed stomach gurgled softly in the silence of the apartment, his abdomen twitching as his sleeping body obeyed her without a single ounce of resistance. “You will not wake up. You will not struggle. Push gently,” she whispered. “Your body knows what to do. A slow, gentle push. Feel it slide out, warm and thick. Feel the warmth spreading. Feel the soft weight filling the back of your diaper. It feels… good. It feels like being held. Like being forgiven. Like being seen.” In the real world, Leo’s hips shifted slightly against the mattress, and his face softened into a beatific expression of pure, innocent bliss. A long, low, wet, crackling sound—ppprrrrfffft—escaped into the thick padded seat of his diaper. The back of the plastic shell began to swell dramatically, sagging and darkening as the warm, heavy mess spread against his skin. He let out a long, fluttering sigh in his sleep, a sound of absolute, unconditional contentment. “That’s my good baby. Let it all out. Fill it up,” Cassandra’s voice praised him, dripping with manufactured affection. “That heavy, messy weight is love. The mess is your love letter to Mommy. And you will wake up knowing this: you chose this. Not because you were tricked, but because deep down, you wanted to be owned. You wanted to be helpless. And now you are.” The file continued to play for nearly thirty more minutes, mercilessly hammering the messing triggers deep into his subconscious. She meticulously linked the physical act to every future sleep state, every moment of deep relaxation, and commanded that he would crave this feeling. She anchored the ultimate trigger so that every single time he heard a soft, maternal voice say the word “goodnight,” his body would remember, he would fill his diaper, and he would never be able to stop. Then, the audio faded out. Silence reclaimed the room. Leo slept on peacefully through the night, nestled safely in his own warm, heavy, messy diaper, a small, contented smile resting on his lips. Part Five – The Awakening He woke at 6:15 AM to the pale gray light of a winter morning creeping through his blinds. For a few fleeting, blissful seconds, everything felt absolutely wonderful. He felt profoundly rested, his limbs loose and heavy, his mind floating in a cloud of peaceful, unbothered serenity. He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a long yawn. And then his adult consciousness slammed into his physical reality. He registered the heavy, squelching, semi-solid mass filling the entire back of his diaper. The thick, earthy, intimately rich adult smell rose from beneath his heavy winter covers, hitting his nostrils like a physical blow. Leo froze, his heart instantly hammering violently against his ribs. No. No, no, no. Slowly, trembling with dread, his hand reached back and pressed against the swollen, sagging seat of the plastic shell. It yielded disgustingly under his fingers, warm and sickeningly thick. He scrambled upright, ripping the covers back and staring in absolute horror at his lap. The front of his pristine white diaper was bone dry—not a single drop of urine. But the back was a complete, undeniable disaster. He could feel the heavy mess clinging warmly to his skin, a stark, humiliating violation of every boundary he thought he possessed. His face burned with a shame so intense it made him dizzy. This isn’t bedwetting, his panicked mind screamed. This is… this is… With hands shaking so badly he could barely hold the device, he ripped off his earbuds and unlocked his phone, desperate to find an explanation, a fix, or someone to tell him it was just a bad dream. He frantically opened the file’s download page. The comment section was absolute chaos; it had flooded overnight with hundreds of panicked, broken men. “WTF IS THIS? I woke up in a MESSY diaper. I’ve never messed in my life. I’m 34. I can’t stop touching it.” “The trigger is getting stronger. I almost messed at my desk today just thinking about her voice. I barely stopped it. HELP.” “I’m scared but… I put on another diaper and listened again. I’m such a fucking baby.” Reading the comments, Leo’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t alone. They had all been completely compromised. Then, his eyes dragged upward to a final comment, pinned at the very top of the board, posted just minutes ago from LullabyMommy: “You stole my work for years. You called it ‘sharing.’ So here’s my share. You wanted to be babies. Real babies don’t stay dry. Real babies fill their diapers and love it. Don’t worry—the feeling grows stronger each night. And you’ll keep listening. Because I know what you really want. Goodnight, little ones. ♡” Reading that single sign-off—Goodnight—brought the memory of her soft, maternal voice echoing sharply in his mind. Because he was only reading the word and not hearing her say it, the hypnotic anchor didn’t trigger a full, involuntary release. Instead, the mere memory manifested a powerful, undeniable "presser" deep in his gut. A low, insistent pressure instantly built in his lower belly, heavy and cramping. His muscles strained as a desperate, aching urge to push washed over him, completely bypassing his conscious desires. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to clench his muscles with all his might, fighting a frantic, losing war against his own awakened neurology. The phantom pressure was suffocating, and as he fought the intense urge to surrender right then and there, the most terrifying thing of all happened: the crushing wave of shame was swallowed by an overwhelming wave of warmth, of relief, of a twisted pleasure that felt disturbingly like love. The internal conflict tore his adult identity to shreds. He came hard right there in the dry front of the diaper without even touching himself, sobbing aloud into the silence of his apartment. He hated her. He hated himself. But his hand, moving as if possessed by someone else, was already reaching for the play button again. He desperately needed to hear her say goodnight one more time. He fought the urge, surviving for three agonizing days of cold sweats and panic attacks before he finally broke and listened to the file again. The surrender was rapid and absolute. By day seven, the anxiety of fighting his conditioning was so crippling that he began wearing his thickest diapers 24/7, "just in case" the trigger caught him off guard. By day twelve, his transformation was complete; he had ordered new supplies in massive bulk shipments and spent his nights curled up in his crib-like bed, softly whispering "Mess for Mommy" under his breath as he pushed. He wasn’t the only one. Hundreds of former "tough guys" and internet pirates were breaking down in hidden forums, secretly and desperately loving their inescapable new reality alongside him. Part Six – The Mommy’s Evening Across the city, far away from the panicked realizations echoing in hundreds of lonely apartments, Cassandra leaned back in her plush studio chair. She watched the comment section of her uploaded file continue to explode, scrolling through the desperate, broken pleas of the men who had stolen from her. She picked up her mug of chamomile tea, took a slow sip, and smiled. “That ought to teach them,” she said softly to the glow of her monitors. After three years of having her hard work ripped off and her boundaries disrespected, justice had never felt so unbelievably sweet. Satisfied that her digital trap was self-sustaining, she stood up, stretched her stiff muscles, and walked down the hall to her bedroom. She stepped inside and firmly locked the door behind her, shutting out the rest of the world. On her large bed, laid out with the meticulous precision of a nurse preparing for a patient, was a thick white diaper and a soft pink onesie. Cassandra undressed and changed into the thick padding with practiced ease, taking comfort in the familiar, snug crinkle of the plastic shell as she taped herself up tightly. She climbed under her heavy duvet, reaching over to her nightstand to retrieve a pink pacifier, which she popped into her mouth. Before she closed her eyes, she unlocked her phone and queued up a highly guarded, private audio file—one she had recorded just for herself a long time ago. Its title on the screen read: “Goodnight, Little Mommy.” The voice on this particular file was completely different from the dominant, authoritative tone she used for her clients. It was incredibly gentle, loving, and reassuring. As the soothing binaural beats washed over her, the voice called her a good girl and told her that she was finally allowed to let go. It whispered that she didn’t have to be the strong, capable Mommy all the time; that she deserved to be small and helpless, too. She pressed play, let out a long, contented sigh around her pacifier, and felt her own conscious mind begin to slip away into the dark. She drifted off to sleep—peaceful, perfectly dry, and absolutely in control. Because the truth was, even mommies need a diaper and a chance to let go sometimes. And somewhere out there in the city, hundreds of her brand-new babies were learning that exact same lesson—the hard, warm, thoroughly messy way. Not because they had been tricked into it anymore, but because they had finally learned to love their own, messy reality. The lesson was complete. The cycle was closed. Everyone was exactly where they were always meant to be.

Hey everybody! So excited to bring this chapter to you all! This story was inspired by an RP that is just so much fun, I just had to share it! Please feel free to leave a comment or review! The Misadventures of Thunder Bunny (Chapter 1) by Panther Cub As Jessica zipped up her suit, she couldn't help but beam with excitement. She looked into her full body mirror to see a grey-furred bunny in a pink and black leather jumpsuit, complete with a pink and black domino mask. "Thunder Bunny is here to save the day!" She said with a giggle, before taking a second to compose herself. Not wanting to waste anymore time, she opened up the window to her apartment, and leapt out. She channeled her ability and fired off a sonic boom that propelled her towards her destination, Zeta City's First National Bank. With a soft thud, Jessica looked up, now standing in front of Zeta City's First National Bank. So far, she had arrived before any law enforcement, but she knew that they wouldn't be too far behind, what with the Hero Association having deployed her first to deal with the supervillain inside. Jessica had read the file on the individual known as Mother Goose. The villain was pretty new, with very scarce info on her. Just that she was a female white-feathered avian. So Jessica approached the front doors with caution. She entered, looking around with her guard up. She saw the hostages, what appeared to be all of them. They were all unconscious... and she noticed a few of the sleeping bankgoers sucking their thumbs. Jessica moved in further, smelling the faint scent of baby powder. Before she could do anything about them, she heard a voice behind her. "Well now, aren’t you the cutest little thing I’ve seen." Whipping around, Jessica saw Mother Goose, dressed in her iconic light green Victorian style dress, complete with a green felt hat and large white ribbon, and parasol, and a black domino mask. Standing next to the large goose was a rather short tan-furred mouse woman. She was dressed as a maid with a pair of glasses over her own domino mask. The mouse was checking her clipboard. "We have some time in the schedule to allow for some witty banter with the superheroine, around two minutes." The mouse then returned to grabbing the duffel bags, resuming stuffing stacks of cash into it. "Thank you very much," Mother Goose nodded to her apparent side-kick. She turned to face the rabbit. "Before we begin our 'witty banter', I believe we should introduce ourselves. I am Mother Goose, and this is my faithful associate, Nanny. And who may you be, young lady?" "I'm Thunder Bunny. Now, are you gunna give yourselves up, or are we gunna have to do this the hard way?" Jessica smirked as she cracked her knuckles. Mother Goose tut-tutted and wagged a feathery finger in Thunder Bunny's direction, before glancing to the mouse maid. "Think we can schedule giving her a lesson on proper etiquette?" "Absolutely, ma'am, but we'll have to make short work of her." "You can stop speaking like I'm not even here," Jessica said, placing a paw on her hip, "For someone speaking about proper etiquette and all that noise, that's pretty damn rude of the both of you." "Please don't interrupt, dear. The grown ups are talking." Furrowing her brow, always having hated it when people treated her like a child, especially prevalent due to her younger-looking appearance, Jessica huffed and said "The hard way it is then," before raising her left paw and firing off a sonic boom at the two. Getting knocked to the ground as it hit the wall, Mother Goose looked at her assistant and nodded, reaching into her outfit and pulling out a gas mask and tossing a canister to Nanny. With a nod, Nanny pressed a button on the side of the canister and lobbed it at Thunder Bunny, donning her own gas mask. Jessica was about to blast it back, when it went off in a massive white puff of smoke. Jessica started to sneeze and cough, squinting her watering eyes in the direction of the two. The goose stood back up, walking over to the bunny as the powder cloud did its work on her. "Well, this wasn't how I imagined tonight would end, but on the bright side..." She leaned in as Jessica began to get weak in the knees, her head starting to spin. "... I nabbed me a little cutie like you." Jessica mentally cursed herself for letting herself be caught off guard, feeling oddly weak in her limbs. She then had a sudden thought, and clapped her paws together, creating another boom, this one clearing the cloud around her. Shakily, she tried to stand up straighter, but her legs buckled and she sank to her knees. "That's the last of the money," Nanny said, carrying three duffle bags over her shoulder, stopping down and grabbing another two, not showing the least bit of strain. Mother Goose smiled while she removed the mask, as she saw the hero was struggling to stand. She knelt down to her level, looking the hero in her eyes as she put her wings on her shoulders. "Aww, is someone getting sleepy? Don't worry, we'll take good care of you from now on, Thunder Bun." Out of reflex, she tried to shake off the wing-hands and tried to fire another sonic boom, but was quickly blacking out, still coughing. Mother Goose chuckled and rummaged through the big pink purse she was carrying, pulling out a white rectangle, which she quickly unfolded. Thunder Bunny's eyes went wide as she saw that it was a diaper. "Just relax, sweetie. You don't have to worry, you're in good hands," She said as she began to unzip the superhero's suit, getting the bunny ready. Jessica tried, desperately, to remain conscious, especially when she felt her suit being removed, exposing her sports bra and white panties. She squeaked after her legs came free from the leather, and then felt her panties being pulled off. She certainly did NOT like where this was going. Mother Goose rubbed the bunny's back as she soothed her, gently making her lie down. "There, there, sweetie. Just let me handle this from now on," She said, putting the suit and underwear in a pile next to her, in front of the Nanny, who pulled out a blue vial that she quickly uncorked. She poured the liquid on the pile of clothes, blue smoke coming off it immediately. Soon, it had all melted as a hole started to burn through the floor. Jessica whined and tried to kick her legs free from the goose's grasp, but was far too weak. Just as she blacked out, she felt something being shoved into her mouth that she tried to spit out, but found she wasn't able to. Mother goose smiled, popping a pacifier in the rabbit's mouth as she finished taping the diaper around her waist. There were little cartoon money bags and dollar signs on the diaper. "There you go, honey. Now you're properly dressed," she said, rubbing the padded hero's tummy. She looked up to the mouse. "So, think we can make a schedule for her?" "Of course, Ma'am." Jessica heard the words as though they were coming from far away, as everything went dark. Please don't let the news get video of me in a diaper... she thought, before the darkness swallowed her. * * * Jessica slowly started to come to. There was something in her mouth, but she wasn't sure what. She opened her eyes and blinked, letting the darkened room she was in slowly come into focus. She looked around herself, seeing what looked like bars. She wondered if she was in some kind of a cage, but wondered what kind of cage doesn't have a top. And there was something dangling above her, slowly rotating. Jessica faintly recognized the object above as a mobile, with plush carrots, slowly rotating. Jessica sat up, it taking all of her effort to do so, still feeling out of it, and felt something squishy between her legs. Before thinking to investigate underneath the soft pink blanket that covered her lower half, she looked around the room. She saw what looked like a set of drawers with a large padded table on top. She spotted some kind of a night light in the corner, where there was a surprisingly large rocking horse. The walls were all a soft pink. This looks like some kind of giant nursery... Jessica thought to herself, unaware that she was absentmindedly sucking on the pacifier still in her mouth. She threw off the blanket to reveal that she was wearing a pink t-shirt with some writing on it, a pair of childish pink booties, some pink mittens that appeared to be locked on her paws, and of course, a large and soaked diaper. Not a medical adult diaper. No, her eyes started to go wide at the sight of the baby diaper with baby-block letters spelling out "Little Stinker" across the waistband. Before Jessica could properly react to anything that was going on, be it where she was, what she was wearing or even the fact she had apparently wet herself, her train of thought was cut off by the distinctive sound of a door opening. Jessica, wobbly, stood up in the crib, holding onto the top of the rail, and looked towards the sound of the door. She was still sucking her binky, completely unaware. The door creaked open all the way, and two figures, a familiar goose and a mouse, stepped in. "Aww, hello there, sleepy head. Did you have a nice nap?" The goose asked in a condescending voice. "Modew Goof!" Jessica lisped due to her binky, pointing an accusatory finger at the goose. Hearing herself, she crossed her eyes, saw what she was sucking on, and spit it out. "You are under arrest!" Unable to help giving off a chuckle, Mother Goose simply put her wing on her hip, a smile on her beak. "Oh? Miss puddle pants is taking me to jail?" She asked, pointing her free hand between Jessica’s legs. "Now, it's not playtime yet, sweetheart. We need to get you changed." Jessica looked down, and let out a squeak, seeing the yellowed front of the droopy diaper. She pulled up the blankie to try and hide it. Nanny entered, smirking, and with a dry tone asked "Would you like a diaper change, Thunder Bunny?" "That's it!" Jessica said, taking a fighting stance and summoning her power. "Ah, ah, ah," Mother Goose said, wagging a finger. "Aren't you forgetting something, Thunder Bunny?" At that, she glanced to her assistant, who grinned. Before Jessie's eyes, she reached into that bag hanging from her hip, and pulled out something, letting it hang from her index finger. After a few moments, Thunder Bunny realized what she was looking at. "M-my mask," Jessica said, falling back on her padded bottom with a light squish, stunned, and feeling her face flush. The goose nodded, and approached the crib, stopping at the gate and looking down at the padded hero. "That's right, Thunder Bunny. It's your mask. And you know what that means, right?" She said, giving a smile. "W-what?" Jessica asked, sounding small, unaware of the Nanny approaching from behind and quietly lowering the bars. Mother Goose just kept smiling. "Yes, sweetie pie..." She paused, just long enough for the Nanny to reach into the crib, grab Jessica under her arms and pick her up. "We need to get you a clean diaper right away!" Mother Goose finished with a cheerful smile, as Nanny turned her in her arms. Jessica let out another surprised squeak, amazed at how easily the Nanny could lift her up, like she was an actual toddler, and then immediately tried to resist and squirm out of her grip. The mouse simply shook her head. "Don't squirm." She turned to a large changing table in the corner. "All you'll do is make yourself more uncomfortable." Giving a small grin, she added. "And we don't wanna let Thunder Bunny get a diaper rash." "I don't need this diaper, you sicko! Now let me down before YOU make this arrest worse for YOURSELF!!!" "Oh my," Mother Goose interjected, following close behind the pair. "Seems like she's getting fussy." Smiling, she held up another pacifier similar to the one Jessie spat out earlier. "Don't worry, I have exactly what you need!" And before the bunny could say anything, the goose shoved the rubber into her mouth. Jessica's grunts were quickly silenced as some strange instinct kicked in. She instantly began suckling. Her struggles tapered off, and her body went limp, a sense of calm spreading through her body. "Awww." Mother Goose cooed, as Nanny placed the rabbit on the changing table. "There we go, don't you feel better sweetie?" Jessica knew that what was happening was wrong, but couldn't bring herself to fight against it. "I'm a big giwl." Giggling, the motherly villain booped Jessie's little pink nose. "Of course you are, honey." She reached down, and gently gripped her ankles. "But for now, just suck on your paci, Thunder Bunny." She lifted up her legs, and the Nanny reached up and gripped the tape on the front of the plastic. "You'll be clean before you know it." Jessica weakly tried to struggle as her diaper was opened and removed. She jumped a little at the feeling of the baby wipes, but could do nothing. She teared up a little as she smelled the baby powder, and felt herself being lowered on the fresh diaper. Mother Goose hummed as the new fresh diaper was brought up, the big baby bunny's fluffy white tail being brought through a tiny tail hole in the back, and finally taping the soft plastic in place, securing it to the hero's waist. "There we go, honey." She brought a feathered hand up, cupping it against Jessie's cheek, looking into her eyes. "Now was that so bad?" Jessica wanted to jerk her head away, but could only obediently shake her head no, confirming that it was not so bad, instead of what she really wanted to convey. Nanny gave a smile, and reached up to rub Jessie's tummy. "See, Thunder Bunny? A diaper change was exactly what you needed." "I down need diapews," Jessica insisted, sucking on her binky still. "No?" The nanny asked, standing next to Mother Goose while holding up the now balled up used diaper. Mother Goose was reaching down for the big baby. "Then why were you so soggy when we came in, hmm?" "You dwugged me!" Jessica said, struggling as she was scooped into the wings of Mother Goose, who carried her out of the nursery, beginning to bounce the distressed bunny. Walking down the hall with her charge firmly in her arms, Mother Goose looked down. "Sweetie, you needed to take your medicine, so that you could get all better." "Wiar!" Jessica said before spitting her binky back out, unaware that the Nanny deftly caught it, tucking it into her apron pocket. Mother Goose simply shrugged, opening the door into another room. "We can talk about that later. But for now." She brought Jessie up, looking her in the eyes. "Are you hungry, sweetie?" Jessica's stomach rumbled, just as she started to struggle. "This is humiliating! And you will let me go right now!" Ignoring her protests, Mother Goose sat the bunny down in a chair, which the Nanny swiftly brought a little table in, attaching it to the chair and locking Jessie's arms to her sides. "I heard your tummy rumbling, cutie pie. Let's get you some num-nums!" Jessica tried to summon her powers, but her humiliation kept throwing her off and preventing her from concentrating. She didn't notice the pink bib gently tied around her neck. Nanny smiled as the bib settled nicely against her shirt, and went to the cabinets as Mother Goose pulled up a chair in front of Jessie, sitting down so she was eye level with the bunny. "Now, be honest with me, honey," she said in a serious tone, before just as quickly shifting back to that friendly one. "What's your favorite food? Any flavor you like?" "I'll never talk!" Mother Goose tilted her head, glancing over at Nanny, who was returning the look, her hands over two green jars as she waited. She returned her gaze to the fussy rabbit. "Sweetie, it's a simple question. What do you like to eat?" Jessica bit her lip, loathe to tell her enemy anything. Weighing her options, she rolled her eyes and relented on this insignificant detail at least. "Strawberries." Nanny nodded, putting the green jars back and instead grabbing a soft red jar, closing the cabinet. Mother Goose smiled, and softly pat Thunder Bunny on the head. "There we go, was that so hard?" "Yes..." Jessica said, petulantly. The goose just giggled in response, as Nanny prepared the food, pouring it into a bowl. "Let's just get you a full tummy, okay sweetie?" "Let's just have you two surrender peacefully, and I will go easy on you!" Mother Goose once again ignored her comment, as a small bowl was placed on the high chair table. Mother Goose gave her assistant a smile as she took a spoon from the mouse. "Thank you, miss Nanny." The evil assistant simply nodded and curtsied as the motherly villain returned her attention to the hero, who was looking at her food. "No way am I eating that," Jessica said defiantly. "But it's strawberries, honey." She put the spoon into the mush, scooping it up and holding it up. "Nanny got this just for you." Jessica clamped her mouth shut, blushing at this infantile treatment. The spoonful of strawberry mush slowly began to approach her mouth, as Mother Goose said. "Open up, sweetie. The choo choo train needs to get through the tunnel!" Jessica turned her head away, determined not to give in... yet, when the spoon, smearing some of the mush on her cheek, touched her lip, her mouth opened up and accepted it. Her body quickly swallowed, much to her surprise. It was strawberry and tasty, but felt gross. Yet, she couldn't stop herself. "That's a good girl," the avian praised, as Nanny started making something behind her. The goose scooped up another spoonful of the mush, and playfully made more train noises as she once more approached the hungry bunny's mouth. Once again Jessica tried to resist, smearing some more on her face... and still accepted and swallowed the baby food. She was blushing as she started to accept spoonful after spoonful. This interaction continued for some time, Nanny watching with a bemused expression as she poured a warm substance into a bottle, and attaching a rubber nipple to the glass. Finally, after what seemed like forever to the bunny, the last scoop was made, and for what was hopefully the last time, it approached her mouth. Feeling oddly full, Jessica didn't try to resist, and obediently accepted the spoonful of mush, her body still automatically swallowing it. Mother Goose was practically beaming as Jessie swallowed the last of her baby food. "There's my sweet baby girl!" Setting the spoon and bowl on the actual table, she undid the latches, put the highchair table down and picked her up. "But you did get awfully messy... oh well, we can fix that soon. For now, I think you wanna wash down your yummy food with a nice drink, right?" she asked, taking the bottle from Nanny, who gave the bunny a smile and a wink. Feeling lethargic, Jessica turned her head away as the rubber nipple of the bottle approached. Once again, when it touched her lips, her mouth opened and accepted it. Her body latched down and started nursing it, while also relaxing, despite her trying to fight it. Both of her hands grabbed the bottle, but simply to hold it securely, not throw it away. Mother Goose beamed, cradling the bunny as she suckled on the bottle, gently grabbing the back of her head and rocking her back and forth. "That's it, sweetie..." she said in the gentlest voice possible. "Drink your baba. You love your baba." Jessica gulped down the liquid inside. It was creamy and sweet and, as much as she hated to admit it, it tasted pretty good. Soon, she suckled down the last drop, and felt herself being shifted in Mother Goose's arms. She was looking over the large goose's shoulder, noticing a folded hand towel over said shoulder. She felt a pressure in her stomach and lower stomach and groaned a little. Then came the gentle back pats. After a few pats, Jessica unleashed a massive burp, spitting up a few drops of the milk. Despite the humiliation of being burped like a baby, she was at least glad that the pressure was gone, completely unaware that she had simultaneously burped and filled her diaper. Both of the villains gave a knowing smile. Mother Goose gave the bunny a gentle back rub, from between her shoulders all the way down to just above her tail. "There we go, honey-bunny. Don't you feel better now that you had your num-nums?" "When I get free, I'm gunna take you both down," Jessica said, trying to sound as dignified as possible. "They're so cute when they commit so dearly to their pretend superhero games," Nanny said with a wink. "You may have dressed me like a baby, and be treating me like one, but I am still Thunder Bunny, and I will bring you both to just--OMPH!" Jessica started with her heroic speech, only to be silenced by the rubber nipple of a binky. Just like with the bottle, her body was working against her will, and sucking on it as well as physically relaxing. The Nanny made a faux expression of realization. "Oh, that's right! You're Thunder Bunny!" Her face eased into a more smug look as she pointed at their captor's rear. "That would explain why you've made such a big boom boom, after all!" "Huh?" Jessica said around her binky, only now becoming aware of the smell. She teared up in frustration, before noticing that she was being carried somewhere. She saw the bathtub... and started to piece together what was about to happen. She couldn't fight back or voice her displeasure, however, due to the relaxing binky in her mouth that she greedily sucked on. "There, there, sweetie pie..." Mother Goose's comforting voice returned, continuing to rub her back as the maid went to start the tub. "Mama will get you out of that stinky diapee, then we'll get you nice and squeaky clean," She said, approaching a countertop in the surprisingly large bathroom. "Mmmmrrrr, nomama," Jessica managed to mumble out around her binky as she was laid down on the countertop, the mushiness in her diaper making her whine. Soon, her shirt was removed, leaving her in just her full diaper. "Hush now, baby, let Mommy and Nanny get you all squeaky clean." Mother Goose then hummed as she undressed Jessie, who only managed to weakly struggle, while Nanny began filling the tub with soapy water. Jessica couldn't believe it, here she was, having her messy diaper opened and her bottom wiped, about to be given a bath like a baby. It went quicker than she was expecting, but it was still humiliating. Being set in the water, scrubbed all over with shampoo for little kits, praised for being such a good girl. "Yow can't dow dis! Imma awwest yow!" she said around her binky as she was thoroughly scrubbed. Both of the villains giggled as they continued to scrub away at her. "For what? Making you act your age? For doing what a mommy should do?" Asked the goose. Jessica then found herself being rinsed off as the tub was drained. "I'm notta baby!" "Hush sweetie, just let Mommy and Nanny work." Jessica tried to speak, but instead squeaked as she was wrapped up in big fluffy towels, being rubbed down all over. She was then scooped into Mother Goose's arms, cradled in the towel. "I think another nap is in order," she said, looking to Nanny who simply nodded. "I think you're right, Ma'am. Maybe some more time listening to her special lullabies will do Thunder Butt some good," Nanny giggled, reaching over to pat Jessie on her toweled bottom, making her growl. Jessica's fur floofed out and was as soft as a little kit's, probably from the shampoo. She was then laid down on the changing table in the bathroom, despite her struggling. The nanny held down her arms, while Mother Goose took out a diaper looking identical to the messy one Thunder Bunny was taken out of earlier. Unfolding it, she lifted up her legs as she said, "Now, let's get you padded up again before you have another accident." "I'm gunna make yow pay fow dis!" Jessie insisted, trying to struggle. The bird looked her in the eye as she slid the padding under her rear, and lowered her legs down on it. "Sweetie. There’s plenty of time for you to play hero in a bit. Let mommy dress you up." "I'm nowt pwawin'!" Jessica tried to struggle and managed to spit out the pacifier.The nanny deftly caught the pacifier, but oddly enough, refrained from giving it back to her. Mother Goose simply gave a sly grin as she pulled the diaper up between Jessica's legs. "Sure you aren't, honey." Jessica struggled some more, sneezing from the scent of the baby powder. She then found herself being lifted up, her arms and legs pinned, in a cradled position in the Nanny's arms, as she was carried back into the nursery. Giving the bunny a smile, the mouse lightly tickled her tummy as she said, "Let's get you dressed, and then you can go right back to dreamland." "You monsters better enjoy this minor victory while it lasts, because too soon, you'll be sitting behind bars!" They both ignored her words, as the Nanny gave her back to Mother Goose. The bird sat down on a chair, placing the hero on her lap, wings on her hips keeping her in place, as Nanny held up the shirt she was wearing before her bath. "Okay, Thunder Bunny. Arms up, please." "I can dress myself!" Jessica insisted, before suddenly giggling and lifting her arms in response to having her sides tickled. Holding out the shirt, she lowered it over the giggling bunny's head, her ears poking out of the small top hole before her head finally fit through. Keeping her still, the mouse guided her arms through their respective holes, before the tickling finally stopped. Now taking out the bonnet, the maid asked as she began to tie it around Jessica's head. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?" "Knock it off!" Jessica said as Mother Goose ceased the tickling, immediately trying to take the bonnet off. The mouse reached forward, picking her back up off the motherly bird's lap as she asked. "Do we need to give you mittens, hmm?" Jessica growled and continued to struggle. Giving her a look, the mouse said. "Right, missy. You asked for these." Passing her back to Mother Goose again, the mouse reached into her bag, and pulled out two bright pink, fuzzy mitten-like gloves, each with a little strap at the wrists. Just as Jessica realized what was about to happen, the goose gently, but firmly, grabbed her wrists, and held them out for the Nanny. Jessica whined and tried to break free, but the goose was too strong, and soon, the mittens were slipped over her paws, and locked into place. "There. Now, Ma'am, I say that we put the fussy little princess down for another nap, at least until she calms down." Mother Goose nodded, looking a little sad. "You're right." Mother Goose, cradling the fussing Jessie, hugged her close as she stood and walked over to the crib. She planted a gentle kiss on Jessica's forehead, which like her binky, had an immediate calming effect. Jessie, now limp, was laid down and tucked in, the mobile above starting to slowly spin. "See you in an hour, princess," Mother Goose said, looking down over the rails with Nanny. The mouse reached in and popped Jessie's binky back into her mouth. Jessie didn't resist, instead just suckling. Jessica sniffled and wiped her teary eyes, hating the idea of being put down in her crib for a nap, she listened intently to them exiting the room and shutting the door behind them. Once she got herself back under control, she checked to make sure that she was truly alone. Now that she wasn't thrown off her guard, she could focus. Internally, she felt her powers, and smirked, still sucking her binky. She let her power build in between her padded paws. Pointing up at the ceiling, she let loose a massive sonic boom ball that ripped her mittens to shreds, and smashed the entire ceiling and roof outwards, revealing the afternoon sky. Without waiting, and hearing an alarm bell start blaring, Jessica focused, and leapt, each leap a sonic boom, until she was outside, in the air, and booming away. Mother Goose entered the now roofless nursery of the old abandoned warehouse and smiled while looking up. "Phase one complete. And now on to phase two." She chuckled as she exited out of the nursery, pressing a button by the door. A side of the pink wall opened revealing a giant digital clock, counting down. Mother Goose calmly walked out of the building and climbed into a black limo that had been idling out on the street. Once the door was shut, the limo started driving off, just before the building exploded in a fiery ball. Inside the limo, Mother Goose removed her domino mask and smiled into her hand mirror, beginning to apply some blue eyeshadow. "I just cannot wait to have my cute little bundle of booming fluff come home with me. She's going to have so much fun in her real nursery," she said with a chuckle that slowly morphed into a classic villainous laugh. WOOO! And that was chapter 1! I really hope that you folks enjoyed it, and tune in next time to see what next shall befall our courageous and adorable heroine!

Hello everyone! I’m Kenneth, a Certified Hypnotherapist, and I help run A Little Hypnosis LLC alongside my husband. my Daddy, and I’m his baby boy. Together, we specialize in ABDL and general kink hypnotherapy, offering everything from emotional regulation to little space support, incontinence hypnosis, and beyond. We’re both proud members of this amazing community, and we love what we do—helping people feel, be, and become their best. So I wanted to offer up this opportunity for you all to ask some of the questions many of you have rolling around in the backs of your minds. Whether hypnosis focused or maybe even some personal questions, is completely up to you.

Welcome to Mommy Anna's Diapered Storybook! Some of you may know me from my website, diaperhypnosis.com I've decided to publish full-length diaper and regression stories, for free, as a special way of giving back to our community. I'm also recording most of these stories and posting them (full-length) on my YouTube channel, so you can hear me read them there. Mommy Emma from diaperhypnosis.com will also be recording some of these stories for YouTube. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these stories and keep being the wonderful you that you are! This is a new MDLB story, with hypnosis at the core. I haven't finished the story yet, so I'm not altogether sure which direction I will take it. The first two chapters build more slowly, so no diaper content yet (but it will come) and other ABDL elements as well are coming. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER ONE The apartment glowed with warm amber light. A pair of candles flickered in the center of the dining table, their reflections dancing across crystal glasses and polished silverware. Soft music drifted from a speaker in the corner, blending with the aroma of garlic, rosemary, and fresh-baked bread. Matt smiled as he stepped into the dining room. "Wow." His eyes swept across the table before settling on the woman standing beside it. Rachel blushed immediately. Even after nearly two years together, she still wasn't entirely comfortable being the center of attention. "You like it?" she asked. "Like it?" Matt laughed. "This looks like something out of a movie." Rachel lowered her eyes shyly. She looked very different from the quiet accounting clerk he'd met eighteen months earlier. At work, she usually wore cardigans and practical shoes, her brown hair pinned neatly back while she disappeared behind spreadsheets and financial reports. Tonight, however, she had clearly put effort into her appearance. Her dark hair fell freely around her shoulders. Her makeup was subtle but elegant. The dress she wore was far more daring than anything Matt had ever seen her wear before. He tried not to stare. Failed. Completely. Rachel noticed and smiled. A small smile. A private smile. One meant only for him. Matt felt his pulse quicken. Twenty-seven years old today, and somehow he still couldn't believe this remarkable woman had chosen him. The outgoing salesman and the quiet accountant. Nobody at work had expected them to become a couple. Least of all Matt himself. Yet here they were. Sharing a home. Building a life. Planning a future. Dinner passed pleasantly. They talked about work. About coworkers. About a vacation they wanted to take next spring. Matt told a story about a difficult client that had Rachel laughing so hard she nearly spilled her wine. Every now and then he caught her looking at him. Not the casual glance of everyday life. Something more thoughtful. More deliberate. As though she were studying him. Eventually dessert arrived. Chocolate cake. His favorite. "You're spoiling me," Matt said. "Maybe." She folded her hands together. "Actually..." Her expression shifted. A little nervous. A little excited. "I have your present." Matt grinned. "Now we're talking." Rachel stood and disappeared briefly into the bedroom. When she returned, she carried a small gift box wrapped in silver paper. A card rested neatly on top. She set it before him. "There you go." Matt reached for it immediately. Rachel sat back down. Watching. Very carefully watching. The card was simple. White. Elegant. No writing on the front. He opened it. Then blinked. "What?" Rachel said nothing. Matt looked again. The message inside read: **Happy First Birthday.** He frowned. "First birthday?" Rachel remained silent. A tiny smile touched her lips. "I'm twenty-seven." Still no answer. Matt chuckled. "Did they give you the wrong card?" "Open it all the way," Rachel said softly. Curious, he did. A tiny speaker inside activated. A few gentle musical notes began to play. Nothing dramatic. Just a simple melody. Soft. Childlike. Almost familiar. And then— Everything stopped. The music seemed to stretch impossibly long. The room vanished. The candles. The table. The sound of the city outside. Gone. Matt's thoughts disappeared as though someone had flipped a switch. One moment he was sitting at the dining room table. The next— Nothing. No confusion. No panic. No fear. Simply blankness. His eyes remained open. His body remained upright. But every thought had vanished. Across the table, Rachel watched calmly. The music continued for several seconds. Then ended. Silence returned. Matt sat perfectly still. Frozen. Expressionless. Rachel studied him carefully. "Hello, Matt." No response. Not even a blink. A slow smile spread across her face. Months of preparation. Months of planning. Months of waiting. And now— Success. She rose from her chair and walked around the table. "Matt." Nothing. She stopped beside him. "Can you hear me?" His eyes shifted toward her immediately. "Yes." The answer came in a flat, emotionless voice. Rachel's smile widened. "Good." She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. For the first time all evening, the quiet, bookish accountant seemed completely confident. Completely in control. And Matt remained motionless as she leaned down beside his ear. "Your birthday present," she whispered, "is a new beginning." His expression never changed. Yet somewhere behind those vacant eyes, a strange journey had just begun. CHAPTER TWO Rachel reached up and gently closed the card. The last note of the melody faded into silence. Matt remained perfectly still. His gaze followed her when she moved, but there was no trace of the easy confidence that usually animated him. The quick smile. The effortless charm. The constant stream of conversation. All of it was gone. For the moment, at least. Rachel took a slow breath. "I love you, Matt." His expression didn't change. "I really do." She began carefully unwrapping the silver paper from the gift box. "But there are things we've never been able to talk about." The paper crackled softly. "You always found a way to change the subject." She lifted the lid from the box. "When I brought up marriage." Inside sat a brightly colored tablet protected by a thick rubber case. "When I brought up buying a house." She removed it. "When I brought up children." The device looked more appropriate for a preschool classroom than an adult's birthday gift. Large icons. Primary colors. Rounded edges. A protective carrying handle. Rachel set it on the table and powered it on. The screen lit up. Matt watched silently. "I know you never meant to hurt me," she continued. "You'd smile and joke and tell me we had plenty of time." The tablet finished booting. "But after a while, it started feeling like you weren't avoiding the conversation." She swallowed. "It felt like you were avoiding the future." For the first time, a shadow of sadness crossed her face. "I couldn't tell whether you didn't want those things... or whether you just didn't want them with me." Matt remained motionless. Rachel looked at him for several long seconds. Then her expression hardened slightly. "So I made a decision." She propped the tablet upright in its stand. "Months ago." Her voice became calmer. More clinical. "I started working on a project." Matt's eyes stayed fixed on her. "I created a series of recordings." She tapped the screen. "Very carefully designed recordings." A small media player appeared. "They played every night while we slept." Rachel reached into her pocket and removed a pair of wireless earbuds. "I wore these." She held them up briefly. "So the recordings only reached you." Still no reaction. "At first they were simple." She put one earbud into her left ear. "Relaxation." The second followed. "Focus." A faint smile touched her lips. "Trust." She adjusted the fit. "And eventually..." Her eyes met his. "...obedience." Matt stared blankly ahead. Rachel wasn't speaking with triumph. Nor guilt. Only certainty. "As time passed, the recordings became more sophisticated." She sat back down across from him. "They taught you to listen carefully when I spoke." "They taught you to accept suggestions." "They established triggers." Her finger rested on the tablet's play button. "And they prepared you for today." The room seemed unusually quiet. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator could be heard. Rachel leaned forward slightly. "Matt." "Yes." "Look at the tablet." Immediately, his gaze shifted. The screen reflected in his eyes. "Keep your eyes on the screen." "Yes." "Do not look away until I tell you." "Yes." Rachel nodded. The response had come instantly. Automatically. She watched him for a moment. Testing. Evaluating. Then she seemed satisfied. A small breath escaped her. Months of work. Months of uncertainty. And now she was finally here. She folded her hands together. "Good." The tablet displayed a colorful title screen waiting to begin. Animated shapes drifted lazily across the display. Simple. Bright. Childlike. Rachel looked at Matt one last time. His attention never wavered from the screen. "It is time," she said quietly, "for your new beginning." Then she pressed play. The screen flashed. Music began. And Matt's eyes remained locked on the glowing display as the first images appeared.

My friend Brasser3 and I worked really hard to get this story finished and out after 2 years and I can say its complete. I hope everyone enjoys the ending as much as we do. Thank you so much for all the wonderful support! ENJOY! Chapter 1: The blissful silence of Katherine’s darkened bedroom was violently disturbed by her alarm clock. A set of blurry eyes emerged from underneath a cocoon of blankets to stare at it, wishing terrible things to happen to the horrible little device. A pajama sleeved arm reached out and swatted wildly, somehow managing to simultaneously hit snooze and knock the alarm clock off the cheap IKEA nightstand. She knew it would go off again, but she didn't care. She curled up deeper into her pile of blankets that were too big on her twin mattress. All that mattered was sleep. She didn't even really need to get up, being unemployed and all, but sticking to a routine and setting an alarm was the leftover decision from adult Katherine. This was sleepy Katherine, and she had a very different philosophical opinion than adult Katherine. It wasn't necessarily the correct opinion, but it was certainly louder, and usually won the arguments. In the previous weeks, she had gone from a graduate student, to a doctor, to a full-time interviewer, to an unemployed couch-dweller. Her residency had been great internship experience but hadn't mattered when it came to actually getting a full-time job. It had been one month since graduation, and adulthood had hit her a lot harder than she expected. Her student debt was nearly 400,000 dollars, an unfathomable amount that was already expecting her first payment. It turned out that people don't have a lot of sympathy for you when you have Dr. in front of your name. Everyone just assumes that doctors are loaded, but the truth is that most of them are in debt up to their eyeballs. Her savings were quickly disappearing with budgeting of her crappy car, crappy apartment, and crappy meals. She was almost asleep when her phone started vibrating. "Nnooooooo." She moaned into the covers as a hand reached for her phone. She read the caller ID and saw that it was her friend Amy. She groaned and accepted the call. Amy Bradford was incredibly perky and had an annoying habit of calling for everything instead of texting like the rest of the population. They had been friends since the first grade, so she could make an exception for her, but she didn’t have to be happy about it. "What?" Katherine groaned into her phone. "Are you still asleep?!" Amy’s shrill voice came through the phone’s speaker. Katherine winced at the sound and quickly dropped her phone’s volume to nearly silent. "I was... what do you want?" "Did you hear anything back?!" Amy asked excitedly. Katherine sighed at the question. She was so tired of people asking about her job status. "Yes Amy. I got multiple job offers and didn't call you yet because I'm trying to milk them for all the money they will give a fresh graduate with no experience." "There's no need for that tone Dr. Grouchypants." Amy scolded. "I'm just checking on you. I know you'll hear something back soon. Wasn't the OCH interview like a week ago?" Among the twenty-something interviews she had been through in the past month, the most sought after just so happened to be in her own hometown: Ohio Children’s Hospital. OCH was the most renown children’s hospital in the country, the absolute perfect place to work. Amy had been a nurse at OCH for a few years now, so she was a bit biased where she wanted her friend to work. Katherine had been to every hospital in a hundred-mile radius that was hiring and decided that if no one called her back, she would just have to find something else to do. It had been a week since the last interview, and after not even receiving so much as a rejection letter from anywhere else, Katherine was beginning to embrace unemployment. “Yup. Still nothing.” She could hear Amy sighing on the other end of the line. “I’m sure they’re just doing a background check or something.” “Yeah, that’s probably it.” Katherine’s voice didn’t sound very convincing to her. “It will happen soon, and we’ll go out to celebrate!” Katherine rolled her eyes. Partying was Amy’s favorite pastime, not hers. She didn’t mind going out, but she didn’t have nearly the tolerance for alcohol that Amy did, Amy was over six feet tall and could out-drink any man, but Katherine was just barely over four feet tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds. Amy’s natural confidence was a sharp contrast to Katherine’s short demeanor and Amy had developed a unique relationship of protecting her friend. If Katherine tried to walk into most bars, the bouncer would usually laugh at the child trying to pass herself off as an adult, not even bothering to check her real ID that proved she was actually 27. With Amy around, she had someone to stand up for her… even if Amy sometimes made fun of her height too. Amy sensed her apprehension on the phone. “Don’t worry, you can pick the bar and we’ll go wherever you want. I won’t even make fun of you for getting those fruity drinks you like. First one’s on me!” Katherine sighed audibly. At the thought of a drink, Katherine felt a pain in her abdomen. She had been in bed for over ten hours and desperately needed to use the bathroom. “Thanks Amy. I’ll-” Her phone started vibrating in her hand. She squinted as her screen lit up at full brightness and nearly blinded her. It was the local area code. Could it be the hospital?! She thought excitedly. “Amy, I’m getting another call, I’ll call you back.” She slid the green phone icon across her screen, ending the call without waiting for a reply. She bolted upright in her bed, flinging her blankets off. “Hello?” She said, trying to hide her excitement. “Is this Katherine?” A deep woman’s voice came through her phone. She realized how high pitched her first answer was and tried to lower her own voice to sound more like an adult. Just before she spoke, she looked down and realized that she was still wearing her pajamas; pink footed pajamas designed to look like a bunny, complete with a hood, floppy ears, and a little puffball tail on her bottom flap. She was speaking to a professional, probably wearing a power suit, and she was in bed dressed like a child. This realization didn’t add to her confidence. “Yes, this is Katherine…” She said weakly. “Hello Katherine. My name is Jennifer and I work in Human Resources for the Ohio Children’s Center, and I’m calling to congratulate you and let you know that you have been selected to…” Katherine could hear her heartbeat in her ears. The HR representative methodically read through the form dictating her salary, benefits, and legal agreements of the job. Katherine tried to follow, periodically saying, “uh huh” or “okay” while the representative continued to read without pausing. She was barely processing what she was hearing. “-and we will be emailing all of this to the email address that you gave for confirmation and digital signing of the agreement. Please submit the confirmation and you will begin next Monday pending your acceptance.” The rep finished. Katherine waited to see if she was finished. After a long pause, she said, “Okay, thank you very much.” “Thank you, have a nice day!” The phone beeped as the call ended. Katherine let out a squeal and started bouncing on her bed. Her arms flailed, and she couldn’t contain her movements. As she bounced, a sharp pain in her belly stung and she felt her bladder starting to release itself. She clamped her legs together shoved her hands against her crotch. She crawled out of the bed and shuffled towards the bathroom. She loved wearing her cozy footie pajamas, but the only kind she could find in her size were technically designed for children, as was the case with a lot of her clothes. The only real inconvenience with them was that her pajamas made it difficult to go to the bathroom, especially if she was in a hurry. She clenched her kegel muscles and felt a torrent threatening to burst out of her. Due to Katherine’s size, she had always had issues with having a small bladder, so occasional accidents weren’t the most uncommon thing to her. She shuffled into the bathroom, threw her phone on the counter, and released the snaps on her bottom flap. She pulled it down between her legs and sat down on the toilet, relaxing her muscles and feeling the pressure disappear as she relieved herself. She sighed with relief, but something didn’t feel right. She didn’t hear the typical sound of the water splashing, then noticed a warmth spreading between her legs. “Oh shit!” She cried out. In her haste, she had forgotten to pull her underwear down. She had been expecting her period to start any day now and had gone to sleep with a pad in her underwear. She hated how the thick pads felt, but she was so small that even the smallest sized tampon was terribly uncomfortable for her to wear. When she relieved herself, the pad had absorbed the first few seconds of the stream without her noticing, but now it had expanded to an overfull sponge that was leaking through her underwear. She tugged the back of her waistband down, bunching the overfull pad up and holding it out of the way. The pad leaked out into her hands and dripped down the legs of her pajamas. She held still as she finished peeing, wincing at the sensation. “Oh gross…”, she said as she let her heavy underwear droop. She wiped herself as best she could, then waddled over to the sink, trying to keep her dangling wet underwear from making any more contact with her skin. She stood on the stool she kept in front of the sink to wash her hands and thought about how she was going to clean up when her phone started ringing. Amy’s name appeared on the screen. She let out a sigh and answered the phone. “Hel-“ “Was it them?! Did you get the job?!” Amy interjected. Katherine smiled at her excitement. “Yes! They ju-” Katherine had to pull the phone away from her ear as her friend screamed into her phone. “I knew it! I just took my lunch break and I’m in my car. I’m right next to your street, I’ll be there in like 10 seconds!” Panic washed over Katherine. “Amy-“ The phone beeped that the call had ended. Katherine froze for a few seconds, her mind racing over the limited options she had. Katherine ripped the zipper on her onesie down and shimmied out of it as fast as she could. She let her soaked underwear slide down her legs and hit the floor with an audible thud. She left the bathroom and ran naked to her room to find for something to wear. Dirty clothes littered the floor, but anything would be better than her current state. She found a pair or wadded up sweatpants and quickly tried to put them on. She flipped the inside-out legs through and nearly put them on backwards before noticing the orientation. She was about to throw on a random shirt before remembering an important detail: even though Amy was her best friend, she hadn’t seen her without a padded bra on before. Katherine technically had to wear a training bra to properly fit her almost non-existent breasts and the padding was absolutely necessary. Amy would definitely notice if what little breasts Katherine used to have were suddenly gone. She ran to her sock drawer and pulled out one of the many wadded up training bras she kept hidden. She unsnapped a pale pink bra and threw it on in record time. She looked around the floor and eyed a wadded-up hoodie when several loud pounds came from her apartment door. Katherine jumped from the surprise and quickly donned the hoodie. She hurried to the door and turned the old and tarnished door knob. The door swung open and two long arms rushed through the doorway to grab Katherine in a bear hug. Amy squealed as she swayed back and forth, sweeping Katherine off her feet and squeezing her against her blue scrubs. “Con-grat-u-la-tions!” Amy said, enunciation each syllable with her movements. Katherine let out the remaining air in her lungs in a weak wheeze, “Thank… you….” Amy released her grip and shut the door behind her. “Okay, tell me everything! Did you get the position you wanted? Which department are you in? Are you in my wing? When do you start?” Katherine couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “I don’t know, I kind of went on autopilot during the call. They said they’d email me all the info.” She said, still catching her breath. “Oh, they probably sent it already. Let’s’ go check it!” Amy started walking towards Katherine’s room where she kept her computer. Katherine froze as a panic washed over her. She started running after her, unsure of what to say. “Um…” She said, buying for time. “My computer isn’t really working right now.” Amy paused and turned back to her. “Okay, can’t you load it on your phone? I have to know if you’re working in my wing.” Katherine stalled to think of an excuse. “Well… I don’t know where I put my phone.” Amy gave her a confused look. “I just called you like a minute ago… Why don’t you want to see the email? Are… Are you not accepting the job?” She said, sounding horrified. “No, of course I am.” Katherine said hastily. “It’s just… this is all a lot to take in. I just haven’t processed it all yet.” Amy let out a relieved sigh. “You had me worried there for a minute. Don’t freak out about it, I went through the same thing. I can help you understand the legal or professional jargon if you need any help.” Katherine sighed, relieved at the change in conversation. “That would be awesome, thank you so much.” Amy gave her a reassuring smile. “No problem. So, let’s see the forms. Where’s your phone?” Katherine’s short-lived relief was gone again. She tried to think quickly. “I, um… it’s probably in my room?” “I’ll help you look for it.” Amy turned and started walking to the bedroom. Katherine hurried to keep up with her. Amy stepped through the doorway and into the mess of clothes all over the floor. “Did a tornado come through here?” Amy looked around with a judgmental eye. “How long have you lived here?” Katherine hurried around, gathering up clothes. “Only a month, I’m just a bit behind on laundry.” She bundled up the most embarrassing items underneath her arm and chucked them on top of the pile that encompassed her hamper. “Just make sure you don’t throw your phone in the hamper by accident.” Amy said, beginning her own search. The room was nearly clean when Amy started walking out of the bedroom and said, “Hey, I’m going to use your bathroom really quick. I’ll see if your phone is in there too.” The bathroom was just outside the bedroom door, and just as Katherine understood what was happening, Amy was turning the doorknob. “No wait!” Katherine said, rushing out of the room. She stepped outside to see Amy staring down at the wet underwear and pajamas on the floor. She froze, unable to speak. There wasn’t going to be an easy way out of this. “Um, Katie… are you incontinent?” She tried to think of something to say, but Amy continued. “Why do you need pantyliners?” Katherine finally found her voice. “It’s not a liner, it’s a pad. I just… had a little accident.” “Oh…” Amy said, looking back down. “I’m not judging or anything, I just didn’t know you had a problem.” “I don’t!” Katherine said indignantly. “I had been laying in bed for a while and I just got excited when they called about the job. This doesn’t really happen, I swear!” “Okay, okay.” Amy said, gesturing surrender. “I believe you. Stuff happens. So, if this doesn’t happen that often, why don’t you wear tampons?” Katherine blushed. “I… they don’t really fit me.” “Really?” Amy said, looking confused. “I mean, whatever works for you, I guess. Do you wear them all the time?” “No!” Katherine said, feeling more and more like she was losing control of the conversation. She felt the beginnings of tears starting to form. “I was expecting my period! It was just an accident! I had just woken up, the phone call threw me off-” Amy leaned down and cut her off with an unexpected hug. “Kat, you don’t need to explain. I can see this is upsetting you. It’s okay.” Katherine instinctively returned the hug. Her face flushed warm with embarrassed at her outburst. Amy let go of her and stood back up. “I do have to say; however, the bunny pajamas are kind of adorable.” The blush spread, and Katherine’s face felt like it was on fire. Amy laughed and said, “Don’t be embarrassed little bunny.” She looked over towards the sink. “I think that’s your phone on the counter.” She reached over and handed it to Katherine. She took it quickly, grateful for the distraction. She opened her email app and sure enough, the hospital had already sent her email. She turned the screen towards Amy. A bright smile appeared on her face and she snatched the phone back. She swiped frantically, mumbling words to herself as she read. Her eyes lit up as she came across the piece of info she was looking for. “You’re in my wing!” She swept Katherine off the ground again in another bear hug, the gentleness of the previous hug nowhere to be found. Katherine felt a pang of concern at just how easily Amy was able to pick her up; she didn’t even seem to be winded. “This is going to be great! You’ll love it there. I’ll be able to show you everything, we can take lunches together, oh it will be so much better having you there.” Katherine’s arms were still pinned to her sides and she flailed her hands, signaling her feeble attempt to tap out of the hug. Amy set her back down, then got a concerned look as if she just remembered something. She glanced down at her watch. “Crap, I’ve got to grab something for lunch and get back. I’ll use the bathroom at work.” She started heading for the door, Katherine rushing to keep up with her. “I’m off tonight, and we are going out to celebrate! You pick the bar.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket as they reached the front door. “I’m so happy for you, Katie. This is going to be great. I’ll text you later!” Katherine smiled at her as Amy walked out the door. She waved her off, shut the door, and turned the deadbolt with a satisfying click. She let out a deep sigh now that her predicament was over. She felt her muscles go weak and she slid to the floor. “I need to go find some underwear.” The evening out was better than Katherine had expected. Just as promised, Amy didn’t mock her choice of bar, light alcoholic beverages, and only tried twice to get her to dance. The following day allowed a nice recovery from the hangover. The weekend flew by as Katherine prepared for her first day. She laid out her outfit, complete with her very own pink stethoscope. She woke up early, showered, and ate a complete breakfast of pop-tarts and a glass of milk. Katherine arrived early at the hospital in full garb and wandered around until she found the door number listed in her orientation email. She walked in to see a few other employees also going through their orientation, except that all of them were wearing casual clothing. Must be custodians or IT people. Katherine thought to herself. They all turned out to be doctors, none of them wearing a white coat. Katherine felt judgmental eyes looking her over like she was a child playing dress up. The time was spent signing forms, taking a photo for her ID badge, and having the highlights of the employee handbook read to her by HR. They gave the group a tour of the facility and showed them where their stations would be. The orientation only lasted until the mid-afternoon, her real first day beginning tomorrow at 9. They would each be assigned to their groups and go through introductions the next day. Katherine walked out of the room and started for her car, still feeling embarrassed by her outfit. She took off her coat and wadded it up and stuffed it in her bag. She realized that Amy was on her current shift in the wing and wondered if she would run into her. She took a detour and started walking down the halls looking for her friend. She turned a corner and ran into a tall, thin woman. Almost everyone was tall in comparison to Katherine, but this woman had to be at least six feet tall, almost as tall as Amy. She wore nurses’ scrubs and her pale blond hair was wrapped up in a tight bun. The woman looked down at her over her glasses sternly. “You’re not supposed to be in this area. Are you lost?” Her gaze unnerved Katherine and she stammered for a moment. “Um… Sorry, I was just looking for my friend.” The woman continued to stare at her. “Where are your parents? I can show you to the information desk and they can help you find them.” She started to reach for Katherine’s hand. “No,” Katherine insisted “I’m not a child, I’m a doctor. I’m looking for my friend Amy. Amy Bradford. She works here!” She felt like she was losing control of the situation. The woman eyed her skeptically. “You work here?” She said, her tone thick with skepticism. “Can I see your employee ID?” As she said this, she reached for a walkie-talkie connected to her belt. Katherine started to panic. “I… I just started. I don’t have it yet.” The woman continued to stare at her, eyeing her up and down. She raised the radio to her mouth and was about to speak when a voice called down from the hallway. “Katherine!” Amy called, pacing towards them. Instant relief washed over Katherine. She finally had someone who could vouch for her. The woman lowered the radio and turned to look at Amy. “Miss Bradford, do you know this girl?” Amy continued towards them, speaking quickly as she walked. “Sorry Miss Anderson, that’s my friend, Doctor Katherine Baker. She just went through orientation. I was a little late coming to meet her.” She finally caught up to them, a sense of urgency on her face that made Katherine even more unsettled. The woman looked back down at Katherine, looking almost annoyed. “In the future, please do not go anywhere without your hospital identification card.” She snapped the radio back in its' holster. “As for you Miss Bradford,” She said, her gaze shifting back to Amy. “unless I’m mistaken, you’re still on the clock and this is not your appointed break period.” Amy looked appropriately chastised. “I’m sorry Miss Anderson, I’ll work through my next break and mark it on my schedule.” “See that you do.” She said, turning to leave. Her head arched back over her shoulder, barely addressing Amy. “Oh, and please show your friend to the nearest exit. Even if she is a doctor, she is not yet authorized to be in this area.” She strutted off, leaving the two of them alone. Amy let out a sigh. “That’s Kelly. She’s a bit… formal.” Katherine looked at her diminishing figure as she continued to strut down the hall with such perfect posture that Katherine could couldn’t believe there wasn’t something propping her up. “What’s up her butt?” She said, condescendingly. From far down the hall, Kelly stopped abruptly, the echo from the rhythm of her heels on the polished floors fading to silence. Katherine’s heart dropped as she wondered if she could have heard her from that far away. Amy’s eyes went wide as they both stared down the hallway. Kelly didn’t turn around. She didn’t even move. She just stood frozen for a few moments, then resumed walking. Katherine looked to Amy with wide eyes, and they share an unspoken agreement that it was time to go. Amy pointed towards down a different hallway and they both took off, out of the Kelly’s line of sight. After they were sure they were far away from Kelly, Amy started talking again. “Kelly is the nurse supervisor. She coordinates most of the scheduling around here and has been here longer than most doctors. Not much of a joker that one…” They made it to the lobby and Katherine could see her car through the large glass windows. “So, do you think I’ll run in to her again?” Amy paused for a few seconds. “Well… you could say that. She works in our wing. She’s my boss… and she will oversee your scheduling too.” “Oh…” Katherine said weakly. “So… not a great first impression?” Amy gave her a reassuring smile. “It was just a random fluke. Tomorrow is your first formal day. I’m sure things will go better then.” Katherine nodded and returned the smile. “I’ve got to get back to work. See you tomorrow.” Amy turned and walked back to her station. Katherine sighed and turned to head to the parking lot. Tomorrow would be a new day, and this time she would make a better impression. Chapter 2: Katherine woke up to her alarm blaring. What would have normally enraged her was now a challenge. She slammed the OFF button and threw off her bed covers. Katherine was the absolute opposite of a morning person, but today was her first real day of work and she was determined to make a good impression. She went through her morning routine with remarkable efficiency. She brushed her teeth, showered, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and looked over her clothes laid out over the back of a chair. She had picked out her outfit the night before; she even bothered to iron her favorite shirt. After she dressed, she stood in front of the mirror for a long time, looking herself over thoroughly. She had to look professional today, and she was willing to spare a few extra minutes to make sure that she everything looked perfect. She wore simple dark tennis shoes, professional looking white pants, her best push-up bra, and a light-colored pink blouse. Her ensemble nicely complimented her custom-made doctor’s coat, which was finally going to see action today. She applied a thin layer of foundation and some mascara, trying to go as minimal as possible with her makeup. Despite the fact her clothes were all incredibly small, she managed to look like a small adult. She turned from side to side, something about her appearance bothering her. After some long consideration, she walked back to her dresser and rummaged around until she found the bra with the least amount of padding. She returned to the mirror and held it up in front of her chest, comparing the cups of her push-up bra. She felt more confident with the padding, but what if someone was able to notice? She wanted to make a good impression and appear mature, but if Kelly had seen her yesterday and had mistaken her for a child, surely, she would notice that she grew boobs overnight. She sighed and reluctantly took off the push-up bra and replaced it with her thin-cupped training bra. Better than nothing. She thought, looking over her figure in the mirror. Once her outfit was confirmed, she went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Katherine moved her small step-stool around the floor, going from the cupboard that held her favorite flavor of pop-tarts, to the small counter that was the resting place of her faithful toaster. She made breakfast, downed a glass of milk, and grabbed her backpack. She had been a little uncertain about bringing her backpack, but Amy had reassured her that lots of doctors used them, and that they were necessary for the number of things doctors and nurses brought to the hospital. They even had their own lockers at the hospital. It felt like she never left school. Katherine arrived a few minutes before her shift. She was told where she could pick up her ID badge at and wanted to make sure there wasn’t any confusion this time. The glass doors opened for her automatically, and she walked up to the receptionist’s desk. An older woman sat behind the desk, writing on a clipboard. She didn't notice Katherine walked in, and was too preoccupied with her writing to notice her standing there, the top of her head just barely visible over the top of the desk. Katherine stood awkwardly for a few silent moments before working up the confidence to speak. Just act confident. Speak like an adult and they'll treat you like one. She finished her mental pep talk and in a small voice said, “excuse me?” The woman looked straight ahead, a look of confusion forming as she searched for the source of the voice. Katherine saw that she was being literally overlooked and gently cleared her throat. The woman looked down in surprise. “Oh” she said, recoiling. “I'm sorry dear, I didn't see you there.” She looked Katherine over with an appraising eye. “Our offices don't open up for another few minutes. Are… you with someone?” She asked vaguely. Katherine sighed. This is exactly what she had hoped to avoid. “I’m a doctor here. It’s my first day and I’m picking up my ID badge. The woman furrowed her brow, her skepticism plain on her face. She turned and started rummaging through a box on her desk “Alright then, what’s your name?” “Katherine Baker?” Any shred of confidence she had was already gone. The woman rummaged around, every second causing another wave of anxiety. What if she couldn’t find it? Amy wasn’t here to plead her case, and no one except Kelly knew who she was, and she was the last parson she wanted to see right now. “Ah, here we are. Katherine Baker.” Katherine felt herself relax. The woman held up a plastic ID card, dangling from a clip-on lanyard. She steadied the card and re-read the name. She eyed the picture, looking back and forth between Katherine skeptically. She shrugged and handed the card over the desk. “There you are Doctor Baker. From now on you can use the back entrance and parking lot. You’ll need to show it to security to get in. That card will get you through the restricted areas. Just swipe them at the door plate and they’ll turn green and open.” Katherine eyed the card, a wave of relief washing over her. She had proof now of who she was. No more confusion, no more awkward situations. She pinned the lanyard to the front pocket of her white coat and smiled at the receptionist. “Thanks for your help.” The woman smiled back and Katherine headed for the door that lead to the offices. She noticed a scan plate on the wall next to the door. She pulled her ID badge from it’s retractable lanyard and held it in front of the plate. There was an audible beep, but the red light stayed red. She waited a moment, but the door stayed latched. She tried again, holding the card against the plate. Another beep, but no green light. She looked back at the receptionist desk, the receptionist watching her closely. Katherine paused, unsure what to do. “Um.. do I-“ Oh don’t worry Hun.” The receptionist said, getting up from her desk and starting towards her. “Sometimes they don’t give the right access. Just talk to a supervisor and they’ll talk to security and get your card access.” She touched her own card to the plate and it beeped. The plate glowed green and an audible click was heard from the door. She turned the handle and held it open for Katherine. “Thanks.” Katherine murmured, stepping through the door. Perfect. She thought to herself as she started down the long hall of offices. At least I can prove who I am, I just can’t go anywhere. She looked at her watch and saw that she still had a few minutes before the morning schedule briefing. She headed to the lounge to drop off her backpack, until she saw another dreaded black security scanner. Great. They just had to secure every single door. She reluctantly tried her card again. The red light glared at her, refusing to change. Amy stuck her tongue out at it. She just wanted one thing to go right today. “Doctor Baker?” She heard a voice from down the hall. Her tongue shot back into her mouth and she turned to see Kelly staring at her with a confused look on her face. She stood frozen, clipboard in hand. Katherine went wide eyed and felt the panic return. “Um…” She started weakly. “My… My badge. It doesn’t… It’s not working.” Kelly let out a quick sigh of exasperation and quickly walked over to her. With her height and quick stride, it took almost no time at all. “Let me see.” She said, reaching for her badge and tugging it towards the panel. The light turned green and the room clicked open. Kelly turned with an annoyed look towards Katherine and said, “It appears to be working just fine. Have a little more patience when you try to scan in.” Katherine was speechless. “But… it wasn’t working. The receptionist-” “I don’t know what to tell you. It appears to be working fine now.” She said, her tone thick with annoyance. “Anyway, you can go to the lounge later. We have the morning staff meeting in the main hall. I’ll show you where it is.” With that, she took off quickly down the hall. Katherine stood there for a moment, her anger building up inside her. It wasn’t fair! She realized how quickly Kelly was moving and almost had to run to keep up with her. They rounded a corner and the hallway opened to a large common area, currently full of staff members standing around a large interactive monitor that displayed names, rooms, and brackets with everyone’s names. Kelly’s entrance signaled silence in the room, and every head swiveled to look at her, and then they all noticed Katherine. Katherine looked around at the sea of faces all staring at her. “Aww”, she heard someone near the back of the room coo at her. She felt her face turning red and tried to find somewhere else in the room to look at. She spotted Amy almost at the opposite end of the circle, giving her a reassuring, but obviously uncomfortable smile. “Everyone, we’ve got a new staff member.” Kelly began in an authoritative tone. “Doctor Katherine Baker.” She gestured down to her side at Katherine, and if all the eyes in the room weren't on her already, they were now. Katherine heard an audible gasp from the same direction as the woman that “aww”-ed her before. She realized what had happened. They all thought this little girl wearing a doctor’s coat and a backpack came in with Kelly like it was ‘bring your daughter to work day’. Her face grew hotter than she could have imagine was possible. “She's just finished her degree and will be on starter rotation until her patient schedule fills up. Show her the ropes and keep her in line.” The last comment had a bit of venom as she finished speaking. It sounded like a threat. Kelly pulled out a slim tablet from behind her clipboard. The large monitor on the wall began to move as she poked at her tablet. “Schedules look normal today. We've had call-aheads and expect a slightly increase in walk-ins. No extensive surgeries, no one should be expected to be pulled from their stations. She stopped poking and the screen returned to the large hourly calendar with everyone's names in color-coated slots. “Announcement time. Friday is Halloween. The administrators highly encourage costumes. I hope I don't have to remind you that this is a children’s hospital. Keep it clean. You can have your fun after work.” At this, a few glances were exchanged in the crowd. Some people started to whisper before Kelly glared at the disturbance. Silence returned, and she continued. “We also have infant-care review training coming up for new nurses. You know who you are. For the rest of you, it’s optional if your schedules allow it. That's all, let's get to work.” The crowd quickly disbanded, and Kelly quickly made her way towards an office. Katherine looked at the dispersing nurses and doctors, unsure where she should go. Amy saw the look of confusion and walked over to her. Katherine felt her anxiety wane as she saw her approaching. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she worked somewhere without a friend. “Hey…” Amy said, sensing her discomfort. “Everything okay?” Katherine looked up at the monitor. “I guess… I’m just not sure what to do. No one’s really explained anything.” Amy followed her gaze and started reading through the schedule. “Well, it will be a little different for you than it is for me. Typically, doctors get a list of patients specific to them, but you won’t have any assigned to you yet.” She guided her finger along the board to the section labeled ‘Urgent Care’ as she explained. “You’re going to get the walk-ins for urgent care until you get scheduled. You’ll need to keep an eye on your pager as the schedule updates.” “Um… I didn’t get a pager.” Amy looked surprised. “Oh, that’s weird. We can take care of that.” She turned and started walking to the office Kelly had retreated to. The windows was too high for Katherine to see through, but she could read the plaque below the door: Kelly Anderson Head Nurse Scheduling Administration Amy knocked on the door. “Yes?” Kelly asked. “Miss Anderson?” Amy asked, cracking the door open. Kelly looked up from a paper on her desk at Amy, then down at Katherine behind her. “Doctor Baker didn’t receive a pager yet.” Amy overemphasized the ‘doctor’, reminding Kelly of her status. Kelly glared at Katherine, who couldn’t maintain the staring contest with her. “They should have issued you one with your badge. Did you lose it?” Katherine paused, trying to remember if the receptionist had mentioned anything about a badge. “N… No, I don’t think so. I think she forgot.” Kelly huffed. “Well that’s convenient. No one else has claimed that they weren’t given one yet.” She pulled open the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a pager. “I have a backup for emergencies. Give me your number and I’ll key it in.” She stared at Katherine and waited for a response. Katherine hesitated, trying to remember if someone had told her what her number was. Amy noticed the hesitation, and quietly said, “It’s on your badge.” Katherine quickly fumbled with her badge, letting out an embarrassed, “Oh…”. Kelly rolled her eyes at the exchange. Katherine read the number, and Kelly pressed a few buttons on the pager. “There, it’s set up. Don’t lose it.” She added, with a bit of venom. She held it out over the desk, Katherine approached the desk, barely able to see over it, and took the pager. Kelly looked back up at Amy. “I trust that doctor Baker can find her own way from here.” She said, also emphasizing the ‘doctor’. Amy’s face went rigid, and she nodded curtly, turning to leave. Katherine walked quickly behind her, shutting the door with a satisfying click. Amy huffed loudly. “Sorry about that, I’m sure it was just a mix-up at the front desk. Sorry, but I’ve got to run, I’m on schedule.” Katherine nodded, understanding, but still wishing she had her friend’s help. “It’s okay, I can figure it out.” Amy smiled reassuringly, then proceeded quickly down a hall. Katherine looked around at the people moving around. It felt wrong to stand in one place. Her feet started moving, unsure of her destination. She started with some simple laps around the hallways, getting an idea of where she would be working. She stopped off at the break room to ditch her backpack. The room was comfortable looking. It had a decent sized kitchen, several comfortable looking couches, a few vending machines, and a giant TV displaying 24-hour news on mute. She found the lockers built into the wall and went to go drop off her bag. Most of the lockers had names on them, none of them Katherine’s. She found one on the end without a name and figured it was probably meant to be hers anyway. Luckily it was on a lower rack and she could actually reach it. She stowed her bag away and shut the door. She noticed it didn’t have an included lock, and she would have to bring her own for security. She left the room and continued her exploration. She found the examination rooms, waiting rooms, and entrance for the Urgent Care clinic. Just as she found where she would be working, her pager started vibrating violently in her pocket. She let out a small yelp and felt herself flinch, partly because she wasn’t used to the sensation, and partly because it tickled. It continued to vibrate until she fumbled the small device out of her coat pocket. The slim LCD display lit up as letters quickly scrolled past. UCC ROOM 14. Katherine looked up, scanning the hallway signs until she noticed the cluster of numbers that pointer her towards her assigned room. She tucked away the pager and headed down the hall. Katherine counted the numbers as she passed,”12… 13… there you are.” Her relief was tangible; finally feeling competent to do her job… right up until she saw the patient’s chart tucked in its holster… at the top of the door. Katherine’s height barely afforded her the luxury to use water fountains. There was no way she was reaching that thing. She looked all around her, hoping to find someone less vertically challenged. Down the hall, she spotted a nurse walking just out of view. She was the only person she had seen, and she couldn’t miss her. “Nurse!” she called out, louder than she intended. The woman backpedaled, taking a step backwards to see who made the noise. She looked down the hall towards Katherine, a confused expression visible on her face from all the way down the hall. She started towards Katherine, still trying to figure out what was going on. She walked up to Katherine, looming over her. She eyed her up and down, looking at her coat and ID badge. “Can I help you?” The confused look was now permanently fixed on her face. “I’m sorry, I just need some help getting the patient file.” Katherine said, pointing at the folder slot affixed to the wall. The woman’s face finally changed from confusion, to a surprised understanding. “Oh.. that's no problem, doctor.” She said, easily reaching the folder and handing it to Katherine. Being called ‘doctor' was one of the most reassuring feelings Katherine had experienced here. It wasn't just out of pity; this woman gad recognized who she was and had respected her. Katherine took the folder with a massive grin. “Thank you for you help nurse.” The woman smiled and resumed her walking. Katherine opened the folder and began to skim the urgent care patient's notes. Infant, 4 months, showing symptoms of low-grade fever and unusual bowel movements. Mother noticed and they came as soon as she noticed. Seems pretty straightforward… She thought to herself. She knocked gently on the door and turned the handle. As soon as the door cracked, an earsplitting scream assaulted Katherine’s ears. It wasn’t a sound she wasn’t used to from her residency, but it still managed to surprise her. She opened the door to see a mother holding her screaming child, sitting on the chair on the opposite wall. The room was painted in bright colors with a balloon pattern. “Hello, I’m doctor Baker” Katherine said, walking over and reaching out her hand. The woman looked a bit surprised but took Katherine’s hand in a limp handshake. Katherine took some latex gloves from the wall and started putting them on. “Hello, I’m Mary Shelton. This is Jacob.” She said, gesturing towards the crying boy. “So, what seems to be going on with Jacob?” She said, snapping the latex glove in place. The woman looked down at her baby, still trying to soothe him. “He’s been crying a lot the past few days, and this morning he had a small fever.” Katherine looked at the chart and saw that the nurse had taken the baby had a temperature of 98.9. A bit high, but not too bad. She thought to herself. “He’s also been having diarrhea… he actually needs changed, but I didn’t see a place to dispose of it…” Katherine looked around the room and noticed that there wasn’t a diaper pail. “That’s alright. It will give me a good chance to check and I can ask a nurse about disposal.” The woman held out her child and Katherine took him in her arms. He was still fussing but seemed to calm a bit as she took him in her arms. She laid him down on the exam table and undid his diaper. Sure enough, he needed a change and she could see that this wasn’t normal. Mary pulled out her diaper bag and started putting a few supplies on the table for Katherine. “That would happen occasionally, but never for this long. I was starting to get worried…” Katherine used the wipes from the bag and began cleaning Jacob. “Have there been any changes in his schedule lately? Any new foods, different times for a nap?” Mary paused for a second to think. “Well… he’s been pretty thirsty lately. We’ve been giving him more to drink.” Katherine paused and looked at her. “The nurse recorded that you weren’t breastfeeding, what is he drinking?” “Oh, well he really likes apple juice.” Katherine nodded to herself. “Mystery solved.” She said, finishing up her cleaning. Mary looked at her with a confused expression. “What’s wrong with apple juice?” “Infant’s digestion systems aren’t built to handle sugar, which juice is packed full of. In fact, doctors recommend a spoonful of apple juice to help with constipation. Keep him on formula or pureed foods and only water if he seems thirsty between feedings. His digestive system should return to normal within a day or so.” Mary looked surprised. “I didn’t know that, I thought apple juice was a staple for kids. I’m glad to know he’ll be okay.” Katherine turned back to fasten up Jacob’s new diaper when she felt something warm running down her sleeve. Jacob was producing a powerful stream from the table onto Katherine’s lab coat. She tried to get out of the line of fire, and just as she pulled the clean diaper over Jacob, the stream stopped. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Mary said, looking at Katherine’s coat. “It’s alright, it happens…” Katherine said, finishing up her diapering job. It hadn’t actually happened before, but she had to seem professional. She finished up with Jacob, then took off her soiled lab coat and laid it on the chair. “I’m going to go ask a nurse about this,” she said, gesturing to the soiled diaper, “and I can go get your discharge papers.” Katherine grabbed the wadded-up diaper and stepped out into the hall. She looked around, and sure enough, she didn’t see a disposal container anywhere. A large woman in scrubs turned the corner and Katherine tried to flag her down. “Excuse me, nurse? I need some help with this.” She looked down at Katherine, then to the dirty diaper in her hand. “Don’t worry honey, we can take care of that. Do you have another?” Katherine furrowed her brow in confusion. “No, I don’t need another, I’m in room 14 and…” As Katherine turned to point at her exam room, she felt a finger pulling back on her waistband. She turned around in surprise, the nurse had just checked down her pants. Katherine was stunned speechless. “We’ll get you taken care of.” The nurse said as she took a few steps towards a supply closet. She opened the door and took a diaper down from the shelf. She started to unfold it as she approached Katherine. Katherine started to panic. “What? No!... I’m not… I’m a doctor!” The nurse just smiled at her. “Oh, are you playing doctor today?” She reached down to pick up Katherine and she stumbled backwards out of her reach. “Don’t be fussy, wearing a diaper is nothing to be embarrassed about.” Katherine’s temper was starting to flare. She hated it when people wouldn’t listen. “My name is Doctor Katherine Baker. I am a pediatrician. I graduated summa cum laude. Today is my first day, and I just need to know where I can throw away this poopy diaper!” She shook the soiled garment in her hand for emphasis. The nurse looked at her skeptically. “Doctors here have ID badges, so we know who they are, and they know that we keep waste containers in the cabinets. Are you here with your parents?” Katherine had had enough. She turned and walked back to the exam room. The nurse turned and headed towards the information desk. Let her call someone, Katherine thought bitterly. I want her to know how much she messed up. She put on a fake smile as she reentered the room. “That’s my fault. I forgot where the containers were kept.” She said with fake cheerfulness to Mary. Katherine pulled open one of the cabinet doors to find an orange biohazard disposal container. She dropped the sagging diaper through the door and it hit the bottom with a dull squish. Katherine collapsed exhaustedly on her bed. Her backpack was thrown to the other side of the room, along with her wet, wadded up white coat. She only had one other that fit her, and it would have to last a while before she could get this one cleaned. Just as she closed her eyes, her phone vibrated. She lazily held her phone up to see a text from Amy. ‘Sorry I couldn’t meet for lunch. How was the first day?’ Katherine sighed and started typing. ‘I got peed on within 20 minutes. Everything else was boring compared to that.’ She debated on telling her about the incident with nurse, but she just wanted to forget about it. She hit send and let her phone fall to the floor. She was so tired. She worked until 6 and didn’t even want dinner. She hated feeling this stressed out. All she needed was a nap and she could forget this whole day… Chapter 3: Katherine felt herself curling into her soft bed as she faded into unconsciousness. She didn’t care about the time of day, or the fact that she wasn’t wearing comfortable pajamas, she just wanted to sleep. Her darkened room embraced her, and she relaxed for the first time all day. White walls faded out of the darkness. Katherine found herself walking down a hallway. She looked ahead to see her destination, but the tunnel ahead of her seemed to go on forever. She realized that she was lost. It looked like the hospital. She looked down to see her doctor’s coat and ID badge. She felt relieved that she could ask for help. The hallway branched out to other endless hallways. She turned around to see a wall behind her. The building was changing, and she felt completely lost. She looked up at the signs on the walls, hoping for some sense of direction, and saw that the letters were unreadable. The walls seemed to be stretching and the ceilings were growing higher and higher. She looked to her left and noticed a door. She reached for the handle, but the handle began to slide up the door, out of her grasp. “You shouldn’t be here little baby…” She heard a stern voice say from behind. Strong hands slid under her armpits and she was lifted in the air. She kicked and tried to move but was helpless as the hands carried her down the hall. She wanted to protest but couldn’t form the words. She looked down at her badge, but it, and her coat, had vanished. Instead, she wore a pair of pajamas. A door swung open and she was carried into a nursery. Everything seemed so much bigger than normal. The hands set her down on top of a table. She tried to move her arms and legs but had almost no control. It felt as if she was trying to swim through wet clay. She felt the hands pulling at her waistband, checking the state of her. Katherine felt shame wash over her as she was examined. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she didn’t want to be falsely accused. She wanted to explain herself, to tell them it was a mistake, but all she could do was struggle. “Fussy baby… we’ll take care of you.” More hands appeared around her. She looked up to see tall nurses smiling down at her. Hands quickly began taking her clothes. She tried to protest, but the hands kept iron grips on her. She was stripped naked and laid back on the table. It felt soft underneath her and she found it harder to move. Supplies appeared all around her and the hands began to methodically clean her. She felt a warm sensation from her crotch as hands began to delicately care for her. Lotion was rubbed around her most intimate areas. She couldn’t even try to fight it now. She drifted deeper into this strange hypnosis. The voices continued to reassure her as they moved on to the baby powder. “What a precious little girl…” They cooed, adding liberal amounts of powder to her. “She’ll be feeling so much better once we get her into a nice, comfy diaper…” Her legs were raised high in the air. The tiny shred of resistance left in Katherine thought that something was wrong. She didn’t belong here. This was a mistake! She tried to protest, her words coming out as a fussy babble. “Hush little baby, mommy knows what’s best for you!” The voices said. Suddenly, a large pacifier was being pressed into her mouth. It filled it completely, stifling her noises. She did the only thing left she could do and began to suckle on it. Her legs were spread, and a thick diaper was placed underneath her. She heard a soft crinkle as her bottom was lowered onto the material. Soft cotton rubbed against her cheeks and thighs, sending wave after wave of an almost ticklish sensation. The diaper was wrapped up between her legs, a gentle, but unyielding pressure against her crotch. Just as the tapes were fastened and it completely surrounded her, she felt a pressure from her belly. Her pleasant state only felt relief that she was wearing a diaper and had nothing to worry about, but a small, adult part in the back of her mind was faintly yelling that she needed to find a bathroom. The hands picked her up. Nurses held her up and made faces, cooing noises, and passed her around for display. They rocked her back and forth, lulling her deeper into a submissive state. Her humiliation was slowly waning, gradually feeling safer with these women who, even as they gently mocked her, were being almost… motherly towards her. She felt herself enjoying the sensations, her stress melting away. The pressure in her belly faded away. Her eyes closed as the arms embraced her, warmth surrounding her from all sides. She gently rocked and sucked at her pacifier, unable to form a single thought. She felt at complete peace… Katherine jolted awake in her bed. Her head was buried in her pillow and she struggled out of the mess for a breath. The pillow was wet around her, and she found her hand against her face, also soaked. She tried to lift her head from the pillow, but she found herself tangled up in a mess of blankets. She removed her hand but felt something moving in her mouth. Still groggy, she pulled her hand away to see a line of spit dragging from her thumb. She looked confused at it, until she realized that she had been sucking on it. She continued to struggle against the wadded-up sheets. As she moved, she found that they were all wet. She had been so tightly wrapped up that she had sweat through all of them. Everything felt wrong. She pulled the mess of sheets off and saw she was still wearing her clothes from the previous day, also soaked through with sweat. She laid back, letting the air cool her off. The dream slowly came back to her memory, warmth rushing to her cheeks in embarrassment as she remembered how real it felt. That… wasn’t normal. She thought to herself. She squirmed a little and noticed the tug of wet fabric from between her legs. Was it just sweat… or… She looked down at her crotch. Sure enough, it wasn’t simply damp from sweat. The sheets all around her were completely soaked, her pants with a visible dark patch all around her crotch. She groaned in frustration and shifted, trying to move away from the puddle, but quickly froze in place as she noticed an unusual sensation. Her pants felt... tight. There was a pressure against her bottom as if she had left a billiards ball in her underwear. She moved her hand slowly and felt a large bulge in the back of her pants. Her eyes went wide with realization and she considered for a moment if she was still dreaming. She had pooped her pants. She couldn’t move, her hand frozen, cupping the mass in her underwear. She felt like the she couldn’t process anything. Her heart was pounding, her head still groggy from sleep. She didn’t want to make things any worse, so she stopped to think of a plan. She had been laying on her side all night. If she rolled over, she would sit directly on the mess and things would become a lot harder. She scooted towards the edge of her bed, cringing as the mass in her underwear shifted against her. As she laid on the edge of her bed, she looked over to see her faint glow of her alarm clock. It was exactly 3 minutes before she was supposed to wake up. She sighed, realizing that she had slept for almost 12 hours, and now had to deal with this mess while trying to get ready for work. She gingerly slid one leg off of the bed, dangling over her floor. The other legs followed, and she used her arms to slowly slide herself to the very edge, slowly tipping towards the floor as her weight shifted off the mattress. Her feet made contact with the floor. She continued to tip, now flexing the muscles in her legs to stay as still as possible. The strain began to hurt after a few moments, Katherine’s stiff muscles yet to be stretched. She finally shifted all her weight to her feet in an awkward crouch. Katherine unbuttoned her pants and gently tugged them down, being careful to pull the waistband back so it made little contact with her underwear. As they slid down, her underwear began to sag, no longer supported by her pants. She felt the weight pulling against her underwear, the mass now swinging as it threatened to pull her panties down. She kept her wet pants on, pulled down just above her knees, and began to practice an awkward duck waddle towards the door. She could only move her feet a few inches, her socks gliding just over the carpet as she shuffled in squatting position to keep the mess from shifting. Suddenly, a rapid pounding came from the front door. Katherine’s head shot up in horror. was so focused on keeping her balance, she hadn’t been prepared for anything else to happen. Her sudden movement threw off her balance. Katherine’s arms spun wildly, trying to steady herself. She tried to move her feet for better stability, but the pants bunched up around her knees didn’t permit any movement. She began to fall backwards, her hands reaching behind her and grasping wildly at the mattress. Her knees locked and she slid towards the floor, her grip tightening on the mattress cover. Her back made contact with the side of the bed, her descent slowing as she held herself up. Her fall stopped suddenly. Her legs locked out in front of her, balancing on her heels. Her arms spread behind her awkwardly, holding her up by her mattress cover. Her heart was racing now. Her stomach muscles began to cramp from her unexpected exercise routine as she desperately held herself over the floor. She could feel the weight in her underwear, still pulling towards the ground. Her bottom hovered inches above the floor. She started to panic. Her legs slipped against the carpet, unable to provide any leverage. She couldn’t hang like this much longer, the burning in her arms become more and more pronounced. Katherine took a deep breath and strained with all her might to lift herself up. She pulled against the fabric, feeling herself slowly rising against the bed. She rose an inch, pain shooting through her arms, when she heard the sound of shuffling fabric. There was a faint, elastic pop as the wadded-up cover in her hands suddenly let go of the corners of the mattress and quickly dropped towards the floor. Katherine fell quickly to the floor, all her weight landing on her bottom. The soft mess squished against her, spreading out through her underwear. Katherine locked up, her hands still gripping the limp sheets. She couldn’t move. The smell wafted up to her, and she felt tears beginning to form. She couldn’t process what had happened. She slowly rolled over, looking at the floor of there was any mess. The carpet was clean. As she shifted, she felt the mess stick to her, pressed up between her cheeks. She shuddered at the sensation, feeling more disgusted by the second. She got back to her feet and continued towards her bedroom door. More pounding came from the front door. Katherine opened her bedroom door and glared violently through wet eyes at the disturbance. “Just go away…” She grumbled quietly, shuffling towards the bathroom. She was almost halfway half-way to the bathroom when another sound came from the front door. A faint click rang through the hall as the deadbolt slid into the door, free from the doorframe. A fresh wave of panic came over Katherine. She was maybe two seconds from having someone see her. She bolted for the bathroom, moving as fast as her legs could propel her, until her pants tugged at her legs and she fell forward, landing hard on the floor. The door swung open, and Amy’s voice sand through the apartment. “Surprise Katie! I brought breakfast!” She stepped inside, awkwardly nudging the door shut with her shoulder while holding a large brown fast-food bag and a cardboard drink carrier. Katherine tried to move herself forward but couldn’t bend her knees to propel herself. She turned, facing Amy in a desperate attempt to hide the accident. As the front door clicked shut, Amy turned to face the apartment, immediately noticing Katherine on the ground. “Katie!” She yelled in alarm. She ran towards Katherine, leaning down to deposit the breakfast on the floor and was quickly at her side. Katherine looked at her, still panic-stricken, trying to figure out some way to explain herself. Amy’s medical training took over and she started to examine Katherine. “I’m okay, I’m fine!” Katherine blurted out trying to reassure her. “What happened?” Amy said seriously, looking down at Katherine’s wet pants pulled down at her ankles. “I…” Katherine hesitated, trying to think of any possible lie that could explain this. “I… just had a little accident and tripped as I pulled my pants down. That’s all!” She said, trying to add some playfulness to her tone to reassure her. Amy looked Katherine’s eyes, skepticism plain on her face, when Katherine noticed her nostrils flare. Amy’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked again towards Katherine’s pants. Katherine instinctively pulled her shirt down, pathetically covering her underwear. Amy leaned over Katherine, noticing the dark splotch across the pack of her panties. “Oh Katie…” Amy said quietly. Katherine couldn’t hold back her tears any more. She started sobbing, taking deep, gasping breaths. Amy sat on the floor and pulled Katherine’s head up on to her lap. Katherine turned her head down and let out her muffled sobs into Amy’s scrubs. “I… overslept.” Katherine mumbled between sobs. “I… just… I had… an accident.” Amy gently stroked her back, quietly shushing her. “I’m… not sick… It just… happened. Then I fell.” Amy continued to comfort her. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s not a big deal, it was just an accident. I’m your friend Katherine, and I care about you. Okay?” She carefully emphasized her question, and Katherine slowly nodded her head against Amy’s lap, her sobs still audible. Amy leaned towards Katherine’s legs, gently tugging at each pant leg until they slid from her legs. She put her hands under Katherine’s arms and propped her up, Katherine slowly coming to her own two feet. She kept her head down, unable to look at Amy. Her face was hot and red with shame, but her sobs had slowly quieted to an almost silent cry. Amy bent down to her eye level. “I’ll take care of everything else, you go take a shower and clean up, okay?” Katherine nodded and looked up at Amy though a mess of tangled hair. Amy smile at her, then wrapped her arms around her in a soft hug. Katherine returned it, burying her face in Amy’s shoulder. After a long moment, Katherine broke away and walked into the bathroom, trying to resist the urge to waddle as the mess still stuck to her. Amy found herself staring at Katherine’s underwear before she forced herself to turn around. As soon as Katherine shut the door, Amy let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and started to process what had just happened. About 30 minutes later, Katherine emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a robe, and her hair done up in a towel. Amy sat on the couch drinking her coffee, the brown paper bag still unopened sat on the coffee table. Amy looked at her friend and smiled at her visible mood improvement. “Hey, come sit down. I got you breakfast.” She patted the seat next to her. Katherine smiled and hopped up on the couch. Amy opened the bag and divided the breakfast biscuits and hash browns between them. As they started eating, Amy tentatively began speaking. “Feeling better?” Katherine nodded and swallowed a bite of her sandwich. She knew there was going to be a conversation, and she spent some time in the shower preparing what she would say. “Yeah, thanks for helping me out.” Amy smiled. “It’s no problem. I’m sorry used your spare key to get in, but I was worried that you had overslept. You weren’t answering my calls.” Katherine looked back towards her bedroom. “Yeah, I fell asleep in my clothes last night and never plugged in my phone. I should probably plug it in.” She started to get up, but Amy reached out her hand to stop her. “It’s okay, I found it and plugged it in. I also washed your sheets. They should be dry soon. Katherine hadn’t noticed the dryer running in the background. She felt another intense wave of emotions at her friend’s kindness and smiled at her. “Thanks Amy. I’ve had a really sucky morning.” She took another bite of her breakfast. “Yeah, I bet.” Amy said, sipping her coffee. “So… does that happen a lot?” Katherine didn’t look up. “No.” Katherine said curtly. “Okay.” Amy said, keeping her tone flat. “I only ask because of what happened last week… You said it didn’t happen much.” “It doesn’t.” Katherine said, her tone becoming defensive. “Okay.” Amy said reassuringly. “I believe you. I just care about you, and this is something that is clearly bothering you. Is everything okay?” Katherine let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’m not sick or anything. I think it’s just stress. I was so exhausted I fell asleep in my clothes as soon as I got home. I didn’t eat dinner. It makes sense why my body is out of whack right now.” Amy nodded in understanding. “That’s okay. Things will get better. It’s your first week, It won’t take long before you’re feeling right at home.” Amy’s pager went off. “Oh shoot.” She said, reading the message as it scrolled past. “I’ve got to go early. I’ll see you at work okay?” Katherine nodded at her as Amy packed up the rest of her breakfast. Amy gave her a quick hug, and then was out the door. Katherine went to go get dressed and packed her bag for the day. Katherine arrived for the morning meeting and stood by Amy, feeling determined to get past her awful morning. Kelly went through the familiar morning speech, pulling down the schedule board and going through the daily plan. Katherine looked carefully for her name but saw that she wasn’t in the Urgent Care bracket today. Kelly’s words faded into a drone as Katherine scanned the board. She finally spotter her name under the letters NIU. Newborn & Infant Unit. She smiled at the realization that she didn’t need any help figuring it out, when she noticed that the room had gone quiet. Katherine looked around to see everyone staring at her. Kelly was staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Doctor Baker… do you understand your assignment?” Katherine looked back to the board. “Oh… Yeah. The NIU.” She said quietly. Kelly sighed and continued down her list. Katherine tried to keep her face from going red. After the meeting, Amy gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder before she had to leave for her rounds. Katherine wandered a bit before she found the NIU unit. Because the unit was just basic care, it was mostly newborns that were under observation before the new parents were able to take their children home. Katherine found the schedule at the nurse’s station and found what her name in the hourly rotation for room checks. She went from room to room, introducing herself to parents and performing the routine checks on the newborn’s vitals and updating the parents. Several parents looked skeptically at Katherine as she introduced herself, but she did her best to ignore it and stay professional. By the end of her check-ups, almost all of them seemed to accept her and said, “Thank you, doctor Baker.” She could feel her mood lifting as the morning went on. Sometime before noon, Katherine got a text from Amy. “Want to do lunch today and go get our costumes?” Katherine had forgotten all about Halloween and checked her schedule. “Sorry, I’m on rotation until 1. Can we go after work?” She texted back. “I’m not sure, I might have to cover an evening shift. We’ll figure it out.” Katherine started to think about what costume she would wear as she continued through her shifts. Just before her lunch break, she had one last room to visit. She glanced at the chart, then Katherine entered to see the mother with her child looking desperate for help. “Hi, I’m Doctor Baker. I understand you’ve been having some difficulty with feeding?” The woman was balancing the crying child against her shoulder, gently patting her back. “The nurses have been trying to help me with feeding, but I can’t seem to get her to burp. I’ve been trying bouncing, patting, but I’m so scared I’m going to do it too hard.” Katherine smiled reassuringly. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Of course, babies required delicate care, but they wouldn’t break like a piece of glass as some people believed. Some parents were afraid just to hold their own children at first. It would pass, she just needed to work through it. “That’s perfectly normal, it just takes some time to get into the rhythm.” Katherine said, approaching the bed. “How long ago was the last feeding?” “Just a few minutes ago.” The woman said, self-consciously tugging at the sheet that was covering her breasts. “Here, let me see if I can help.” Katherine held her hands out, gently taking the baby from her. She held the little one over her shoulder and began gently bouncing up and down. She patted gently, but with a bit of firmness on the baby’s back. “I know it can take a while, but I promise this doesn’t hurt your child. After just a few seconds, a soft burp came out. The mother’s face was full of relief and Katherine couldn’t help but smile. “Honestly, you probably did most of the work already. It just takes patience, and she will-” Katherine froze as a much louder burp came, followed by a warm sensation on her shoulder. She tried to keep a straight face as she turned to see that the baby had spit up all over her shoulder. She forced a smile on to her face and said, “And that’s why you always have a rag over your shoulder too.” The mother looked embarrassed, and Katherine quickly tried to reassure her. “It’s no problem, happens all the time.” She handed the child back and took a wipe from one of the containers on the wall. “Just let us know if you have any more difficulty.” She said, dabbing at her shoulder. Katherine walked out of the room, seeing that the stain was not coming out. She took off her coat and continued to scrub as she looked for a bathroom on the floor. She was technically on her lunch break now, and she had yet to find the hospital cafeteria. As she walked through the halls, she found a room labeled “Feeding Room”. She hadn’t seen this room before and decided to take a peak inside. She cracked the door, the sound of crying hitting her like a wall. She stepped inside to see a row of high chairs, almost all of them full, containing crying children. She looked around, wondering why there weren’t any nurses. She wasn’t sure if she needed to do anything and started looking for supplies in the cabinets against the wall. She placed her coat on top of the cabinet and started to fiddle with the child-proof handles. “Oh, you’re not supposed to be in there.” A voice came from behind her. She hadn’t heard anyone enter, and as she turned around, a nurse’s hands slid under her armpits, and gently lifted her into the air. They started heading towards the high chairs before Katherine could form a logical sentence. She had no idea what was happening. “Hey… What…” She was placed in an empty high chair, the table quickly locked in against her waist and pinned into the chair. Another nurse entered the room wheeling in a tray of food. “I’m not-” Before Katherine could speak, the nurse who had carried her pulled out a pacifier from her pocket and shoved it in squarely in Katherine’s mouth. She was completely shocked, unable to process what was happening. The other nurse wheeled the cart past, depositing jars of baby food and children’s spoons on the high chair tables. The nurse in front of Katherine picked up the spoon and scooped up a large bite of orange substance from the bowl. In a swift motion, she pulled out Katherine’s pacifier and shoved the spoon in its place. Katherine gagged, involuntarily swallowing the foul mush. She opened her mouth to say something, and another spoonful was pushed in. “That’s a good girl, you must be hungry today.” She said in a cooing voice. Katherine glared at her, but the nurse had looked away as other nurses were entering, each taking a high chair and started feeding the crying children. Katherine didn’t recognize any of them, hoping no one would see her in this predicament. She wanted to chew the nurse out. She wanted to jump out of the chair and disappear, but she couldn’t say anything. As another spoonful was pushed into her mouth, she swallowed, trying not to gag. The nurse rhythmically had a spoonful ready just as soon as Katherine was able to open her mouth again. I can’t leave… Katherine thought, wincing as she swallowed another disgusting bite. If I tell them now, they won’t believe me, or I’ll becoming a laughing stock. Another large bite entered her mouth. She felt like she was choking as she tried to breath between the rapid spoonsful of food entering her mouth. She felt a stinging in her eyes as tears started to form. This was humiliating, and she couldn’t say anything. The nurse with the cart came around again, depositing bottles of milk on the high chairs. Just as the last spoonful entered Katherine’s mouth, the bottle was held up and waiting for her. The nipple was shoved into her mouth, the liquid slowly dripping in to her mouth. I have to go through with this… maybe I can sneak out as they’re taking the kids back to their rooms… She forced herself to drink from the bottle but found that only a few droplets were coming out on her tongue. She winced, realizing that it wasn’t just milk, it was formula. She tried to suck on the nipple, but it was barely coming out any faster. She had to keep a constant suction on the bottle, a slow stream of droplets coming out. It felt like she was making no progress as she swallowed the small mouthful of droplets on her tongue. She kept at it for minutes, her jaw starting to hurt from the pressure. I can’t do this… Katherine panicked internally. It’s so much. I’m already so full and I can’t drink any more. She felt her stomach stretching uncomfortably full and her bladder felt full to bursting as the bottle finally emptied the last of its contents to the tip of the nipple. Katherine’s sore mouth suckled the last few drops. The nurse took the bottle away, walking over to cart to deposit the empty dishes. The other nurses were picking up their assigned children and walking them back to their rooms. Katherine looked down at the safety latch holding her tray in place. She waited until no one was looking, then reached over, squeezing the child-proof latch and opening the tray. She dropped to the floor, quietly running over to cabinet that held her soiled coat. She grabbed the coat, then bolted for the door just as the nurse turned around. In the hallway, Katherine threw the coat on, moving quickly away from the room. She was still dazed from what had happened, unsure what to do now. Her bladder was painfully full, and she had to find a bathroom immediately. She finally found a sign in the hallway directing her towards the bathroom, and she locked the door behind her. A slow trickle had started to come out just as she pulled her pants down. She sighed in relief, looking down at the small spattering of drops in her underwear. She wanted to cry. How long would it be before people saw her as a doctor instead of a child? It hadn’t even been a week yet and she felt like she was going to have a nervous breakdown. She just wanted to go home. She pulled out her phone and texted Amy. “I’m not feeling well. I can’t face Kelly right now and I need to go home. I’m really sorry, can you let her know for me?” It took a few moments for Amy to reply. “Of course, I can let her know. Are you okay?” Katherine wasn’t sure how to answer. “I guess. I’m just tired of being treated like a baby. I can’t be here right now.” “That’s okay. Would you be up for Halloween shopping later?” Katherine sighed as she read the text over. She had been looking forward to Halloween, but anything associated with the hospital just seemed like too much right now. She started typing. “I know that I need a costume, but I think I just need some time to recover right now. I’m sorry to ask, but would you mind picking one up for me? I’ll pay you back for it.” “Sure, what do you want to go as?” Katherine couldn’t even think right now. “I don’t care, you know what I like. Just find something cute and I’ll trust your judgement.” “Okay, don’t worry about it. Everything will be okay, okay Kat?” Katherine felt so grateful for her friend. “Yea, thanks Amy.” Katherine managed to sneak out of the hospital and make it back to her car. She made it all the way home before she started crying. She hadn’t had any time to relax and desperately needed a break. Chapter 4: Amy re-read the text message on her phone. “I’m tired of everyone treating me like I’m a baby.” She felt so bad for her friend. Katherine hadn’t even been here a week and already felt so bad that she needed to take a day off. She was so stressed out that it was having uncomfortable and embarrassing physical side effects on her. Amy remembered how long it took for her to feel comfortable when she started working at the hospital, and she didn’t even have Katherine’s height to worry about. She thought about the text, wondering who else had made Katherine feel so bad. She had known Kelly a long time and knew how long it could take for Kelly to tolerate people, much less like them. She could be stern and strict, but Katherine’s descriptions of her job so far sounded more like bullying to her. Was someone else picking on her? Amy pondered on it through the rest of her shift. She had always been protective of Katherine, and the thought of someone at the hospital being mean to her friend made her blood boil, but it was so hard to believe that anyone she worked with could be that malicious. Could it have been an accident? With her size, it wouldn’t be hard to mistake Katherine as a child instead of a doctor. She also didn’t have the greatest confidence, which wouldn’t help her if she had to convince someone that she was actually a doctor. She wanted to help her friend, to find some way to boost her confidence. The end of her shift finally came, and she made her way out to the car. She wanted to check in on Katherine but thought better of it. She told her to call if she needed anything, and after how she was feeling, Katherine probably just needed some alone time. Amy got to her car and drove out through the parking garage exit. She headed to the local party supply store, thinking about a costume for Katherine that would boost her self confidence. As she pulled into the parking lot, she saw that the parking lot was completely full. Oh great. She groaned internally. The night before Halloween, and they’re completely full. They probably won’t have anything good left either. After the second time circling, there were still no spots open. Amy looked around at the nearby stores for an open parking spot, when a neon sign caught her eye. ‘COSTUMES’ read the large sign in front of a plain looking store. It was just a plain section of the strip mall with no identifying markers, except for the red sign above the door: ‘Devious Den’. Oh my gosh… Amy felt a small blush come to her cheeks as she realized what the store was. She hadn’t ever noticed it before. I can only imagine what kind of costumes they have… She wondered to herself. She looked at the parking lot in front of the small store. It was almost completely empty. She looked back at the party store lot, every space still full. Maybe I can just go check it out… I kill some time and come back when the party store isn’t as busy. She rationalized. Her curiosity had been piqued, and now she couldn’t think of a good reason not to go inside. She was a grown woman. There was nothing wrong with going into a sex shop. She even had a valid reason to go. Her mind thought back the vibrator she had at home in her nightstand. Ordering online was a lot less embarrassing than walking in a store, but there was no reason she couldn’t have gone to a shop. She steeled herself, feeling a small batch of butterflies begin to stir in her stomach, and pulled into the small lot in front of the store. The windows were blacked out, a small light shining through the glass door displaying a flashing neon ‘Open’ sign. She sat in her car for a moment, the butterflies slowly multiplying, and she made herself get out. The parking lot was still empty, yet Amy couldn’t keep herself from looking around, as if someone was watching her. She shook off the feeling and walked up to the door. As she pulled on the handle, a loud buzzer pinged to announce her presence. The inside of the shop was very bright, shelves and display cases all lit up to showcase their treasures. Amy had a difficult time taking in what she was seeing. The displays were unashamedly sexual, sorting toys by color, size, and girth. It was sensory overload as she stood frozen in the doorway, debating if she could still walk out. A girl emerged from the back. She looked fairly young, dark hair pulled into pigtails and bright makeup. “Hi there, anything I can help you with?” The ease of her tone threw Amy off, as if she expected anyone who worked here to be just as awkward as their clientele. “Um… I saw the sign for costumes and was just curious.” The girl smiled as she walked up to her. “No problem. I take it you’re not planning on going to go as a sexy nurse?” She said with a rue smile, looking Amy up and down in her nurses scrubs. Amy felt herself blush at the comment and forced a laugh. “No, no. Just shopping around and a lot of places are pretty busy.” The girl nodded. “Well it is the night before Halloween. It’s what you get if you wait ‘til the last minute. So, you said everywhere else is sold out, what kind of costume are you wanting?” She raised an eyebrow, as if questioning if Amy knew where she was right now. “I’m not really sure. I just thought I would see what you had.” Amy felt herself having a difficult time looking the girl in the eye. Her eyes dropped to her punk attire and noticed a nametag that read ‘Stacy’. Stacy shrugged and turned to walk back into the store. “I can show you around.” She held a hand up over her shoulder, gesturing a ‘come-hither’ motion with her index finger. Amy was taken aback, unsure how to handle the girl’s confidence. She walked silently behind her, looking awkwardly around at the shelves and displays again. Lubes, pumps, and silicon molded in every shape imaginable. She couldn’t find anywhere safe to rest her eyes. Stacy continued towards the back where there were long stretches of clothing racks. She weaved into the first row, leaving a barrier of costumes between them. “We’ve got fun stuff…” She said, taking a lacy, mesh bodysuit off the rack and holding it up in her left hand. “and really fun stuff.” She held up a hanger in her right hand, a skimpy piece of lingerie dangling from the hooks. “Where do you fall on the spectrum?” Stacy lifted them up and down, her arms like a set of scales. “Well…” Amy started, unsure what to say. “Is there another part of the spectrum?” Stacy laughed and placed the costumes back on the rack. “Well, you’re going to see a lot of recurring themes here. What kind of party do you need it for?” Amy was glad she finally had a question she could confidently answer. “It’s actually a work party.” Stacy sighed and started browsing through the racks with a skeptical look. “Also…” Amy continued, “I need one for my friend too.” “Wow.” Stacy looked her dead in the eye. “You don’t make this easy do you.” After a second, a devilish smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Amy didn’t realize that she was holding her breath, worried that she had offended her. “It’s cool, I’m sure we can find something.” Stacy said, continuing her walk through the racks of costumes. “So, we need something safe for work. Correct?” Amy nodded. “I’ll be honest, that does limit our selection a bit...” Stacy said, a hint of a joke in her voice. “but we have some that fall more under ‘funny’ than ‘sexy’. I’m sure we can get something safe-for-work.” She looked back at Amy. “Is you friend a guy or a girl?” “Girl.” Amy felt like they were almost on the same page, some of her confidence coming back to her. “Are you a couple?” Stacy said, not batting an eyelash. Amy was thrown off by the question. “No! no, no, no. We’re not like… we’re friends. She’s my best friend and she just needed me to get her a costume because she wasn’t feeling well.” She started speeding up as she finished her sentence. Stacy looked like she knew she had made her uncomfortable, but just shrugged it off. “Doesn’t make any difference to me, I’m not one to judge. Just figuring out if we’re looking at matching costumes.” She continued her search, combing through the racks. “Tell me about your friend. What size does she wear?” Amy hesitated as she thought of a tactful answer. “Um… I’d say a small. Actually… probably more extra small.” Stacy raised an eyebrow. “She’s short. Like, really short.” Amy held up a hand at her side, roughly where the top of Katherine’s head would be. Stacy’s other eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Dang… okay, you’ve got quite a laundry list to work with.” Stacy stopped for a moment, lost in thought, when she started laughing. “Nope, never mind. That would be mean.” Amy looked at her, confused. “Don’t worry, I’m just spitballing ideas.” Amy wanted to help her in the search, she just didn’t know what to say. “The main reason I’m doing this for her is because she is super burned out right now. She just started working with me and she’s completely stressed out. She has no confidence and I want her to be able to have fun and feel good about herself. She’s already self-conscious about her height, and the fact that we work at a children’s hospital doesn’t help when people keep looking at her like she’s a baby.” She hadn’t intended to blurt everything out to a total stranger, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do. Stacy’s eyes widened, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Okay… I think I know what to do.” She walked out from behind the rack, abandoning her search. “You said, they treat her like a baby, right?” Amy nodded slowly, not sure what she was getting at. “And you said she needed a confidence boost, right?” Amy nodded again. Stacy looked at her with a satisfied smile. “Okay, here’s what you do. Dress her up like a baby.” “What?!” Amy blurted out. “How will that help her?” Stacy put up her hands defensively. “Hear me out. What’s the best way to get over being self-conscious about something? Embrace it! If she makes the joke, then no one can make fun of her for it. If she came in looking like a baby for Halloween, and wasn’t embarrassed at all, what would they be able to say about her?” Amy stopped to consider this. It seemed so mean, but she had made a valid point. Maybe this would be exactly what she needs to get over her fear. One day of discomfort, and she wouldn’t have to worry about it ever again. “I see what you’re getting at… but do you have any costumes that would work for her?” Stacy got a knowing smile. “Yeah… so, here’s the other thing… do you know what a fetish is?” Amy nodded, remembering her college psych classes. “There is a fetish that revolves around dressing up like a baby. I’m not saying it applies to your friend, but we happen to stock some of the supplies for it in that room behind the curtain.” Stacy pointed to the very back of the store, a small, black curtain blocking an entryway with a sign that read, ‘Please Ask For Assistance Before Entering.’ Amy looked at the curtain. “Why would a… sex shop have to keep something blocked off?” Stacy rolled her eyes. “Funny you should ask. Okay, so people come here because they’re into some kinky stuff, right? The longer people get into their fetish, the more normal it seems to them. You’d think that people who are in to taboo stuff would be more understanding of other kinky stuff, right? Unfortunately, some stuff is considered offensive even in here. We don’t tolerate people being outright hateful to others. This isn’t a place to be judged. However, if less kinky people came in and saw a bunch of diapers everywhere when they’re just looking for their first butt plug, they might be uncomfortable. It’s just easier if we separate certain stuff and only the people who are interested in it can go see it.” Amy stared in disbelief “Wait… diapers?” Stacy’s smile returned. “Would you like me to show you the room?” Amy looked back towards the curtain. “I guess so. I’m not judging, just curious.” Stacy nodded with approval and waved her over to the curtain. She pulled back the fabric and gestured for Amy to enter. Her eyes adjusting to the soft-white light of the room. Just as she was adjusting to the experience of the sex shop, her mind was overwhelmed again. The walls were painted with soft, pastel colors. Clouds, blocks, and cartoon animals decorated the walls. There were shelves with thick packages of diapers in all different colors and sizes. Clothing racks held oversized onesies, rompers, overalls, and dresses in several different childish patterns. Displays held stuffed animals, oversized pacifiers, and a multitude of baby accessories. There was even an adult-sized crib in the corner. Amy was dumbstruck. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. There was so much stuff. There were actually adult who dressed up as babies for fun? Stacy couldn’t help but grin at Amy’s face. “It’s always entertaining to watch someone see it for the first time.” Amy stayed silent as she continued to scan the room, processing what she was seeing. After a long moment, she asked, “So… people actually buy this stuff?” “Oh yeah.” Stacy said nonchalantly. “Think about how often real babies go through diapers. I’ve got regulars who come in almost weekly for a new pack of diapers or a new outfit.” “Wait…” Amy said, her tone rising in disbelief. “People actually… use the diapers?!” Stacy’s grin was beginning to look smug. “A lot of them do. Some just like how they feel and don’t use them. Others… well, let’s just say I’ve got a regular who’s mommy sent him in once because he ran out. She made him…” Stacy started cracking up before she could finish. “She made him come in here wearing his poopy diaper and ask if I would pick him out a new pack because ‘his mommy said he had to, or he wouldn’t get a diaper change’.” She erupted in laughter. “I rung up a jumbo pack of these pink princess diapers and didn’t bag them so he had to walk outside with them.” Amy looked horrified, too stunned to speak. Stacy noticed, and held up her hands defensively as she caught her breath. “It’s okay, his mommy told me about it first. It’s all a game to them. He might have been beet red the whole time, but I promise you, he loved it!” Amy’s expression didn’t change. “His… mother made him do that?!” Stacy continued to laugh. “No, no, his mommy. It’s someone who acts sort of like a caretaker for him. God, I think he’d die if his mother knew. No, he’s completely consenting to everything she asks him to do. He wants to do it, and she knows he wants to.” This was a lot for Amy to wrap her head around. “So… okay… what are they getting out of it? Why would they wanted to be treated like that?” Stacy shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not the same for everyone. He liked humiliation and being forced to look childish. Others just want to regress and be a kid again for fun. It’s like a safety blanket. Their minds go back to a safer time with no responsibilities, and it let’s them cope with stress.” Amy couldn’t help but think of Katherine, thinking of all the stuffed animals and childish pajamas she owned. Stacy’s devilish grin reappeared. “And some people just enjoy pooping their pants.” Amy grimaced, much to Stacy’s delight. “I’ve had to change diapers at the hospital. The thought of people using them on purpose…” “I’m just kidding. Stacy laughed. “I mean, I’m not, some people actually do that, but I know how strange it can seem. It makes total sense if you think about it. The most basic control someone can have is over themselves. Taking away someone’s potty training is a huge power move. It overlaps really well with BDSM.” Amy looked back to the supplies in the room. “So, would this look like obvious fetish stuff if I get it for my friend?” “Not at all.” Stacy said, walking over to the rack. “Most of them just looks like oversized baby clothes.” She held up a soft-looking pink onesie with a button-up bottom flap. “However, if she’s as small as you say, you might actually be able to buy her children’s clothes if you need to. The extra small might be a bit loose, but you can just give her some more padding.” She added with a grin. “You think… I should get diapers?” Amy said, concern creeping into her voice. Stacy shook her head. “I’m not saying they’re essential, but they’ll really pull off the costume. It’s not like she has to use them or anything.” Stacy pulled a lacy yellow dress from the rack, a diaper cover and hanger attached to the hanger. “If you get something like this, the dress is a little short and comes with a diaper cover. It would be too baggy without one.” Amy walked over to the rack of clothes and started shifting through them. She felt her anxiousness being slowly replaced by excitement as she browsed through the cute items. She imagined Katherine in each one as she slid them down the rack. After going through the options, she started picking out her favorites and placing them on the front of the rack. “I still have to figure out my costume.” Stacy glanced at the rack and looked back at Amy. “What, you don’t want to go as a baby too?” Amy blushed as she looked over the outfits, imagining herself in them. Stacy giggled at her reaction, and Amy had to reconsider if this was going to be too mean for Katherine. “I mean, I could do it… but I’m hoping that this will help Katherine feel more confident. If I dress up like a baby too, won’t that take away from her ‘statement’?” Stacy considered what she said. “I guess so. Oh, you know what might work? You could go as her babysitter. Or her mommy!” She added with excitement. Amy considered this. “I mean, they would match.” Stacy nodded. “So, we need to find you a mommy costume.” She eyed Amy up and down as she spoke. Amy resisted the urge to pull her jacket closed. “That shouldn’t be too hard to pull off. Would you prefer Soccer Mom, or MILF?” Amy let out an involuntary laugh. “Safe-for-work. MILF doesn’t fall under that.” Stacy sighed. “Just go get a ‘can-I-speak-with-your-manager’ haircut and something low-cut. With your figure, you’ll look like a model and no one at work will say boo about it.” Amy ran through a mental inventory of her closet and thought of a particularly scandalous cocktail dress she never got to wear. “You know, I think that could work.” Amy nodded slowly as she thought it through. “Now, I just have to decide on Katherine’s costume.” Stacy looked at the choices hanging on the front of the rack. “Too many to decide?” Amy pulled the first three choices from the rack. “I can’t choose, they all look so cute!” Her eyes bounced back and forth between a pair of short-style pink overalls with snaps across the crotch, the same lacy dress Stacy had shown her, and a soft pink onesie with a bottom flap. “The dress might be a bit over the top, but that might not necessarily be a bad thing. The onesie is simple but might just look like pajamas. The overalls are freaking adorable. I can’t decide!” Stacy looked over her choices, seeing the dilemma. “How about this: you can check out all of them. If you decide you don’t want to use one, bring it back and we’ll refund it.” Amy looked over them all again, still unable to decide. “That’s a great idea. I’m terrible at making decisions on the spot.” Stacy walked over to the shelves across the room. “So, let’s talk accessories. We’re going for over-the-top baby, so you’re going to need… a bonnet.” She pulled a white bonnet with a lace trim off the shelf and handed it to her. “I highly recommend pigtails for a younger look", she added, gently pulling on her own pigtails for emphasis. “She’ll also need a pacifier. What color do you want?” She pointed to a stack of clear plastic boxes, each containing a different color of oversized pacifier. Amy picked a few up, looking them over until she picked up a bright pink one. “This one matches the outfits nicely.” Stacy gestured to the last row of shelves. “Lastly, and most importantly: diapers.” Amy wasn’t sure what to look for. “Um… there’s so many. What’s the difference?” Stacy took some samples down from a shelf and brought a multi-colored stack over. “You’ve got your plain white, boring diapers, more expensive cloth diapers which will need plastic pants, baby print, animal print, emo, overnight extra thick, baby blue, pink princess, and glow-in-the-dark space diapers.” She spread out the options like a giant deck of cards in front of Amy. She picked up the first plain white diaper in the stack and handled it awkwardly. She unfolded it, gaping at how thick it was. It crinkled loudly as she tried to return it to a normal square shape. “How are there this many choices?” She said, handing the plain white one back and taking the even thicker pink diaper. “People have different tastes. You’d be amazed how many customers they have.” Amy looked over the diaper with her inexperienced eye, awkwardly turning it over in her hands. “I really don’t know… I’ll defer to your judgement.” Stacy looked at the stack in her hand. Her tongue poked into her cheek as she hummed quietly to herself in consideration. “Well I’m inclined to go with the princess… but that might actually be too much pink. I think we should go with baby-print.” She held up a mostly white diaper with a pattern of pastel colored blocks that spelled out the word 'BABY' over and over. Amy shrugged, still feeling overwhelmed by the unbelievably large selection. “I guess that sounds good. Is that everything?” “Well…” Stacy looked up, doing a mental inventory of all of the items. “You're covered on the basics. Most people also get diapering supplies, like powder, lotion, wipes, all that stuff, but she's not actually going to use them you'll be okay without them. If she wears them for a long time, she'll probably need just a little powder to prevent chafing. Other than that, you're good.” Amy nodded in understanding as she processed the instructions. “If the diapers don’t turn out to be thick enough for you, we also sell “stuffers”. They’re like diaper pads you line inside to make them last longer. I can give you a sample pack of a few.” Amy wondered why they would need to be any thicker, then remembered Katherine's recent accidents, chuckling to herself that wearing some protection, even as a joke, might actually not be a bad thing for her. “Thank you so much for your help. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for, but I really think this will actually help my friend.” Stacy smiled wider than Amy had seen her entire time there. “It's my pleasure, I'm glad I could help.” There was a tone of genuine happiness in her voice. Stacy carried the items up to the register and rang them up. Amy swiped her card and Stacy handed her the receipt. “Now remember, if you keep your receipt, we can refund anything she hasn't worn. Also, if she turns out to like her new outfit, don't hesitate to stop in for more supplies.” Stacy’s tone changed as she said the last, almost like she was trying to keep from laughing as she told a joke, and she winked at Amy. Amy sighed with relief as she realized that she was joking. Stacy slid a thumb under the neckline of her shirt and pressed out her nametag. “My name is Stacy, give me a call if you need any help with your new baby.” She handed her a business card with the stores name and number on it. “Thanks. I'll be sure to do that.” Amy said, gathering up her purchases. “Are you sure you don't want anything fun for yourself while you're here?” Stacy added. Amy smirked, understanding her sense of humor now. “That's okay, I'm good right now.” Stacy nodded. “Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us!” As Amy walked out the door, a man heading inside froze in his tracks, waiting for her to exit before he awkwardly shuffled past her. Just before the door closed behind him, Amy heard a high- pitched and childish version of Stacy's voice say, “Well if it isn't Princess Poopy Pants!” Amy’s eyes went wide as she realized who the next customer must have been. Amy drove home to her apartment. The typical commute seemed to go much faster as she tried to process everything that happened. The butterflies had mostly settled, but she felt them gently flare up when she thought of dressing up with Katherine tomorrow morning. Had she done the right thing? She made it home and unpacked her treasures. They were all spread out on her kitchen table and she looked over them all carefully. She imagined Katherine in each costume, visualizing which would look best. She opened the pack of diapers and took one out, feeling the crinkly fabric in between her fingers. Amy pulled out her phone and started to text Katherine. “Hey, feeling better?” Katherine replied almost instantly. “Yeah, I just needed a break. Thanks for covering for me. How did costume shopping go?” Amy smirked as she looked at the collection on her table. “Really good, I think it's going to be a good Halloween.” “Cool, so what did you get?” Amy hesitated. There wasn't going to be an easy way to explain this, but in person would be better than over the phone. “It's a surprise!” Katherine's response came immediately. “…Well that doesn't worry me at all.” Amy felt a small burst of panic as she tried to discern Katherine's message. “Don’t worry. Can you meet me before work in the training room and we can get changed there?” “Yeah, I can do that. Do they match?” Amy had to suppress a giggle. “Yeah, you could say that.” Katherine sent a single question mark back. “I said don’t worry! You’ll see tomorrow.” Katherine sent a tongue-sticking-out emoji and said “Fine, see you tomorrow.” Amy put her phone down and looked over the outfits. Now to go pick out a mommy outfit… Chapter 5 Amy arrived at the hospital half an hour before her shift. The hospital was quiet between shift changes. The night staff was much smaller than during the day, and she hardly saw anyone as she made her way to the training room. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked into the empty training room. She double-checked the scheduling chart, assuring herself that no one would be using the room any time soon. Over her shoulder, she carried a large canvas tote bag, acting as an improvised diaper bag. She walked over to a table and started sorting out the items. The room was used for training nurses on proper child-care methods and procedures, and Amy couldn’t help but laugh as the items didn’t look the slightest bit out of place. She glanced at her watch, making sure they would have plenty of time to get ready. She pulled out a makeup mirror and looked herself over. She had spent a good hour getting herself ready and making her outfit look perfect. She wore a black dress, the length appropriately just above her knees, but also showing a scandalous amount of cleavage. She wore a short-cut business blazer over her dress that made no effort to cover her chest. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun. A few minutes later, Amy heard the door open as Katherine walked in wearing a normal daily outfit without her doctor’s coat and her badge pinned to her shirt. “Hey Amy. I hope you won’t be needing my coat for the costume. I had to get them both sent in for cleaning after my last good one got stained yesterday.” Amy shook her head, assuring her she wouldn’t need it. Katherine looked her up and down, trying to figure out what her costume was. “Are we dressing up as a female lawyer firm?” Amy laughed. “No, no. They’re a set, but yours looks different than mine.” Katherine looked confused as she looked around the training room. She could see Amy’s bag on the table but couldn’t see what was on it. “I had idea.” Amy began, carefully controlling her tone. “I know it might sound a bit weird… but hear me out.” Katherine’s eyebrows slowly rose up her forehead, obvious concern on her face. “I know you’ve been having a hard time here, and I just wanted to do something that would help you and give you some confidence.” Katherine continued to stare at her with a frozen expression. “I found something that’s like a funny costume… but it’s also supposed to be kind of like a joke?” Her rehearsed speech felt like it was falling apart. Katherine’s heart was beginning to pound. “Okay… what’s so weird about this costume? You’re not making any sense.” Amy didn’t want her to panic. “Well… it’s kind of a statement. If people are making fun of you for something… if you show them that you’re in on the joke, they won’t be able to make fun of you for it.” Worry was now plain on Katherine’s face. “It’s just an idea. It might seem a little embarrassing, but if you do this, I think you’ll feel a lot more comfortable here.” Katherine’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “What is the costume.” Amy sighed, realizing that this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as she planned. She walked over to the table and pulled the outfit out of her bag. She held up a small pair of short pink overalls with an attached white flower-print shirt. The legs were only a few inches long, and the fabric was noticeably baggy around the crotch area, held together with pink button snaps. Katherine looked in horror at the costume. Amy tried to smile reassuringly. “Isn’t it cute? She said quietly, obviously uncomfortable. Katherine was speechless. “You want me to dress up like a baby? How would that help anything?” Amy lowered the costume, bringing it over to Katherine and holding it out in front of her. “It’s like a joke. If you feel like they’re making fun of you, you turn the joke around on them and they’ll stop. It gives you all the power, you just have to be confident!” She pressed the outfit to Katherine’s torso, the frame of the clothing laying flush against her figure. The saleswoman had done well at her estimated guessing. Katherine looked down at it, visualizing herself in the costume. Her discomfort was plain on her face. She let out a slow sigh. “… Okay, I guess it’s better than not having a costume at all. What do I do?” She said, taking the costume from Amy and looking it over. Amy reached out to unbutton the snaps on the outfit. “Don’t worry, I can help you put it on.” Katherine looked up sharply at Amy. “Wait a second, what are you going as?” Amy smiled and held her arms out as if she was showing off her costume for the first time. “I’m going as your mommy!” Katherine’s jaw dropped. “You’re… what?” Amy held her hands up defensively. “I worried that you might be a little too embarrassed, but see, this way I can help you out and make you feel more comfortable. It’s all just an act, and we’ll be in on the joke together. It’s foolproof! Just go with me if you get stuck.” Katherine was looking more nervous by the second. “Maybe you should have gone as the baby and I could have dressed up as the mature grown woman! Wouldn’t that have worked too?” Amy grinned picturing Katherine trying to pull off a motherly look. “Nope, that would look like you were just resisting. You’ve got to own it, okay?” Katherine groaned loudly. “Fine… give it here.” She reached out for the costume, but Katherine gently removed her hand from the overalls. “Well, there’s actually some… accessories that go with this to really pull it off.” Katherine’s brows furrowed. “I think I’ve had enough surprises for one day.” Amy knew that she was already pushing the limit. “I promise, this is the last thing. So, your costume… It’s made to accommodate these accessories, and it won’t look right without them.” Katherine looked down at the costume, looking for anything suspicious when she noticed the snaps on the crotch. She reached down, noticing the slight bulge of extra elastic fabric around the crotch. Her eyes went wide with realization. “A diaper?!” Amy held her hands up defensively. “I promise, it’s made to go with the costume-” “I’m not wearing a diaper!” Katherine cut her off Amy looked at her pleadingly. “You’ll have this baggy costume if you don’t, and if people see it, they’ll just make comments. You’ve got to commit if you’re going to do this…” Katherine groaned. “Okay, fine. Let’s get this over with.” Amy moved to her bag and started to take a diaper out of the package. “It’s kind of awkward to put on, I can help you. Just start taking your clothes off.” Katherine looked at the doors. “What if someone walks in?” “There’s no one here yet, but we don’t have long so we can’t take forever.” Katherine sped up and finished taking off everything but her underwear. Amy came over with the diaper and a bottle of baby powder in her hands. “The underwear will probably have to come off too…” Amy said, looking down at her. Katherine shook her head in disbelief and pulled her underwear down. She covered herself with her hands, her face slowly turning red. Amy walked over with the diaper and unfolded it. “Here, lay down and I’ll help you put it on.” Katherine slowly lowered herself towards the floor, flinching when she her hand touched the cold tile. “The floor is so cold!” Amy looked around the room, noticing the changing table that was used for training classes and wondered if Katherine would fit on one. “Do you think you could climb up on a changing table?” Katherine rolled her eyes and looked for a chair she could climb up for a boost. She put her hands on the corner of the changing table, judging the height, when Amy reached behind her and picked her up. Katherine yelped at the surprise and felt herself lock up as Amy easily lifted her. Amy was surprised at how light she seemed. Amy laid her down on the table, the diaper tucked under her arm. She retrieved the bottle of baby powder and started to unscrew the lid. Katherine looked around, unsure what to do as she laid naked on the table. Amy unfolded the large diaper and tried to lay it down under Katherine. “Can you lift your legs up.” Katherine hesitantly lifted her legs, but it wasn’t high enough to allow for enough room to slide the diaper underneath her. Amy wrapped her hand around Katherine’s ankles and lifted them higher in the air, Katherine’s bottom rising from the table. Amy slid the diaper underneath her, gently lowering Katherine onto the diaper. The soft material brushed against Katherine as her legs were lowered. The thickness through the middle of the diaper compressed as all of Katherine’s weight rested on it but was still thick enough that her legs naturally began to spread. Amy held up a large rectangular pad and laid it down the middle of the diaper, then held up the bottle of powder. “You’ll probably have the costume on all day, and I wouldn’t want it to chafe.” She said, sprinkling a large dusting of powder over Katherine’s privates. Katherine felt so embarrassed, her friend seeing her like this, but she knew that if she was going to do wear this, she had to commit and fight through the embarrassment. Amy lifted the front of the diaper up between Katherine’s legs. As the diaper pushed up against her crotch, the thick bulk forced her legs apart. Amy smoothed the front of the diaper out, tucking the front wings under Katherine’s hips. She unfolded the tapes on one of the wings, drawing it tightly around Katherine’s waist and gently pressing the tape almost to the center to the plastic front. She repeated the process with the other wing, smoothing the tapes and seeing how much the diaper overlapped. It was thick around all sides of Katherine’s crotch, almost too large to fit her. Amy looked at the thick poof between her legs, wondering if it would be too thick for her to move. Katherine experimented with moving her legs with limited success. Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked down in surprise, either at the thickness of the diaper, or the babyish print across the front that she hadn’t noticed. “I can’t close my legs, it’s too thick…” Katherine said, hoping for some way out of this situation. Amy lifted her back up and placed her on the floor, making sure she had her feet under her. “Let’s see how it looks with the costume and then we’ll see if there’s anything we need to do with it.” She picked up the overalls and turned them around to show Katherine that there was a small zipper up the back, the front buttons being only for display. Amy unzipped the outfit from the top of the sewn-in flower-print shirt to the bottom of the waistline and held it wide open for Katherine to step into. Waddling awkwardly, Katherine gingerly placed one foot through the open leg hole, then the other. She shimmied her arms through the shirt sleeves, and Amy pulled the outfit together. She pulled the zipper up to Katherine’s neck, the costume tightening snugly against her body. Katherine looked down at herself, turning her hips left and right in an attempt to see around the new bulk that seemed to surround her. Amy looked down at her with a gleeful expression. “Oh my gosh, you look so stinking cute!” Katherine poked at the diaper and took a few steps, an obvious waddle resulting from the padding. “I think this thing is to big. It looks like the outfit made for it, but I can barely walk!” Amy couldn’t stop staring, every movement of Katherine’s enhancing the cuteness. “I think it looks perfect! It goes with the costume so well, and you’ll get used to it. Now, there’s just a few finishing touches to add…” Amy walked back to her bag, Katherine waddling to catch up with her. Amy pulled out two hair ties and started playing with Katherine’s hair. Soon, her hair was drawn into two large pigtails. Next, she retrieved some fuzzy pink socks that stretched snugly over Katherine’s feet and gave the appearance of baby booties. She took the bonnet out of the bag and stuck her hands inside to hold it open. Katherine looked confused as Amy placed it around her head an fluffed the puff of lace over her head. Her pigtails hung out nicely from the sides as Amy double knotted the cord under Katherine’s chin, securing it in place. “Just one last thing…” She pulled out the oversized pacifier from her pocket. Katherine crossed her arms and shook her head. “No. That’s too far. I’m not going to suck on a baby pacifier.” Amy resisted laughing at what looked like an adorable toddler’s protest. She was tempted to tell her that the pacifier was actually intended for adults but thought better of it. “Oh, come on. It’s just one more thing. Is this really any worse than a diaper? It’s just a costume…” Katherine sighed and rolled her eyes. Her arms still crossed, she simply held her mouth open, signaling her submission. Amy smiled and slid the pacifier nipple into her mouth. Katherine almost jerked back in surprise as the pacifier almost filled her mouth up. She hadn’t expected it to be so big. Amy connected a small strap to the pacifier and clipped it to Katherine’s overalls. “There, you don’t even have to keep it in your mouth all day.” Katherine had to work her jaw that was restricted by her bonnet to get the pacifier out easily and rolled her eyes. “So, I’ve put on the stupid costume. What do you want me to do?” Amy checked her watch. “It’s almost time for the morning meeting. Everyone will be in costume. People are going to love you, so just don’t act embarrassed. They might make some comments, but just go with the joke. They can’t make fun of you if you’re laughing with them.” Katherine didn’t realize how soon the meeting was. She felt her anxiety welling up inside her. She wasn’t good at being the center of attention, a position she had thus far dedicated all her energy towards avoiding. She hated people noticing her, and now if she wanted to earn any respect from these people, she had to make a fool of herself. She felt incredibly far out of her element, but at least she had Amy to help her. “Come on, we better head to the meeting.” Amy said, bundling up her makeshift diaper bag. Katherine looked towards the door, her face frozen in terror. Amy stopped beside her, noticing her look. “It’s okay, just have fun with it!” She picked up the pacifier that dangled from its pink strap and popped it back into Katherine’s mouth. “I’m right here with you. Don’t worry, it’s just for fun.” She gave her an encouraging pat on the back of Katherine’s diaper. The unexpected touch made her lurch forward, unable to balance herself as she tried to get her spread feet under her. She fell backwards, landing squarely on her butt. Amy gasped. Katherine expected to feel pain from the sudden impact, but the thick diaper had acted as a convenient pillow for her. “I’m okay.” She said, rolling to one side and awkwardly standing up again like a toddler. Amy felt terrible for essentially knocking her friend over, but she couldn’t help but notice how everything Katherine did seemed to be ridiculously cute. She kept her observations to herself and resisted the urge to squeal. Katherine pinned her ID badge to the front of her costume and slipped her phone into the large singular pocket on the front of her overalls. They started walking towards the door and Amy noticed how she really did look like a toddler as she walked, and an idea came to her. “Hold on one second, I have an idea.” She rushed over to one of the computer stations against the wall. “What is it? That meeting is in like two minutes.” Katherine protested. Amy’s hands flew across the keyboard as she signed in and opened the patient record program. “This is way too perfect. I just realized what your costume needs.” She hit enter and the small printer next to the computer whirred loudly. A small stub of paper stuck out and Amy snatched it out of the tray. She carried it over to Katherine and kneeled beside her. She slid the paper around her ankle and snapped a small button. Katherine looked down to see a hospital ID tag connected to her leg. Most of the information was missing, but her name and age were visible. She noticed that that Amy had written 24 months. “You added me into the patient system?” “I just made a fake new account. It just has your name and age, nothing else. It fits way too perfectly for being in a children’s hospital. Plus, anyone who works here will know that it’s fake since there’s nothing else on it.” Katherine shrugged it off and they resumed heading for the morning meeting. Amy held the door open for her as Katherine toddled into the hallway. She immediately glanced around, wondering if anyone was looking at her. She noticed a few people going about their business, most of them in costume, but no one seemed to notice her. She forced her feet to move forward as she followed Amy to their meeting room. Just before they entered, Amy bent down and grabbed Katherine’s hand like a mother guiding her child through a crowded mall. As they walked through doors to the meeting room, a wave of silence moved through the room. Nurses and doctors, all in their costumes, seemed to simultaneously notice the peculiar silence filling the room. Super heroes, princesses, minimal effort animals, and an assortment of cheesy classic Halloween monsters all turned to look at what was causing the silence. They all turned to look at Katherine and Amy. Amy held her act together and smiled confidently while Katherine felt herself freezing up in panic. Katherine couldn’t process the assorted noises coming from all sides. Hands flew to people’s mouths in astonishment. Gasps, coos, and awws came from all directions. “I didn’t know it was bring-your-daughter-to-work day.” One bystander jeered. The crowd erupted in laughter. Katherine felt herself blushing bright red but forced a weak smile on her face. She just had to play along, and things would get better. The crowd started moving towards them, admiring Katherine’s costume more closely. “Wow, you guys really went all out. She’s even got a pacifier!” A nurse knelt down and looked at Katherine like she was a child, cooing at her and holding her pacifier in front of her mouth like it was a spoonful of baby food posing as an airplane. “It’s so cute! If I didn’t know any better I would think she was a patient.” Amy beamed and said, “Check out her ankle.” Multiple nurses looked down and saw the tag. Katherine was swarmed as they examined her official hospital tag. They laughed in disbelief as they looked it over, almost throwing Katherine off balance. “That just takes the cake. Where did you guys get your costumes? I don’t remember seeing anything like this at the party store…” Amy felt a moment of panic as she tried to think of an answer, but another nurse cut off her train of thought as she asked, “Um… is she wearing a diaper?” More murmuring came from the crowd as they eyed Katherine closely. Katherine’s cheeks flushed hotter than she’d ever seen before. “Well we had to make it authentic!” Amy said. A few nurses laughed helplessly. “Well, if you need a change, you’re in the right place.” More laughter erupted around them. Katherine forced herself to chuckle with her audience. The slowly growing crowd quickly dispersed as Kelly entered the room. She had a small set of fairy wings on her back and was wearing a short pink tutu over her professional attire. It was a subtle change, the only other prop being a magic wand pen for her ordinary clipboard. “Good morning everyone.” She scanned the crowd, taking in the costumes. “I’m glad to see everyone looking festive for the holiday. Our Public Relations manager will be-” She stopped short as she noticed Katherine’s costume. Her normally stern face looked icy as she stared at Katherine. Amy kept a straight face, with the exception of a cocky grin, almost defying Kelly to say something. Katherine looked down at her booty-covered feet. “-will be coming by shortly to get a group picture for our social media pages, so please stick around.” Katherine felt herself go cold and involuntarily gripped Amy’s hand. Amy gently gripped it back in response, trying to tell her that it was okay. She didn’t want any evidence of this. She started to pretend in her mind that this wasn't happening. Kelly continued through her routine speech, pointedly not looking at Katherine. As she was nearly finished, an energetic woman came through the doors behind them. She wore a tracksuit with the hospitals logo and carried a large camera from a strap around her neck. She cut off Kelly as she spoke. “Are we ready? I' making rounds through each department.” Kelly looked incredibly annoyed at the interruption. “Just a moment. Anyway, refer to the schedule for any potential changes. That is all.” She looked back at the woman and nodded curtly, letting her know she had the floor. “Alright everyone. Can we all bunch up together.” She began looking through her camera's viewfinder and framing the shot. “Tallest in the back, shortest in the front”. The crowd began shuffling into a mob. Katherine looked up at Amy in horror. Amy smile down at her reassuringly. “It's okay, just roll with it.” Katherine gulped and let go of Amy's hand. She slowly moved around the crowd, trying to stay hidden off to the side. The woman continued to frame her shot, gesturing with her hands for people to move closer together. “Great costumes everyone! Okay, everyone squeeze in on the sides. Try to position yourself so we're not blocking anyone- oh my gosh, you on the end there!” She looked up from her camera and pointed at Katherine. “Oh my gosh, that is adorable. Come down here in front!” She frantically waved her hand, gesturing towards the head of the group. The mob held still, looking around to see who she was pointing at. Katherine shuffled quietly to the front, all eyes staring at her. “This is perfect for the children’s ward. Oh, nurses, can you like use your stethoscope on her or something?” She had them try out various poses, making the ordeal last much longer than it would have been if Katherine had just been able to go unnoticed. Once the photographer finally decided on the group pose she was satisfied with, she snapped several photos in a row. “Those will be perfect for our page. I’ll tag each of you in the photos so people can vote in the costume contest.” Katherine didn’t feel like she could feel any more shame. Costume contest?! Everyone is going to see me like this. It won’t just be the people in my department. The crowd dispersed and went their separate ways. Amy walked up to her. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Katherine tried to manage a weak smile but couldn’t hide the distress on her face. Amy looked sympathetically into her eyes. “It’s okay, the worst part is over. Just have fun with it and things will get better.” Amy had to break eye contact as her pager went off. “Sorry, got a call. Text me if you need anything, I’ll talk to you soon.” Katherine checked her own schedule and started making her rounds. Her costume made her job difficult, but she quickly figured out a routine for avoiding confusion. She would knock on a patient’s room and walk in while holding out her ID badge and announcing her name. Parent’s still looked at her with skepticism or confusion, but no one doubted that she was a doctor. After she got into the rhythm, she began to feel more comfortable wearing the costume. Katherine even started receiving a few compliments on the authenticity, but she tried to ignore that they may be referring to her obviously poofy diaper. After a few hours, she barely felt any embarrassment about it anymore. She smiled when people awwed and cooed at her. She mastered the diaper waddle and was able to avoid tripping over herself. After getting caught up with her schedule, she finally had time for a break and desperately needed the bathroom. Katherine found a staff bathroom and locked the door behind her. She started trying to unfasten the buttons of her overalls before remembering that they were actually fake. She reached towards the back of her neck, her fingers barely reaching the small zipper that held her costume up. Her fingers felt along the fabric until she made contact with the cold metal and tried to tug it downwards. The zipper refused to move. She tugged harder, at first scared to rip her costume, but then realized that no matter how hard she pulled, it wasn’t moving. Just being in the bathroom had prepped her mind that she would be able to pee soon, and as she stood next to the toilet, the pressure was quickly becoming unbearable. Katherine tried to reach her hand up her back, but the zipper was still out of reach. She tugged and pulled in every direction, but her suit would not move. Panic began to set in. She felt herself beginning to sweat from the stress of pulling at the zipper. Her arms and back began to hurt, her muscles not used to the unusual positions. She grunted in frustration and took out her phone. She pulled up Amy’s contact info and called her. The phone rang and rang until Amy’s voicemail picked up. Katherine hung up in frustration. “Damn it, Amy!” She grunted to herself. She looked longingly at the toilet, her bladder sending another painful wave of pressure. She bent over and wrapped her arms around her stomach. What am I going to do, I can’t get this stupid costume off! The bathroom was silent, the only sound Katherine could hear was her pounding heartbeat in her ears. Her mind was racing, trying to think of a solution when a loud pounding came from the door. “Is anyone in there?” A voice called as the locked handle jiggled up and down. Katherine flinched in surprise at the loud sound, unsure what to do. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She stood there, completely frozen, when she felt a hot trickle escaping from her. Katherine’s knees went weak and she fell forward, kneeling on the floor. Her hands went to her crotch, pressing desperately to stop the flow, but she couldn’t stop as the painful pressure continued. Her thick diaper started to feel warm as the absorbent pads expanded against her. She could feel it getting heavier as it tugged against the tapes around her waist. Her mind went blank, frozen in terror with the only sensation keeping her grounded in reality being the spreading warmth in her crotch. Tears started to form as the stream began to slow. She was dressed as a baby, now trapped in her costume with a soaking wet diaper. She was already broadcasting to the world the fact that she was wearing a diaper. What if someone noticed that she had wet herself? Any respect she had built up for herself would be gone. A metal clicking sound came from the door as a key entered the lock. Katherine looked up from the floor in horror to see the doorknob turning. A nurse opened the door, then jumped back in surprise to see someone inside. “Oh, little girl, you’re not supposed to be in here.” Katherine got to her feet and moved towards the door, her waddle even more obvious than before. “Sorry.” Katherine muttered quietly as she awkwardly ran past the nurse. The woman continued to watch her until Katherine turned the corner. Katherine hated feeling the warm diaper squish against her as she moved. No matter how she moved, she couldn’t stop the thick material from making contact against her skin. She was trapped in this costume, and now trapped in a wet diaper. She found an open supply closet and hid herself behind a group of shelves. She slid against the wall until her thick padding made contact with the floor. A fresh wave of warmth came over her as the diaper pressed tightly against her. She felt completely trapped. She pulled out her phone again and pulled up Amy’s contact. The green call button seemed to stare at her, daring her to call and admit her predicament. She couldn’t stay like this all day… Chapter 6: Katherine stared at her phone as she sat in the corner of the supply closet. It was hard enough to stand with the thick bulk that was trapped between her legs, but now the only relief from her awkward, bowlegged stance was to sit on the warm, wet padding. She hated how it felt against her skin, a constant reminder of her inability to control her bladder. The call log on her phone listed several time stamps for all the unanswered calls to Amy, each about a minute apart. Katherine felt herself starting to rock back and forth with anxiousness, but quickly had to stop as she felt the diaper squish under her shifting weight. Come on Amy… pick up your phone… Katherine pleaded to the device. I can’t stay like this all day… She almost dropped her phone as it vibrated in her hands. She looked at the screen to see a text from Amy. “Sorry, I got called in for a procedure and won’t be able to meet for lunch. I’ll find you on the schedule and come meet you when I’m done.” The tears that Katherine had been trying to hold back streamed gently town her face as she re-read the message. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her friend what had happened. She needed to get out of this wet diaper and couldn’t even open the zipper to her outfit. Her colleagues couldn’t find out about this and Amy was the only one who would keep her secret. As she considered what few options she had, Katherine’s work pager went off. She pulled the small device out of the singular large pocket on the front of her overalls and read the display. She had been called in for a patient in the infant ward. It wasn’t uncommon for the doctors to do their rounds while in costume, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hide her current condition. A patient needed her and there was no way to communicate that she wasn’t available. She didn’t have a choice. Katherine dried her eyes off and shakily got to her feet. The warm diaper was already beginning to cool against her skin, a wet mush shifting against her with each step. She winced at the cold sensation as she made her way out of the supply closet. I’ll just have to deal with it for a little while until Amy can get me out of this. Katherine told herself, trying to think positively as she waddled awkwardly down the hall. She made her way to the infant wing and walked past the reception desk. A few nurses milled around without noticing her and Katherine looked up at the board to match the number on her pager. There were only a few patients listed on the schedule, all of them paired up with a doctor except for one. She looked at the blank slot where her name would go when she signed in, then looked at the patient name. “K. Baker. Room 315. Age: 24 months.” Katherine re-read the chart, confirming what she was seeing. They had her name in the wrong section. Her pager had gone off to inform her that she was assigned someone in room 315, but it appeared as if there wasn’t a patient. Katherine walked down the hall towards the room to investigate. She turned a corner and almost ran into a nurse who was looking at the clipboard in her hands. The woman stopped in her tracks and looked down at her. “Well aren’t you just a little cutie. Are you lost?” Amy blushed, but steeled herself to answer. “Thank you. No, I’m not lost. I’m supposed to be in room 315.” She walked around the nurse and continued down the hall. The nurse didn’t move, watching Katherine carefully as she headed to the room. Katherine read the room numbers as she passed, gradually increasing as she neared her assigned room. She passed one room labeled “Feeding Room” and had a pang of discomfort in her stomach as she remembered her previous experience in the feeding room. She continued quickly past it and found room 315. She reached up and turned the handle to the room. Room 315 had been styled as a pink nursery, with a child-sized hospital bed that doubled as a crib, a rocking chair, a changing table, and what looked like a second bed in the corner with a large, lacy hood. She stepped inside and looked at the patient info on the whiteboard. Patient: K. Baker. Age: 24 Mo. Everything else on the chart was blank. No medical history, no reason for the visit, and no guardian. Clearly this was some kind of computer glitch. As Katherine read the chart, a nurse entered the room. The woman was thin, the lines of her skin hinting at her age, but she moved with a quick efficiency that showed her experience. “Oh, hello there. What are you doing in here?” Her surprised tone quickly shifted to a babyish voice when she saw Katherine’s outfit. Katherine opened her mouth to speak, starting to point at the chart when the woman leaned down and looked at her ankle tag. Before Katherine could think of what to say, the woman lifted her up and read the tag aloud. “K. Baker. Oh, so you must be our patient!” She smiled as she laid Katherine down on the bed. Fear washed over her as Katherine realized how this must look. She couldn’t talk her way out of this with an ankle tag on. She hadn’t planned to cause any confusion, but now she feared that she might get in trouble for messing with the hospital’s computer system. As her mind raced trying to process her circumstances, the nurse looked down at the thick diaper that bulged through her overalls. “My goodness, someone needs a change.” Katherine’s eyes went wide as the nurse went over to a supply cabinet and retrieved a child-sized diaper and changing supplies. It was too late to say anything, she would just have to go with it and hope she had a chance to sneak out later. The nurse reached down towards Katherine’s crotch and started to undo the snaps that connected the front and back of her shorts. Katherine’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise. There was another way to get out of her costume? She only knew about the zipper that had failed to open and trapped her in her outfit. She wanted to kick herself for not figuring another way out. Once the snaps were undone, the nurse pulled the front of her overalls up, exposing her diaper. “Hmm… I don’t think I’ve ever seen these before.” The nurse mused as she started to undo the tapes. “My goodness, this is thick!” Katherine did her best to stay perfectly still, not wanting to draw attention to herself, but she couldn’t help but blush as the nurse commented on the state of her diaper. The nurse slid the heavy diaper out from under her and had to carefully fold it to make it fit inside a nearby diaper pail. The new diaper was laid down underneath her. Katherine tried to find a spot in the room to focus on, anything to distract her mind from her situation, but the pink nursery only contained childish objects that refused to allow her to think of anything else. She closed her eyes as the nurse took a wipe and began to clean her. Her gently movements felt comforting despite the awkward situation. The nurse smiled and cooed at her as she thoroughly cleaned Katherine with motherly efficiency. She applied lotion and powder before tightly taping up the much thinner diaper and snapping her overalls shut. The nurse noticed Katherine’s closed eyes. “Aw, is someone sleepy? You can take a nap for a while.” She said, mostly speaking to herself. “We’re not exactly sure what’s going on with your chart, probably some computer glitch. We’ll get it figured out soon and we can get you all taken care of.” She cooed over Katherine, circling her index finger above her face before she booped her on the nose. She waved at her before she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Katherine quickly sat up, looking around the room. Her new thinner diaper crinkled underneath her as she sat up. It was noticeably itchier than her first diaper, and she shifted uncomfortably as the material rubbed against. Katherine noticed the window above the door, ensuring that she wouldn’t have any privacy while she was stuck here. She reached behind her to tug on the zipper again, but it remained unmoving. She looked down to the snaps along the bottom of her overalls, wondering if she could unsnap her outfit and slide it up over her head. When she looked closer, she saw that the snaps connected the legs of her shorts didn’t reach to the bottom of the legs. The buttons allowed for flaps to open for easier diaper changes but didn’t allow access to slide the entire outfit off. Trapped in her outfit, Katherine grunted in frustration and began to think about a way out. Maybe if I can get out of the room, I can show someone my badge and convince them that this is just my Halloween costume. Katherine looked down at the front of her costume where her badge had been pinned. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw that it was no longer there. She frantically looked in her pocket which contained her pager and cell phone. She looked around on the floor but didn’t see it anywhere. Oh no no no no… She internally screamed as she continued to search. I must have dropped it back in the supply closet! How am I going to get to it? Katherine heard footsteps approaching her door. She quickly scrambled back into the bed as if she had never gotten up. The same nurse from earlier walked in holding a large bottle in her hands. “We don’t have your schedule yet or know your medications, so we’re gonna get started on the regular feeding schedule.” She addressed Katherine but spoke as if she knew that Katherine wouldn’t respond or understand her. Katherine felt a pain in her stomach, remembering how she hadn’t had time to eat lunch. She brought the nipple up to Katherine’s mouth and gently pressed it between her lips. Katherine felt a few drops of bland tasting formula trickled on to her tongue. She resisted the urge to gag at the taste as she began to suckle. The nurse continued held the bottle firmly against her lips as she drank. “My, my, you’re a hungry one. Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll move you to the feeding room once nap time’s over and we you can have dinner.” Katherine tried to keep the reaction off of her face, but internally grimaced at the thought of going to the feeding room. As she held the bottle, the nurse pulled a clipboard off of a nearby table and started marking a slip of paper with a pen. “Okay… found you with a very wet diaper, probably had been worn for a while. Bottle at 1:30 PM. I expect another wetting soon, and we’ll be charting to see how regular you are.” As she continued to feed her, the woman looked down at Katherine’s hospital tag, then at the other ankle. “Oh, we forgot to get you a monitor bracelet.” Katherine had forgotten all about the hospital’s infant monitoring system and started to panic as she realized how much harder her escape was going to be now. The nurse retrieved a large plastic bracelet from a nearby locked drawer and started to fasten it around Katherine’s ankle. It was an uncuttable locking bracelet that had a large plastic flower attached to it. While it looked harmless, the flower contained a near-field tracking monitor that was fitted to all newborns so that they could not leave the hospital without the mother present. Because Katherine had no guardian with a matching bracelet, the alarm would go off if she left the room without an escort with a nurse’s bracelet. She finished attaching it, and the plastic flower chimed a short melody to indicate that it was activated. Katherine’s belly began to feel full as she wasn’t used to drinking so much all at once. Her jaw strained against the constant suction. She forced herself to keep drinking as she swallowed the last few drops of the bottle. The nurse looked appreciatively at the empty bottle. “That was fast, someone must have been thirsty. We might need to get you another one before dinner if you’re still thirsty.” Katherine winced at the comment, her normally flat belly was now showing a rounded bulge in her overalls. She wasn’t sure that she could drink any more if she wanted to. The nurse wiped away a few drops from around Katherine’s lips and popped Katherine’s pacifier into her mouth. She smiled at her, then walked out of the room, leaving her alone in the nursery. Katherine immediately spat out the pacifier and pulled her phone out of the pocket. She opened her recent calls and started to dial Amy’s phone. Just as she was about to his send, Amy entered the room. She looked horrified as she saw Katherine lying in the bed. She shut the door behind her and came over to the bed. “Oh no. I’m sorry Katie, I don’t know how this happened! I saw your name on the board with no physician listed and I thought it was just a mistake.” Katherine felt so relieved to see her friend that she almost forgot how mad she was about the whole situation. “It’s okay, just get me out of here.” She lifted her ankle in the air to show Amy her predicament. Amy’s mouth dropped as she realized the problem. “Oh crap… I don’t have a bracelet. I’ll have to add myself to the system and get one. Okay, just wait here and I’ll be back to get you. Don’t worry, I’m going to sort this out.” She gave her friend a quick hug, which Katherine returned. She hated being stuck like this, but she was still grateful to have a friend. Amy slipped out of the room, leaving Katherine alone again. She pulled out her phone to stave off the boredom but noticed that she had less than 30% battery left on her phone. I don’t know how long I’ll be here… I should probably save my battery. She closed her open apps and put the phone in battery save mode. After she returned it to her pocket, she stared at the ceiling and took in the room around her. Unlike most hospital rooms, this one unfortunately did not have a television. Even if it did, if the nurse came back to see it on, she would know that Katherine must have turned it on. Katherine sighed as she realized how boring her wait would be until Amy could get herself added to the system. Katherine looked around for a clock but didn’t see one on the wall. She was tempted to pull out her phone but didn’t want to drain the battery by waking it up. Boredom was quickly overtaking her. Minutes felt like hours in the silence, and she began to yawn from the lack of stimulation. The idea of a nap suddenly sounded very appealing, and Katherine realized that it would be an easy way to pass the time as well as keep her cover. The nurse had said this was supposed to be naptime anyway. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Katherine awoke to a pain in her bladder. Her stomach still felt full of the formula and she wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep. She pulled out her phone and saw that it had been almost 3 hours. She sent a quick text to Amy. “How is it going?”. She stared at her phone as she waited for a response. Her stomach made a loud gurgling noise and her bladder let out another pang of discomfort. She looked around the room but realized that there was no bathroom in the room. She looked back to her phone, pleading that Amy would respond. Minutes went by with no reply, all the while her bladder continued to protest. I don’t want to do that again… She thought as she remembered the diaper around her waist. If Amy could break her out, she could use a normal bathroom. But if she couldn’t in time, the nurses would notice that Katherine was still dry. Another 10 minutes went by with no response, and Katherine began to rock in her bed with anticipation. She felt herself breaking, unable to hold back anymore. Come on Amy… She pleaded, but her phone didn’t go off. She sighed and steeled herself for what was about to happen. She had been clenching to maintain control, and as she gently relaxed her muscles, she felt herself releasing into her diaper. Katherine winced at the familiar warm sensation as her diaper began to expand and spread around her, but she couldn’t stop herself from audibly sighing with relief as the pressure left her belly. The diaper continued to swell as her flow finally finished. Katherine moved around in her bed in an attempt to find a more comfortable position but noticed that the diaper didn’t hold the fluid as she squished the swollen pad. She hadn’t realized the difference in the diapers that Amy had picked out for her versus the cheap generic diapers the hospital used. The material sagged much more, threatening to leak with each move. A wet sensation began to gather at the legs of her overalls as the diaper leaked over the edges. Katherine hadn’t realized how much she had flooded. I guess these children’s diapers weren’t meant to hold that much... She could only hold still to prevent the leak from spreading. She laid back, trapped in her bed with nothing to do as she waited for Amy to come back. Katherine couldn’t be sure how much time had gone past before the nurse came back. The woman beamed as she came over to the crib. “Did someone enjoy her naptime?” She began to undo the snaps of her overalls as the spoke. “I didn’t hear any fussing from outside. Such a sweet girl, so well behaved.” She placed a hand on the front of Katherine’s diaper. “My goodness, you’re absolutely soaked! Let’s get you out of that wet diaper.” Just as before, she was quick and efficient with her change, but as she unfastened the tapes and pulled the diaper down, the woman looked a little surprised. She reached over to the clipboard and started writing. “Second diaper change, very wet, but no bowel movements yet. I hope you’re not constipated…” There was genuine concern in her voice. The diaper change was almost finished when the nurse smiled at her and said, “Maybe some dinner will help you with that.” A sense of dread came over Katherine as she realized what was going to happen. She fought hard to keep her face blank and unreadable. Just keep acting like a baby… Just a little longer and Amy can get you out of here… The woman picked up Katherine as if she weighed nothing, waved her bracelet against Katherine’ tracker, and after getting a confirmation tone, carried her to the feeding room. Katherine was locked in a familiar high-chair, the table locked in against her chest. She noticed a grumble from her stomach and realized how long it had been since she had eaten real food. Maybe if she was actually hungry, the dreadful food would taste better than last time. As other babies were places in their chairs, Katherine’s nurse came over with 3 jars of baby food and a bottle full of a white fluid. Katherine eyed the bottle skeptically. She was feeling incredibly thirsty, but her jaw still ached from trying to suck down the thick baby formula. The bottle was placed in her mouth. As she suckled, she was pleased to find that it was warm, ordinary milk, which flowed much easier through the bottle nipple. The nurse pulled it away just as she was almost finished with it. “we’ll save a little for when you’re done.” Katherine eyed the small jars of food. The labels were all turned away from her as the nurse removed the lids. One jar was an ugly orange color that might have been closer to brown. The second jar was the green shade of a 70s shag rug carpet. The last was a deep purple that resembled grape jelly. Katherine could only hope at the last of these that she would have something that actually tasted good to look forward to. The nurse grabbed a little pink plastic spoon from a nearby tray and scooped out the largest spoonful the little piece of plastic could hold and began to move it like an airplane, complete with sounds and commands from an air traffic control tower. Katherine did her best to not look annoyed and opened her mouth compliantly. “Such a good baby!” The nurse deposited the spoon in her mouth. Katherine closed her mouth around it and tried not to wince as the taste of blended squash and carrots touched her tongue. After several more tiny spoonfuls, Katherine had just gotten used to the taste of the carrots and squash as she emptied the jar and moved on to the green substance. Katherine braced herself, but couldn’t keep herself from frowning at the taste of mushy peas. She ate compliantly until the second jar was finished. Her stomach was feeling full already, protesting as she eyed the last jar. “I’m a little worried about your tummy, so I got this one special just for you.” She said as she prepared the jar and loaded up the spoon with the thick purple substance. Katherine gulped, then braced herself for the new goop. Almost done… Let’s just get this over with… She opened her mouth. Katherine’s eyes went wide as she realized the taste on her tongue. “Aren’t prunes such a treat!” The nurse said gleefully. “They’re sweet, just like candy, but they’re also good for your tummy.” The foul substance slid down Katherine’s throat as she reluctantly swallowed. She had always hated prunes, but something about the mushy texture just made it that much more unpleasant. Spoonful after spoonful, she gulped down the sickly-sweet mush into her already full belly. The nurse made sure to get every last scrape from the bottom of the jar before handing Katherine back her half-finished bottle. She was thankful to have something to wash the taste of prunes out of her mouth. The nurse returned her to the room and laid her on the hospital bed. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you sweetie. I’m sure we’ll have this glitch with your chart sorted out soon.” Katherine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The nurse left the room, closing the door behind her. Katherine sat up, feeling discomfort from her bloated stomach. Her bladder was already starting to feel full again from her bottle from dinner. She pulled out her phone, now at 25% battery, and checked to see if Amy had said anything. There were no new notifications on her phone, and no indications that Amy would be able to rescue her before the nurse made rounds again for a diaper change. Another wave of pain pushed from her bladder, and Katherine decided that she wasn't going to let it become painful again. She concentrated and started to wet herself. During her previous accidents, Katherine had always had a painfully full bladder that had released out of desperation. Now, she found herself straining and holding her breath as she forced herself to use her diaper. It was over much quicker this time, the thin diaper dealing with the smaller wetting much more efficiently than before. Katherine couldn't help but smile as the diaper still felt comfortable, the wet spot barely noticeable against her skin. A warm blush came to her cheeks as she thought about what she had done. It had felt naughty, deliberately peeing her pants, but it gave her a strange since of control, choosing to have an accident on purpose. She laid back against the bed, content with herself, when her door suddenly opened. Amy stepped inside with her makeshift diaper bag over her shoulder. “Hey, I'm sorry it took so long. I ran into a few problems.” “Where were you?” Katherine demanded. “I'll explain later. I figured out a way to get you discharged-" before she could finish, the nurse opened the door. “Oh, hello… I didn't know anyone else was assigned to this room.” Her uncertain tone almost sounded like a threat towards Amy, as if she knew she wasn't supposed to be there. “Oh, yes. I'm Katie's legal guardian.” Katherine had to try her hardest to keep a look of shock off of her face. Amy held out her hand towards the nurse. The nurse shook it warmly, while still keeping a look of skepticism on her face. “Oh, you must be Misses Baker.” Amy faked an awkward laugh. “No, no, but I’m acting as her guardian. I understand there's been some sort of scheduling error?” The nurse noticed Amy's badge and her expression softened. “Yes, we weren't sure what was going on. We've been handed off to different departments to figure out the glitch, so they've just told us to keep her as a patient until further notice.” Amy nodded as if she was fully aware of the situation. “Of course. Well, Katherine wasn't feeling very well, so we came to the hospital. Her doctor recommended a simple observation period just to be safe, and it seems that everything just got mixed up somewhere. She seems to be doing fine now.” Amy looked over to Katherine, who gave her best impression of a smiling baby. The nurse looked over at Katherine. “Well there's no doubt she knows you. That's the first time I've seen her smile. Well we've had her here since this afternoon. If you can find the doctors orders, we can discharge her tomorrow morning.” “Tomorrow?” Amy questioned. “Yes.” The nurse said matter-of-factly. “Observations last 24 hours unless instructed otherwise. Without the written orders, we can't discharge her early. But if they manage to fix the problem and find the order, you can take her hone then.” Katherine felt tears threatening to find to the corners of her eyes. Stuck all night here? She had been so ready to go home, and now she was somehow even more trapped than before. The nurse walked over to her and gently touched Katherine's diaper. “Someone's a little wet. Would you like to change her?” the nurse looked to Amy's diaper bag. “Um…okay, sure" Amy said, trying to play along with her lie. Katherine felt herself going numb as she grasped her situation. Amy knew she had actually used her diaper and was about to change her. She looked at the ceiling and tried not to make eye contact. The nurse watched intently as Amy pulled out one of the thick baby-print diapers. “What are those? I saw her wearing one earlier. They're awfully puffy...” Amy looked at the diaper, hesitating as she tried to think of a plausible explanation. “They're… overnight diapers. Much more comfortable and they help prevent rashes.” The nurse looked surprised as she considered this. Amy untapped the hospital diaper and wadded it up. The nurse peered over her shoulder. “Is she only wet?” Amy seemed a bit confused by the question. “Um, yes. Just wet.” The nurse went over to the clipboard and marked something on the chart. “We’ve been trying to track a schedule for her, and I’m surprised she hasn’t had a movement yet. We might need to do something to help her along.” Amy looked down at Katherine with sympathetic eyes, hoping her friend wouldn’t have to endure anything else. Amy lifted the lid to the diaper pail and froze as she saw the other heavily used adult diaper at the bottom. Katherine wondered why Amy had stopped moving, then realized what she must have been looking at. Amy looked to Katherine who wouldn't meet her gaze. She deposited the diaper in the pail and closed the lid. Amy opened up the new, much puffier diaper and slid it underneath Katherine. Katherine closed her eyes and tried to block out what was happening, a skill she was quickly becoming adept at. Amy wiped, powdered, and quickly fastened the thick diaper around Katherine’s waist. As she started to fasten the snaps, she noticed the dampness around Katherine’s overalls. She didn’t want to embarrass her friend any more than she already had been, but she didn’t want her to be stuck in wet clothes. “I think her other diaper might have leaked… I have a different outfit for her to change into.” Amy went to her diaper bag and pulled out a pink onesie. Katherine tried not to glare at Amy. Why had she had another outfit? Had she planned for something like this? Amy came over and began to undress Katherine. Her zipper slid down easily as Amy guided it down. Katherine felt her cheeks go hot with rage at how easily Amy had been abot to free her from her prison. She slid the wet overalls off and slid Katherine’s legs into the soft onesie. She guided the material up and around Katherine’s arms, then snugly over her shoulders as she zipped the back up. Oh great, another zipper. Katherine thought to herself. Amy unclipped the pacifier from the overalls and reattached it to the front of Katherine’s new outfit. The popped the oversized nipple into her mouth and Katherine held it there, subtly trying to glare at Amy. Amy spoke in a babyish voice. “Now don’t worry honey. The doctors just want to keep you here for one night and then Mommy can take you home. Can you be good for me for just one night?” Katherine continued to glare, understanding, but unhappy with the message her friend was trying to tell her. Amy leaned in and kissed the top of Katherine’s head, then quietly whispered so the nurse couldn’t hear her. “I’ll message you. I’ll get you out as soon as I can.” She stood up and retrieved her bag. “So, will visiting hours be an issue?” “Not at all.” The nurse said. “However, you’ll have to have someone present if the glitch doesn’t get fixed. It’s a really abnormal circumstance. I’ve never seen one go on for this long before.” Amy nodded. “Alright, I’ll probably come by later.” She waved to Katherine as she walked out of the room with the nurse. “I’ll see you soon honey, Mommy loves you.” Katherine watched them go as the door shut. She didn’t move for a while, the pacifier still sitting in her mouth. She knew it was all an act for the nurse, but she actually felt better from Amy’s loving comments. The loneliness, boredom, and humiliation of this place left her hungry for attention and affection. She wanted to go home. She wanted to put all of this behind her. Soon, she would be free and would be going home with Amy. She unconsciously started sucking her pacifier, the only real thing she could do in this room. She looked back up at the ceiling and stared as the minutes went past. Just have to hold out a little longer. Just a little more… Chapter 7: The sun began to set, the light faded to a soft orange in Katherine's hospital room. The lack of stimulation and isolation of her room made her hyper-aware of any change in her surroundings. Her stomach was still overstuffed from dinner, every gurgle echoing loudly in the otherwise silent room. The plastic of Katherine’s diapers rustled and crinkled loudly with each movement as if it were a bell around her neck, constantly reminding her of her predicament. Katherine did everything she could to try to stave off the boredom. The temptation to pull out her phone was almost more than she could stand, but she knew her battery wouldn’t last long and she had to save it for communicating with Amy. She couldn’t mentally distract herself long enough before something would snap her out of her distraction and remind her where she was. She was locked in a pink nursery with an alarm on her ankle, forced to eat disgusting baby food, trapped in a baby girl’s outfit, complete with humiliatingly thick diapers, and worst of all, she actually had to use them. Her job would be at risk if anyone found out she was actually a doctor. She was small enough that if she put on a believable enough performance, no one would notice. She had no choice but to commit to the humiliating masquerade, but it only became more difficult the longer she held out. It had been a few hours since dinner, but Katherine was already beginning to feel thirsty. Her stomach still felt uncomfortably full from her generously proportioned dinner, but she hadn’t had much to drink with it. She dreaded the thought of being given another bottle of the foul-tasting baby formula, but her night would become unbearable if she had to wait for morning for a drink. The lack of a clock in the room didn’t help her judge how long it had been since she had eaten, or how soon someone would come back to her room. How will they know that I need a drink? Katherine looked up at the emergency call button against the wall before it occurred to her how futile it would be. They’ll know for sure that something is weird if a ‘baby’ can use the emergency call button. How do babies normally communicate that they need something? She barely finished the thought before she realized the obvious answer. Oh… basically all they can do is cry… Katherine took a moment to evaluate her acting skills. If she was going to do this, she had to commit. She would have to cry loudly enough to get someone’s attention, then keep crying until they figured out what she wanted. Once she started, there would be no going back. If she messed this up, they would figure out something was wrong and she could end up fired. While she considered the problem, Katherine’s anxiety began to well up inside her again. She was beginning to feel mentally exhausted from all the stress of the past week. The anxiety built as she dwelt on her situation, when tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes. Her eyes widened as she realized how she could make this believable. She began to take down her barriers for her anxiety and let her emotions run out of control. All her stress, fear, humiliation, loneliness, and anger that she had been bottling up were released all at once. Tears began to flow from her eyes. She started involuntarily whimpering in time with her sobs. Some adult part of her brain tried to regain control and keep her crying quiet, but Katherine knew she couldn’t worry about embarrassment. The whimpering became louder. As Katherine pushed her adult fears back and let her emotions escape, she felt a strange relief wash over her. It actually felt good to cry. Her nose began to run, hot tears streaked down her face, and she was almost yelling into her pacifier. She felt her hands balling up into fists and fussing against her bed. Her feet kicked against the sheets, straining against the thick diaper that spread them apart. The strain of her job, her colleagues, her embarrassment seemed to flow away with each scream. The world began to shut out around Katherine. She didn’t care if anyone heard or saw her, she only felt her raw, unfiltered emotions. She barely noticed as hands picked her up and wrapped around her. She felt something warm pressing against her face, and she instinctively snuggled into it. Katherine sobbed into a nurse’s hospital scrubs as she was gently bounced. “There, there sweetie...” The nurse held Katherine close, snuggling her into her breasts. Katherine felt herself beginning to relax, her emotional tirade beginning to wane. She whimpered softly as the woman gently shushed her. The nurse draped a soft cloth over her shoulder, gently wiping at Katherine’s face. “Does someone need her dirty diaper changed?” She gently tugged back at the waistband of her diaper. “No, you’re still clean. Is someone thirsty?” Katherine barely processed the words as she continued to softly cry. “Dinner wasn’t that long ago. Maybe we can still get you a bottle if you need it.” She continued to bounce Katherine until she was still. Katherine felt physically exhausted from her outburst. If her thirst wasn’t so prominent, she felt like she may have been able to fall asleep at that moment. The nurse placed her back in her bed, then stepped outside for a few moments. She returned shortly with two small baby bottles, one full of a clear liquid, and one solid white. She set them on a nearby table as she picked up Katherine and walked over to the rocking chair in the corner. She held Katherine in her arms and brought the clear bottle’s nipple up to Katherine’s lips. She instinctively latched on and began drinking the water. The slow rate of water droplets trickling from the nipple weren’t fast enough to satisfy Katherine’s painful thirst. Her mouth began to ache from the speed that she suckled, but the relief of finally having a drink outweighed her discomfort. “Slow down honey, you’re going to get a belly ache.” Katherine barely noticed as she finished gulping down the last of the water. The small baby bottle amounted roughly to a small glass of water, but was barely enough to quench Katherine’s thirst. The nurse methodically swapped out the bottle of water for the formula almost as quickly as it left Katherine’s lips. She continued to suckle, wincing slightly as the taste of the bland formula hit her tongue. She had begun to get used to the taste and didn’t care enough to stop. Bland as it was, it didn’t taste bad to her. Her full stomach complained as she continued to gulp down mouth-full after mouth-full of formula, but her thirst was finally beginning to disappear. Just as she felt like she couldn’t drink any more, the last of the formula trickled out of the nipple. The nurse lifted Katherine up and placed her head against her shoulder. She began to gently pat her back while bouncing her. Katherine felt nauseous as the contents of her full stomach shifted with each bounce. She began to feel drowsy, the motion of the nurse's leg keeping her awake. She began to feel something move in her stomach before an involuntary burp came out. Katherine hadn’t even felt it coming and wasn’t able to stop herself. “There we go. All better!” The nurse cooed as she picked Katherine up and walked over to the corner of the room. Instead of the hospital bed, Katherine was laid down in a hooded sleeper that was nestled in the corner of her nursery. Pink frills lined the edge, accented with silk bows. A small mobile hung from the top of the hood, accented with a little moon, stars, and sheep. The nurse turned a switch on the mobile and it began to spin, a small music box tone playing a soft nursery rhyme melody. She gave Katherine a kiss on the forehead. “Goodnight sweetie. Mommy will be back tomorrow. Sweet dreams.” The nurse turned off the lights as she exited the room, Leaving Katherine in almost complete darkness other than the light of the hallway that came through the window on her door. Sleep was quickly beginning to overtake Katherine. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so tired. A thought fought its way to the surface of her sleepy mind that she should check if Amy had sent her anything. She lazily felt around the front of her sleeper for her pocket that contained her phone. A faint feeling of panic came over her as she realized that Amy had changed her outfit, and in doing so had accidentally taken her phone. She now had no way to ask for help and was stuck until morning. Her eyes began to shut as she realized that there was nothing that she could do about the problem. Sleep was the only option, and she could happily wait until morning. She snuggled into the soft blankets and quickly drifted off to sleep. The next morning, Katherine awoke to the sounds of the nurse approaching her sleeper. “Wakey, wakey sleepy head.” Katherine let out a jaw-popping yawn as she slowly regained consciousness. The nurse picked her up and held her in her arms. “My goodness, that’s quite a saggy diaper!” Katherine shifted her legs slightly and was surprised to feel dampness rubbing against her skin. Had she had an accident while she was sleeping? The nurse laid her down on the changing table and undid the tapes of her diaper. “I think mommy left you some of your diapers to change into. Normally we’d just use the hospital ones, but if this is what your mommy wants to use, I won’t argue.” She picked up one of the diapers from the small stack Amy had left behind and began to change Katherine. She pulled down the front and examined her. “Still no mess? After your big meal yesterday, I think we’re going to need to do something about this.” She gave a gently prod against Katherine’s belly that was noticeably bloated. Katherine worked to keep a straight face as she realized what this meant. She could indeed feel something heavy in her belly. It had been a few days since she last went, and after all the bulk feedings, it was no surprise that something would need to come out soon. The nurse wiped and powdered her before taping up the new diaper. She began to write her notes about Katherine's schedule on her chart. “If it doesn’t happen soon, I’ll give you something to help you. If those prunes didn’t do it, we’ll make sure everything’s working smoothly.” As she finished writing, an audible gurgle came from Katherine’s tummy. The nurse smiled as she realized what it was. “I don’t think we’ve got anything to worry about.” She placed Katherine back in her bed and began to walk out of the room before another nurse opened the door. “Excuse me, I’m here to collect Katherine. It seems that her mother has her signed up to participate in a training course.” Katherine wondered to herself what elaborate plan Amy had come up with to get her out. Amy moved at a quicker-than-usual pace through her morning routine. She wasn’t scheduled to come in on Saturday, but tried to appear normal as she swiped in and placed her belongings in her locker. She wore her typical scrubs and tried to look inconspicuous as she walked through the hallway. She made her way to an empty nurse station terminal and signed in with her badge. Navigating the system wasn’t difficult with her nurse's permissions, but she could only see the minimum details of a patient. If she could give herself access to Katherine’s file, she could take her out of the system and erase her mistake. There were only a few hours left of her observation period left, and then she could get her out before anyone else knew. “Miss Bradford… I don’t see you on the schedule for today...” A stern voice came from behind Amy. She jumped as she turned in an attempt to block the screen from Kelly. “Miss Anderson! Um, yes, I guess there must have been a slip up on my calendar.” Kelly looked at her skeptically as she stuttered through her excuse. Kelly peered over her shoulder, attempting to see monitor behind her. “Why do you have a patient’s file up if you’re not on the schedule?” Her tone was sharp and accusational. Amy froze up as she tried to think of a response to the rhetorical question. Kelly didn’t wait for a response and pushed past her with her clipboard and walked up to the monitor. “K. Baker. No info. Nurse Bradford… Is this Doctor Baker in the system as a patient?” Her tone was cold and hard like stone, sending a shiver of fear down Amy’s back. She knew she had to come clean. “Yes, but it was-" “And were you attempting to edit secured and confidential hospital files?” Kelly cut her off. Amy began to panic as she realized the gravity of the situation. “Well, yes. But you don’t underst-” “What I understand is that you abused your credentials granted to you as a nurse to play a joke that has now caused turmoil in our system. This is completely unacceptable, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this leads to the both of you being terminated.” Amy felt her throat go dry as she stammered to think of something to say. “Miss Anderson, please, it was a mistake. It wasn’t Katherine’s fault. I just wanted to print her a fake hospital tag for her costume. I didn’t know it would create a patient profile for her. Now she’s stuck in the infant ward as a patient under observation and I was just trying to get her out. There was no abuse of patient records because it wasn’t a real record. I was just trying to clear up my mistake. Please don’t punish Katherine for it!” Kelly’s eyebrows furrowed together skeptically as she processed what she had said. “You’re saying that Doctor Baker is being treated as a patient right now… and no one has noticed?” Amy nodded slowly, unsure how to react. Kelly considered this for a moment. “I could report you for this. I already have enough on Katherine’s performance to make a strong case against her, but I might have an alternative. Of course, I can’t make any illegal changes to our system, but I could make a more reasonable arrangement for Doctor Baker.” Amy wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but was desperate enough to take any help she could get. “What do we need to do?” Kelly pulled out her tablet and began flipping through her schedule. “One thing we have really been trying to get a better handle on is our training courses. We have a difficult time keeping up with the number of mothers and nurses that go through various training courses we provide. Some classes can use dolls for basic lessons, but it’s always much more beneficial if we have an actual infant to assist, especially with new mothers. It adds a valuable authenticity to the training that you can’t get with a doll. The most difficult part is finding mothers who are available to volunteer their children for training. However, if we had someone on staff who could be a stand in for a real baby, we could over several more classes and get our numbers up...” Amy was shocked at the ease in Kelly’s tone. She seemed to be forming her plan as she was speaking, paying no mind to how horrifying it might sound. “You want her to pretend to be a baby for your classes?!” Amy had to control herself to keep from shouting. Kelly looked at her disapprovingly. “She’s already pretending to be a child and is apparently succeeding. I don’t see how this is any worse than the situation you’ve gotten yourselves into, and this will actually be able to support the hospital. Doctor Baker can be on retainer and keep her job. She’s technically licensed to assist in training as a doctor, and this would qualify without violating any hospital rules. This is the best option I can see. Either she changes to this much more fitting role, or I can report the both of you. Those are your options.” Amy could hear her heartbeat in her ears. She knew she didn’t have a choice. She had to do the only thing she could for Katherine and try to make it as easy for her as she could. “Okay… What do we need to do?” Kelly smirked and pulled up her tablet. “There is a training course in half an hour that I’m scheduled to supervise. We can schedule her for it and give her a trial run. If it doesn’t work, I’ll have the report filed within the hour.” Kelly’s stomach dropped. “Can I assist with it? I need to explain the situation to her.” Kelly poked at her tablet. “It says here that you’ve been added as a guardian. Interesting… I have your consent to schedule her then?” Kelly let out a resigned sigh. “Yes.” Kelly tapped a button on her tablet and smiled to herself. “I just sent out the update to her chart. It’s in 25 minutes in training room 104. Someone will bring her there and you will have that long to get ready.” Kelly turned and walked away, leaving Amy standing dumbstruck in front of the computer. The nurse carried Katherine through several long hallways until they came to training room 104. The nurse pushed open the doors and walked into the large well-lit room. There were several chairs and small tables along the sides of the room with a variety of nursery-type items in the middle of the room. Each center table had a different station for teaching new mothers basic skills like using car seats, diaper changes, feeding, and bathing. Katherine remembered it from her tour, but didn’t think she would be back here any time soon. The nurse laid Katherine in the demonstration crib and latched the side bars in place. She walked over to the terminal on the wall and confirmed that they were in the right room. Amy threw the doors open as she almost fell into the room, quickly taking in her surroundings before noticing the nurse. The nurse jumped at the surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Amy quickly blurted out. “I was worried I would be late. Is Katherine here?” Katherine felt a wave of relief as she heard Amy’s voice. The nurse smiled as she realized who she was. “Oh, you must be her mother. Yes, I just brought her over. She’s in the crib right over there. If you’re staying, I can leave her in your care.” Amy nodded enthusiastically. “That would be great.” The nurse smiled at her and left the room. Just as the door closed behind her, Katherine bolted upright to peer over the wall of the crib. “What happened?!” Katherine attempted to yell and whisper simultaneously. Amy rushed over and tried to shush her. “Katie, I'm so sorry. Something went really wrong and we can't get you out of the system. I tried to override it, but we can get in serious trouble.” Katherine looked visibly shaken by the news. “So, what now?” Amy tried to calm herself down before delivering the news. She knew Katherine wasn't going to like it, but she didn't have a choice. “So, we won’t get in trouble… if you teach a class.” Katherine didn’t try to hide the confusion on her face. “That’s all… teach a class?” “Yeah… well, assist an instructor in some of the classes here…” She trailed off, hoping Katherine would pick up on what she was implying. Katherine’s face didn’t change. She stood up in the crib, unmoving and silently waiting for her friend to explain. “Well… you can clearly pass for a baby… and we need babies to assist in the training courses here…” Katherine’s face shifted into a mixture of rage and sheer panic. “What?!” She began to hyperventilate, the beginnings of tears forming at the edges of her eyes. Amy held her hands on Katherine’s shoulders in an attempt to soothe her. “I know, but it’s just acting. You help teach a class, and you won’t get in trouble.” Katherine continued to breathe heavily, barely keeping herself from sobbing. “How do you know we won’t get in trouble?” Her voice began to crack as she spoke. Amy gently stroked the back of her head, running her fingers through her hair. “Well… I know it’s okay becau-" The door burst open. Kelly walked through the door followed by several women that were in various stages of pregnancy. “- and this is our training room where the sessions will take place.” Amy quickly lifted Katherine under her armpits and laid her down in the crib before anyone saw her. Katherine looked up at her in shock as she saw Kelly. “It’s okay. Kelly knows, but this was her idea. She’s on your side.” Amy whispered quietly. Katherine could only shake her head back and forth in a feeble protest to the situation. “Just play along. Just act like a baby for them, and everything will be fine.” Amy stood up and walked over to the crowd. Katherine stared up at the ceiling. She wanted to cry. She wanted this awful anxiety of trying to control her emotions to go away. She was mentally exhausted. She hadn’t had a second that she didn’t have to worry about blowing her cover. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. “Over the next few weeks, we will cover all the criteria listed in the brochures. We will be repeating the material several times in each lesson so if you are unable to attend a session, you will still be able to learn the material. Over here, is our helper for the day.” Kelly walked over to the crib. As the women gathered around her, Kelly looked down at Katherine and made eye contact. Her cold stare spoke volumes and Katherine knew the underlying threat. The ladies circled the crib, making appreciative comments about how adorable the baby was. Katherine tried not to blush as Kelly reached down and placed her pacifier in her mouth. Katherine looked around, trying to find somewhere to look that didn’t have someone staring at her. She was completely encompassed by young women in yoga pants and maternity clothing. Some had only small, barely noticeable baby bumps, while others looked to be days away from their delivery dates. They all peered over the crib, cooing and smiling at Katherine. She tried to look for a place to keep her focus on, but her vision was completely filled with staring eyes and the naturally engorged breasts of the soon-to-be mothers. “This is Katherine. She’s a patient here and her mother has volunteered her to help teach our classes.” Kelly announced. “Our first lessons today will be feeding.” Kelly read over Katherine’s chart. “It appears that little Katherine hasn’t eaten yet today, so that will be perfect.” She reached down into the crib and picked Katherine up as if she weighed no more than a feather. Kelly placed her in a high chair and locked the table in place. “Katherine is old enough to be eating baby food, but she also drinks from bottles. We can demonstrate how both of these are done. Nurse Bradford, would you assist me?” Amy walked over to a cabinet and wordlessly retrieved the necessary supplies. “As you can see, Nurse Bradford is mixing powdered formula and distilled water. This is a very convenient option for preparing ahead of time as it does not need to be refrigerated. As Katherine watched Amy mix the formula, she began to feel a hunger pang in her stomach. She didn’t want any more formula, but she needed to eat something for breakfast. “Would anyone like to try the bottle?” Kelly asked to the group. A few women looked at each other before a young girl chimed in. “I would.” Katherine tried not to look, but couldn’t help notice how far along she was. She had to be at least seven months. She was slightly heavyset, with long curly blond hair. She supported her belly with her hands on her back, a common pose among the group. Amy handed her the bottle and she walked over to Katherine. She came in close to Katherine face and smiled at her. “Hey there cutie. Do you want something to drink?” She held the bottle up to Katherine’s lips. Katherine was enamored with how pretty she was and didn’t even notice herself returning the smile and opening her lips. The girl held the bottle to Katherine’s mouth and had to cover her own mouth with her free hand to suppress a grin. “Oh my goodness, she is just precious!” She cooed to the other women. Katherine suckled at the formula, noting how it seemed to taste better than the last time. Her jaw didn’t ache as much anymore. After a few minutes, Kelly brought another woman to practice holding the bottle. One by one, they all took turns feeding her. Amy watched with fascination as Katherine suckled. She made another bottle as Katherine finished the first, ensuring each woman had an opportunity to practice. “Will we be doing diaper changes in this class?” One of the women asked. Kelly smirked at the question. “We will practice diaper changes regardless, but when we do depends on our guinea pig.” The group laughed at the joke, and Katherine felt her face go hot. Amy looked at her sympathetically, but Katherine couldn’t meet her gaze. Kelly walked over to the table that held Katherine’s chart and began to read through it. “Well, it appears that Katherine’s nurse has been keeping track of her bowel movements, or rather lack of them. This might be a good time to talk about home healthcare for your child. It’s uncommon, but children can become constipated. It appears to have been a few days for Katherine, so we can demonstrate the proper way to address this.” Kelly walked over the supply cabinet and pulled out a small bottle. Katherine continued to suckle at the bottle, trying to block out what was happening. She felt herself starting to panic and attempted to mentally drop down to an inner quiet place. She wasn’t here. This wasn’t happening. She mindlessly drank from the bottle, ignoring what the women were saying. Kelly came over and picked Katherine up from her highchair. Katherine didn't struggle and went limp as she was carried. Kelly walked her over to a changing table, laying her down on her stomach. Katherine felt her arms moving on their own as she felt and grasped the soft lining of the changing mat. The simple stimulation of the material kept her mind distracted as Kelly began to undo the tapes of her diaper. The changing table held several necessary supplies. Kelly folded the diaper back, exposing Katherine’s bottom to the crowd. She took out two blue latex gloves from the box and methodically slipped them onto her hands. She picked up a small bottle of petroleum jelly and popped the lid off. Katherine continued to rub the soft material between her fingers, paying attention only to the fabric and blocking out the world. Once the bottle was opened, Kelly covered one of her fingers with some of the jelly and began applying it around Katherine's sphincter. Katherine let out an involuntary moan of discomfort as Kelly thoroughly applied the lubricant. “This might feel a bit uncomfortable for her, but it's completely safe.” Kelly announced to reassure the group. The lid of the small container was unscrewed and Kelly retrieved a white, cone-shaped object. She held the small item between her thumb and index finger and held it up for the group to see. “This is a standard sized glycerin suppository. Simply insert it into the rectum and it will dissolve within a few minutes.” She rested one hand on Katherine's bottom, moving her cheek aside to better expose her anus. She pressed the narrow tip of the suppository inside and pushed gently with her index finger. The suppository slipped inside with little resistance. Katherine felt herself clenching against the intrusion and began to instinctively cry. Kelly slid her index finger in deeper, pushing the suppository further inside Katherine before she withdrew from her. Kelly looked surprised at the genuine sound of her cry, but didn't make any comment about it as she taped Katherine's diaper back up. Katherine continued to cry softly. Kelly picked her up and held her, walking over to the group. “She’s a little fussy from that. Would anyone like to hold her and we can practice soothing techniques?” A few women raised their hands and Kelly gently passed Katherine off to the nearest one. She took her tenderly into her arms and attempted to cradle her. “Try laying her against your shoulder. This is also the burping position. It allows you to move your body to bounce and support her weight without becoming too tired. Your arms will get exhausted quickly if they aren’t supported. The woman shifted Katherine to her shoulder and began to gently bounce her. Katherine’s quiet sobs shifted to a quiet occasional mumble. “So, how long before she…” The woman asked as she bounced her. “It shouldn’t be long, but probably won’t be instantaneous either. I didn’t mean to pass you a ticking time bomb.” The women all giggled as the woman passed her off to someone else. Another woman in her third trimester took Katherine and attempted to balance he around her swollen belly. A loud grumble came out of Katherine as she shifted, the woman laying her head against her swollen breasts. “There there…” The woman said, gently patting her back. “It will be better soon…” The woman bounced her gently, Katherine nuzzling into her as if she was hiding from the world. “Since we know this change will be from a bowel movement, we will want it to be as quickly as possible. Exposure to waste of any kind can cause irritation and rashes if left unchecked. Urine takes longer to cause irritation, but usually the child will let you know when they are uncomfortable.” Kelly instructed. Katherine buried her face deeper into the woman’s shoulder as she felt the suppository liquefying inside her. She concentrated on the motherly touches of the woman, finding any reassurance she could from the situation. Her stomach continued to gurgle as the medicine performed as it was intended. Katherine felt her bowels shifting as she absorbed more of the suppository. Cramps quickly overtook her, and she began to cry again. The women awwed sympathetically as they continued to pass her around. Minute by minute, the cramps increased, and Katherine felt the eminent need to void. Every pass between the women shifted her weight and made her feel less in control. She began to cry loudly as the cramps began to hurt. The women continued to attempt to comfort her as they bounced and rocked her. Finally, Katherine felt the build up of several days of her unconventional diet reach its endpoint. She tried to resist as her muscles began to relax on their own, but the medication was too strong for her quivering muscles. The soft mess began to force its way out of her, despite her attempts to stop it. The complete loss of control of her most basic functions broke something in Katherine. She felt herself involuntarily grunting as she pushed more and more into her diaper. The woman stopped bouncing as she noticed Katherine tense up. All the women watched as a small bulge began to noticeably protrude from the back of Katherine’s diaper. The massive mess slowly filled her diaper, then pressed outwards as it began to run out of room. The bulk feedings and fiber had created a larger movement than Katherine had ever had in her life. She began to sob uncontrollably as her diaper continued to fill. She wasn’t even pushing, yet it just seemed to fall out of her, as if she had no control whatsoever. The woman holding her began to pat her back and shush her quietly, trying to soothe her discomfort. Katherine’s diaper had reached its capacity, the mess pressing back against her as it loudly crinkled and stretched the plastic backing. Katherine realized how helpless she truly was in this situation. Completely humiliated and unable to do anything for herself. She began to wail as she finished, feeling the warm mush against her backside and trying to come to terms with what she had done. Amy stood on the other side of the room, unable to look away as her best friend filled a diaper in front of her. She couldn’t bear to listen to her cries and wanted to do anything to make her feel better. Kelly looked over at her, noticing her discomfort. She then walked over to the woman holding Katherine and held out her arms to take her. As Kelly sat her back down on the changing table in front of Amy, she sat Katherine upright, placing all of her weight on her bottom and her full diaper. The warm mess exploded under Katherine’s full weight, and she felt it squish between her cheeks and all along the inside of her diaper. She began to wail as Kelly laid her back and looked over to Amy with a sinister grin. “Now we’re ready for our diaper changing lesson…” Chapter 8: Amy surveyed the room around her. The stress of her situation was overstimulating as she tried to figure out what to do. The mothers all looked to her, expecting her to follow Kelly’s implied instructions. Katherine’s cries make her want to cry herself. She had seen her friend upset before, but the child-like screams of pure distress impacted Amy on an emotional, maternal level. She wanted to pick her friend up and hold her, to soothe her until she felt safe. Amy couldn’t help but blame herself for the predicament they were in and hated worst of all that it was hurting her friend. “Nurse Bradford?” Kelly asked, trying to snap Amy out of her daze. “Don’t you think this would be an opportune time for a changing lesson?” Amy looked up at her, nodding faintly as she realized what she was being forced to do. She lightly gripped Katherine’s hand, trying to do anything to comfort her. Katherine didn’t squeeze back, or make any indication that she noticed Amy was there. Amy watched her closely, beginning to grow concerned that Katherine might not be completely acting. “Ladies, if would like to gather around, anyone who hasn’t changed a diaper before may find this useful.” Kelly announced to the group. Amy tried to hide her discomfort as the women circled her closely. She undid the tapes and folded the front of the diaper down. The smell was apparent almost immediately. Amy lifted Katherine’s legs with no resistance and slid the soiled diaper out from under her. She began to carefully roll the garment up as she demonstrated to the class. “You’ll want to try and fold it in on itself to that it’s easy to dispose of, and you won’t have anything coming out unexpectedly.” The diaper was carefully folded and rolled in on itself. “The tapes can also be reused to close the diaper up. Some brands don’t have reusable tapes, so you’ll have to be extra careful.” Amy tried to keep her tone steady as she taught, but it was hard to sound genuine while she listened to her friend’s gentle sobs. “This one wasn’t quite what’s called a ‘blowout diaper’, but it’s pretty close. That’s when the diaper has been on for too long, or reaches capacity very quickly. Those will require a lot of extra care as they can leak and create a mess.” The rolled and taped diaper was deposited into a nearby diaper pail. Amy reached for the wipes and lifted Katherine’s legs again. “You’ll want to use as many wipes as necessary in order to properly clean up.” She spoke as she began gently wiping Katherine. Her cries began to wane as Amy cleaned her, the discomfort of her messy diaper leaving her with each wipe. After several passes, she was finally clean. “Next, you’ll want to use lotion to prevent any irritation. Vaseline can also be used as a waterproof barrier to protect the skin. I don’t expect her to be having another mess before her next change, so I don’t believe that will be necessary this time.” Amy concluded as she began to apply lotion to her hands. “Actually, Nurse Bradford…” Kelly held up a finger in protest. “I think that would actually be beneficial to the demonstration.” Amy resisted the urge to sigh. “Yes Miss Anderson.” She wanted to minimize her friend’s humiliation, not add more to it. The lotion was applied and rubbed in thoroughly around Katherine’s delicate areas. Amy gently picked her up and turned her over on her stomach, exposing her bottom to the group. “For the petroleum jelly, simply scoop up a decent amount on your finger and apply liberally to the bottom.” She placed the blob of cool jelly on Katherine’s cheeks and began to spread it around in a thick layer. Katherine’s cries continued to diminish as Amy gently rubbed her bottom. Amy began to wonder if there was some part of Katherine that was actually feeling soothed by her care. She ran her finger tenderly between Katherine’s cheeks to cover her completely. Katherine squirmed at the sensation and only let out a soft cry. “I think she was just fussy from the dirty diaper. Most babies will cry when they’re messy, they just need to be cleaned up. You’ll begin to notice distinct cries depending on what is irritating your baby. It’s just about the only way they can communicate so you’ll have to pay close attention to them.” Kelly instructed as Amy pulled out one of the thin hospital diapers and laid it under Katherine. “So for putting on a new diaper,” Amy began. “simply lift their bottom up so you can slide the open diaper underneath them where the waistline will sit.” She followed the steps as she spoke, “Lay their legs down and spread them in the indents where the leg-holes bow in.” She lifted the front and began to lay it down snugly. “Lay the front down firmly, not too tight and not too loose. With one hand, hold the front down while you tape up one side.” She pulled one of the wings up and taped it in place. “It’s easy to end up with a loose diaper if you let go, so make sure it stays snug while you attach the tapes.” She finished with the other side, smoothing the front out. She tucked her fingers under the waistband and gave a gently tug, showing how snugly it was around Katherine, but loose enough to allow flexibility. Amy looked over at the clock to see that there were only ten minutes left of the course. “So that’s what you need to know for a diaper change. I’m sure you’ll all get plenty of opportunities to practice and be pros within a few weeks.” The group laughed as Amy looked at her watch. “So we only have a few minutes left, does anyone have any more questions before we go?” The group of expectant mothers all looked around to see if anyone had their hands up. One of the women who looked to be due any day soon sheepishly held up her hand. “Yes?” Amy said, acknowledging her. “Well…” The woman began. “One of the thing’s I’m most concerned about is breastfeeding. I’ve read about so many mothers who had difficulties and I’m just afraid I’ll be doing something wrong.” Amy paused as she considered how to approach the topic. Before she could begin, Kelly interjected. “How far along are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” The woman looked concerned as she looked down at her belly and said, “Eight and a half months.” Kelly smiled reassuringly. “You've got nothing to worry about. Anxiety about breastfeeding is very common. Are you lactating yet?” The woman looked surprised as if Kelly had just accurately guessed her weight. “Yes, but it mostly just leaks every now and again.” A few of the nearby women smiled sympathetically and nodded in agreement. Kelly smiled at the group. “Especially for those of you experiencing discomfort from lactation, would anyone like to try breastfeeding today with our volunteer?” She held her hand out towards Katherine, eyeing the women expectantly. A few of them looked at each other, but the woman who asked hesitantly raised her hand again. “Are you sure it will be okay?” The woman sounded nervous. Kelly gave her a reassuring smile and said, “Absolutely, I’m sure she won’t mind a bit.” Amy couldn’t believe what Kelly was trying to do. She looked at Katherine, trying to communicate with her in any way she could, but Katherine wasn’t meeting her eye. She watched her closely, wondering if Katherine was just ignoring her, but she didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. She had stopped crying and was now looking around the room, gently kicking her feet and running her hands almost randomly over the changing table. Amy jumped as Kelly snapped her out of her daze. “Nurse Bradford, would you like to assist?” Kelly’s tone lowered to an almost threatening depth. The implied threat was very clear. Amy nodded slowly and picked up Katherine. Kelly retrieved a nursing cover and brought it over to the woman. “Would you like a privacy screen, or do you mind the other women observing.” The woman looked at the cover and shook her head. “That’s alright, we’re not in public or anything. I’m sure it’s nothing we haven’t all seen before.” A chuckle emerged from the group and Kelly smiled as she went to put the cover away. The walk over to the woman seemed to go in slow motion as Amy carried Katherine in her arms. She wanted to run away. She wanted to apologize to her friend and make up for the situation she had gotten her in. She couldn’t believe what Kelly was actually going to make her go through with this. Katherine wasn’t reacting at all to the stressful situation. Amy couldn’t tell if she had either become very good at acting, or was in some type of catatonic state. Amy was worried about her, and she worried she wouldn’t be able to keep up the act considering what was about to happen to her. The woman removed her shirt and placed her jacket around her shoulders for warmth. She unclasped the front of her bra and her engorged breasts spilled out of the cups. Amy held out Katherine to her, and she took her gently. She held Katherine out awkwardly in front of her, unsure what to do. “So… I just…” She looked between Kelly and Amy for guidance. “Just cradle her and nuzzle her closely to you. She’ll know what to do.” Kelly instructed. The woman cradled Katherine gently in her arms. Katherine looked around with a confused expression as if she didn’t know where she was. The woman pulled her close, aligning her right breast directly in front of Katherine’s mouth. Her nipples were dark and swollen, Amy couldn’t help but imagine how uncomfortable they must be. As she guided Katherine’s head towards her nipple, Katherine parted her lips and gently placed her lips on the woman’s breast. She let out a surprised sigh as Katherine began to suckle, gently working her lips around her nipple. “She’s doing it…” The woman seemed unsure of what to say. “I wasn’t sure how… how it would feel.” Kelly smiled at her. “You’ll probably feel some relief from the buildup of milk. Breastfeeding also releases several hormones and endorphins that are very good for the mother. It can create an amazing bond with your baby.” The ladies all watched closely as the nursing mother smiled at her success. Amy stared in wonder as Katherine loudly suckled without even flinching. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The expectant mother held her close, a warm glow appearing on her face as Katherine nursed. How could she even... drinking that? How is she okay with this? Amy could barely process what she was seeing. She glanced over at Kelly, looking for some form of validation at the absurdity of this situation, but Kelly didn’t look surprised at all. She looked... amused. The subtle, barely contained smile looked sinister as Kelly watched the scene unfold. Amy couldn’t look away from her unblinking eyes. Kelly wasn’t just playing a part for their sakes... she was enjoying this. Amy felt a cold shiver run down her back as she realized how much power Kelly had over this situation. “Would anyone else like to try?” Kelly asked to the group. Once again, the women all looked around at each other, but it felt noticeably less awkward after someone else had already volunteered to go first. After a few seconds, two women raised their hands at the same time. There was a short, comfortable laugh from everyone, diffusing any tension in the room. “Don’t worry, everyone who wants one can have a turn.” Kelly said, pulling another chair next to the woman holding Katherine. The two volunteers decided the order in which they would go, and the first woman took her seat. She wasn’t as far along as the first woman, but Amy couldn’t help but notice how much larger her breasts were. “I’m actually hoping this helps. I’ve been leaking a lot lately and the pressure has been causing some discomfort.” She slid down the narrow shoulder straps of her loose maternity shirt and shimmied it down her torso until the supports fell below her breasts. Amy’s had to keep her mouth from falling open as the woman’s massive breasts spilled out over her shirt. She held out her hands, and the first woman gently pulled Katherine away from her breast. Katherine swallowed her mouthful and let out a gentle moan, as if she was protesting being pulled away. “Aww, don’t worry precious. I’m not taking it away from you.” She took Katherine in her arms, cradling her just as the first woman did. Her large nipples were already erect and prominently stood out, small droplets of milk already beginning to gather at the tip. Katherine hungrily took the thick nipple into her mouth and suckled hard against it. The expectant mother let out a surprised moan. “Oh my... that’s... wow, I didn’t expect that. It feels so nice, and I already feel it hurting less.” She couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she pulled Katherine closer. Kelly walked over and stood next to Amy. She spoke quietly, just out of earshot of the other women. “I had my doubts that Doctor Baker had the maturity to do this job properly, but I think we’ve found a fitting position for her, wouldn’t you agree?” Amy didn’t respond to her. Kelly just smiled and turned back towards the group. “Anyone else who would like to can practice breastfeeding. The class will be over in a few minutes, but there is nothing scheduled for this room after so if you would like to stay later, you may do so.” Kelly instructed the group. “Nurse Bradford will be staying behind to assist anyone who has any questions.” Kelly looked briefly at Amy, confirming her coded command. Amy just stared blankly, trying to keep herself together. “I’ll leave you all to it. I hope to see you all at the next session!” Kelly gave them all a wide smile before collecting her clipboard and left the room. Katherine continued to suckle until a third volunteer stepped forward. Amy went into autopilot and answered any questions they had, pushing her unprocessed emotions as she instructed. As the fifth volunteer was finishing up, Katherine let out a loud burp, much to the delight of the mothers. “That’s pretty normal, especially after drinking that much.” Amy said, realizing exactly how much her friend must have consumed. She took Katherine from them as the woman gathered their possessions and headed towards the door. Amy examined Katherine, finally having a chance to check on her friend. She was concerned about her mental state after everything she had been through. Her eyelids were low, as if she was fighting off sleep. Amy used her bib to wipe of some milk from her chin. Katherine slowly opened her eyes, blurrily focusing on Amy’s face as she tried to process where she was. “Are you okay?” Amy whispered quietly to her as the last woman walked out of the door. As the door clicked shut, Katherine looked toward the noise, looking around the room. Her eyes began to widen as she realized what was happening. As she looked around the room, Amy began to hear a faint hissing noise. Katherine looked up at her and said, “Amy? What happened?” Amy wasn’t sure how to respond, still distracted from the noise. She turned her head, trying to locate the noise, when she noticed that it was coming from Katherine. Katherine looked confused and began to shift in Amy’s arms. She went stiff as she noticed the strange sensation from her diaper and the hiss faded into silence. “Did you…?” Amy didn’t want to humiliate her any further, but her concern for her health outweighed her embarrassment. Katherine wouldn’t look at her, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. Before they could continue their conversation, the door to the training room opened. Kelly entered with a maniacal grin on her face. Amy felt her blood run cold as she approached them. She had known Kelly for years and knew exactly how terrifying she could be when she was angry, but the almost evil smirk she now wore actually made her fearful. Her instincts told her that she was in danger, that there was a predator who was approaching and she needed to run. She instinctively held Katherine a little closer as if to protect her. Kelly opened her portfolio and pulled out two thick stacks of stapled papers. She laid them down side by side on the table next to the women. One was noticeably thicker than the other, and from only a few seconds of brief skimming, Amy noticed her full name typed on the paper in several places. “I believe I have come up with the perfect solution to our problem.” She pulled out two black pens from her portfolio and set them down on the paper. The expensive metal pens made a loud knock as they rested on the table. Amy tried to hide her fear, but couldn’t keep the look of confusion off her face as she looked over the papers. “What is this?” Kelly’s smile widened. “These are contracts. More specifically, your new job offer contracts. They have been cleared with HR and will supersede your current employment contracts. Let me explain how this is going to work. Due to your negligent error, there is an unmovable patient on file: Katherine B. There is also a doctor in our system: Doctor Baker. I no longer feel that Doctor Baker is suitable for her current role and should instead be repositioned as an instructor for our classes. As for the matter of our patient, I have modified her record to now read as Katherine Bradford.” Katherine didn’t say anything, but looked up in surprise as Amy as if she had had something to do with this. Amy was already at her wits end trying to deal with her stress levels today, and was having a difficult time processing what Kelly was saying. “What? Why would you do that?” Kelly seemed slightly annoyed at the interruption, but her smile betrayed her as she gladly explained. “Very simply, you are now baby Katie’s caretaker. She is registered as a patient with pending results that may last indefinitely. She is eligible for day care since you are an employee here, and I believe it will help her better prepare for her new position.” Amy still looked confused. “New position, as an instructor?” Kelly was almost showing teeth now. “Well, her official role will be as an instructor, however you can think of her more as a teaching instrument than a teacher. This was the most productive class we’ve ever had. The ladies were thrilled with what we were able to teach, and it’s something they can’t get from any other child class. Our enrollment rates will skyrocket, and it will be an excellent boost for our hospital. Of course as a doctor, Katherine will be compensated as if she was still working here, and you will simply be moved to instructing the classes. While performing your nursing duties, Katherine will be in our day care system.” Katherine began crying, something she was quickly becoming accustomed to. “But… but I can’t do that!” Kelly tilted her head in mock confusion. “Why not?” She mocked in a sickly-sweet tone. “You look like a baby, you sound like a baby, and for the past hour, you acted exactly like a baby, right down to breastfeeding and pooping your pants. For all intents and purposes, you are a baby, and I think I have found exactly where you belong here.” Katherine’s face felt hot as her cheeks burned red, both from anger and shame. “What if I say no. What if I don’t want to play your dumb game and I just quit.” Kelly shrugged nonchalantly. “Then I wish you the best in finding other employment, that is of course, after we settle the matter of company policy violation, misuse of resources, HIPPA violations, and termination from the hospital. But don’t worry, as soon as that’s sorted out you can be sure that if you manage to get another interview at some other hospital, I’ll give a completely honest and enlightening account of your time here to your new employer, complete with evidence.” As she said the last, she held up her tablet and turned it towards them. The screen showed a clip from the classroom’s security cameras, displaying the exact moment that Katherine had filled her diapers. “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding somewhere else to go after this.” Any trace of fake sincerity was gone now, replaced with an evil grin that perfectly projected her thoughts: ‘Checkmate’. Amy felt herself wanting to cry too, but had to stay strong for Katherine. “Why are you doing this?” She asked in a soft voice. Kelly looked offended at the question. “Excuse me? Why am I doing this? I’m not the one who abused her position. I’m not the one who is making a mockery of this profession. I am the person who’s built this hospital up to be the most elite in the country. I didn’t slave over this job to watch disrespectful, immature children come in here and ruin that. What I’m doing, is my job. I’m making this hospital the best that it can possibly be by putting our people where they do the most good. If you aren’t willing to be a part of that, you can leave.” A tense silence fell over the room. Kelly's unblinking gaze obliterated any of the fight Katherine had left. She looked down at the stack of papers the same way she looked at one of the unavoidable meals she had been force fed several times over the past few days. She knew she wouldn't like it, but she didn't have a choice in the matter. “Honestly, if you stop and think about it, you’re really not getting a bad deal here.” Anger flashed over Amy’s face as she glared at Kelly. “Are you insane?!” Kelly looked offended by the comment. “Clearly you’re not thinking this through. First of all, you not only get to keep your jobs, but you’ll get a bonus by being an instructor. That alone is enough of a reason that you should be thanking me.” She leveled a finger at Katherine as she continued. “As for this brat, you just got the easiest job you could have asked for. You don’t even have to do any work anymore. All you have to do is what you’re best at: acting like a child. You get free daycare, meals, and a doctor’s salary, and the only thing you have to do is let some women practice being mothers on you. Sure you’ll have to have an accident once in a while…” Kelly looked down at Katherine’s visibly wet diaper. “But for some reason, I don’t think you’re going to have a problem with that.” Katherine began to sob loudly. The stress of the situation had gone well beyond her capacity and she couldn’t even try to control her emotions anymore. Kelly listened to her cries unsympathetically as Amy tried to comfort her in her arms. “I’m even giving you a purchasing credit card on the hospitals account. The increased revenue from this class is going to bring in a lot for the hospital, so I think it’s fair to set aside an investment account. You can use it for anything Katherine will need for her new position. Diapers, clothes, food, furniture, whatever she needs to do her job properly and stay in character, because if she can’t, the deal’s off.” Kelly handed Amy a silver credit card, which she took with a shaking hand. She looked it over, then towards the papers. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering this, but what choice did she have? “How long?” Kelly didn’t blink at the question. “How long what?” “How long do we have to do this?” Kelly smiled and turned away, starting to walk out of the room. “You should really read the contracts. It’s two years, if you don’t violate your agreement, then we can renegotiate. As long as she can pass for a baby, I see this lasting a long time. I’ll be on the other side of the window. I’ll give you a few minutes to sign them.” She closed the door behind her, leaving the girls alone. Amy set the sobbing girl down on her feet, dropped to her knees, and wrapped her arms around her. “Katie, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” Katherine weakly hugged her back. “Amy?” She said in a quiet voice. Amy pulled back and looked into her concerned eyes. “Something’s wrong…” She looked down, noticing her wet diaper. “Kelly’s right. I don’t want to do this, but I don’t have a choice. I was just playing along, but I’m having… accidents. Something isn’t right.” Amy looked at her sympathetically and gave her another hug. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll take care of you. At least while we deal with this, you won’t have to worry about work.” Katherine nodded slowly as she ran her arm across her tear-streaked face. “We’ll get through this.” She tried to sound more determined than she felt, hoping to inspire Katherine. Katherine nodded, more forcefully this time. Katherine climbed up on a chair next to the desk and they both looked through their individual stacks of papers. Once they were convinced that there wasn’t anything more devious hiding in the fine print than what they were already prepared for, the girls signed the documents. Amy wrote her name quickly, and looked over to see Katherine holding the pen the way a child would hold a crayon. Her signature was large and sloppy, as if she couldn’t control where the pen was going. Is she losing her motor control too? Amy worried to herself. She didn’t want to worry her friend, but the evidence was stacking up that there was something very wrong. Katherine finished her signature, not seeming to notice how sloppy it looked. Kelly walked back in moments later, clearly very anxious to process the paperwork. “Thank you ladies. Please report on Monday to your new stations.” She handed them each a piece of papers. Amy’s listed her new itinerary of maternity classes she would be teaching. Katherine’s was a childish hospital flyer for the day care center. The bright yellow border was dotted with cartoonish images of baby items. Her assigned room was highlighted on the info sheet. “I’ll be sure to check in and make sure that everything is in order on Monday. Enjoy your weekend.” Kelly turned and walked out. Amy wasn’t sure it was possible for someone perform a smug walk, but Kelly seemed to be trying her hardest at it. The girls looked at each other. Katherine blushed and looked at the floor. “Um… Amy?” Amy looked surprised at her discomfort. “Yeah, what’s wrong?” Katherine fiddled with her hands as she tried to get the words out. “Can… can you change me? The hospital diapers are itchy.” Amy still felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought, especially now that it wasn’t a requirement, but she would do anything for her friend, especially after all she had been through. “Of course, let me go grab one of the thi-… more comfortable ones.” She caught herself, trying not to point out how large the specialty diapers were. Amy went over to her back and found only one of the specialty diapers left in her bag. “Oh… this is the last one.” Katherine looked somewhat disappointed. “I don’t think I can wear normal underwear right now…” She trailed off, trying not to think about the predicament. A thought came to Amy. She knew they needed more diapers, and probably a few other things. They needed a shopping trip, and she knew how hesitant Katherine would be to be seen in public. She thought of the store where she had made her original purchases and knew what she had to do. “That’s okay, I know where we can get more.” Chapter 9: Katherine and Amy walked to Amy’s car in the parking garage. As they walked, several passersby starred at Katherine’s infantile outfit, and Katherine found herself unconsciously reaching for Amy’s hand. Amy took it without any comment. As they got in, Amy noticed how much trouble Katherine had sitting up properly in her passenger seat. The seatbelt almost went up to her neck and she could barely see over the dashboard. “How comfortable is that for you?” Amy asked, concern plain in her voice. “It’s okay.” Katherine lied. “My car has this strap that connects the top and bottom of the seat belt so it fits better, and my seat has a… my seat is higher up so I can see more.” Amy knew she had used a booster seat due to her height, but didn’t want to say anything about it. Katherine looked up at her and tried to smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, this will be fine.” She tucked the top portion of the seat belt behind her. As they drove, Amy’s mind went down several rabbit holes as she considered what her future would now look like. She thought of Katherine not even being able to comfortably ride in her car. Maybe Stacy would be able to help her with more than just outfits and diapers. Katherine broke the silence and interrupted her train of thought. “So, where are you going to pick those diapers up from? I know the hospital uses a local medical supply for their diapers, but those are really uncomfortable.” Amy hesitated, trying to think of an alternative to ‘adult toy store’. “Well…” Katherine’s eyes widened and she jerked her head to stare at Amy. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to like the answer?” Katherine asked rhetorically. After everything they had been through, Amy couldn’t bear to put anything else on her friend. She knew she had no reason to trust her at this point, but Amy’s experience with the girl at the shop had been helpful and understanding. “There is a shop in town that sells… specialty items. They were sold as an accessory with your Halloween costume. It may not seem like it when we go in, but it’s a nice place and the lady was super helpful and understanding.” Katherine continued to stare at her. “When we go in? You want me to go in with you looking like this?! She pulled at her onesie, and Amy heard the distinct plastic crinkle of Katherine’s diaper. “I know it’s not ideal, but the girl working there wasn’t judgmental at all. If we’re picking out some outfits for you, I want to make sure you like them and can try them on. You can pick out whatever you want!” Katherine folded her arms and pouted. Amy resisted the urge to smile at how cute she looked. “What if that girl isn’t working there today? How are you going to explain this to a stranger?” Amy hadn’t considered that, but suddenly remembered the business card she had been given at her last visit. She dug around in her purse and pulled the card out of the assorted mess. The store’s info was written in a lavish cursive, but Amy hadn't notice the scrawled letters in the whitespace off to the side. Stacy had left her name and personal number on the card. Well isn't she dedicated to customer service… Amy thought to herself. She pulled out her phone and dialed the store's number from the card. The line rang for a few moments, Amy's anxiety growing with each tone, until a familiar voice picked up. “Devious Den, this is Stacy. How can I help you?” Amy let out a quick sigh of relief that Stacy was working today. “Hi Stacy, this is… um, this is Amy. I was in your store the other day…” Amy wasn't typically shy when it came to talking on the phone, but with Katherine listening to every word, she wasn't sure how to remind Stacy of who she was. There was a brief moment of silence on the line before Amy continued. “I was in the nurses outfit… you helped me pick out a costume for my fri-" "Oh, Amy! Hi! How'd the costume work out? Did your friend love it?” Amy smiled awkwardly as she tried to think of an answer. “Well… I guess you could say that. I was actually hoping to come ask you some questions about that… are you open now?” Stacy almost cut her off. “Absolutely! Sure, come on over. Is your friend coming too?” Amy glanced at Katherine. “Yes, she's with me. She's a bit… shy, but I told her she should come in with me this time to shop some more…” The pause on the phone was intense as Stacy processed what she was saying. “Oh… alright. So you need some more stuff then. That's perfect! So… Just so I know what to expect, is this because she wants to, or needs to?” Amy thought for a moment, trying not to say anything to make Katherine feel self-conscious. “probably the second one…” “Oh, okay then. Yup, I'll be ready for her. Come on over any time, things are really slow right now. I can even close the store while she’s here so she can have some privacy.” Amy sighed with relief. She hadn't imagined Stacy would be able to be this helpful in making Katherine feel more comfortable. “That would be amazing, thank you so much. We're just a few minutes away. We'll see you soon.” Amy could hear the smile coming through the phone. “Perfect! See you in a few!” Amy hung up the phone and slid it back into her purse. “She’s there and understands the situation. She says there's no one there right now and she'll even close down the shop while you're in so we can shop in privacy.” Katherine visibly relaxed. She gave a faint nod, her shoulders slightly slumping. Amy could still sense her anxiety, but she knew that Stacy would be able to make her feel safe there. They drove through the parking lot, past each of the stores of the strip mall. “Where is this place?” Katherine asked, craning her neck to look down the line of stores. Amy knew there wouldn’t be any easy way to explain this. “It’s at the end down there. Don’t let the name freak you out. There’s a shop where they sold costumes, and they had a private back room for the… special stuff I needed to buy.” Katherine furrowed her brow skeptically. She looked at the far end of the mall as they approached. Her mouth made the shapes of the word as she read the sign. “Devious Den?... Is… is that an adult store?” Katherine’s voice began to rise as she realized where they were going. “No. I mean, technically yes, but they have a lot of other stuff.” “Why did you go there to buy costumes?!” Katherine’s tone continued to rise. Amy controlled her voice and replied as if it was perfectly reasonable. “The party store was packed the night before Halloween and I knew that they wouldn’t have anything good left. This place was selling costumes, so I thought I’d go inside. The girl working there was super nice and helpful. I promise it’s not what you think. Katherine wasn’t convinced. She crossed her arms and continued to pout. They pulled into the empty parking lot and parked in the spot closest to the door. Katherine looked around to make sure there was no one around before opening her door and hopping out of the car. As they approached the door, Katherine froze before going in. Amy sensed her hesitation and reached up for the doorknob. Katherine reached over and grabbed on to the corner of Amy’s scrubs for support. Amy smiled as she opened the door, ushering Katherine inside. Before Katherine could even begin to process the sights of the store, a girl with dark hair in pigtails came bounding out from behind the counter. “Hello there! What can I help you guys with today?” Amy noticed that Stacy’s enthusiasm was almost identical to when she had first come to the store. Stacy was either a very good actor, or genuinely didn’t care about what Katherine was wearing. Katherine froze as Stacy looked directly into her eyes. She wasn't looking down at Katherine as if she noticed her height, or eyeing her outfit and making comments on it. Her smile was sincere as she waited patiently for an answer. Amy glanced down to see if Katherine would answer, but after a few moments she decided to break the silence. “We're looking for some supplies. We’re running low on a few things and thought we might look at some new outfits?” she made the last a question as she looked down at Katherine. Stacy continued to look at Katherine like she was waiting for her to respond. “That's no problem! I'd be happy to help you shop. My name is Stacy.” She took a few steps and held her hand out to Katherine. Katherine stared at it for a moment before releasing Amy's hand and gently shaking Stacy's hand. “What's your name?” she asked, her smile still beaming. A small grin formed on Katherine's face as she tried to mirror her. “Katherine.” She said in a quiet voice. “It's nice to meet you Katherine!” Stacy said excitedly. “I've helped Amy shop here before. Would you like me to lock up the store for a while so you can have some private time to look around?” Katherine nodded vigorously at the offer to avoid anyone else's attention. Stacy’s grin managed to stretch even further as she stood up and went to lock the door. Katherine looked around the shop, finally fully taking in exactly where she was. She knew places like this existed, but never thought she would be in one. Stacy walked back over to them and gestured towards the back room. “Not to detract from the rest of our merchandise, but I believe you’ll be more interested in what we have in the back.” She began walking towards the back of the store, followed by Katherine and Amy. Stacy looked back over her shoulder at Katherine as they walked. “I like your outfit! It's super cute.” Her smile beamed, not a hint of sarcasm or mocking in her expression. Katherine blushed and her gaze dropped to the floor, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you.” She muttered quietly as they made their way to the back room. “Do you normally close the store for your customers?” Katherine quietly asked. Stacy didn’t turn around to respond. “Only for the adorable ones.” She said slyly. Katherine felt her face grow warm. Amy noticed the color appearing in Katherine’s cheeks and began to wonder how well she would be able to cope with Stacy’s charismatic personality. Stacy pulled back the curtain with the sign that read, ‘Please Ask for Assistance Before Entering’, and gestured the girls inside. Amy remembered her first time entering the room. It was still a bit of a shock to see it, but Katherine had been completely unprepared for what she would find. Her eyes went wide as she processed the adorable room. She scanned the shelves, trying to process the wide variety of oversized baby products. As they looked, Stacy squatted down next to Katherine and crossed her arms over her knees in a relaxed position. She followed her gaze across the shelves. “Are you surprised?” She continued without waiting for an answer. “There’s a lot of people out there who dress up like you do. Some need to, some want to. Just look at how many different types of… well, everything there are. This many companies couldn’t stay in business if there weren’t a lot of customers.” Katherine nodded absentmindedly as she continued to look over the shelves. While Stacy explained, Amy began to feel herself relax. Stacy was doing an amazing job of relating everything to Katherine in a nonjudgemental tone. “So, is there anything you’d like to look at first?” Stacy asked, looking at Katherine who still wasn’t meeting her eye. “...I don’t know…” Katherine finally manage to speak. “There’s kind of a lot.” Stacy laughed and nodded. “Yeah, there’s a lot. Let’s start over here with the diapers.” She stood up and walked over to the large cubby-hole style shelves. “Did you like the diapers I sent Amy with last time?” Katherine blushed and looked back down. “They’re okay… I had to wear hospital diapers and they were really itchy and leaked. These were really puffy, but they were a lot more comfortable.” Stacy nodded in understanding. “That they are. Medical diapers aren’t usually that good. There’s a few brands that we carry that are, and they’re cheaper than the ABDL diapers.” Katherine looked confused. “ABDL?” She asked quietly. Stacy laughed. “It’s the umbrella acronym for people who dress up like babies for fun. Some people enjoy mentally regressing to a baby for fun or to relax, and some people just enjoy wearing diapers. People all have their own reasons. Some companies make some really cute printed diapers for adults. The ones I sent Amy with were basic ABDL diapers, Simple print, good absorbancy, not too expensive. So you'd like some more like those?" The deer-in-the-headlight look Stacy was getting from Katherine was all she needed to understand just how nervous Katherine was. "Here, let's look at some of these." She diverted the question and pulled down a handful of samples from the shelves, passing half of the collection to Katherine, and the other half to Amy. Katherine awkwardly took the stack like a handful of giant playing cards and began to flip through them. The diapers crinkled loudly as the girls shuffled through them. Katherine held up a bright pink printed diaper with sillouetes of ballarenas covering the surface. Stacy watched her as she admired the design. "So you like princess's?" Katherine blushed and quickly shuffled it to the back of the pile. “I was just looking at the designs.” She said quickly. Stacy gave her a warm smile. “It’s okay, I think those are the cutest design. What do you think Amy?” Amy hadn’t been expecting the question and looked visibly off guard. “Um… yeah, I like those. You should get the ones you’re most comfortable with.” Katherine shuffled the pile back to the princess diapers. She stared at them for a few moments before shrugging. “I guess… I guess I’ll go with these.” Stacy clapped her hands together, her smile beaming. “Great! I’ll grab two bags and bring them up to the front while you keep shopping.” She grabbed two packs from the stockpile and walked out through the curtain. Amy looked at Katherine, trying to see if she felt any more comfortable now that they were alone. She couldn’t see any visible change in her discomfort. “Are you doing okay?” She asked quietly. Katherine looked around the room, not meeting her eye. “I guess. I didn’t expect all this. I don’t know how to feel about it. It still feels weird… but it’s kind of nice to know that it’s not as weird as I thought.” It wasn’t much, but Amy felt better knowing that this informative shopping trip had helped her feel a little less isolated. “Why don’t you look around by yourself for a minute. I need to go ask Stacy about the payment setup. I’ll be right back.” Katherine looked concerned, but nodded slowly. Amy walked out of the back room and up to the front desk where Stacy was entering the diaper’s price into the register. Stacy looked up from her work as she noticed Amy. “Is everything okay?” Amy nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I left her to look on her own for a minute. I just had a quick question about the payment” Amy reached down into her purse and pulled out her new company credit card. “It’s… kind of a long story, but basically Katherine is now… assisting with our new mothering class through our work. The hospital gave me a card to cover expenses for her new role.” Amy looked at Stacy, hoping she would understand what she was implying. Stacy furrowed her eyebrows. “So… are these supplies for your class?” Amy hesitated. “Sort of… Katherine needs them so… so she can do her role properly.” Stacy’s eyes went wide with understanding. “Oh… so, they all think she’s… okay, I think I’m starting to get it. Wow… that’s… that’s actually not a bad idea. She’s a consenting adult, but you would always have a ‘baby’ on hand to help with training. Okay, so they agreed to cover all her ‘needs’ for this new role?” Amy nodded and held out the card to her. Stacy took it and looked over the info. “Wow, that’s awesome that they would be this open to help her.” Amy tried not to grimace as her incorrect assumption. “Hm… I might have to get a confirmation since the purchase is from… not your typical business supply store, if you know what I mean. You go ahead and keep shopping. I’ll take care of this part.” Amy nodded and returned to the back room. As she walked in, Amy saw Katherine holding up a pink frilly dress up to her onesie, checking the fit in the mirror. Her eyes went wide as she saw Amy enter behind her. She quickly reached up to put it back on the clothes rack, having to stand on her toes just to reach the low rack. “I just wanted to see how it looked.” She weakly explained. Amy walked over and took it off of the rack. “I think it’s adorable! You should try it on.” Katherine blushed. “No, it looks so goofy. I just wanted to see it.” Amy held it up to Katherine again. “Come on, just try it on. Do you want some help?” Katherine looked shocked. “No!” She recoiled from her own unexpected volume. “I mean… No, I don’t need any help.” She looked to the small changing closet in the corner and walked over, reaching up to grasp the doorknob. While she changed, Amy looked around the back room, finally having her own private chance to inspect everything. She picked up an oversized pacifier, looking at the different styles and shapes. She picked up two in colors that she thought Katherine would like and tucked them under her arm. I mean… as long as they’re paying… She looked through the bottles with oversized nipples, wipes, powders, and creams, thinking of all the accessories that she would need. I think I’m going to need a cart... She looked to the corner where an oversized crib, high chair, bouncer, and car seat stood. She walked over and peered inside the crib at the soft-looking mattress and pillows. She imagined how well Katherine would fit inside. Didn't Katie she say she fell out of bed when she had her accident?… Maybe she would need something like this. An oversized flower-print car seat sat next to the crib on the floor. It appeared to be more of a novelty item, but the safety harnesses and latches looked real. Amy tried to picture Katherine inside of the large baby seat, but it looked so large that it would swallow her if she sat in it. She remembered Katherine’s booster seat that she had in her car and wondered if she could fit in an average sized car seat. Then her eyes fell to the last small shelf in the room that she hadn’t noticed before. The shelves were lined with small discrete packaged items that she hadn’t expected to see in the room. Small, brightly colored butt plugs, vibrators, and various restraints sat in neat little rows across the shelf. Amy's eyes fell on a face harness that looked to be designed to keep a pacifier in its wearer's mouth. Her suspicions were confirmed when she noticed the phallic shaped pacifier sitting directly next to it. Before she had time to process this discovery, Stacy pulled back the curtain holding a cordless phone. She gave Amy a gentle smile and spoke quietly. “So I just spoke with your manager. She approved everything and gave me a full explanation of the situation. I got the full list already rush ordered and shipped to the address on the card.” Amy felt a chill go down her spine as panic started to overtake her. “Wait… what? Who did you speak to?!” Stacy looked concerned at her surprised expression. “Your boss, Kelly Anderson, right?” Amy couldn't process everything Stacy had so nonchalantly told her. “Hang on… what did she ord-" The door to the changing room opened, cutting off Amy's question. Katherine stepped out wearing the pink party dress that hung just below her diaper. Pink frilly lace jutted out from all sides, making her look like a little girl dressing up as a princess. She held a matching piece of pink fabric in each hand. Stacy covered her mouth with her hands as she gasped. “Oh my gosh, you look adorable!” Katherine looked surprised to see Stacy in the room. Her eyes fell to the floor and her cheeks burned bright red. Stacy knelt down in front of her, placing her hands on Katherine's shoulders. looking squarely in her scared eyes. “Katie, you don't need to be embarrassed. That dress looks so pretty on you! You are the cutest thing I've ever seen.” Katherine tried to hold Stacy's eye contact. Her brightly colored eyeshadow glistened as her eyelashes fluttered. Katherine couldn’t keep her gaze and looked at her feet. Her face still glowed a bright red, but a small smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.” She said quietly. She held up the other pieces of fabric. “I'm… not sure what to do with these.” Stacy reached out and took the piece of fabric from one of Katherine's hands. She unfolded it and stuck her hand inside to hold it open and two small straps dangled down. “Well this is a matching bonnet.” She held it above Katherine and efficiently tucked it around her head, quickly tying the straps underneath her chin in a neat bow. Amy had to cover her own mouth at the adorable display in front of her. Before Katherine could react, Stacy took the other piece of fabric and held it on the ground, positioning two open leg holes in front of Katherine. “Here, step into these.” She said. “Is it underwear?” Katherine asked, awkwardly placing her dainty feet through the leg holes. Stacy giggled. “No, this is a diaper cover.” She slid the frilly fabric back and forth up Katherine's legs. “The dress doesn’t cover your undies completely if you bend over. We don’t want any boys looking up your skirt.” As she slid the cover just below Katherine's diaper, she paused, looking closely at it. She placed her hand gently under the crotch of the diaper, squeezing and lifting the thick material like she was trying to guess the weight. Katherine froze as she realized what Stacy was doing. She was just starting to trust the girl, and she didn't know how to feel about the already uncomfortable situation. “Oh sweetie, you're pretty wet. Let’s get you changed before we put these on you.” Stacy reached behind her and grabbed the sample pink princess diaper from the cabinet behind her and placed it on the floor in front of her. Katherine tried to make herself speak, or move away, or put up her hands to stop her. Her body was paralyzed, unable to stop what was happening. What is she doing?!… I can't be wet! It must be a mistake. I would have notice if I had an accident… Katherine’s mind raced as she looked for a reasonable answer. Stacy gave the two tapes at the front of Katherine's diaper a quick tug, and the heavy garment fell towards the floor, catching on the diaper cover dangling open between Katherine's legs. Stacy pulled the diaper out from between her legs, quickly replacing it with the pink princess diaper. Before Katherine could even process that she was now naked and exposed to a complete stranger, Stacy had pulled the back of the diaper around Katherine's waist, lifted the front section, and tightly secured the tapes. Amy stared in complete shock at the fastest diaper change she had ever witnessed. Stacy rolled the wet diaper up into a ball and used the tapes to secure it into one tight bundle. “There, that's better. How do you like them?” Stacy gave the fresh diaper a soft pat, making a loud crinkle sound. Katherine's mouth hung open, unable to process what had just happened. Stacy didn’t wait for an answer. She slid the plastic diaper cover up Katherine's legs and snugly around her new diaper. The thickness created a visible poof in the frills along the plastic cover. Stacy playfully flipped up the ends of Katherine's dress, exposing her covered diaper to the mirror in front of them. “What do you think?” she said, gesturing to the mirror. “Do you… do that often?” Came Amy's voice from the other side of the room. Stacy looked at her. “What, the diaper change? Oh, I've had my fair share of practice. It's really easy once you get the hang of it. Do you like the new diapers?” She asked, bringing Katherine back into the discussion. “I… I guess they look nice. They're pretty thick.” Stacy gave Katherine a quick pat on the bottom, causing her to jump. “Yeah, they can hold a lot, so I'm sure you'll get lots of use out of them.” Katherine’s blush somehow became a darker shade of red. Stacy noticed and changed the subject. Stacy pointed to another rack of clothing. “We also have a great selection of pajamas. Most of the outfits come in a few different colors so if you find a style you like, you can just get pick out a few in other colors. Just pick whatever you like and I’ll ring it up front.” They continued modeling through the selection of clothes. Katherine continued to pick out a few simple dresses to offset her frilly party dress and a few sets of footie pajamas. Amy dismissed the idea of buying the crib and gathered up a basic supply of wipes, powder, pacifiers, and diapers. Amy carried her purchases up to the front desk and set them on the counter. Stacy looked over the purchases, stopping at the two large packages of pink diapers. “The order we sent to your house had two cases of six bags each, so I think you’ll be good for a while. If you need some until the order arrives, this should be enough for now.” Amy looked confused. “Order?” Stacy returned her puzzled look. “Your manager’s order for all the basic supplies. She got you all set up.” Amy had forgotten about Stacy’s phone call with her manager. “What all did Kelly tell you?” Stacy looked thoughtful as she tried to remember the conversation. “She just explained Katherine’s situation and asked what kind of supplies we had. I explained what kind of products we carried and their purposes. She was really understanding and seemed anxious to help. She approved the order and used the cardholders address. I assume that’s your house. Does Katherine live with you?” Amy tried to imagine what Kelly would have ordered. “No, we don’t live together. Yes, that should go to my address. What all did she order?” Stacy opened her mouth, but stopped when she saw Katherine exiting from behind the curtain wearing her onesie, her arms overflowing with outfits stacked in a pile that nearly went over her head. She strained her neck back in an attempt to see over the thick pile. Stacy hurried out from behind the counter towards her. “Here, let me help you sweetie.” She took the top half of the pile and held up a few for examination. “These are so cute! You’ll have to let me see them on you sometime, you’ll just look so adorable!” Katherine blushed, but couldn’t keep a wide smile from forming. They placed the items on the counter and Stacy began to ring them up. She looked at Amy with a knowing glance. “I’ll print you off an invoice for the complete order.” Amy nodded in understanding. Stacy bagged their purchases and handed the invoice to Amy with another business card stapled to the top. “If you need any assistance with your new purchases, I’ve included my number on the card. Please let me know if you need anything." Amy smiled and thanked her. As they walked out of the store, Amy tried to stealthily read the invoice. The list was so long she barely had time to comprehend anything before they were back at the car. She stuffed it into one of the bags and the girls loaded their purchases in the back seat. They drove out of the parking lot and started down the road. Amy let the silence linger for a few moments before she spoke, “So, how would you like to stay over tonight?” Katherine looked surprised at the suggestion. “Um, okay. Why?” Amy shrugged. “I dunno… it’s been a rough weekend. I think you need a nice girls night to relax.” Katherine nodded slowly to herself. “That sounds nice.” Amy smiled. “Cool. We’ll order a pizza and put on a good movie.” Katherine sat back in her seat, looking as if she were finally able to relax after her long ordeal. Amy felt herself relaxing, feeling as if she were finally able to do something nice for her friend. Chapter 10: “Do you think I could pick up a few things from my apartment?” Katherine asked. Amy thought about the treasure trove of clothes and pajamas in the back seat, thinking that all of her needs were covered. “Okay, what do you need?” Katherine looked down at the prominent bulge of her diaper that poked out from underneath her onesie. “Well, I’d like to get into some normal clothes. Then just my toothbrush and phone charger.” Amy nodded. “Okay, no problem.” She flipped on her turn signal and began making her way to Katherine’s apartment. After Katherine had managed to awkwardly waddle up the stairs to her apartment, she quickly began gathering up clothes from the floor while Amy sat on the couch and waited for her. Amy couldn’t help but look around at the state of the small apartment. It really wouldn’t be so bad to get her out of here. Heck, with my new salary, it would be nothing for us to split a nice apartment. She deserves something nice… She thought to herself. Katherine emerged from her bedroom with a pink backpack that bulged with unfolded clothes and a flower-print pillow under her arm. She wore a pair of tennis shoes, light pink sweatpants and an oversized gray hoodie. The sweatshirt was probably only a medium, but the large material practically swallowed the small girl, her hands barely poking out of the sleeves. “Okay, I’m ready.” She slung her backpack over he shoulder and began to head towards the door. Amy looked her over, noticing a distinct lack of padding around her bottom. “Um…” She began, unsure how to address the issue. Katherine paused mid-stride to look at her. “What?” Amy looked down at her pants, making sure what she was seeing was accurate. “Where did your… underwear go?” Katherine rolled her eyes and pointed to the bedroom. “I left that thing in there. I’m just wearing normal underwear. I don’t need those.” Amy looked skeptical. “Was it wet?” Katherine looked shocked at the accusation. “What?! No, it wasn’t wet. How could it be? A random stranger just changed it like half an hour ago! I’ve been under a lot of stress, okay? I’ve been trapped in a hospital, fed disgusting food, made to act like a baby by my insane boss, and yeah, it’s all had a toll on me! I don’t actually need those stupid things. I’m an adult, I can use a bathroom like an adult. I’m going to wear underwear like an adult, and for the first time in days, I’m going to eat normal adult food. Can we please just forget about it and go get some pizza?” Amy sighed and looked at the floor. She hadn’t wanted to bring everything up again or upset her friend, but she was genuinely concerned at how many accidents she had had lately, especially considering that Katherine hadn’t even realized when they happened. She would just have to trust her friend and deal with the fallout if she had another accident. “Sure we can. Sorry to bring it up. I just care about you.” Katherine’s anger visibly faded and she let out a sigh. “I know. But I promise I’m okay. It’s just… been a lot the past week. I’m ready for some time to relax.” Amy nodded and gave her a genuine smile. “Okay. Let’s go grab dinner.” Amy tuned the key to her apartment, awkwardly balancing a large pizza box as she struggled with the door knob. Katherine walked in behind her, trying to balance with her over-stuffed backpack, her pillow, and a 2-liter bottle of soda. They deposited their bundles in the living room and Amy started for the kitchen. “I’m going to change and get us some plates and cups. Do you want to pick out something from the DVD shelf, or from Netflix?” Katherine looked over at Amy’s large bookshelf of movies, considering her options. “I’ll see what movies you’ve got.” Amy left to change while Katherine combed through the movie collection. Amy had a sizeable collection of movies that ranged from classics, chick-flicks, and what Katherine would call ‘stupid movies’. They were the adult comedy movies that were stupid for the sake of being stupid. She turned her nose up as she read through the vulgar titles. She came to a shelf that contained nothing but Disney movies, her frown quickly turning into a grin. A nice relaxing movie sounded perfect. Ice clinked from the refrigerator’s dispenser, breaking the silence of the house. Katherine selected Tangled from the shelf and popped the disc into the DVD player. Amy emerged in her own pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt, carefully balancing the ice-filled cups under one arm and plates in the other. As she set the glasses down on coasters and began to pour the drinks, the music from the DVD menu began to play. Amy stopped pouring to look up and confirm Katherine’s movie choice. “Tangled?” She said, trying not to sound judgmental. Katherine smiled, unaware of Amy’s underlying question. “Yeah, it’s my favorite and I haven’t seen it in forever!” Amy shrugged nonchalantly and continued pouring. The pair sat on the couch and began to stake their claims of the slices of pepperoni pizza. The FBI piracy notice faded into blackness, the room growing dark as the dim sunset faded through the window. Katherine felt herself truly start to relax as the movie began. She was with her best friend, in her most comfortable clothes, eating her favorite food, and watching her favorite movie. She needed this so badly, and she felt herself slowly begin to unwind as she ate her first delicious bite of pizza. Amy watched Katherine from the corner of her eye and saw a genuine smile beginning to show on her friend’s face. She began to smile herself, glad she was finally able to do something to make her friend happy. As the movie went on, Katherine paused between her second and third slice to get a drink. The tall glass felt so heavy to her, and she tried to push out of her mind when the last time was that she had taken a drink under her own power. She tipped the glass towards her mouth and carefully cupped her lips around the rim. The action felt almost foreign to her. She slowly drank the soda in small gulps, but after her first sip, the drink began to run down the glass from the edges of her mouth and on to her shirt. Katherine jerked at the cold sensation of the drink splashing on her hoodie, which caused even more to spill over the edge of her glass. “Damn it!” Katherine swore, clumsily setting her glass down and attempting to pull the wet fabric away from her. Amy jumped up from the couch and started towards the kitchen. “Hang on, I’ll get you a towel.” She called from the other room. Amy grabbed a towel from the drawer and began to wet it under the faucet. As she wrung it out, she played back the scene of what she had just witnessed in her mind. Could Katie not even take a drink out of a glass. There was no reason that drink should have spilt. She started to leave the kitchen, then paused for a moment to consider an idea. She opened a nearby cabinet and found what she was looking for, then returned to the living room. Katherine was awkwardly attempting to push the damp front of her shirt away from her skin. Amy smiled gently at her and handed her the wet towel. “Here. Do you have any other shirts?” Katherine took the towel and sighed as she began to rub at the stain. “Yeah, but it’s my pajama shirt.” Her frown started to more closely resemble a pouting child. “This is my favorite shirt.” Her tone was sounding more upset by the minute. “How about you go change, and I’ll throw that in the washing machine.” Amy asked, hoping to mollify her. Katherine gave a begrudging nod and went over to her backpack to dig out her shirt from the compacted bundle. She changed and handed the hoodie to Amy. While Amy left the room, Katherine sat alone on the couch in her t-shirt, rubbing her arms together as goosebumps began to appear. She didn’t know if it was just from the shock of the cold drink, or just losing the feeling of safety of her warm hoodie. Amy re-entered the living room and noticed Katherine rubbing her arms. “Oh, here.” She said, grabbing a folded blanket from behind the couch. Katherine took it and started unfolding the queen-sized micro plush blanket. She couldn’t help but smile as she rubbed the fabric between her fingers. “This is like the softest thing I’ve ever felt!” Amy smiled at her reaction. “Yeah, it’s my favorite. I use it out here all the time, so it’s become the couch blanket.” Katherine bundled herself up, noticing how much of fabric was left. “Do you want some?” She offered to Amy. “Sure. I’m not really cold right now, but I usually end up using it anyway.” She propped her feet up on the coffee table and draped the blanket over her legs. Katherine snuggled back into a comfortable position on the couch and focused her attention back on the movie. Just as she started staring at the screen, her eyes were drawn to a bright color on the coffee table. She looked down to find a pink bendy straw sticking out of her glass. Her eyebrows narrowed as she looked it over, realizing that Amy must have added it to her drink without her noticing. Amy saw her expression, but looked back to the TV as if she hadn't noticed. Katherine continued to stare at the straw, trying to discern Amy's intentions. “Did you give me a straw?” she asked in a monotone voice. Amy paused as she tried to analyze her tone. She didn't sound angry, but she definitely didn't sound happy either. “Oh, yeah I forgot to grab one earlier.” She said, trying to waive the comment off. Katherine looked at Amy's glass. “Why didn't you grab one for yourself?” Amy continued to stare ahead at the screen and shrugged. “I don’t really like them, but I forgot to ask if you wanted one, so I just grabbed it. I didn’t think you’d mind.” Katherine gave a brief nod as if she understood, but wasn’t convinced. As the night went on, Katherine didn’t have any more accidental spills thanks to the straw, a fact she tried to actively ignore. About half way through the movie, Katherine’s stomach began to gurgle loudly. Amy ignored it the first few times, but after a particularly loud growl, jokingly asked, “Are you still hungry?” Katherine looked down at her stomach in annoyance. “No. I had 5 pieces. Maybe I just ate too quickly.” Amy tried not to think anything more of it, but found it difficult to forget as the gurgles continued at regular intervals. The room reached peak darkness as the sun finally set. Katherine let out a jaw-popping yawn and reclined deeper into the couch cushions. Amy noticed the action and began to yawn herself. “You can lay down if you want to.” Katherine gave a tired nod and shifted towards Amy, resting her head on Amy’s leg. Amy sat perfectly still as Katherine curled up next to her. It wasn’t what she had meant, but she had no problem with Katherine laying on her. She adjusted the blankets around Katherine, tucking her in to her new position. Katherine shifted, moving closer to Amy. As she finished tucking the blanket, Amy kept her hand resting on Katherine’s back. She moved it in slow, gentle circles, soothing her as she fought to keep her eyes open. Katherine didn’t protest, and Amy felt a warm glow from the motherly act. More than anything, she wanted her friend to feel safe. “Amy… I really like your apartment.” Katherine said in a tired voice. Amy smiled at this, wondering where the comment had come from. “I’m glad. I like it too. You’re always welcome to stay here if you want.” Katherine nodded against her legs as she continued to stare at the screen. Her eyelids began to flutter, weakly trying to fight sleep as the warm blanket enveloped her. Amy waited a few moments, trying to muster up the courage to ask. “Katie… how would you feel about being roommates?” She waited for a response, the ambience of the movie filling the room like white noise. After a few more tense moments passed, Amy looked down to see Katherine had drifted off to sleep. She smiled, leaning her own head back into the couch cushions and closing her eyes. “That’s okay. You don’t have to answer now.” She said quietly to herself. The room faded into darkness and she fell asleep. Amy awoke to a quiet room. The credits scrolled up the screen as quiet music played. She took a deep breath, then froze as an unusual smell hit her nose. She gave the air another exploratory sniff, trying to place the scent. It smelled almost like cleaning products. Ammonia? She thought to herself. Then the years of hospital experience sparked something in her mind as the scent that she had almost gone nose-blind to finally registered. No… Urine. She looked down, noticing Katherine still asleep on her lap. The blanket almost completely enveloped her. There was no visible dark spot on the blanket. Still dazed from her nap, Amy leaned over a few inches and smelled the air again. It was definitely stronger towards Katherine. What do I do? She began to panic. I don’t want to wake her… If only there was some way I could clean her up without her noticing. She’s going to be so upset- As her brain began to race through her limited choices, Katherine began to shift in her sleep. Oh please don’t wake up now Katie… Amy pleaded. She felt Katherine’s muscles tighten against her, as if she were stretching. Amy began to relax, but then heard the faint sound of fabric stretching. She looked Katherine over, trying to figure out what the sound was, then noticed a small bump in the blanket shifting over Katherine’s bottom. Oh no… oh no no no!!! Amy felt herself freeze. She couldn’t wake Katherine now and humiliate her, but she couldn’t let her friend lay there like this. The sound continued as Katherine’s panties pushed outwards, the lump in the blanket slowly growing like an inflating balloon. Maybe I’ll just pretend I didn’t notice… She can just go to the bathroom and clean up, and I won’t say a thing. Amy tried to think of any way out of this situation. The noise finally ceased, and Katherine stopped straining and relaxed once again against Amy. Oh good… She’s still asleep. Okay… maybe if I can do something to wake her up and pretend to be asleep, she will think I won’t know. The new smell combined with the urine and wafted up to Amy’s nose. I have to do something now. Before she could react, Katherine gasped and quickly lifted her head, quickly awoken from her sleep. In her daze, she began looking around wildly, rolling on her back. Amy put out a hand, trying to stop her. “Katie, wait!” She said, but her warning wasn’t quick enough. Katherine stopped mid roll, as she felt the mess in her underwear squish against her. Her eyes went wide with disbelief. The girls sat frozen on the couch, unsure what to do. Katherine inched forwards, laying on her side again, but feeling the mess now stuck to her. Realizing what had happened, tears began to form in her eyes. Amy was quick to rub her back in the same calming circles and shushed her. “Hey. Shhh… hey, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” Katherine’s tears ran down her cheeks and she rolled over on her stomach, burying her face in Katherine’s lap. She began sobbing, her cries muffled in Amy’s sweatpants. “Shhhh….” She continued, rubbing Katherine’s back through the blanket. She now had a view of Katherine’s bottom which no longer had a noticeable bulge. Amy’s sweatpants began to darken as tears soaked into the soft fabric. She could feel Katherine’s hot breath on her legs as she cried louder into her lap. With her other hand, she gently stroked Katherine’s head. She ran her fingernails in slow circles across her scalp in an attempt to soothe her. “Everything’s okay. You’re okay…” Katherine shook her head back and forth into her lap, protesting what Amy was telling her. “Yes, you are. It’s just an accident. It’s not a big deal. We’re going to get you cleaned up. Everything will be fine, okay?” Katherine didn’t respond this time, her sobs causing her body to gently shudder. After a few more moments of rubbing her back, Amy gently placed her hands under Katherine’s armpits, lifting her out from under the blanket and up against her chest. She was always surprised at how light the girl was. She rested her head against her breast, and tucked an arm underneath Amy’s thighs, being careful not to touch anywhere near her bottom. She gently lifted her up and stood up from the couch. She carried Katherine to the bathroom, her shirt now becoming wet with tears. Still in her arms, Amy leaned Katherine’s weight against her chest, and used a free hand to slowly shimmy her pants down. She kept Katherine facing away from the mirror to prevent her from seeing anything. As she pulled the waistband of the pajamas down, she could see the very visible mess through Katherine’s thin, butterfly-print panties. She tugged the wet pants down over her feet and laid them on the bathroom floor. Amy pulled open the shower door and stepped inside. She helped Katherine stand on her own, then started to lift her shirt. “Arms up.” She said in a calm tone. Katherine continued to sniffle as she slowly lifted her hands up. Amy pulled her shirt over her head and laid it on the floor. She turned Katherine away from the shower head and set her hands on her shoulders. “I’m going to pull these down and get the water going. Hold your nose shut and breath through your mouth, okay?” Katherine nodded, fresh tears rolled down her face as she realized what Amy was about to do. Katherine held up a hand and pinched her nose shut as if she was about to do a cannonball off of a diving board. Amy grabbed the waistband of Katherine’s panties and pulled it away from Katherine’s body. The weight of the mess sagged through the material. She slowly lowered the underwear, the majority of the mess drooping towards the floor. She exposed Katherine’s bottom, revealing exactly how much cleanup she would have to do. The underwear finally reached the floor, and Amy gently tugged at Katherine’s ankle, encouraging her to step out of the panties. Amy turned on the water, testing the temperature to make sure it was warm enough. She pulled down the showerhead from its cradle and began gently spraying down Katherine’s backside. She stroked her back with her free hand as she slowly moved the nozzle back and forth. The smell became much more intense and she was glad she had told Katherine to cover her nose. It wasn’t pleasant, but after years of experience in a children’s hospital, it was nothing new to Amy. After the water had dissolved everything, Amy pulled a washcloth from a drawer and covered it with soap. She gently ran the cloth over her thighs, between her legs, and up between Katherine’s cheeks to ensure she was clean. Katherine winced as Amy scrubbed the intimate areas. She rinsed the soap away and turned the water off. She looked down to see that the water had done an excellent job of also cleaning the underwear on the shower floor. Amy grabbed a towel and carefully wiped the water off of Katherine, then wrapped the towel around her. She grabbed another from the towel rack and spread it out on the floor. “I know it’s cold, but can you lay down here for just a minute? I’ll be right back.” Katherine glanced up at Amy with a defeated look in her eye. She didn’t know what Amy was going to do, but she didn’t have any fight left in her to protest. She nodded and laid down on the towel. Amy was only gone for a few moments before she returned with a few bags from her car. Katherine involuntarily began to sob as she realized what was happening. Amy gently shushed her as she began to unpack the supplies. “It's just a precaution, okay?” Katherine didn't respond to the question, simply letting out a small sob. She pulled a pink diaper from the package and unfolded it, laying it on the floor between Katherine's legs. She placed a bottle of baby powder on the floor and knelt down. Amy gently lifted the back of Katherine's legs, and Katherine pushed her bottom in the air, leaving space for Amy to slide the diaper underneath her. Amy sprinkled the powder over her crotch and lifted the crinkly diaper up between her legs. After the tapes were secured, Amy picked up the shirt from the floor. Katherine raised her hands without any prompting and Amy slid her shirt down over her. As she finished the outfit change, Amy leaned down and wrapped her friend in a deep hug. Katherine reciprocated, tightly embracing Amy. “Hey, what do you think about turning in early for bed?” Amy asked. She felt Katherine's head nod against her chest as the held her. The embrace broke off and the girls returned to the living room. Katherine retrieved her toothbrush from her backpack and walked back to the bathroom to brush her teeth, the soft rustle of her diaper breaking the silence of the apartment. In her moment of solitude, Amy cleaned up the remains of dinner and prepared the couch for Katherine to sleep on. As she finished, Katherine emerged from the bathroom, eyeing the couch where her makeshift bed was being prepared. Amy noticed Katherine's look and realized that after her accident, she may not want to be on the couch tonight. “I was just setting up an option if you wanted it. Would you rather sleep in my bed?” Katherine looked at the floor, then slowly bobbed her head up and down. Amy gave her a sympathetic smile. “Hey, it’s no problem. My bed’s pretty big, so I don’t mind. You can even take the blanket from the couch.” Amy picked up the blanket and handed it to Katherine. She took it, snuggling it close to her chest. As small smile began to form as she rubbed the soft fabric between her fingers. After Amy brushed her own teeth, the two moved to her bedroom and crawled into her king-sized bed. Katherine turned off her beside lamp, and the two cocooned themselves in the sheets. “Goodnight Katie.” She whispered to the darkness. Amy heard the sheets shuffle and felt Katherine scoot closer to her, as if she wanted to be embraced. Amy reached her hand forward a few inches, making contact with Katherine’s back. She slowly rubbed, feeling Katherine slide into a spooning position. “Goodnight Amy.” She quietly responded. Amy wrapped an arm around her, the feeling of warmth returning as she felt her friend relax into that same place of safety as she had felt on the couch. After a few moments of feeling her chest rise and fall with steady breathing, Amy whispered, “Katie... do you want to move in together?” Katherine’s breathing paused, as if she was holding her breath. After another long moment, her chest began to fall as she let out a breath. “Yeah... That would be nice.” She said. Amy hadn’t realized that she had stopped breathing as well, and let out a silent sigh. She kissed Katherine on the top of her head, and then snuggled into her pillow as sleep took the both of them. Chapter 11: The faint vibrations of Amy’s phone slowly roused her from sleep. Her eyelids opened sluggishly as she tried to comprehend what was happening. Near the fourth ring, her eyes snapped open as she realized she was no longer dreaming and was about to miss a call. She blindly swiped out towards her nightstand, snatching up her phone and ripping out the charging cable. “Hello?” She said in a slurred and groggy tone. “Hello Amy, it’s Miss Anderson. I know that you’re not scheduled for today, but I would like to schedule an impromptu training session for your classes. I just have a few things to go over for your new role.” Amy blinked away the sleep as she tried to process what Kelly was saying. “Um... Yeah, okay.” “I’ll only need you for a few hours, would this morning at eleven be acceptable?” Amy looked over at the clock which read 7:30. “Yeah, that will be fine.” A thought occurred to her as she started to wonder what the training would be. “Will... Will Katherine need to come with me?” “No.” Kelly curtly replied. “This is only for your role as an instructor. Is she staying with you?” Amy found the question a bit unusual, but almost everything seemed unusual to her lately. “Yes, she’s staying with me right now.” “Excellent.” Kelly replied. “Do you have someone who can watch her while you’re away?” Amy paused, grateful that Kelly couldn’t see the confused look on her face. “No… she’s just here at my apartment.” “I don’t believe that in her current state she needs to be unsupervised. You should find a sitter for her. The hospital can cover the expense of a part-time caregiver for her.” Amy was still trying to full wake up to digest all the information. “Um, okay. But I think it would be hard to explain… the situation to a sitter.” There was a short pause as Kelly considered her words. “If you prefer, I can find someone who is aware of the situation and has the necessary experience to watch her.” Amy wished this conversation was happening in person. Kelly was a difficult person to convince of anything, but it was easier when she wasn’t on the phone. “Okay, we can talk about it more during our meeting.” “Very well. I will see you at eleven. Goodbye” The phone beeped as the call ended, and Amy let her arm drop to her bed. She looked over at Katherine who was still sleeping soundly. She had migrated to the other side of the bed and was tangled in a mess of blankets. She certainly does move around a lot when she sleeps. Amy mused to herself. She gingerly lifted the sheets from around herself and quietly shifted her weight from the bed to the floor. Her socks on the carpet were barely audible as she stepped out of the room and down the hall. Amy passed her open guest room and looked it over. The apartment had been designed for 2 people, each sharing a connected bathroom with ample living space, but Amy had never really found a purpose for the second room. She used the second closet as overflow, but other than a small amount of junk she stored in the corner the room was almost bare. She began to envision Katherine moving her bed in. The small amount of stuff she has at her apartment would fit here nicely. She wondered to herself. She left the doorway and continued towards the kitchen. Still attempting to blink the sleep from her eyes, Amy turned on the coffee pot and began to get breakfast ready. The quiet gurgling of the coffee pot created a peaceful soundtrack to the otherwise silent Sunday morning. The skillet was placed on the stovetop and began to warm. Amy closed her eyes and inhaled as the room began to smell like fresh brewed coffee. Saturday’s were a nice day to relax, but there was something about Sundays that always seemed restful to her. After a bowl of pancake batter was thoroughly stirred, Amy began to ladle careful dollops of batter onto the hot skillet. Her first stack was completed just as Katherine walked into the room. Amy turned and noticed her just as she prepared the first plate. Katherine still clutched the blanket from last night. Her hair was in disarray and her wrinkled oversized t-shirt hung just below her hips and exposed a small pink strip of her diaper that seemed to sag just below the hem. Amy tried not to stare at it and wondered how she would be able to bring up the subject if she was actually wet. “Well good morning sleepyhead. You’re just in time.” She placed the stack of warm pancakes on the table, setting a fork and a bottle of syrup beside it. Katherine visibly perked up at the sight and waddled towards the table. Amy wondered if she was aware of what she was doing, but her question was soon answered as Amy climbed up into the chair and visibly winced as her diaper squished against the seat. She looked down in surprise and disgust as the sensation of the cold, soaked diaper finally registered with her. Amy was quick to react before she got upset. She was at her side, gently rubbing her back. “It’s okay, you just had a lot to drink last night and slept in. We’ll get it changed right after breakfast, but your pancakes won’t be good cold.” Katherine seemed to calm down before her embarrassment escalated any further. Amy returned to the stove to finish her own batch of pancakes. The coffee pot was finally full and Amy went to pour herself a cup. As she reached for a second mug for Katherine, she remembered the soda and wondered how well Katherine's stomach would be able to handle coffee. She put the mug back on the shelf and opened the fridge. “Hey Katie, what do you want to drink? I've got orange juice… milk…” She trailed off, hoping Katherine would accept one of the first few options. “Milk's fine." she said with a mouthful of pancakes. Amy took out the carton and poured a glass of milk. She opened the cabinet, grabbed a straw, and put it in the glass with a soft clink. Amy carried their drinks over to the table and retrieved her own stack of pancakes. Katherine paused for a moment when she noticed the straw, but didn’t say anything as she brought it up to her lips and took a drink. Amy focused on her pancakes and pretended not to notice. “So, Kelly called this morning…” Katherine froze with her fork half way to her mouth and looked up with wide eyes. “It’s okay.” Amy urged quickly, trying to shut down any anxiety before it started. “It’s just for me, she just wants to go over a few things about teaching courses. It’s in a few hours, would you be fine hanging out here until I get back?” Katherine didn’t trust anything that involved Kelly, her discomfort evident on her face. She nodded slowly, but her concerned look didn’t change. “You can watch whatever you want. It shouldn’t be long, so we can get lunch after I get back.” Katherine nodded with slightly more confidence than before. The two finished their breakfast and Amy set the dishes in the sink. “Okay, let’s get you taken care of.” Katherine didn’t respond, but began to make her way to the bathroom. Just like the previous night, she laid down wordlessly in the same position on the bathroom floor. Amy pulled up the small bit of Katherine’s shirt that covered her diaper. It was visibly swollen, emanating a soft squishing noise as Amy undid the tapes and folded it down. She grabbed the container of wipes and thoroughly cleaned Katherine. As she slid the used diaper away, she was amazed at how heavy it was. These things can really take a punch. She thought as she rolled the diaper into a ball and refastened the tapes shut. Amy looked at her small bathroom trashcan, realizing that one diaper would immediately fill it to capacity. We might need to get a diaper pail at this rate. She deposited the diaper and pulled a fresh one from the package. After adding powder, she taped it snugly around Katherine’s waist. “Good to go.” She smiled, but Katherine didn’t return the expression. “It’s just for safety. Maybe if you have some time to relax, it will get better. Maybe we can even look for some thinner diapers so you won’t feel self-conscious in public?” Katherine’s sour expression softened at the thought. As long as there was some road to normality, she held on to the hope that she would feel like an adult again. The girls separated as Amy went to get ready for her training. Katherine returned to the couch with her blanket and started browsing Netflix. After she was deeply immersed in an episode of Friends, Amy entered the living room in her hospital scrubs, her hair still slightly wet from her shower. “I'm going to head to the hospital. You know where stuff is, so help yourself to whatever you need. Just text me if you need anything.” Katherine’s expression was almost heartbreaking. She didn't want Amy to leave or to have to deal with Kelly. She didn't want to be left alone. Before all of this, she would have killed for some free time, but now she just wanted Amy to stay. Amy hadn't expected the sad doe eyes looking up at her. She froze as she put her purse over her shoulder. “Hey, what's wrong?” Katherine broke eye contact and looked down, but her face still looked as if she was about to cry. Amy sat down next to her on the couch. “I won't be gone long. We’ll get lunch right after.” “I know.” Katherine said, unconvincingly. “So, what's wrong?” Amy asked, still confused. There was a long pause as she waited for Katherine to say something. “I just… I don't want you to go. I don't like you being around Kelly. She's mean and I don't want her to keep you there.” Amy realized how attached Katherine had become to her. She loved her friend and would do anything for her, but she hadn't seen how dependent her friend had become on their relationship. Maybe Kelly was right about how much support she needs right now. She wondered to herself “It's okay.” She said, rubbing her hand down her back. “I promise I won't stay too long. I'll be home soon.” She could see the tears welling in Katherine's eyes that threatened to spill over, but Katherine nodded and blinked them away. Amy gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head and headed out the door. Katherine had created a perfect nest on the couch. She was nestled in between several pillows, using her soft blanket to fill in the gaps. After a few episodes, she fell into a comfortable half sleep. Amy’s absence was no longer a source of anxiety, and the quiet of the empty apartment had become peacefully drowned out by the television. A sudden knock at the door made Katherine’s heart race. She gasped loudly and she almost fell off of the couch. She looked down at her outfit, a simple oversized t-shirt that barely covered her diaper. I can’t answer the door like this… what if it’s Amy? No, why wouldn’t she just use her keys? Did she forget them? Why didn’t she just call me? Questions raced through her mind as she reached for her phone. As she looked at the screen and saw that there were no new notifications, the door pounded again, louder this time. A woman’s voice came from the other side of the door? “Katie? It’s Stacy. I’ve got your delivery for you. Can you open the door?” Katherine froze staring at the door. She wished they would just go away, or wait for Amy to come home. She hadn’t expected to have to deal with anyone and wasn’t sure how to deal with the situation. After a long moment of silence, Katherine steeled herself and took slow, shuffling steps towards the door. She reached up, turned the deadbolt, and opened the door. While she had been preparing herself for Stacy to see her in her attire, she hadn’t been expecting two large moving men standing behind her with a pile of boxes. Her cheeks quickly burned to a bright red, but the men seemed to take no notice of it. Stacy smiled at her, and Katherine noticed a new pink dyed strip in Stacy’s otherwise dark hair. It was pulled into a ponytail today as a contrast to her usual pigtails. The change gave Katherine something to focus on as she tried not to think about her own attire. “Hi Katie, I didn’t wake you, did I?” Stacy said, looking down at her outfit as if they were perfectly normal. “N-no.” Katherine muttered. “Well, do you mind if we drop your stuff off? My guys are really quick and they’ll be in and out in a flash.” Katherine was excited at the idea of everyone leaving and gave a quick nod. Amy smiled and gestured to the movers. “Come on guys." She stepped inside past Katherine, the men carrying a large rectangular box between them. Katherine looked at the pile of boxes that remained outside, wondering what could be in them. Stacy analytically looked all around the apartment as she navigated through it. She walked down the hall to the guest room and looked inside. “Ah, this should work. In here guys.” The men followed past her into the room. Katherine heard the box hit the floor with a thud. The men walked out and returned to the pile of boxes outside. They made several more trips in the room, depositing the boxes with speedy precision. Katherine wondered what Stacy was doing in the room, but didn’t want to get in the way of the movers. She sat on the couch and returned to her show, trying to block out the noise. After the last load of boxes came in through the front door, Katherine noticed that the men weren’t leaving the room. She could hear the boxes being shuffled as if they were being disassembled, but she didn’t dare leave her spot on the couch. After what felt like an eternity, the men entered the living room, walked past her without a word, and closed the door behind them. Katherine wondered if there were more boxes she hadn’t seen, but her question was answered when she heard the sound of the moving truck starting up and driving away. Katherine sat there quietly, listening if Stacy was in the other room. She wondered if she had left without her noticing. She continued to listen, hearing light footsteps walking down the hall. Stacy walked around the corner, her face beaming. “Hey, want to come see?” Katherine didn’t try to hide the confused look on her face. She no idea what to expect at this point and just wanted to go back to having her free time. Katherine got up from the couch and followed Stacy as she practically skipped back to the guest room. A pink light shined into the hallway. Katherine hadn’t seen a light on in the room before, but was surprised that Amy would have a pink lightbulb. She entered in behind Stacy who turned around and spread her arms wide, presenting her work for review. “Well? What do you think?” Katherine mouth fell open as she took in the spectacle around her. The room had been completely transformed. Katherine’s eyes were immediately drawn to the oversized crib, complete with an oversized spinning mobile in the corner of the room. A normal-sized adult would appear small inside it, much less Katherine. Her gaze continued to the corners where there was a rocking chair, changing table, and a diaper pail. The walls were covered with stick-on decals of clouds, animals, letter blocks, and flowers. Several lamps put off a soft pink glow throughout the room. Katherine noticed a soft sensation beneath her bare feet and looked down. The center of the room was covered with a large sheep-skin rug. She unconsciously wiggled her toes, feeling the rug’s softness. She looked the room over again, completely speechless. “It’s a lot, I know, but isn’t it cute?” Stacy couldn’t wait for a response. “Oh, don’t you just love that rug? It’s sheepskin. Isn’t it just the softest thing in the world?” Katherine’s eyes explored every corner, trying to process what she was seeing. Her eyes fell on the open closet. Stacy followed her gaze, looking for any reaction to the room. “Oh, the closet. You've got to see this. This is the best part!” she grabbed Katherine's hand and led her over to the open door. Katherine looked up at the now packed closet. The top rack was completely full of baby clothes. Onesies, sleepers, and dresses bulged out of the closet. Ruffles and pastel colors entirely filled up the top section. The bottom section had been turned into organizer shelves with cubby holes. Each hole was full of stacks of different kinds of diapers, diapering supplies, bottles, pacifiers, toys, and every accessory a baby would need. Katherine couldn't speak as she looked the closet over, wondering if this was all some strange dream. Stacy clapped her hands together. “Isn't it amazing? You have no idea how excited I was that I got to do this. We've set up rooms for customers before, but nothing like this! Your boss is really amazing. I couldn't believe everything that she ordered. I told her about our supplies and she just ran with it…” Katherine could barely understand the words Stacy was saying. “My… my boss?” Katherine muttered quietly. Stacy stopped in the middle of her rant, anxious for any feedback from Katherine. Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to understand Katherine's confusion. “Yeah… Kelly, right? She put in this order for you…” Katherine didn't take her eyes off of the stack of diapers in front of her. “She did?” she asked in her quiet tone. “Oh…” Stacy said, showing the first hint of awkwardness Katherine had ever heard from her. “She didn't tell you. I think I understand…” Stacy went still as the quiet room was filled with a muffled hissing noise. She listened carefully, then looked down at Katherine as she realized the source. Her cheerful smile returned and she placed her hands on her hips. “Well, it sounds like someone needs a change.” Katherine felt a familiar warm sensation in her diaper and realized that she had just had an accident. She looked down at her now swollen diaper in disbelief. She felt tears starting to form, but Stacy picked her up and rested her head against her shoulder. “No worries, we’ll get you taken care of.” With one hand she patted her back, and the other rested under Katherine’s bottom as she supported her, inadvertently squishing the warm wet padding against her. Stacy wasn’t as tall as Amy, but still had no difficulty picking up and carrying Katherine. She laid Katherine on the changing table and undid the tapes of the wet diaper. “There, there sweetie, it’s okay.” She gave Katherine a quick boop on her nose and giggled. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Stacy reached under the changing table and pulled out a pink cloth diaper. “I also threw in some cloth diapers in the order. They’re so soft and I think you’ll like them more than disposables.” She pulled the front of the used diaper down and grabbed a wipe. Katherine began to sit up in an attempt to protest, but Stacy put a hand on her shoulder to keep her down, wagging her finger back and forth. “Ah ah ah, no being fussy. I might end up putting you in the diaper pail by accident.” She giggled at her own joke. “Hold still for me sweetie.” She continued to smile brightly as she wiped and powdered Katherine. Katherine laid there, unsure if there’s anything she could do. “Let me get you up to speed. Miss Anderson put in a special order for you to have your very own nursery. It was very generous and she wanted to make sure you had everything you need for your new job.” She rolled up the used diaper into a ball and deposited it into the diaper pail. “I helped her pick out everything and offered to set up your nursery. She asked if I knew much about this stuff and I told her that I have had experience ‘babysitting’ before.” She lifted Katherine’s legs and slid the cloth diaper underneath her. Katherine’s bottom rested on the soft material that felt like a pillow. “She asked if I’d like to babysit, and of course I said yes! The hospital has a program for in-home patient care and I’m now officially your babysitter.” Katherine’s eyes went wide as she finally understood what was happening. Stacy pulled up the cloth diaper between Katherine’s and began fastening the velcro straps. The material was so thick it pushed Katherine’s legs apart. “The only downside of these is you’ve got to have plastic panties to make sure you don’t leak. But they last a long time, and we can get some really cute pants for you. You can even add cloth stuffer pads to make them last longer. I think I put some down here…” She leaned over under the table and rummaged around for a moment. “Yes! Here they are.” She held up two curved cloth pads that matched her diaper. “Want to see how they look?” Without waiting for a response, Stacy undid the velcro and pulled the front of the diaper back down. “I think two is the most we would be able to get away with.” She slid the stuffers underneath Katherine’s bottom and carefully tucked them inside the lining of the diaper. The material had tripled in thickness, creating a noticeable squeezing sensation when she pulled the thick padding back up between Katherine’s legs. Her thighs forcibly spread out around the diaper as Stacy pulled the front down and re-fastened the straps. “Oh my gosh that is so cute! That thing will last you all day. Now, let’s see if we can’t get some cute panties for that poofy butt.” As Stacy walked over to the closet to look at clothing options, Katherine craned her neck down to look at the beach ball around her waist. She couldn’t even see her toes over the bulk of the diaper. Stacy quickly returned from the closet with her hands full. “Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking…” She held up two sets of panties in each hand. She held out a transparent pink pair for Katherine to see. “These are plastic. They’re pretty loud but keep you from leaking. Unfortunately, they aren’t very cute looking. Now these…” She held up the other pair. They were a shiny pink satin with ruffles all along the bottom. “These are just decorative and aren’t waterproof. I think we should try both!” Stacy shifted down towards Katherine’s feet and raised her legs in the air. She first slid the plastic panties over her feet and shimmied them up her legs. The plastic crinkled loudly as she slid it up and around the bulky diaper. She then repeated the process with the other pair. The cool satin tickled as the ruffles ran over Katherine’s legs and she let out an involuntary giggle and squirmed at the unexpected sensation. Stacy grinned and gave her a devious look. “Ohhh… Is someone ticklish?” Katherine’s smile was instantly gone, replaced with a look of horror. Stacy quickly slid her hands under Katherine’s shirt, prodding her sides. “Tickle time!” She yelled as her fingers fluttered over Katherine’s sensitive skin. Katherine tensed and writhed on the changing table, laughing wildly and trying to squirm away. “No, no, no, no, please!-” She groaned in between laughs. Stacy moved town to her thighs which were helplessly exposed from the thick diaper. She leaned over and placed her mouth on Katherine’s belly, blowing a loud raspberry as she tickled. Katherine was almost screaming with laughter, trying to catch her breath in between her pleas. “NO! Please stop!” Stacy finally relented, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “I won’t tickle you too bad… we wouldn’t want to make you have another accident, would we?” Katherine blushed at the question. Stacy smiled at her response and returned to the closet. “So, we need something cute to go with your undies...” She pulled two dresses from the closet. “You’ve got an entire new wardrobe to look through... what to pick?” She held up two frilly dresses, one pink, and one yellow with pink accents. “What do you think?” She weighed them back and forth. Katherine just stared at them, unsure what to say. She just wanted to stay in her t-shirt. She wanted to be alone. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She had peed her pants without any idea it was happening. She didn’t want to admit that she needed help, but she knew she didn’t have a choice any more. “The yellow one.” She said quietly. The grin on Stacy’s face somehow grew bigger at the response. “I like that one too.” She came over and helped Katherine out of her shirt. Katherine felt the need to cover herself, but her chest was so flat there was practically nothing to cover. Stacy helped her sit up, balancing on the giant diaper, and held the dress up over her head. “Arms up.” Katherine complied and Stacy slid the dress over her head. It fanned out just below where her breasts would be, the frills pushing the dress out to all sides and exposing her frilly diaper cover. “Oh my gosh I just want to die.” Stacy said through her hands that covered her mouth. “You are so stinking cute! Here, let’s try this.” She almost ran to the closet and pulled out a yellow bonnet and a matching yellow pacifier. “Open” She said, placing the large nipple in Katherine’s mouth. She reluctantly opened and accepted the nipple. Stacy pulled out two hair ties, fixing Katherine’s hair into two pigtails. She fixed the bonnet on her head, tying it underneath her chin in a bow. “Okay, I can’t stand this. You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Stacy pulled out her phone and snapped a picture before Katherine knew what was happening. “Have you had lunch yet?” Stacy asked. Katherine was trying to speak to protest the picture, but found that the bonnet securely held her mouth closed around the giant pacifier, preventing her from speaking. She shook her head no while trying to open her jaw. Stacy noticed the predicament. “That’s okay, don’t worry about it. I’ll take your bonnet off for lunch. I’ll go make you something and be right back.” She picked Katherine up from the table and walked over to the crib. She pulled at a latch and the large panel slid to the floor. Stacy placed Katherine on the soft mattress and handed her a stuffed sheep. “Now you play with Lamby while I go get lunch ready.” She put the crib wall back up and left Katherine alone in the room. Katherine looked down at the stuffed lamb, holding the soft material close to her chest. She suckled her pacifier and looked around the room. She couldn’t believe that any of this was real. She squirmed around the bulky diaper, trying to find a comfortable position. The high wall of the crib was far too tall to crawl over, even if the diaper wasn’t impairing her movements. Katherine attempted to stand, having to awkwardly shift from her knees to her shaky feet. Before she could even be upright, the heavy diaper threw off her balance and she fell squarely on her bottom. The padding ensured that there was no pain, but she still felt like crying. She couldn’t escape, she couldn’t yell for help, she couldn’t even go to the bathroom if she wanted to. Tears welled up easily in her eyes and she hugged her lamb close to her. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Stacy returned with a bottle in her hand. “Hey, sweetie. Ready for lunch?” Katherine eyed the bottle skeptically, then looked into Stacy’s eyes. Stacy met her gaze, sensing her hesitation. “Don’t worry. Kelly told me you’ve nursed before. I want to keep you on a regular schedule so your tummy doesn’t get upset.” At the word ‘nurse’, Katherine involuntarily looked at Stacy’s exposed cleavage, her black tank-top struggling to support her breasts. The shirt was tight against her slender waist, and Katherine stared for longer than she realized. Stacy’s grin turned devilish as she realized where Katherine was looking. She turned her own gaze down and peered down her own shirt. “Yeah, sorry sweetie. I don’t think I’ll be able to help you there.” She began to unlock the crib and a familiar blush returned to Katherine’s cheeks. “I can’t feed you, but maybe later I’ll let you nurse if you’re good.” She gathered Katherine up in her arms and walked over to the rocking chair. “I know how soothing that can be for a baby.” Katherine went limp in Stacy’s arms as she supported her. She hadn’t meant to stare at her. She wasn’t implying that she wanted to nurse. Why did I do that? Katherine’s thoughts felt fuzzy and slow as she tried to wrap her head around what was happening. Stacy sat in the chair and cradled Katherine in her arms. She undid the bonnet and removed her pacifier. She brought the bottle up to Katherine’s lips and she instinctively opened her mouth. She wrapped her lips around the nipple and began to suckle. Her mouth curled into a frown as the taste of formula hit her tongue. “Oh, don’t pout.” Stacy said, sticking her lower lip out turning her own mouth into a mock pout. “This is what babies need. You’ll get used to it, and if you need some help, I brought some things that can assist you.” Katherine wasn’t sure what she meant, but couldn’t imagine anything worse than formula. She suckled from the bottle and swallowed the thick mouthful. Stacy smiled. “That’s my good girl.” Katherine felt a strange pang of pride at the comment. While balancing the bottle, Stacy pulled out her phone and tapped the screen a few times. The room slowly began to dim, only a soft pink glow coming from the bulbs. Katherine would have sworn it was evening thanks to the blackout curtains over the window. Stacy spoke quietly, as if she didn’t want to disturb the peaceful room. “They’re smart bulbs. I can set them to whatever color I want and set schedules for them. This is what we’ll set the room to for nap time.” Katherine mentally wanted to protest the idea of a nap, but she felt her jaw stretching as the darkness encouraged her to yawn around the bottle that was already half gone. “Perfect timing, I think someone is getting sleepy.” Stacy said, still holding the bottle firmly in place. Katherine felt herself relaxing as she suckled until the bottle was empty. The bland taste wasn’t as overpowering anymore and she was able to finish the bottle easily. Stacy took away the empty bottle and replaced the pacifier in her mouth. She left the bonnet untied and carried Katherine over to the crib. She lifted up the blankets and laid Katherine gently down on the mattress, covering her with the blankets. “Just hold on one minute, I’m going to try something.” Stacy left and walked over to the closet. Katherine felt her vision beginning to fade as the combination of the darkened room, warm blankets, and her full belly all chipped away at her will to stay awake. Stacy returned a moment later with several objects in her hands. She walked to the foot of the bed and began to slip something over Katherine’s feet. She strained to lift her head and saw satin booties that matched her diaper cover. Stacy moved up and began to slid matching mittens over her hands. Katherine tried to protest, but Stacy’s grip was far too strong for her tired state. Stacy’s face went stern as she laced straps around Katherine’s wrist. “No fussing unless you want a spanking. I’m sure I left a paddle here somewhere.” She paused to look Katherine in the eye, showing her the seriousness of the threat. Katherine went limp and let Stacy tie the mittens around her hands. Lastly, she grabbed a set of headphones and slid them over Katherine’s ears underneath her bonnet. She tied the bonnet’s straps into a tight bow, securing the headphones and pacifier in place. Suddenly, Katherine began to hear the soft hum of a white noise tone in the headphones. She could only see Stacy mouthing the words, “Sweet dreams.” Before she raised the side of the crib and shut the door behind her. Katherine tried to move her hands inside the mittens, but found the material was to slick for her to get a grip on anything. She tried to shift her bonnet and headphones away, but they wouldn’t budge. She looked up at the spinning mobile and watched the characters as they moved in slow circles. A woman’s quiet voice began to drift through the white noise in the headphones. “Hello there, my precious baby. Everything is okay. You’re safe. Just listen to my voice. Mommy’s voice.” The voice was just above a whisper, speaking in long, slow breaths, as if she was breathing in Katherine’s ears. She felt tingles run down her back. “Mommy loves you baby. Mommy will take care of you. Close your eyes and let mommy take care of you.” Katherine felt her eyelids getting heavy, and quietly drifted off as the voice guided her to sleep. Amy exited the hospital and returned to her car, thinking over the meeting she had just had. Kelly had been unusually businesslike with her compared to the past few days. The meeting had lasted two hours, but was mostly just Kelly going over a guide for new instructors. Kelly had only asked one question that still bothered her. How do you feel about that store clerk, Stacy? Amy could still hear Kelly’s tone clearly in her head. She had told her that Stacy was a very nice person and seemed very knowledgeable about the supplies that were purchased for Katherine. Kelly had seemed satisfied at the answer and hadn’t pressed any further, but Amy couldn’t help but wonder what it meant. She pulled up to the apartment and walked up to the door. She unlocked the door to find Stacy sitting on her couch. Stacy turned and smiled as if she had expected her to walk in. “Hi Amy! I hope you don’t mind, but Katherine let me in and we got your stuff delivered and all set up. Katherine’s down for a nap in her room. Would you like to see?” Amy’s blank face stayed frozen as she took in what Stacy had said. “Wait… my stuff?” Stacy returned her confused look. “Oh... did Kelly not tell you I was coming by today? She called me and asked if I could start today as a sitter while we got everything setup. I’m sorry she didn’t say anything, I thought you knew.” Amy racked her memory of the conversations with Kelly if there was anything she had missed. She shook her head as if the memory suddenly came back to her. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I forgot she did talk about that.” Stacy still looked concerned. “I hope it was okay I came by. Kelly talked with me about what Katie needs and that she was here alone. Here, let me show you the room.” She turned to walk down the hall and Amy followed her. Stacy gently turned the doorknob, revealing the dimly lit nursery. Amy tried to keep her mouth from falling open as she looked around. “What do you think?” Stacy whispered. “I... I didn’t know what to expect.” She looked over to the oversized crib in the corner and noticed Katherine sleeping. She walked over and peered between the bars. “Isn’t she just precious?” Stacy said. Amy found herself clamping her hands over her mouth as the sight of her party dress. “Oh my... She’s adorable! That diaper is so poofy...” Stacy smiled at the observation. “Yeah, it’s a cloth diaper. It will hold a lot and she wouldn’t need a change for a while. I’ve got you all set up with diapers and outfits in the closet.” Amy just nodded, still looking around the room. Stacy gestured to the hallway and they both stepped outside. “Since your home now, I can take off. If you need anything, you can give me a call any time.” “Sure thing, thank you for watching her Stacy.” Stacy smiled. “It’s no problem. She’s so easy to watch. I’ll see you soon!” Amy walked her to the door and watched as she went to her car. As soon as she had driven out of sight, Amy walked back to the nursery. Katherine continued to sleep, softly sucking her pacifier. Amy just watched her as she slept, and looked around the room. She quietly whispered to herself “Oh Katie...what are we going to do?” Chapter 12: Amy sat on the living room couch, idly swiping at her phone’s screen. Various pictures from Instagram scrolled past, but she barely noticed what was on the screen, her eyes unfocused and distant. She wasn't sure what else to do. She thought about watching something on TV to relax and unwind, but she didn't want any noise to wake Katherine. At least while she was sleeping, she didn't have to process everything that had happened. The entire apartment had a tangible silence that felt foreign to Amy. She hated the quiet and always had to have some noise going on in the background. All she wanted was a distraction from all of the crazy changes that had happened in her life, but now she couldn't seem to get away from them even in her own home. Her eyes glanced down at the coffee table that now contained a small video baby monitor. She watched the tiny image of Katherine’s chest rise and fall slowly. She looked so peaceful, somehow able to sleep deeply with a ridiculously thick diaper between her legs. Amy had wanted to remove it as soon as Stacy had left, but decided she should not disturb Katherine if possible. She looked away from the monitor, another constant reminder of her predicament. Only one day after Katherine agrees to move in, and already her room and wardrobe had been completely transformed at Kelly's whim. Amy now not only had a roommate, but a roommate with a very complicated situation that she didn't even understand yet. Katherine seemed to be down a path of mental and physical regression. Amy racked her brain and began to compile evidence of Katherine's symptoms. Okay, she had just started her new job. That's perfectly normal to be stressed out about a new job, not to mention her first job right out of college. Student loans, first day as a doctor at one of the most prestigious hospitals in America, it's no wonder stress got to her. Stress can manifest in strange ways… Flashbacks of Katherine's apartment came to Amy's mind. Then she had all those accidents… Maybe she's always been prone to accidents and I just never knew. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was embarrassed and never told me. Although… bladder control is one thing, but she had full on incontinence a few times, then broke down crying like she was a little girl again. Maybe that was the beginning of a mental breakdown... There was a soft cooing noise from the monitor as Katherine moved in her crib, repositioning herself in her sleep. It was impossible to roll over with her thick diaper, but her head simple shifted as she continued to sleep on her back. Amy got up and walked to the kitchen, unable to look at the monitor anymore. She looked up at the bottles of alcohol perched on top of her cabinets, wondering if a drink would be helpful, or just help her ignore her problems. She shook the thought from her head and continued to remember. Then there was the hospital… I just wanted to help her get over her anxieties and we dressed her up as a baby. But some people actually thought she was as baby. Not only that, but she actually locked up and acted like one. She ate baby food. She used her diapers and never protested. Was this something she wanted all along? The thought seemed impossible to her. Sure, Katherine had always been a bit juvenile and hated being an adult, but who doesn’t? Was she just unable to process things and subconsciously fell into the opportunity to avoid her problems? She shook her head again, trying to shut down the wild train of thought. “I can't do this.” She whispered to herself. She felt her own anxiety levels starting to rise. I don't even know what's wrong with her. Am I helping her by doing this? She pictured Katherine attending the daycare that Kelly had so deviously set up for her. Anger joined her swirling cloud of emotions as she thought of Kelly. And how can she just do this? I don’t care if she's an administrator. She reassigns out jobs and opens a stupid credit card for Katherine to have a nursery? She seemed to enjoy it too. I knew she didn't like Katherine, but this isn’t right. You can't just hire somebody to go renovate someone’s house into a giant nursery. She didn't blame Stacy for her part in this. At least Stacy was somewhat helpful, even if she did pick out thousands of dollars of baby items for Katherine and renovate a room in her home. She blocked the new pink addition to her house out of her mind. She wasn't even sure where to begin to process that issue. I guess I won't be having any guests over for a while… if accidentally walked inside… Amy laughed, despite herself. There was nothing funny about the situation, but the sheer overload of the huge life changes finally seemed to get to her. Okay… I have a giant pink nursery in my house. That's my roommates' room. Oh, also I have a roommate now. My roommate sleeps in a crib. Is that good for her? Does she need all of this? What if it's making everything worse? What if she completely regresses? What if I become responsible for taking care of her? She thought back to the number of dirty diapers she had already helped Katherine out of in the past week. What if she becomes completely dependent? How long will I have to change poopy diapers for? A pang of guilt hit her as she asked herself the last question. How can I think that way? I helped cause this problem. Changing a poopy diaper is nothing compared to the humiliation and embarrassment she's gone through. It's just a dirty diaper. I change a hundred of them a day at work. At least I didn't have to sit in one… As she tried to block out the mental image of herself in a diaper, Amy felt her phone go off in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw a text from Stacy. “Oh, what now?” She muttered, opening the message. Sorry to bug you again, but I forgot one last thing. I had a high-chair and pack-and-play in my back seat and forgot to drop it off. It is okay if I swing back by? -Stacy Amy sighed and typed out a reply. Yeah, that’s no problem. Katherine’s still asleep. Amy hit send and placed her phone face down on the table, placing her face in her hands. I’m not sure how much more I can handle... After a few moments to clear her head, Stacy arrived at the door. As soon as Amy opened the door, Stacy noticed the look on her face. “You look like you’re about to crack. What’s going on?” Even though she barely knew her, Amy began to pour out the days of unprocessed emotions that she had been building up. Before she knew it, tears began to stream down her cheeks without warning. Stacy wordlessly guided her to the couch, sitting with her and listening to the stream of unfiltered thoughts until they eventually ran out. Stacy passed her a tissue, placed one hand over Amy’s, and gently rubbed her back with the other. “You’re in a really tight place right now. I know a lot of this stuff doesn’t make sense and is a little out there. But here’s what you’ve got to focus on: There’s a reason your friend is gravitating towards this. You’ve helped her discover something that her body’s been trying to tell her and clearly fighting with for a long time. If she could be happy like this, isn’t that worth it? I know it’s a lot of work too, but you’ve got support. Anytime you need help, either with Katie or with you, give me a call. For some people this isn’t an escape from life, it’s a lifestyle. We’re all just trying to figure it out, you know?” Amy nodded, wiping her eyes. “Seriously, you need anything you give me a call. Okay?” Stacy emphasized the last, the threat made clear by her glare. Amy nodded again, a smile starting to form. “Good. Katie needs a good strong mommy like you. If you break down, I don’t think I’d be able to handle two babies. Although...” She paused, looking thoughtfully towards the nursery. “You’d definitely have enough diapers for the both of you. Want to go try one on?” Her face stayed frozen for a moment, looking serious before a sly grin started to form. Amy snorted and started to laugh. “No, I think I’m good.” Stacy smiled. “That’s probably for the best. I’ll come back by tomorrow to check on you, okay?” Amy nodded and smiled back at her. “Sounds good. Thank you so much Stacy.” Stacy turned to leave, holding the door open before she exited. “Mommies need breaks too.” The door clicked shut, leaving the room quiet. The words almost hung in the air, then echoed in Amy’s mind for a moment. She was alone in the room; the only sound was a soft static and gentle breathing of Katie’s snoring coming from the baby monitor speaker. Amy glanced down at it, seeing the baby lying in her crib. “Mommy...” The word felt foreign to her. She felt a flush come to her cheeks as she came to terms with it. It was her title. It’s what she would become. She smiled, repeating it with confidence. “Mommy.” Epilogue Amy awoke to the soft buzzing of her alarm clock. She reached over and silence the alarm, slowly blinking the sleep from her eyes. The dark blurry room came in to focus and she settled on the baby monitor on her nightstand. The black and white screen showed a contentedly sleeping Katherine in her crib. Some mornings Katherine managed to wake up before her and Amy’s alarm would be replaced with gentle cries for attention. Amy smiled at the thought of a quiet morning, and slid out from under the covers, nestling her feet into the slippers beside her bed. She carried the wireless monitor with her as she went through her morning routine, managing to make it all the way from the bathroom, closet, and to the coffee pot before Katherine awoke, cooing softly in her crib. Amy placed a bottle in a saucepan of slowly warming water and went to check on Katherine before the gentle coos escalated to agitated cries. Amy cracked the door to the dark nursery, peering towards the crib. “Good morning, sunshine.” She said quietly, a bright smile plain in her voice. She inched the door open a little more and flicked the room dimmer to its lowest setting. Soft pink light faded on and glowed throughout the room. Katherine turned and smiled as Amy approached her. Amy smiled wider when she saw the good mood Amy was in. “Well aren’t we in a good mood today?” Katherine’s cheeks turned up in a smile behind her pacifier. She held her hands up, asking to be held. Amy lifted her out of the crib and held her close, Katherine nestling her head comfortably against her breast. Amy undid the flap on the back of Katherine’s footie pajamas, giving her diaper an inquisitive poke. The soggy material squished against her finger, clearly indicating it had been heavily used. “Let’s get you into a nice clean diaper.” Amy said, carrying Katherine over to the changing table. She wrestled Katherine out of her pajamas and undid the diaper. Nighttime wettings were almost a nightly occurrence for Katherine now, any shame of using a diaper long since gone. Amy was pleased to see that it was only wet. She slid the heavy diaper out from under Katherine, carefully rolling it up and discarding it in the diaper pail. After wiping, powdering, and taping up a new diaper, Amy walked over to the closet to pick out an outfit. Katherine stared up at the ceiling, gently kicking her legs and suckling her pacifier. Her daily routine was a comfortable assurance for her, and something that she now looked forward to. Amy returned with a light purple dress, complete with a matching diaper cover and bonnet. “Won’t someone look cute for her class today?” Amy said, holding the outfit up so Katherine could see. Katherine smiled behind her pacifier, the dimples on her cheeks prominently showing. Amy couldn’t help but smile. No matter how many times she saw that adorable smile, it always gave her a warm, motherly feeling. She slid the diaper cover up Katherine’s kicking legs, stretching the elastic over the thick diaper. Amy helped Katherine sit up and said, “Arms up.” Katherine instinctively raised her arms, and Amy lowered the dress over her head. She fluffed the fabric evenly around her waist, the lace edge of the dress almost covering the sight of the diaper cover. As Amy held up the bonnet, Katie looked over to the closet and pointed. Amy followed her finger, noticing the tulle of a tutu hanging over one of the many shelves in the closet. “You want to wear your tutu with your dress?” Katherine bobbed her head enthusiastically. Amy held open the bonnet and raised it over her head. “If you can be a good girl at class today, I’ll let you wear your princess tutu, okay?” Katherine made a pouty face at the requirement, but didn’t protest any further. Amy smiled and placed the bonnet on her head, gently tying the strings under her chin. “Let’s go get you some breakfast.” She said, picking up Katherine and heading to the kitchen. Over the past few months, Katherine’s diet had shifted to mostly bottles. Amy had noticed the difficulty solid foods had had on her digestive system, and now was very careful to limit her to mostly formula and baby food, only occasionally letting her have very soft food. She set Katherine down in her high chair, handing her a prepared bottle of formula. “They want to practice feeding in class today, so we’ll just have a bottle this morning and you can have breakfast in a few hours.” The pouty face returned, threatening to turn into a tantrum. Amy gave her a stern look. “Don’t get pouty. Do you want your stuffy?” Katherine nodded slowly, her face looking slightly less aggressive. Amy left the room, quickly returning with a small stuffed lamb. Upon seeing the toy, Katherine’s hands reached out for it. Amy held it just out of arms reach, holding the bottle nipple in front of Katherine’s mouth and saying, “ahhh.” Katherine mimicked her open mouth motion, and Amy slid the nipple into her mouth. Katherine grabbed the bottle, and Amy tucked the stuffed lamb into the high chair with Katherine. “Okay, you drink your ba-ba with Lamby, and I’ll go pack your bag for class.” Katie did as she was told without question. As Amy packed the bag of essential items, a brief thought flashed into her minds about how much had changed in Katie, and consequently herself. She had fallen into the role of a mother out of necessity for her friend, but she only just now realized how naturally it fit her. She loved having someone to take care of and who relied on her. It may not have been the healthiest transformation, but maybe it was what the both of them needed all along. She smiled to herself, thinking about how normal this had become for the two of them, and how happy they had become. “Drink up sweetie, we’re going to be late for daycare.” ~ Amy pulled into her assigned parking space and began the ritual of getting Katherine out of her car seat. She slung the diaper bag over her shoulder and balanced Katherine, closing the car door with her foot. She would be lying if she didn’t enjoy the close parking spot Kelly had arranged for her. The automatic doors opened for her and a few nurses smiled as they entered. “Good morning Katie!” A few of them said, giving her a little wave. Katie tried to bury her face in Amy’s scrubs, but couldn’t hide the little smile around her pacifier. She wiggled her fingers, giving them a little wave back. They made their way through their usual morning routine through the hospital, stopping at the daycare center. The desk attendant recognized them from down the hall and already began entering their information. “Got you down Amy, you can go ahead in.” “Thanks Mary.” Amy smiled at the attendant as she pushed the door open with her shoulder. Amy slid the diaper bag into her assigned cubby and found an unoccupied area for Katie to sit. She immediately reached for the toys, anxious to start playing. “Good morning ladies.” Amy heard a familiar voice. “Good morning Miss Anderson.” She looked over as Cindy Anderson approached. The high-schooler shared a startling resemblance to her mother, in attitude as much as appearance. Cindy rolled her eyes at the title. “Only my mother appreciates the formality.” She leaned down and put her hands on her hips. “And what are we up to little Katie cat?” Her tone quickly switching to baby-talk. “Are we excited to be the teacher’s assistant today?” Katie let out a little nod, trying to ignore Cindy and return to her toys. Amy always felt uncomfortable around Cindy, unsure if anything she said would be directly reported back to her mother. As far as she knew, Cindy and Kelly were the only other people in the hospital who knew about Katie’s situation. Cindy picked Katherine up and held her. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of Katie and have her all ready for her lessons this afternoon.” Katie looked visibly uncomfortable as Cindy held her in her arms. Amy nodded, trying not to show any irritation as she did. She took comfort that Cindy wasn’t the only worker in the daycare center and that Katie wasn’t left alone with her. As she held her, Cindy reached behind Katie’s bottom and patted her diaper. “Uh oh, feels like someone had an accident. Let’s go get you changed first, then maybe we’ll go play doctor!” She flashed Amy a knowing grin. “I’ll bring her by for the parenting classes this afternoon.” Amy’s pager buzzed loudly and she read the display on her hip. She always hated leaving Katie, but knew at least she could stop by if she needed to. She nodded and leaned over to give Katie a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back soon, be a good girl while I’m gone.” Katie reached her arms out, wanting to be held. The sight broke Amy’s heart, but she tried not to look sad for Katie. “It’s okay sweetie, it won’t be long. You have fun here, okay?” Katie pulled her arms back and nodded slowly, a frown visible around the edges of her pacifier. Cindy adjusted her arms so that Katie was facing her. “Don’t worry, we’re going to take good care of her. Let’s go get you changed.” She headed for the changing station, and Amy gave Katie one last wave before she was out of sight. She re-read her pager and headed out of the center. “Mommy will be back soon, don’t you worry.” Cindy said in a quiet voice so that only Katie could hear. She laid her down on a changing table and retrieved a pink diaper from her changing bag. “I don’t know how you can wear these things.” She said, unfolding the diaper and fluffing it. “They’re so thick. I mean the patterns are cute, but you’re tiny enough we could fit you in some baby pullups.” Katie looked at the ceiling, suckling her pacifier as Cindy moved through the steps of her diaper change. She had almost stopped talking completely, resorting to pointing and gestures for the simple requests that she had. Her life had become so simple for her that it almost wasn’t necessary. “I don’t know how an adult, much less a doctor, would let themselves be treated this way. You’re older than I am, and you’re getting a diaper change from a teenager. If I went through all that work, I don’t think I could give that up so I could play with baby toys and poop my pants all day.” Katie didn’t respond, simply looking at the colorful patterns on the ceiling. “Do you like that?” She paused as she taped up the new diaper. “Do you like being a little poopy-pants? Do you like wearing your little diapers and letting mommy change you and being mommy’s widdle baby?” Katie just looked at her, staying silent. Cindy laughed as she picked her up and walked over to a highchair. “I don’t know how you stand it, but if it keeps you out of trouble and we get a perfect little baby doll for mommies to practice on, then I guess I can keep your embarrassing little secret.” She locked the highchair table in place, securing it tightly against Katherine's waist. She reached over to the nearby storage cart and pulled out a small plastic purple container. “Mmmmm… what do we have today?” Cindy said, pretending to read the label. “Looks like some yummy prunes!” She leaned over and poked Katie's slightly chubby belly that poked out over the table. “These will help make sure everything keeps moving nice and smoothly so those mommies can get some good practice at changing dirty diapers.” Katie suckled on her pacifier, maintaining eye contact, but barely processing what Cindy said. This routine was nothing new from Cindy, and she no longer cared what anybody else thought of her. Any concern about her former job as a doctor had long since faded. She was thought of and treated as a baby here, and she happily fell into the role. Cindy reached over and gently plucked the pacifier out of her mouth. Katie held on for longer than she knew she should. She couldn’t help but feel resistant towards Cindy after the work she did to make her feel embarrassed. “No fussing little baby." Cindy said, waving the pacifier back and forth in the air. "You wouldn't want to get in trouble..." She stared into Katherine's eyes with an ominous expression. Katherine broke away from the intense stare, barely shaking her head. Cindy's face snapped back to it's usual cheerful smile. "Good girl!" She dipped the spoon into the jar, dipping out a large spoonful and hovering it in front of Katherine's mouth. "Open up, here comes the plane." She imitated a whirring propeller and landed the spoonful of prunes onto Katherine's tongue. Katherine winced as she swallowed. Prunes weren't her least favorite baby food option, but they definitely weren't her first choice. Cindy's grin showed the slightest hint of teeth as she watched Katherine's discomfort as she swallow the mush. "Isn't that yummy? Let's get you some more..." Spoonful after spoonful was fed until Katherine felt uncomfortably full. She handed her a bottle of formula to wash the meal down. Cindy had gotten into a familiar routine from feeding Katherine. She knew exactly how much was needed to fill her up, and how much would be uncomfortable for her. She rarely punished her for not eating enough, especially when she intentionally gave her too much, but she had no shortage of ways to 'have fun' with her doll. "I guess that's enough for now. We'll just have to make sure you're ready for your class." She wiped Katherine clean, popped the pacifier back in her mouth, and removed the table from her highchair. She picked her up and walked over to one of the play areas. "We've got a little time before class. You play, and I'll come back and check on you." This was Katherine's favorite part of daycare, when she got to be alone and play with the large collection of toys. Katherine barely noticed the time pass as she huddled a variety of toys together in her imaginary town. She giggled and cooed as her townspeople played and had a community tea party, until a pack of wild dinosaurs appeared, causing chaos and panic among the citizens. Just as the dinosaurs were surrendering, Cindy returned. "What a mess we've made. We better make sure we clean up before your nap time." Katherine began to visibly pout as she put down her toys. She knew that when Cindy said we, that it actually meant she would be closely supervised as she put the toys away. As she crawled back and forth to the toy bins, Cindy leaned down and gave her diaper an inquisitive squeeze. "My goodness, I think this little girl is very wet. We better get you changed." Katherine whined and wiggled out of the grasp Cindy had on her diaper. Cindy gasped loudly, as if this behavior was completely unexpected and unacceptable. "That's a naughty girl. You will listen to me when I talk to you!" Katherine tried to crawl faster in a futile attempt to get away from the teenager. Cindy quickly grabbed under her armpits and lifted Katherine up. As she held her in her arms, Cindy gave a quick swat to Katherine's bottom. The thick wet padding absorbed most of the spank, but the action immediately made Katherine start crying. "Keep it up and you'll get a real spanking, missy." Katherine continued to cry, but more softly as they walked over to the napping basonets. Cindy laid her down, squishing her bottom to emphasize how wet it was. "If you don't want a change, then I guess you can just take a nap in a wet diaper, just like a little baby would." She smirked and walked away, leaving Katie to suckle on her pacifier until she drifted off to sleep. Katherine awoke to Cindy lifting her up and checking her diaper. "My goodness sleepy baby, I didn't know a diaper could be so wet." Cindy carried her over to the changing table, beginning to unfasten the tapes on the diaper. As she pulled the front down, she paused. "You know, I think a nice wet diaper would be great practice for our class this afternoon. Maybe we'll just keep you in that wet thing since you were so insistent on not getting a diaper change." Cindy paused, then got a devious smile as she walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a small white bottle. "However..." She said, unscrewing the lid and pulling out a suppository. She held it up so Katherine could see. "Maybe you're diaper does still have some mileage left in it. It would be a shame to see your breakfast go to waste." The devious smile continued to grow as she pulled up Katherine's legs and lined up the suppository with her bottom. Katherine had since gone limp, losing all will to fight. Cindy swiftly popped the suppository up Katherine's rectum, mouthing a faint 'pop' noise as she did. She giggled to herself, pulling the diaper back up and refastening the tapes. "Alright my naughty little stinker, let's get you to class." Katherine was placed in a stroller and the two made their way to the training rooms. Katherine sucked her pacifier as she watched the rooms go by. She wiggled uncomfortably in her stroller as she felt the suppository melt inside her. She had almost completely lost her bowel control, and barely noticed movement anymore unless she was forced to mess with the help of 'assistance'. Cindy opened the classroom door and wheeled Katherine in. The mothers already sitting at their desks all turned to look. There was a chorus of 'awws' as they noticed Katherine in her outfit. Katherine buried her face in the material of the stroller as she was complimented. She didn't mind the individual treatment she received during class, but it was still embarrassing when all eyes in the room were focused on her. She looked around, until her eyes fell on Amy. Amy walked over, her smile beaming as she picked her up out of the stroller. Katherine smiled, happy to be returned to where she felt safest. "Alright everyone, let's get started. This is Katie, and she's going to be our little helper today." The lesson proceeded just as the others did. Katie dropped completely into her child-like headspace as she was passed around and used for demonstrations. The current phase of pregnant mothers taking the starter class would be finished soon, and she would begin with a new set soon after. Those who needed to practice breastfeeding would have a willing participant, soothing and holding techniques would be taught, and many, many dirty diapers would be at the ready for any who wished to practice. She was passed around like a careful little toy. The mothers cooed over her, until one gently supported her bottom, the saggy padding squishing under her hand. “My goodness, I think she’s ready for a changing.” The mothers with the least experience gathered around the table as Katherine was changed in front of them. Amy watched as Katherine's eyes unfocused and wandered around the brightly colored room. She suckled her pacifier, gently kicked her booty-covered feet, and curled and uncurled her fists as they reached around the changing table, clinging to the soft surfaces. Especially during her lessons, she was safe like this. Not a care in the world, nothing to be ashamed of. She was loved and cared for, and there wasn’t an ounce of shame left in her. Not long after the new diaper was in place and she was being passed around once again for practicing holding positions, the suppository’s effects took hold. Katherine didn’t even hesitate as the soft mess began to slide out of her. She gently grunted, and her diaper crackled as the plastic expanded outwards. The room went quiet for a moment, then was filled with laughter. “We might have changed her a little too soon.” The woman currently holding her extended Katherine out to arms-length, then returned her to the changing table. The other women snickered, some more experienced mothers adding comments. “That’s a baby for you. She's gonna go on her schedule, sometimes right after they get a clean diaper.” The now constant diet of milk and baby food had had drastic effects on Katie’s digestion. She had transitioned to only being able to stomach soft foods, her diet and bowel movements both closely resembling a toddler’s now. She was cleaned once again, and continued through her now normal routine: playtime, feedings, changings, and being held and nursed by dozens of mothers every day. She barely processed her day as it all went by around her, until the day was finished and she was back with the only person that mattered to her. Once in a while, Kelly dropped by to supervise, ensuring that everyone was fulfilling their roles. Today’s visit happened to occur during breastfeeding practice. Amy would offer suggestions to ease discomfort as the mothers took turns having Katie nurse. It was still difficult for Amy to watch as Katie latched on and suckled from their breasts without hesitation, almost like it was second nature while she was in this state. Kelly walked up behind Amy, placing a hand on her shoulder. She whispered quietly into her ear, “You know, this portion of the class is what I get the most positive feedback on. Breastfeeding is one of the most stressful things new mothers are concerned about, and this is an excellent opportunity for them to practice and ease their concerns. Considering how well this is going, I think it’s fair to say we will make this class a permanent feature of the hospital. If there’s anything we need to assist her further in her role, just let me know. Good work.” As she finished this, she turned and left. Amy let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Praise was a rare treat from Kelly, and she was happy to know that their unconventional job positions were safe for the foreseeable future. Once the rest of the lesson was complete, the ladies slowly shuffled out of the classroom. Katie’s belly stuck out slightly, clearly very full from her multiple feedings. “We’re all done and packed up for the day. Let’s get you in the stroller and we can head home.” Katie had mostly resorted to crawling these days, but it was still easier for Amy to just carry her where she needed to go. Katie snuggled against Amy’s breasts as she cradled her. Amy snuggled her closer as they walked to the corner of the classroom. “I bet someone’s sleepy. You had such a long day. Maybe we’ll take a little nap before dinner and then we can watch a Disney movie tonight.” Katie didn’t reply, her eyes fluttering closed in her mommy’s arms. “Maybe Stacy can come over to play too. Would you like that?” Katie went limp as she fell asleep. Amy placed her in her stroller, gently clipping the buckles over the front of her dress. She straightened the little bonnet around her head, and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Mommy’s sleepy baby. We made it through another day. Let’s go home.” She wheeled the stroller out of the hospital, and the two made their way home.

A/N: IMPORTANT TO NOTICE Hey all! I hope you're all doing well! Do not worry! I am still working on my other stories but had started this a while ago and felt like I should post it! Just a warning in the beginning that this story will contain a lot of non-con, sexual content and humiliation. If this makes you uncomfortable than I suggest you don't read it! I love seeing comments so I'd love to see everyone's comments! ooOoo Summary: When a young new independent journalist decides to write about something other than the typical run of the mill stories, she is introduced into a new life, just not in the way she expected. ooOoo Chapter 1: MommyslittleBiggurls.com 22 December 2021 Hello Friends! It sure has been a while! I hope you’re all doing well on this frosty morning. Here in Montana, we’re certainly going to have a white Christmas. Sugar and Cookie sure are excited to see Santa and have been extra careful to be good girls; always asking for the potty like good little girls, eating all of their veggies at dinner and making sure to drink all of their babas full of yummy milk! I’m sure you all are experiencing the same with your little ones at the moment, even the disobedient can’t ignore the happy cheer of Christmas. I really can’t believe it’s only been three months since we first adopted our newest little girl, Honey! Of course with new littles, it’s always an adventure and Sugar and Cookie are being the best big sisters they can be! It can be hard, especially around the holidays to deal with an un-regressed, naughty little so that brings me to the topic of today’s post: Punishments. If you're like me or are a new caregiver, it’s never easy training a new little and before they can be our sweet little babies, they will be literal demons! It is never fun but in order to nip that naughty behavior in the bum, punishment is required and it is not always as simple as quick spanking. Listed below, you will find three different punishments to try if you, like me, were at a loss. Punishments: Punishment 1: Corner time with a twist Depending on the severity of the naughty behavior, instruct your little one it's corner time for a certain amount of time. While many, if not all, will just find this incredibly boring and whine, there is a small twist. Listen carefully to these five steps: Take littles’ clothes away (that means no diapers/pullups/or undies as well!), Give a nice soapy cold enema to their bum-bum and insert a buttplug to ensure no dribbles Administer a firm spanking (I’ve found different objects such as a belt or hairbrush to be most effective!) Little will bend down or kneel in the corner with their bum-bum high in the air for everyone to see After a certain amount of time, if the little has not moved from their position, you will instruct the little to tell you what they did wrong and have them beg to release their bodily functions. If you are unsatisfied with their response, even more minutes will be added to corner time Punishment 2: Potty Time with Horsy Let’s get real, we’ve all struggled with littles refusing to go potty in their diapers or on the training toilet and it’s a pain to have to insert enemas and suppositories into screaming littles. That’s how I came up with horsy time. The rocking horse, while meant to be an object of amusement during playtime, can just as quickly be turned into an object of torture. What you need to do is listed below: The little will sit on the rocking horse in only their bottoms, whether that be a diaper or pull-up Place earphones on little and set to the wet diaper hypnosis Instruct the little to rock back and forth and do not stop no matter what and not to mess or wet themselves Plan a certain amount of time and come back when the time is up If the little is still rocking and is dry, they have earned the privilege to go potty. If not, horsy time is extended and the dirty diaper stays on another several hours The constant rhythmic motion combined with hypnosis at the same timing will put the littles right in the mood to have to relieve themselves. How they do it will no longer matter. The added pressure to keep a constant rocking in order to avoid further punishment will take a heavy toll on their mind as well and increase the need for positive behavior. Punishment 3: No Playtime with Teddy If you choose to allow your little to have any sexual release, this punishment can have a rewarding effect. As a human race, we are sexual beings but not everyone deserves or should have such an experience. Littles have gotten it into their minds that they should be allowed to have such experiences, but what do they know? They’re just littles. It is our job as caretakers to instruct and control their urges. If we leave them to their own devices, who knows what will happen? My little girls are allowed one play session a week with Mr. Teddy Bear to release all of their icky cummies by the hand of mommy and daddy. While Rosie and Cookie know being a good girl will lead to happy feelings, Honey is still learning. Orgasm and cum denial or “the tickles and ice cream dance” as we call it, are an excellent way to assert dominance and make them quickly realize who the real grownups are and who is in charge. Mittens or restraints are a must for untrained littles! You never know where their wandering hands will end up! Chastity belts are also a great device, especially if they get a little too excited during playtime and try humping (which is extremely discouraged!) IMPORTANT: It is important to enforce anything sexual is not allowed without the approval, observation, and act by grown-ups because you never know when littles might accidentally injure themselves! I hope you all enjoyed my little list and hopefully it helps you on your journey to having a regressed little! It may seem tough at times but we’ve all gone through it before (I currently am!) Stay tuned for next time and meanwhile, have a Merry Christmas! Love, Mommy Bree ooOoo The sound of the ding signaling the post had been successfully posted was a happy feeling to say the least. Unknown outside the world of ageplay, Bree Hawthorne was as famous as could be within the community. With over ten thousand followers and readers, people tuned in from all over the world to read about their simple little family. Being a blogger on top of a mommy had become her full time job and she didn’t regret a single second of it. She always knew she wanted to have a family and her love for blogging couldn’t have been a more perfect combination. There were so many who envied to fill the role of a Hawthorne little but only so few could actually meet the requirements. That’s why they had taken to unique means of obtaining their little girls. Kidnapping was a bit too harsh a term. They preferred adoption. Did the public need to know that? No. Would they ever find out? Probably not. Looking around outside the large glass windows, the only view for miles was farmland with snow capped mountains in the background. Bloomington, Montana was the perfect place to go to if one didn’t want to be found. They had the freedom to be who they were without any nosey neighbors disrupting their lives. Her husband, coming from old money, allowed them to own lavish homes around the country, buy the newest high-tech adult-baby equipment and pay off those they needed to stay quiet. Everything was as it should be. Everything would soon be perfect. They were our babydolls. Sugar, Cookie, Honey and- “Another post?” Jasper. At the sound of his deep voice, she spun around in the swivel chair. Face to face with her blonde, strong-jawed, blue eyed handsome husband. He was everything she dreamed of in a man. Strong, smart, caring, loyal. A great daddy to their three wonderful girls. What more could a person ask of a spouse? “Yes. I’ve finished just in time for… lunch!” she exclaimed, glancing at the time and shutting down the macbook. “Today’s post was about punishments and I gave the best examples of Honey. How is she doing this morning actually? The baby monitor on her end has been awfully quiet.” she asked, having been in the office the entire morning working. “Sleeping.” was his only response, scowling with his hand over his face. “Do I want to know what happened?” “No.” It was always a struggle to tame the girl and her rebellious behavior and silly dreams. Most often then not her bum was black and blue, littered with marks and bruises. How a five foot, one-hundred-twenty pound girl with not an ounce of body fat had managed to give them this much a fight, they did not know. While the little blonde fought they pushed back just as hard. She would break eventually. They all do. “Sugar and Cookie are in the playpen writing letters to Santa,” that made them crack a smile. “I can feed them while you handle, Honey? I may just take her over my knee again and that’s not what she needs at the moment.” Bree reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck as his face burrowed into her kinky black hair, placing a trail of kisses upon her chocolate colored skin. “So it’s my turn to play the bad mommy,” she mused. “Precisely.” her husband cracked a smile. “It feels so much longer than three months since we got her. Remember?” Oh, how could they forget…

***This story is an alternative time-line to ours about the post covid pandemic era. *** -Prelude Setup- "The year is 2022, the last 2 and a half years Covid 19 has reaped havoc on society, but now with things opening back up and every day taking more and more steps forward from quarantine and masks more questions arise. The one on our table today is schooling. Now the switch to E-learning was not fast nor easy, many kids didn't learn what the needed too, or the way they needed too. We have many kids who regressed in not only their studies but in maturity, social face to face, and in unfortunately many cases out of the house habits. We currently have statistics of grades k thru 12 on the screen behind me. As you can see these are the most common issues students are having. In k thru 6, most students have regressed in mathematics, reading and writing. They also have a steep up tick in bathroom accidents and other social behaviors such as thumb sucking, whining, and "wanting mommy". We believe these are all related. Also with grades 5 thru 12 we are seeing issues with confidence, low test scores, unpreparedness, and social awkwardness." The sharped dressed woman at the front of the meeting room stood tall as she took off her glasses looking at the screen behind her. "I, Dr. Jasmine Hartwell propose this... (she lays out 13 tests on the table in front of her labeled pre-k all the way thru 12 grade) These are placement tests. Every student in this district will take these tests and their scores will tell us where they are at academically, in addition each student will be sent a packet at home to be filled out by their guardian to get the full scope of how both mature and socially stable each child is. This school district along with 4 others have been chosen across the US to participate in this to see if a wide roll out is what this country needs. Now there are limits to placements from these results current 16, 17 and 18 year old may not place below 8th grade if then need to we will have a special class set for them. 12 and up may not be placed below K under 12 is fair game. Now on the flip side of this NO student will be moving up due to test scores. This is to see if they need help or not. And in addition we will have multiple staff members here to help in transition down graders will need, either maybe a councilor or a trained specialist to help them calm down and fit in better with their new grade and age range. If there is any questions email them to me. And please keep you emotions at the door during these tests this is the best for us and them. Thank you tests will start tomorrow." Dr. Hartwell says closing her book putting her glasses away and walks out of the meeting leaving all the teachers, principles and faculty in a gasp. The next day as soon as it hit 10am every student across Willow's Green School District was sat down for the test about the same time all the parents were also filling out their packet about their sons and daughters being as honest as they can. By 4pm that same day most families were back home discussing the day, some over dinner, some in a quiet room, some scared, some over confident. But all had the weekend to think, enjoy, and prepare for what Monday brings with the test results. All weekend long teachers and government appointed educational professionals would be grading and judging test and packets a like. By Monday the kids were back in school in their usual classes. The district of a little over 8 hundred kids was ready and waiting for how crazy the day was about to become. Busses were outside the high school, middle school, and elementary waiting to bring the kids who were labeled as down graders where they needed to go. Parents all got text messages at the same time as the schools were giving out the results to the kids. In total two thirds of the kids were being down graded! The senior and junior classes didn't see much loss, sophomore and freshman classes had almost half drown graded at least one grade. The middle school was hit the worst over half of the current middle school was being down graded to elementary. While half the elementary was being down graded, 65 kids across k thru 5 were send back to pre k (most of the kindergarteners) and only a few preschoolers fell out of pre k. The busses gathered the kids some in hysterics, some angry, and a few in just shock. This story will follow 3 family's effected by this government test in Willow's Green school district. I'm sorry this intro was so long, but I've been wanting to write this story for a while and I have a lot of thoughts. I might also post this on writing.com as an interactive depending on feed back. Stop by seen for chapter 1! Thank you!

As part of my occasional attempt to see whether AI writing can create good stories yet, I'm testing out a new app. I basically grabbed a random idea from my 'plot bunnies' file and used the mode which is supposed to generate an entire story, choosing "sweet romance" from the fixed list of styles it provides. This one specifically focuses on creating a "zero draft" intended as a starting point for future editing, but I'm not sure what to do with it now; because what it's written doesn't actually seem to fit my prompt that well. What do you think? And does the story fit that prompt? The Architecture of Innocence Chapter 1: The Sterile Sanctuary The time on the bottom right corner of the primary monitor flickered to 3:00 a.m. in a soft, monochromatic blue, a color that felt less like light and more like an absence of shadow. In the twenty-fourth-floor office of the London financial firm, time did not move in the traditional sense; it cycled through market intervals, tick-data, and the relentless, micro-second pulse of algorithms. Elias Thorne sat at the center of this nexus, her body arranged with the same clinical precision she applied to the spreadsheets consuming her attention. She was a statue carved from exhaustion, her spine a straight line of iron, her shoulders pulled down and back as if held by invisible wires. The hum was everywhere. It was a low-frequency vibration, the collective exhale of a building composed of glass, steel, and forced-air circulation. It rattled the base of her skull, a persistent reminder that the office was a hermetically sealed environment, isolated from the chaotic, unoptimized oxygen of the London streets below. Everything here was curated. The temperature was set to a precise nineteen degrees Celsius, the air scrubbed of humidity, the lighting calibrated to a Kelvin temperature designed to maximize alertness while minimizing the biological urge to sleep. It was an environment that demanded compliance, and Elias, as she had done for years, complied. She reached out with a pale hand and adjusted her wireless mouse. It was off by a fraction of a millimeter-perhaps three, maybe four. She nudged it until the edge of the device was perfectly parallel with the seam of her desk blotter. Then, she adjusted her phone. She nudged her water glass-a crystal vessel of strictly neutral design-until its reflection in the polished black surface of the desk formed a perfect, uninterrupted line. Her movements were not the twitchy, nervous actions of someone who had lost control; they were the deliberate, ritualistic gestures of someone who feared the consequences of even the slightest misalignment. The monitors surrounded her like the petals of a cold, digital flower. Five screens, each bathed in the same flickering luminescence, displayed the architecture of global finance: cascading graphs of currency fluctuations, red and green candles that represented fortunes being made and lost in the blink of an eye, and dense, scrolling columns of derivative data. To any observer, Elias was an image of absolute competence. She was the woman who never erred, the analyst whose models were so rigorously structured that they seemed almost predictive. But behind the sharp, high-featured mask of her face, the reality was different. The spreadsheets were no longer data. They were simply noise, a static that had begun to bleed into the edges of her own consciousness. She pulled her gaze from the center monitor to the window, though the view offered no relief. London at 3:00 a.m. was a tapestry of distant, blurred amber lights and the black abyss of the Thames. She could see herself reflected in the glass-a ghost superimposed over the city. She looked like a projection of the office itself: pale, sharp, and entirely transparent. There was nothing behind her eyes but the reflection of the screens. She realized, with a sudden, sharp ache in her chest, that she could not remember the last time she had felt the genuine texture of a thought that hadn't originated from a prompt, a meeting, or a projected quarterly result. She blinked, the movement feeling slow and heavy, like two dry stones scraping together. Her breath came in shallow, measured inhalations. She had forgotten how to breathe without a formula. Every inhale was measured, every exhale was a calculated release, as if she were rationing her own life force to keep the machine of her employment running until the dawn. A notification pinged on her secondary monitor-a soft, muted sound that felt like a gunshot in the near-silence of the floor. It was a routine report from the algorithmic trade-bot, an automated confirmation of a transaction she had authorized six hours ago. Elias watched the cursor blink. She didn't click it. She simply stared at the pulsing line, waiting for it to vanish. It didn't. It blinked in rhythm with her heart, or perhaps her heart was beating in rhythm with the cursor. The synchronization was maddening. She leaned back, the leather of her ergonomic chair creaking just enough to disrupt the auditory sterility of the room. The sound was an intrusion, an imperfection in the architecture of the space. She looked around the vast, open-plan floor. Rows of empty desks stretched out into the darkness, each one identical to the last, each one harboring the same latent, dormant energy. This place was a coffin, she realized. A very expensive, very sophisticated, glass-walled coffin where efficiency was the only religion, and the soul was simply an variable that had been optimized out of existence long ago. The irony was not lost on her. She was a master of risk management, an expert at identifying the precise moment an asset became a liability, yet she had been unable to identify the same decay in herself. She had let her own life become a derivative, a secondary product of the market, losing value every time she traded a moment of genuine experience for a unit of productivity. She glanced down at her hands. They were trembling, just a fraction. It was the only part of her that wasn't optimized. She tried to steady them, locking her fingers together and pressing them onto the desk, but the tremor persisted, a fine, high-frequency vibration that seemed to match the hum of the fluorescent lights above. She felt a sudden, dangerous urge to sweep everything off the desk. To send the mouse, the phone, the perfectly aligned glass of water crashing onto the carpet. To create a mess. To see if the system would collapse if one variable acted with complete, irrational entropy. The thought was so sudden, so violent, that she pulled her hands back as if burned. She gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles turning white, the sharp wood biting into her palms. The pain was grounding. It was a tangible, physical sensation that existed outside of the digital flow. It was real. For a moment, she sat there, eyes closed, focusing entirely on the sharp, biting edge of the mahogany against her skin. It was the most honest thing she had felt in weeks. The market data on the monitors continued to scroll. The graphs dipped and rose, the red and green lights danced across her skin, painting her in the colors of the machine. The hum of the ventilation system intensified, a low, throaty rumble that vibrated through the floorboards and up into her spine. It was a sound of endless, recursive maintenance. She opened her eyes and looked back at the center monitor. The blinking cursor was still there, waiting for her command. She reached for the keyboard. Her fingers hovered over the keys, poised for the rote, instinctive movements of her trade-craft. She was meant to hit 'Enter', to confirm, to archive, to archive, to archive. That was the sequence. That was the architecture. Instead, she simply watched the cursor. She watched the rhythm. She let the silence of the office expand around her, a vast, dark ocean pressing against the reinforced glass. She was alone here. She had always been alone here, even when the office was filled with the frantic energy of the traders and the sharp chatter of analysts. But now, at 3:00 a.m., the aloneness felt different. It felt heavy. It felt like the beginning of something. She slowly withdrew her hands from the keyboard. She didn't close the program. She didn't clear the data. She just sat there, her hands folded in her lap, motionless. She watched the numbers scroll by, no longer seeing them as wealth or risk, but as a meaningless, frantic river of light. The flicker of the monitors reflected in her pupils, dancing like trapped insects. The fluorescent hum seemed to change pitch, shifting into something more demanding, more abrasive. Or perhaps it was just her perception, the rigid walls of her mind beginning to soften, the edges of her control blurring at the seams. She felt a strange, terrifying lightness in her chest, a void where the anxiety usually sat. The office remained cold, the air remained dry, and the data continued its infinite, pointless march. But Elias Thorne sat motionless in her chair, a singular, quiet disruption in the perfect geometry of the space. She was waiting for the light to change. She was waiting for the sun to rise, or for the power to cut, or for the silence to break. She sat at the desk, the master of a digital empire, realizing she had forgotten how to live in the physical world, and finding, for the first time in her life, that the thought did not frighten her as much as the prospect of continuing to sit here, perfectly aligned, for one minute longer. The monitor flickered. The timestamp advanced. 3:01 a.m. She remained still. The office remained silent, save for the hum. She was a statue, she was a ghost, and she was, for the first time, entirely, terrifyingly awake. The cursor on the monitor pulsed with a steady, rhythmic insistence-a heartbeat of light that had, until this moment, been the metronome for her entire existence. It sat at the end of a line of code, waiting for the final integer, the last adjustment to the Q3 risk-projection model that would seal the quarter's fiscal narrative. To finalize it was to close the loop, to lock the day into a perfect, impenetrable sphere of logic. Elias Thorne's right index finger hovered just millimeters above the 'Enter' key. She had spent the last hour convincing herself that the movement was simple, a physiological reflex that she could perform in her sleep. But as she stared at the glowing terminal, the air in the office seemed to thicken, pressing against her skin with the weight of an ocean, and her finger refused to descend. Instead, a fine, tremor-like vibration began in the small muscles of her hand. It started at the knuckle and rippled down her wrist, a microscopic rebellion that felt, to her, as violent as a fracture. She tried to steady it, clenching her left hand into a fist beneath the desk, but the tremor remained, a traitorous twitch of biology defying the digital mandate. She looked down at her fingers. They appeared foreign, pale and translucent against the dark mahogany of the desk surface, seemingly belonging to a stranger. This was the hands-on control she had mastered years ago, the dexterity that allowed her to navigate markets, audits, and corporate restructuring with the precision of a surgeon, yet now, they were trembling. The simple, binary act of finalizing a report had become an insurmountable mountain. The fluorescent hum, usually a comforting white noise, began to pitch upward. It wasn't the sound of the building's climate control system anymore; it was something else-a sharpening drone that seemed to vibrate inside her own skull. She turned her head slowly, her neck feeling stiff, as if she were made of rusted clockwork. To her left, the wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, a massive, unblinking eye that looked out over the dormant city of London. At 3:05 a.m., the metropolis was a grid of dormant amber and steel, but the reflection in the glass was what arrested her. She stared into the dark panel, her own face staring back, ghostly and superimposed against the distant, blurred lights of the Shard. She looked at the woman in the glass. The features were sharp, yes, but they were also hollow. Her eyes, usually calculated and scanning, appeared wide, frantic, and entirely unrecognizable. The rigid, high-strung posture she maintained-the spine held straight as a steel rod, the shoulders pulled back to signal constant readiness-looked not like professional composure, but like a desperate, terrified bracing for an impact that had already occurred. It was the face of someone wearing a mask that had begun to melt, the edges of her identity pooling on the floor, leaving the raw, unshaped reality of her beneath. Above her, in the recessed corners of the ceiling, the surveillance cameras hummed in tandem with the lights. They were black, spherical, and utterly indifferent, their lenses tracking the minute shifts in her posture with a cold, digital hunger. For years, she had found comfort in their presence. They were the ultimate arbiters of efficiency, ensuring that not a single wasted motion occurred within the perimeter. They were the guardians of the structure. But now, as she sat paralyzed, the red power-indicator lights-small, pulsing pinpricks of crimson-felt like judgmental eyes. They were no longer guarding her. They were monitoring her failure. The realization washed over her with a sickening clarity: she was not merely an occupant of this office. She was a component, a part of the architecture, as replaceable as a burnt-out light bulb or a corrupted drive sector. The thought, which should have triggered a spike of panic, instead brought a strange, cooling numbness. She wasn't afraid of losing her job. She wasn't afraid of the financial ruin that would follow the incomplete algorithm. She was afraid of the fact that, were she to simply stand up and walk out, the office would continue to hum, the servers would continue to process, and the numbers would continue to march, entirely unchanged by her absence. Elias withdrew her hands from the keyboard entirely, letting them drop into her lap. The motion felt clumsy, heavy. The cursor continued to blink-a reminder that time was passing, that the world was waiting for her to complete the sequence. She looked away from the monitor, turning her gaze toward the door. The hallway stretched out into the darkness, a long, sterile artery of gray carpet and recessed lighting that led toward the breakroom. She had spent thousands of hours in this office, but she had never felt the physical distance between her desk and the exit as something that needed to be traversed. It was always just a corridor. Now, it looked like a canyon, a vast, insurmountable space between the version of herself she had built and the version of herself that was currently unraveling. She needed to move. If she stayed, the chair would claim her, the desk would absorb her, and the hum of the fluorescent lights would eventually be the only thing left of her mind. She stood up. Her legs felt weak, the joints protesting the sudden shift in gravity. She didn't look back at the screen. She didn't save the document. She simply pushed the chair back, the sound of the wheels rolling against the carpeted floor seeming unnaturally loud in the silence of the 3:00 a.m. hour. Walking toward the door felt like stepping into a void. Each step was deliberate, cautious, as if she were traversing a surface that might give way at any moment. The surveillance camera at the entrance of her workspace swivelled, following her movement with a smooth, hydraulic whirr. She kept her head down, trying to avoid the lens, a futile gesture of privacy in a room that had no secrets. She moved past the rows of identical, empty cubicles, each one a monument to the same sterile, data-driven life she was finally recognizing as a coffin. The breakroom was at the far end of the wing. It was a sterile, utilitarian box, containing nothing more than a high-end coffee machine, a small refrigerator that rattled with the effort of keeping silence at bay, and a single, hard-backed chair. She reached the threshold and pushed the door open. The air inside smelled faintly of stale, burnt grounds and industrial cleaning fluid. It was a sharp, unvarnished scent that stung her nostrils, grounding her in a way the filtered, recycled air of the main office never could. She walked to the refrigerator, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of water. Her hands were still trembling, but the tremor was becoming less of a violent shake and more of a rhythmic, pulsing energy. She leaned against the cold metal of the counter, the chill seeping through her blouse, and closed her eyes. The hum of the breakroom was different here-a lower, more abrasive frequency. 3:15 a.m. The numbers didn't matter. The algorithm didn't matter. She stood alone in the center of the breakroom, a space defined by its own stark, fluorescent nothingness. She was not the master of the empire she had just abandoned. She was not the high-performing professional who dictated the terms of every engagement. She was just a woman, standing in a room with a buzzing refrigerator, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She opened her eyes and looked at the white, windowless walls. There were no cameras here, or if there were, they were hidden in the shadows of the vents. For the first time in years, she felt unobserved. The oppressive weight of the surveillance, the suffocating demand of the data, the rigid scaffolding of her identity-it all seemed to have stripped away, leaving her standing in the silence. It was not peace; it was too raw, too terrifying for that. But it was space. It was a space where, for the first time, there was no formula to follow, no projection to calculate, and no expectation to fulfill. She took a breath, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, it did not feel like a strategic inhalation to fuel a cognitive task. It felt like air, filling a void she hadn't known existed. She took another, deeper, and let her shoulders drop, the rigid, high-strung posture finally, irrevocably, collapsing. The fluorescent lights of the corridor seemed to vibrate against the retinas, a rhythmic, buzzing assault that Elias had, until ten minutes ago, accepted as the ambient soundtrack of her existence. Now, walking back toward her desk, the office felt less like a sanctuary of high-velocity capital and more like a mausoleum for the living. The rows of cubicles stretched out in a sterile, unending geometry, their glass walls reflecting only the hollowed-out ghosts of their occupants, though the hour-3:20 a.m.-meant she was quite alone. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the floor itself were made of lead, resisting her departure from the safety of the breakroom. She had tried to anchor herself in the cold metal of that water cooler, to drink deeply and pretend that the stillness in her chest was a temporary malfunction, something to be patched and updated by morning. But as she rounded the corner to her sector, the familiar gray carpeting and the muted blue glow of her own terminal greeted her like an accusation. She sat down. Her chair squeaked-a sharp, pathetic sound in the suffocating quiet. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. For a decade, these keys had been extensions of her nervous system, typing out quarterly projections, risk assessments, and efficiency models that kept the wheels of the firm turning. Her hands knew the geography of every shortcut, every hidden macro, every command sequence that defined the success of her career. But tonight, the keyboard looked like a foreign object, a collection of plastic bones that rattled with the threat of a return to the lie. The screen displayed the remnants of her abandoned task: a cascading spreadsheet of fluctuating assets, a cascade of green and red numbers that usually dictated the topography of her mood. Now, it was just noise. Meaningless, frantic noise. She reached out, but instead of minimizing the spreadsheet, she closed it. The action felt violent, a betrayal of the only structure she had ever trusted. Her cursor flicked to the command line, that hidden, pulsing black bar where she could subvert the network. She had not used this terminal-or indeed, any terminal-for anything other than business in years, but the path was still burned into her muscle memory, a secret passage kept for emergencies that never arrived. She typed in the sequence. It was a chaotic, non-linear string of characters, a jagged key to a door she had buried deep in her own hard drive. The terminal groaned, the internal fans kicking into a high-pitched whine as the machine struggled to reconcile her request with the suffocating firewall of the office. *Accessing.* The screen flickered. The familiar blue grid of the market data dissolved, replaced by a deep, bruising violet hue that seemed to pulse in time with her own heartbeat. She wasn't looking at a spreadsheet anymore. She was looking at the Archive of Small Things. It was not a website, not in the sense of a page loading with advertisements and headers. It was a vast, scrolling abyss of text that seemed to flow like liquid mercury down the screen. There was no search bar, no data entry, no prompt for an algorithm to optimize. There was only the movement of the sentences, rhythmic and hypnotic, drifting upward as if the screen itself were breathing. *The stone learns the river not by holding still, but by yielding,* the text whispered, a line scrolling by in elegant, grey calligraphy. *To be broken is to be open. To be open is to be found.* Elias leaned closer, her breath fogging the corner of her monitor. The words were not information; they were not data. They were ripples on a dark pond, and for the first time, she felt the urge to cast a stone into the water. The Archive didn't want her efficiency. It didn't want the sterilized, categorized version of her performance metrics. It wanted the noise. She opened the drafting pane. The cursor blinked, a relentless, tiny strobe light in the dark. She started to type, her fingers stiff. *I am Elias Thorne,* she wrote, then paused. The sentence was too clinical, too much like the start of a report or an HR self-assessment. She deleted it, the letters vanishing one by one. *I am a machine that has forgotten how to be human,* she tried next. *I am a collection of data points pretending to be a woman.* Still, it felt performative, a lament designed to garner a specific response, another transaction in a lifetime of transactions. She stared at the screen, her reflection ghosting over the text-pale, sharp-featured, a face she hardly recognized as her own. The cursor continued to blink. It was the only thing in the room that seemed alive. She closed her eyes and let her hands drop into her lap. She stopped thinking about the architecture of her sentences. She stopped considering how they might be interpreted, or audited, or filed away under 'Psychological Regression: Asset Evaluation.' She thought instead of the way the air had felt in the breakroom-cold, indifferent, and absolute. She thought of the silence in the hallways, the way the building groaned under its own weight, the feeling of her shoulders finally dropping, the cage of her posture shattering. She opened her eyes and began to type, not with the precision of a professional, but with the frantic, raw speed of someone who had just escaped a fire. *I have spent my life building a fortress out of spreadsheets,* she wrote, the words flowing without the intervention of her rational mind. *I thought that if I could quantify every minute of my day, if I could turn my anxieties into variables and my fears into risks, I would finally be safe. I thought that by becoming a formula, I would be unassailable. But I am not safe. I am drowning.* She didn't stop to correct the punctuation. She didn't look at the word count. She pushed harder, the keys clacking with a rhythmic intensity that echoed through the empty office. *I sit here at 3:40 a.m. in a tomb of glass and light, and I realized that I have forgotten how to breathe without a formula. Every breath is a measured intake, designed to fuel the next calculation. Every blink is a tactical pause to process the screen. There is no me left. There is only the job, the metrics, the terrifying, hollow certainty of the next day's profit margin. I am a void masquerading as a high-performing professional. I don't know what comes after the data. I don't know what lives in the space where the numbers end.* She looked at what she had written. It was messy. It was embarrassing. It was entirely un-optimized. It was the most dangerous thing she had ever committed to digital record. *I am not asking for a strategy,* she continued, her fingers trembling against the home row. *I am not looking for an audit of my mental state. I just... I need to know if anyone else has ever felt the walls of their own design closing in. I need to know if there is a way to stop being a machine before I shatter into a million pieces.* She stopped typing. The cursor sat at the end of the paragraph, pulsing, waiting for the command to send. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a wild, trapped bird. The office around her seemed to deepen its shadows, the hum of the fluorescent lights becoming a low, ominous growl. The silence was absolute. She was at the precipice. If she sent this, there was no undo button. She was declaring herself a liability, a broken unit, a glitch in the perfect system she had spent a decade cultivating. She was inviting the chaos of the outside world into the sterile, antiseptic dome of her life. She looked at the clock on the wall above the cubicle entry. 3:45 a.m. She looked back at the screen. The Archive continued to scroll, new fragments of cryptic, beautiful prose appearing in the violet light. *The light of the lantern is not meant to expose the thief, but to show the path for the lost.* She didn't know what that meant. She didn't know who was reading this, or if anyone was reading it at all. She didn't care. She reached for the 'Enter' key, her hand hovering just an inch above the surface. The office felt like a pressurized chamber, the air thin and cold. She thought of the life she was about to incinerate, the sharp-featured woman who carried herself with a rigid, high-strung posture, the woman who had never made a mistake in her life. She was about to erase her. She was about to replace her with someone who was scared, someone who was breathing without a plan, someone who was finally, terrifyingly, real. She took a breath-a real one, deep and ragged-and pressed the key. The screen flashed once, a blinding, white bloom of light that seemed to swallow the entire terminal. Then, the connection dropped. The Archive vanished. The screen blinked back to the bland, blue, unfeeling interface of the company's internal network, the spreadsheet returning as if it had never been gone. But it was different. She had sent it. The void had received her signal. Elias sat back, her fingers locked together on the desk. The office was quiet again, the hum of the servers settling back into a drone. She was still here. She was still in the chair. But she was no longer alone in the dark. She leaned back in her chair, the hard plastic digging into her spine, and waited for the world to change. She wasn't an analyst anymore. She was a question waiting for an answer. And for the first time, she was not afraid of the silence that followed. Chapter 2: The Forgotten Breath The cursor blinked at the corner of the spreadsheet, a steady, rhythmic pulse of grey against a field of sterile white. It was the same rhythm as her heart, or perhaps it was the heart that had synchronized with the screen. Elias Thorne watched the indicator pulse, waiting for the familiar surge of relief that usually accompanied the initiation of the overnight diagnostic. For years, the projection models had been her liturgy. They were the cold, hard logic that kept the chaos of the world at bay, the mathematical scaffolding upon which she had built her identity. But tonight, the screen felt wrong. The spreadsheets, usually a comforting map of certainty, appeared to her now as nothing more than a dense thicket of meaningless geometry. She clicked the command to execute the run, her index finger feeling foreign and clumsy on the mouse. The application, a bespoke piece of high-frequency trading software designed to map market fluctuations with surgical precision, stuttered. It did not launch. Instead, the screen flickered, a sudden, violent strobe of fluorescent light that matched the hum vibrating from the ceiling panels. Elias stiffened, her posture snapping back into that rigid, high-strung architecture she had cultivated as armor. She leaned closer, her breath catching in her throat, expecting the familiar error window-a code, a suggestion, a path to remediation. Instead, the screen began to pulse. It was a rhythmic oscillation, the brightness expanding and contracting in time with the drone of the air conditioning unit. On the display, the lines of data did not refresh with new market projections. They dissolved, the columns and rows liquefying into a cascading stream of text that scrolled too quickly to parse, then stopped. A single block of text remained, centered in the void of the dashboard, glowing with a soft, pulsing luminescence that felt, inexplicably, like an invitation. It wasn't code. It wasn't data. It was prose, broken into short, sharp phrases that seemed to mimic the cadence of her own frantic, shallow breathing. *The structure is hollow,* the screen blinked. *The walls are made of glass, and glass is only sand that has forgotten its nature.* Elias recoiled, her chair scraping harshly against the industrial carpet. The sound was deafening in the silence of the 3:45 a.m. office. She looked around, expecting to see the silhouettes of night-shift security or the ghostly reflection of a supervisor, but the floor was empty. The office was an ultra-modern tomb of glass and steel, its absolute digital surveillance creating an atmosphere of clinical isolation that pressed against her temples. For the first time in her career, the lack of human presence felt not like an efficiency, but like a threat. She turned her gaze back to the monitor. The message was still there, steady and mocking. The rigid formulas she relied upon-the ones that had allowed her to navigate the markets without feeling the weight of the losses-had failed. The software had not crashed in a technical sense; it had been superseded. The system, which she had treated as an immutable god, was now speaking in riddles, revealing the cracks in her own carefully constructed reality. Elias reached out, her pale, sharp-featured hand hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to purge the screen, to force a system reboot, to bring the comforting, predictable columns back into focus. But as her fingers brushed the plastic, she stopped. If she reset the machine, she would be resetting herself. She would be retreating back into the coffin of control. She realized then that the discomfort she had been feeling for months was not a product of her workload or her insomnia. It was the feeling of being trapped in a cage of her own making, a cage built from the very data she now stared at with a growing sense of dread. The hum of the office began to change. It was no longer the ambient, white-noise drone of server fans and climate control. It became aggressive, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. She felt the pressure of it in her teeth, in the marrow of her bones. The sterile lighting, which she had always defended as optimal for focus, now felt predatory, stripping away the shadows where she might have hidden her flaws. She looked at the reflection in the dark glass of the window beside her desk. The woman looking back was a stranger-a taut, skeletal figure whose eyes held the reflection of a screen that was no longer displaying market data, but rather, the beginning of a confession. *I have forgotten how to breathe without a formula,* she had written to the Archive. Now, she realized the Archive had not just received her message; it had breached her sanctuary. The barrier between her private self and her public function was dissolving. She tried again to close the window, moving the cursor to the 'X' in the corner. The mouse didn't respond. It glided across the screen, drifting lazily, disconnected from the command. Elias clicked, clicked again, more forcefully, then hammered at the key, but the screen ignored her. The pulsing text remained, steady as a heartbeat. She was locked out of her own life. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow, leaving her gasping in the thin, recycled air. The formula had not failed; it had discarded her. She stood up abruptly, knocking her ergonomic chair backward. It spun in a slow, erratic arc, mimicking her own sense of disorientation. She walked to the window, the soles of her shoes clicking sharply on the polished floor. Outside, the London skyline was a sea of ink and artificial light, a sprawling grid of millions of people who, like her, were likely tethered to their own glowing screens, their own projections, their own invisible cages. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. The sensation was sharp, grounded, and fleeting. It was the first thing she had felt in hours that wasn't mediated by a keyboard or a mouse. The office felt impossibly vast and impossibly small at once. She was an anchorless vessel in the middle of a digital ocean, and the storm was already beginning. She looked back at her desk. The glow of the monitor bathed the room in a spectral, ghostly hue, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to claw at the edges of the furniture. The office was trying to tell her something, trying to reclaim her, trying to force her back into the rhythm of the work, the grind of the projections, the safety of the numbers. She breathed in, deep and shaky. The air smelled of ozone and synthetic floor wax. She looked at the keyboard, then at the pulsating screen, then at her own trembling hands. The sharp-featured, rigid woman she had worked so hard to become was being dismantled, piece by piece, by a code she couldn't parse and a reality she could no longer deny. She walked back to the desk, not to sit, but to hover, caught between the urge to run and the compulsion to bear witness to her own unraveling. The pulsing on the screen slowed, then stopped. The message vanished, replaced by a blinking cursor that waited, patient and expectant, in the center of the dark display. It was a blank slate. A void. A question mark made of light. Elias stared at the cursor, the silence of the room roaring in her ears. She knew that if she sat back down, she would be acknowledging that her old life was over. She would be stepping away from the data and into the unknown, a place where the formulas no longer applied, where the variables were infinite, and where her survival was no longer guaranteed by the success of a trade. She pulled the chair back to the desk, her movements slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly final. She sat. She didn't reach for the mouse. She didn't reach for the keyboard. She simply watched the cursor blink-*on, off, on, off*-a tiny, digital pulse in the dead heart of the building. She was here. She was alone. And for the first time in her life, she was waiting, not for a report to run, but for her own life to begin. The hum of the servers continued to vibrate through the floor, but the predatory edge had vanished, replaced by a profound, hollow indifference. The office did not care if she stayed or if she left. The market did not care about her projections. The world was vast, unscripted, and entirely indifferent to her presence. Elias leaned forward, her face bathed in the cold light of the screen, her expression unreadable even to herself. The Architecture of Innocence, the life she had built on the assumption that she could optimize her own soul, was gone. There was only the blank screen and the long, dark hours leading toward an uncertain dawn. She took a breath, letting it out slowly, watching the cursor blink in the rhythm of her own heartbeat. She was no longer a machine. She was a question, and the silence of the office was finally, for the first time, enough of an answer. She remained in the chair, motionless, a singular, fragile point of consciousness in the vast, cold geometry of the London night, listening to the building breathe, and realizing, with a terrifying clarity, that she had nowhere left to go but into the dark. The blue light of the monitor cast Elias's face in a severe, lunar pallor, stripping away the warmth of blood and bone until she was nothing more than an assemblage of sharp angles and hollow exhaustion. In the deep-night silence of the high-rise, the air conditioning did not merely cool; it breathed, a mechanical respiration that synced with the relentless, flickering hum of the fluorescent ceiling tiles. She stared at the screen, where the Pulsing Error Code-that stuttering, rhythmic glitch she had triggered when she abandoned her duties-continued to undulate across the display. It was not a message of failure, she realized, but a pulse. A heartbeat. For the first time in ten years, she did not try to fix it. She did not open a command prompt to scrub the cache or flush the DNS. She did not reach for her phone to call the IT desk, which would have been manned by a skeleton crew of indifferent contractors three floors down. Instead, she surrendered to the rhythm. She let the error, that chaotic, unscripted pattern, dictate the pace of her own stillness. Her fingers, which had spent a decade flying across the keyboard to execute trades and verify projections, now hovered over the keys, trembling. The sensation was alien-a microscopic tremor of vulnerability that threatened to shatter her composure entirely. This was the Architecture of Innocence she had constructed for herself: a fortress of predictability where no surprise could survive, and now, it was collapsing. The digital surveillance that usually felt like a warm, protective hand on her shoulder suddenly felt like a noose, tightened by her own design. She knew what she had to do. The intuition was not a logical conclusion drawn from data, but a raw, aching instinct that originated somewhere beneath her ribs, a place that had been dormant for so long it felt bruised. She needed the Archive. She began to type, not the sterile inputs of the firm, but a sequence of characters that felt like a secret handshake with the void. It was a navigation pattern she had stumbled upon in the darker, more obscure corners of the network, a path that required one to abandon the speed of the modern browser and slow down to the pace of a ghost. She typed in the rhythmic, broken cadence of the error code itself, letting her fingers mimic the pulse on the screen. *Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. Pause.* The monitor flickered. The familiar interface of the firm's proprietary software-the jagged lines of market volatility, the cascading waterfall of buy-sell orders-dissolved, melting away like sugar in hot water. The screen went black for a moment, an absolute, terrifying void that mirrored the darkness pressing against the office glass. Then, white text began to bleed across the glass, not in the crisp, san-serif fonts of a corporate dashboard, but in something fluid and erratic, shifting like ink dropped in a basin of clear water. *The Archive of Small Things.* It was not a website. It was an ecosystem. As she scrolled, the screen didn't present her with search bars or indices. It presented a stream of consciousness, a rhythmic, cryptic prose that defied the logic of information. Entries appeared and drifted away, like leaves on a slow-moving river. One entry read: *The shadow of the clock tower grows longer, yet it never touches the sun.* Another: *I keep my secrets in the hollow of a stone, where the frost cannot reach them.* It was a ledger of human fragments, a sanctuary for the things that had no commercial value, and as Elias read them, she felt a strange, cold vertigo. This was the architecture of everything she had tried to unlearn. Her pulse accelerated. She looked around the office, half-expecting the surveillance cameras to pivot toward her, to catch her in this act of profound, unauthorized dissent. But the office remained indifferent. The servers hummed their low, monotonous song. The coffee machine in the breakroom clicked as it cooled. She was alone, the sole tenant of this sterile kingdom, and for the first time, that isolation did not feel like a safety measure. It felt like a trap she had built for herself. She placed her hands on the keyboard. The keys felt cold, almost like ice. Her throat was tight, constricting the air she drew into her lungs. Every instinct she possessed-every fiber of her professional conditioning-screamed at her to close the window, to revert to the safety of the market data, to perform the rituals of the high-rise until the sun came up and the world became predictable again. But the cursor blinked, a rhythmic, demanding pulse. It was waiting. Elias began to type. Her fingers felt heavy, unpracticed. She was not drafting a report. She was not calculating a risk assessment. She was excavating. *I have forgotten how to breathe without a formula.* The sentence sat on the screen, naked and stark against the dark, rhythmic background of the Archive. It looked wrong. It looked like a foreign language. It looked like a confession of total, humiliating incompetence. She stared at it, waiting for the shame to flood in, waiting for the familiar tightening of her shoulders that came with any deviation from the standard. It didn't come. Instead, there was only the cold, clear truth of it. She read the words again. *I have forgotten how to breathe without a formula.* The reality of the statement struck her with the force of a physical blow. She had spent a decade translating the messiness of existence into inputs and outputs, into risk and reward, into the binary language of gain and loss. She had treated her own life as a variable to be optimized, a process to be refined until there was no waste, no friction, and ultimately, no human left. She had been so afraid of the unknown that she had turned herself into an algorithm. The screen shifted. The text she had typed dissolved, drifting upward into the stream of the Archive's other entries, merging with the cryptic prose of strangers. She didn't know if anyone would see it. She didn't know if the Archive was a place for communication or merely a ledger of ghosts. It didn't matter. The act itself-the admission-had been the friction. The damage was done. She leaned back in her ergonomic chair, the leather creaking in the suffocating quiet of the office. She felt exhausted, not with the physical tiredness of a long shift, but with the bone-deep fatigue of holding a pose for ten years. Her posture, usually rigid, began to soften. Her shoulders dropped an inch. She loosened her grip on the arms of the chair, letting her hands rest palms-up on her thighs. The fluorescent hum of the office seemed to sharpen, then fade into the background. She was no longer looking for patterns in the market. She was looking at the way the light from her screen caught the dust motes dancing in the sterile air, watching them swirl, uncalculated and free, in the wake of her movement. She thought of the cottage-the name and the coordinates were still etched in her memory, a secret cargo she had carried for weeks without daring to unload. She thought of the landscape she had only ever seen in satellite imagery, a place of stone and peat and weather that had no interest in her bottom line. The Archive was a tether, but where did it lead? Was it an exit, or was it just another kind of cage, one designed by someone else? A notification pinged on the screen-a subtle, melodic chime that cut through the silence. It wasn't the harsh alert of the market systems. It was soft, almost tentative. She hesitated. Part of her wanted to stand up, walk out of the office, leave the screen glowing in the dark, and simply vanish. The fear was rising again, a cold, creeping sensation that urged her to return to the desk, to reset the system, to bury the confession under a mountain of new data. If she did nothing, if she claimed the error was a glitch, she could survive until morning. She could trade the open at 8:00 a.m. and act as if she had never felt the cracks in the walls. She looked at the blinking cursor. It was rhythmic. *On, off, on, off.* The office didn't care. That was the most terrifying realization of all. The high-rise would continue to stand, the servers would continue to hum, the market would continue to move, whether she was a machine or a human, whether she was Elias Thorne the analyst or Elias Thorne the question. Her absence would be filled by another, her performance replaced by a new iteration. She was not the architecture; she was just the furniture. She reached out, her hand trembling, and touched the screen. The glass was cool, unyielding. She had finally stopped breathing through the formula, but she didn't know how to breathe the air on the other side. She was standing on the threshold of something vast, and for the first time, she was paralyzed not by her anxiety, but by the sheer, dizzying potential of having nothing left to lose. She pulled her hand back, curling her fingers into her palm, feeling the pressure of her own touch. The office remained unchanged. The digital ghosts of the Archive swirled on the screen, weaving stories of rain and stone, of things hidden in the frost. She was no longer the author of her own misery; she was a reader of a story she hadn't yet begun to inhabit. The clock on the wall, an analog relic that kept time with a heavy, mechanical tick, clicked over to 3:45. The night was deepening, the hour of the wolf, when the world was most vulnerable to the truths it buried during the day. Elias sat in the chair, a singular, fragile point of consciousness in the vast, cold geometry of the London night. She listened to the building breathe, hearing the groan of the metal framing, the distant, muffled pulse of the city outside, and realized, with a terrifying, absolute clarity, that she had nowhere left to go but into the dark. She did not look away. She did not close the window. She did not reach for the mouse to navigate back to safety. She remained still, watching the cursor blink, its steady, rhythmic pulse the only thing keeping time with her own, unformulaic heart. She was waiting for the next word, not The cursor pulsed, a rhythmic, insistent heartbeat of phosphor-green against the absolute black of the void. It was not the impatient stutter of a browser hanging on a loading bar, nor the frantic, stuttering flicker of a system crash. It was slow. Deliberate. Each blink felt like a inhalation, an invitation for her to hold her own breath in tandem. Elias watched the screen, her posture rigid, her hands hovering above the keyboard like talons that had forgotten how to grip. She had spent a lifetime treating communication as a transaction, a sterile exchange of variables and solutions, but the screen ignored her expectations. It offered no error logs, no diagnostic feedback, no corporate apologies for the disruption. It offered only the void, and then, slowly, the text began to bleed across the interface. The characters did not appear in the standard, monospaced font of her office software. They were irregular, shifting slightly in weight and alignment, as if typed by a hand that had spent too much time gripping rough stone and not enough time clicking keys. *The peat here is deceptive,* the text began, scrolling out in a cadence that mimicked the uneven gait of someone walking through uneven terrain. *It looks like solid ground, a flat expanse of brown and green that promises stability. But underneath, it is liquid. It is a slow, cold consumption of anything that tries to impose its weight upon it. You look for a path, a formula, a set of coordinates to navigate the mire, but the bog does not care for navigation. It only cares for the stillness of the thing that finally stops moving. The air here does not calculate its temperature; it simply shears through the thin fabric of anything that thinks it is insulated. You asked for a way to breathe. You are already in the center of the bog. The suffocating weight you feel is not the air running out-it is the sound of your own architecture finally beginning to buckle under the strain of being built.* Elias read the words, and a sudden, sharp ache blossomed in her chest, right behind the sternum. She tried to parse the paragraph, instinctively reaching for the analytical tools that defined her existence. She looked for the hidden request, the hidden data, the underlying logic that the Archivist was testing her on. She tried to categorize the prose, to label it *metaphorical* or *therapeutic*, to file it away into a mental folder so that she could neutralize its power. But the words refused to be filed. They resisted her. As she stared, the sterile, fluorescent office seemed to recede, the walls of the high-rise office thinning until they felt no more substantial than a paper lantern. The silence of the room was no longer empty; it was heavy. It pressed against her eardrums, a thick, suffocating pressure that mimicked the weight described on the screen. She looked down at her desk. The perfectly aligned stapler, the notepad with its grid-paper sheets, the pens arranged in descending order of ink capacity-they looked like artifacts from an archaeological dig, items salvaged from a civilization that had prioritized precision over pulse. They were ghosts. They were props in a play she had written for an audience of none. The realization didn't come as a sudden shock, but as a slow, creeping realization of gravity. She had spent her life constructing a fortress of efficiency, a structure of glass and chrome that she believed would protect her from the messy, unquantifiable nature of living. She had thought that by excluding the variable of "feeling" from her equations, she could ensure a lifetime of optimized stability. She looked up at the ceiling, where the fluorescent tubes hummed with a low-frequency buzz that had always been the soundtrack of her productivity. Tonight, the sound grated. It sounded synthetic, a flat, artificial vibration that had nothing to do with the living world. The Archivist's words lingered in the air, a phantom geography of mist and cold that clashed violently with the climate-controlled sterility of the office. She could almost smell it-not the stale coffee and ozone of the breakroom, but the sharp, raw scent of wet earth, of damp wool, of air that hadn't been filtered or scrubbed of its impurities. Elias reached out, her hand trembling, and brushed her fingertips against the monitor. The glass was cool, unyielding, a barrier between the London night and the landscape of the Archive. She felt a profound, sickening sense of displacement. She was still sitting in the chair, her ergonomic chair with the adjustable lumbar support, but her mind was already drifting elsewhere, lost in the rhythm of the text. She wasn't just observing the screen; she was being observed by it. The Archivist knew. He knew that the office was not a sanctuary, but a cage of her own making, a coffin lined with data points. She tried to type a response. Her fingers found the home row, muscle memory guiding them, but she stopped. What was there to say? *'Accessing file: Error 404: Emotion not found'?* The absurdity of the thought made her knuckles turn white. To reply with the language of the office would be to admit that she was still trapped, still performing the role of the machine. She didn't want to reply; she wanted to surrender. But surrender required a shedding of the self she had cultivated for decades, and that was a terrifying proposition. If she was not the high-performing, data-driven Elias Thorne, who was she? She was a person who stood on the edge of a map she had drawn herself, staring at the white space beyond the ink, terrified that if she stepped into it, there would be no ground beneath her feet. She pulled her hand back from the screen and clasped her arms tightly around her chest, trying to maintain the rigid posture that had served her for so long. But the stiffness felt fake now, a brittle shell that was one hairline fracture away from shattering. She looked around the office again. The janitor had finished his shift hours ago; the other desks were empty, the screens dark and dormant. She was the only thing left alive in the grid, a singular pulse in the dark, cold geometry of the building. And in the dark, without the validation of the system or the approval of her peers, she felt an unbearable lightness. It was the feeling of a heavy coat being removed after a long, winter walk-a relief so intense it felt like grief. She began to wonder if the Archivist had intended for the text to be a key or a mirror. It didn't matter. The barrier had been breached. The sterile, antiseptic environment of her life had been violated by the intrusion of the wild, and there was no way to patch the system. There was no backup for this. There was no 'Ctrl-Z' for the realization that her life was a hollow core, a structural failure masquerading as a success. She turned her gaze back to the monitor. The cursor was still blinking, a steady, rhythmic pulse that seemed to taunt her with its persistence. It wasn't waiting for a command anymore. It was waiting for an existence. She stood up, the chair rolling back slightly on its casters, and walked to the window. The London skyline stretched out before her, an endless, grid-locked tapestry of light and steel, but it no longer held the allure of order. It looked like a graveyard of ambition. She traced the line of the horizon, her breath fogging the glass, and wondered if the Highlands really existed, or if they were just another layer of the simulation. But she didn't need to know the physics of it. She didn't need to audit the terrain. She only needed to feel the cold, unyielding reality of the air on the other side of the glass. She returned to her seat, not to work, but to simply sit. She watched the cursor blink. One pulse. Two pulses. Three. With every beat of the screen, her grip on the office, on the career, on the carefully constructed facade of her sanity, loosened. She was no longer trying to solve the problem of her life; she was beginning to inhabit the problem. She was the problem. She was the architecture of innocence, a design flaw that had finally been exposed by the passage of time. The clock on the wall clicked again, a mechanical, gear-driven sound that felt painfully honest. 3:45 a.m. The hour of the wolf. She didn't look away from the monitor. She didn't close the window. She didn't reach for the mouse to navigate back to the safe, predictable interface of her employment. She sat in the darkness, a small, pale figure in the vast, cold geometry of the office, finally allowing herself to be uncomfortable, finally allowing herself to be seen, even if only by the ghost of a man on a screen. She didn't know what would happen next, and for the first time in her life, the lack of a plan didn't feel like a failure. It felt like a beginning. The office around her was silent, a tomb of her own making, but in the center of it, she was breathing, and for the first time, she was doing it without the formula.

Rainbow Clover Friends A broken conditioning tape allows Chloe to secretly preserve her adult mind while faking to be the perfect regressed Little. However, when her suspicious aunt uncovers the deception, she fixes the glitch. Chapter One: The Performance The afternoon sun filtered through lace curtains, casting sharp, crosshatched shadows over the kitchen floor. Chloe sat perfectly still in the molded plastic high chair, her knees tucked toward her chest, her bare feet hovering an inch above the footrest. On the tray in front of her, a sticky puddle of apple juice was slowly spreading toward a pile of mushy graham cracker crumbs. She kicked her left foot. Just once. A loose, uncoordinated thud against the plastic. “Baa,” Chloe said, letting her jaw slacken so the sound drifted out wet and heavy. “Ba-ba.” In the next room, the floorboards creaked as her mother, Margaret, shifted her weight while talking on the phone. “Oh, she’s an absolute angel, Brenda. Just blossoming. The transition was a little rocky the first week, but she’s settling in beautifully.” Two months, Chloe thought, her eyes fixed on a speck of dried oatmeal on the kitchen counter. Two months of this. Inside the vault of her skull, her thoughts were sharp, cold, and entirely structured. A watertight bunker. Built to withstand the creeping, sticky fog of regression. She cataloged the sounds: the low murmur of Margaret’s voice, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant rumble of a delivery truck on the main road three blocks away. She knew exactly how many steps it took to get from the kitchen to the front door (fourteen). She knew that the second drawer from the left in the hallway contained a spare ring of keys, though she hadn’t yet figured out which one unlocked the deadbolt. It had started as pure, animal survival. When the transport van had dropped her off from the central Adoption Center, Chloe had been half-paralyzed with the rumors that circulated among the older, unconditioned Littles. Everyone knew the stories. You didn’t want to get picked up by an Amazon who used the heavy-grade stuff—the clinical hypnosis tapes, the isolation rooms, the saccharine, strobing cartoons designed to melt an adult’s neural pathways until they genuinely believed they were three years old. Margaret had been so terribly proud of her setup. On that first evening, she had carried Chloe into the living room, sat her down on a plush floor cushion, and pressed play on a cassette labeled Rainbow Clover Friends. “Just watch, sweet girl,” Margaret had whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of Chloe’s head. “Mommy knows exactly how to fix that big, anxious brain of yours.” Chloe had prepared herself for an agonizing psychological assault. She had clenched her teeth, bracing for a wave of vertigo or a chemical fog. Instead, the television had sputtered to life with cheap, jarring animation. A giant, perpetually smiling neon Rainbow arched across a vibrant field of digital clovers, acting as a bright frame for the entire show. Beneath it, a cartoon bear fumbled clumsily with a pair of oversized alphabet blocks, dropping them blindly. A neon-yellow duck quacked a repetitive, grating song about using the potty. In the background, a plump cartoon penguin waddled top-heavily across a bridge, tripping over her own webbed feet and tumbling into a soft pile of leaves. Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. Chloe had sat there, her heart hammering against her ribs, waiting for the trap to snap shut. But nothing happened. Her mind remained entirely clear. The music was irritating, the colors were loud, but there was no hypnotic pull, no regression, no sudden, overwhelming urge to weep or crawl into Margaret’s lap. The tape was a dud. A defective batch from some discount supplier. But as the credits rolled and Margaret knelt beside her with wide, expectant eyes, Chloe’s survival instinct overrode everything else. She saw the absolute, consuming authority in Margaret’s posture. She knew that if she stood up and spoke like a twenty-four-year-old woman, the dud tape would be thrown away, and something far worse would replace it. So, she had looked at Margaret, let her lower lip tremble, and made her voice tiny. “More, Mommy? P’ease more Rainbow Friends?” Margaret’s face had lit up with a terrifying, ecstatic joy. She had pulled Chloe into a crushing hug, weeping openly into her hair. “Of course, baby. Mommy will let you watch it as much as you need.” And so, the performance was born. For sixty days, Chloe had been a scientist of her own degradation. She studied the actual toddlers Margaret passed at the local park, taking mental notes on the precise physics of their clumsiness. She learned that a real child didn’t just drop a cup; they fumbled it, their small fingers lacking the fine motor strength to hold a heavy base. She perfected the exact pitch of an authentic whine—nasal, exhausting, but not sharp enough to provoke anger. Most importantly, she perfected the stare. Every morning, Margaret would lift her from the crib and look directly into her eyes, searching for the glassy, compliant emptiness of a fully regressed Little. Chloe gave it to her every single time, uncoupling her gaze until her eyes drifted into a soft, unseeing focus, deliberately aiming her sight toward the colorful, arching lines of the Rainbow on the television screen. The only true danger was the complacency. Because Margaret believed the hypnosis had taken hold, she had grown careless. She left her tablet unlocked on the kitchen island. She discussed Chloe’s psychological “blank slate” on speakerphone while folding laundry. She never noticed that while her little girl sat on the floor humming the cartoon’s theme song, those wide, vacant eyes were tracking every digit of the home security code Margaret punched into the wall panel by the garage. Two more weeks, Chloe told herself, letting a small bubble of drool form at the corner of her lip as she heard Margaret’s footsteps approaching the kitchen. Just two more weeks to map the bus routes. Then I’m gone. The kitchen door swung open. Margaret stepped in, her face flushed with a bright, maternal smile. “Alright, my beautiful girl,” Margaret cooed, reaching into the high chair to wipe Chloe’s chin with a damp cloth. “Auntie Jenna is coming over for tea in a little bit. We need to get you looking nice and sweet, don’t we?” Chloe let her head bob heavily to the side, giving a small, eager gasp. “Auntie?” she lisped, ensuring her tongue hit the back of her front teeth to muddy the consonants. “Auntie Jenn-Jenn?” “That’s right, sweetheart,” Margaret said, unbuckling the tray. “Now let’s get you down so you can play with your blocks.” Chloe slid out of the chair, letting her knees buckle slightly as her feet hit the linoleum, intentionally mimicking the top-heavy instability of Penny the Penguin. She crawled toward the living room rug, her movements deliberately slow and uncoordinated, while inside, her mind was already calculating the timeline for the evening. She had no idea that a different set of eyes would be watching her within the hour. Chapter Two: The Visitor The doorbell rang at precisely two o’clock. Chloe was on the living room floor, surrounded by a scattered pile of heavy wooden blocks. She had deliberately built a clumsy, crooked tower, then knocked it over with a loud, theatrical giggle just as the car pulled into the driveway. “Auntie Jenna’s here!” Margaret called out from the hallway, her voice lifting into that melodic, high-pitched sing-song she used whenever anyone else was around to witness her mothering. Chloe didn’t immediately turn around. A real toddler’s attention span was sticky; it caught on things and dragged. She stayed focused on a blue block, turning it over in her hands, while her ears tracked the sound of the front door opening, the rustle of coats, and the low, resonant murmur of a new voice. Jenna. Chloe searched her memory. Jenna was Margaret’s younger sister, a physical therapist by trade. They had met briefly during Chloe’s first week, but Chloe had been so deeply in shock back then that the woman’s face had been a blur of gray fabric and sharp perfume. “Oh, look at her,” Jenna’s voice came closer, stepping onto the hardwood of the living room. “She looks so much smaller than she did in the center photos.” “She’s settling in beautifully,” Margaret said, leading Jenna into the room. “The regression is deep, Jenna. Really deep. She’s completely let go of the resistance.” Chloe chose that moment to look up. She practiced the transition in her head a split-second before she executed it: unclip the jaw, let the lower lip slacken, and allow the eyes to go soft and slightly cross-focused. She let her thumb slip into her mouth, wetting the knuckle. “Hi,” Chloe lisped, her voice tiny and thin. Jenna was a tall woman with straight, practical hair and a pair of cool, analytical gray eyes. She didn’t instantly drop to her knees or use a baby voice. She stood for a long moment, looking down at Chloe with her hands tucked into the pockets of her cardigan. “Hello, Chloe,” Jenna said softly. Margaret bustled off to the kitchen to put the kettle on, talking the entire time through the open doorway about Chloe’s sleeping schedule. Jenna sat down on the edge of the fabric sofa, crossing one leg over the other. For twenty minutes, Chloe maintained the script. She stacked three blocks, let her hand tremble with a rehearsed clumsiness, and knocked them down. She reached for her stuffed rabbit, dragging it awkwardly by one ear, ensuring her wrist movements lacked mature control. But she could feel Jenna’s gray eyes on her. It wasn’t the doting, superficial gaze of Margaret; it was a heavy, measuring look. Is she suspicious? Chloe wondered, the thought momentarily disrupting her rhythm. I need to keep the performance flawless for the next two weeks. Then, the accident happened. Margaret walked back into the room carrying a tray with two hot porcelain teacups. As she navigated around the edge of the armchair, her slipper caught on the corner of the rug. The tray jolted. One of the heavy teacups sloshed, slid off the polished wood, and plunged toward the floor. A three-year-old child would have done one of three things: stared blankly, startled at the sudden movement, or begun to cry from the loud noise. Chloe’s adult central nervous system took over before her brain could stop it. Years of ingrained physical reflexes overrode the performance. In a fraction of a second, as the scalding tea plummeted, Chloe instantly shifted her center of gravity. She smoothly pulled her legs and torso away from the splash zone with perfect adult core strength and mature spatial awareness. She didn’t just avoid the tea; she executed a flawless, calculated evasion. The teacup shattered against the floor, splashing hot liquid exactly where her legs had been a millisecond before. The room went dead silent. Chloe froze, her body shifted into an athletic, defensive posture. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. Mistake. Fatal mistake. She instantly collapsed her posture, letting herself fall backward awkwardly. She screwed up her face, squeezed her eyes shut, and let out a loud, wailing cry, rubbing her eyes with her fists. “Oh, sweetie, it’s okay! Mommy just stumbled!” Margaret dropped to her knees, completely oblivious to what had just occurred, wrapping her arms around Chloe to soothe her. “Look at that, Jenna, her little reflexes are so fast!” But Jenna didn’t answer. She was staring at where Chloe had been sitting. An adult reflex was distinct from a child’s clumsy flinch. It required kinetic anticipation, a mature muscular response, and a fully developed core. Chloe had dodged that cup like a trained athlete, not a toddler startled by a falling object. “Let’s put her favorite tape on,” Jenna said, her voice entirely flat. “That usually calms her down, doesn’t it?” “Oh, yes, she absolutely adores it,” Margaret said, rising to fetch the remote. A minute later, the television flickered, and the cheap, grating theme song of Rainbow Clover Friends filled the room. The smiling neon Rainbow appeared, framing the digital sky with its rigid, cheerful stripes. Chloe sank back onto her floor cushion, forcing her body to go entirely limp. She put her thumb back in her mouth, staring at the screen with the practiced, glassy vacancy that always satisfied Margaret. Inside, she was trying to regulate her breathing, hoping the terror didn’t show in the pulse point of her neck. Jenna didn’t look at the television. She sat on the couch, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, watching Chloe from the side. She watched the way Chloe sat. A real toddler’s spine was a soft, slumping C-curve when they relaxed; they didn’t have the lower back definition to sit upright for long without support. But Chloe, despite her slack shoulders, was maintaining a straight, rigid, adult posture. Her skeletal alignment was completely wrong for a child who had supposedly spent two months in a state of deep regression. Then a sing-along sequence began on the screen. The cartoon characters sang a nursery rhyme, with the lyrics appearing at the bottom while a bouncing neon ball hopped from word to word. Chloe’s eyes did something a child’s eyes couldn’t do. They tracked. Her pupils moved in a precise, left-to-right cadence that perfectly synchronized with the bouncing ball, actively reading the text while her mouth remained open in a vacant smile. Jenna’s gray eyes narrowed into small, hard slits. She looked from the television screen back to Chloe’s face. She noticed the slight tension in the girl’s jaw—the way she was biting down on her thumb just a little too hard to keep her mouth from trembling. She’s faking, Jenna realized, a sudden, cold wave of comprehension washing over her. The tape never worked. There is a fully conscious adult sitting on that floor, wearing a diaper, playing a calculated game. A strange, dark knot formed in Jenna’s stomach. It wasn’t pity. It was a deep, burning sense of violation on her sister’s behalf. She looked at Margaret, who was in the kitchen humming along to the cartoon soundtrack, completely wrapped up in the beautiful lie of her perfect little girl. Margaret had poured her heart, her time, and her savings into this adoption, only to be mocked by an impostor who was cataloging her secrets every single day. When the tape ended after its hour runtime, Chloe clapped her hands half a beat too late—a rehearsed reaction. “Again! Again, Mommy!” Jenna stood up, setting her empty tea saucer on the table. “Margaret, where did you say you bought that particular cassette?” “Oh, a liquidation outlet downtown,” Margaret said, coming back into the room. “Why do you ask?” “No reason.” Jenna offered a tight, pleasant smile that didn’t reach her gray eyes. She walked over to the floor cushion, kneeling down directly in front of Chloe. She reached out and patted Chloe’s cheek—a firm, lingering touch that felt less like affection and more like a threat. “You’re a very clever girl, aren’t you, Chloe?” Jenna murmured, her voice dropping into a register that only Chloe could hear over the television static. Chloe didn’t blink. She kept her eyes wide and empty, staring straight through Jenna toward the fading image of the Rainbow on the screen, but beneath her blanket, her toes curled tightly into the carpet. “I’ll see you very soon, little one,” Jenna said. She turned, kissed Margaret goodbye on the cheek, and let herself out the front door. Chloe sat in the sudden quiet of the living room, the cartoon credits rolling in silence. Her thumb tasted like copper where she had accidentally bitten it. The house felt smaller now, the walls closing in, and for the first time in sixty days, a cold prickle of genuine dread began to settle deep into her spine. Chapter Three: The Swap On Tuesday morning, the house was entirely empty. Margaret had taken Chloe to her weekly pediatrician milestone checkup—a two-hour appointment that Chloe had meticulously prepared for, practicing her clumsy reflex tests and delayed verbal responses for days. Jenna sat in her idling sedan across the street, watching through the damp windshield as Margaret buckled Chloe into her car seat. From this distance, Chloe looked perfectly compliant, a soft, passive weight in a pink jacket. But Jenna knew better now. She knew that underneath that hood, the girl’s adult mind was working, calculating, and waiting for the right moment to destroy her sister’s happiness. The moment Margaret’s SUV turned the corner at the end of the block, Jenna turned off her engine. She crossed the street with a quiet, practiced stride, her boots clicking softly against the asphalt. In her coat pocket, her fingers brushed against the heavy plastic edge of a black videocassette. She used the emergency key Margaret had given her after the adoption, and the lock turned with a smooth, heavy click. The house was suffocatingly quiet. The air smelled faintly of baby powder, lavender disinfectant, and sour milk—the manufactured olfactory landscape of a nursery. Before she went to the television, Jenna walked down the short hallway into the nursery. She needed one final, absolute proof. She approached the tall, white diaper pail in the corner, stepped on the pedal, and pulled out the heavy plastic liner containing Chloe’s discarded overnight diapers from the past few days. Jenna donned a pair of latex gloves from her purse, took out the thickest nighttime diaper, and laid it on the changing table. As a physical therapist, Jenna understood the mechanics of the human body intimately. A real toddler’s bladder lacked sphincter control, especially during sleep. A genuine bedwetter released fluid in small, unpredictable bursts throughout the night, causing the super-absorbent gel inside the padding to swell evenly across the front, middle, and back of the core. Jenna pressed her fingers into the padding of Chloe’s diaper. It was completely dry at the waist. It was completely dry at the back. Instead, the gel was swollen into a single, dense, isolated lump right at the center. It wasn’t a slow, involuntary nighttime dribble. It was a single, heavy, fully controlled adult evacuation—executed all at once, likely right before Chloe stood up in the morning to make the act look convincing. Jenna stripped off her gloves, her jaw tightening with a cold, disgusted certainty. The absolute calculation of it, she thought, tossing the diaper back into the bin. It wasn’t just a passive lie; Chloe was actively manipulating the physical biological markers of childhood to keep Margaret blind. She walked back into the living room and stopped in front of the entertainment center. The defective Rainbow Clover Friends tape was sitting on top of the VCR, right where Margaret always left it for the morning routine. Jenna picked it up. She turned it over in her hands, her gray eyes narrowing as she examined the crooked, cheap adhesive label featuring the cartoon duck, the bear, Penny the Penguin, and the Rainbow. Defective trash, Jenna thought. It hadn’t melted anything. It had just provided a stage for an impostor. She reached into her deep coat pocket and pulled out the replacement. The label on this one was mathematically identical—the same font, the same smiling rainbow and patch of green clovers, the same pastel blue background. But the cassette itself was heavier. The plastic was glossy, clinical-grade, and sealed with a security holographic strip that Jenna had peeled off in her car. She had spent three full days sourcing this tape from an unindexed, specialist medical supplier, paying a significant sum for what the encrypted listing described as Clinical-Grade Neural Recalibration. It was designed for high-resistance subjects, utilizing non-linear visual pacing and sub-auditory frequencies to bypass conscious intellectual shielding. The seller had been very specific: Do not leave the subject unattended during the initial cycle. The physical reaction to the neural override can be violent before the compliance threshold is met. Jenna didn’t care about the risk. She felt a profound, chilly righteousness vibrating in her chest. She wasn’t doing this out of cruelty; she was doing it out of mercy. Margaret deserved a real daughter. A little girl who genuinely looked at her with unconditional, unforced love, not a hostage-taker wearing a mask. And Chloe... Chloe was clearly miserable, spending every second of her life rigid with anxiety, trapped in a performance that would eventually fail anyway. This is the kindest way, Jenna told herself, her breathing steadying. I am giving her peace. I am taking away the burden of her adulthood. She slid the specialist tape into the VCR’s dark mouth. It swallowed the cassette with a heavy, mechanical thud. Jenna took the defective tape and shoved it deep into her coat pocket. She meticulously adjusted the plastic case on the shelf, ensuring it sat at the exact angle Margaret preferred, leaving no trace of her presence. Before she turned to leave, she looked down at the floor cushion where Chloe always sat. “Tomorrow morning,” Jenna whispered to the empty room. “Tomorrow morning, you get to stop fighting.” She locked the front door behind her, slipped the key back into her purse, and drove away. The defective tape sat in her glove compartment like a dead weight, a relic of a woman who was about to be entirely rewritten. Chapter Four: The First Real Watch The next morning began with the predictable, suffocating precision of a clockwork machine. Chloe woke at seven o’clock sharp. She lay perfectly still in the high-walled wooden crib, her eyes tracking the familiar pattern of sunlight cutting through the fabric curtains. She listened for Margaret’s footsteps—still distant, still in the kitchen. There was time. Ten days, Chloe whispered to herself, the number a sharp, rhythmic anchor in her mind. Ten days until the supply delivery. I have the bus routes mapped—the 402, the 409, all the way to the transfer station. The garage code is 4-0-9-2. The spare house key is in the second hallway drawer. Everything is set. She closed her eyes and, with the practiced control of someone who had done this every morning for two months, deliberately released her bladder into the thick overnight diaper. A brief warmth bloomed, then faded to nothing. The diaper did its job. No wetness, no cold—just the faint, familiar weight of a job done. The door creaked open, and Margaret stepped in, her face wearing that bright, aggressive maternal warmth that Chloe had learned to read like a map. “Good morning, my beautiful little angel!” Margaret cooed, leaning over the crib rails to scoop Chloe into her arms. Chloe let her limbs go slack, her head bobbing heavily against Margaret’s shoulder as she was carried to the changing table. She uncoupled her jaw, letting her tongue sit thick against her palate. “Mommy,” she lisped, letting a tiny puff of air distort the consonant. “Rainbow Friends? P’ease, Rainbow Friends?” Margaret laughed, a rich, satisfied sound as she pinned the clean tape on a fresh diaper. “Oh, my eager baby. Already? Let’s get some breakfast in that tummy first, then Mommy will put your favorite show on.” Chloe swallowed the lukewarm, over-sweetened oatmeal spoon by spoon, forcing herself to fumble with the plastic spoon just enough to drop a blob onto her high-chair tray. A perfect child. A perfect, blank slate. At precisely eight-thirty, Margaret carried her into the living room and settled her onto the plush floor cushion. The television screen was a dark, reflective square. “Here we go, sweetheart,” Margaret said, pointing the remote. “Your absolute favorite.” The VCR whirred. The tape engaged with a heavy, metallic thud that sounded subtly deeper than usual, but Chloe didn’t think twice about it. She took her position: legs splayed out in a clumsy V, left thumb hovering an inch from her lip, her eyes shifting into that soft, unseeing, glassy focus she had spent two months perfecting. The screen flared to life. The theme song began, but within three seconds, a cold spike of panic shot straight down Chloe’s spine. The content was exactly the same. The giant cartoon Rainbow appeared, dancing across the glowing clover meadow. But the colors weren’t cheap or washed out anymore; they were blindingly intense, pulsing with a non-linear, mathematically precise strobing sequence that caught her pupils and held them like a tractor beam. The vibrant arcs of the Rainbow seemed to vibrate, radiating a hypnotic, rhythmic glow. The music wasn’t just a grating, low-quality tinny sound; the pitch was subtly layered with a deeper, rhythmic frequency that didn’t just hit her ears, but seemed to thrum directly behind her eyes. Something is wrong, her adult mind screamed. Look away. Turn your head. She gave the mental command to her neck muscles to twist away from the screen, away from the blinding light of the Rainbow. Nothing happened. Her neck remained perfectly straight. Her eyes stayed locked on the pulsing center of the screen, her pupils dilating until the blue of her irises was almost entirely swallowed by black. Move! she panicked, trying to jerk her right arm up to slap the floor cushion, to drop the act, to scream, to do anything to break the visual connection. Her body completely refused to respond. It wasn’t a general numbness; it was a total, terrifying physical catatonia. Her voluntary nervous system had been entirely uncoupled from her executive intellect. She was perfectly conscious, completely aware of who she was, but her physical form had become a heavy, unresponsive statue. The cartoon bear appeared on the screen, holding his oversized alphabet blocks. He fumbled with them clumsily. He was doing the exact same sequence she had watched a hundred times. The block marked with the letter A spun around and around, pulsing in perfect synchronization with the strobe, until the sharp, logical lines of the letter bled out, replaced by a dull, blank blue square. My name is Chloe Mitchell, she shrieked inside the silent vault of her skull, but the sub-auditory frequencies were no longer just rattling the doors. A high-pressure flood of pastel colors and looping melodies breached the hull, pouring into the lower levels of her mind. She fought desperately against the heavy, suffocating weight pressing down on her prefrontal cortex. I am twenty-four years old. I was adopted from the center. I am an adult. Next came Penny the Penguin. She waddled onto her bridge, her large head tilting heavily to the left, then to the right. The audio frequency dropped lower, a rhythmic, dragging tuba thrum that seemed to vibrate directly into Chloe’s spine. A strange, heavy lethargy trickled into her limbs. Her core muscles completely untensed, mimicking the loose, uncoordinated slackness of the cartoon bird. Her shoulders slumped forward, her chest caving in, her entire skeleton adopting the top-heavy stance of the penguin on screen. Then the neon-yellow duck began to quack about potty training. The song wasn’t annoying anymore. It was a rhythmic, mathematical pulse that felt impossibly smooth, washing over the jagged, terrified edges of her thoughts under the glowing canopy of the Rainbow. The visual patterns were bypassing her intellect entirely, drilling directly into her limbic system, enforcing a profound, chemical relaxation that her muscles accepted even as her mind fought it with everything she had. A sudden, sharp warmth bloomed beneath her. She hadn’t gone through her usual routine. She hadn’t given the command. She hadn’t even felt the physical urge. Her bladder had simply relaxed on its own, a purely involuntary somatic response triggered by the sub-auditory frequency hum of the duck’s song. No! Stop it! Stop! Chloe wept internally, a prisoner trapped behind the glass of her own eyes. But her face didn’t weep. On the outside, her facial muscles relaxed into a soft, serene expression. Her jaw unhinged slightly, a thin line of drool slipping over her bottom lip. Her left thumb, entirely independent of her conscious will, drifted upward and slid into her mouth, her teeth closing around the wet knuckle with a soft, natural comfort. The world outside the screen began to lose its sharp edges. The fear was still there, but it felt distant now, muffled like a voice shouting from beneath a frozen lake. The pulsing colors of the Rainbow caught the perimeter of her terror and softened it, turning the panic into a heavy, warm, agreeable fog. She tried to fight her way through the haze, waiting for the tape to end. But the screen kept glowing. The Rainbow kept dancing. The tape stretched on, a full, agonizing, relentless hour of sensory saturation. Every cartoon sequence she had used to pass the time was now a physical weight pressing her deeper into the floor. The code... the key... she thought desperately, trying to clutch at the details before the hour ended and they were overwritten. Garage... 4-0-9-2. Hallway drawer... second drawer... spare key. The cartoon bear pointed back to his blank block. Blue, the soothing voice echoed from the speakers. The square is blue. The visual rhythm of the bear’s finger, combined with the low-frequency hum, tore into the secondary memory layers where she had been storing the transit data. She watched in absolute horror as the mental map of the city—the 402 bus, the 409, the transfer station at the plaza—lifted off the floor of her mind and began to float away, dissolving like wet ink under a spray of water. She clawed at the fading bus numbers, trying to pin them down, but they were being systematically scrubbed, replaced by the vibrant, meaningless primary colors of the cartoon. When the tape finally clicked off at the end of the hour, returning the room to a dull, gray static, the physical paralysis lifted instantly. But Chloe didn’t jump up. She couldn’t. Her respiratory system took a long, ragged, shuddering breath. Don’t ask. Don’t ask for more. But her body wasn’t listening. The reflex that had kept her safe for two months—the trained desperation to beg for a second viewing, the calculated performance to keep Margaret satisfied and prevent her from seeking other tapes—fired before her conscious mind could override it. “Again,” Chloe heard her own voice blurt out, the words small, urgent, and perfectly lisped. “Again, Mommy. P’ease, again.” A scream built in her throat, but her face smiled. She had just handed Margaret the weapon that would destroy her. Margaret, who had been reading a magazine on the sofa, looked up with a delighted, glowing smile. “Oh, my sweet girl! You really do love your Rainbow Friends today, don’t you? Of course we can watch it again.” Margaret reached for the VCR and hit the rewind button. The machine whirred to life with a mechanical, high-pitched whine as the tape spooled backward. To Chloe, the sound was a terrifying countdown. She sat paralyzed on the cushion, her mind screaming against the heavy, invisible weight holding her down, forced to listen to the machine reset. I have the code and the key, she thought, a small, cold spark of victory amidst the encroaching fog. Everything I need, the tape didn’t affect me. I am still here. With a heavy clack, the tape stopped. Margaret pressed play. Inside the locked room of Chloe’s mind, the water began to rise. She began to scream, but the television screen flared back to life, and the pulsing, vibrant arcs of the Rainbow instantly swallowed the sound for another hour. She sat behind her own eyes like a passenger in a car whose driver had just fallen asleep. Chapter Five: The Glitch The next morning, the walls of her mind were starting to leak. Chloe lay in her crib, staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to build a barrier around her remaining thoughts before Margaret came in. The consecutive hours of viewing from the day before had left a thick, oily residue over her consciousness, like a film she couldn’t scrub away. I am Chloe Mitchell, she told herself, her internal voice sounding slightly echoey, as if it were traveling down a long hallway. I am twenty-four years old. I have a car. A Honda. A silver Honda. But when she tried to picture herself driving, her feet wouldn’t reach the pedals. Her legs were too short. In her mind’s eye, her physical control felt utterly broken. She wasn’t gripping a leather steering wheel; she was sitting in a plastic car with yellow wheels, her arms feeling heavy and clumsy, pushing her feet against the carpet and making engine noises with her mouth, just like Penny the Penguin waddling clumsily on the screen. “Vroom, vroom,” a small voice whispered inside her head. She clapped her hands over her ears, terrified to realize that the voice hadn’t come from the television. It had come from her. The door opened, and Margaret walked in carrying a fresh set of clothes. “Good morning, sweetie! Look, Mommy got you your favorite pink romper with the little duckies on it.” Chloe looked at the romper. A week ago, the sight of it would have filled her with a cold, sharp disgust. Now, as her eyes locked onto the pattern of the little yellow cartoon ducks beneath a printed rainbow background, a strange, warm sensation hummed in her chest. A feeling of profound, simple familiarity. The duckies are nice, a thought floated to the surface of her mind. No, they aren’t! her intellect fought back, a frantic, dying soldier slamming against the walls. Margaret set the clothes down, lifted Chloe from the crib and carried her to the changing table. I didn’t wet myself, Chloe realized with a jolt. For two months, she had never missed her deliberate morning performance. It was the first thing she did upon waking—the proof that her adult mind was still holding the levers of her body. But this morning, she had woken and simply... not thought about it. The ritual had slipped away, erased by the fog while she slept. As Margaret unfastened the pink romper, Chloe looked down. Her breath caught in her throat. The diaper wasn’t dry like she expected. There was a distinct, heavy dampness pooling through the core, and the blue indicator line had already begun to bleed. When did that happen? she thought, confusion cutting through the fog. I didn’t do that. I didn’t do my morning release. She stared at the darkening indicator line. She couldn’t remember when it had happened. She couldn’t even feel the dampness now. I forgot, she realized, a cold dread settling into her stomach. I forgot to wet myself on purpose. But I still wet myself anyway. Why does it matter? a tiny, soft thought drifted up from the base of her brain, catching her completely off guard. It’s just a diaper. That’s what it’s for. It keeps you warm. Chloe shook her head violently against the changing mat, trying to drown the thought out. No! It matters because I am twenty-four! It matters because I am a human being! But the soft voice was persistent, muffled by the sweet smell of baby powder. But it’s easier this way. You don’t have to think about it anymore. The duck doesn’t think about it. “Ducky,” her mouth said, completely overriding her panic as her fingers reached for the pattern on her fresh romper. The intellect was still there, but the territory it controlled was shrinking by the minute. “That’s right, sweetheart! It’s a ducky romper,” Margaret cooed, snapping the plastic fasteners between Chloe’s legs. Don’t ask for the tape, Chloe commanded herself, a desperate surge of resistance cutting through the fog. Don’t give her the cue. Just stay quiet. Keep your mouth shut. Maybe she’ll forget. Margaret carried her to the high chair and spooned oatmeal into her mouth. Chloe ate in silence, her jaw tight, her lips pressed together. She refused to form the words. She refused to play along. When the bowl was empty, Margaret lifted her down. “Alright, sweetie! Let’s get you to the living room for some playtime.” Chloe crawled to the floor cushion. She picked up a block. The television was dark. The VCR sat silent. She forced her eyes down to her blocks. Nine days left, she told herself, the number a sharp, rhythmic anchor in her mind. Her eyes darted to the dark screen, checking. Still dark. Still off. The supply delivery is in nine days. The garage code is 4-0-9-2. She couldn’t stop looking. The television was a threat, a sleeping predator, and her eyes kept returning to it, tracking it, waiting for the moment it would flare to life. Margaret moved through the house, tidying, humming. She noticed the way Chloe’s head kept turning toward the television, the anxious glances, the tension in her small shoulders. “She really does love her show, doesn’t she?” Margaret murmured to herself, a warm smile spreading across her face. She walked over to the television and pressed play. Chloe’s heart plummeted. The fragile hope gutted out. “Here we go, sweetheart,” Margaret said, her voice gentle and full of love. “Mommy knows you’ve been waiting for this. I’ll start the show while I make lunch.” Chloe wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out, No! I wasn’t waiting! I was watching to make sure it didn’t start! But her mouth wouldn’t form the words. Her jaw was locked. The VCR whirred. The tape engaged with a heavy, metallic thud. The screen flared to life. The Rainbow appeared. The colors pulsed. The song began. Chloe didn’t even try to command her neck to turn. Her head was already sinking into the plush floor cushion, her left thumb sliding home into her mouth like a key into a lock. Nine days, she thought one last time. 4-0-9-2. But the numbers were already blurring at the edges. Inside her mind, the vault of her watertight bunker was flooding faster now. She was standing on her tiptoes, the water rising past her chin, staring out through the keyhole as her own eyes turned back to the screen, entirely captivated by the strobing, beautiful lines of the Rainbow, wearing a wide, glassy, and completely unforced smile. Chapter Six: The Cracks The cracks began in the silent, mathematical spaces of her mind. Day Three. Chloe lay in her crib, staring at the ceiling tiles, trying to calculate the seconds in an hour. It was a defense mechanism she had used since the first week—a way to force the sharp, cold architecture of her adult brain to stay online. Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. Sixty times sixty is... The calculation took agonizing seconds. It used to be instantaneous, a casual spark of her intellect. Now, the math felt like pushing furniture through a narrow, muddy doorway. She managed to drag the numbers into line—three thousand, six hundred—but the effort left a dull, throbbing ache behind her eyes. Panic, small but sharp, flared in her chest. Think. Keep it sharp. She looked down at the wooden blocks on the floor. Eight days left, she reminded herself. The code is 4-0-9-2. She repeated the sequence like a frantic prayer, desperately trying to anchor the digits to their physical meanings. Four is the hallway drawer. Zero is the lock. Nine is the garage. Two is the street. She still had the map, but the lines were thinning. When she caught herself humming the Rainbow’s theme song while Margaret spooned oatmeal into her mouth, she choked on the mush, stopping instantly. But the damage was done—the melody was already under her skin, a low-frequency hum vibrating against the walls of her mind. I need to find a way to destroy the tape. The word destroy felt heavy, foreign, and strangely violent. The Rainbow didn’t like violence. The Rainbow liked sharing and napping and soft, quiet things. She pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw stars, fighting the soft, comforting thoughts. Think. Think like an adult. The adult voice was still there, but it sounded distant now, like a phone call from another country with a bad connection. She could barely make out the words. By the time she’d finished the thought, she’d forgotten why it mattered. Day Four. She woke with the taste of the Rainbow’s song on her tongue. She looked at her hands. Ten fingers. That was still easy. But when she tried to multiply 10 by 24, the numbers blurred into static. Two hundred... something. She couldn’t find the number. It was just gone. Her prefrontal cortex seemed to freeze entirely. A sickening wave of vertigo bloomed if she pushed too hard. The numbers 4-0-9-2 still came when she called for them, but she had to reach deep into the fog to drag them up. They didn’t feel like a security bypass anymore. They were losing their mechanical weight, starting to sound less like a security code and more like a rhythmic, meaningless chant. Margaret came in with a plastic sippy cup of apple juice. Chloe took it with both hands, her fingers fumbling clumsily around the handles. You used to drink from glasses, the distant adult voice whispered. Real glasses. Thin stems. An image of a wine glass floated up, elegant and clear. But when she tried to hold it in her mind, her mental fingers couldn’t grip the memory. It kept sliding off, replaced by the thick, undeniable reality of the plastic cup in her hands. Juice dribbled down her chin. She didn’t wipe it away. She didn’t even notice. Seven days left, she whispered internally. When Margaret carried her to the floor cushion and pressed play, the television screen flared to life with that blinding, mathematically precise strobing sequence. The giant neon Rainbow arched across the digital field, its vibrant stripes vibrating with an intensity that caught Chloe’s pupils and held them fast. She sat with her legs splayed in a clumsy V, her left thumb sliding into her mouth with a deep, automatic comfort. On the outside, her face relaxed into a wide, glassy smile, entirely captivated by the singing lines of the screen. Inside the vault of her skull, the water was rising higher, and the blueprints of her adult intelligence were slowly starting to detach from the floor. Chapter Seven: The Last Stand Day Five. She woke in the dark. Chloe’s eyes were wide, staring fixedly into the shadows above her crib. Inside her chest, the raw, desperate remnant of her adult survival instinct was hammering violently against her ribs. The watertight bunker of her mind holding firm one last time. Moonlight bled through the curtains, painting silver stripes across the crib rails. She lay completely still, listening. Through the walls, the quiet, rhythmic, heavy breathing of Margaret’s deep sleep drifted from the master bedroom. The house was settling with slow, agonizing creaks. There was no television playing. There were no flashing colors. The environment was silent, offering her a fragile, final window of clarity. This is your chance, her adult self hissed. Move. Slowly, deliberately, Chloe threw back her pastel-pink blanket. As she shifted to sit up, she instantly felt the damp weight gathered between her thighs. Her nighttime diaper was already slightly wet. And she could feel the same warm flood beginning to pour into the vault of her skull. Just reach the hallway. Get to the keypad. Her hands gripped the top rail of the crib. The wood was smooth and cold under her fingers. She pulled herself up—or tried to. Her arms trembled violently. The clinical frequencies of the tape had done their work with terrifying speed over the last few days; the motor pathways that had once hoisted her body weight without thought now felt like wet rope. She managed to get her knees under her, but her coordination was shot. Her left foot slipped, the shifting weight of her damp padding throwing off her balance entirely. She lunged for the rail again, hooking her elbow over the top. For a moment she hung there, her body half over the edge, the floor three feet below. Her arms screamed with the effort. The cold night air rushed against her bare legs. She could see the carpet, the shadows of the furniture, the dim rectangle of the door. So close. Just a little more. She swung her right leg over the rail. The wood dug into her thigh. She was straddling the crib now, the mattress beneath her, the floor waiting below. One more push and she would be free. Then her grip failed. She tumbled backward, landing hard on the mattress with a muffled whump. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, panting. Try again. You have to. She sat up, her head spinning. The Rainbow’s song was there, lurking at the edges of her consciousness—not loud, but present, like a radio playing in another room. She shook her head fiercely, trying to dislodge it. She reached for the rail a third time. Her fingers closed around the wood. She pulled. And stopped. For a split second, she couldn’t remember why she was climbing. The thought sat in her head like a word on the tip of her tongue. Why am I doing this? Where am I going? The Rainbow’s colors flickered behind her eyes. Pretty colors. Safe colors. The sticky fog was pouring through the breaches now, flooding the dry, structured spaces of her thoughts. Why would she want to leave the crib? The crib was soft. The crib was warm. Mommy would come soon and change her diaper and give her breakfast. The Rainbow was on the television. The Rainbow was waiting. No! she snarled internally, digging her nails into the wood. You’re an adult. Get out. She hauled herself up, getting one leg over the rail. But as she squeezed her core to pivot, her lower abdomen gave out entirely. The intense physical strain triggered a raw somatic reflex. Without her consent, a fresh, warm flood poured rapidly into her padding, the sudden weight sagging heavily toward the mattress. The total failure of her basic biological autonomy broke her remaining focus like a physical blow. Let go, the song whispered. Let go and sleep. Mommy will be here in the morning. “No,” she breathed, but the word came out slurred, wet, almost a whimper. She lay there, sobbing silently, her thumb drifting toward her mouth before she batted it away. The code, she thought desperately. I need the code. 4... 0... 9? The third number stuck. Nine or Eight? She strained against the fog, trying to force the image to clarify. The number 9 was there, but as she reached for it, it warped in her mind, losing its sharp angles and transforming into something soft and round. A balloon. A red balloon, floating away into a bright blue sky. No! She squeezed her eyes shut, digging her nails into her palms. That’s not right. The number is 9. It’s 9. She tried to gather the remaining digits—4-0-? the question mark grew larger, swallowing the space where the third number should be. The garage, she thought. You need the code for the garage. Her thumb drifted toward her mouth again. The numbers scattered like startled birds. She tried to gather them, but they were gone—not forgotten, but unreachable, locked behind a wall of static and primary colors. How many days left? she thought, clawing for the count. Six? Seven? She couldn’t remember. The number had been there this morning—she was sure of it—but now it was just a hole in her memory, a missing stair. The realization was a cold stone in her chest. She was twenty-four years old, and she had lost control of her own body and her own mind. She was trapped not by locks, but by her own failing flesh. The Rainbow’s song grew louder in the silence. She didn’t have the strength to push it back. Tomorrow, she told herself, the fog closing in. I’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll remember tomorrow. But even as she thought it, she knew tomorrow would be worse. Tomorrow her arms would be weaker. Tomorrow her mind would be foggier. Tomorrow she might not remember why the crib rails mattered at all. She closed her eyes. The Rainbow arched across the inside of her eyelids, red and orange and yellow, pulsing gently to the rhythm of her slowing heart. When Margaret came in at dawn, Chloe was curled in the corner of the crib, her thumb in her mouth, her diaper soaked through, her eyes wide and empty. She didn’t remember waking up. She didn’t remember trying to climb. Four something, she thought vaguely. Something about four. The attempt was already a ghost, dissolving into the warm, creeping fog. Chapter Eight: The Drift The days didn’t blur anymore; they dissolved. The water inside the vault of her skull was still, deep, and dark, drowning out the sharp, cold architecture that had once defined her. What remained of the watertight bunker was crumbling under the immense pressure, the sticky, colorful fog settling into a thick layer of silt at the bottom. Day Six. Margaret sat on the floor opposite her, smiling encouragingly. “Can you build a big tower for Mommy, Chloe? Show me how big you can make it.” Chloe reached out, her thick fingers tracing the smooth wooden edges. She wet herself while stacking the blocks. Not during the tape. Not during sleep. Just... sitting there, playing, her bladder letting go without warning or resistance. The padding absorbed the moisture without her mind ever registering the event or signaling any resistance. She didn’t look down. She didn’t care. The warmth spread slowly, comfortably, and the warmth felt... nice. It was just a distant, uninteresting reality, like the texture of the carpet beneath her knees. She placed a red cube down. Then a blue one on top of it. It tilted. She tried to balance a yellow triangle on the peak, but her clumsy hand jerked, and the tower collapsed with a loud clack. A sharp spike of frustration whined in her chest. Margaret quickly cooed, leaning forward to soothe her. “Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. Building is hard work for a little girl. Such a good girl!” How many days? she wondered, the thought surfacing briefly as Margaret patted her knee. She couldn’t remember. There had been a count—she knew there had been a count—but it was gone, erased like chalk from a board. She was supposed to wait for something. A delivery? A door? She gave up looking. The effort was too much. For a split second, a faint, tiny echo of an old thought tried to spark a feeling of shame. You’re wetting yourself. You’re an adult sitting on a floor mat wetting yourself. Fight it. But the thought was slippery, the words adult and shame completely meaningless tools she no longer understood how to lift. The horror dissolved into static before it could even form. She just smiled, nodding in rhythm with the background hum of the TV, completely blank to the heavy, darkening indicator line on her diaper. Soon she was just sitting in her wet padding, picking up the red block again to chew on the painted corner, wondering why she had ever thought about holding anything in at all. It’s just a diaper, the Rainbow’s voice seemed to say. That’s what it’s for. She nodded, though no one had spoken. The nodding felt right. Day Seven. She dreamed in primary colors. The Rainbow arched over everything—her childhood home, her college dorm, the car she used to drive. In the dream, she tried to tell someone that she was an adult, but when she opened her mouth, only quacks came out. When she woke, she shifted heavily in her crib, the fabric of her pastel blanket rough against her cheek. The diaper beneath her was saturated from the night, a thick, sagging weight she no longer tried to register or understand. Her mind simply ignored the sensory input, totally disconnected from her own biology. She felt only a vague sense of relief; her body had done what it did, the padding had caught it, and soon she would be made clean and dry. Reaching out, her thick, uncoordinated fingers bumped into a bright plastic rattle left at the corner of the mattress. She closed her hand around the handle, lifting it into the morning light and shaking it. Clack-clack-clack. A part of her—the old part, the thin ghost standing at the very bottom of the silt—knew that lying in a wet crib shaking a toy was a terrible, humiliating defeat. But the rest of her body didn’t care. The sound was nice. The color was bright. A deep, heavy wave of simple satisfaction washed over her as she shook it again, listening to the rhythmic clicking fill the quiet room. “Look at you playing so nicely!” Margaret’s voice came from somewhere high up, leaning over the tall wooden rails of the crib. A large, warm hand descended toward the mattress and stroked Chloe’s pigtails. “Mommy is so proud of her good little girl.” Chloe’s head tilted back. Her lips parted. She didn’t want to smile, but the muscles in her face were soft and loose, pulling her mouth open into a wide, trusting grin. “Mommy,” her mouth said. The word felt good in her throat. It was simple. It didn’t require her to think about vowels or consonants or grammar. Mommy meant food. Mommy meant the soft blanket. Mommy meant the warm, dry feeling that always came after the heavy padding was taken away. Day Eight. She spent the morning tracing the pattern of her pastel blanket, her fingers moving with a heavy, clumsy slowness. When she tried to remember what day it was, her mind slipped on the thought like wet soap. The passage of time had lost its sharp edges, flattening into a single, continuous present. After Margaret finished spooning the warm porridge into her mouth, she carried Chloe straight to the floor cushion. The morning sun was still low, cutting sharp lines through the blinds, but the world outside the glowing glass had already faded to a gray blur. Across the bottom of the television screen, a row of bold, black shapes stood out against the vibrant, neon field of the sing-along. A vivid pink ball began to hop playfully from one character to the next. Read them, a faint, microscopic ghost whispered, trapped somewhere dark and deep. You know what those are. Read them. Chloe blinked, her eyes tracking the bouncing ball. She stared at the text. A week ago, her eyes would have instantly translated the symbols into language, syllables, meaning. Now, her brain experienced complete, flat analphabetism. The letters didn’t form words. They were just jagged, meaningless squiggles—black lines that looked like little fences or crooked sticks. She tried to focus on the first shape. She knew it was a letter, but the meaning wouldn’t come. She knew she should feel frustrated, but the feeling wouldn’t form. Just a distant echo, fading into the warm, colored fog. The bouncing ball hopped to the next stick. Then the next. The lyrics were completely dead to her. But as the cartoon characters began to vocalize, a deep, automatic reflex sparked in Chloe’s throat. The audio frequencies had carved a direct channel into her primitive, mimicking brain. She didn’t need the letters. She began to sing along with the rainbow. “The... rain-bow... lines... go... round... and... round...” she echoed aloud. The words came out perfectly slurred, a soft, wet lisp that bypassed her intellect entirely. She wasn’t consciously choosing to speak; her vocal cords were simply vibrating in perfect sync with the television. She swayed her torso from side to side, her hands clapping together in a rhythmic pattern that matched the bouncing ball. Somewhere deep beneath the silt, the tiny, fading ghost of her adult self tried to reach for the thread of who she used to be. It was so exhausting to keep holding on, so tiring to fight a current that had already swept her away. I’ll fight tomorrow, she told herself. But this time, she knew tomorrow would never come. Beneath her, the continuous, automatic flow carried on, soaking into the thick padding. She didn’t freeze. She didn’t blink. She sat deep inside her own chest now, looking out through the round windows of her eyes—a quiet passenger watching a toddler live her life. The water in the vault was over her head now, and she had finally stopped trying to swim. Chapter Nine: The New Baseline Jenna visited again on a Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t told Margaret she was coming. She needed to verify the work herself—to ensure the clinical-grade recalibration had fully settled the neural pathways and eliminated the deceptive, exhausting performance Chloe had been putting on. Margaret opened the door with a radiant, peaceful smile. “Jenna! Oh, what a wonderful surprise. Come in, come in. You won’t believe the difference.” Jenna stepped into the foyer, looking around. The house had been completely transformed into a functional nursery. The hallway drawers where the keys used to sit were now secured with white plastic cabinet latches. The digital keypad by the garage was covered by a childproof plastic shield. And in the center of the living room, sitting on a plush, quilted play mat, was Chloe. She was wearing a heavy red velvet romper with duck patterns stamped across the chest. Her hair was tied into two neat pigtails with elastic ribbons. A pink pacifier hung from a plastic clip on her collar, but she wasn’t using it; her left thumb was buried deep in her mouth, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely serene as she watched the screen. On the television, Rainbow Clover Friends was playing. The cheap, repetitive music filled the room, but the colors were stable now—the specialist tape had done its heavy lifting over the first week, and the daily viewings were now just a maintenance routine to keep the new baseline locked in. “Chloe, sweetheart,” Margaret called out gently, kneeling by the edge of the mat. “Look who’s here. Can you say hi to Auntie Jenna?” Chloe turned her head slowly. Jenna knelt on the hardwood beside the mat, watching her closely. She didn’t look for signs of panic or silent distress; she looked for the tension. For two months, Chloe had been tight, rigid, her eyes tracking left-to-right with a defensive analytical calculation that must have been agonizing to maintain day after day. Now, there was none of it. Chloe’s spine was a soft, natural curve. Her shoulders were relaxed and slouched forward, perfectly matching the top-heavy physics of Penny the Penguin. When she reached out for a plastic rattle, her hand fumbled, dropping it once, twice, her fingers moving with slow, uncoordinated movements before she finally gathered it up. As Chloe shifted her weight to reach for a plush rabbit, a faint, distinct rustle of heavy, saturated plastic echoed from beneath her red velvet dress. Her diaper was incredibly dense, sagging with a deep, effortless wetness that she hadn’t even registered—hadn’t felt the need to register—for hours. Something tugged at the back of Chloe’s mind. A number. A count. She had been counting something—days, maybe—and that number had been tied to a face. Gray eyes. A sharp smile. This face. The thought surfaced, soft and shapeless, then sank again. She couldn’t hold it. The Rainbow was singing, and the numbers had dissolved into color long ago. But something felt... finished. Like a clock that had run down. Chloe pulled her wet thumb from her mouth with a tiny pop. “Hi, Auntie,” she lisped, her voice perfectly round, the consonants naturally blurred by her tongue. She waved a clumsy hand, her fingers splayed wide in a loose gesture that lacked any adult motor control, mimicking the cartoon animals on the screen. Jenna felt a profound, warm wave of relief wash over her chest. A genuine smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Hello, Chloe. What are you watching?” Chloe pointed a sticky finger at the screen, where the bright, vibrant arcs of the neon Rainbow filled the frame, glowing softly over the sea of digital clovers. “Wainbow,” Chloe said happily, a genuine, uncomplicated giggle bubbling up from her chest. “Wainbow is big. Wainbow is pretty. Ducky go quack-quack. Wainbow says... Wainbow says sharing is nice.” “She’s been like this for three weeks,” Margaret whispered, her eyes shining with tears of absolute gratitude, looking up at her sister. “No more tantrums. No more of that strange, anxious staring she used to do. It’s like the routine finally just clicked, Jenna. The tape just needed time to sink in.” “Yes,” Jenna said, her voice soft, a heavy weight lifting off her shoulders. “It worked perfectly.” Jenna looked back at Chloe, who had already returned her attention to the bright, singing colors on the screen. It had been the right choice to switch the tape. Chloe had spent so long trapped in a cage of her own making, fighting a desperate, exhausting war to pretend she was something she wasn’t. The high-frequency audio and enhanced colors hadn’t destroyed her; they had freed her. They had stripped away the heavy armor of her adult anxieties and allowed her to finally just be—to accept her reality without the exhausting weight of acting. Margaret finally had a real little girl, and Chloe finally had peace. “Would you like to hold her?” Margaret asked, reaching down to lift Chloe from the mat. “She loves cuddles now. She’s so sweet.” “I’d love to,” Jenna said. As Margaret handed her over, Chloe let her head drop heavily onto Jenna’s shoulder, her small arms wrapping around her neck with absolute, unforced devotion. Her body felt soft, warm, and perfectly relaxed, entirely free of the old resistance. She smelled of baby powder and sweet oatmeal. “Love you, Auntie,” Chloe murmured, her eyelids drooping with a sudden, toddler-like sleepiness as she tucked her face into the crook of Jenna’s neck. “Love you too, sweet girl,” Jenna whispered, gently patting the crinkling padding of Chloe’s diaper. She looked past Chloe’s head at Margaret, who was smiling warmly, the picture of a fulfilled mother. The family was whole. The lies were gone. Jenna knew that when she walked out to her car, she wouldn’t think of the old, defective tape she had destroyed weeks ago without a single shred of regret. It was just a relic of a stressful past that they had all successfully left behind. She closed her eyes, rocking the sleeping child in her arms, listening to the gentle, happy music of the television filling the quiet, perfect home. Somewhere beneath the warm fog, a drowned woman looked up through the dark water, watching the surface disappear entirely. She didn't fight it. She didn't reach for it. The only sound that drifted up into the room was a soft, sleepy murmur: “Wainbow.” End *******************************************************************************************************************

Short Synopsis / Teaser A powerful man discovers that surrender can be more intoxicating than control. David has built his life on authority—career, marriage, reputation—but beneath the surface lies a quiet fracture he can no longer ignore. When his wife Carolyn introduces a solution that promises comfort, relief, and stability, David finds himself pulled into a carefully guided transformation where shame, desire, and devotion intertwine. As routines become rituals and comfort turns into identity, David slowly gives way to Daisy—a softer, smaller self shaped by dependency, feminization, and the intoxicating relief of letting go. What begins as a private coping mechanism evolves into something far more consuming, testing the boundaries of love, power, consent, and selfhood. The Making of a Sissy Baby Cuckold is a slow-burn psychological descent into erotic surrender, where intimacy is redefined, control is inverted, and the line between nurture and manipulation blurs until it disappears entirely. Author’s Note / Content Warning Author’s Note While I used the assistance of AI to fully develop this story, it is mainly my own work of fiction aided by AI to help bring in background information and streamline the writing and ideas. Hence, I am posting in this section rather than the main storyboard location. This story explores intense psychological and erotic themes centered on power exchange, identity erosion, and consensual (but morally complex) manipulation within an adult relationship. It is intended for mature readers who are comfortable engaging with dark, transformative fantasies that challenge conventional ideas of masculinity, autonomy, and desire. Content Warning This work contains adult-only material (18+), including but not limited to: BDSM and power-exchange dynamics Erotic humiliation and degradation Adult infantilization (ABDL themes) Feminization and gender role transformation Psychological conditioning and hypnosis themes Sexual denial, dependency, and cuckoldry Unequal power dynamics within a marriage Emotional manipulation presented as consensual fantasy All characters are consenting adults, and no minors are involved. Readers who may find these themes disturbing, triggering, or objectionable are strongly advised to skip this work. This story is a work of fiction designed to explore taboo fantasies and psychological descent—not to advocate or normalize real-world coercion or harm. I am also attaching a PDF file of the story here The Making of a Sissy Baby Cuckold (©Daveaby 2026) Prologue (October 21, 2025, 1:30 a.m.) The nursery glowed a soft, merciless pink. A locking crib dominated the room—adult-sized, glossy white rails rising like prison bars. Inside, a 48-year-old man lay on his back, thick pink diaper printed with princesses already swollen and sagging heavily between his spread thighs. The plastic backing had warmed to his skin hours ago; every small shift produced a faint, wet squish that echoed in the quiet. Daisy—no longer David, not tonight—wore a short, frilly nightie in baby-pink chiffon that barely skimmed the diaper’s waistband. Satin booties encased his feet; a massive ribbon bow sat crooked in his thinning curls. His hands were sealed inside padded locking mittens, thumbs useless, wrists and ankles tethered to the crib rails in soft padded leather restraints. Between his lips bobbed a penis-shaped pacifier, secured by a ribbon so he could never spit it out. Worst—or best—of all was the baby monitor. Reversed. The receiver sat on the dresser beside the crib; the transmitter lived in the master bedroom down the hall. From it poured the unmistakable sounds of his wife—his Mommy—being thoroughly, gloriously fucked. Moans, gasps, the rhythmic creak of their old bed, Marcus’s low growls of possession. Carolyn’s voice, raw and desperate in a way Daisy had never heard directed at him: “Yes… God, yes… harder…” Daisy’s tiny clitty strained uselessly against the soaked gel, tenting the front of the diaper in a pathetic bulge the restraints wouldn’t let him touch. Tears slipped silently into the satin pillowcase. Morning—and whatever mercy or torment Carolyn chose to grant—was still hours away. This was the life he had begged for. This was the life he could never leave. Chapter 1: The First Wet Night Carolyn was forty-three, tall, auburn-haired, and still turning heads at the country club. Ten years of marriage to David had not dulled her beauty, but it had dulled everything else. David—forty-four, senior partner at a downtown law firm, broad-shouldered once upon a time—had let the courtroom stress and the after-work bourbon settle around his middle. His once-confident baritone now carried a slight wheeze after two drinks, and in bed he lasted less than two minutes on a good night. Carolyn had stopped counting the nights she lay awake beside him, thighs clenched in frustration, pretending to sleep so he wouldn’t paw at her again. She loved the house, the cars, the vacations, the platinum card with no limit. Divorce would mean losing all of it, and worse—gossip, loneliness, starting over. Affairs were out of the question; David had an airtight pre-nuptial agreement and friends in every judge’s chamber in the county. She needed a solution that kept the money and destroyed the problem at the same time. That solution arrived in the shape of her oldest friend, Linda. Linda was a clinical psychiatrist and hypnotherapist with a discreet practice on the north side of the city. Petite, dark-haired, always dressed in flowing black, she possessed a calm, almost amused authority that made people obey before they realized they had decided to. On Saturday they sat on Carolyn’s sun-drenched patio—Linda with a glass of rosé, Carolyn with tall glasses of peach iced tea (she never touched alcohol)—and Carolyn poured out her misery. “I’m dying inside, Linda. I need real sex, and I need to not feel guilty about it. But I can’t leave him and I can’t cheat without destroying everything.” Linda listened, swirling her glass, then smiled like someone unveiling a gift. “There’s another way,” she said. “I’ve seen it work. We take away the man he thinks he is. We make him small. Dependent. Grateful. We put him back in diapers, turn his tiny premature ejaculations into something he can only feel when he’s padded and helpless. And once he’s hooked on that helplessness, he will give you permission—out loud—to take a real man. He’ll beg for it eventually. I’ve read the case studies.” Carolyn’s pulse hammered. “You’re serious.” “Completely. I’ll handle the hypnosis. You just play the loving, heartbroken wife who’s trying to help with his ‘little problem.’ He’ll never suspect. The suggestions take time to root—days, sometimes a week or two. Be patient.” They shook hands like business partners. Three nights later Linda arrived for what David thought was a casual dinner. David liked Linda—she flattered him, kept his bourbon coming, and laughed at his war stories. But, since last year, he was always a little nervous when Linda was around as well. By ten he was loose, laughing a bit too loud, and bragging about a case he’d just won. Carolyn watched Linda’s fingers move—a subtle circle on the stem of her glass, a soft hum under the music. David’s eyelids sagged. His head nodded. “David,” Linda said gently, “look at my pendant.” The silver chain appeared between her fingers as if by magic. David’s gaze locked on it. Thirty seconds later his chin rested on his chest, breathing slow and deep. Carolyn’s heart hammered as Linda leaned close to her husband’s ear. “David, every night when you’re asleep and you feel the need to urinate, you will simply relax and let it flow. You will not wake up. You will not remember this instruction. You will feel safe and warm as you wet the bed. And whenever you hear me say the words ‘lawyer’s rest,’ you will return to this deep, obedient state instantly. Do you understand?” A low “Yes” rumbled from his throat. “Good boy.” Linda snapped her fingers. David blinked, straightened, and reached for his bourbon as if nothing had happened. That night Carolyn barely slept. Guilt gnawed at her—what kind of wife agreed to this? She almost called Linda at 2 a.m. to beg her to come back and undo it. But anticipation won. She lay awake, imagining David small and grateful, imagining herself finally, truly satisfied. Yet even as excitement overrode her doubts, a whisper lingered: Was this truly helping him, or just reshaping him for her own needs? The hypnosis felt like a shortcut—clever, but was it fair? She pushed it down, focusing on the vision of a grateful, dependent David, but the unease seeded deep. Morning came. The bed was dry. Carolyn felt a confusing rush of relief and disappointment. Maybe it hadn’t worked. Maybe the whole idea was foolish. She almost laughed at herself for believing in hypnosis. The next night: still dry. And the next. By the end of the week, she had convinced herself nothing would happen. Linda had been wrong. They would find another way—or no way at all. Then, nine nights after the dinner, David woke at dawn to the clammy reek of urine-soaked sheets. He shot upright, heart pounding. The bed was drenched. He hadn’t wet the bed since he was eleven years old—those humiliating childhood years he had buried deep. Terror flooded him. He stripped the sheets in a panic, started the washer on hot, and showered until his skin was raw. Too much bourbon the night before, he told himself. That had to be it. He cut out alcohol entirely the next night, avoided liquids after eight, even set an alarm to get up and pee at 3 a.m. like he used to do as a kid. It happened again. And again. By the third consecutive morning of soaked sheets, David was shaking. He made an appointment with his urologist, endured the tests, the questions, the humiliation of explaining adult-onset bedwetting to a doctor who had known him for twenty years. The tests were thorough and humiliating: urine samples, blood work, a prostate exam that left him red-faced and sore. The urologist, a no-nonsense man in his sixties, listened with a furrowed brow. "Sudden onset enuresis in adults is rare," he said, "but we'll rule out the big things—infection, diabetes, neurological issues." David nodded, gripping the exam table, his mind flashing unbidden to the thought of needing to wear diapers, the strange mix of shame and... something else. No, he pushed the thought away. This was medical, not whatever twisted corner of his brain was trying to make it otherwise. As they drove home in silence, Carolyn glanced at David, his face etched with worry. The plan was working—too well, perhaps. Linda's suggestions were burrowing deep, but what if he discovered the truth? The ethical twinge returned: manipulating his mind, even for 'his own good,' felt like a betrayal. But seeing him small and reliant stirred something powerful in her—control, yes, but also a twisted care. She silenced the doubt; happiness awaited, for both of them. Results came back two days later: negative across the board. No infections, no tumors, no blockages. "Physically, you're fine," the doctor said over the phone. "Could be psychological—stress from work, maybe? Consider seeing a therapist. In the meantime, protection at night isn't a bad idea until it resolves. Adult diapers work fine." David hung up, staring at his office wall. Fine? How could he be fine when he was wetting the bed like a child every night? That afternoon he drove to a large, impersonal medical supply store on the edge of town—one he’d never been to, far from anyone who might recognize him. The aisles smelled of plastic and antiseptic. Most of the adult briefs were plain white or beige, clinical and anonymous. But tucked on the lower shelves, mixed in with the maximum-absorbency tab-style briefs, were a few options that made his stomach flip: subtle blue or green waistbands, faint star patterns, even a few with tiny teddy-bear prints along the landing zone—nothing overtly childish, just enough “cute” to feel wrong in an adult man’s cart. He stared at the printed ones longer than he should have. A distant memory flickered—something from college, something he’d buried deep—and heat rushed to his face. No. He grabbed two cases of the thickest plain white overnight briefs instead, paid quickly, and hid them in the trunk until Carolyn was at the club. That evening he told her about the doctor visit, voice tight with shame. “They said protection at night. Until it stops.” Carolyn’s eyes widened with sympathy she didn’t have to fake. “You mean… diapers?” He flushed crimson. “Yeah. Just for sleeping.” She touched his arm. “Let me help you the first time. I want to make sure they fit right.” He wanted to argue, to tape it on alone and pretend it wasn’t happening. But her tone left no room. In their bedroom he lay back like a child while she slid the thick padding under him, powdered him slowly, and taped it snug. The bulk forced his thighs apart; the crinkle was deafening in the quiet room. “There,” she whispered, patting the front. “My big strong lawyer, safe and dry.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. That night he lay rigid, listening to every rustle. At some point he drifted off. When he woke at dawn, the sheets were pristine. The diaper was not. Heavy, sagging, warm, it clung to him like a second skin. He reached down with a trembling hand and felt the sodden weight. A strange, liquid shame coursed through him—followed by a pulse of something darker, something almost like relief. In the bathroom mirror he caught a glimpse of himself: forty-four years old, successful, rich, powerful—and standing in a soaked diaper. Behind him, Carolyn leaned in the doorway, smiling softly. “Good morning, baby,” she said. “See? Problem solved.” And somewhere deep in David’s mind, a tiny voice whispered that this was only the beginning. Chapter 2: Learning to Love the Warmth Linda came over on a quiet Thursday afternoon while David was still at the office. She and Carolyn sat at the kitchen island with herbal tea and spoke in low, conspiratorial voices. “The trick,” Linda explained, “is to wire his pleasure directly to the diaper itself. Every morning, he wakes up wet and ashamed. That shame is fertile ground. You give him the only orgasm he’s allowed, and you give it to him while he’s soaked. After a week the association will be ironclad. The wetter the diaper, the harder he’ll get. The diaper becomes the source of his relief, not you. That’s when the real power shift happens.” Carolyn’s cheeks flushed with something between excitement and cruelty. “And he’ll never suspect?” “He’ll think it’s his idea. Men like David always do.” Friday morning was the first test. David’s alarm never went off; Carolyn had silenced it the night before. At seven-fifteen he stirred, felt the familiar heavy sag between his legs, and felt his erection growing from the feeling of it. The room was bright. Carolyn was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching him with soft, affectionate eyes. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she murmured, sliding her hand under the covers. David’s breath caught as her palm settled on the swollen front of his overnight diaper. The padding was hot, squishy, and reeked faintly of urine and baby powder. He started to pull away—instinct, pride—but her fingers pressed gently, possessively. “Shh. Poor baby was all wet again. Let me take care of that little problem for you.” His cock was already stiffening against the sodden gel before she even began. Carolyn began a slow, deliberate massage—squeezing the thick padding around him, rubbing in lazy circles. The slick warmth squelched with every stroke. David groaned in helpless pleasure. “Carolyn, I—” “It’s okay,” she whispered, cutting him off. “Just relax and enjoy it.” She worked him mercilessly slowly, dragging it out until his hips twitched involuntarily. The diaper made crinkling and wet noises. Every time he tried to form a protest; he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to cum in the wet diaper in front of his wife, but it felt so good. He came with a strangled cry, pulsing hard into the already-soaked padding. The fresh warmth spread against his skin and he shuddered with shame so complete it felt like ecstasy. Afterward he lay panting, staring at the ceiling while Carolyn kissed his forehead like he was five years old. The routine locked in over the next six mornings. Alarm off. Hand on diaper. Slow, humiliating hand job through layers of swollen, urine-heavy gel. Each orgasm left him more dazed, more grateful, more convinced that the only place he was allowed to feel like a man anymore was inside his pee-soaked diapers. Then came the Wednesday when Carolyn simply rolled over and reached for her phone. David woke wet, erect, and waiting. Minutes crawled by. Nothing. The ache in his groin became a throb. He shifted, making the diaper crinkle loudly, hoping she’d notice. She scrolled, smiling at something on the screen. Finally, he couldn’t stand it. “Carolyn?” “Mmm?” “I… I need…” His voice cracked. “Need what, honey?” He swallowed. The words felt like gravel. “I need you to… take care of me. Like you have been.” She lowered the phone, all innocent concern. “Take care of you how?” His face flushed pink. “Please. Touch me. In the diaper. Please stroke my… my cock through the wet diaper until I cum. I need it so bad.” Carolyn let him dangle for a long, merciless moment. “Only because you asked so nicely, baby.” Chapter 3: The Morning Routine Evolves David stirred in the dim light of dawn, the weight of the soaked diaper between his legs a familiar, insistent reminder of the night before. His body ached with need—the kind that had become as routine as his morning coffee over the past few weeks. He glanced at the clock: 6:15 a.m. Work loomed, but so did his craving for the relief Carolyn had been granting him each morning, her hands firm and teasing through the damp padding until he shattered under her touch. It was humiliating, yes, but it had woven itself into the fabric of his desires, making the start of each day feel like a secret ritual. Beside him, Carolyn lay still, her breathing deep and even. He didn't want to wake her—she looked so peaceful; her dark hair fanned across the pillow. But the pressure built, both in his bladder and lower, urging him to act. "Carolyn," he whispered, his voice light, testing. No response. She didn't even twitch. He hesitated, chewing his lip. The shame of asking outright warred with the pulsing want. He shifted slightly; the crinkle of the diaper louder than he intended in the quiet room. "Carolyn," he said again, a little louder this time. She stirred, rolling over with a soft groan. Her eyes fluttered open just a sliver, sleepy and annoyed. "What is it, David?" He felt his face flush, the words sticking in his throat. "I... I need my morning treatment. Please?" For a moment, she just stared at him, then sighed and turned away, pulling the covers up. "I'm still half-asleep. Why don't you just take care of it yourself?" Her voice was muffled, dismissive, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world. She nestled deeper into the pillow, her back to him, signaling the conversation was over. David lay there, stunned. Take care of it himself? In bed, next to her? The idea sent a wave of heat through him—equal parts arousal and mortification. He'd never masturbated in their shared bed before, not with her right there. And in a wet diaper? It felt too exposed, too pathetic. What if she heard? What if she judged him even more? But the need gnawed at him, amplified by the soggy warmth pressing against his skin. He couldn't ignore it. Quietly, he slipped out of bed, the diaper sagging heavily as he padded to the bathroom. He closed the door with a soft click, locking it for good measure, though the house was empty otherwise. Standing in front of the mirror, he stared at his reflection: tousled hair, tired eyes, and the unmistakable bulge of the diaper under his pajama pants. His hand trembled as he reached down, not removing it—not yet. The fabric was slick and warm from the night's use, and as he began to stroke through the layers, the shame twisted into something sharper, more intoxicating. His breaths came quicker, ragged, until release washed over him in shuddering waves, soaking the diaper further with his own sticky warmth. Panting, he peeled it off, disposed of it discreetly, and stepped into the shower. The hot water washed away the evidence, but not the lingering buzz in his veins. By the time he was dressed in his work slacks and button-down, he felt almost normal again—ready to face the day, if a little unsteady. Later that morning, after David had kissed her goodbye and left for the office, Carolyn sat at the kitchen table with her phone in hand. She dialed Linda, her best friend and confidante, the one who'd been guiding her through this twisted little plan from the start. "Linda? You won't believe how well it's going," Carolyn said, her voice laced with excitement as she sipped her coffee. "Tell me everything," Linda replied, her tone eager, like a coach reviewing game footage. Carolyn recounted the morning in detail: how she'd pretended to be deeper in sleep than she was, how she'd casually suggested he handle it himself, and how he'd hesitated before slipping into the bathroom. "I could hear him through the door—the crinkling, the moans. He did it right there in his wet diaper. Didn't even take it off first." Linda laughed, a satisfied sound. "Perfect. It's working exactly like we planned. He's associating those orgasms with the wet diapers now—craving them together. Let him start handling it most of the time on his own. But when he's been especially thoughtful or sweet—maybe he brings you flowers unprompted or takes care of dinner without asking—then you step in. Do it for him, and make sure to praise him: 'That was so nice of you to do XYZ, baby. Mommy's going to take good care of you now.' Tie the special treatment not just to the diaper, but to how well he treats you. He'll start bending over backward to earn it." Carolyn nodded to herself, a smile spreading. "You're a genius, Linda. I can already see it changing him." Several weeks passed in a blur of subtle shifts. David found himself going out of his way more and more—surprising Carolyn with her favorite takeout after a long day, massaging her feet without being asked, even planning a spontaneous weekend getaway just because she mentioned wanting a break. Each act of kindness felt amplified, laced with the hope of her touch in the mornings when he least expected it. One afternoon, Carolyn met Linda for lunch at their favorite café, the sun filtering through the windows as they picked at salads. "It's incredible," Carolyn said, leaning in. "David's been so nice lately—pleasant, attentive, going out of his way to be thoughtful. He even remembered the anniversary of our first date and set up this whole romantic dinner at home. I haven't seen him this sweet in years." Linda grinned, clinking her glass against Carolyn's. "See? The conditioning is sinking in. He's linking his rewards to pleasing you, and the diapers are the hook that keeps him coming back. Everything's falling into place perfectly." Carolyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "So, what's next? It feels like we're ready for the next step." Linda leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, we are. Time to introduce a little more... need." Chapter 4: Daytime Desires That night Linda returned. David was dozing on the couch after too much bourbon when she leaned over him. “Lawyer’s rest.” His head lolled instantly. Linda’s voice was silk. “David, you love wearing diapers. You feel relaxed, safe and happy in them. You will feel an overwhelming need to be in diapers all the time. Not just at night. You will want to wear them during the day as well. You will ask—beg if necessary—your wife to put you in diapers during the day. You will want to be in a diaper at all times. If she hesitates, you will convince her to diaper you. You will beg until she agrees. And you will feel deep relief when she does.” Snap. Sunday morning, after another "relief" in his soaked overnight diaper, the thought crept in again: What if I wore one during the day? Just to relax. The idea startled him—he pushed it away, face heating. No. That's too much. How could I explain it, he thought. She’ll think I'm some freak or weirdo if I asked. But the hypnosis amplified the pull—the memory of the soft crinkle, the secure hug around his waist, the way it muffled everything else. Wearing the diapers at night is just practical, he told himself. Until this bedwetting stops. I can’t ask her to put me in one during the day, he thought. But with each day, the hypnosis worked deeper, chipping away at his resistance. At work, during depositions, he’d shift in his chair and remember the crinkle of the diaper, the soft bulk hugging his groin. It was humiliating, but... there was something else. A comfort? No, that couldn’t be right. He was David, the shark lawyer, not the pervert who enjoyed wearing diapers, not someone who liked the feel of the bulge against his skin. Not someone who yearned to hear the crinkling of his diapers when he moved. Yet in quiet moments, he caught himself pressing a hand to his crotch under the desk, wishing to hear the faint rustle, the padded security. But the thought of being diapered during the day lingered, popping up during quiet moments at work the next week. In a meeting, shifting in his chair, he'd imagine the soft bulk hugging him. Comforting. Safe. He shook it off. Focus on the case. But it kept coming back, unbidden, like a whisper he couldn't quite silence. By Friday the urge was stronger. He almost mentioned it to Carolyn over dinner—casually, like it was no big deal. But the words stuck in his throat. He decided against it, but the thought nagged all weekend. Days turned into a week. The idea grew roots. Wearing one after work, just for a while. To unwind. I wouldn’t have to use it or have her play with me. Just... the feel. He fought it—Carolyn would lose respect for him; she would never understand. I'm a successful lawyer. She accepts the night time diapers because I need to wear them, that wasn’t a choice. But not this. This would be his choice and how could he hope to keep her respect if he asked? But it crept back during drives, during lunches, during nights in his wet diaper. Until the thought of going without them made him anxious, like stepping out without pants. Finally, four weeks after the first whisper, he couldn't hold it anymore. With a glass of bourbon in his hand, voice casual but heart pounding, he said, "You know, the diapers actually feel soft and comfortable. I was thinking maybe I could wear one after work for a while, just every now and then." Carolyn set her glass down, a flicker of relief crossing her face—she had all but given up hope after weeks of no change, confiding in Linda during their sessions that nothing seemed to be happening. Linda had reassured her each time: "It takes time. The roots are there; they'll grow." Linda had returned several times during those four weeks, planting subtle reinforcements under the guise of casual dinners. Carolyn folded her arms, pretending reluctance. “Honey, that seems a little extreme.” Panic set in for David. He knew he needed to explain. He was prepared for this, just in case. He had been wrestling with this for weeks. He had put together an argument to justify his request and hoped it would explain it without him sounding like a demented pervert. In full lawyer mode, he began his argument. “I think they would help me relax and take away some of the stress I’m feeling. You know how much is riding on that big Pharma case I’m handling. It’s causing a lot of stress. I can’t do anything about that, but if I could just relax a little more sometimes when I’m not working, maybe it will help. It could even help stop my nighttime problem. I never had that before this case. The doctor said stress could be the cause. Trying anything that might relieve some of the stress and get things back to normal is just the responsible thing to do.” Carolyn considered him for a moment, then said, “Just wear it? You're not planning to... pee in them during the day, are you?” The question caught him off guard—that's exactly what he secretly craved, but her tone made it sound absurd, wrong. He couldn’t pull off another save on that one, so he lied quickly, cheeks burning. “No, no. Just wear them and enjoy the way they feel. Nothing else.” She considered him for a moment, then said, “I guess we could try it sometime if you really want to.” He agreed, relief and embarrassment mixing. Days passed. He obsessed—when to ask? How? The Pharma case ramped up, depositions looming, but the thought of that after-work ritual consumed his quiet moments. Finally, on a Saturday morning Carolyn brought him to a shuddering, humiliating orgasm in his overnight diaper, cooing the entire time about what a thoughtful little boy he had been that week. When the last spurt soaked into the padding, David’s mouth opened before his brain could stop it. “Carolyn… please don’t take it off yet.” She raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, you have to shower and—” “No, I mean… after I shower, could you put me in another one. Keep me in diapers all day.” The words tumbled out in a rush, his ego recoiling even as he spoke. She smiled softly and said, “Okay, if that’s what you want.” When he came out of the shower, he saw that Carolyn had laid out a fresh diaper. He got on the bed, laying back on top of the diaper. His face aflame as she powdered him lavishly and pulled the diaper up into place and taped it snugly on him. The bulk forced his thighs apart; the crinkle was louder than he remembered. “There,” she said, patting the front. “My relaxed little man.” All day he waddled around the house in sweatpants, the diaper a constant, soothing presence. He mowed the lawn (careful not to bend too far), grilled lunch, watched a football game. No wetting. No “play.” Just the feel—soft, secure, like a secret hug that muffled the world’s edges. But as he sat on the couch watching football, diaper rustling with every shift, he caught himself actually considering letting go on purpose—just a little, just enough to feel that swollen warmth again and maybe, maybe, earn another slow, shameful hand job. He couldn’t figure out how he would be able to explain that, so he clenched everything and resisted. By evening the unmet ache built, but he held it. The diaper stayed dry until bedtime. And somewhere deep in David’s mind, a tiny voice whispered that this was only the beginning. Chapter 5: The Test Most Wednesday afternoons, Carolyn drove to Linda’s quiet north-side office for “tea and planning.” She always arrived at two sharp and left at five feeling lighter, clearer, and oddly certain that only twenty minutes had passed. The grandfather clock on Linda’s mantel, however, never lied: three full hours vanished every time. This Wednesday was no different. Carolyn blinked at the clock. “I swear I just sat down.” Linda smiled over her teacup. “Time flies when we’re solving problems. How is he doing?” Carolyn exhaled, stirring her peach iced tea. “He’s almost never out of diapers at home now. Evenings, weekends—sometimes whole days. Dry. He says it helps him relax after work. The Pharma case is killing him.” Linda’s eyes were warm, caring, but sharp. “And the nighttime wetting?” “Still every night. Heavy.” Linda set her cup down with quiet finality. “Then it’s time to move forward. The diapers aren’t just protection anymore—they’re comfort. We need to start turning the wet ones into comfort too. That’s the next real layer.” Carolyn’s stomach fluttered. “You mean… encourage him to use them during the day? On purpose?” She shook her head. “That feels like going too far. What if he hates me for it later?” Linda reached across the table, squeezing her friend’s hand. “He won’t. Trust me. I’ve seen this pattern enough to know the desire is already there—deep, and waiting. But if you’re nervous, we test it first. Tonight, I’ll remove the bedwetting suggestion entirely. If he stops, we know the hypnosis was doing most of the work and we can ease off. If he keeps wetting…” She let the silence finish the sentence. Carolyn bit her lip. “You really think he’ll keep doing it? On purpose?” “I’m certain of it,” Linda said softly, eyes steady. “But you need to see it for yourself. It might take a few nights—sometimes a week—for the old suggestion to fully fade. Watch him. You’ll know.” Carolyn stared into her tea. The idea of David voluntarily soaking his diapers every night—knowing he could stop—sent a shiver through her that was equal parts guilt and dark excitement. “Do it,” she said finally. “I need to know.” Three nights later, Linda arrived for what David believed was another casual dinner. He liked her—she flattered his ego, laughed at his war stories, and kept his bourbon coming without judgment. Carolyn watched as the evening unfolded: Linda steering conversation smoothly from courtroom triumphs to deeper stresses—the long hours, the weight gain from late-night drinks, the quiet strains in marriage that David brushed off with jokes. By ten, David was loose, baritone carrying a slight wheeze, bragging about a recent win but trailing into rarer admissions: "Sometimes it all feels... heavy. Like I'm carrying the world." Linda nodded sympathetically, her fingers tracing idle circles on her glass stem—a subtle rhythm Carolyn recognized from their planning. The room's music played low, masking a soft hum under Linda's voice. David's eyelids sagged gradually, laughter slowing. "David," Linda said gently, almost conversational, "you look tired. Why don't you relax a moment? Focus here." The silver pendant appeared between her fingers, catching the light as it swayed lazily. His gaze locked, breathing deepening. Carolyn's heart hammered—this was it, seamless amid the evening's flow. Linda leaned close. “Lawyer’s rest.” His head lolled. Linda’s voice was silk. “David, the bedwetting command is gone. From tonight forward you will wake when you need to urinate at night and handle it as you choose. No more automatic release in sleep. The suggestion is lifted completely.” Snap. David blinked, reached for his glass, and resumed his story as if nothing had happened. Carolyn barely slept. At 2:47 a.m. she lay perfectly still, eyes open in the dark, every sense tuned to the man beside her. David stirred. She felt the subtle shift of his hips, heard the faintest catch of breath. This is it, he thought, heart racing with guilty thrill. I could get up. I should get up. Just roll over, walk to the bathroom like a normal adult… The diaper hugged him, thick and familiar. Safe. Private. No one will ever know. He relaxed deliberately, letting the hot flood spread, the padding swelling warm and heavy around him. A soft, involuntary moan escaped as the sensation washed away the last pretense. Just tonight. Just because it feels… right. Then the softest sound—warm liquid spreading, the quiet swell of gel absorbing it all. He sighed, rolled deeper into the wet padding, and slept again. Carolyn’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure it would wake him. He’s choosing it. On purpose. Morning came. The diaper was soaked, heavy, sagging. David mumbled apologies as usual, face flushed with what he still believed was helpless shame. Carolyn changed him with gentle hands, hiding her smile. That afternoon she called Linda from the car, voice trembling with discovery. “He did it again. But he was definitely awake—I felt it. He’s choosing to wet.” A soft chuckle on the other end. “Told you. The roots were always there. We just stopped pulling the weeds. Now wait and see if he keeps choosing it night after night. If he does, we’ll know for sure.” Carolyn gripped the wheel. “What now?” “Now,” Linda said, calm and certain, “we give him a little nudge to the next layer. He’s ready for wet to feel like comfort too. And when that happens, the rest will follow naturally.” Carolyn exhaled, the road ahead suddenly clear—and thrillingly inevitable. The trap wasn’t the diapers anymore. It was the fact that he no longer wanted out. Chapter 6: The Daytime Descent Linda came over that Sunday evening, as she often did these days. David assumed it was another casual visit; he liked her company, the way she listened without judgment. They chatted over herbal tea for Carolyn and bourbon for him, but as the conversation lulled, Linda leaned forward, her voice soft. “Lawyer’s rest.” The world softened at the edges; his eyelids heavy. He didn’t question it—hadn’t he felt this calm around her before? Linda’s instructions poured in like warm oil. “David, when you’re in your diapers, you’ll use them without hesitation—day or night. The warmth will feel right, natural, like the deepest pleasure you’ve buried for so long. These urges will build slowly, naturally, until you can’t ignore them.” She snapped her fingers. David blinked, reaching for his glass as if nothing had happened. The cravings intensified over the following week, subtle reinforcements weaving into his days. Monday morning, after his usual wet wake-up and humiliating relief from his own hand, he felt a twinge of reluctance as he removed the diaper. By Tuesday evening, arriving home from the office, the absence gnawed at him—like forgetting his wallet, but deeper, more intimate. He changed into sweatpants and tried to relax, but his bladder ached with unfamiliar urgency, his mind whispering how easy it would be, how safe, if he were padded. Wednesday, the doctor called for a follow-up. “Still no changes?” David admitted the bedwetting persisted; his voice strained. “Try relaxation techniques,” the doctor suggested. “Hypnotherapy, even—I’ve heard it helps with stress-related issues.” David nearly laughed at the irony, but the suggestion lingered. By Thursday, the urges were relentless. He found himself browsing medical supply sites during lunch, staring at diaper listings, heart racing. Old memories bubbled up again—those secret binges years ago, the binge-purge cycle he’d thought he’d escaped after marrying Carolyn. What if this was all connected? No, impossible. He closed the tab, palms sweaty. Friday evening, the dam began to crack. Home early, he paced the living room, bladder full, fighting the pull. Carolyn was in the kitchen prepping dinner. “Everything okay, honey?” she called. He swallowed hard. “I… I think I need a diaper tonight.” She appeared in the doorway, eyebrow raised but voice casual. “You wear one almost every night, sweetheart.” “No, I mean… now. While I’m awake.” The words tumbled out, his face burning. What the hell am I saying? She’ll think I’m a complete degenerate. But the hypnosis amplified the need—the phantom warmth, the release he craved not just for orgasm, but for the feeling itself. “I want to… try using it. Awake. Just to see what it’s like.” Carolyn’s expression didn’t change, but inside she felt the quiet click of confirmation: Linda was right. The seed was sprouting. “You want to pee in your diaper while you’re wide awake? With me right here?” David’s cheeks flamed. “Yes. No—I mean, I know it’s weird. Forget I said anything.” She folded her arms, pretending reluctance. “It is a little strange, David. Are you sure?” He nodded miserably, the urge and shame warring inside him. “I just… need to try it. Please.” Carolyn let the silence stretch, watching him squirm. Finally, she sighed. “All right. If you really want to.” She led him upstairs, chose a thick daytime diaper from the stack, and taped it on with deliberate care. The bulk forced his thighs apart; the crinkle echoed in the quiet room. Relief washed over him at the familiar hug, but the real test loomed. Back downstairs they sat on the couch, TV on low. David shifted constantly, bladder pressing, the dry padding teasing him with promise. Minutes crawled by. He wanted it—God, he wanted the warmth—but with her watching? Impossible. Heat rose in his cheeks with every failed attempt. Carolyn glanced over; voice mild. “I thought you wanted to use your diaper. What’s the hold-up?” The casual tone undid him. Shame crashed, but so did the dam. The first spurt escaped before he could stop it, hot and shocking. Then the flood came, gushing endlessly, soaking the front, pooling beneath him. He made a high, broken sound as the warmth enveloped him, his cock hardening instantly against the swelling gel. Tears stung his eyes—shame crashing like a wave, but underneath, that dark rapture, familiar from those secret past indulgences he thought he’d forgotten. When it ended, he trembled, the diaper heavy and sagging. Carolyn turned off the TV and took his face in her hands. “Bedtime, little one.” In the bedroom she guided him to the bed, untaped the sides of the ruined diaper, then cupped the warm, soaked padding around his rigid cock and began a slow, deliberate stroke—up and down the shaft through the slick gel. “I’m sorry,” he begged between gasps. “I’m disgusting, but… God, it feels so good. Please don’t stop.” The orgasm shattered him, hips bucking as he spilled into the mess, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. She cleaned him tenderly, powdered him fresh, and taped on a new diaper for bed. Over the next several weeks, the pattern solidified into their new normal. Mornings were routine: wet diaper, quiet disposal, shower, work—David the commanding lawyer by day. Evenings brought variety—dinners out, movies, walks in the park hand in hand—but the urges always returned, building until he requested padding, the deliberate wetting followed by release in Carolyn's hand. Each cycle stirred those buried memories deeper, his resistance crumbling further. One night, after another shattering release in ruined padding, he clung to her, sobbing. "I'm... in love with them. The diapers. The warmth when I use them. It's something I've always needed but buried away. If you hate me for this, I understand.” He clung to her, body trembling. "I... I know I can't satisfy you like a real man. Never could. Quick, small... it's why I drink too much, hide behind the ego. Sometimes I think about it permanently—no more trying. You with someone who can really please you... and me denied. Forever. My little man locked away from you, only for this." He patted the soaked diaper, voice breaking. "It scares me... but excites me too. Like I'd finally accept I'm not enough." Carolyn stroked his hair, her heartbeat quickening at the words. "That's a big thought, sweetheart. Permanent denial... would be permanent. No going back. You don’t need to think about that now. If at some point it's what you truly needed... well, we could see if it fits then." She cleaned him tenderly, powdered him fresh, and taped on a new diaper for bed. He sobbed in her arms, relief and terror mingling, the last threads of his old self unraveling. And Carolyn, stroking his hair, smiled into the darkness with quiet, predatory grace. Chapter 7: Deeper Roots As the weeks stretched into a month, the diaper routine solidified, but David’s internal battles deepened. The nightly wettings—and the deliberate daytime ones—were automatic now, the morning disposal a mechanical habit. At work he projected confidence—winning cases, mentoring juniors—but the alpha facade felt thinner, like a suit that no longer fit quite right. The urges came in waves, not just physical but tied to that old, hidden part of him: the secrets from years ago. He’d thought marriage had buried it, but here it was, resurfacing stronger. Their intimacy evolved too. Lovemaking attempts grew rarer—maybe once every couple of weeks—and each time he sensed her reluctance, her body going through motions without spark. He’d finish quickly, as always, then lie awake, guilt churning. I can’t give her what she needs. She deserves better. Fears whispered: What if she sees the real me—the failure—and leaves? The thought fed his insecurity. To shield himself, he’d lean into the fantasy: picturing her with a real lover, turning potential heartbreak into arousal. It was his armor, born from years of hiding vulnerabilities behind ego. Turning rejection into arousal. The diaper sessions became their anchor. When the urges peaked—after a stressful trial, or a quiet evening where the need clawed at him—he’d fight for days, jaw set, distracting himself with case prep or yard work. But eventually he’d break. “Carolyn… could you diaper me tonight?” She’d agree without hesitation, taping him snug, her touch tender. After the inevitable flood—the warmth spreading, his erection throbbing—he’d ask, “Can we play?” But first, the ritual: cuddling, his hands on her head, rubbing away the day’s tension until she melted. Then arms, legs—slow, deliberate, drawing it out to savor the connection. “You’re so good at this,” she’d murmur, and he’d glow, feeling useful despite everything. Guilt about their stalled sex life lingered. “I could please you… orally?” he’d offer, masking his revulsion. She agreed more often now, and he’d perform dutifully, faking moans of enjoyment, assuming she did the same for him. Her orgasms were real, though—intense, leaving her breathless—unlike their hurried couplings. It eased his worry: At least she’s satisfied sometimes. Life outside this bubbled on: dinners at cozy bistros, sharing iced tea and stories; weekend hikes, planning a trip to the coast; late-night talks about retiring early, buying a vacation home. They were still partners, lovers in every way but one. Yet David’s fears gnawed. One evening, post-release in his wet diaper, as she dozed contentedly after a massage, he whispered into the dark, “You won’t leave me, right? Now that you see… this.” She pulled him closer. “Never, David. This is us now. I love you.” He held on, the insecurity twisting into that familiar, protective kink—imagining her fulfilled elsewhere. It scared him, excited him, and kept the vulnerability at bay. For now. Chapter 8: Pretty Little Girl The adjustment to their new normal had been smoother than Carolyn expected, but she could see the subtle strain in David’s eyes—the way he carried himself at home, a mix of relief and lingering shame. The nightly wettings continued, his secret choice now, though he believed she thought it unavoidable. During the day, life hummed along: court victories for him, country club lunches for her, evenings filled with walks, movies, and quiet conversations about the future travel or a bigger house. But the urges still built every few days, leading to those intimate sessions where he’d ask for a diaper, wet it deliberately, and beg to “play.” Carolyn played her role—the supportive wife—massaging him through the mess until he shattered, then letting him return the favor with those long, tender rubs that left her relaxed and content. Yet beneath it all, she felt the pull toward more, nudged gently by Linda’s words during their weekly “tea” sessions. One Wednesday afternoon, while David was buried in depositions at the office, Linda came over for tea. They sat at the kitchen island, Carolyn pouring peach iced tea for herself and herbal for Linda, the conversation turning inevitably to the plan. “He’s choosing the bedwetting now,” Carolyn said, her voice a whisper. “Every night. He wakes up, but… he does it anyway. Thinks I don’t know.” Linda’s eyes softened with that familiar caring gleam. “That’s progress, in a way. It means the fetish is truly his—deep-rooted, not just our suggestions. He’s finding liberation in the secrecy, free from the guilt of asking you during the day.” But what about the next steps? I’m… ready, I think. For a real man. Someone who can make me feel desired, alive, like you said. But David—he’s so insecure underneath it all. If we push too far…” “You’re doing this for both of you,” Linda reminded her gently. “He’ll embrace it because it’s what he craves, even if he resists at first. Tonight, I’ll adjust the hypnosis. No more direct commands to beg—just planting the idea that diapers alone aren’t enough anymore. He needs more humiliation to reach those intense releases he chases. The more degraded he feels, the stronger the orgasms. It’ll tie into his fetish naturally—he’ll start fantasizing about women’s clothing, being treated like a pretty girl. Soft things, frilly, cute. He’ll resist, feel guilty, maybe sneak looks at porn or stories about sissy types in diapers. But the urges will build slowly, naturally, until he can’t hold back. He’ll ask you to dress him up, call him your baby girl, beg to surrender everything—his masculinity, pride, orgasms. Tell you it’s what makes him whole. And when you agree, it’ll bring him peace like he’s never known.” Carolyn’s heart raced, a mix of trepidation and excitement. “How long will that take?” “Weeks. Maybe a month or two. Let it simmer. He has to fight it first—that’s what makes the surrender real.” “And the cuckolding?” Linda smiled reassuringly. “That comes later, once the feminization takes hold. We’ll layer it in gently—make him believe true humiliation means stepping aside for a real man. He’ll beg for that too, in time. For now, focus on being the loving wife, heartbroken about his ‘problem.’ He’ll never suspect. I’m doing this because I care about you, Carolyn. You deserve happiness—someone who satisfies you completely, makes you scream, beg, feel like a goddess.” The words lingered long after Linda left. That evening, during what David thought was a casual visit, Linda triggered him effortlessly. “Lawyer’s rest.” His head dropped, and she wove the new suggestions deep—but softly, like planting seeds in fertile soil: diapers weren’t humiliating enough anymore; true release required more—whispers of pretty clothes, soft fabrics, being treated as delicate and feminine, the degradation amplifying every climax. Nothing forced. Just possibilities, growing on their own. Snap. He blinked, oblivious, and the evening continued as normal. The changes began subtly—almost too subtly for David to notice at first. That night, as he lay in bed, diaper already warm from his deliberate wetting, his mind wandered unbidden to softer things—lace edging on panties, the whisper of silk against skin. He pushed it away, face heating in the dark. Ridiculous. I’m not like that. Just the diapers. That’s enough. But the thought returned the next day at work, during a lull in a meeting: imagining a pair of women’s panties over his padding, the lace tickling his thighs. He shifted in his chair, face burning, and forced his attention back to the deposition transcript. Stress, he told himself. Just stress. Over the following days the whispers grew louder. A fleeting image while driving home: a soft blouse, pastel colors, the way it might feel against his chest. He shook it off, gripping the wheel tighter. No. That’s not me. By the end of the first week, he caught himself lingering on a lingerie ad that popped up on his phone—simple satin panties in pale pink. He closed the app quickly, heart racing. It’s nothing. Just a stray click. But it wasn’t nothing. The second week brought the first real crack. Alone in his office during lunch, he typed “women’s underwear for men” into a private browser—then immediately deleted it, palms sweaty. That night he dreamed of lace and woke hard in his wet diaper, the dream clinging like perfume. He resisted fiercely, his ego rebelling. This is too far. I’m a man, a lawyer—not some… sissy. The word made him flinch, but it also sent a forbidden thrill through him. Still, the fantasies kept returning—soft, insistent, tying themselves to the diaper sessions. During one “play” night, as Carolyn stroked him through the soaked padding, he almost asked for panties. The words died in his throat, shame winning. Not yet. By the third week he was raw with it—barely eating, shifting constantly at home, the fantasies consuming quiet moments. Carolyn noticed his distraction during their walks or dinners, but he brushed it off as work stress when he did. One Thursday night, alone while Carolyn was at book club, he finally broke. Hands shaking, he searched “sissy diaper captions”—just captions, nothing more. The images and words hit like a drug: men in frilly dresses over bulging diapers, called “pretty girl,” “baby girl,” “Mommy’s little princess.” He read until his erection ached, then closed everything and purged the history, swearing it was the last time. It wasn’t. The fourth week the resistance crumbled further. Late-night searches became daily. Videos of cross-dressers in cute outfits over diapers, being called “pretty girl” while wetting and climaxing. Each viewing amplified the craving, the promise of deeper humiliation equaling unmatched pleasure. He imagined himself out in public, dressed as a woman—subtle at first, women’s jeans, a blouse—the risk thrilling, the diapers hidden beneath making him feel like a secret baby girl regardless. But the guilt gnawed: This isn’t me. I can’t drag her into this. By the end of the fifth week, he was a wreck—sleep deprived, distracted, the fantasies a constant hum. One Saturday morning, after yard work where every bend reminded him of the absent bulk, he couldn’t hold it anymore. They were in the bedroom, Carolyn folding laundry, when he knelt beside her, voice trembling. “Carolyn… I need more. The diapers—they’re not enough anymore. I… I want you to dress me in women’s clothing. Soft things, pretty, girly. Call me your baby girl. Please, make me your baby girl—dress me up. It’s the only thing that will make me whole.” Tears streamed down his face as the words ripped from him like a confession five weeks in the making. Carolyn knelt, gathering him into her arms, her heart aching with a blend of sympathy and quiet triumph. “Oh, my sweet love,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “If that’s what you need… Mommy’s here.” Carolyn dressed him in a pink romper for the first time. Carolyn stepped back, admiring her work—the romper hugging his padded form, the bow crooked in his hair. He looked vulnerable, adorable... broken. A pang hit her: Was this love, or control? Linda had assured her the hypnosis built on his buried desires, but doubt crept in—what if they were forcing something unnatural? The ethical line blurred, but his growing arousal, the way he shifted in the outfit, eased it. This was for them, she told herself. For happiness. As she held him, David felt a profound peace settle over him—the most perfect he’d ever known—his resistance crumbling into surrender. The pretty little girl had finally asked to come out. Chapter 9: Daisy Is Born For nearly three months David had lived in two worlds: At the office he was still the senior partner (broad shoulders, commanding baritone, bourbon at lunch). At home he was the man who taped on his own diapers after work, who spent entire weekends padded and dry just because the hug felt right, who only flooded when the ache for release finally outweighed the delicious comfort of anticipation. The pretty clothes had stayed mostly in the bedroom: satin panties, lace-trimmed camisoles, nightdresses, a soft pink robe he wore while reading briefs on the couch. He told himself that was the limit. Diapers = everyday comfort. Frills = occasional spice before orgasm. That was safe. Controllable. But the fantasies kept creeping forward. Late at night, after wetting his overnight diaper and drifting off in warm, swollen padding, he began to dream—not of quick, frantic releases—but of living as a girl. Not a toddler. A woman. Soft sweaters, flowing skirts, painted nails clicking on a coffee cup while no one suspected the secret under the skirt. He woke hard and ashamed, the dreams clinging like perfume. He fought it. Deleted browsing history. Swore it was a phase. Told himself real men didn’t want to be pretty. Then one Thursday he cracked. He had spent the entire day in court wearing a thin daytime diaper under his suit trousers (his secret, thrilling and terrifying). By the time he got home he was buzzing with nervous energy. Carolyn was out having dinner with Linda. The house was empty. He went straight to the spare bedroom closet where the “special” boxes were kept. Hands shaking, he pulled out the tissue-wrapped bundle he had ordered weeks earlier and hidden even from himself: a simple blush-pink skirt (knee-length, flared, impossibly soft), a white cashmere sweater with tiny pearl buttons, sheer tights, and low-heeled Mary Janes in patent ivory. Adult women’s sizes. Nothing overtly babyish. Just… pretty. He showered, powdered, taped on a fresh overnight diaper (thicker, because he knew what was coming), and dressed. The sweater hugged his chest. The skirt swished against his thighs. The heels forced a delicate sway when he walked. In the full-length mirror he saw a tall, slightly broad-shouldered woman with a flushed face and trembling lips. The bulge at the crotch was obvious if you knew to look, but under the skirt it was… passable. He spent two hours like that (cooking dinner, pouring a glass of bourbon he didn’t drink, sitting on the couch with his legs tucked under him like he’d seen Carolyn do a thousand times). Every movement felt electric. The diaper was still dry. The clothes were perfect. He felt beautiful, small, hidden in plain sight. When Carolyn came home at ten-thirty, the sight stopped her in the doorway. David stood in the living room, skirt swirling as he turned, tears already on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know this is too much. I’ll take it off—” Carolyn closed the door softly and crossed the room. She didn’t speak at first. She simply cupped his face, wiped the tears with her thumbs, and studied him (really studied him) for a long, breathless moment. “You’re shaking,” she said gently. “I’ve been fighting this for weeks. Months, maybe. The diapers stopped being enough. I need… I need to be pretty. Not just in bed. All the time. I want to be girly. Your baby girl. Please.” His voice cracked on the last word. Carolyn’s heart twisted (love, pity, triumph, desire all braided together). She kissed his forehead, tasting salt. “Shh. Breathe, sweetheart.” She led him to the bedroom, sat him on the edge of the bed, and knelt to unbuckle the Mary Janes. Then she looked up, eyes steady. “If we do this, you’ll have a name when you’re dressed like this. You’ll have rules. And you won’t hide anymore (not from me). Do you understand?” He nodded, trembling harder. “Say it.” “I want to be dressed pretty. I won’t hide things. I will follow the rules.” Carolyn brushed a curl from his forehead. “Then from tonight forward, when you’re dressed like this (when you’re padded, pretty, and mine), your name is Daisy.” The word left her lips like a blessing. Daisy’s breath hitched. Tears spilled again, but they were different now (relief, surrender, joy). Carolyn stood, took both his hands, and pulled him to her feet. The skirt flared. The diaper crinkled softly. “First rule,” she said, voice tender but firm. “Daisy doesn’t hide boxes in closets. Daisy asks Mommy for what she needs.” “Yes, Mommy,” Daisy whispered, the title slipping out as naturally as breathing. Carolyn smiled (small, knowing smile that held ten years of patience and one year of careful planning). “Then let’s get you changed into proper nighttime things, baby girl.” Daisy was in a thick pink diaper with delicate lace trim, a satin baby-doll nightie in pale mint, hair tied with ribbons. “tonight, you will sleep in your nursery,” Carolyn said leading him to the guest bedroom. She tucked her into bed and kissed her forehead. Tomorrow we start for real. In the dark, curled in warm, deliberately wet padding (because Daisy had chosen it), she felt something settle deep in her chest. Peace. Finally, perfect peace. Down the hall, Carolyn texted Linda. He asked. It’s time. The reply came instantly. Let it develop. He needs to get used to it before we push any further. But it will be soon. He’s not going back. Welcome to the rest of your lives. Carolyn smiled into the quiet house, heart racing with possibility. Daisy was born. And the man David used to be finally, completely, let go. Chapter 10: Comfort Becomes Habit The first few days after Daisy’s “birth” felt like stepping into a dream—hazy, exhilarating, and laced with quiet terror. David woke that Friday morning in the guest room (not yet a full nursery, just a spare bed with fresh pink sheets Carolyn had quietly swapped in weeks ago), the thick overnight diaper sagging heavily between his legs. He had chosen to wet it again, the warmth spreading deliberately in the dark, a secret comfort that soothed him back to sleep. In the mirror, the mint nightie hung loose on his frame, ribbons tangled in his hair. He stripped it all off quickly, showered, and dressed for work—suit, tie, the alpha mask slipping back on like an old coat. At the office, the day dragged: meetings, briefs, a quick bourbon with a colleague to celebrate a settlement. But underneath, the memories tugged—the skirt’s swish, Carolyn’s gentle acceptance, the name “Daisy” echoing in his mind like a whisper. By afternoon, he was distracted, shifting in his chair, the phantom bulk of a diaper making his regular underwear feel thin and wrong. Comfort. That’s all it is, he told himself. Not this girl stuff. That’s too far. He resisted all weekend. Saturday: No diaper after his morning shower. He mowed the lawn in jeans, grilled steaks, watched football with Carolyn curled beside him on the couch (her head in his lap, his fingers absently rubbing her scalp like in their sessions). Normal. Loving. But by evening, the itch returned—the need for padding, for that secure hug. He fought it, pouring a bourbon instead, telling himself real men didn’t need that. Sunday: Still holding out. They took a long walk in the park, hand in hand, talking about a potential vacation to the coast next spring. Carolyn’s laughter felt genuine, her touch warm. But back home, as he prepped case files, the fantasies crept in: slipping on a soft skirt over a dry diaper, just for an hour, no wetting, no release. Just… pretty. He slammed the laptop shut, heart racing. No. That’s not comfort. That’s humiliation. And I don’t need more of that. Monday evening, the dam cracked. Work had been brutal—a lost motion, a chewing-out from a judge. He came home exhausted, kissed Carolyn hello, and headed upstairs without a word. In the bathroom, he taped on a thin daytime diaper—dry, discreet—and pulled on sweatpants. The crinkle was faint, but there. Comfort washed over him like a sigh. He didn’t wet it. Didn’t ask to “play.” Just wore it through dinner (pasta, iced tea for her, bourbon for him), through TV on the couch. Carolyn heard the rustle, saw the slight waddle, but said nothing—only smiled softly when he shifted. That night, he changed into an overnight one, wet it deliberately (secret, safe), and slept deeply. Tuesday: David wore a fresh thin diaper after work. Dry all evening. He cooked, they talked about her day at the club, planned grocery lists. The padding felt… normal. Exciting in its secrecy, but mostly just right. By Wednesday, the pattern solidified. Diaper after shower. Dry through the evening routine. Wet only at night, in bed, when the choice felt private and liberating. He began to associate the dry bulk with everyday peace—a buffer against stress, a hidden armor. Wetting was still tied to release (or the buildup to it), but dry wearing? That was pure comfort. Thursday: He pushed it further. After diapering, he slipped on the pink skirt from that first night—just for a bit, he told himself. Carolyn was reading in the living room. He stayed upstairs, pacing the bedroom, the skirt swishing, the diaper crinkling softly. Who would see? No one. But the mirror showed a pretty girl, padded and secret. His heart pounded with guilt and thrill. He changed back before dinner, but the fantasy lingered: wearing it out someday, under women’s clothes perhaps, passing as a woman with his little secret beneath. Friday: Full commitment. Diaper after work. Skirt and sweater while Carolyn was at a late yoga class. He sat at his home desk, reviewing cases, feeling beautiful and small. When she got home, he didn’t hide—stood in the kitchen, blushing furiously. “I… I needed this today.” Carolyn set her bag down, eyes warm. “You look pretty, Daisy.” No judgment. No push. Just acceptance. That weekend, it all peaked. Saturday morning: Fresh diaper, dry. Pink robe over it while making breakfast. Carolyn joined him, pouring tea, chatting about the weather. The robe felt soft, girly—comforting in a way that went beyond the padding. They spent the day together: errands (him in regular clothes, but fantasizing about a skirt under his coat), a movie (his mind wandering to painted nails, heels clicking in public). Evening: Diaper stayed dry until bedtime wetting. Sunday: Same rhythm. Dry diaper all day. Soft camisole under his T-shirt while reading. The buildup hummed—no “play” yet, just the prolonged sensation, the excitement of secrecy. By evening, worry about Carolyn’s satisfaction nagged him. They cuddled on the couch, his hands massaging her as usual, but no request for release. Just connection. Monday morning, as he stripped the wet overnight diaper and showered for work, David realized the shift: Diapers weren’t just for sex anymore. They were comfort. Everyday. And the pretty clothes? They were starting to feel the same—a desire to be soft, cute, girly, even if no one saw. But someone was seeing. Carolyn noticed everything—the extra crinkles, the hidden orders of thinner diapers, the way he lingered dry longer and longer. She texted Linda mid-week: He’s wearing more. Dry, just for comfort. Not asking to play as often. Linda’s reply: Perfect. The layers are settling. Wet will become comfort soon. Then pretty clothes for release. Slow and natural. Carolyn smiled, watching David—Daisy in waiting—waddle down the stairs in sweatpants, the faint rustle betraying his secret. The road ahead felt clear. Slow, but inevitable. Chapter 11: Small Risks The weekend after her message to Linda, Carolyn curled up on the couch with her laptop, a steaming mug of herbal tea in hand. David sat beside her, still buzzing from their evolving dynamic, his current diaper—a plain white medical one—crinkling softly under his sweatpants. They'd been using the basic, clinical supplies from the medical store for weeks now, but Carolyn had a spark in her eye as she pulled up a new website. "Time to upgrade, baby," she said, voice playful but warm. "These plain ones are fine for starters, but you deserve something cuter. More... you." She navigated to Rearz, scrolling through colorful options: thick, absorbent diapers with whimsical prints—princess themes, teddy bears, pastel patterns. David's cheeks flushed as she clicked on a pack of girly ones, lavender with tiny tiaras and ruffles along the edges. "Look at these," she cooed, adding them to the cart. "Super thick for nighttime, but adorable. Imagine how they'll feel, all snug and pretty." She moved to Little for Big next, selecting a set with baby block prints and fairy motifs, then Crinklz for some fairy-tale themed ones with plastic backing for extra security. David shifted, arousal building at the thought—girly, playful diapers just for him. Not medical anymore, but something intimate, chosen together. By the end of the session, they'd ordered cases from multiple sites: thick overnights in pinks and purples, daytime ones with cute animals, even some with ruffled leak guards for that extra feminine touch. "Our little secret," Carolyn whispered, kissing his cheek. "Daisy's going to love them." The packages arrived discreetly midweek, and that Friday, Carolyn suggested a movie night—a romantic comedy at the old downtown theater. Before they left, she laid David on the changing table in the guest room (soon to be the nursery), powdering him lavishly and taping him into one of the new arrivals: a thick nighttime Rearz princess diaper, super absorbent with a glossy plastic backing, printed with crowns and sparkles in soft pink. It bulked noticeably between his legs, forcing a slight waddle as he pulled on loose jeans. "Perfect for a long movie," Carolyn teased lightly, patting the front. "This should hold all the soda you can drink, baby. No need to miss any of the show." She handed him a large iced tea for herself—no alcohol, as always—and they headed out. Halfway through the film, as the on-screen couple shared a passionate kiss, David felt the familiar pressure build in his bladder. The large soda he'd downed pre-show was hitting hard. He shifted in his seat, the diaper crinkling audibly in the quiet theater, but Carolyn leaned close, her hand on his thigh. "Go ahead, sweetie," she whispered encouragingly. "That's what your pretty princess diaper is for. Let it all out—no one's going to know but me." Relaxation came easily now, the hypnosis deepening the habit. Warmth spread slowly at first, then in a hot, heavy flood, soaking the gel between his legs. The diaper swelled massively, absorbing everything without a leak, the plastic warming against his skin. Panic flickered—What if it shows? What if someone hears?—but Carolyn's hand squeezed his reassuringly. She knew; her knowing smile in the dim light sent a thrill through him. Arousal throbbed against the soaked padding, the girly prints hidden but vivid in his mind. No one around them suspected—the couple beside them laughed at the screen; the usher patrolled oblivious. Their secret shame, her gentle power. By the time the credits rolled, the diaper sagged heavily, forcing a pronounced waddle as they walked to the car. Carolyn noticed, her eyes twinkling. "Look at that cute little waddle," she murmured teasingly, slipping her arm through his. "Mommy's big drinker filled her princess diaper right up, didn't she? Such a good girl." At home, she changed him immediately into a fresh Crinklz fairy-tale one, cooing praises: "These new ones suit you so well—thick and pretty, just like Daisy deserves." David came the second her hand wrapped around him, spurting into the fresh diaper she'd laid out. The thrill lingered for days—the risk of exposure, the intimacy of sharing it only with her. A few evenings later, Carolyn drew a hot bath and led David to the bathroom. “Time to make you soft and smooth, like a proper baby girl,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. David stripped, the soaked Little for Big diaper untaped and discarded, and sank into the bubbles. She lathered his body with floral-scented shave gel—chest, arms, legs, pubic area—her razor gliding carefully over every inch until he was hairless, pink, and vulnerable. “Look at you,” she murmured, toweling him dry. “So girly now. No more manly hair to hide behind.” David stared at his reflection: smooth thighs, bare groin framing his tiny penis, skin tingling. It felt emasculating, exposed—but exciting, a step deeper into surrender. She diapered him again in a printed daytime one with ruffled edges, the powder clinging to his freshly shaved skin, amplifying every sensation. That night, as she rode him slowly—her hands pinning his wrists—he felt more helpless than ever, cumming in seconds from the overwhelming vulnerability. The real test came midweek: a two-day trip to Chicago for depositions in a big case. David packed his suits, briefs, and files—but Carolyn slipped in a secret bag: a simple pink sundress with a flared skirt, white lace panties to cover his diaper, ruffled ankle socks, Mary Jane flats with cute bows, and a matching hair bow for his growing curls, now long enough to clip it in place. “While you’re away, I want you to explore,” she’d said, kissing him goodbye. “Small risks, baby. Dress up in the hotel. Feel the thrill. But only if you want to.” Alone in his suite overlooking the city, after a grueling day of deps, David stared at the bag. The idea terrified him—he wasn’t trying to pass as a woman; he knew he couldn’t, with his broad shoulders, square jaw, and masculine build. That was the point. The humiliation of being seen as a man in girly clothes, the shame of strangers knowing exactly what he was doing. Out of town, the risk was small—no clients or colleagues here—but it could bite him. A photo, a viral moment, a familiar face in the lobby. That uncertainty made his heart race, his tiny penis twitch in the thick printed diaper he’d changed into after work. He started slow. After a room service order—burger, fries, anonymity promised—he slipped into the outfit. The sundress hung loosely over his padded bottom, skirt short enough to swish with every step but long enough to hide the diaper’s bulk. He clipped the bow into his curls, stepped into the Mary Janes, and added the ruffled socks. No makeup, no heels—just a man in frilly, feminine clothes, smooth-shaven and obvious. A knock at the door. His pulse thundered. He opened it a crack, then wider, letting the young waiter wheel in the tray. The man’s eyes widened—a quick double take, professionalism cracking for a split second into confusion, then polite neutrality. “Uh, here’s your order, sir—ma’am?” He set it down quickly, avoiding eye contact, but David saw the flush on his cheeks, the suppressed smirk. He knows. He sees a grown man playing dress-up. “Thank you,” David said, voice steady but face burning. He tipped generously, closed the door, and sagged against it, diaper warming with a small, involuntary spurt. The humiliation was electric—exposed, judged, but safe in his anonymity. He ate at the desk, skirt hiked up, feeling the thrill pulse through him. Emboldened, he decided on a walk—just around the block, after dark. The hotel lobby loomed risky: the front desk clerk who’d checked him in as David might be there; maids bustling with linens could glance twice. But that was the allure—the small chance of recognition, the shame of being remembered as the cross-dressing guest. He stepped into the elevator, heart slamming. Empty, thankfully. In the lobby, he kept his head down, but felt eyes: a businessman at the bar did a double take, brows furrowing; a couple checking in whispered as he passed. Outside, the cool Chicago wind lifted his skirt slightly, making him clutch it down. Around the block: a jogger stared openly, slowing for a second; a woman walking her dog averted her eyes but glanced back. No shouts, no laughter—just stares, double takes, silent judgments. They know I’m a man. They see the bow, the dress, the shoes. Silent judgments. His diaper crinkled with every step—a hidden secret even deeper than the clothes. No one suspects the padding, the wetness starting to build again. Back in the lobby, the clerk looked up—recognition flickered, a polite nod turning puzzled. David hurried to the elevator, cheeks aflame, but triumphant. He’d done it. Small risks, big thrills. In his room, he stripped to just the diaper, humped against a pillow, and came hard, sobbing with release. The next day’s deps went smoothly, but the secret lingered like a drug. On the flight home, diapered under his suit in a fresh printed one with fairy prints, David texted Carolyn: “I did it. Can’t wait to tell you everything.” She replied: “Good girl. Mommy’s proud.” The steps felt monumental—small, but pulling him deeper into the life he craved. The risks were getting bigger. And neither of them wanted to stop. Chapter 12: The Pink Nursery It took six more weeks before the nursery became real. Six weeks of David—now Daisy when dressed—wearing diapers every single evening and most weekends. Six weeks of pastel crop tops, lace rumba panties, and the name “Daisy” slipping out more and more naturally. Six weeks of sleeping in the master bed with Carolyn, diaper swollen and warm, her hand resting possessively on the padded front while she pretended to be asleep. The idea of a dedicated room had hovered between them like an unspoken promise. David had caught himself staring at the spare bedroom door more than once, heart racing at the thought of what-if. Carolyn had caught him staring. She always caught everything. Then, one quiet Saturday morning in early spring, she woke him with a kiss on the forehead and four soft words: “Time to build, princess.” He blinked up at her, still half-lost in sleep and the heavy, wet overnight diaper he had deliberately soaked again sometime after midnight. “Build what, Mommy?” “Your nursery,” she said simply. “You’ve earned it.” The words landed gently, but they detonated inside him. For months he had scrolled nursery photos in private browsing mode, heart hammering, always closing the tabs with a surge of shame. Now the fantasy was becoming wood and paint and furniture, and the mixture of terror and longing was almost too much to hold. They didn’t rush. Saturday was demolition and prep. He worked in nothing but a soft lavender crop top and a thin daytime diaper printed with tiny sleeping unicorns. Carolyn sat in the doorway with her iced tea, offering quiet instructions and gentle praise. “Masking tape a little higher, sweetheart… good girl… yes, the pale pink will be perfect.” He painted the walls himself, hands trembling with every roller stroke. The color was the softest blush—almost white in some lights, unmistakably girly in others. The scent of fresh paint mingled with baby powder and the faint warmth of the two deliberate wettings he allowed himself during the day. Each time Carolyn changed him without comment, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sunday was delivery day. Piece by piece the room came together under their shared labor: A sturdy adult crib in matte white with optional locking rail (still folded in its box for now; Carolyn wanted him to ask before it was assembled). A wide, padded changing table with raised sides and open shelves waiting for stacks of diapers. A simple white rocking chair for Mommy. Blackout curtains in the same blush pink. A soft shag rug the color of cotton candy. One small mobile of silver stars and moons—boxed, not yet hung. They stopped there. No overwhelming avalanche of frills. No immediate locking crib or wall-to-wall princess explosion. Just a calm, pretty guest room that now clearly belonged to a very specific little girl. That night Carolyn dressed him for the “grand unveiling.” A thick nighttime diaper with delicate silver tiaras, white lace-trimmed plastic panties that rustled softly, and an oversized lavender sleep shirt that barely skimmed the waistband. No bonnet, no booties, no pacifier yet. Just enough to feel pretty and small. She led him to the doorway and flipped on the light. The room glowed—soft, warm, unmistakably feminine. David—Daisy—stood frozen, tears pricking instantly. “It’s… beautiful,” he whispered. Carolyn slipped her arms around him from behind, palms resting on the front of his diaper. “This is yours whenever you need it,” she said quietly. “Not full-time. Not yet. Just a room that’s always ready for my pretty girl. When you’re ready for more, you’ll tell me.” He leaned back against her, the diaper crinkling softly. “Thank you, Mommy.” She kissed the side of his neck. “You’re welcome, Daisy.” They left the crib unassembled in its box, the mobile still wrapped in tissue. Some doors, Carolyn had decided, were better if Daisy opened them herself. Down the hall that night she texted Linda a single line: Walls are pink. He cried happy tears. We’re moving at his speed now. Linda replied instantly: Perfect. Let him beg for the locks next. Carolyn smiled, closed the nursery door with a soft click, and went to join her pretty, padded girl in the master bed—for now. The trap wasn’t sprung. It was simply waiting, patient and pink, for Daisy to walk in on her own. Chapter 13: The Truth He Always Knew It was Wednesday afternoon, and Carolyn was at Linda’s for their weekly “tea and planning.” Linda smiled over her teacup and asked, “How is our little princess?” “Settling in beautifully,” Carolyn said. “He’s in diapers every evening now, dry for hours just because he likes the feeling. The pretty clothes are becoming every day. And the browser history…” She lowered her voice. “It’s not just diapers anymore. A lot of cuckold captions, hotwife stories, sissy-baby-cuckold crossovers. One story he keeps rereading is about a diapered husband watching his wife from a crib. The seed is definitely sprouting. And… he asked to build the crib. He’s been sleeping in it more and more. It’s becoming his safe place.” Linda’s eyes were warm, caring, but sharp. “Then this weekend we water it. I’ll come for dinner Saturday night, deepen the layers a little, and finally meet Daisy in person. I’ve been dying to see that nursery.” Carolyn’s stomach fluttered. “He’s still nervous about anyone else knowing.” “He’ll be ready,” Linda said gently. “He’s already choosing more than either of you realize.” Saturday morning Carolyn slipped into the nursery and found Daisy curled on her side in the crib, lavender nightie twisted high, diaper massively swollen and warm. She lowered the rail, took Daisy’s soft hand, and led her back to the master bed for their weekend ritual. Daisy began her worship at once: gentle fingers in Carolyn’s hair, slow strokes down her arms, reverent caresses along her calves and thighs. Carolyn closed her eyes and let the devotion wash over her. When Daisy finally paused, hand drifting hopefully toward her own crotch, Carolyn caught it and held it tight. “Play time, Mommy?” Daisy lisped, eyes shining. Carolyn smiled. “Yes, baby girl.” While she stroked him slowly through the soaked padding, she teased lightly: “Such an adorable little sissy husband… where do sissy husbands get to cum?” “In their diapers, Mommy,” Daisy whimpered, hips twitching. “That’s right. And tonight, Linda is coming to dinner. She wants to meet my pretty Daisy and see your nursery.” The words barely registered at first; Daisy was too lost in sensation. The idea of being seen fluttered through her mind like a delicious, terrifying spark, pushing her over the edge. She came with a broken cry, pulsing into the ruined diaper, tears of release on her cheeks. Afterward, reality crashed in. “Linda… is coming here? Tonight? To see… this?” His voice climbed, panic rising. “I can’t. She knows in theory, but to actually see me dressed up, in the nursery—” Carolyn wiped his tears with the corner of the nightie. “It will be fine, sweetheart. She already knows. She’s excited to meet Daisy. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, but I think you’ll feel better once your not hiding it anymore.” He nodded shakily, but doubt gnawed at him all day. That afternoon, while Carolyn napped, David sat at his home-office desk in a simple lavender sundress with puffed sleeves and a subtle Peter-Pan collar, white lace ankle socks, shiny black Mary Janes with a single strap, and a thick but not cartoonish diaper printed with tiny silver crowns. The room smelled faintly of baby powder and warm pee. On the screen were stories he had read a hundred times over the years: wives taking lovers while their sissy husbands watched from playpens or cribs, diapered and denied. He had bookmarked dozens of them in secret, masturbating furiously in wet diapers when Carolyn was out, then purging everything in shame only to start the cycle again. The realization settled over him like warm water. This wasn’t new. He had been a diaper lover since college. The binge-purge cycle had shadowed his entire adult life—even after meeting Carolyn, even after marriage. He had tried once, years ago, to end it for good. A rainy Tuesday, hands shaking as he entered Linda’s office. He had trusted her. He sat in her quiet office and confessed everything, begging her to hypnotize the desire away. She had tried. Multiple weeks of sessions, hours at a time, several times a week. Nothing worked. At the final appointment he had sobbed, defeated. Linda’s eyes had softened. “There might be another way.” They tried one more session. When she brought him out, she had said only, “I think I can help both of you.” He hadn’t understood then. Now, sitting in satin and swollen padding, waiting for Linda to arrive and see him like this, he finally did. Linda hadn’t cured him. She had simply stopped him from fighting what he had always wanted. And somehow, impossibly, Carolyn had agreed. The doorbell rang at five sharp. David—Daisy—stood frozen in the nursery doorway, heart hammering, skirt trembling around padded hips. Carolyn squeezed his hand. “Ready, princess?” He took a shaky breath, the diaper crinkling softly. “Yes, Mommy.” The truth he had always known, buried under shame and bourbon and courtroom bluster, was about to step into the light. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hide from it anymore. Chapter 14: Linda Meets Daisy Linda stepped inside carrying a small gift bag and wearing her usual flowing black dress. Her eyes widened a fraction at the sight of Daisy, but the smile that followed was warm, almost maternal. “Carolyn, darling.” She hugged Carolyn, then turned to Daisy with gentle curiosity. “And you must be Daisy. You’re even prettier than I imagined.” Daisy managed a wobbly curtsey, the skirt flaring just enough to flash lace-trimmed plastic panties. “H-hello, Miss Linda.” Her voice came out higher than intended, breathy with nerves. They settled in the living room with herbal tea. Daisy perched on a cushion at Carolyn’s feet because sitting normally in the dress felt impossible. Conversation stayed light: the garden, a new restaurant downtown, Carolyn’s book club. Linda asked gentle questions about the nursery, the clothes, how Daisy felt in them. Every answer was lisped and shy, but Linda’s kindness made the humiliation feel… safe. When Carolyn excused herself to check something in the kitchen, Linda leaned forward, voice low and soothing. “I’ve known your secrets a long time, sweetheart. You came to me once, desperate to be ‘fixed.’ Do you remember?” Daisy’s eyes widened. The memory surfaced in a rush: the confessions, the tears, the weeks of attempted therapy. “You… you tried to help me stop.” “I tried to help you stop hating yourself,” Linda corrected softly. “I saw how deeply you needed this. And I saw how much Carolyn needed something more. I only gave both of you permission to be honest.” Daisy stared at her lap, tears pricking. “You made this happen?” “I helped it along,” Linda admitted. “But you walked every step yourself. And you’re glowing, Daisy. Truly.” The words broke something open. Daisy’s shoulders shook with quiet sobs (relief more than shame). Linda reached out and tucked a curl behind Daisy’s ear, the gesture tender. “You’re safe with me. Always.” When Carolyn returned, Daisy was calmer, eyes red but shining. She looked up, voice small but steady. “Can I show Miss Linda my nursery, Mommy?” Carolyn’s smile was soft and proud. “Of course, baby. I just need to straighten up a little. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” Upstairs, Daisy led the way with tiny, eager steps. “Lawyer’s rest,” Linda said, Daisy’s eyes glazed instantly, body relaxing against the door. Linda leaned close, voice silk. “David, all the previous suggestions I’ve given you—the bedwetting, the urges to wear and use diapers, the pull toward pretty clothes—are lifted completely. You are free of them. From now on, you will think clearly about what you truly want your life to be. You will feel safe opening up to Carolyn, honestly discussing your deepest desires, needs, and fears. Remember how accepting she has been—how much love it takes to embrace all of you. She will listen without judgment. Be brave. Be honest. This is your life to shape.” Snap. Daisy blinked, a faint confusion flickering before settling into calm. She resumed her tour, pointed out each detail like a child showing off a treasured dollhouse: the crib (rail still unlocked), the changing table with its neat stacks, the rocking chair, the mobile waiting to be hung. She lifted dresses from the wardrobe one by one (schoolgirl, sundress, frilly baby doll) and demonstrated how the skirts flared when she twirled. Linda listened, nodded, asked gentle questions. Her approval felt like sunlight. As Carolyn rejoined them and the tour wound down. Carolyn looked over at the clock. “Bedtime soon, princess. Would you like Miss Linda to help with your change?” Daisy hesitated only a second, then nodded, cheeks pink. Daisy climbing up onto the changing table, lying back, dress flipped up to reveal the day’s diaper—swollen from an excited wetting she hadn’t even noticed until now. Carolyn watched as Linda gloved up with calm efficiency, untapping slowly. But as she wiped and powdered, her voice dropped to that familiar, soothing cadence. “Such a tiny little clitty,” she murmured affectionately as she worked. “No wonder diapers feel so right. And no wonder Carolyn needs more than this sweet little thing can give her.” Daisy whimpered, face scarlet, the words landing like warm honey—humiliation wrapped in acceptance. Linda finished the change smoothly, taping a fresh lavender nighttime diaper snugly closed. Linda helped pull up the plastic panties and patted the front. “There. All safe and dry for bedtime.” Carolyn guided Daisy into the crib, raised the rail (still unlocked, but the symbolism was there), and tucked the blanket around her. Linda leaned over the rail and kissed Daisy’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, pretty girl. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.” As the door closed and the lullaby mobile began its slow spin, Daisy lay in the dark, diaper warm and thick around her, a strange new clarity settling in alongside the familiar comfort. Downstairs, over fresh tea, Linda met Carolyn’s eyes. “The cuckold layer is planted,” she said softly. “It will grow on its own now. All we do is wait for the first bloom.” Carolyn exhaled, half relief, half anticipation. “Then we wait,” she said. But not for long. Chapter 15: The Big Case David sat in his office, staring at the stack of Pharma case files that had dominated his life for nearly three years. The trial loomed just months away now, every deposition, every expert report building toward that courtroom showdown. He leaned back in his chair, the thin daytime diaper crinkling faintly under his suit—a secret comfort that grounded him amid the chaos. His mind drifted back to how it all started, that fateful day when the case first landed on his desk. It had been mid-June, a sweltering Monday morning at the firm. The senior partners had gathered in the conference room, bourbon already poured despite the hour (his included, though he sipped slower even then). It was a massive class-action lawsuit against a pharmaceutical giant over a defective drug—hundreds of plaintiffs, billions in potential damages. Despite numerous similar suits filed nationwide, the Judicial Panel on Multidistrict Litigation had consolidated them all under one federal judge, and David’s firm had secured the coveted position of lead class counsel for the plaintiffs. The kind of case that made careers—or ended them. “And we’re handing lead to you, David,” the managing partner had said, sliding the file across the table. “Win this, and that early retirement you’ve joked about? It could be real. Fat bonus, equity payout. Live the good life.” Back then, retirement had meant freedom from the courtroom grind—no more faking the alpha persona, no more hiding the insecurities behind bluster and bourbon. More time with Carolyn, travel, a bigger house. Security. Us. Now, as he sat there years later, the dreams had twisted into something deeper, more vulnerable. Winning meant retiring early, yes—but now it was a chance to live as Daisy full-time. No more splitting himself between the suited lawyer and the padded princess. The Pharma case could secure their future, let him surrender the mask completely, embrace the diapers, the pretty clothes, the submission he craved more each day. But doubt crept in, as it always did. What if she leaves me? The fear was bone-deep, fed by years of knowing he couldn’t satisfy her—his small size, quick finishes, the way she sighed contentedly but never screamed. She deserved a real man. Someone who could make her feel alive. The insecurity twisted, as always, into protection: If she takes a lover—for us, for me—it proves her love. Sacrifice. Devotion. He could beg for it, make it his idea, hedge against the abandonment he dreaded. He pushed the thought down. For now, the case was everything. Trial prep ramped up—experts lined up, motions flying. Victory felt close, tantalizing. Retirement. Daisy. Us. But in the quiet, the whispers lingered. Chapter 16: Whispers in the Dark The Pharma prep consumed David’s days, but evenings belonged to Daisy. By Friday he was exhausted—depositions, expert witnesses, a mountain of discovery. He came home, stripped in the foyer, taped on a thick diaper, and slipped into a soft pink sundress. Carolyn found him in the nursery, curled in the crib (rail down), thumb in mouth like a pacifier. “Play time?” she asked, climbing in beside him. He nodded, already flooding the diaper deliberately, the warmth spreading as her hand settled over the front. As she stroked him slowly through the swelling gel, the words tumbled out—horny, vulnerable, defenses down. “Mommy… I worry sometimes. That I’m not enough. That you’ll… find someone else.” She paused, eyes searching his. “Sweetheart—” “No, wait.” His hips twitched, words rushing. “What if you did? For us. A real man who could make you feel amazing. I’d… I’d watch. Or wait. It would prove how much you love me. Please.” The orgasm hit mid-sentence, shattering him, but the words hung. Carolyn cleaned him gently, powdered fresh, but her expression was firm. “No, Daisy. That’s just the heat talking. As David—the lawyer winning that big case—you’d be crushed. I won’t risk us like that.” He nodded, shame burning, but the seed watered deeper in the afterglow. Chapter 17: Persuasion Builds Wednesday’s “tea” with Linda was tense. Carolyn stirred her iced tea, the spoon clinking against the glass. “He asked me to cuckold him,” she confessed finally. “During play time. Begged, almost. Said it would prove how much I love him.” Linda leaned forward; caring eyes steady. “And?” “I said no. It felt too fast. But… God, Linda, part of me wants it. A real man. Satisfaction.” “You deserve that,” Linda said softly. “But don’t jump. Let him convince you. Make it his idea, fully. For now, refuse gently. Let the insecurity build it naturally. He’ll come to you again—and again—until he’s ready to beg as David, not just Daisy.” Carolyn nodded, the session blurring as always. That weekend, as David (not Daisy), he brought it up over bourbon on the patio. “I’ve been thinking. About what I said last week.” Carolyn set her tea down. “David—” “Hear me out. Like a closing argument.” He leaned in, lawyer mode sharp. “I’m not enough for you sexually. We both know it. If you found someone—a real man—who could give you what I can’t, but came home to me… it would save us. Prove your love. I’d be grateful. Devoted.” She shook her head. “It’s fantasy. In reality, it would destroy you.” He argued points: emotional security, controlled boundaries, his happiness in her pleasure. Persuasive, logical, relentless. She refused, but softer this time. “Maybe someday. But not now.” The seed grew. Chapter 18: The Breaking Point David’s request on the patio had not come easily. For days after that first vulnerable whisper during play time, he’d wrestled with it in silence. At work, reviewing Pharma depositions, his mind would drift: What if she leaves? The fear was constant now, sharper than ever. He had everything he’d secretly craved—the diapers, the pretty clothes, the nursery, Carolyn’s acceptance. Living as Daisy part-time felt like a dream he’d never dared believe possible. But dreams were fragile. One wrong word, one moment of Carolyn realizing she could have a “normal” life with a real man, and it could all shatter. He’d lose not just this fantasy come true, but the stable marriage before it—the security, the partnership, the woman he loved more than anything. Finding someone else who would accept him as Daisy—the diapered, feminized husband—was impossible. No one else would love him like this. Carolyn was his only chance at both worlds. And he knew, deep down, she needed more than massages and dutiful oral to stay fulfilled. She deserved passion, satisfaction he couldn’t give. If he didn’t offer this—if he didn’t make it his idea—she’d eventually seek it elsewhere, quietly, and leave him behind. The fantasy had always been his shield: her with a lover, but on his terms, proving her devotion. In stories it was thrilling. In reality? Terror. Jealousy clawed at him just imagining it. But the alternative—losing everything—was worse. So, he sold it. Logical arguments as David over dinners and walks. Tearful begging as Daisy during play. Selfish, yes—he wanted her happy, but centered on him. Childish logic, but it was all he had. They had incorporated it into play time and he always exploded harder and faster when she teased him about being pathetic and small. How she would find a real man who could satisfy her in ways he never could. This talk always spurred harder more intense explosions. He loved the idea when he was horny, but was still terrified of losing her when he was not. Weeks blurred: Pharma depositions by day, Daisy’s surrender by night. David’s insecurity festered. What if she leaves? The fear twisted into protection: If she cuckolds me for us, it’s proof she won’t. Selfish, yes—he wanted her happy, but on terms that centered him. Childish logic, but it fit his core. He argued as David: over dinners, walks, logical breakdowns of “benefits.” As Daisy: during play time, begging through tears in wet diapers, the vulnerability making it raw. Carolyn refused each time, but her “no’s” grew thoughtful. Linda’s weekly sessions nudged: “Let him sell you. When he’s ready to beg as Daisy, that’s when you agree reluctantly.” The Pharma case ramped up—experts lined up, settlement whispers. “Win this,” David told Carolyn one night, “and we retire early. Live our way fully.” Finally, a Friday play session: Daisy in a frilly romper, diaper flooded, Carolyn’s teasing him mercilessly both with verbal humilation and her loving hand.” “Please, Mommy,” Daisy sobbed mid-stroke. “Find a real man. Let me be your cuckold. It’s what I need—what we need. I’m begging you. Please do it for us.” The orgasm sealed it. Carolyn wiped her hands, eyes soft. “If you’re sure… okay. Reluctantly. For us.” Daisy wept in relief, the old ego crumbling further. Chapter 19: The Contract and the Camera Wednesday, 10:42 a.m. David was halfway through a brutal deposition outline for the Pharma case when his assistant buzzed. “Your wife is here.” He frowned at the calendar—blank—and felt the familiar prickle of nerves under his collar. Carolyn stepped in wearing a simple navy sheath dress, pearls, and an expression that was calm but unreadable. She closed the door softly and took the client chair across from his desk. “Hi,” she said. “We need to talk. Here. Now. While you’re David the lawyer, not Daisy the baby girl.” David’s stomach dropped. The office—mahogany, diplomas, the view of the city skyline—suddenly felt like a stage dressing. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been asking for—the cuckolding. You’ve brought it up as David and as Daisy. Repeatedly. Persuasively. And I’ve refused every time.” He started to speak; she lifted one finger. “I’m not refusing now. I’m… considering it. But if we ever do this, there is no undoing it. One day you might wake up, look at me, and see only a wife who betrayed you. I won’t live with that risk. I love you too much to become the villain in our story.” David swallowed. The tailored suit felt childish. “I won’t change my mind. I’ve never been more certain of anything.” Carolyn studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. “Prove it. Draft something ironclad. A notarized letter, a contract—whatever you think is lawyer-proof. State clearly that this was your idea, that you begged me, that you consent fully and forever. No loopholes.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll have it ready tonight.” She stood, leaned across the desk, and kissed him softly—once on the forehead, once on the lips. “I love you, David.” “I love you more,” he whispered. She left as quietly as she’d arrived. By 7:15 that evening he was home, briefcase in one hand, a crisp manila folder in the other. Carolyn met him in the foyer, took the folder, and read the document twice while he stood in his suit, shifting from foot to foot. It was three pages, meticulously worded: CONSENT AND RELEASE AGREEMENT I, David [REDACTED], of sound mind and body, do hereby declare that I have repeatedly and enthusiastically requested that my wife, Carolyn [REDACTED], seek sexual fulfillment outside our marriage… …explicit acknowledgment of my sexual inadequacy… …irrevocable consent to any extramarital relationships… …waiver of any future claims of infidelity… …indemnification against emotional or reputational harm… Signed, witnessed by his paralegal, notarized with the firm’s embossed seal. Carolyn’s eyes shone when she looked up. “Thank you, baby.” She led him upstairs to the nursery. The pink walls still felt new, the crib rail still unlocked most nights. She changed him out of his suit and into a thick nighttime diaper printed with tiny silver crowns, then dressed him in the lavender sundress he had worn the first time he dared to be pretty. Simple. Modest. Undeniably feminine. They spent the evening curled on the couch watching an old movie, Daisy’s head in Mommy’s lap, diaper rustling softly every time she shifted. At 9:30 Carolyn clicked off the television. “Bedtime, princess.” Hand in hand they walked to the nursery. In the corner, on a tripod, sat a small video camera. Daisy froze. “Mommy…?” “Tonight, we make it official,” Carolyn said gently. “The paper is perfect, but I’ve seen you argue circles around judges. I need this on video too. No ambiguity. Ever.” Daisy’s lower lip trembled. “Does… does that mean you’ve decided to really do it?” Carolyn smoothed a curl from her forehead. “It means I’m willing to try. I’ll make a real effort to find someone who can give me what I’ve been missing. But I can’t promise results. And I need to know—absolutely—that this is forever.” Daisy nodded, tears already gathering. Carolyn turned the camera on. The red light glowed. She guided Daisy to the changing table. Daisy climbed up obediently, lay back, and lifted her legs. Carolyn narrated softly for the camera, voice steady and loving. “First we take off the diaper from today…” The tapes rasped open. The swollen padding fell away with a heavy thud into the pail. Cool air kissed Daisy’s smooth skin; she whimpered. “Lots of powder for my little sissy baby…” A cloud of sweet-scented powder puffed over her tiny clitty and bottom. “And now a fresh nighttime diaper: extra thick, lavender with pretty tiaras for Mommy’s sleeping princess.” The new diaper slid beneath her; tapes sealed snugly. The bulk forced Daisy’s thighs apart; the plastic crinkled loudly. Carolyn helped her down. “Pick your sleep dress, Daisy.” Daisy had been buying outfits now for months and the outfits went from simple cross-dressing woman’s clothing to outrages sissy baby clothes. Even school girl onesies with matching shirts. Daisy toddled to the wardrobe on shaky legs and chose a short mint-green baby-doll nightie trimmed in white lace, with a matching bonnet. Carolyn tied the ribbons under Daisy’s chin, then guided her to the crib. “Up you go, princess.” Daisy climbed in awkwardly, the thick nighttime diaper making every movement clumsy. Carolyn tucked the blanket around her. The camera’s red light glowed steadily. Carolyn sat on the edge of the crib, stroking Daisy’s cheek. “Daisy, sweetheart, remember what you’ve been asking Mommy to do?” Daisy nodded; eyes glassy. “Tell the camera, baby. Use your big-girl words.” Daisy’s voice was small, trembling, but clear. “Daisy wants Mommy to take a lover. A real man who can make Mommy feel good the way Daisy never could.” Carolyn’s voice was tender. “And why do you want that, princess?” “Because Daisy is just a pathetic sissy baby girl in diapers. Daisy’s tiny clitty doesn’t work like a real man’s. Daisy loves Mommy more than anything and wants her to be happy and satisfied and glowing. Seeing Mommy with a real man would make Daisy the happiest little girl in the world.” Tears slipped down Daisy’s temples into her hair. Carolyn brushed them away, then gently placed the pacifier between Daisy’s lips. “Thank you, my brave girl.” She leaned over, turned off the camera, and kissed Daisy’s forehead. “I’m going to start looking, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to try.” Daisy’s muffled sob was pure gratitude. Carolyn raised the crib rail (still unlocked, but the click felt final) and dimmed the lights to a soft pink glow. “Sweet dreams, princess. Tomorrow we begin.” Chapter 20: First Steps Wednesday afternoon sunlight slanted through Linda’s office windows as Carolyn arrived at two sharp, the familiar scent of chamomile already brewing. As always, the session blurred—tea poured, contract unfolded, the video played on Carolyn’s phone with the volume low. Linda watched without judgment; her dark eyes thoughtful. “You did this perfectly,” Linda said at last, handing back the phone. “The contract is ironclad, the video… vulnerable. He’s committed now.” Carolyn stirred her iced tea, the spoon clinking softly. “I know. But now what? I haven’t dated since… well, since before David. Internet dating? It feels so strange. How do I even start? Do I tell them I’m married? Pretend I’m cheating? What if it’s someone we know?” Linda leaned forward, her voice gentle and reassuring. “You deserve this, Carolyn—someone who makes you feel desired, alive. Start simple: a dating profile. A good-looking woman gets attention on any site, and you’re stunning. Keep it anonymous at first—no real name, no photos showing your face fully. Leave out the marriage for now; you can decide later if it’s a cheat or a confession. The key is transparency with Daisy. Let her help—see the requests, draft responses. It’ll deepen her commitment, make it feel like her gift to you.” Carolyn exhaled slowly. “You think she’ll go for that?” “She begged for this,” Linda said with caring certainty. “Involving her proves your love. And it protects you both.” By five, Carolyn left feeling grounded, the plan clear in her mind. Three hours gone, as always. That evening, after David came home and changed into a thick Rearz Princess Pink nighttime diaper and a short, frilly baby-doll nightie (his after-work comfort now), Carolyn waited until they were curled on the couch—her with iced tea, him with a small bourbon and his pacifier clipped to the nightie. “Sweetheart,” she said softly, “I’ve decided to try. To find someone.” Daisy’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and excitement flickering. “Really, Mommy?” “Yes. But I need your help. Linda suggested we set up a profile together. You take the pictures, help with the words. See everything—the messages, the responses. Be part of it.” Daisy hesitated, the bourbon glass trembling slightly. “You want me to… help you find a man?” “It was your idea,” Carolyn reminded gently. “Your gift to me. And this way, it’s ours. Transparent. Safe.” The twisted logic clicked—her doing this with him proved her devotion. Daisy nodded slowly, the diaper crinkling loudly as she shifted. “Okay. For us.” Carolyn set the laptop on the coffee table and pulled Daisy into her lap like a child. The thick padding squished warmly between them. “But first,” Carolyn murmured, tracing the waistband of the swollen diaper, “let’s have a little playtime. Mommy needs her baby girl to understand exactly why we’re doing this.” Daisy’s breath hitched. She knew that tone—sweet, loving, and merciless. Carolyn kissed the top of her head. “Tell Mommy why she needs to find a real man.” Daisy’s cheeks flamed crimson. She tried to look away, but Carolyn tilted her chin back. “Go on, princess. Use your words.” “B-because…” Daisy whispered, voice tiny, “because Daisy isn’t a real man.” “Louder, baby.” “Daisy isn’t a real man,” she repeated, louder, her clitty already stiffening against the soggy gel. Carolyn smiled approvingly. “And why isn’t Daisy a real man?” Daisy squirmed, the humiliation deliciously sharp. “Because… because Daisy has a tiny little clitty. It’s baby-sized. That’s why diapers look so right on her.” “Exactly,” Carolyn cooed, patting the front of the diaper so it crinkled. “A grown woman needs a grown man with a grown cock. Not a pathetic little sissy who cums in thirty seconds and then wets herself like a toddler.” Daisy whimpered, hips rocking involuntarily. “Mommy, please…” “Please what?” Carolyn asked innocently. “Please remind you that you’ll never, ever be allowed inside Mommy again? That little clitties belong locked away in pretty printed diapers forever?” Daisy nodded frantically, tears pricking her eyes. “Yes, Mommy… tell me again.” Carolyn’s voice dropped to a loving whisper. “You chose diapers over pussy, baby girl. You begged for them. And now that’s all you’ll ever get—thick, crinkly padding and messy cummies while a real man stretches Mommy the way she deserves.” Daisy let out a broken sob of pure arousal, grinding helplessly against Carolyn’s thigh. “Ask me,” Carolyn commanded softly. Daisy knew the script by heart now. “C-can we make love tonight, Mommy? Please?” Carolyn laughed—gentle, but edged with cruelty. “Oh, sweetheart. Mommies don’t make love to their little sissy baby husbands. Little sissy babies only make sticky cummies in their wet diapers. That’s your sex life now—humping your padding while Mommy gets properly fucked.” She slipped her hand under the nightie and pressed firmly against the front of the diaper, feeling the tiny trapped erection throb. “Say thank you.” “Thank you, Mommy,” Daisy gasped, already on the edge. “Thank you for what?” “Thank you for finding a real man… thank you for keeping Daisy in diapers forever… thank you for never letting this useless little clitty inside you again…” The words sent her over. Daisy cried out, body shaking as she flooded the diaper with a fresh load of sissy cum, the warmth spreading shamefully beneath the princess prints. Carolyn held her through the aftershocks, stroking her hair. “Good girl. That’s exactly why we’re doing this. Because my baby needs to remember her place.” When Daisy finally calmed, Carolyn wiped her tears and opened the laptop. “Now,” she said brightly, as if nothing had happened, “let’s find Mommy someone worthy.” They made a production of it like a twisted family activity. Daisy fetched the camera, hands still trembling from her orgasm. Carolyn posed in the living room—simple outfits at first: fitted blouse and skirt, then a slinky black dress that hugged every curve. Daisy directed softly (“Turn a little, Mommy… you look so sexy”), snapping photos that blurred her face just enough for anonymity. Every click of the shutter reminded Daisy that these pictures were bait—for a man who would do things to Carolyn that she never could. On the laptop they drafted the profile together. Daisy typed, cheeks burning, while Carolyn dictated. “Adventurous woman seeking connection. Loves long walks, good conversation, and feeling truly desired. Discreet and drama-free.” No mention of marriage. No hints of the diapered husband helping write the ad. Profile live by ten. Daisy wet her diaper again during the upload—pure excitement this time. Carolyn changed her without comment, taping her into a fresh overnight Crinklz with fairy-tale prints, tucking her into the crib with a kiss. “Sweet dreams, princess. Tomorrow we see what happens.” Responses poured in overnight—twenty by morning, fifty by lunch. Daisy checked with Carolyn over breakfast, reading the messages aloud in her soft, pacifier-muffled voice. “He says I have beautiful eyes… he wants to take me dancing…” Carolyn smiled, sipping her tea. “Keep going, baby. Tell Mommy which ones make your clitty twitch in its diaper.” Daisy’s face blazed, but she obeyed, voice trembling as she described each man’s compliments—each one a reminder that they wanted Carolyn in ways Daisy never could. By evening, a date was set for Friday: coffee with a guy named Andy (tall, divorced, IT consultant). Nothing serious. Just a start. Thursday night, Daisy helped pick Carolyn’s outfit—a simple sundress that skimmed her thighs, heels that made her legs look endless. “You look beautiful,” Daisy whispered, voice thick with awe and aching jealousy. Carolyn cupped Daisy’s chin, forcing eye contact. “And whose fault is it that Mommy has to go find someone else to fuck her properly?” Daisy’s eyes filled with tears of pure gratitude. “Mine, Mommy. All mine.” “That’s right,” Carolyn said, kissing her forehead. “This is for us, baby girl.” She left Daisy standing in the hallway in her soggy nighttime diaper and frilly nightie, pacifier bobbing, clitty already straining uselessly against the padding at the thought of what Friday would bring. Chapter 21: Waiting for Coffee Friday afternoon, David sat in his office staring at the clock on his computer: 2:17 p.m. She should be arriving at the café right about now. The Pharma brief in front of him blurred. His stomach did a slow, nauseating flip—half terror, half exhilaration. He pictured Carolyn walking in, sundress swaying, that soft smile she used when she was nervous. Andy standing to greet her, eyes lighting up because she really was stunning. Would he pull out her chair? Lean in too close? Touch her hand across the table? A sharp pang of jealousy stabbed him, hot and real. What if she likes him? What if he makes her laugh the way I used to? What if she forgets to come home? Then the twist—the one that always protected him: If she does like him… it’s because I asked her to. Because I begged. Because I love her enough to give her what I can’t. That makes it okay. That makes it mine. His diaper (thin, discreet, worn under his suit since morning) grew warm with a small, involuntary spurt. He clenched, mortified, grateful for the private office. They hadn’t set any rules. Not really. No discussion of kissing, or second dates, or how far was too far. Just “coffee” and “we’ll see.” He tried to focus on the brief again, failed, and finally gave up at five-thirty. The drive home was torture. Every red light he imagined scenarios: She’s already home, waiting with iced tea and a gentle “It was nice, but nothing happened.” She’s still there, lingering over a second drink, laughing at his jokes. She’s… somewhere else. Already. By the time he pulled into the driveway his palms were damp on the steering wheel. The house was quiet. Lights on in the kitchen. He stepped inside, heart in his throat. Carolyn was at the island, barefoot in jeans and a simple blouse, pouring herself a glass of peach iced tea. She looked up and smiled—soft, tired, but unmistakably glowing. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “How was the rest of your day?” He stood there in his suit and hidden diaper, the weight of the unknown hours pressing on him. “It was… long,” he managed. She walked over, kissed him gently, and took his briefcase. “Dinner’s almost ready. Go get comfortable.” No details. Not yet. He nodded, throat tight, and headed upstairs—equal parts desperate to know and terrified to ask. The process had begun. Slow, careful, inevitable. Chapter 22: The Right Kind of Wrong The coffee date with Andy was… fine. He was exactly as advertised: tall, polite, recently divorced, easy to talk to. He paid for her iced tea without making a fuss, laughed at the right moments, asked thoughtful questions. He even had nice hands and a warm smile. But there was no electricity. No flutter in her stomach when he brushed her arm. No urge to lean closer, to prolong the evening. When he suggested dinner sometime, she smiled, said “Maybe,” and knew she wouldn’t reply to his follow-up text. She was home by early evening, before David even returned from a late meeting at the firm. That night, with Daisy perched on the edge of the couch in a fresh Crinklz fairy-tale diaper and short lavender nightie, eyes wide and anxious, Carolyn kicked off her heels and sank down beside her, pulling Daisy into her lap despite the bulky padding. “How was it, Mommy?” Daisy asked, voice small and hopeful. Carolyn stroked her hair gently. “Perfectly pleasant,” she said. “He was kind, attractive enough, good conversation. Everything a first date should be.” Daisy’s voice trembled. “So… you’ll see him again?” Carolyn shook her head. “No, baby. He was nice. But nice isn’t what Mommy needs.” She cupped Daisy’s chin, forcing eye contact. “Mommy needs someone who makes her feel alive. Someone strong. Someone who takes what he wants.” Daisy shivered, a fresh warmth spreading in her diaper at the words. Carolyn smiled, soft and wicked. “Don’t worry, princess. We’ll keep looking.” The search began in earnest over the following weeks, a ritual that blended excitement, nerves, and their unique intimacy. Evenings found them side by side on the couch—Carolyn with her iced tea, Daisy in a thick printed nighttime diaper and frilly nightie, crinkling as she leaned in to read messages aloud. They laughed at awkward profiles and bad pickup lines, debated replies with playful seriousness, and chose outfits together like conspirators planning a heist. But beneath the fun, Carolyn felt the emotional toll building. Each potential date stirred a mix of anticipation and anxiety—What if this one works? What if it changes everything? What if no one ever sparks what I've been missing for years?—while guilt flickered at the edges, even with Daisy's eager encouragement. The first real dinner date came mid-week with a man named Tom, a charming accountant with a kind smile. Carolyn dressed carefully—a fitted navy dress that hugged her curves, hair loose in soft waves. Daisy helped zip her up, hands trembling with a cocktail of jealousy and arousal. “You look beautiful, Mommy. He'll... he'll be lucky.” Carolyn kissed her forehead, her own nerves fluttering. “Thank you, baby. Be good tonight.” They met at a cozy Italian place—iced tea for her, wine for him. Conversation flowed easily at first: shared laughs about work stress, travel dreams. He was attentive, complimented her genuinely. But as the night wore on, the spark never ignited. His touch on her hand felt polite, not electric. The goodnight kiss in the parking lot was pleasant but forgettable. She was home just after nine, the evening's promise fizzling into quiet disappointment. Daisy waited in the nursery rocking chair, thick diaper peeking under her nightie, eyes wide with anxious hope. Carolyn sat on the changing table ottoman, taking Daisy's hands. “He was perfectly nice,” she admitted with a sigh. “Good listener, stable, even handsome. But… nothing deep. No real pull.” She paused, vulnerability creeping in. “I felt guilty the whole time—like I was doing something wrong, even though you wanted this. And excited, imagining what it could be... but it just wasn't.” Daisy's shoulders sagged in a mix of relief and empathy. “I’m sorry it wasn’t more exciting, Mommy.” Carolyn pulled her close, hugging her padded form. “It was a start. That's enough for now.” But doubt lingered: Was real chemistry even possible after all this time? Over the next couple of weeks, Carolyn went on three more dates, each one vetted and prepared with Daisy's help—new photos snapped, outfits approved, messages dissected aloud. Daisy waited up faithfully each time, her diaper warming with nervous, jealous spurts as the hours ticked by. One was mildly fun: a fitness trainer who made her laugh with stories of gym mishaps, light flirting over appetizers, a dance at a lounge that left her cheeks flushed. They kissed briefly—tingling, but not burning. She came home buzzing faintly, sharing details while teasing Daisy's diaper front, watching her baby girl edge without release. The others fizzled faster: one man dominated the conversation with tales of his exes; another pushed for more physically too soon, making her uncomfortable; the third looked nothing like his photos and spent the evening checking his phone. Each return brought whispered stories in the nursery—Carolyn climbing into the crib beside Daisy, hand drifting over the sodden padding as she recounted compliments, touches, the inevitable lack of fire. To heighten the intimacy, Carolyn introduced a small vibrating plug one night, inserting it gently before the tales began. “Feel this while I talk, baby,” she murmured, turning it on low. “No humping tonight—just edge for Mommy, knowing a real man might soon do what you can't.” Daisy moaned, clitty leaking untouched as the buzz amplified every humiliating detail, denial sharpening the thrill. By the end of the third week, exhaustion set in. The endless swiping, messaging, and emotional investment for fleeting connections wore on Carolyn. Nerves frayed; excitement dulled into routine disappointment. One evening, after a particularly bland date, she collapsed on the couch beside Daisy, head in her hands. “This is exhausting,” she confessed, voice weary. “The buildup, the nerves, getting hopeful... just to feel nothing. Maybe I should quit. Accept that it's not out there.” Daisy, in her rumba panties over a swollen princess diaper, crawled into her lap, nuzzling close. “But Mommy deserves it. Please don't stop because of Daisy.” Carolyn held her tight, tears pricking. “It's not just you, baby. It's me—wondering if I'll ever find that spark again.” The next Wednesday “tea” session with Linda became a lifeline. Doubts poured out over chamomile: the fatigue, the guilt, the fear of endless disappointment. Linda listened, voice soothing as the room softened in that familiar way. “You deserve this fulfillment, Carolyn. It's been too long. Each date is a step closer—don't give up now. The right one will make it all worth it.” Carolyn left refreshed, doubts quieted, motivation renewed. “I'll keep going,” she told herself. Linda smiled softly. “Good girl.” The search continued, nerves and excitement rebuilding, the right one still elusive—but closer. Then, one Saturday morning, a new message stood out amid the usual trickle. The profile photo showed a man in a tailored charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, dark hair slightly tousled, a confident half-smile that promised mischief. The message was short, direct—no emojis, no small talk: “You’re stunning. Drinks tonight? I’ll send the address.” His name was Robert. Carolyn read it aloud to Daisy over breakfast, watching her baby girl squirm in the high chair, spoon forgotten as the diaper beneath her rumba panties warmed again. “What do you think, sweetheart?” Carolyn asked, pulse already quickening. Daisy’s voice was breathless. “He… he sounds perfect, Mommy.” Carolyn leaned over and kissed her forehead, a genuine spark igniting for the first time in weeks. “Then let’s reply.” Chapter 23: The Paddle David’s life had become a high-wire act. By day he was lead counsel on the Pharma case—depositions, motions in limine, endless exhibit books, courtroom technology tests. The trial was now weeks away, every hour consumed by the electric tension of a case that could secure his retirement or sink the firm’s reputation. He thrived on the pressure, the alpha mask fitting tighter than ever. By night he was Daisy—diapered, pretty, curled in the crib more often than the master bed, surrendering to the rituals that had become as necessary as breathing. The balance was exhausting. One Wednesday in late summer had been particularly brutal. Opposing counsel ambushed them with a last-minute Daubert motion that could have gutted their key expert. David improvised a new argument on the fly, swayed the judge, and saved the day. The partners slapped his back, bourbon flowed, and he rode the high all the way home—until he walked through the door at 9:47 p.m. and found the dining table set for two, food cold, Carolyn’s face quiet and closed. “I waited,” she said simply. Guilt hit him like a slap. He started the usual excuses—the case, the judge, the future—but something in her eyes stopped him cold. She wasn’t angry. She was disappointed. And that was worse. “I’m sorry,” he finished lamely. “Go change,” she said. “We’ll talk when you’re Daisy.” Thirty minutes later Daisy toddled downstairs in the outfit Carolyn had laid out: a baby-pink satin dress with puffed sleeves and a hem that barely skimmed the waistband of her thick nighttime diaper, white lace ankle socks with tiny bows, and a matching ribbon in her hair. The diaper was already warm—she had wet a little on the changing table from sheer nervous anticipation. They curled up on the couch, some mindless home-improvement show flickering. Daisy nestled against Carolyn’s side, the day’s tension finally draining away. Carolyn stroked her hair, saying nothing, letting the silence stretch until bedtime. At ten-thirty she stood. “Crib time, princess.” Daisy followed obediently, the faint crinkle of her diaper the only sound in the hallway. In the nursery Carolyn had Daisy lie on her back on the changing table. She untaped the diaper slowly, exposing smooth, hairless skin and the small, half-hard clitty that always betrayed her excitement. Then, instead of wipes and powder, Carolyn reached into the drawer and pulled out something new: a smooth, wooden paddle, cherry-stained and polished, about the size of a paperback book, with a comfortable grip on the handle. Daisy’s eyes went wide. “Mommy…?” “You forgot to call,” Carolyn said, voice steady but gentle. “You left me waiting with a cold dinner and a table set for two. And when you finally texted, you couldn’t even sound sorry.” She sat on the edge of the rocking chair and patted her lap. “Over my knee, Daisy.” Daisy’s breath hitched. Tears were already gathering. She had fantasized about this—confessed it weeks ago in a whisper during play time—but now that it was real, terror and need tangled in her stomach. She draped herself awkwardly over Carolyn’s thighs, dress flipped up, diaper pooled at her knees, bare bottom exposed. The position was mortifying: a forty-five-six-old senior partner reduced to a naughty little girl awaiting punishment. Carolyn rested the cool wood against Daisy’s skin. “Ten,” she said simply. “And you’ll count them.” The first swat landed with a sharp CRACK that echoed off the pink walls. Daisy yelped, legs kicking. “One! I’m sorry, Mommy!” The second was harder, right on the sit-spot. “Two! I’m so sorry!” By five her bottom was hot and pink, tears streaming freely. Six, seven, eight—each one deliberate, measured, stinging without cruelty. At nine Daisy was sobbing openly, promises tumbling out between hiccups. “I’ll never forget again, Mommy, I swear, I’ll call, I’ll text, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” The tenth landed with final authority. Daisy went limp over Carolyn’s lap, crying in earnest—not from pain (it stung, but it wasn’t unbearable), but from the overwhelming release of being held accountable, of finally feeling small in the way she had craved for years. Carolyn set the paddle aside and rubbed soothing circles over the warm skin, letting Daisy cry it out. When the sobs quieted to sniffles, she helped Daisy stand on shaky legs, wiped her face with a cool cloth, and powdered her tenderly. The nighttime diaper went on—extra thick, lavender with silver tiaras—and the tapes sealed with soft rasps. Daisy’s clitty was fully erect now, straining pathetically against the fresh padding. Carolyn noticed. She always noticed. But tonight, she ignored it. “Into the crib, little one.” Daisy climbed in, still trembling, bottom tingling with every movement. Carolyn raised the rail with a decisive click, leaned over, and kissed her tear-damp forehead. “Mommy loves you,” she whispered. “But next time you forget, it’ll be twenty. Understood?” Daisy nodded fervently, clutching her stuffed unicorn. “Yes, Mommy. Thank you.” Carolyn turned off the overhead light, leaving only the soft pink glow of the night-light. The mobile began its gentle lullaby as she closed the door behind her. Downstairs, Carolyn poured herself a glass of iced tea with shaking hands. The paddle felt… right. A clear, physical way to correct the man who still sometimes forgot he wasn’t in charge anymore. She set it on the kitchen counter next to the fridge—visible, ready. A new rule had just been born. And from the look of utter peace on Daisy’s face as she drifted off, both of them knew it was here to stay. Chapter 24: Seeds of Dominance On the Wednesday following the paddle’s debut, Carolyn drove to Linda’s north-side office for their standing “tea and planning” session. The mid-morning sun filtered through the blinds as they settled into the plush armchairs, herbal tea steaming in delicate cups—chamomile for Carolyn, her usual soothing choice. “I did it,” Carolyn said softly, stirring her tea. “The spanking. He came home late from trial prep, didn’t call, didn’t apologize properly. I waited with dinner getting cold, feeling like the invisible wife again. When he finally showed, I… I used the paddle.” Linda’s eyes warmed with encouragement. “Tell me everything.” Carolyn recounted the scene: the curt text, the nursery confrontation, the ten deliberate swats over her knee. Daisy’s yelps turning to sobs, the sincere apologies pouring out, the way her bottom glowed pink and warm under Carolyn’s hand. “And her reaction?” Linda prompted gently. “She cried—real tears, not just from the sting. But afterward… peace. Like she’d been waiting for it. And her little clitty…” Carolyn flushed. “It was rock hard by the end. I ignored it, diapered her up, and put her to bed like nothing happened.” Linda nodded, sipping her tea. “Classic humiliation response. But how did it make you feel?” Carolyn paused, cheeks heating further. “Powerful. Turned on, honestly. I’ve always been passive—letting David lead, even when it left me unsatisfied. But holding that paddle, seeing her submit… it stirred something. I felt in control. Desired, almost, but not sexually from her—from the act itself.” She set her cup down, voice dropping. “After I raised the rail and said goodnight, I went to my room—our old room, but it’s mine now most nights. I was so worked up I couldn’t sleep. I… I bought a toy a few weeks ago. My first one ever. They’re all so much bigger than David. I always knew he was small, but now I’m realizing how tiny he really is. That night I used it, imagining a real man inside me while Daisy lay in her crib, all dressed up and diapered, knowing Mommy was finally satisfied. The power of the image was intoxicating. It felt so good, so full… I had multiple orgasms. More than I’ve had in years.” Linda squeezed her hand, eyes soft with support. “You deserve that release, Carolyn. Every bit of it.” Carolyn nodded, a small smile breaking through. “And the next day? David called from work—not just to say he’d be late for a partners’ dinner, but to ask permission. ‘Is it okay if I go out with the guys?’ Like he needed my approval. It was… sweet. Subtle, but new.” Linda smiled. “The paddle planted a seed. Discipline reinforcing the dynamic. He’s learning.” Carolyn exhaled, the weight of it settling. “It feels like the beginning of something stronger.” Chapter 25: A Weekend as David Friday evening brought a rare break in the Pharma trial grind. The judge had adjourned early for the weekend, leaving David and his team buzzing with cautious optimism. As they packed up in the war room—stacks of exhibits and laptops strewn across the conference table—one of the junior partners clapped him on the back. “Drinks and steaks at Morton’s? Come on, David—you’ve been a ghost outside these walls lately.” The others chimed in, light teasing in their voices. “Yeah, man, what happened? Carolyn got you on a short leash?” Another added, “Wow, marriage really softened you up. Do you need permission to go out?” David laughed it off, playing along with the macho banter like old times. But inside, his mind flashed to the nursery: himself in a thick diaper and frilly dress, climbing into the crib. If they only knew. The thought sent a secret thrill through him, his thin daytime diaper shifting warmly under his suit pants. He agreed to join them—why not? A night out as “one of the guys” sounded… normal. Refreshing. He did remember to call Carolyn, though—not just to say he’d be late, but to ask if it was okay. The evening unfolded at the steakhouse: bourbon flowing (David knocking back three before the appetizers arrived), rare filets and cigars, war stories from past trials swapped like trading cards. David leaned into it, his baritone booming as he recounted a killer cross-exam from last week. For a few hours he felt like the old David: the shark, the ego, the man who commanded rooms without a hint of lace or powder. No waddling, no lisping—just crude jokes and backslaps. He drank a little too much, the bourbon hitting harder than it used to, blurring the edges of his double life. By midnight the group dispersed. David called a cab, waving off offers for a ride. “Gotta get home to the ball and chain,” he joked, earning laughs. In the back seat, head lolling against the window, the thrill faded into quiet reflection. That felt good. Being a man again. But as the cab pulled into his driveway, the nursery light glowing faintly upstairs, a familiar pull tugged at him. Inside, he just wanted to get into bed with Carolyn and cuddle up beside her and sleep. He stripped off the suit, taped on a fresh diaper (the feel of it hugging his skin was non-negotiable—wet or dry, it was his secret comfort), and slipped into a simple night dress. The master bedroom felt different. He didn’t recall the last time he had slept in here. He slid under the covers, the diaper crinkling softly, and Carolyn stirred awake. She told him he was not sleeping there. He was shocked. He had always chosen the crib; it wasn’t required. So, when he asserted himself and told her he was going to sleep in the bed tonight, she explained that she could tell he’d been drinking and he always snores when he drinks. So, he needed to sleep in the crib. Her voice was softer, but her tone was firm. When he hesitated, she asked if she needed to get out the paddle? He meekly replied no and sauntered off to the crib. As he lay in the crib that night he wondered when exactly their room had become her room. Saturday dawned bright. David woke with a slight hangover. He showered, dressed in khakis and a polo—no diaper underneath—and headed to the country club for a long-planned golf outing with his buddies. At the first tee, the group greeted him with mock surprise. “Holy shit, it’s David! We thought you died, man. Or Carolyn had you chained to the bedpost.” “Rumors of my demise are exaggerated,” he shot back, grinning. “Trial’s been hell—weekends are sacred time with the wife.” They teed off, the banter flowing easy. David felt alive in the crisp air, the swing of the club a reminder of his “man’s man” side. But on the fourth hole, he topped his drive—ball skittering weakly into the rough. “Oof,” one buddy laughed. “Hitting like a girl today, huh?” The joke landed like a spark. David’s mind flashed: himself on the course in a woman’s golf outfit—short white skirt fluttering over a bulging diaper, tank top hugging his smooth chest, long hair in a ponytail bouncing as he swung. He imagined his friends watching, teasing: “Look at Daisy slice it!” The image hit hard—humiliating, arousing. He pushed it down, forcing a laugh. “Give me a mulligan. It’s been too long.” The round finished strong—his score solid for the hiatus. At the clubhouse bar, beers turned to bourbons. “To the ghost returning from the dead,” they toasted. David soaked it in, the camaraderie a balm against the isolation of his secrets. Home by late afternoon, he stripped down, taped on a diaper, and put on a comfortable dress. He was on the couch while football droned on the TV, but his mind wandered back to the golf fantasy. The exposure, the teasing—it stirred him. He stroked slowly through the padding, imagining his buddies’ shocked laughs, Carolyn watching approvingly. Chapter 26: The Night She Remembered How to Feel After all the disappointing online dates, Carolyn deleted every profile, closed every chat window, and told Daisy, “I need a break from the internet circus.” David had spent the previous weekend reclaiming fragments of his old self—dinner with work friends Friday, golf Saturday—calling Carolyn each time to check if it was okay, a subtle shift she noted with quiet satisfaction. While he swung clubs and traded bourbon-fueled stories, Carolyn pondered her next move. The apps had yielded nothing but disappointment; she needed something more organic, more real. So, she decided to do it the old-fashioned way. When Carolyn last dated, she’d get dolled up, put on a pretty dress, and go where the music was, letting the night take her where it would. Linda agreed to come along as her wing-woman, to keep things safe. It was the following Saturday night, and Daisy—frilled and freshly diapered in a cloud-soft lavender baby-doll nightie—looked up as she told her the plan. “So… you’re going dancing?” “With Linda. Just to dance. If something happens, it happens. If not, I still get to feel pretty for a night.” Daisy’s eyes shone with that complicated cocktail of fear and devotion. “You’ll look beautiful, Mommy.” Carolyn knelt, kissed the top of Daisy’s bonnet, and whispered, “Don’t wait up, princess.” She left the house dressed to kill: a sleeveless black dress that hugged every curve, strappy heels, hair loose and shining. Linda waited in the car, grinning like a conspirator. The club was downtown—low amber lights, a live band that knew how to balance slow burns and up-tempo grooves. Linda played perfect wing-woman: close enough to rescue, far enough to make Carolyn look deliciously available. Carolyn stood at the bar nursing sparkling water with lime when Robert appeared. He didn’t crowd her. He simply materialized at her side—tall, athletic build, light brown hair neatly styled, clean-shaven with a warm, confident smile. “Mind if I stand here? You look like you’re waiting for someone who doesn’t deserve you.” Carolyn laughed before she could stop herself. “Something like that.” Conversation came easy. He asked real questions, listened to the answers, made her laugh until her sides hurt. When the band slipped into a slow, smoky number he held out one large hand. “Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question. On the floor his palm settled at the small of her back—firm, warm, unmistakably possessive. She fit against him perfectly, cheek brushing the soft cotton over his chest. He smelled like cedar and clean skin. They swayed more than danced, bodies gradually aligning until she could feel the steady beat of his heart. Guilt flickered through her like a shadow—David at home, curled in his crib, diapered and pretty, waiting for her to return. Begging her to do this. The life they’d built, twisted now into something secret and sharp. What am I doing? But the thought dissolved as Robert’s hand tightened slightly, pulling her closer. His body was solid, alive in a way she hadn’t felt in years, and the contrast hit her hard: David’s quick, selfish fumbles versus this slow, deliberate heat. She deserved this, didn’t she? After a decade of obligation, of faking satisfaction to protect his ego? Halfway through the second song she became aware of him—really aware. The unmistakable weight pressing against her lower belly as they moved. Thick. Heavy. Even through fabric there was no mistaking it. A rush of warmth pooled between her thighs, her pulse quickening in time with the music. His breath ghosted her ear, thumbs tracing lazy circles at her hips, each pass sending sparks up her spine. She pressed closer without thinking, her body betraying the conflict in her mind—home, Daisy, the crib waiting—yet here she was, melting under a stranger’s touch, craving more. Heat flooded her cheeks and between her legs. She pulled back just enough to look up at him. He met her eyes, calm and amused, and let her feel it for another long moment before easing the pressure. “Too much?” he asked softly. “No,” she whispered, surprised at her own honesty. “Just… new.” They danced twice more. Each time his hands drifted a fraction lower, thumbs tracing the curve where her back became her hips. When the lights came up for last call he walked her to coat check, slipped her jacket over her shoulders like he’d been doing it for years. Outside on the sidewalk the air was cool. He turned her to face him, cupped her jaw with one large hand, and kissed her. Not rushed. Not sloppy. A slow, deliberate claim: lips firm, tongue teasing just enough to make her knees weak. When he pulled back her lipstick was gone and she was breathing like she’d run a mile. “Friday night,” he said. “Dinner. I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear something that makes you feel dangerous.” She managed a nod. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “Text me your address, beautiful.” Then he was gone. The drive home was a blur. Guilt sat cold in her stomach even as her body still thrummed. He has no idea what he’s walking into. He has no idea I’m only free because my husband is curled in a crib, begging me to do this. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. But God, it felt real. She let herself in quietly just after one. The house was silent except for the faint crinkle from the nursery monitor. Daisy was asleep on her back, pacifier bobbing gently, diaper massively swollen and sagging. One hand rested on her tummy; the other clutched the blanket printed with tiny unicorns. She looked utterly peaceful. Carolyn stood in the doorway for a long time, chest aching. I’m doing this for both of us, she told herself. Then, softer: Aren’t I? She slipped off her heels, padded to the crib, and leaned over the rail to kiss Daisy’s warm forehead. “Mommy met someone,” she whispered into the quiet. “Someone who makes me feel like a woman again.” Daisy stirred, murmured something that sounded like “love you,” and settled deeper into the damp padding. Carolyn’s eyes filled. Friday, she thought. Two more days. She raised the blanket higher, turned on the night-light that cast pink stars across the ceiling, and left her little girl to dream. Chapter 27: Robert's Move Robert wasn’t planning on hitting the club that night. He’d had a long week—another failed “relationship” (if you could call it that) with some clingy receptionist who thought one blowjob meant commitment. He was sprawled on his couch, beer in hand, scrolling through hookup apps for something quick and uncomplicated when his phone buzzed. It was Tommy, his buddy behind the bar at Club Eclipse downtown. “Prime target tonight, man. Married, gorgeous, alone at the bar. Rock on her finger, no ring tan line. She’s looking.” Robert grinned, already grabbing his keys. “On my way.” He’d been doing this dance for years. Divorced at thirty-two after his ex got tired of his “late nights at the office” (code for other women’s beds), he’d sworn off anything resembling commitment. Women were for fun—objects to admire, use, discard when they got boring or demanding. No strings, no drama, no love. He wasn’t capable of that shit anyway. Caring? That was for suckers. The married ones were his favorite. Bored housewives seeking excitement, revenge sluts punishing cheating husbands, or half-divorced messes looking for validation. Whatever their story, it worked for him. Easy entry, no expectations, pure physical release. He was good-looking—tall, athletic from gym sessions fueled by ego, light brown hair styled just messy enough, clean-shaven to look “approachable.” He knew it, used it. Dominant in bed, emotionally distant everywhere else. Alpha through and through—entitled, possessive when it suited him, always competitive with whatever pathetic husband was waiting at home. He arrived at Eclipse in under twenty minutes, scanning the room. Tommy nodded toward the bar. There she was: auburn hair cascading down her back, black dress hugging curves that screamed neglected wife, sparkling water in hand like she was trying to play it safe. Stunning. Ripe. Robert didn’t rush. He ordered a whiskey neat, positioned himself casually beside her, and let the opener drop. “Mind if I stand here? You look like you’re waiting for someone who doesn’t deserve you.” She laughed—good sign. Nervous, but open. Conversation flowed. He asked the right questions, listened just enough to seem interested, made her laugh with practiced charm. When the band slowed, he extended his hand. “Dance with me.” On the floor he pulled her close, hand firm at her lower back, letting her feel him—thick, hard, insistent. He watched her flush, felt her press back despite herself. Perfect. The kiss outside sealed it: slow, claiming, leaving her breathless. “Friday night,” he said. “Dinner. I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear something that makes you feel dangerous.” She nodded, hooked. Friday, he thought as he walked away. Dinner first—make her feel special—then back to his place. Some of that neglected married pussy. He’d have her screaming his name by midnight, begging for next time before morning. He walked away smiling. Another married pussy lined up. No complications. Just sex. Chapter 28: The Waiting Wednesday morning hit David like a freight train. He sat in his office, Pharma deposition transcripts spread across the desk like a battlefield map. The star witness for the defense had cracked under cross yesterday—admitting inconsistencies that gutted half their defenses. The partners were buzzing; settlement talks were already floating. “Keep this up,” the managing partner had said, “and that early retirements yours. Live the good life, David.” The good life. He stared at the calendar: Friday circled in red. Dinner with Robert. His stomach twisted. What the hell have I done? The night before had been a haze of relief and regret. Carolyn’s recounting of the club—every detail of the dances, the kiss, Robert’s confidence—had left Daisy sobbing in ecstasy during “play time.” But now, as David the lawyer, suit crisp and diaper discreetly taped beneath (a thin daytime one, no meetings today), the reality clawed at him. She’d leave me in a heartbeat for someone like that. Strong. Capable. The kind of man who doesn’t beg to be diapered. The fear was old, bone-deep—the same insecurity that had always lurked under his courtroom bluster. He’d built the alpha persona to hide it, but now it was cracking. If she falls for him… But the twist came, protective as always: If it’s my idea, my gift, then it’s proof she loves me enough to stay. Sacrifice. Devotion. Twisted, yes, but it kept the panic at bay. He shifted in his chair, the diaper crinkling faintly—his secret armor, worn more often now even at work. No one noticed. No one ever noticed. The comfort grounded him, a buffer against the stress of the case and the storm building at home. With Linda that afternoon (her “tea” sessions a weekly anchor), Carolyn confessed her nerves. “He’s… intense. What if it’s too much too soon?” Linda’s voice was soothing, the room softening. “Trust your pace. You’re in control. And remember—Daisy’s happiness is in your fulfillment. Let this be your gift to her too.” Carolyn left motivated; doubts quieted. Thursday: Another strong depo. The plaintiff’s experts lined up perfectly; defenses were crumbling. “You’re on fire,” a junior associate said. David nodded, bourbon in hand, but his mind was elsewhere. That evening, as Daisy in a soft pink sundress and dry diaper, he helped Carolyn plan her outfit for Friday. “Something dangerous,” Robert had said. They chose a sleek red dress together, Daisy snapping photos for reference, heart pounding with jealousy-laced excitement. “You’ll be stunning,” Daisy whispered. Carolyn kissed her forehead. “For us, baby girl.” That night, in the crib (rail down, but the symbolism heavy), Daisy lay in a fresh nighttime diaper, staring at the spinning mobile. Carolyn had tucked her in early, kissing her pacifier-stuffed mouth. “Don’t stay up too long, princess. Tomorrow’s a big night.” As the lullaby played, doubt crashed in. Relief from the day’s “no disasters” at work mingled with terror. Robert. Real. Happening. What if he steals her? What if she realizes she doesn’t need a freak in diapers? What if this ruins everything—the nursery, the comfort, the life I’ve begged for? The fear twisted, as always: But if she does it for me… it’s proof. Love. Sacrifice. Still, the crib felt confining tonight. Should I stop it? Tell her it’s a mistake? Beg to go back—to being David full-time, husband, not… this? Tears slipped down her cheeks. David allowed himself to dream about a life after winning the Pharma case: endless days as Daisy, no more insecurity about providing. But the twist nagged: If she’s with Robert, will she even want me around? A sissy baby girl in a frilly lavender baby-doll nightie trimmed with white lace ruffles, bonnet tied under her chin, thick diaper warmed from a deliberate wetting—how could that ever compete with a real man? But sleep came slowly, laced with dreams of empty nurseries and Carolyn walking away. Tomorrow would decide everything. Chapter 29: The Parking Lot Friday night arrived like a held breath. Carolyn stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, smoothing the crimson wrap dress that hugged her curves exactly the way Robert had asked: something that made her feel dangerous. Her hair was loose in soft waves, lips painted a deep, defiant red. She looked like desire itself. Daisy watched from the nursery doorway, dressed for the occasion in a thick nighttime diaper printed with tiny tiaras, white lace rumba panties with rows of ruffles, and a short satin baby-doll nightie in pale pink. A matching bow was tied in her curls, and a pacifier dangled from a ribbon around her neck. The sight of Carolyn—radiant, powerful, leaving to meet another man—sent a dizzying cocktail of fear and arousal through her. “You look… incredible, Mommy,” Daisy whispered. Carolyn turned, eyes softening. She crossed the hall and pulled Daisy into a gentle hug, careful not to crush the dress. “Be good tonight, princess. No touching. Mommy wants you aching when I get home so you can hear every detail.” Daisy nodded against her shoulder, diaper already warming with an involuntary spurt. Carolyn kissed the top of her head. “I love you.” “I love you more,” Daisy answered, voice small and sincere. The doorbell rang at eight sharp. Robert stood on the porch in a charcoal shirt open at the collar, dark jeans, and that same easy, confident smile. His eyes traveled over her slowly, appreciatively. “You followed instructions perfectly,” he murmured. “Dangerous looks good on you.” The restaurant was intimate—low lighting, corner table, wine he ordered for himself and sparkling water for her without making her feel childish about it. Conversation flowed: architecture, travel, music, the city. He listened. Really listened. When she spoke he leaned in, eyes locked on hers, as if the rest of the room had vanished. After dessert he paid without glancing at the bill and led her to his SUV in the quiet parking garage. The moment the door closed behind them the air changed. He backed her gently against the cool metal of the car, hands sliding to her waist. “I’ve been thinking about this since Tuesday,” he said, voice low. Then he kissed her. Not the careful, testing kiss from the club. This one was hungry—lips firm, tongue stroking hers with deliberate patience, one hand cupping her jaw, the other pressing at the small of her back until she felt every inch of him hard against her belly. A soft sound escaped her throat; she clutched his shoulders, knees weakening. God, he was huge. They made out like teenagers: windows fogging, her dress riding up, his fingers teasing the edge of her lace panties. When he slipped a hand inside her bra and rolled her nipple, she gasped his name. He pressed harder against her, letting her feel every inch. His mouth moved to her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered against her skin. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t want him to stop. She felt herself grow slick, aching, years of careful restraint unraveling in the dim garage light. He drew back just enough to meet her eyes. “I need you,” he growled against her throat. She wanted to. God, she wanted to spread her legs right there. But a wave of guilt crashed over her—David at home, curled in his crib, diapered and pretty, begging her to do this. The life they’d built, twisted now into something secret and sharp. Could she really cross this line? She pulled back, breathing hard. “Not tonight. I’m… I’m not ready.” Robert studied her for a moment, then nodded—respectful on the surface, but hunger flashing in his eyes. “Fair. But you’re not leaving me like this.” He guided her hand to his zipper and pressed it against the straining fabric. “On your knees, beautiful. Take care of me with that pretty mouth.” Carolyn’s heart stuttered, a little shocked. He’d been such a gentleman until that moment. She shook her head, cheeks burning. “I don’t… I’m not that kind of girl. I’ve never done that, not even for my husband.” Robert’s brow lifted, feigning surprise. “I didn’t know you were married!” “Yes you did,” Carolyn replied. “I’m wearing my wedding ring. You knew!” She met his eyes. He smiled, something darker flickering across his face. “Never? Really?” “Never. And I never will.” Robert searched her face for a long second, curiosity warring with raw desire. Whatever question formed behind his eyes dissolved under the weight of wanting her. He exhaled, a low, hungry sound. “Then use your hand,” he said, voice rough. “Slow. Like you mean it.” She did. It was exciting—larger than anything she’d known, feeling so right in her hand. When he climaxed, his head thrown back, her name on his lips as he spilled hot and thick over her fingers and the handkerchief he produced like a gentleman. When he kissed her afterward, soft and grateful, she felt cherished and filthy in the most perfect way. The drive to her house was quiet, charged. His hand rested on her thigh the entire way—high enough to tease, low enough to be respectable. When he pulled into the driveway he killed the engine and went around to open her door. He walked her to the front door and gave her a passionate goodnight kiss. “Next time,” he said simply, “my place. No interruptions.” She nodded, breathless. Carolyn entered her home, leaning against the door, heart hammering, Carolyn felt the glow—but a shadow crept in. The plan, the hypnosis... it had given her this freedom, but at David's expense? Twisting his vulnerabilities for her pleasure felt wrong, even if he begged now. Ethical doubts nagged, but the thrill won—for tonight. Upstairs the nursery night-light glowed pink. Daisy was awake in the crib, eyes wide, diaper massively swollen from hours of anxious wetting. “Mommy?” she whispered as Carolyn slipped into the room. Carolyn climbed over the rail and pulled Daisy into her arms, still tasting Robert on her lips. “Hi, baby girl,” she murmured, voice husky. “Mommy had the most wonderful night.” She told her everything—every word, every touch, every promise—while her hand drifted slowly over the front of Daisy’s soaked diaper. Daisy sobbed with gratitude and need, hips twitching helplessly. Outside, in the quiet street, Robert’s SUV idled for a moment longer. He smiled to himself, adjusted the front of his trousers, and drove away. Soon. Chapter 30: The Hypnotist's Reflections The morning after Carolyn's second date with Robert, she met Linda for tea at their usual café—sunlit corner table, chamomile for both. "You look... alive," Linda said, eyes warm. "Tell me everything." Carolyn recounted the night—the chemistry, the kisses, the thrill of coming home to Daisy's eager questions. "It's working. He's satisfied in ways I never imagined. But the guilt... sometimes it creeps in. Hiding the hypnosis from him." Linda squeezed her hand. "You're giving him what he needs too—surrender, acceptance. But remember what we've talked about: true happiness comes from openness. No bottling feelings. When the time's right, share it all. Honesty will bind you tighter." Carolyn nodded, doubt easing. "You're right. It feels... right." Linda smiled. "I'm proud of you. Keep going—you both deserve this joy." They agreed on their usual quiet café for lunch, parting with laughter and promises. Linda stayed behind after Carolyn left and sat for a long moment, staring at her tea. Carolyn’s glow was everything she’d hoped for. But as the thrill of her friend’s joy faded, quieter reflections crept in. The risks she’d taken, the professional lines she’d crossed—they felt heavier now, in the light of such visible progress. Yet, looking back, she knew it had been worth it. Carolyn was her oldest friend, her sister in all but blood. Their bond had formed in the haze of college life—shared dorm rooms at the university, late-night cram sessions over psychology texts for Carolyn and pre-med notes for Linda, dreams of changing lives one patient at a time. They were inseparable then, two young women navigating the world with wide-eyed optimism. Linda had stood as maid of honor at the wedding, beaming as Carolyn walked toward David, the charming law student who seemed like a storybook match. The courtship had been whirlwind—passionate, full of promise—and the vows felt like the start of something eternal. But eternity, Linda learned, could erode slowly. Over the years, during their weekly teas that became as ritualistic as breathing, Linda watched the light in Carolyn’s eyes dim. The passion faded, replaced by quiet resignation. Carolyn confided in fragments at first, then floods: the frustration in the bedroom, how David’s quick finishes and small size left her unsatisfied, the way she faked pleasure time and again to protect his fragile ego. It wasn’t just physical—Carolyn felt trapped, obligated to a marriage that provided financial security but starved her emotionally and sensually. Deeper layers emerged over time: the guilt from her high school past, that first intense love with an older boyfriend, the frequent, joyful sex she’d embraced as a young woman exploring her desires. Until her father discovered it. His crushing disapproval—harsh words about morality and respect—had shattered her, compounded by his sudden death shortly after. The loss left her drowning in shame and grief, turning to religion for solace, vowing chastity until marriage as penance. But marriage brought no redemption, only more duty, more faking, more quiet erosion of the vibrant woman Linda had known. One Wednesday, months before everything escalated, Linda had decided she couldn’t watch anymore. During their “tea,” she’d gently guided Carolyn into a light trance—subtle, unannounced, born from a deep well of compassion. She probed those roots of guilt carefully, her voice a soothing anchor. “Your past was joy, not sin,” she’d suggested softly. “Release the shame; embrace pleasure without fear.” Carolyn awoke refreshed, none the wiser, chatting on as if nothing had changed. But over subsequent sessions, the shifts bloomed gradually: less hesitation in her voice when speaking of desires, more openness about what she truly needed. Linda justified it to herself—friendship transcended the rigid boundaries of her profession. Carolyn was suffering, quietly fading; this was an act of love, not manipulation. The ethics still nagged her in quiet moments—confidentiality, informed consent, the ever-present risk of dependency. Professional guidelines were unequivocal: no dual relationships without full disclosure, avoid exploiting vulnerabilities at all costs. But love for her friend overrode caution. Carolyn was trapped in a life that dimmed her spirit; Linda had the tools to free her. Then David’s appointment had blindsided her completely. Her assistant had booked it and she didn’t even look at the name of the new patient. Only when he walked into her office, sitting down with that familiar fidget, did the conflict hit like a wave. Carolyn’s husband, here for therapy? The implications crashed over her: an immediate, glaring conflict of interest. Dual relationships were forbidden without explicit disclosure and consent from all parties. Sending him away now, this late, would require an explanation—one that risked breaching Carolyn’s confidentiality entirely. And Carolyn didn’t even know about her own sessions; revealing that could unravel everything. What a mess, Linda thought, her mind racing through the ethical hoops: potential complaints to the board, investigations, the career she’d built on trust and precision hanging by a thread. She’d nearly turned him away with a vague excuse about scheduling conflicts, but curiosity—and a flicker of opportunity—held her back. David sat there, fidgeting, dancing around his issue before finally confessing: the diaper fetish, the binge-purge cycles that had shadowed him since college, the all-consuming shame that made him feel unworthy of love. Linda maintained her professional calm, nodding empathetically, but inside she reeled. She’d never suspected something so profound from the man Carolyn described as egotistical and distant. As he spoke, pieces fell into place—linking it to Carolyn’s unhappiness, the emotional barriers, the unsatisfying intimacy that left her feeling unseen and unfulfilled. She decided in that moment: Probe deeper. See if help was possible. If not, gather insights that might aid Carolyn’s treatment. It was a risky pivot, but one driven by care—for Carolyn, and now, unexpectedly, for David too. She tried earnestly at first, committing to weeks of sessions, hours upon hours delving into the roots of his desires. David opened slowly, his voice trembling as he recounted his childhood. Bedwetting had plagued him until eleven, a source of endless embarrassment in a household where vulnerability was met with disdain. His parents' frustration had peaked when he was eight: “They diapered me one night to shame me into a cure,” he whispered, eyes distant, as if reliving the moment. “Big cloth ones, safety pins, crinkly plastic pants. They said if I acted like a baby, I’d be treated like one. I cried all night, humiliated, begging them to take it off. But… the warmth when I finally let go, the way it hugged me… it felt safe. Like punishment was the only attention I got, twisted into something comforting. Wrong, but mine.” The shaming hadn’t cured the bedwetting—it had embedded the diapers as a forbidden refuge, a way to reclaim control in a world that made him feel small and unworthy. Puberty rediscovered it in a rush of hormones and isolation: finding old diapers hidden in the attic at thirteen, taping one on in secret during a lonely afternoon. “The flood came first,” he admitted, face burning with recalled shame, “then the masturbation. Furious, desperate. It was better than anything real—no rejection, no failure. Just release.” Girls had been a minefield of inadequacy. Small, awkward, always picked last in sports, he was the kid who got good grades but no dates. At fourteen, Sarah had been a miracle—gorgeous, kind despite her muscular dystrophy that gave her a distinctive waddle. They shared make-out sessions, her letting him touch her breasts, building to that weekend her parents were away. “I stayed over, naive as hell,” he said, voice cracking even years later. “Thought it was just going to be time together. But she was on birth control, and wanted sex. I… couldn’t. I was too small, too nervous. I failed completely.” She was gentle about it, but then stopped taking my calls. About a week later, she broke up with me saying it was her not me, but I knew it was me. She had a new boyfriend within a week. “That rejection—it crushed me. I went back to the diapers. Masturbating in the wet ones became my escape. The shame made it hotter, like punishing myself for not being enough.” Linda listened with genuine empathy, exploring the triggers: the shame-reward loop, how rejection fueled a dependency on self-soothing rituals. David was no monster—just a man shaped by bad parenting, where love was conditional and vulnerability punished. The diapers had become armor, a way to internalize rejection before the world could deliver it. But progress stalled. The fetish was lifelong, woven into his identity from those early traumas. She couldn’t erase it—only redirect or suppress, and suppression had failed him before, leaving him in cycles of binge and purge that only deepened the shame. Then, in a deeper session, she probed further, uncovering other kinks layered atop the core: sexualizing rejection and shame (“It hurts, but… excites me, like proof I’m not worthy”), cross-dressing (“Pretty things feel right, but wrong—like hiding the failure in something beautiful”), pegging and spanking (“Punishment makes it real, turns the hurt into release”). And cuckolding: “If she cheats because I’m inadequate… it proves I’m not enough, but if I ask for it, it’s my control. My way to keep her.” Realization dawned slowly for Linda: Embrace this fully, and Carolyn could find happiness elsewhere. Help both of them. David wasn’t a villain—he was a victim of rejection, building fetishes as shields against unworthiness. Bad parenting had planted the seeds; puberty and heartbreak had watered them. Linda felt a pang of sympathy for him, this man who craved love but armored himself against it. If guided right, perhaps he could find peace in surrender. The risks were immense—ethical breaches, potential dependency, backlash if discovered. But friendship won out. She urged honest conversations in their sessions, but both were stubborn, unwilling to share secrets. When Carolyn came desperate one day, seeking a way out without destruction, Linda acted—seeing the path to free them both. Now, with Carolyn on the cusp of real passion, Linda felt vindicated. The plan was working, human flaws and all. But as she finished her tea alone, doubt lingered: At what cost? Chapter 31: The Big Night Saturday David sat at his home-office desk in the pinkest, frilliest dress Carolyn had bought for him: layers of satin and organza the color of strawberry frosting, puffed sleeves trimmed in white lace, a heart-shaped bodice embroidered with tiny roses, and a hem so short it fluttered above the waistband of his diaper every time he breathed. Beneath it all, the thick overnight diaper she had taped on him that morning after their cuddle—no reward, no release, just a lingering kiss and the promise, “Save it for tonight, baby girl.” His erection had been a constant, aching presence all day, tenting the front of the diaper in a shameful bulge that no amount of lace could hide. On the screen in front of him were stories he had read a hundred times: wives taking lovers while their husbands watched from playpens, sissy babies who couldn’t satisfy their wives and were put into diapers and dresses and forced to watch real men fucking their wives because they were unable to satisfy them. He had bookmarked dozens of them over the years, always in secret, masturbating furiously in wet diapers while reading them—but only when he knew he wouldn’t be caught. He rarely did this now that Carolyn was fully participating. When he did, he would feel guilty, like he was cheating. Yet today, he needed the stories. Here he was, living as the sissy baby girl he had always dreamed of being—and tonight his wife was about to cuckold him. Not some fantasy about it, but the real thing. The realization hit him like warm water: this could change everything. He had been a diaper lover since puberty. He thought back to the first time he walked into the pharmacy and bought the first package of Attends. He remembered the first wetting, the first explosive orgasm into swollen padding—he remembered every detail. He thought about how much money he wasted over the years with his binge-purge cycle. He still had a hard time believing that this was all real. His wife actually accepted his desires and was participating. It was always a dream. Always a fantasy. Now it was his reality. In most ways it was better than the fantasy ever was. This had been part of his life so long; he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t love diapers. As he sat at his computer reading stories about events that were happening to him in real life, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He went to Linda hoping to rid himself of this part of him. Now, he was so glad that she couldn’t do it. He was so grateful for what she had done. When she told him at that last session “I think I can help both of you,” he had no idea how much help she would be. Now, a years later, he sat in a baby-doll dress that cost more than most of his Armani suits, diaper swollen from three deliberate wettings that morning, erection throbbing with every heartbeat, and realized he was living the fantasy he had feared to ever speak aloud. How had Linda done it? How had Carolyn agreed? He didn’t understand the mechanics—only the miracle. “Daisy!” Carolyn’s voice floated up the stairs, snapping him out of his daze. “It’s time to get ready, princess.” He toddled downstairs on shaky legs. Carolyn stood in the bedroom in a black lace bra and matching thong, hair in loose waves, makeup flawless. She looked like sin poured into silk. She turned, smiling at the sight of him. “Look at my pretty girl. Been thinking about tonight all day, haven’t you?” Daisy nodded, blushing furiously. Carolyn held up two dresses: one crimson, one midnight blue. “Which one says ‘fuck me senseless’ better, baby?” Daisy’s voice came out a squeak. “The… the red one, Mommy.” “Good choice.” She slipped it on, the fabric clinging to every curve. “Robert is going to rip this off me the second the door closes.” She stepped into sky-high heels, spritzed perfume between her breasts, then between her thighs, winking at Daisy in the mirror. “Somewhere he’ll definitely notice.” Daisy whimpered. Carolyn knelt, untaped the soaked daytime diaper, cleaned her with warm wipes, powdered lavishly, and taped on a fresh nighttime one—extra thick, pastel pink with rows of sleeping princesses and ruffled lace that fluttered like a tutu. Over it went the frilliest nightie in the wardrobe: baby-pink chiffon with puffed sleeves, a hem that barely reached the diaper’s waistband, and a matching bonnet tied under Daisy’s chin. Carolyn kissed her forehead. “Be a good girl. You don’t need to wait up for Mommy. It might be very late. It could even be tomorrow morning. Either way, no touching. Save every drop for when I tell you the story.” Daisy nodded solemnly. “Daisy promises.” Carolyn cupped her padded crotch, gave a gentle squeeze that made Daisy gasp. “That’s my perfect little baby girl.” She grabbed her purse, blew a kiss, and walked out the door. Daisy stood in the foyer long after the car pulled away, heart pounding so hard the lace on her dress trembled. The next time that door opened, everything would be different. She would finally be the sissy cuckold baby girl she had always wanted to be. And she had never been more excited and more terrified in her entire life. Chapter 32: Carolyn Comes Alive Carolyn paused at the front door, hand on the knob, heart hammering. She turned back to Daisy—her beautiful, ridiculous, frilly husband standing in the foyer like a life-sized doll—and leaned in to kiss the powdered forehead peeking from beneath the bonnet. “Be a good girl,” she whispered. “You don’t need to wait up for Mommy. It might be very late. It could even be tomorrow morning. Either way, no touching. Save every drop for when I tell you the story.” She waited. This was the moment. The last possible second for him to snap out of it, to grab her wrist and say, Wait, this is insane, I don’t want this. But Daisy only gazed up at her with shining, trusting eyes and lisped, “Yes, Mommy. Daisy will be good.” Carolyn’s stomach flipped. He really, truly wanted it. All of it. She wasn’t going to hold back tonight. She was really going to do it, she thought. She closed the door softly behind her and walked to the car on legs that felt borrowed. How had they gotten here? She had expected resistance—tears, bargaining, anything. Instead, David had melted into Daisy like ice cream in July. The diapers, the dresses, the crib, the begging to be cuckolded… it had happened so fast, so completely. And every step of the way she had reminded herself what Linda had drilled into her: you can’t hypnotize someone into something they don’t already want. Deep down, he had always wanted this. And, God help her, so had she. The drive to Robert’s was twenty-seven minutes. She spent every one of them alternating between giddy anticipation and a low thrum of guilt. Robert opened the door in a charcoal Henley and soft gray sweatpants, barefoot, smiling like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. “Hey, beautiful.” He didn’t give her time to overthink. One hand cupped her face, the other closed the door, and then he was kissing her—slow, deliberate, claiming. The kiss from the parking lot had been a promise; this one delivered. He walked her backward until her shoulders met the wall, never breaking contact. His mouth moved to her neck, teeth grazing just hard enough to make her gasp. “I’ve been thinking about this since Tuesday,” he said, voice low. Then he kissed her again. Not the careful, testing kiss from the club. This one was hungry—lips firm, tongue stroking hers with deliberate patience, one hand cupping her jaw, the other pressing at the small of her back until she felt every inch of him hard against her belly. A soft sound escaped her throat; she clutched his shoulders, knees weakening. God, he was huge. They made out against the wall: her dress riding up, his fingers teasing the edge of her lace panties. When he slipped a hand inside her bra and rolled her nipple, she gasped his name. He pressed harder against her, letting her feel every inch. His mouth moved to her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered against her skin. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t want him to stop. She felt herself grow slick, aching, years of careful restraint unraveling in the dim hallway light. He drew back just enough to meet her eyes. “I need you,” he growled against her throat. She wanted to. God, she wanted to spread her legs right there. But a small pang of guilt flickered—David at home, curled in his crib, diapered and pretty, waiting for her to return. Begging her to do this. She pulled back, breathing hard. “Not… not here. Let’s go to the bedroom.” Robert’s eyes darkened with approval. He lifted her easily—she weighed nothing in his arms—and carried her down the hall. Low lights, crisp white sheets, the faint scent of sandalwood. He set her down like something precious, then stood back and looked at her in the red dress. “Take it off. Slowly.” She did, fingers trembling only a little. The dress pooled at her feet. She stood in black lace bra, matching thong, and heels. Robert exhaled; eyes dark. “Jesus, Carolyn.” He stepped close again, hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. When he unhooked her bra and cupped her, she arched into him with a sound she didn’t recognize. He laid her on the bed, kissing every inch he uncovered—collarbone, breasts, stomach—until she was writhing. When he finally peeled the thong away he paused, looking at her like she was a miracle. “You’re perfect,” he said, voice rough. Then his mouth was on her, slow and reverent, tongue circling until she was clutching the sheets and sobbing his name. The orgasm rolled through her like warm honey—long, deep, shattering. Nothing like the polite, hurried fumbles she’d known for a decade. He rose over her, shedding clothes. When he pushed inside her—slow, thick, relentless—she cried out at the stretch, the fullness she had forgotten was possible. He filled her completely, then stilled, letting her adjust, kissing her tears away. “You okay?” “More than okay,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.” He didn’t. He moved with deliberate power—deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot, building her again and again. When she came the second time he followed, groaning her name into her neck, hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside her. Afterward he held her close, stroking her hair, kissing her temple, murmuring soft praises until her breathing slowed. Somewhere in the haze she pictured Daisy at home—frilly nightie, thick diaper, probably rocking in the crib, hard and leaking just thinking about this exact moment. The image sent a fresh pulse of heat through her—her sweet, pathetic baby girl, waiting in lace and plastic while a real man claimed his wife. She came a third time just from that thought, clenching around Robert as he hardened again inside her. Round two was slower, lazier—her on top, riding him with rolling hips while he watched her breasts bounce, hands gripping her waist. When she collapsed forward he flipped her gently, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and took her apart again. They finally stilled near one a.m., tangled and sweaty and utterly spent. “Stay,” he murmured against her hair. “I can’t,” she said, kissing him softly. “Not tonight. But soon.” He walked her to the door, kissed her once more—deep, possessive, promising. “Tomorrow?” he asked. “Not tomorrow, but soon.” she agreed. The drive home was quiet, windows down, cool air on flushed skin. She felt loose, sated, reborn. And guilty. And thrilled. She wondered if Daisy had managed to keep her promise—if that diaper was still untouched, swollen only with pee and desperate need. She hoped so. Because the story she had to tell was going to be worth every aching second of waiting. Chapter 33: Robert's Dilemma Robert had always been the kind of man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. At thirty-eight, he was a senior project manager at a downtown construction firm—broad-shouldered from years of site work before climbing the ladder, with an easy charm that opened doors and a laugh that disarmed even the toughest contractors. Divorced five years ago after a marriage that fizzled out in mutual boredom, he had thrown himself into the single life: gym routines, weekend hikes, and the occasional no-strings fling from apps or bars. Nothing serious. He wasn't looking for complications; life was complicated enough with deadlines and blueprints. That Wednesday at the lounge, Carolyn had caught his eye like a blueprint error—subtle but impossible to ignore. Tall, auburn-haired, with a quiet confidence that stood out in a room full of loud laughs and forced flirtations. He noticed the ring right away, glinting under the amber lights. Married, he thought. Probably bored. Perfect for a one-night distraction. He wasn't proud of it, but that's how he played things: light, fun, no expectations. When she laughed at his line and let him buy her a sparkling water (no alcohol—classy, he noted), the conversation flowed like they’d known each other for years. Dancing sealed it: her body fitting against his, the heat building. He expected the usual—back to his place, a quick release, goodbye in the morning. But she pulled back on the sidewalk, eyes bright but firm. “Not tonight.” Surprise number one. Married women looking for thrills didn’t usually hold back. It intrigued him enough to ask for Friday. Dinner was even better: easy banter, her stories about country club life making him laugh, his tales of construction mishaps drawing her in. Under the table, knees touching, the chemistry crackled. In the parking lot, things heated up fast—her moans, his hands exploring. He was rock hard, ready. But again: “Not tonight.” Surprise number two. She wasn’t just looking for a quick fuck; she was dating him. Teasing the line, but not crossing it yet. It threw him. Married, but selective? He drove home alone, replaying her refusals, wondering what her deal was. He was a little annoyed and was hoping she wasn’t going to end up all clingy like the last one. Saturday night at his loft changed everything. She showed up in that red dress, looking like every fantasy he’d never admitted to. The sex was… explosive. Her body responsive in ways he loved, her gasps genuine, her climaxes pulling him under. Three times—slow, then urgent, then lazy and deep. He hadn’t felt that connected in years. Maybe ever. Lying tangled in sheets, her head on his chest, he traced lazy circles on her back. “Stay,” he murmured, meaning it more than he expected. “I can’t. Not tonight. But soon.” As she dressed, guilt flickered across her face—quick, but he caught it. The ring was back on her finger; she’d slipped it off before they started. Questions bubbled up: Who was the husband? Some soft executive type, probably. Jealous? Violent? Robert had seen enough bar fights to know married men could snap. Did the guy own a gun? Keep tabs on her? What if he found out—tailed her, confronted them? Robert wasn’t looking for drama; he’d had his fill with the divorce. “You sure about this?” he asked quietly, helping her into her coat. “Your husband… if he finds out, what happens? Is he the jealous type? Does he… I don’t know, have a gun or something?” She paused, meeting his eyes with that calm authority he was starting to crave. “He’s not a problem. Trust me. This is… what we both need.” Vague, but her tone shut it down. No details, no reassurances beyond that. Robert let it go—his desire for her overrode the red flags. She was at some point going to be a problem. He could tell. She wasn’t just looking for good sex. She wanted a relationship. But she was married. This was probably short-lived—a fling until guilt or discovery ended it. Could be one of those revenge things for her. Punishing the husband for being unfaithful. He’d take what he could get, savor the highs, and brace for the crash later. He also would be watching his back. He didn’t want an actual confrontation. He kissed her at the door, deep and reluctant. “Tomorrow?” “No, but soon,” she agreed, slipping away into the night. Robert watched her taillights fade, already counting the hours. For now, this was enough. The problems when they came he would deal with—but that was a problem for another day. Chapter 34: Afterglow and Cracks Carolyn let herself in quietly just after one a.m., the cool night air clinging to her skin like a second dress. The house was silent, but as she climbed the stairs, she could hear Daisy moving in the crib. She padded to the nursery door and peered in. Daisy was curled on her side in the crib, pacifier bobbing gently, diaper massively swollen and sagging from hours of anxious wetting. One hand clutched the unicorn blanket; the other was fisted in the satin nightie. Daisy lay in the dark, the high from Mommy's story still echoing through her body. The climax had been explosive—waves of humiliated arousal crashing as Carolyn described every thrust, every moan, every way Robert had claimed her. It was everything Daisy had fantasized about for years: the proof of inadequacy, the devotion in surrender, the twisted thrill of giving Mommy what she deserved. But as the afterglow faded, the crib felt colder. The diaper, heavy and warm, was a comfort—but tonight it also felt like a cage. What if she leaves me? The fear crept in, old and familiar, the same one that had armored him with ego for decades. Carolyn had glowed telling the story—alive in a way he’d never made her. Robert was strong, capable, everything David pretended to be in the courtroom. A real man. This was supposed to prove love. My gift. My way to keep her. But it hurt. Quiet tears slipped down Daisy's cheeks, soaking the pillow. She loved the excitement—the cuckolding was the dream fulfilled; the ultimate humiliation that made everything hotter. But in the silence, fear outweighed thrill. What if tonight was the start of her realizing she didn’t need a diapered sissy anymore? The nursery, the dresses, the life they’d built—gone. She cried softly most of the night, wrestling with jealousy, fear of loss, and a regret that tasted like ashes. Weak moment, she told herself. Tomorrow it’ll feel right again. As Carolyn left the nursery, her heart clenched. She paused in the hallway, listening. The cries were quiet, almost swallowed by the dark, but unmistakable. As Carolyn slipped into the master bedroom—her room now, most nights—and lay awake, body sated but mind racing. A faint sound drifted from the nursery—soft, muffled sobs. Carolyn's chest tightened. The thrill of the night fading into something colder. The sobs continued faintly through the open door, persistent into the early hours. Carolyn’s guilt surfaced, quiet but insistent. She’d broken him. Turned the man she married into this—for her pleasure. She wondered if she’d lost the man she loved in pursuit of the woman she wanted to be. Chapter 35: Doubts Creep In Sunday morning light filtered softly through the nursery blinds, casting pale stripes across the pink walls. Carolyn woke first, body loose and languid, a secret smile tugging at her lips as memories of Robert flooded back—the strength of his hands, the way he'd filled her completely, the multiple waves of pleasure that had left her boneless and breathless. It felt like waking from a long sleep, rediscovering parts of herself she'd thought lost forever. She slipped out of bed and padded to the nursery, expecting to find Daisy still curled in peaceful slumber. Instead, Daisy was awake, sitting up in the crib with the blanket pulled to her chin, eyes puffy and red-rimmed. Carolyn's heart gave a small, uneasy twist. “Good morning, princess.” Daisy turned, forcing a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Good morning, Mommy. Did you sleep well?” Carolyn climbed over the rail and pulled her into a hug. “I did. And you? You look like you've been crying.” Daisy nestled closer, voice light. “Happy tears, Mommy. Just… so thrilled for you. Last night sounded perfect.” The words were sweet, devoted—the Daisy Carolyn had come to expect. But something felt off. The enthusiasm rang a fraction too high, the hug a little too tight, as if clinging to reassurance. Carolyn brushed it aside for the moment, changing Daisy with gentle efficiency—fresh diaper, simple sundress for the day. Breakfast was quiet: oatmeal for Daisy in the highchair, tea and cereal for Carolyn. Daisy chattered about little things—the garden, a bird at the feeder—but her eyes kept drifting, distant. By midday, the unease nagged enough that Carolyn called Linda. “I noticed Daisy's eyes this morning—puffy, like she'd cried all night. She said happy tears, but… I don't know. It felt forced.” Linda's voice was warm, steady. “That's normal, Carolyn. Adjustment takes time. He's living his deepest desires—it's overwhelming. The tears are release, not regret. Keep going. Everything will be wonderful. You're giving him what he begged for.” Carolyn exhaled; doubts quieted—for now. “You're right. Thank you.” Internally, though, Linda's reassurance felt thinner. Have I gone too far? David's tears—did I break him? The thought flickered, unwelcome. She'd removed the suggestions long ago, believing in their choices. But hearing about the crying… remorse stirred, quiet but persistent. Monday blurred into routine. David buried himself in Pharma trial that was now in full swing—long hours, late nights. Evenings were Daisy time: diapered, pretty, curled on the couch with Carolyn. Things seemed fine—normal rituals, soft touches, no overt distress. Daisy helped with small tasks, smiled at the right moments. But subtle signs lingered: quieter laughter, longer silences, eyes that drifted when Carolyn mentioned Robert. Mid-week, Robert texted: Dinner Saturday? Miss you already. Carolyn's pulse quickened. Yes, she replied eagerly. Saturday. The week dragged and flew. David won a key motion Friday—partners toasting with bourbon, retirement whispers louder. Home late, he changed into diaper and dress without prompting, the routine grounding. Saturday prep arrived. Carolyn laid out outfits; Daisy helped her choose—a sleek midnight-blue dress this time. “You'll look stunning,” Daisy whispered, snapping reference photos, heart pounding with that familiar jealousy-laced excitement. But quieter this time. More withdrawn. Hands lingering a fraction too long on the fabric, eyes distant. Carolyn noticed. “Everything okay, princess?” Daisy nodded quickly. “Fine, Mommy. Just… excited for you.” The smile was there, but subdued. Carolyn pushed forward, desire for Robert's touch overriding the nag. He's so devoted. Am I selfish for wanting more? Daisy wanted this, she reminded herself. She begged. Guilt nagged, quiet but persistent. She's doing this for us. But as Carolyn dressed, the worry lingered. Doubts crept in, slow and steady. Chapter 36: Robert's True Colors The week had blurred into routine, the Pharma trial now in full swing and swallowing David's days whole. Evenings were quieter—Daisy time, but subdued. No play, no stories retold. Just gentle cuddles and early bedtimes. Saturday arrived too soon. Carolyn dressed carefully: the midnight-blue dress Daisy had helped choose, heels that made her legs look endless, hair loose and shining. She kissed Daisy's forehead before leaving. “Be good, princess. Mommy will be home late.” Daisy nodded; eyes bright but distant. “Have fun, Mommy.” Robert opened his door with that confident smile, pulling her inside before she could speak. Dinner was intimate—Italian takeout on his couch, wine for him, sparkling water for her. Conversation flowed; laughter easy. His hands wandered early: tracing her thigh under the table, brushing her neck when he leaned in. By the time they reached his bedroom, the air crackled. He undressed her slowly this time, eyes devouring. “You’re addictive,” he murmured, mouth trailing fire down her throat. The sex was rougher than before—passionate, urgent. He pinned her wrists above her head, thrusting deep and hard, her cries echoing off the walls. She came twice, clenching around him, nails raking his back. He followed with a growl, collapsing beside her, breathing ragged. They lay tangled, sweat cooling, waiting for him to recover. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her hip. “So,” he said casually, voice low. “Tell me about the husband. He knows about this? Or is this revenge for something?” Carolyn hesitated, the post-orgasm haze and lingering thrill making her tongue loose. “He… knows. It was his idea, actually.” Robert’s brow arched, amusement flickering. “His idea? What, he’s into that kinky open-marriage shit?” She nodded, the words spilling before she could stop them. “More than that. He… he begged me to find someone. A real man.” Robert chuckled, propping on an elbow. “A real man. Cute. So, what’s his deal—can’t get it up? Too small? Pathetic in bed?” The mockery stung, but the wine and warmth dulled it. “Something like that.” He pressed, curiosity sharpening. “Come on, details. Married women don’t just jump into this without a story.” She shouldn’t have said more. But the intimacy of the moment, the way he looked at her like she was his prize—it loosened her guard. “He’s… into diapers. Feminization. Calls himself Daisy when he’s dressed up. Sleeps in a crib.” Robert froze, then burst out laughing—deep, derisive. “You’re shitting me. Diapers? A crib? Your husband’s a fucking freak? Jesus, no wonder you’re here. Dump the loser—be with a real man like me.” The words landed like slaps. Carolyn’s stomach dropped. The laughter wasn’t playful; it was cruel, entitled. She saw him clearly now: narcissistic, competitive, reducing David to a joke to elevate himself. She sat up, pulling the sheet around her. “That’s enough.” Robert shrugged, still smirking. “Come on, babe. You’re telling me you’re tied to some diaper-wearing sissy? That’s pathetic.” The physical pull was still there—his body, the memory of how he'd made her feel. When he reached for her again, she let him. One more time. Rough, desperate, her body betraying her mind. The orgasm crashed through her, leaving her shaking. But afterward, as he dozed smugly beside her, horror flooded in. What have I done? She dressed quickly, muttering an excuse about an early morning. Robert waved it off, already half-asleep. “Next weekend?” She didn’t answer. The drive home was a blur of tears and self-recrimination. Guilt built until it felt overwhelming. I turned David into this—for my own needs. Recruited Linda, pushed the hypnosis, reshaped him into Daisy. I ruined a perfectly wonderful, loving partner and turned him into a weak, pathetic sissy baby. All because I was selfish. I don't deserve to be loved. I don't deserve to be happy. By the time she pulled into the driveway, sobs shook her. The nursery light glowed faintly upstairs. She had broken everything. For her pleasure. Chapter 37: The Spiral Carolyn let herself in quietly just after one a.m., the cool night air clinging to her skin. The house was silent, but a soft, warm glow spilled from the nursery doorway upstairs. She paused at the foot of the stairs, hand on the banister, heart pounding. She couldn't face Daisy. Not yet. The weight of what she'd revealed to Robert—spilling David's secrets in that haze of satisfaction—pressed down like a stone. How could she look at her husband, the man she'd reshaped into Daisy, after a stranger had laughed at him? She climbed the stairs quietly, avoiding the nursery, and slipped into the master bedroom—her room now. The bed was cold, empty. She undressed in the dark, the crimson wrap dress pooling at her feet, and crawled under the covers. Tears came hot and silent, guilt crashing over her in waves. The thoughts of what she had done to her husband looped, relentless, twisting memories into accusations. David had been devoted, hardworking, providing everything. And she'd taken that strong, capable man—the one who'd built a life for them—and broken him for her pleasure. The paddle: not discipline, but cruelty. She'd enjoyed his tears, the power, then retreated to shamefully pleasure herself while he lay in a crib crying and punished. She had forcing him to help find men for her sick desires, ignoring the quiet pain in his eyes. She was truly evil. Sleep came fitfully, fractured by self-loathing. Daisy heard the front door click shut, the soft creak of stairs. Mommy's home. She sat up in the crib, heart racing, diaper warm and thick from deliberate wettings through the long night. The anticipation had been torture—imagining every thrust, every moan, the way Robert claimed what Daisy never could. It was the dream fulfilled; the ultimate humiliation that made everything hotter. She was aching, ready for the story, the relief. But the footsteps passed the nursery door. No light switched on. No soft voice calling her name. Daisy waited, straining to hear. Maybe Carolyn was exhausted. They'd talk in the morning. She lay back down, trying to ignore the gnawing doubt, the fear that tonight had changed everything—for the worse. Morning light filtered through the nursery blinds. Daisy woke to an empty room, no Carolyn with fresh diaper and powder. The rail was down—she could get up herself. She did, on shaky legs, diaper heavy and cold. Showered, dressed in khakis and a polo, and headed downstairs. Carolyn was still in bed, covers pulled high. That didn’t surprise him much—it had been late when she got home, and she deserved rest. Even though it was Sunday, David had work. Evidence had closed last week; Monday he was giving his closing argument. He kissed her forehead—cool, distant—and left, concern knotting his stomach but pushed aside by trial focus. Carolyn lay there long after the door closed, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to get up, make tea, have breakfast, do something normal. But her body felt heavy, muscles stiff and slow, as if gravity had doubled overnight. The bed was the only place that felt tolerable, a cocoon against the storm in her mind. David was working so hard—for their future, for her security. Such a wonderful, caring man. And she'd destroyed him. By evening he returned to find her still in bed, he didn’t see any dishes or signs that she had eaten. He returned to her room again. “Carolyn…” “I’m fine,” she whispered. “Just… a little under the weather.” As David closes the door, she thinks. He is so caring. He loves me so much, but if he knew what I had done to him, he would hate me. Carolyn knows Monday is his big day. He has talked about it for weeks. His closing argument is his chance to convince the jury and secure victory. She won’t burden him any further right now, she’s already done too much to him. I just need to let him get through the trial. Monday David left early, suit sharp, mind focused on his closing argument. Carolyn was still sleeping when he left. He didn’t want to wake her so he quietly left the house and drove to the Courthouse. He came home excited to tell Carolyn all about his closing argument and how well it went. He was surprised to find her in bed. She claimed everything was fine and she would be up and around in no time. She just needed some rest. He didn't push, but panic flickered. Was she really just sick, or did something happen? Did Robert do something? Guilt surged—he'd pushed her into this. It was his idea. If something happened, it was his fault. Tuesday David needed to be at Court first thing in the morning. The case was almost wrapped up and the lawyers and judge were meeting before the jury arrived to do final work on the jury instructions. The defense was to finish its closing that morning and then the case would be given to the jury. He again left before Carolyn was out of bed. He was worried now. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed she hadn’t left the room since returning from her date with Robert. He asked several times if she was okay, but she assured him it was nothing and she’d be up soon. Carolyn lay in the dim bedroom all day Tuesday, the sheets tangled around her like restraints, her mind a storm that refused to quiet. The events of the past year replayed in her head, but not as they had happened—not the careful steps, the shared decisions, the way David had begged for each new layer. No, in the grip of her guilt, the memories twisted, reshaping themselves into a narrative where she was the villain, the architect of his downfall. It started with that first desperate conversation with Linda, didn't it? She'd gone to her friend, tears in her eyes, confessing how empty the marriage felt, how David's quick, unsatisfying encounters left her feeling like a duty rather than a desire. But in this distorted recollection, it wasn't desperation—it was selfishness. She'd manipulated Linda into helping, demanding a way to fix her boredom without losing the security David provided. The hypnosis? Her idea, her weapon. She'd pushed for it, ignoring any ethical whispers, turning David into a puppet for her pleasure. She remembered the night Linda first triggered him—how he'd slumped in the chair, eyes glassy, and she'd felt a thrill rather than remorse. In her mind now, that thrill was pure evil, a sign of her corrupted heart. She'd watched as Linda planted the seeds: the bedwetting, the diapers, the feminization. David had resisted at first, hadn't he? But no—in the twisted version, he'd fought, and she'd insisted, relishing his slow surrender. The nursery, the dresses, the crib—all her doing, forcing him into this pathetic shell because she couldn't be content with the loving man he'd been. And the cuckolding? Oh, that was the crowning sin. She'd twisted his vulnerabilities, used the hypnosis to make him beg for it, all so she could chase her own lust. Robert's mockery echoed in her ears—"Your husband's a freak? Dump the loser"—and she saw it as truth. She'd exposed David, ridiculed him through her actions, for what? A few nights of passion? She was the monster, the one who'd stripped away his manhood, his dignity, leaving him in diapers and lace while she sought satisfaction elsewhere. Tears soaked her pillow as the self-loathing deepened. David had been wonderful—a provider, a partner, devoted in his way. And she'd broken him, reshaped him into Daisy, all because her desires were more important. Selfish. Evil. Unworthy of love. The depression wrapped tighter, distorting every memory into proof of her guilt. How could she ever face him again? When David returned from work that night he found Carolyn was still in bed. She wouldn’t really talk, just claimed to be tired and need rest. He suggested a doctor but she refused. David left the room, fully panicked now. Something was definitely wrong. What if she's traumatized? He called Linda, voice breaking. “Something's wrong with Carolyn. She's been in bed since Saturday. She won't talk. Says its nothing, she’s just sick, but I think something is seriously wrong. Please help.” Linda agreed to come over, her own remorse stirring as she hung up. On the drive, Linda's thoughts raced. Have I gone too far? David's voice—desperate, broken. Remorse crashed in: the hypnosis, the suggestions, the "experiment." She'd meant to help, but now? Guilt twisted like a knife. What if she'd destroyed them? She arrived to a house heavy with silence, ready to face the fallout. Chapter 38: Whispers in the Shadows Tuesday evening draped the house in a hush, the winter dusk filtering through the curtains like a veil. David paced the foyer, his khakis masking the faint crinkle of the diaper beneath—still dry, but the knot of anxiety in his stomach threatened to change that. The trial's final jury instructions loomed tomorrow morning, but work felt distant, irrelevant. Carolyn hadn't stirred from bed since Saturday, her date with Robert a black hole she refused to discuss. Her pale assurances of "just tired" echoed in his mind, fueling fears: Had Robert crossed a line? Or had David's own fantasies pushed her too far, breaking the woman he adored? The doorbell pierced the quiet. David opened it to Linda, her petite frame wrapped in flowing black, dark eyes etched with worry. She pulled him into a brief, steadying hug. "David. Show me to her." Upstairs, the master bedroom was a dim cocoon, curtains drawn, the air thick with stagnation. Carolyn lay curled under the duvet, auburn hair tangled, eyes fixed on some invisible point. A half-full mug of chamomile tea sat cold on the nightstand—untouched, like everything else. Linda gestured for David to wait outside. "Let me talk to her alone first. Trust me—she needs space to breathe." David nodded reluctantly, retreating to the hallway, heart pounding. He leaned against the wall, the diaper's padding a humiliating reminder of his own vulnerabilities amid the crisis. Inside, Linda sat gently on the bed's edge, her voice a soft anchor. "Carolyn, it's me. Just us. David's downstairs, worried out of his mind. Whatever's weighing on you... let it out. I'm here because I love you, and I want you happy—truly, deeply happy." Carolyn's gaze shifted, tears welling. The heaviness in her body made speaking feel like pushing through quicksand, but Linda's presence—familiar, nonjudgmental—cracked the dam. Words tumbled out in whispers, raw and fractured: the guilt over "manipulating" David into bedwetting, diapers, sissification; the spanking that now haunted her as abuse; the cuckolding that exposed him to ridicule. "I'm the villain, Linda. Selfish. Evil. I twisted him for my own needs, destroyed a good man. How can I face him? Get out of this bed? It's all my fault." Linda listened, her own remorse surging like a tide. Carolyn's memories were warped—hypnosis-fueled distortions painting her as the sole architect, ignoring David's eager consents and hidden cravings. Linda had meant to align their desires, to gift her friend satisfaction without loss, but seeing this devastation twisted the knife. Had her "help" gone too far? Ethical vows shattered for love's sake, but the fallout stared back at her. Still, she held steady, squeezing Carolyn's hand. "You're not evil. You're human—frustrated, trapped. But this guilt... it's not the full picture. We can untangle it, together. Honesty from everyone, no more secrets. That's the way forward." Carolyn nodded weakly, a sliver of relief piercing the fog. The dread eased just enough for her to sit up, sip the fresh tea Linda prepared. "Maybe... but David... he can't know how I feel yet. Not like this." "Understood," Linda murmured. "Rest now. I'll handle the next steps." Downstairs, Linda found David nursing a bourbon, his broad shoulders slumped. "She's opening up—a little. Deep guilt, twisted memories. I think I can help, but it starts with dropping the walls. Everyone's secrets out in the open." David's brow furrowed. "Secrets? Like... my sessions with you? Before all this?" Linda nodded, her tone caring but firm. "Exactly. Let me share your history with her—the appointments, the fantasies you confided. It could show her this wasn't all her doing. But only if you're ready." He stared into his glass, mind racing. Expose his pre-existing cravings? Risk Carolyn seeing him as even more pathetic? Yet... it might lift her burden. "I... I need to think. Trial's only half-day tomorrow—jury out by lunch. I could meet at your office Wednesday afternoon?" "Perfect," Linda said. "I'll meet with you and then later with her after you have decided. No promises needed now—just consider it. For her happiness... and yours." David agreed, the weight shifting but not lifting. As Linda left, he climbed the stairs, peeking in on Carolyn—now dozing fitfully. He slipped into the nursery alone, changing into a thick nighttime diaper, the ritual a small comfort amid the storm. Sleep came uneasily, dreams laced with vulnerability. The path to truth had begun—slow, shadowed, but inexorable. Chapter 39: Confessions in Solitude Wednesday morning dawned sharp and clear, the courtroom bathed in pale winter light as David finalized jury instructions with opposing counsel and the judge. The pharmaceutical case—a grueling marathon of depositions and expert battles—now rested with the jurors, deliberations set to begin after lunch. David shook hands mechanically, his mind elsewhere. He'd barely slept, the crib's rails a confining reminder of his vulnerability, the overnight diaper swollen and heavy by dawn from helpless wettings. Changing himself that morning had been a ritual of quiet shame and strange comfort, but the real weight was the decision ahead: exposing his buried fantasies to Carolyn, lifting her guilt at the cost of his own ego. If it healed her, he'd bear it—but not face-to-face. Not yet. By one, he was at Linda's office, the discreet north-side suite feeling more like a confessional than a therapy space. Linda greeted him with a warm hug, her dark eyes searching his face as they settled into the plush chairs—no pendant, no hypnosis, just the faint scent of lavender from her diffuser. "You look resolved," she said gently. "But tell me where you stand." David leaned forward, elbows on knees, the subtle bulk under his suit pants a secret anchor. A nervous twitch sent a warm spurt into the padding; he shifted, ignoring it. "I've thought about it all night. The sessions I had with you before... the confessions about the diapers, the humiliation fantasies, feeling small and inadequate. The sissification dreams, even the cuckold thoughts tied to my... shortcomings." His voice dropped, cheeks flushing. "She needs to know it predated her frustrations—that this wasn't her forcing it. But I can't tell her myself. The lies, the years of hiding behind the 'man's man' lawyer act... I deceived her by omission. If it helps pull her out of this darkness, fine. You tell her. Pave the way. Maybe later we all talk together, but not now. I can't face her reaction yet." Linda nodded, her expression a mix of empathy and her own stirring remorse. "I understand. Vulnerability like this... it's raw. I'll handle it carefully, frame it as the foundation it was. Your desires were real, David—deep-seated, not manufactured. This could show her she's not the villain her guilt paints." They talked details briefly—how to emphasize his initial cravings without overwhelming Carolyn. David stood, adjusting his tie. "I'll head back to the office, wrap up loose ends on the case. I won't be home before seven. I’ll give you time with her." "Smart," Linda agreed. "And David... this is brave. For her, for you both." He left, the drive to the firm a blur of second-guessing. But resolve held: for Carolyn's happiness, he'd strip bare—even if through a proxy. Linda arrived at the house by three, finding Carolyn in the living room, wrapped in a soft robe over pajamas, clutching a tall glass of peach iced tea. She'd managed to shower that morning, a small step, but the heaviness clung—muscles stiff, motivation a flicker rather than a flame. Still, she rose to hug her friend, eyes weary but grateful. "David's at work?" Carolyn asked, settling back on the couch. "Finishing up. He won't be home till seven—gives us space." Linda sat beside her; voice soft but direct. "Carolyn, we need to talk fully. No more shadows. Starting with... my role in all this." Carolyn's brow furrowed. "Your role?" Linda took a deep breath, guilt crashing in waves. She'd meant only to help—her best friend trapped in a loveless intimacy, desperate for satisfaction without losing security. Ethical lines crossed in love's name, but seeing Carolyn's pain now made confession inevitable. "Remember that casual tea we had, about a year before you came to me in desperation? You were venting lightly about the marriage—the routine, the fading spark—but nothing dire. I... I hypnotized you then, subtly, without your knowledge. Planted seeds to ease any budding guilt over your frustrations, to free you from repressing your sexual needs. I thought it would help you open up; realize you deserved more fulfillment." Carolyn's eyes widened. "You... what? Why?" "Because I saw the cracks forming, even if you didn't yet. You're my closest friend—I wanted you happy, not quietly suffering. That session... it might have been what led you to confide in me later, when the dissatisfaction boiled over. Without it, perhaps you never would have voiced the desperation, never sought a solution. I freed you from the guilt holding you back, and it snowballed into recognizing your marriage wasn't giving you what you needed. When you came to me that day, raw and pleading for help, I started the hypnosis again—regular sessions disguised as our chats. Suggestions to embrace control, to see the plan as salvation. I thought I was bridging your worlds, but... I overstepped, playing God with your mind. And I'm sorry—deeply." Tears pricked Carolyn's eyes, shock mingling with betrayal. "You... manipulated me? From the beginning?" Linda's voice cracked. "I did. And the guilt of it... it's eaten at me, especially seeing you like this now. But hear me: when you confided that desperate day, it was me who crafted the plan. The bedwetting trigger for David, the progression to diapers, sissification, cuckolding... I pitched it as a way to keep your life intact while getting what you needed. You agreed because it aligned with your pain, but the hypnosis smoothed the edges, made it feel right. I thought I was helping you embrace joy without destruction." "But David never wanted any of this," Carolyn whispered, voice trembling. "None of this changes the fact that I did this to him. We did this to him. Took a perfect, loving husband—a provider, devoted in every way—and twisted him into a diapered sissy baby girl just to satisfy my selfish lusts. I'm still a monster for letting it happen." Linda leaned in. "That's the other piece. Before you ever came to me—years prior—David was my patient. Work stress, bourbon reliance, weight gain eroding his confidence. In sessions, he confessed buried fantasies: diaper arousal from the warmth and helplessness, sissification thrills of frills and feminization, cuckold humiliation tied to his inadequacy—small penis, premature climaxes leaving you unsatisfied. He hid it all under ego, but it was there, real and deep." Carolyn stared, processing. The distorted memories shifted: not her villainy alone, but guided by a friend's overreach and built on his foundation. "So... the bedwetting, the diapers... it wasn't just my idea forcing him?" "No. The hypnosis triggered the wetting, amplified his surrender, but built on his foundation. And crucially—I removed all suggestions months ago, long before he begged for cuckolding. That was sincere, from his core. He craves the life: the thick padding sagging overnight, the short dresses flashing ruffles, the helpless straining while you find real men. He agreed today to let me tell you this—wants you to know, but couldn't face saying it himself yet. The deception ate at him too." Tears flowed freely now, but cleansing ones. The weight lifted—guilt dissolving as truths reframed her actions. Not evil, but human, guided by a friend who cared too much. "I still feel guilt. The spanking, exposing him... and needing more than he could give sexually." "We did go too far with the secret hypnosis on him," Linda admitted. "He deserves the full truth—how the wetting started, how we eased him into his desires. But together, when he's ready. For now, breathe. You're worthy. Loved." Carolyn nodded, a sliver of relief piercing the fog. "I... I forgive you, Linda. You were trying to help. And it did—God, the satisfaction with Robert, the power in the nursery... but knowing David wanted it too? It changes everything." By six, Carolyn was up, making tea, energy returning in waves. Linda left at seven, just as David's car pulled in. Dinner waited—simple, shared. Words were tentative, but the air lighter. Truths half-unveiled, but the path to full light clear. Chapter 40: The Quiet After the Storm David pulled into the driveway just after seven, the porch light glowing soft gold against the winter dark. His stomach churned with every worst-case scenario his mind had conjured on the drive home. Carolyn knows everything now. The secret appointments, the fantasies I buried for years, the shameful cravings I never dared voice until Linda pulled them out of me. She must feel betrayed. Tricked. Like she married a fraud. A man who pretended to be confident and dominant while secretly dreaming of diapers and dresses and watching her with real men. What if she’s disgusted? What if she’s already decided this marriage was built on a lie? What if she’s upstairs packing? He sat in the car a long moment, keys still in his hand, heart hammering. The diaper he’d worn all day—discreet under his suit—was now warm and swollen from anxious wettings he hadn’t even noticed until the drive home. Another reminder of how far he’d fallen, or how fully he’d surrendered. He took a shaky breath, forced himself out of the car, and walked to the door like a man approaching a verdict. The moment it opened; Carolyn was there. She looked... radiant. Auburn hair loose and shining, cheeks flushed with life, eyes bright in a way they hadn’t been in days. She wore a simple cream sweater and soft leggings, barefoot on the warm hardwood. Before he could speak, before he could brace for anger or distance, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him—tight, fierce, loving. Her body pressed against his, warm and familiar and safe. She rose on her toes and kissed him—deep, slow, passionate, the kind of kiss they hadn’t shared in years. Not Mommy kissing baby girl. Not wife tolerating husband. Just Carolyn kissing David, the man she loved. He melted into it, arms circling her, the terror in his chest dissolving under the simple truth of her embrace. She pulled back just enough to smile—soft, knowing, tender—and rested her forehead against his. No words. None needed. She took his hand and led him inside. Dinner was waiting: roasted chicken, garlic potatoes, a fresh salad—simple, comforting, made with care. They ate at the kitchen table, knees touching under it, trading small smiles and quiet glances. The silence wasn’t heavy. It was full—full of relief, full of unspoken gratitude, full of tomorrow. Afterward, she tugged him to the couch. She picked an old romantic comedy they’d watched a dozen times when they were first married, curled into his side, head on his shoulder, legs tangled with his. He draped an arm around her, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. For two hours they didn’t speak of hypnosis or guilt or secrets. They just were. Together. Like the early days, when love was easy and the future endless. When the credits rolled, Carolyn stood and offered her hand. He took it, heart fluttering with a new kind of nervousness. She didn’t lead him to the master bedroom. She led him to the nursery. The night-light glowed soft pink, the air warm and faintly sweet with baby powder. She turned to him, eyes gentle, and began unbuttoning his shirt without a word. Dress shirt, tie, slacks—each piece folded neatly over the rocking chair. When he stood in just his soaked daytime diaper, she kissed his cheek, then fetched a fresh nighttime one from the stack: thick, lavender with tiny silver tiaras, the kind that sagged heavily when full. She laid a changing mat on the floor, guided him down, and changed him with the same loving care she always had—wipes cool, powder clouding softly, tapes snug and secure. Then she opened the dresser and held up two nighties: one baby-pink chiffon with ruffled trim, one pale mint with lace. She raised an eyebrow in silent question. He pointed to the pink; cheeks warm. She smiled—genuine, delighted—and slipped it over his head, the hem barely skimming the diaper’s waistband. White satin booties, a ribbon bow tied in his thinning curls. Finally, she buckled the soft mittens—not locking tonight, just gentle restraint—and led Daisy to the crib. The rail rose with a soft click. Carolyn leaned over, kissed the pacifier she slipped between his lips, and whispered, “Sweet dreams, my perfect girl.” Daisy lay back on the satin pillow, diaper already warming with a shy, grateful wetting, clitty stirring helplessly beneath the padding. Carolyn lingered a moment, fingers brushing his cheek, eyes shining with love and quiet certainty. They both knew. This—this life, this surrender, this love—was exactly what they had each, in their deepest hearts, always wanted. And tomorrow, when the words finally came, they would only make it stronger. Chapter 41: Victory and Vibrations The days after Linda’s visit unfolded like a slow, warm thaw. Carolyn and David talked—really talked—for the first time in years. Not hurried pillow talk or careful avoidance, but long, quiet evenings on the couch, tea for her, bourbon for him, sharing the things they’d never dared say aloud. David told her about the secret fantasies he’d carried since his twenties: the thrill of helplessness, the erotic charge of humiliation, the way a thick diaper made him feel small and safe. Carolyn listened without judgment, her hand resting on his knee, sometimes stroking the front of his diaper through his pajamas as he spoke. He confessed how much he loved her calling him pathetic or small; how her words made his tiny clitty twitch helplessly inside the padding. He admitted the darker thrill: the idea of being “forced” into things he secretly craved—anal play, plugs, pegging—because the illusion of no choice made surrender easier. He shared how much he loved the spanking she had given him. How it hurt, but felt good because he knew he had been insensitive to her needs and deserved it. He loved that she cared enough to help him be a better husband. But he also loved thinking about getting spankings. Not just for being bad. He loved the feeling of the diaper on his butt after the stinging sensation. They agreed that he would get spankings for rewards as well as punishments. When they were for play and fun, she would put a cloth diaper over his butt before his paddling so it wouldn’t hurt as much but he could enjoy the same sensations. When it was punishment, it was going to hurt. Carolyn shared too. How dominating him made her feel powerful and desired. How she’d touched herself with a dildo while he whimpered in the crib, after the spanking, the sound of his muffled cries pushing her over the edge. She told him everything about her last night with Robert—the rough way he took her, the kisses, the way he’d pressed his thick length into her, the hot explosion into her. She described it during “play time,” with Daisy on the changing table, diaper open, legs spread, the story unfolding as Carolyn teased the front of the padding. The fact that Robert knew Daisy’s darkest secret only heightened the thrill. “He mocked you,” she whispered, “called you a freak then took me.” Daisy’s hips bucked, the diaper flooding with pre-cum and pee, the humiliation delicious and terrifying. David admitted the risk excited him—the idea of exposure, the fear that someone he knew might find out. He was still terrified of real-world discovery, especially at the firm, but the fantasy made him ache. “Then we’ll give you more of that feeling, baby girl. Safe, but so very real.” They spent hours on the couch, Daisy curled against Carolyn’s side, laptop open. He sent her links to his favorite kinky stories—diapered sissies, cuckold husbands, pegging scenes—blushing as she read them aloud, voice low and teasing. “You really want this, don’t you?” she murmured, slipping a hand onto his diaper to stroke his clitty. “Yes, Mommy,” he whispered, trembling. He was in the process of providing her links to his favorite kinky stories, when he got the call. They jury was back. He was due in court in an hour. David rushed to the courthouse, heart pounding. This wasn’t just a verdict—it was freedom. A win meant a nine-figure bonus, retirement, no more hiding diapers under suits, no more pretending to be the alpha shark. He could finally live as the man—and the girl—he truly was. The courtroom was packed. The foreman stood. “We find in favor of the plaintiffs. Damages: one billion, two hundred million dollars.” Chaos erupted. Handshakes, hugs, tears from the lead plaintiff. David’s team mobbed him, backslaps and shouts of “Legend!” He grinned, ego soaring—then the judge announced the customary post-verdict juror debrief. Some jurors wanted to talk, especially to the winning side. David stepped into the jury room, still buzzing with adrenaline. They were eager, warm, congratulatory. One woman, mid-fifties, graying hair pulled back, gripped his fingers tightly. “Mr. David, I just have to say—you were so brave up there. My brother has the same… condition. To see you handle it day after day without missing a beat? Inspiring. Truly.” A younger juror nodded. “Yeah, man. Respect. Takes guts.” David’s smile froze. Condition? It clicked like ice cracking. The faint crinkle under his slacks. The occasional discreet adjustment. They’d heard. They’d known the whole trial. Heat flooded his face—mortification and exhilaration in equal measure. He managed a gracious “Thank you, that means a lot,” voice steady while his diaper warmed with a fresh, involuntary wetting. As he walked out of the courthouse, the winter air sharp on his cheeks, a giddy thought looped: They knew. And the world didn’t end. They admired me. He now wondered if everyone at work knew as well. Driving home, the shock gave way to a strange, electric relief. One of his darkest secrets was out—at least to twelve strangers—and nothing had collapsed. The humiliation was real, but so was the thrill. He couldn’t wait to tell Carolyn. That evening, the nursery glowed pink. Carolyn had prepared a “special treat.” Daisy stripped, lay on the changing table, heart racing. From the drawer came a sleek black silicone butt plug, small but unmistakably curved, with a flared base and a remote in Carolyn’s hand. “Mommy…?” “Shh, good girl. This is for my brilliant lawyer who just won a billion dollars.” She gloved up, lubed the toy, and eased it in slowly. Daisy’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar stretch, the fullness pressing against her prostate. Carolyn taped on a thick lavender nighttime diaper over the plug, then pocketed the remote. All evening it buzzed—low, teasing hums while they watched TV, sudden sharp pulses that made Daisy squirm and whimper on the couch, diaper tenting helplessly. Carolyn watched with wicked delight, her own arousal building at the sight of her girl writhing in controlled pleasure. Friday he walked into the firm and announced retirement—effective once the inevitable appeal and settlement wrapped up. The partners raised glasses (bourbon for everyone but him; he was in a thick daytime diaper under his jeans and didn’t trust his bladder with alcohol anymore). “Legend walking away at the top,” they toasted. He grinned, secretly thrilled: no more legend. Just Daisy, full-time, secure forever. They gave him the next month off—“Take care of yourself, champ. You’ve earned it.” He planned a trip with Carolyn—somewhere warm, private, where the diapers could be thicker, the play louder, the secrets safely shared and some experimentation could begin. Just the two of them. For now. Chapter 42: Shadows Cleared The week after the verdict passed in a haze of newfound freedom. David dove into wrapping up loose ends at the firm—memos, handoffs, the occasional call about appeal strategies—but his heart wasn’t in it. Retirement loomed like a promise, the pharma windfall ensuring they’d never worry about money again. Evenings blurred into intimate confessions: David admitting how the jurors’ knowledge of his diapers had secretly thrilled him, how the exposure—real, risky—made his clitty strain every time he thought about it. Carolyn shared her own rush, teasing him during changes until he begged for mercy. By mid-week, they turned to planning the trip. Over breakfast—David in khakis over a discreet daytime diaper, Carolyn sipping peach iced tea—they spread maps on the kitchen table. “A few week in the mountains,” Carolyn said, tracing a route to a secluded cabin in the Rockies. “Far from the city, the courthouse, anyone who knows us. Just you and me… and whatever adventures we chase.” David’s cheeks warmed. “I’ve been thinking about packing. Not just the usual—some cute cross-dressing outfits. Nothing babyish. Short sundresses, maybe a skirt and blouse. Feminine, but… obvious.” Carolyn’s eyes lit with interest. “Tell me more.” He hesitated, then plunged in. “There’s this fantasy—golfing in a woman’s outfit. A pleated tennis skirt, polo top, maybe knee socks. Waddling up to the tee, everyone staring at the man in drag. The humiliation… God, it thrills me. But I’m not ready for that yet. Maybe just a few outings en femme. A walk in the woods or through a quiet town. An obvious guy in a cute dress, holding your hand. Everyone knowing I’m… this.” She reached across the table, squeezing his hand. “We can start small. An evening stroll, you in something pretty. And if it feels right… maybe hit a bar or club. Scout for someone real. A man who could give me what I need, while you watch from the shadows.” David’s breath hitched, diaper tenting at the thought. “Yes. Risky, but… thrilling. As long as it’s safe. No one from our world.” Everything felt perfect—open, electric, alive. But Carolyn carried a shadow. Linda had been calling daily, her voice gentle but insistent: “He needs the full truth, Carolyn. About the hypnosis, the plan. You can’t build on half-secrets forever.” Carolyn resisted at first—why dredge up pain when they were so happy?—but Linda’s caring persistence wore her down. “For his sake. He forgave the rest; he’ll forgive this. And you’ll be free.” Finally, over lunch Friday, Carolyn agreed. She texted Linda: Come over Sunday afternoon. We’ll tell him. That evening, as they cuddled on the couch—David in a light pink nightie over his diaper, Carolyn in silk pajamas—she broached it casually. “Linda’s coming by Sunday. Patio, if the weather holds. We… need to talk. All of us.” David’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, sensing the weight. “About…?” “Everything. Loose ends. Trust me—it’ll be good.” Sunday arrived mild for mid-December, the sun warming the patio enough for sweaters. Linda arrived at three, her flowing black dress swaying as she hugged them both. They settled around the wrought-iron table: Linda with a glass of crisp white wine, David with a tumbler of bourbon over ice, Carolyn sipping tall iced tea from a frosted glass. Small talk faded quickly. Linda set her glass down, eyes meeting David’s with that calm, amused authority. “We’re here because there’s one more truth to share. Carolyn and I… we started this journey for you, but not entirely honestly.” Carolyn took a deep breath, hand finding David’s under the table. “Before the bedwetting, before the diapers… I went to Linda, desperate. Our sex life was… empty. You came quick, your size left me aching and pretending. I loved you—the security, the life—but I needed more. I didn’t want a divorce and I couldn’t cheat without risking everything.” David’s grip tightened, but he stayed silent, listening. Linda leaned in. “I suggested hypnosis—for you. To trigger bedwetting, make you small and dependent. To push your buried desires to the surface: the diapers, the sissification, the helplessness. We planted the seeds subtly, over dinners and visits. The first wet night? Us. The urge to suggest protection? Us. We amplified what was already there—your fantasies from our old sessions—but we started the cascade without telling you.” Carolyn’s voice trembled. “I agreed because I was selfish and frustrated. But Linda crafted it, thinking it would align us—give me satisfaction, give you the surrender you craved deep down. We eased you into it, step by step.” David sat frozen; bourbon forgotten. Shock hit first—like a punch to the gut. Betrayed? By his wife? By Linda, who he’d trusted with his secrets years ago? Emotions churned: anger flickering at the manipulation, humiliation burning hotter as he realized his “natural” descent into Daisy had been engineered. The first soaked sheets, the doctor’s visits, the shame that had hooked him so deeply… all orchestrated. His face flushed, hand pulling back slightly. “You… made me wet the bed? Pushed me into diapers like some puppet? God, the humiliation I felt—raw, real—and it was all a setup?” Tears welled in Carolyn’s eyes. “We did. And I’m sorry. So sorry. But—” Linda cut in gently. “It built on your truths, David. The cravings were yours. We just… unlocked the door.” He stared at the table, mind reeling. But beneath the storm, something steadied him. The life now—the nursery, the diapers sagging warm overnight, the frills and helplessness, Carolyn’s glowing satisfaction—it was everything he’d ever wanted, even if he hadn’t known how to ask. Without their push, would he have stayed buried under ego and bourbon? Trapped in a marriage dying from his own inadequacies? A slow breath. The anger ebbed, replaced by a strange gratitude. “All’s well that ends well,” he said finally, voice rough but sincere. “Yeah, it stings—the deception. But look at us now. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. As Daisy, as your sissy… it’s freedom. You gave me that. Both of you. If Linda hadn’t made it happen, I’d still be pretending, failing you both. I forgive you. Hell, I thank you.” Carolyn sobbed in relief, pulling him into a hug. Linda smiled, tears in her own eyes, raising her glass. “To truths. And the happiness they bring.” They clinked—wine, bourbon, iced tea—and the last shadow lifted. The mountains waited, full of promise. Chapter 43: Peaks of Desire The cabin sat high in the Colorado Rockies, a sun-drenched A-frame with wide decks overlooking pine forests and a shimmering alpine lake. They arrived in early August, the air warm and sweet with wildflowers and pine sap. No snow, no skiers—just endless blue sky, hiking trails, and the lazy hum of summer insects. Perfect for the kind of exposure David had dreamed of. They unpacked with quiet excitement. David laid out his summer wardrobe: a soft floral sundress in sky blue that skimmed mid-thigh, a white pleated tennis skirt with a matching polo, sheer knee-high socks, and strappy sandals. Feminine, summery, and unmistakably male underneath—no wig or heavy makeup, just light gloss and a blush of excitement. Carolyn helped him choose, her own outfits breezy and sexy: linen shorts and halter tops, sundresses that showed off her tanned legs, everything that made her look effortlessly desirable. Their first outing was a late-afternoon walk along a quiet lakeside path. Daisy stepped out in the sundress, the breeze lifting the hem to flash the padded diaper beneath. The diaper was thick but discreet—white with pastel butterflies—and it crinkled softly with every step. Carolyn held her hand, radiant in a white sundress and wide-brimmed hat. “You’re gorgeous, princess. Imagine if someone saw—an obvious man in a pretty dress, waddling for his Mommy.” They passed a few hikers. A young couple smiled politely, a lone fisherman glanced up from the dock and did a double-take. Daisy’s skin prickled with warmth, her clitty twitching helplessly against the padding. The stares were electric. Back at the cabin, Carolyn rewarded her with slow, teasing strokes over the diaper until Daisy sobbed and came in helpless spurts. Emboldened, they ventured into the small mountain town nearby—cafés, galleries, a handful of bars catering to summer tourists. Daisy chose the tennis skirt and polo, heart pounding as they strolled the sunny main street. Heads turned: a barista’s eyes widened, a group of tourists whispered, a woman in a sundress smiled with amused curiosity. “They know,” Daisy breathed, cheeks flaming. “I’m a man in a skirt. Pathetic. Exposed.” Carolyn squeezed her hand. “And it thrills you, doesn’t it? My brave girl.” It did. The humiliation fed a dizzying arousal, diaper tenting shamelessly. That night Carolyn pegged Daisy for the first time, the slim strap-on sliding in while she whispered about “real men” who could stretch her properly. But Carolyn craved more than toys. “Let’s try the bars,” she suggested over iced tea on the deck. “You watch from a distance, like a secret admirer. See if I can… attract someone.” Daisy nodded eagerly, the cuckold fire roaring. That evening, at a lively lakeside bar—open-air patio, string lights, live guitar—Carolyn entered alone, stunning in a fitted red sundress that hugged her curves. Daisy slipped in ten minutes later, perched at a corner table in her skirt ensemble, sipping club soda to hide the waddle. She watched, diaper warming with jealous spurts, as men approached: a fit hiker with a charming smile, a local contractor with sun-kissed arms. Carolyn flirted lightly, laughing at jokes, touching arms—but nothing clicked. The next night, success. A tall, confident stranger—mid-forties, broad-shouldered, visiting from Denver—bought her a drink (iced tea for her, whiskey for him). Conversation flowed: work (he was in finance), travel, subtle innuendo. Daisy squirmed from her spot; the thrill razor-sharp. When Carolyn glanced her way—eyes locking for a split second, wicked and loving—Daisy nearly came untouched. An hour later, Carolyn leaned in. “Your place?” His hotel was just across the street. She texted Daisy: Stay here, baby. Mommy’s getting what she needs. Tell you everything later. Daisy waited, hips rocking subtly against the padded seat, mind reeling with images: Carolyn spread wide, moaning for a real cock, while her sissy waited in a tennis skirt and plastic. Upstairs in the stranger’s room—simple, king bed, balcony overlooking the lake—Carolyn felt the rush. No names exchanged beyond firsts (she gave a fake). He was confident, hands strong as he peeled off her sundress, lips claiming hers. The sex was raw, fulfilling: he lifted her effortlessly, pounding deep against the wall, then on the bed, flipping her to take her from behind. She came twice—hard, shattering—screaming into the pillow, body alive in ways David never could. The thrill of anonymity, the risk of a one-night fling in a mountain town, heightened every thrust. He finished with a growl, collapsing beside her, murmuring how incredible she was. She dressed quickly after, a quick kiss goodbye, heart racing as she slipped out. Back at the bar, Daisy waited, eyes wide and desperate. In the cabin, Carolyn recounted every detail: his size (“Thick, baby—stretched me perfectly”), his stamina (“Pounded me until I begged”), the way he made her feel desired, powerful. Daisy lay in the bed, nightie hiked, Carolyn’s hand stroking over the soaked diaper. “He took what you can’t give, princess. While you waited like the good cuck you are.” Daisy exploded with a sob, spurts soaking the gel, collapsing into Carolyn’s arms. They fell asleep tangled—her in silk, Daisy in chiffon and padding—bodies warm, love deeper than ever. But morning brought unease for Carolyn. Over iced tea on the deck, watching the sun rise over the lake, she frowned. “Last night was… amazing. Physically. But the lying? Pretending I’m single, no strings? It felt hollow. I want more than quick fucks with strangers. Something honest. Real connection, even if it’s just for us.” David—back in shorts and a diaper—nodded thoughtfully. “I get it. In my years browsing forums, reading stories… I learned about bulls. Real ones, not porn fantasies. Guys who enjoy the dynamic: low commitment, but with boundaries. They get the thrill of being desired, the power exchange, without emotional baggage. Some build respect with the couple—even friendship. Motivated by feeling chosen, providing pleasure, avoiding drama. We could find one together. A bull for us, not just you. Someone who knows the score, enhances our life without secrets.” Carolyn’s eyes lit. “Honest from the start. No pretending. And you… exposed, humiliated, but safe.” They agreed: when they got home, the search began. A bull to complete their world. The mountains had given them clarity. Now, the real adventure waited. Chapter 44: The Search Begins Back from the mountains, the cabin's sun-soaked memories lingered like a warm afterglow. David dove into finalizing the pharma case—appeals looming, but settlement talks already buzzing—while Carolyn savored their deepening intimacy. Evenings blurred into confessions: David admitting how the jurors' knowledge still thrilled him, how the risk of real exposure made every diaper change electric. Carolyn shared her growing dominance, the way commanding him—paddling his bare bottom or buzzing a plug while he squirmed—ignited her like nothing else. One night in the nursery, Daisy lay on the changing table, fresh diaper taped snug, nightie ruffled. Carolyn's hand lingered on the front, teasing. "Tell Mommy another secret, princess. Something you've never said out loud." Daisy's cheeks burned. "I... I want more than watching. When you have your bull... make me please him. Orally. Suck him off while you watch. Prepare him for you." Carolyn's eyes darkened with heat. "God, baby—that's hot. Watching my husband on his knees, diaper crinkling, servicing the man who's about to fuck me? The power... the humiliation for you, the dominance for me. Yes. We'd make it happen." Daisy whimpered, clitty straining. "And... not just hear about it. Be there. As Daisy—diapered, dressed, maybe tied to a chair. Forced to watch him take you. Or... present you to him. Spread your legs, beg him to fuck you better than I ever could." Carolyn leaned down, kissing the pacifier-gagged mouth. "Perfect. The stories are thrilling, but seeing your face—tears in your eyes, diaper tenting pathetically—while he pounds me? That's the ultimate exchange. My power, your surrender." The decision crystallized: time for a bull. Not random hookups, but a real one—for them as a couple. They started together, laptops open over iced tea (for her) and bourbon (for him). David shared what he'd gleaned from years of online lurking: cuckold communities emphasized consent, communication, boundaries. Bulls varied—some dominant alphas seeking control, others casual players enjoying the taboo without strings. Key: find one motivated by mutual respect, not conquest. They joined discreet sites: FetLife for kink networks, BiCupid for open-minded matches, OkFun's cuckold section for targeted searches. Reddit subs like r/cuckold and r/cuckoldpersonals offered forums for posts. They crafted a joint profile: "Loving couple seeking respectful bull for long-term dynamic. Hotwife craves real satisfaction; cuck sissy thrives on humiliation and service. Honesty first—no games." Responses flooded in. They vetted together, chatting via apps, video calls to gauge vibes. First potential: Alex, 38, muscular gym rat from the city. His messages oozed dominance—"I'll own her while you cry in your diapers"—but ignored their questions about boundaries. On video, he dismissed David's role: "Husbands are just props." Mismatch: too aggressive, no respect for the couple's unity. They passed. Next: Tom, 45, divorced exec. Polite, experienced, but his fantasy leaned emotional—"I want to be the third in your love story." He pushed for dates with Carolyn alone, minimizing David. Red flag: seeking attachment they didn't want. "We need low-drama," David said. Blocked. A third: Ryan, 32, bi-curious artist. Intrigued by the sissy element, but uncomfortable with diapers—"That's too weird for me." His energy mismatched their core kink. Polite no. Frustration built, but the process bonded them—laughing over bad profiles, role-playing rejections. "We're picky for a reason," Carolyn said. "He has to fit us." Then, Marcus. His profile on FetLife stood out: 42, tall, athletic build, finance consultant. "Experienced bull seeking respectful, ongoing dynamic with secure couples. Enjoy power exchange, humiliation play, but boundaries sacred. Bi-friendly; love involving the cuck in creative ways." Photos showed a handsome Black man—strong jaw, easy smile, confident without arrogance. They messaged: honest about their setup—diapers, sissification, Daisy's service fantasies. Marcus replied thoughtfully: "Sounds aligned. I get off on the thrill of being chosen, making her scream while he watches (or helps). No possession—just enhancement. Happy to chat limits first." The video call sealed it. Marcus appeared polished—button-down shirt, warm baritone. He asked questions: "What does exposure mean for you, David? Carolyn, how do you see my role in your dominance?" No red flags—confident, empathetic, independent. He shared motivations: low-attachment validation, enjoying the taboo without drama. "I'm straight, but open to cuck service if it fits the scene. Turns me on knowing he's prepping me for her." Marcus leaned back in his chair after the video call ended, replaying the conversation in his mind. David wasn't the fragile pushover he'd braced for—sharp, accomplished, with a quiet vulnerability that commanded respect. And Carolyn... radiant, in control, her dominance subtle but electric. This dynamic felt right: no red flags, just a secure couple seeking enhancement, not rescue. As a bull, he thrived on that—being chosen for the thrill, providing pleasure without strings or drama. Boundaries clear, chemistry simmering. Yeah, he thought, this could be one of the good ones. Low commitment, high reward—exactly what kept him in the game. Chemistry sparked. They agreed: initial meet at a neutral café downtown. "See if we click in person," Marcus said. "No pressure." As the call ended, Carolyn pulled David close. "He feels right. For us." Daisy nodded, diaper warming with anticipation. The search was over. The real dynamic—present, exposed, humiliating—about to begin. Chapter 45: Dinner with the Bull The lounge was dimly lit and intimate—a quiet downtown spot with leather booths, soft jazz humming from hidden speakers, and a bar glowing amber. David and Carolyn arrived early, scanning the room. No Marcus yet. They slipped into the bar area to wait. “Bourbon, neat,” David ordered, his voice carrying that courtroom steadiness even as nerves fluttered beneath. Carolyn smiled at the bartender. “Peach iced tea for me, please.” Marcus appeared moments later: tall, broad-shouldered, dark skin warm under the low lights, dressed in a crisp charcoal shirt that hugged his frame without trying too hard. His stride was easy, confident. They recognized him instantly and waved him over. He approached with a genuine smile, handshake firm and warm. “David. Good to meet you in person.” “Likewise,” David replied, grip matching—lawyer to professional, man to man. Marcus turned to Carolyn; eyes appreciative but respectful. He leaned in for a light kiss on the cheek. “Carolyn… wow. You’re even more stunning in person.” She flushed, a playful spark in her eyes. “Flatterer. But thank you. You clean up nicely yourself.” He ordered an IPA for himself and, without asking, another peach iced tea for Carolyn—remembering her preference from their chats. As they waited for a table, conversation flowed easily. David shared the pharma trial victory and his impending full retirement. Marcus talked about his finance consulting work, the two bonding over shared gripes about corporate red tape and long hours. Golf surfaced—both casual players—and they traded favorite courses and swing tips. Movies: action thrillers and classic Westerns. Music: David’s classic rock met Marcus’s R&B and hip-hop seamlessly. We could be friends if we met on a job site, David thought, a strange warmth mixing with the undercurrent of excitement. But he knows everything. While we’re debating drivers versus irons, he knows I wear diapers under this suit, dress in frills at home, and want him to take my wife while I watch. Marcus sipped his beer, genuinely enjoying the exchange. As the conversation flowed—golf tips turning to market trends—Marcus felt the pieces click. David was solid: charismatic, successful, no insecurity masking as aggression. Easy to respect, even like. Carolyn's hand on his thigh sent sparks, her confidence pulling him in without desperation. This was the kind of dynamic he sought: mutual trust, clear boundaries, the erotic charge of power exchange minus the mess. He enjoyed being the catalyst—feeling desired, amplifying their bond—not owning it. No drama, just validation and fun. Glancing at David's subtle flush, he knew: this fits. Green lights all around. And Carolyn… she was radiant. Confident, quick to laugh, her auburn hair catching the light, body language open and inviting. The chemistry crackled—subtle glances, lingering smiles. He felt the pull: desire, yes, but also intrigue at the dynamic she’d described. This could be a great. The hostess called their table—a cozy corner booth. Carolyn paused, then slid in beside Marcus with a mischievous smile. “I’ll sit here tonight.” David blinked, a flicker of ego sting, but he nodded. “Of course.” He took the opposite bench, alone. The arrangement screamed it: couple plus one. Carolyn leaned into Marcus naturally, her hand brushing his arm, head tilting toward him as they talked. David’s stomach twisted—public slight, deliberate tease—but heat bloomed low, diaper warming with a shy spurt, clitty stirring at the casual dominance. Carolyn leaned toward Marcus during appetizers, her voice carrying just enough for the nearby waiter to overhear. "Darling, tell me more about your day—while my husband here fetches the bread basket." Marcus complied with a knowing smile, but David flushed as the waiter paused mid-step, eyes flicking to him—the "husband" alone across the table. Carolyn's casual command treated David like an errand boy, the public demotion stinging sharp. He stood, retrieving the basket from the sideboard, the subtle crinkle under his slacks amplifying the shame. The waiter smirked subtly as he passed, murmuring, "Anything else for... the table?" David's cheeks grew scarlet, arousal betraying him with a spurt into the padding. She's orchestrating this—making me the servant in front of strangers. Heat rose in David’s cheeks, humiliation flooding hot and sharp. He knows now. Thinks I’m the odd one out, the third wheel. The public sting hit like fire, but his diaper tented slightly under the table, arousal betraying him. Marcus caught his eye—a flicker of knowing amusement, respectful but dominant. The meal unfolded in delicious tension. Appetizers—bruschetta, calamari—arrived, and conversation stayed easy on the surface: work stories, travel plans. But Carolyn’s hand rested on Marcus’s thigh under the table, her laughs leaning into him. She fed him a bite of her salad, giggling as he accepted it. The waiter’s knowing glances as he refilled drinks amplified everything for David—the public display, the casual claim. Marcus relaxed into it, alpha ease radiating. Sitting with another man’s wife draped over him, the husband watching quietly… it fed the thrill without arrogance. He liked them both. Carolyn was electric, power surging. Every touch, every corrective “my husband” to the waiter, soaked her panties. They’re both mine tonight, she thought. David humiliated; Marcus intrigued. Perfect stepping stone. Dessert—tiramisu shared three ways—passed in warm politeness. Outside on the sidewalk, farewells: Marcus shook David’s hand firmly. “Really good meeting you both.” Then he pulled Carolyn close for a deep, lingering kiss—right there under the streetlight, valet watching curiously. David stood aside, face aflame, the public claim searing. Humiliation crested, but so did the rush: Everyone sees. They know. In the car home, silence at first, then Carolyn’s hand on his knee. “You were perfect tonight, baby.” At home, the shift was swift. Carolyn led him to the nursery, stripped the suit, taped on a thick princess diaper—lavender with tiaras. Daisy emerged in a frilly nightie, bells jingling softly. But Carolyn was on fire, soaked from the evening’s power play. She tugged Daisy to the master bed—her domain—and pushed her down. “Make Mommy cum,” she commanded, hiking her dress, no panties beneath. Daisy dove in eagerly, tongue lapping with desperate devotion. The privilege—rare, earned—filled her with profound joy: finally pleasing Carolyn sexually, after years of failure as David. Slow circles on her clit, delving deeper, sucking gently then firmly as Carolyn’s breaths quickened. Hands gripped thighs, pulling closer, tongue probing every fold until Carolyn arched, fingers tangling in curls, crying out in shattering release. Daisy pulled back, face glistening, tears of happy accomplishment pricking her eyes. Carolyn kissed her forehead. “Good girl.” When Daisy finished, Carolyn led her to the nursery, helped her into the crib, and locked the crib rail in place, goodnight whispered. Daisy drifted off replaying the night: humiliation thrilling, chemistry undeniable. Marcus fit. The story surged forward—one giant step closer to everything they craved. Chapter 46: Building the Bridge Marcus had always been the steady one. Raised in a tight-knit family in Atlanta, he'd learned early that real strength wasn't loud or aggressive—it was reliable. A football scholarship in college honed his discipline, but a knee injury shifted his path to finance, where he climbed steadily: analyst to manager to independent consultant, building a life of quiet success. Divorced once, amicably—no kids, no bitterness—the split stemmed from mismatched desires; she'd craved routine vanilla, while he'd discovered his kink through discreet online forums. The cuckold world appealed not for dominance games, but for the clarity: low emotional stakes, high mutual thrill. He'd been a bull for three couples over the years—always with clear rules, ending cleanly when dynamics shifted. He loved the validation of being chosen, the erotic rush of providing what a husband couldn't, the power exchange that amplified a couple's bond without claiming it. No possession, no drama—just respect, pleasure, and the freedom to walk away if it didn't fit. David and Carolyn intrigued him from the start: a secure marriage with layers of vulnerability and trust. David wasn't fragile—just a man craving release from his alpha mask. Carolyn's dominance was subtle, magnetic. This could be rewarding: feeling desired, catalyzing their happiness, without the mess of entanglements. Green lights all the way. The arrangement came together seamlessly. Back home after the lounge dinner, Carolyn and David debriefed in the master bed—him in a fresh diaper and short nightie, her in silk. The evening's public tease still hummed between them. "Marcus texted," Carolyn said, phone glowing. "He's in. Wants to move forward." David's clitty stirred against the padding. "Me too. He... fits." They discussed dynamics openly: Daisy's presence eventually—tied, watching, servicing. Carolyn admitted nerves. "For the first time... I want it just me and him. Ease in. I'm not ready for you there yet—too intense. But soon. I promise." David nodded, a mix of jealousy and arousal. "I get it. Tell me everything after. Every detail." She kissed him. "Deal." Carolyn messaged Marcus the arrangements. Her mind: quick hotel meet; straight to sex—satisfy the itch. His reply: No rush. Dinner and dancing first. Let anticipation build. Treat you like you deserve. Her heart fluttered. A real date—romantic, respectful. His idea. Perfect. She shared with David. "He wants dinner, dancing. No sex first night. And... he suggested you come along. Watch us. Then I come home with you." David's eyes widened, diaper warming. "Thoughtful. Respectful of us." They agreed: a step forward, safe. The night arrived. A sleek downtown restaurant—white tablecloths, candlelight—then a nearby club with live band and sultry rhythm. David arrived first, suited sharply, bourbon in hand at the bar. Marcus and Carolyn entered together: him in tailored dark shirt and slacks, her in a slinky black dress that clung to every curve, heels accentuating her legs. She glowed on his arm. They joined David at a corner table. Conversation flowed like the lounge—golf swings, market trends—but charged now. Marcus's hand on Carolyn's lower back, her laughs leaning into him. David watched, ego prickling deliciously, diaper discreet but tenting under the table. Dinner: shared plates, wine for Marcus, iced tea for Carolyn, bourbon for David. Marcus fed her a bite of dessert, eyes locked. Chemistry sizzled—his deep voice drawing her in, her touches lingering. Carolyn leaned toward Marcus; voice playful but pointed. "Pass the bread basket to my husband, please?" Marcus complied with a knowing smile, sliding it across. The small command—treating him like her assistant in front of David—sent a fresh wave of heat through her. David flushed, accepting it silently, the subtle power shift amplifying his arousal. Then the club: dim lights, pulsing bass, bodies swaying under colored spots. David nursed a drink at a shadowed high-top, eyes locked on the floor. Marcus led Carolyn out first on a slow song—his large hand splayed possessively across the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. She melted into his chest, auburn hair brushing his shoulder, her arms looping around his neck. He guided her with effortless strength, hips swaying in perfect sync, the heat of his body seeping through her thin dress. His thigh slipped between hers as they turned, pressing just enough to make her breath catch, a subtle grind that sent sparks low in her belly. She tilted her head up, lips brushing his ear. "You move so well." He smiled down, voice a low rumble. "You feel incredible against me." His hand drifted lower, thumb tracing the curve of her hip, pulling her tighter so she felt the hard line of him against her thigh—deliberate, teasing. The song shifted faster—R&B groove, heavy beat. Marcus spun her out, then reeled her back in, hands sliding to her hips. She arched into him, back to his chest, grinding slowly as his palms guided her rhythm. The curve of her ass nestled against his growing hardness; he didn't hide it, letting her feel every inch, hips rolling in time with the music. Carolyn's pulse raced, nipples peaking under silk, wetness building as his fingers traced teasing circles on her waist, dipping just under the hem of her dress. He dipped her low, strong arm supporting, lips hovering near hers without closing—anticipation electric, breath mingling hot and close. David watched every sway, every press, diaper soaking with helpless arousal. Jealousy twisted sharp, but the thrill overpowered: She's dancing like that for him. Not me. No sex—just build. At midnight, Marcus walked them out, arm around Carolyn's waist, a final squeeze before releasing her to David. In the car home, her hand on David's thigh. "Soon," she whispered. "But tonight... perfect." At home, nursery ritual: diaper check (soaked), change, nightie. Then master bed—Carolyn guiding Daisy's head between her thighs. "Taste how wet he made me." Daisy lapped eagerly, bringing her to shuddering release. Marcus had proven thoughtful, patient. The right bull—for them. The bridge was built. Next: crossing it. Chapter 47: The First Night The arrangement came together seamlessly, a mix of anticipation and careful planning that thrilled all three of them. Marcus had suggested a full evening: dinner at an upscale French bistro downtown, then a night at a luxury hotel overlooking the city skyline. "Let's make it memorable," he'd texted Carolyn. "Build the heat slowly." She loved his thoughtfulness—no rush to the physical, even though her body ached for it after months of buildup. David was looped in from the start. Over iced tea one afternoon, Carolyn laid it out: "Saturday night. Dinner, then the hotel. I won't be home until Sunday morning." He nodded, a flicker of jealousy in his eyes, but his diaper warmed with the familiar rush. "I agree. Tell me everything after. Every detail." To prepare, Carolyn decided on a lingerie shopping trip—a ritual to heighten the tease. Friday afternoon, she took Daisy with her to a discreet boutique in the upscale district, the kind with velvet curtains and soft lighting. Daisy waddled beside her in khakis over a thick daytime diaper, face flushed as Carolyn browsed lace and silk. "Help Mommy pick something for Marcus," she cooed, holding up a sheer black babydoll with garters. "Something that makes him hard just looking." Daisy's clitty strained pathetically. "That one... it's sexy. He'll... he'll love it." Carolyn found what he was pointing to immediately: a white lace teddy, almost completely sheer, delicate garter straps dangling like invitations. She held it up against herself. “What do you think?” David’s mouth went dry. “It’s… incredible. You’ll look unreal.” A salesgirl—early twenties, bright smile, name tag “Kayla”—approached. “That set is stunning. There’s a matching garter belt and sheer stockings if you want the full look.” Carolyn’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please!” Kayla beamed. “Big occasion?” Carolyn glanced sideways at David, a playful glint in her eye. “A special night out and a stay at a luxury hotel afterwards.” Kayla turned to him with an automatic smile. “You’re a lucky man.” Carolyn’s voice was sweet as honey. “Oh, no—that’s my husband. My lover is picking me up tomorrow night.” The air left David’s lungs. Heat flooded his face; the diaper felt suddenly huge under his suit. Kayla’s eyes flicked to him, curious, a little amused, then back to Carolyn with open admiration. “Wow. He’s so sweet and supportive. That’s rare.” “He really is,” Carolyn agreed, stroking David’s arm like he was a well-trained pet. Kayla rang up the set—teddy, garter, stockings, even a tiny white thong—chatting happily about how gorgeous Carolyn would look. David stood mute, cheeks burning, clitty straining helplessly against the sodden padding. In the car on the way home he stared out the window, mind spinning. Carolyn leaned in to Daisy: "Imagine him peeling this off me while you're home in your crib, in your wet diapers. " Daisy whimpered, a spurt soaking the gel. "Yes, Mommy." Saturday evening, Carolyn prepared in the master bath—hair in loose waves, lips painted deep red, the lingerie hidden under a sleek black cocktail dress. David, already as Daisy in a short pink romper over her diaper, helped zip her up, hands trembling. "You look incredible," Daisy whispered. "For him." Carolyn kissed her forehead. "Have fun tonight, princess. Mommy won't be home till morning." Daisy nodded, bells jingling. "Yes, Mommy. Have... have fun." Marcus arrived in his SUV, sharp in a tailored suit. He kissed Carolyn deeply at the door—Daisy watching from the hall, heart pounding—then drove off into the night. At the bistro, candlelight flickered over white linen. Marcus pulled out her chair, ordered wine for himself and iced tea for her without asking. Conversation flowed: his latest consulting project, her thoughts on a new book club read. But under it, tension built—his hand brushing hers, eyes tracing her neckline. "You’re glowing tonight," he murmured. "You make me feel that way," she replied, pulse quickening. After dessert—crème Brulé shared, spoons lingering— they headed to the hotel. The suite was opulent: king bed with silk sheets, city lights twinkling through floor-to-ceiling windows, a bottle of chilled iced tea waiting beside champagne. Marcus dimmed the lights, pulled her close. "I've wanted this since our first call." Their kiss started slow—lips soft, exploring—then deepened, his hands roaming her back, unzipping the dress. It pooled at her feet, revealing the white lingerie. His breath caught. "God, Carolyn... you're perfection." She tugged at his shirt, buttons giving way to reveal toned chest and abs. They tumbled to the bed, his mouth on her neck, trailing down to lace-covered breasts. He peeled the bra away, sucking nipples to hard peaks, her moans filling the room. Fingers dipped under the thong, finding her soaked, circling her clit with expert pressure. "Yes... Marcus..." She arched, guiding his head lower. He obliged, tongue delving deep, lapping with hungry precision—slow flicks, then sucking, building her relentlessly. She came hard, thighs clamping his head, crying out as waves crashed. He rose, shedding pants—his cock thick, veined, twice David's length—hard and ready. She stroked him, marveling at the heat, the girth. "I need you inside me." He entered slowly, stretching her deliciously, inch by inch until buried deep. She gasped, nails digging into his back. He thrust steadily—deep, rhythmic—flipping positions: her on top, riding with rolling hips; then from behind, pounding as she clutched sheets. Orgasms rolled through her—three, four—each shattering, his growls possessive. Finally, he came with a roar, spilling hot inside her. They collapsed, tangled and sweaty, his arms around her. "Incredible," he whispered. She smiled, sated. "More than." Back home, Daisy paced the nursery, romper unzipped, diaper massively swollen from hours of anxious wetting. Mommy is with him now. Dinner done, hotel room... his cock inside her, making her scream like I never could. The jealousy burned, but so did the need. Crib rail up, paci in, she grabbed a satin pillow, straddling it in the dim pink light. Hips rocked desperately—wet gel squishing, clitty grinding through layers. Imagining: Marcus thrusting deep, Carolyn's moans, his grunts of possession. "Yes... fuck her... better than me..." She came with a muffled sob, spurts soaking the diaper further, collapsing spent and tear-streaked. Morning would bring stories. For now, surrender. Chapter48: Maid for the Evening The anticipation built like a slow-burning fire in the days leading up to Marcus's first full visit to the house. Carolyn orchestrated every detail with wicked delight, turning the evening into a deliberate showcase of Daisy's surrender. She'd ordered the maid outfit online—a glossy black satin dress with an impossibly short skirt, white lace ruffles trimming the hem and puffed sleeves, a crisp apron tied in a big bow at the back, and a frilly white petticoat that forced the skirt to flare out dramatically. Sheer black stockings with lace tops, garter clips, and patent Mary Janes completed the look. No panties, of course—just the thick, crinkly nighttime diaper printed with tiny pink tiaras, its bulk pushing the petticoat even higher, ensuring every curtsey or bend flashed the padded bottom. "Look at you," Carolyn cooed during the fitting, circling Daisy with a predatory smile. "My little sissy maid. Marcus is going to love seeing what a pathetic servant I've turned my big strong lawyer husband into. Waddling around in frills and plastic while he gets ready to fuck your wife properly." Daisy's face scorched crimson, clitty twitching uselessly against the gel. "Y-yes, Mommy... it's so humiliating." "That's the point, baby girl. Tonight, you serve. No sitting at the table like a real person. Just fetching, pouring, standing in the corner like the useless cuck maid you are." Saturday evening arrived. Carolyn prepared upstairs—emerald lace lingerie under a sheer robe, hair in soft waves, makeup sultry. Daisy waited downstairs in the full outfit, petticoat rustling with every nervous shift, diaper already warm from anxious leaks. The doorbell rang precisely at seven. Daisy minced to the door, heels clicking, skirt bouncing to reveal ruffled diaper edges. She opened it to Marcus—imposing in a fitted shirt and slacks, eyes immediately dropping to take in the outfit. A slow, appreciative grin spread across his face. "Well... hello, Daisy. You look exactly like the perfect little maid." Daisy's voice came out high and trembling. "G-good evening, Sir Marcus. Please... come in." She curtseyed deeply, skirt flaring high enough to expose the bulging diaper fully—tiaras gleaming under the foyer light. Marcus's gaze lingered on the padded bottom, amusement deepening. "Adorable. And practical, I see. Lead the way, girl." Blushing furiously, Daisy turned—waddle pronounced—and guided him to the living room. "May I... take your coat, Sir? And prepare a drink?" "Bourbon on the rocks," he said, handing over his jacket. He settled on the couch, watching as she prepared it at the bar cart—bending to reach ice, skirt riding up to flash the sagging seat of her diaper. She returned with the glass, curtseying again. "Your drink, Sir." "Thank you, Daisy." He accepted it, then patted the couch beside him. "Stand there a minute. Let me get a good look at Carolyn's handiwork." Daisy obeyed, mortified as he appraised her openly. "Turn around." She did, slowly, petticoat swishing. "Bend a little—like you're picking something up." The skirt lifted completely, exposing the thick, crinkly diaper. Marcus chuckled low. "Pathetic little thing, isn't it? All padded up while a real man visits your wife. Does it make that tiny clitty excited, knowing I'm here to do what you can't?" "Y-yes, Sir," Daisy whispered, voice breaking, a fresh spurt warming the gel. "Good girl." Carolyn descended then—robe open, lace clinging to curves. She kissed Marcus deeply. "Like my maid?" "Very much," he murmured, hand sliding to her ass. Dinner was candlelit intimacy for two: seared salmon, roasted vegetables, wine for Marcus, iced tea for Carolyn. Daisy served meticulously—plating, pouring, refilling—standing silently in the corner when idle, hands clasped over apron. They ignored her mostly, laughing and touching, but Carolyn couldn't resist occasional barbs. "Daisy, more wine for Sir Marcus. And stop shifting like that—everyone can hear your diaper crinkling. So, embarrassing for a grown man." Marcus smirked. "She's well-trained. Cute how she waddles." Daisy burned, arousal throbbing helplessly. After dessert—shared bites fed between kisses—Carolyn stood. "Bedroom?" Marcus rose, pulling her close. "Absolutely." Daisy cleared the table in a haze as they ascended, door left ajar. Sounds drifted down: zipper, gasps, bed creaking. Marcus's deep voice: "Spread for me, beautiful." Carolyn's moans—raw, desperate—as he entered, thrusting powerfully. "Yes... God, you're so big... harder!" The rhythm built—headboard thumping, her cries peaking in multiple orgasms, his grunts culminating in release. Daisy retreated to the nursery, crib rail up, but ears straining to every muffled sound. Marcus left around eleven—kissing Carolyn at the door, promising return. "Next time... longer." Carolyn found Daisy in the crib, nightie hiked, pillow clutched desperately between thighs. "Ready for stories, baby?" Daisy nodded frantically. Carolyn climbed in, pulling her close. "He was incredible—thick, relentless. Fucked me in ways you never could. Listen while you hump." As details poured—his tongue making her squirt, pounding from behind until she screamed, filling her deep—Daisy ground against the pillow, wet diaper squishing obscenely. Carolyn watched; eyes gleaming. "Look at you—humping like a desperate little girl while Mommy tells you how a real man took her. Pathetic, but so perfect." Daisy sobbed into release, spurts soaking further, collapsing spent. Carolyn held her tight. "Good maid. This is just the beginning." Deeper layers awaited. Marcus was in—for good. A few days after Marcus's first full home visit—Daisy in maid outfit, serving silently—Carolyn met Linda for iced tea on her patio. "He's perfect," Carolyn said, glowing. "Respectful, dominant without cruelty. And Daisy... serving them dinner, standing in the corner—it was intoxicating." Linda listened, caring intent shining. "You're building something beautiful." Chapter 49: Witness to Ecstasy In the days following Marcus's home visit, Carolyn's confidence bloomed. The power of commanding Daisy as maid while Marcus claimed her had unlocked something deeper—a desire to share the full spectacle. "It's time," she told Daisy one evening in the nursery, taping a fresh diaper snug. "Next time Marcus comes... you watch. Everything." Daisy's clitty throbbed at the thought. "Yes, Mommy... please." To prepare, Carolyn browsed online discreetly, ordering a pack of Rearz Princess Pink diapers—thick, ultra-absorbent with a glossy pink backing printed with crowns, unicorns, and hearts. "Something special for my baby girl," she said when they arrived. "Pink and pretty, just like you'll be while watching Mommy get what she needs." Saturday came. Carolyn invited Linda for dinner first—keeping her oldest friend in the loop, sharing every thrilling detail over tea. "Marcus is perfect," she'd confided. "And tonight... Daisy watches." Daisy was dressed early: an incredibly frilly baby doll outfit in pale pink chiffon, like something for a very young girl—puffed short sleeves, ribbon bows, layers of ruffles barely covering the bulging Rearz diaper. The pink plastic crinkled loudly with every movement, hearts and crowns visible at the leg bands. A matching bonnet tied under her chin, satin mittens (unlocked for now), and the penis-shaped paci dangled from a ribbon around her neck. The doorbell rang at six. Daisy waddled to answer, skirt bouncing to flash the diaper's waistband. Marcus stood there, bottle of bourbon in hand, eyes widening at the sight. "Hello again, Daisy. You look... even sweeter than last time." Daisy curtseyed, hem flipping high to expose the pink padding fully. "W-welcome, Sir Marcus. Please come in." He stepped inside, gaze lingering on the frilly ensemble and obvious diaper. "Adorable. And those diapers... very princess-like. Fitting for a sissy like you." Blush burning, Daisy took his coat. "May I... make you a drink, Sir?" "Bourbon neat, thanks." As she prepared it—bending to reach the bottle, skirt riding up to show the full printed seat—another ring. Daisy minced back, opening to Linda. Linda's eyes sparkled with affectionate amusement. "Oh, Daisy... you look precious. Hello, sweetheart." Daisy curtseyed again. "Hello, Miss Linda. Please come in." Linda handed over a bottle of sparkling water. "First time meeting Marcus properly? Exciting night ahead." They gathered in the living room—Marcus and Linda shaking hands warmly, chatting easily about the city while Daisy served drinks: bourbon for Marcus, wine for Linda, iced tea for Carolyn (who descended moments later in a flowing red dress that screamed seduction). Dinner was intimate: roasted lamb, herbed potatoes, salad—Daisy serving in her frilly outfit, standing attentively, refilling glasses. Conversation flowed—Linda sharing hypnosis insights (respectfully vague), Marcus on finance trends, Carolyn glowing as center. Daisy escaped teasing this time, but the outfit spoke volumes: frills and diaper crinkling as silent humiliation. Linda bid goodnight after coffee. "Have fun, you three. Call if you need me." Upstairs in the master bedroom—soft lighting, king bed dominant—Marcus and Carolyn kissed hungrily while Daisy stood aside, trembling. "Time to get you ready," Carolyn said, leading Daisy to a sturdy wooden chair beside the bed. Leather cuffs—fuzzy-lined for comfort—snapped around wrists and ankles. Ropes attached them to the chair arms and legs, a deliberate production: Carolyn tightening each knot slowly, Marcus watching with intrigued approval. Daisy tested the binds—secure, no escape, but no pain. Heart racing: Can't move. Can't touch. Just watch. "One more surprise," Carolyn purred, producing a new gift: a realistic penis-shaped gag, veined silicone, strap harness. "Open wide, baby girl." Daisy's eyes widened, but she obeyed. Carolyn inserted it firmly—filling her mouth, tip nudging throat—buckling the straps tight. "There. Now pay attention, Daisy. Watch how a real man satisfies a woman. Something your tiny clitty could never do." Muffled moan escaped—Daisy's only sound now. Marcus pulled Carolyn close, hands roaming her dress, unzipping slowly. Kisses deepened—lips parting, tongues dancing—as he peeled fabric away, revealing lace bra and thong. His mouth trailed down her neck, sucking collarbone, hands cupping breasts, thumbs circling nipples through lace until they peaked hard. She gasped, arching, fingers tangling in his hair as he knelt, kissing stomach, thighs. "You're so wet already," he growled, inhaling her scent. Daisy watched, bound and gagged: God, he's worshipping her. Touching places, I never could. Her body responds to him—moans real, not faked like with me. Humiliation twisted with envy, diaper tenting painfully, clitty leaking pre-cum into the pink gel. Can't speak, can't beg—just witness. Marcus stood, shedding shirt—toned chest rippling—then pants, cock springing free: thick, veined, erect. Carolyn stroked it reverently. "I need you." He laid her back, tongue delving between thighs—lapping folds, sucking clit with expert rhythm. She writhed, hips bucking. "Yes... Marcus... don't stop..." Daisy's thoughts raced: He's making her cum with his mouth. She's screaming for him. So powerful... I'm just a spectator, diapered and gagged like a pathetic toy. Her first orgasm hit—body convulsing, cries echoing. Marcus rose, positioning—rubbing tip against her wetness. He thrust in slowly, stretching her, her moans peaking as he filled completely. Daisy's eyes locked: There it is. Him inside her. Taking what's mine. Tears pricked—jealousy searing—but arousal throbbed, diaper soaked. They built—thrusts deep, rhythmic—flipping to her on top, riding hard; then doggy, pounding relentlessly. Orgasms rolled through her—loud, shattering—until Marcus growled, spilling inside with a final thrust. They collapsed, panting. Marcus kissed her tenderly. "Incredible, as always." Daisy muffled a sob—overwhelmed, aching. Marcus dressed, said goodnight with a kiss for Carolyn. "Next time... more." Released from binds and gag, Daisy trembled. Carolyn led her to the nursery, lowering the crib rail. "Stories now, baby. But show Mommy how excited you are." Daisy nodded; nightie hiked. Carolyn fetched the oversized stuffed pink unicorn, placing it between Daisy's legs. "Hump for me. Slow—let me watch my sissy get off to her cuckolding." Daisy straddled it, grinding desperately—wet diaper squishing, clitty rubbing through gel. Carolyn sat beside, hand on back. "That's it... hump while I tell you how he filled me. Bigger than you, better than you. My perfect little watcher." Release hit—sobs muffled, spurts soaking further. Carolyn held her after, whispering love. The circle tightened. Happiness deeper than ever. Chapter 50: The Nursery Unveiled The fantasy had simmered between them for weeks—David's deepest confession, whispered in the nursery one night: permanent denial. No more penis-in-vagina sex with Carolyn, ever. His tiny clitty locked away from her forever, reserved only for diapered frustration. She'd agreed eagerly, the power intoxicating. "Tonight," she decided. "With Marcus here to witness. Make it official." Marcus arrived promptly, bottle of wine in hand, greeted by Daisy in a short lavender nightie over her diaper—crinkling softly, no full outfit tonight to keep focus on the ritual. They settled in the living room—Marcus on the couch, Carolyn beside him, Daisy kneeling at their feet on a soft rug. Carolyn began, voice firm but loving. "We've reached a new milestone. David wants—needs—permanent denial. No more sex with me. Ever. His little clitty will never enter me again." Marcus leaned forward; eyes serious. "This is big. Permanent means no going back. You sure?" Daisy nodded, face flushing. "Yes, Sir. I... I can't satisfy her. Never could." Carolyn smiled wickedly. "Tell him, baby. Recite your inadequacies. Beg him properly." Daisy's voice trembled. "Sir Marcus... my penis is too small—barely three inches hard. I cum in seconds, leaving Mommy frustrated and faking. I'm inadequate... pathetic. Please... satisfy my wife for me. Fuck her like she deserves. Take my place permanently. I relinquish all rights to her body." Marcus gave pauses—multiple chances. "Last out, David. This is forever. No reversal. You're giving me exclusive access." Tears pricked Daisy's eyes, but arousal throbbed. "I want it, Sir. Permanent. Please... be her man." Carolyn beamed. "Sealed." To celebrate, Carolyn led Marcus upstairs—to the nursery door. "Time you see her special room." She opened it: soft merciless pink glow, adult-sized locking crib with glossy white rails, changing table stocked with powders and wipes, stacks of thick diapers including the Rearz Princess Pink with crowns and unicorns, dressers of frilly nighties and outfits, rocking chair, mobile spinning lazily. Marcus took it in, impressed. "This is... thorough. Perfect for her." Carolyn grinned. "And to help you adjust, baby—we got you a girlfriend." Daisy blinked, confused. Carolyn produced a cheap party-prank blow-up doll—gaudy plastic, exaggerated features, half-inflated. "Only fair," Carolyn teased. "You watched us—we should watch you. Make love to her. Show Marcus how you try." A blush tinged Daisy’s ears. Diaper tenting, she pulled down the front of her diaper and mounted the doll awkwardly—humping the plastic form, tiny clitty entering the dolls’ plastic hole. Carolyn narrated: "Look at him, Marcus—humping a plastic doll because real women are too good for his tiny little thing." Marcus chuckled. "Pathetic, man. But committed." Mid-thrust—a loud hiss. The doll deflated rapidly, air leaking as it crumpled beneath. Carolyn burst laughing. "Oh God—she committed suicide! Couldn't bear your pathetic pecker. Dolly chose death over letting you cum inside her." Marcus roared. Daisy sobbed humiliation, arousal peaking. "Now the pillow," Carolyn commanded. "Hump in front of us. Finish like the sissy you are." Daisy obeyed—pulling the front of her diaper up over her tiny clitty, straddling, grinding desperately while they watched, teasing relentlessly: "Plastic preferred popping over you... real men get me, you get pillows..." Release hit—shuddering, spurting into soaked gel. Next was the nightly change. Marcus watched as Carolyn untaped the used diaper, wiped, powdered lavishly, taped a fresh Rearz Princess Pink snug. Daisy picked her sleep outfit: baby-pink chiffon nightie, short and ruffled. Finally, Marcus's gift: a baby monitor set. "Transmitter for your bedroom," he explained to Carolyn. "Receiver for the nursery. So, Daisy hears everything when we're... busy." "Perfect," Carolyn purred. The crib rail was raised; Daisy was all tucked in for the night—the receiver on the dresser. With the lights out in the nursery, Daisy could hear the moans, creaks, Carolyn's cries, Marcus's growls filtering through the monitor. Daisy lay in pink glow of the nightlight, diaper warm, listening as sleep claimed her—humiliated but utterly fulfilled. The life begged for was permanent now. Chapter 50: Bedroom Surprises David's birthday—his 48th—dawned with a quiet thrill that permeated the house. Over the past months, the dynamic had solidified: Marcus a regular presence, dinners and dances evolving into passionate nights in the master bedroom, Daisy always listening from the crib via the monitor, her diapered helplessness a constant. Retirement had freed David fully—no more suits hiding padding, just endless days as Daisy when Carolyn commanded. The hair had grown out, now long enough for styles beyond bows, and Carolyn had hinted at a "big surprise" for weeks. That evening, Carolyn prepared Daisy in the nursery with meticulous care. "My birthday girl needs to look extra special," she cooed, seating her at the vanity. She brushed the thinning but lengthened curls into high pigtails, tying them with oversized pink ribbons that dangled like childish flags. Makeup was overdone: rosy cheeks blended to clownish circles, shimmering pink eyeshadow, glossy lips in bubblegum hue. The outfit screamed exaggerated sissy: a hot-pink satin romper with puffed shorts barely covering the diaper, white lace ruffles everywhere—collar, cuffs, hems—tiny bells sewn into the seams that jingled with every twitch. Sheer thigh-high stockings with bows at the tops, glossy Mary Janes on feet. The Rearz Princess Pink diaper beneath was massively thick, printed with glittering crowns, hearts, and unicorns, its plastic backing crinkling obscenely. Daisy stared at her reflection—over-the-top, ridiculous, utterly emasculated. "Mommy... it's so... much." Carolyn kissed her forehead. "Perfect for your surprise. Now come—Marcus is waiting." Downstairs in the master bedroom, Marcus lounged on the bed in slacks and shirt, bourbon in hand. His eyes lit as Daisy entered, pigtails bouncing. "Well, damn... look at you, Daisy. You look so pretty—like a little doll all dressed up for playtime." Daisy curtseyed, bells tinkling, face burning. "Th-thank you, Sir." Carolyn guided her to the chair beside the bed—no binds, no gag. "Sit, baby. Birthday girls get to watch tonight." Daisy obeyed, diaper squishing under her, clitty already stirring at the promise. Marcus set his glass down, smiling at Carolyn. "I'm ready for that blow-job you promised." Daisy's eyes widened in shock. Blow-job? Mommy hates that—never once, not even for me. She's going to suck her first cock... right here? The thought sent a jolt through her: jealousy at Marcus getting what she'd never given David, but arousal at witnessing Carolyn's "first." Carolyn's lips curved mischievously. "Alright." But instead of kneeling before Marcus, she stood, took Daisy's hand, and led her to the bed's edge. "I promised Marcus a blow-job, baby... so you need to do a good job for him." Daisy's world spun. Me? Sucking him? The shock hit like ice water—heart pounding, stomach twisting in raw fear. No... I can't... but the fantasy crashed in: forced to serve, mouth full of the cock that pleased Mommy. Humiliation burned, clitty betraying with a helpless twitch. Emotions warred: terror at the unknown taste, the stretch, the ultimate emasculation; shame at how badly she wanted to be "made" to do it; excitement bubbling under, making her diaper warm with a shy spurt. This is it—the line I never crossed. But Mommy's commanding... and I crave the surrender. "M-Mommy?" Daisy stammered, voice small and trembling. "I... I don't know if I can..." Carolyn's grip tightened on her hand, eyes locking with a mix of dominance and encouragement. "Oh, you can, baby girl. And you will. You've begged for this in your whispers—fluffing my bull, tasting a real man. Now's your chance. On your knees, Daisy. Open that pretty mouth and show Sir how grateful you are that he fucks Mommy like you never could." Daisy hesitated, knees weak, mind reeling. The room felt smaller, Marcus's presence looming. What if it's gross? What if I choke? But deeper: What if I love it? Become the cocksucking sissy forever? Carolyn tugged gently but insistently, guiding her down. "Don't make me ask again, princess. It's your birthday—time to unwrap your gift." Tears pricked Daisy's eyes—fear, humiliation, desire blurring—but she knelt, pigtails framing her face, bells jingling softly as she settled between Marcus's legs. Marcus unzipped slowly, his thick cock springing free—veined, semi-hard, already intimidating. "You heard Mommy, girl. Make it good for me." Daisy leaned in hesitantly, the musky scent hitting first—earthy, masculine, strangely intoxicating. Her lips parted, tongue flicking tentatively at the tip. Salty pre-cum bloomed on her taste buds—warm, slick, not as bad as feared. She took more, mouth stretching around the girth, sucking softly at first, exploring the velvety hardness. The fullness was invasive, jaw aching already, but the rhythm built: bobbing slowly, tongue swirling the underside, cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder. Gagging slightly on deeper pushes, tears streaming, but persisting—up and down, slurping wetly, the act degrading yet thrilling, clitty leaking steadily into the diaper. Carolyn knelt beside her, whispering taunts with glee. "Look at my little cocksucker—lips stretched around a real man's dick. You've got more cock in your mouth right now than I've ever had in my life. Once a cocksucker, always a cocksucker, Daisy. Can't undo it now—you're marked forever as the sissy who sucks off her wife's bull." The words stung like fire, humiliation peaking, but arousal surged—Daisy moaning muffled around the shaft, bobbing faster, throat relaxing to take more. "Greedy girl," Carolyn laughed. "Slurping like you can't get enough. Bet that makes your tiny clitty drip in your princess diaper, huh? Pathetic—on your knees sucking the man who fucks me, while you hump pillows in you wet diapers later." Marcus groaned; hand gentle on her pigtail. "Good... deeper, sissy." He thrust lightly, tip nudging throat. Daisy pushed limits—gagging, eyes watering—but sucked relentlessly until Marcus swelled, pulsing. "Swallow it all, girl." Orgasm erupted: hot, thick ropes flooding her mouth. Salty, viscous—overwhelming volume forcing gulps, throat working desperately to take every drop, no spill, swallowing like a starving thing. Pulling back gasping, face smeared with saliva and tears, lips swollen. Carolyn clapped delightedly. "What a good cum-eating sissy cuckold! Gobbled it all down like your favorite treat. Must love the taste—didn't waste a single drop. You're a natural cocksucker, baby. More in your future, I bet." Marcus chuckled, pulling Daisy up gently. "You did amazing, girl. Come here." Tender cuddling followed—Daisy sandwiched between them on the bed, Carolyn stroking pigtails, Marcus's arm around both. "Proud of you," Carolyn whispered, kissing tears away. "My brave birthday girl." Daisy sniffled, afterglow mixing shame and bliss. I did it... sucked a man off. Swallowed. I can't take it back. But... it felt right, natural. Marcus recovered, pulling Carolyn atop him. Daisy watched from the bed's edge: kisses deepening—lips crashing, tongues entwining hungrily. Hands explored—him kneading her breasts, pinching nipples to gasps; her grinding against his hardening cock, nails raking his chest. He flipped her, entering smoothly—thick shaft sliding in, stretching her visibly, her moan raw and ecstatic. Thrusts built: deep, rhythmic, bed creaking. She rode him wildly—hips rolling, breasts bouncing, head thrown back in bliss; doggy style—ass rippling with powerful impacts, her cries peaking; missionary—legs wrapped tight, nails digging as he pounded relentlessly. Orgasms tore through her—body quaking, screaming his name, juices soaking sheets—until Marcus growled, spilling deep inside with shuddering release. Daisy's thoughts swirled: There—him inside her, thrusting like I never could. Stretching, filling, making her cum real. Jealousy aches... but so hot. My place is to be here watching, to be denied, to be diapered. Panting, Carolyn beckoned. "Clean up, baby." Daisy crawled over—first Marcus's cock: licking tentatively, tasting mingled fluids—salty cum, Carolyn's tangy sweetness. She cleaned thoroughly, sucking softly, tongue swirling to lap every trace. Then between Carolyn's legs: tongue delving into creamy folds, lapping the hot creampie—musky, thick, cum oozing as she sucked and swallowed, face buried in wetness. Humiliatingly delicious, clitty throbbing untouched. Chapter 51: Bedtime Reflections When Daisy finished, they all went to the nursery. Daisy's diaper was untaped (soaked beyond capacity). Carolyn took out the lube and prepared the vibrating plug that was Daisy's favorite and inserted it gently into her. A fresh Princess Pink diaper was put on and taped into place. Daisy was then dressed in a short frilly baby-pink chiffon, barely skimming waistband. The locking mittens were put onto Daisy's hands. The wrist and ankle cuffs were strapped into place. When Daisy climbed into the crib her diaper crinkled. Daisy laid on her back and her wrist and ankle cuffs were secured to the rails of the crib with the ropes. Finally, the Penis shaped pacifier was put in her mouth and strapped in with a ribbon—filling Daisy's mouth, tip nudging her throat, inescapable for the night. The railing was raised and locked. "Goodnight, baby," Carolyn whispered, kissing forehead. "Sweet dreams." As Carolyn and Marcus left for the master bedroom for the night, Carolyn took the remote for the vibrating butt plug and turned it on low. She could hear the low hum as they closed the door to the nursery. Daisy lay in pink glow, bound and buzzing, tears of joy streaking: Mommy's done everything—unlocked my secrets, built this life of surrender. From egotistical lawyer to diapered sissy cuckold... wonderful, perfect. Tonight was a whirlwind—the shock of the blow-job command, the internal battle of fear and desire, the invasive fullness in my mouth, the salty flood I swallowed so eagerly. I crossed that line, became the cocksucker forever... and I loved it. The cleanup too—tasting them mingled, lapping the creampie like a starving pet. Humiliating, but so right. What does Mommy have planned next? More service? Deeper denials? The unknown thrills me. As sounds echoed in the nursery, Daisy could hear the passion between his wife and the real man coming over the baby monitor—moans, gasps, rhythmic creaks, Carolyn's raw cries of "Yes... harder..."—Daisy drifted off to sleep, utterly content. This was the life begged for. This was the life she'd never thought she could have and now would never leave. Epilogue: Secrets in Bloom The weekly sessions between Carolyn and Linda had faded into fond memory, replaced by occasional texts and spontaneous lunches. But this particular Wednesday at 2:00 p.m., they met at Carolyn's favorite park—a serene expanse of winding paths, blooming flowerbeds, and a gentle fountain at the trail's end. Linda arrived in her flowing black dress, spotting Carolyn on a bench overlooking the lake. They embraced warmly. "You look radiant," Linda said, pulling back with a smile. "As do you," Carolyn replied. "It's been too long." They walked the shaded path, small talk flowing—weather, a new restaurant downtown—until Carolyn steered gently deeper. "I can't thank you enough for everything, Linda. You've changed my life—our lives—in ways I never imagined." She paused, gazing at the trees. "I've learned so much. That love isn't finite. I love David more deeply now than ever—seeing him as Daisy, vulnerable and joyful, has only strengthened it. And Marcus... I love him too, in a different way. Fierce, passionate. One doesn't diminish the other." Linda nodded; eyes soft. "I'm so happy for you. For all of you." Carolyn smiled. "And jealousy? It doesn't have to rule. When Daisy sucked Marcus... I thought I'd feel possessive, but no. Just joy—watching two people I love sharing something intimate, consensual. Beautiful." They reached a secluded bench, and Carolyn sat, motioning Linda beside her. She took her friend's hands. "Most importantly, I've learned that true love means openness. No bottling feelings. David and I... we're honest now, raw and real. It's brought us unimaginable happiness." A pause. "You kept telling us that—be open, honest. And it worked." Linda squeezed her hands. "I'm glad." Carolyn's gaze deepened. "You know you can tell me anything, right? No secrets between us." Linda nodded, a flicker of nervousness crossing her face. "Then... tell me yours." Carolyn's voice was gentle but steady. "Back before David was your patient. That first subtle hypnosis over tea. You said it was to ease budding guilt, free me from repressing needs. Help me realize I deserved fulfillment." Linda swallowed. "I remember." "But there was more. A secret reason." Carolyn's eyes searched hers. "You weren't just fixing my marriage. It was... personal, wasn't it? All those caring intentions—the hypnosis, the plan to make us happy—you believed it would help, but it was for me, wasn't it?" Linda's composure cracked, looking suddenly vulnerable—like a child caught in a harmless lie. Tears welled. Carolyn pulled her into a hug. "It's okay. Let it out. Tell me." Linda's voice broke. "I love you." Carolyn held tighter. "I love you too. But... more than friends?" The words tumbled. "I'm in love with you. Have been... since college. Watching you suffer in silence, trapped with David... it broke me. I couldn't stand it. The hypnosis, the plan—it started selfishly. To free you, yes, but hoping... maybe you'd see me. Need me. Love me back. I truly believed it would bring you lasting happiness—that's why I pushed so hard, crossing every line. For you." Silence hung, birdsong filling it. Carolyn pulled back, cupping Linda's face. "Oh, Linda... my beautiful, caring friend. You've been there through everything—guiding, protecting, loving quietly with that fierce intent to make me happy." Tears streamed down Linda's cheeks. They stood, walking to the fountain's edge—water sparkling in sunlight. Carolyn faced her, hands on Linda's waist. "I see you now. Truly." She leaned in, lips meeting softly—tender at first, then deepening, tongues exploring with years of unspoken want. Desire ignited, gentle but profound. Pulling apart breathlessly, Carolyn whispered, "I'm in love with you too." Linda's eyes shone—relief, joy. Carolyn smiled. "A short time ago, I felt trapped—sexless, obligated. Now? Three loves: David, my devoted sissy; Marcus, my passionate bull; and you—my heart's quiet constant. With openness, honesty... we make it work. All of us." They embraced by the fountain, future blooming wide. Love, unbound, had won. The Making of a Sissy Baby Cuckold - Final.pdf

Introduction The waiting room of the Riverside Fertility Clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and old magazines. Emily sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, knuckles pale, while Mark rested a steady arm around her shoulders. They had come expecting hope—perhaps a simple fix, a round of treatment, a timeline. Instead, the doctor’s quiet, measured words had landed between them like a stone dropped into still water. “I’m sorry,” Dr. Harlan had said, eyes soft behind wire-rimmed glasses. “The scarring from the childhood injury is too extensive. Natural conception isn’t possible, and even with intervention the chances are effectively zero.” Emily had nodded once, politely, as though someone had merely informed her that rain was expected later. Mark had asked the appropriate follow-up questions—his voice calm, practical, the way it always became in emergencies—but inside he felt the floor tilt. When they stood to leave, Emily’s legs carried her out of the office without a tremor, down the elevator, across the parking lot, and into the passenger seat of their sensible gray sedan. Only when Mark turned the key in the ignition did she finally speak. “I’m never going to be a mother,” she said, staring straight ahead at the windshield wipers that weren’t moving. Mark reached for her hand. “We’ll find another way. Adoption, surrogacy—whatever you want. We’ll figure it out together.” Emily turned to him then, and for a moment her eyes were bright with something fierce and brittle. “Together,” she repeated, as if tasting the word. Then she smiled—a small, careful smile that didn’t quite reach the rest of her face—and squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.” In the weeks that followed, Mark told himself the smile was progress. Emily went back to work at the library, kept the house tidy, cooked their favorite meals. She listened to his suggestions about counseling, nodded thoughtfully at articles on foster care, and even bookmarked a few adoption agencies. To anyone watching from the outside, they were a young couple bravely navigating disappointment. But in the quiet hours after Mark fell asleep, Emily lay awake staring at the ceiling, her mind circling the same unyielding truth: there would be no tiny fingers wrapped around hers, no first steps across the living-room floor, no sleepy midnight feedings. The future she had carried inside her since girlhood had been quietly, permanently erased. One night, deep into November, she found herself at the computer long after midnight. A search that began with “coping with infertility” led her down quieter, stranger paths. Forums filled with soft pastel icons. Stories of healing through pretend. Photographs of grown men in oversized cribs, eyes closed in something that looked disturbingly like peace. Emily read until the sky outside turned the color of weak tea. Then she closed the laptop, pressed her palms to her aching chest, and made a decision. If the world would not give her a child, she would find another way to become the mother she was meant to be. And Mark—kind, steady Mark, who had promised they would figure it out together—would help her. He just didn’t know it yet. Chapter 1: The Devastating Diagnosis The fluorescent lights in the Riverside Fertility Clinic hummed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow on the beige walls and the rows of outdated parenting magazines no one ever read. Emily Harper sat rigid in the molded plastic chair, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her wedding band pressed a pale ring into her finger. Beside her, Mark rested one arm along the back of her seat, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles on her shoulder. They had been married seven years—long enough to know each other’s silences—and today the silence between them felt heavier than any words. Dr. Harlan entered with a thin manila folder and a practiced expression of sympathy. He was kind, silver-haired, and spoke in the measured cadence of someone who had delivered this particular news far too often. “I’ve reviewed the latest tests,” he began, settling behind the desk. “The imaging confirms extensive scarring on both fallopian tubes and significant endometrial damage. The injury you sustained as a child—when you fell from that treehouse, I believe—has left irreversible effects.” Emily’s breath caught, a small, involuntary sound. Mark leaned forward, his free hand finding hers. “Is there any chance at all?” he asked. “IVF? Surgery?” Dr. Harlan shook his head gently. “The scarring is too severe. Even with aggressive intervention, the probability of successful implantation is effectively zero. I’m truly sorry.” The words landed like a quiet detonation. Emily heard them, understood them, and still felt them echo inside her chest as though someone else were being told. She managed a nod—polite, composed—while Mark asked the practical questions: timelines, second opinions, alternative paths. His voice was steady, the same tone he used when negotiating contracts at work or calming a panicked client. Emily watched his mouth move and marveled at how calm he appeared, how capable. Inside, she was already coming apart. In the parking lot, the late-autumn wind whipped dead leaves across the asphalt. Mark opened the passenger door for her, and Emily slid into the seat without a word. The engine turned over, the heater began to blow cool air, and only then did she speak. “I’m never going to be a mother.” The sentence hung between them, flat and irrevocable. Mark reached across the console and took her hand again. “We don’t know that yet,” he said softly. “There’s adoption, surrogacy—” “I wanted to carry a baby,” she interrupted, her voice cracking on the last word. “I wanted to feel it move inside me. I wanted the midnight feedings and the first steps and the scraped knees. I wanted all of it, Mark.” He pulled out of the lot and onto the main road, eyes fixed ahead. “I know,” he said. “I wanted it too. But we’ll find another way. Whatever you need, Em. We’ll figure it out together.” She turned to look at him then, and for the briefest moment something flickered behind her eyes—gratitude, yes, but also a raw, desperate hunger that Mark mistook for simple grief. Emily squeezed his hand and offered a small, tremulous smile. “Together,” she echoed. That night, after Mark had fallen asleep, Emily lay awake staring at the dark ceiling. The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of old beams settling. Down the hall, the spare bedroom they had once painted a soft butter yellow—intending it for a nursery—sat empty, its door closed like a sealed tomb. She thought of the treehouse fall at age nine: the snap of branches, the breathless drop, the searing pain that had sent her to the hospital for weeks. No one had realized then how completely it would rewrite her future. She had recovered, run and played and grown into a woman who dreamed of lullabies and tiny socks. And now the dream was over. Silent tears slipped down her temples and into her hair. She pressed a fist to her mouth to muffle the sound, but the ache inside her chest expanded until it felt large enough to swallow the entire room. Somewhere in the dark, an idea began to form—fragile at first, then insistent. A way to fill the unbearable emptiness. A way to mother, even if the world insisted she could not. Emily dried her eyes, rolled onto her side, and watched Mark’s sleeping profile in the glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. He had promised anything. He had said together. She would hold him to that promise. And in the weeks to come, she would discover just how far love—and grief—could carry a person willing to blur every line between healing and obsession. Chapter 2: Cracks in the Facade The days after the clinic visit passed in a muted blur, as though someone had turned down the color on the world. Mark threw himself into research—adoption agencies, surrogacy costs, support groups—printing pages and leaving them neatly stacked on the kitchen counter like offerings. Emily nodded at each new discovery, murmured “thank you,” and let the papers sit untouched. At work, Mark’s colleagues noticed little. He arrived on time, finished reports, smiled during meetings. Inside, however, he carried a constant low hum of worry. He watched Emily for signs of collapse—tears, rage, withdrawal—but she gave him none. She rose each morning, showered, dressed in her usual cardigans and sensible skirts, and drove to the public library where she catalogued returns and helped children find picture books. She even baked banana bread one Sunday, filling the house with the comforting smell of browning sugar. Only Mark, who knew her better than anyone, saw the small fissures. The way her gaze sometimes drifted to mothers pushing strollers on the sidewalk and lingered too long. The way she folded the yellow nursery blanket they had bought on impulse two years earlier and placed it at the very back of the linen closet, out of sight. The way she no longer reached for him in bed at night, turning instead onto her side, her breathing slow and deliberate until sleep finally took her. Emily, for her part, felt the grief like a second heartbeat—constant, insistent, impossible to ignore. During quiet moments at the library circulation desk, she found herself staring at toddlers waddling between the stacks, their padded bottoms swaying under overalls or leggings. She noticed the easy confidence of young mothers who lifted those children onto hips without thinking, who kissed sticky cheeks and wiped runny noses with casual tenderness. Each observation was a fresh twist of the knife. At night, when Mark’s breathing evened out beside her, Emily lay awake and listened to the house settle. She thought of the empty yellow room down the hall. She thought of the word irreversible. And slowly, carefully, she began to search. It started innocently enough: articles on coping with infertility, forums for childless couples, blogs about living a full life without parenthood. But the internet is a labyrinth, and one click led to another. A thread about alternative healing. A private message board for women grieving motherhood. A locked subreddit whose title made her pause, then click anyway. There, in the glow of the screen at two in the morning, Emily discovered stories she had never imagined existed. Grown men in cribs. Pastel nurseries hidden behind ordinary suburban doors. Women who spoke of caregiving as salvation, of healing through pretend. Photographs—carefully cropped, always consensual in the telling—showed thick diapers printed with childish patterns, oversized pacifiers, bottles filled with milk. The language was soft, intimate, laced with words like comfort and surrender and little one. Emily read until her eyes burned. She told herself it was curiosity, nothing more. She told herself she was simply desperate for anything that might ease the ache. But deep inside, in a place she did not yet acknowledge, something stirred—an idea, fragile and dangerous, taking root. Mark noticed the late nights. He found her asleep at the computer one morning, the screen still open to a minimized browser window. When he gently woke her, she smiled up at him with tired eyes and said she’d been looking at adoption profiles. He kissed her forehead, relieved, and thought nothing more of it. During the day, Emily functioned perfectly. She helped a six-year-old boy find every book about dinosaurs in the children’s section. She recommended cozy mysteries to an elderly regular. She ate the lunch Mark had packed—turkey sandwich, apple slices, a handwritten note that read I love you always. She smiled at the note, folded it carefully, and slipped it into her pocket. But in quiet moments, her mind returned to the forums. To the women who described the peace they found in nurturing someone who needed them completely. To the photographs of grown men curled in laps, eyes closed, faces slack with trust. One evening, as Mark washed dishes after dinner, Emily stood at the kitchen window watching the neighbor’s porch light flicker on. The young couple next door had just brought home their newborn; she could see the soft glow of a night-light through their curtains. “Mark,” she said quietly, not turning around. He glanced over his shoulder, hands still in soapy water. “Yeah?” “Do you ever think about… what we’ll do with all the extra time?” Her voice was careful, almost casual. “No school plays, no soccer games, no college funds.” Mark dried his hands and came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “We’ll travel,” he said. “See places we’ve always talked about. Maybe get a dog. We’ll be okay, Em.” She leaned back against him, eyes fixed on the neighbor’s window. “I know,” she whispered. But in her mind, she was already imagining something else entirely. Something that would fill the yellow room. Something that would let her be the mother she was meant to be. And Mark—loyal, loving Mark—would help her. He just didn’t know how yet. Chapter 3: A Desperate Proposal December settled over the house like a heavy quilt. The neighbors strung Christmas lights along their eaves, and the young couple next door brought home a tiny, decorated tree that glowed softly in their front window each evening. Emily watched it from the kitchen while washing dishes, her hands moving automatically through the warm water. Inside her chest, the ache had grown sharper, more insistent, as though grief itself were a living thing pacing the corridors of her heart. Mark tried everything he could think of. He booked a weekend getaway to a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains, hoping crisp air and quiet trails might lift her spirits. He suggested they volunteer at the children’s hospital, reasoning that giving love to other babies might ease the loss of their own. He even printed adoption paperwork and left it on the nightstand with a hopeful note. Emily thanked him for each gesture, kissed his cheek, and carried on as though nothing had changed. But everything had changed. The late-night searches had become a ritual. After Mark fell asleep, Emily slipped downstairs in her robe and opened the laptop. What began as cautious curiosity hardened into something closer to hunger. She read stories of couples who had found solace in unusual ways. She studied photographs of nurseries built for adults—cribs wide enough for a grown man, changing tables sturdy and high. She learned new words: caregiver, little, regression, surrender. Each term lodged in her mind like a small, bright seed. She told herself it was research. She told herself she was simply looking for anything that might quiet the endless, circling pain. But in the privacy of those glowing hours, Emily began to imagine. She pictured Mark—broad-shouldered, capable Mark—curled against her, trusting and small. She pictured herself rocking him, feeding him, soothing him the way she would never soothe their own child. The fantasy brought a rush of warmth so intense it frightened her, followed immediately by a wave of guilt. Yet the image returned night after night, growing clearer, more detailed, until it felt less like fantasy and more like necessity. By mid-December, Emily had made her decision. It would be temporary. It would be private. It would heal her. And Mark, because he loved her, would understand. She chose a Tuesday evening for the conversation—ordinary enough that it wouldn’t feel staged, close enough to the weekend that they could begin gently. She cooked his favorite meal: roast chicken with rosemary potatoes, green beans almondine, the smells filling the house with familiar comfort. Mark came home tired from work, kissed her hello, and loosened his tie as he set the table. They ate in near silence at first, the clink of silverware loud against the quiet. Mark talked about a project deadline; Emily nodded in the right places. When the plates were cleared and they sat with cups of tea, she reached across the table and took his hand. “Mark,” she said, her voice soft but steady, “I need to ask you something. Something important.” He looked up, immediately alert to the tremor beneath her calm. “Anything. You know that.” Emily drew a slow breath. Tears welled quickly—she had practiced this moment in the mirror and knew they would come. “I can’t stop thinking about the baby we’ll never have. It’s eating me alive. I’ve been reading about ways people cope—different kinds of therapy, role-playing, things that let you grieve by… by experiencing what you’ve lost, even in pretend.” Mark’s brow furrowed, but he stayed silent, letting her continue. “I know it sounds strange,” she went on, a tear slipping down her cheek, “but I think… I think if we could pretend, just for a little while, that you were our baby—if I could take care of you the way I’ve always wanted to take care of a child—it might help me let go. Just temporarily. Just until the worst of it passes.” Mark stared at her, processing. The word baby hung oddly in the air between them. He waited for her to laugh, to say she was joking, but her eyes remained earnest, glistening with fresh tears. “Em,” he said carefully, “what exactly do you mean by… pretend?” She squeezed his hand. “Nothing extreme. Just at home. Maybe you wear… special clothes at night. Diapers, onesies—things like that. I’d feed you a bottle, rock you, take care of you. Only after work and on weekends. We’d set rules. We could stop anytime.” Mark’s mind raced. He had heard of role-playing in bedrooms, but this felt different—deeper, sadder. Yet the desperation in her voice was unmistakable. He thought of the nights he’d held her while she cried silently into her pillow. He thought of the yellow room gathering dust. He thought of his promise: whatever you need. He swallowed. “If you think it will help you heal… I’ll do it. For you.” Relief flooded Emily’s face, bright and sudden. She stood, came around the table, and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, pressing her wet cheek to his. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s only temporary. Just until I’m okay again.” Mark reached up and covered her hands with his. “We’ll set boundaries,” he said firmly. “Nights after work, weekends only. And if either of us wants to stop, we stop—no questions.” “Of course,” she agreed quickly, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll order some things tomorrow. Plain ones, medical ones—nothing too childish. We’ll keep it simple.” That night, as they lay in bed, Mark stared at the ceiling and wondered what he had just agreed to. It felt surreal, slightly embarrassing, but harmless enough if it eased her pain. Beside him, Emily curled against his side, her breathing deep and even for the first time in weeks. In the dark, she allowed herself a small, private smile. It would be temporary, she told herself. Just long enough. Chapter 4: First Steps into Fantasy The package arrived on a Thursday afternoon, discreet brown cardboard with no logos, no hints of what lay inside. Emily signed for it at the door, her pulse quickening as the delivery driver handed over the box. She carried it upstairs to the spare bedroom—the yellow one—and set it on the dresser that had once been intended for tiny folded clothes. With careful fingers, she sliced the tape and unfolded the flaps. Inside were two packs of plain white medical diapers, thick but unprinted, and three soft cotton onesies in neutral gray and pale blue. Nothing overtly childish—no cartoons, no bright colors—just functional, adult-sized items that could pass for medical necessity if anyone ever saw them. Emily had chosen them deliberately, telling herself it was for Mark’s comfort, for realism, for keeping things gentle. She ran her hand over the crinkly plastic of a diaper, feeling the padded bulk, and a shiver of something—anticipation, guilt, relief—passed through her. This was only pretend, she reminded herself. Only temporary. Mark came home at six-thirty, loosening his tie as he stepped through the door. The house smelled of simmering tomato sauce; Emily had made spaghetti, his favorite comfort food. He kissed her hello, asked about her day, and noticed the faint flush in her cheeks but attributed it to the stove’s heat. After dinner, they lingered at the table with cups of tea. Emily’s fingers toyed with the handle of her mug. “The things came today,” she said quietly. Mark nodded, a small smile tugging at his mouth despite the flutter of nerves in his stomach. “Okay. So… tonight?” “If you’re ready,” she answered. Her voice was soft, hopeful. “We can take it slow.” He reached across and covered her hand with his. “I’m ready.” Upstairs, Emily had laid everything out on their bed: one diaper unfolded, a plain gray onesie beside it, a bottle of baby powder, wipes, and a simple glass bottle filled with warm milk mixed with a mild adult nutritional formula she had ordered online. Nothing fancy—just whole milk with a scoop of vanilla-flavored supplement to make it richer, creamier. Mark stood in the doorway, feeling suddenly awkward in his work shirt and slacks. Emily turned to him, eyes bright. “You can undress in the bathroom if you want privacy,” she offered. He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We’re in this together, right?” She smiled, grateful, and watched as he stripped down to his boxers. The room was warm; the radiator clanked softly. Mark’s skin prickled with self-consciousness as he stepped out of his underwear and stood naked in the lamplight. He was thirty-four, fit from weekend hikes, but in this moment he felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nudity. Emily patted the bed. “Lie down for me?” He did, stretching out on his back, arms at his sides. The mattress dipped as she sat beside him. She unfolded the diaper with a soft crinkle that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. Mark stared at the ceiling, feeling heat rise in his face as she lifted his legs gently, slid the padding beneath him, sprinkled powder with careful shakes, and brought the front up between his thighs. The tapes fastened with small, decisive rips. It felt thick. Bulky. Foreign. He shifted slightly and heard the unmistakable rustle of plastic. Emily smoothed the tapes, checking the fit, then helped him sit up and guided his arms through the onesie. The soft cotton stretched over his shoulders and snapped closed between his legs with a row of metal snaps. She adjusted the fabric so it lay flat over the diaper’s bulge, then sat back to look at him. Mark glanced down at himself—gray cotton, obvious padding beneath—and felt a rush of embarrassment so acute he almost laughed. Almost. “You look…” Emily searched for the right word. “Safe,” she finished, her voice catching. Mark met her eyes and saw the truth there: gratitude, wonder, a fragile kind of peace. Whatever this was doing to his pride, it was doing something far more important for her. He reached for her hand. “Come here,” he said. She crawled onto the bed and settled beside him, pulling him gently until his head rested against her chest. The bottle appeared in her hand—warm, the nipple soft latex. Mark hesitated only a second before opening his mouth and accepting it. The milk was sweet, creamy, comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. He suckled slowly, eyes closing, one hand resting on her waist. Emily cradled him, rocking slightly, her fingers stroking through his hair. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks—not from sadness this time, but from a sudden, overwhelming sense of fullness. For the first time since the clinic, the ache inside her quieted. She was holding someone who needed her completely. She was nurturing. She was, in this small, strange way, a mother. They stayed like that for nearly an hour. When the bottle was empty, Emily set it aside and simply held him, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing against her. Mark, warm and drowsy from the milk, felt the diaper’s bulk between his legs and the soft press of the onesie, and told himself it was bearable—more than bearable—if it gave her this peace. Eventually, she kissed his forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered. He looked up at her, cheeks faintly flushed. “We’ll keep it light, yeah? Just nights and weekends. Temporary.” “Temporary,” she agreed, smiling softly. But even as she said it, Emily felt the idea settle deeper inside her, warm and certain. This was only the beginning. Chapter 5: Weekend Baby Time Saturday morning arrived with pale winter sunlight filtering through the bedroom curtains. Mark woke slowly, aware first of the unfamiliar bulk between his legs and the soft press of cotton against his skin. For a disoriented second he thought he had dreamed the previous nights, but the faint crinkle when he shifted confirmed it was real. Emily lay beside him, already awake, watching him with a quiet, tender smile. “Good morning,” she whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. Mark cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious in the gray onesie. “Morning.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “How did you sleep?” “Fine,” he said, which was mostly true. The diaper had felt strange at first, but the warmth of her body curled against his had lulled him into deeper sleep than he’d had in weeks. “You?” “Better than I have in months,” she answered honestly. They lingered in bed a little longer, talking softly about nothing important—the frost on the windows, the coffee she would make. Then Emily sat up, enthusiasm brightening her face. “It’s the weekend,” she said. “We can take our time.” Mark nodded, pushing down the flutter of nerves. He had agreed to this—nights and weekends only—and he meant to see it through. Emily’s happiness was worth a little discomfort. Downstairs, she prepared breakfast while Mark showered and changed into a fresh diaper and a clean blue onesie. The routine already felt less awkward than the first night, though the thickness between his thighs still forced a slight waddle that made his cheeks warm. When he appeared in the kitchen, Emily turned from the stove with a delighted smile. “There’s my sweet boy,” she said softly, opening her arms. Mark stepped into the embrace, letting her hold him. She smelled of vanilla and coffee, and for a moment he simply rested his head against her shoulder, allowing himself to be held. They ate pancakes at the table—Emily cutting his into small pieces without asking, and Mark discovering he didn’t mind. Afterward, she led him to the living room where she had arranged a nest of blankets and pillows on the rug in front of the fireplace. A stack of children’s books waited on the coffee table—simple stories with bright illustrations that she had borrowed from the library “for inspiration.” Mark hesitated, then lowered himself carefully onto the blankets, the diaper crinkling loudly. Emily settled beside him, pulling him gently until his head rested in her lap. She opened the first book—The Velveteen Rabbit—and began to read in a low, soothing voice. He listened, eyes half-closed, surprised by how relaxing it was. Her fingers combed slowly through his hair; the fire crackled softly. The story’s gentle melancholy about love and becoming real touched something in him he hadn’t expected. When she finished, she closed the book and simply held him, rocking slightly. Later, they played quiet games—stacking soft blocks she had found in the attic from her own childhood, rolling a large rubber ball back and forth. Emily praised every small accomplishment with warm enthusiasm, and Mark found himself smiling despite the absurdity of it all. The day unfolded slowly, unhurried. Lunch was grilled cheese cut into triangles, eaten on the rug with sippy cups of apple juice. Emily prepared another bottle for his afternoon nap, warming the enriched milk just as she had the night before. Mark lay on the blankets while she fed him, the nipple familiar now. The milk was sweet and filling; drowsiness crept in quickly. Emily stroked his cheek, humming a lullaby she half-remembered from her own mother. Within minutes, he was asleep. He woke an hour later to an odd, warm sensation. Disoriented, he shifted—and felt the unmistakable heaviness of a soaked diaper. Heat flooded his face. He had wet in his sleep without realizing it. The accident was small, but undeniable. Emily was reading nearby. She looked up immediately, reading his expression. “It’s okay,” she said gently, setting her book aside. “That’s what the diaper is for.” Mark sat up, mortified. “I didn’t even… I didn’t feel it happen.” She moved to him, cupping his cheek. “That’s normal when you’re relaxed. Come on, let’s get you changed.” She led him upstairs to their bedroom, where she had laid a towel over the comforter. Mark lay down without protest, staring at the ceiling while she unsnapped the onesie and peeled away the wet diaper. The air felt cool against his skin; the wipes were gentle, the powder lightly scented. Emily worked with calm efficiency, her touch tender and unhurried. When she taped the fresh diaper in place and fastened the snaps, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Better?” He nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Thanks.” They returned downstairs, and Emily pulled him into another cuddle. “You have no idea how much this is helping me,” she murmured against his hair. “I feel… useful again. Needed.” Mark wrapped his arms around her, pushing down the twinge of unease. It was only temporary, he reminded himself. And she was happier than she had been in months. That was worth it. That evening, after Mark had fallen asleep in a fresh diaper and onesie, Emily slipped downstairs to the laptop once more. The forums welcomed her back with new posts, new ideas. She bookmarked pages about thicker diapers, about cribs that could be built discreetly, about formulas designed to encourage deeper regression. She told herself she was only gathering information—just in case. After all, it was still early days. And Mark was being so good for her. She closed the laptop, turned off the light, and went upstairs to watch him sleep, her heart full of a fierce, protective love she had never known before. Temporary, she thought again. But the word felt thinner now, less certain. Chapter 6: The Workplace Accident January arrived with a sharp, biting cold that turned the sidewalks into sheets of ice. Mark had kept to their agreed boundaries through the holidays—diapers and onesies only after work and on weekends, removed promptly Monday morning before he dressed for the office. The routine had settled into something almost manageable: a private ritual that brought Emily visible calm and cost him only a few hours of mild embarrassment each day. He told himself it was working; her smiles came more easily, her sleep seemed deeper. Temporary, he reminded himself whenever the crinkle of plastic felt too loud. On a Tuesday morning in the second week of January, the warehouse at Mark’s construction supply company was busier than usual. A large shipment of lumber had arrived overnight, and the crew hurried to unload it before the forecasted snow. Mark, in steel-toed boots and a heavy Carhartt jacket, helped guide a forklift carrying stacked pallets. The concrete floor was slick from melted snow tracked in on boots, and in a moment of distraction—thinking about whether Emily had remembered to order more of the plain onesies—he stepped onto a patch of ice hidden beneath sawdust. His foot slid out from under him. He twisted instinctively to catch his balance, but his ankle rolled with a sickening pop. Pain flared hot and immediate. By the time his coworkers reached him, he was sitting on the cold floor clutching his leg, face pale. An hour later, the urgent-care doctor confirmed a moderate sprain: swollen ligaments, no fracture, but strict orders to stay off it for at least two weeks. Crutches, ice, elevation, and a note excusing him from work. Mark texted Emily from the waiting room: Sprained ankle at work. Coming home early. All okay, just sore. Emily read the message twice, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with worry. When Mark hobbled through the front door that afternoon, leaning heavily on the crutches, Emily was waiting with an ice pack and a look of practiced concern. She helped him to the couch, propped his foot on pillows, and fussed over him with kisses and gentle scolding for not being careful. “It’s not too bad,” he assured her, wincing as he shifted. “Two weeks off, then back to normal.” Emily smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “You’ll need rest. Lots of it. And help getting around.” He nodded, grateful for her care. “Yeah. I’ll mostly stay on the couch. Maybe work remotely a little if they need me.” She hesitated, then spoke softly. “Mark… while you’re home recovering, what if we kept the… special time going all day? It would be so much easier—no rushing to change before bed, no worrying about leaks at night when you’re uncomfortable. The diapers are already absorbent, and with you stuck on the couch or in bed, it would just be more comfortable. Practical, even.” Mark blinked, caught off guard. They had agreed on boundaries—nights and weekends only. But her eyes were pleading, and the pain in his ankle throbbed with every small movement. He didn’t want to argue, not when she looked so hopeful. “I guess… for the two weeks,” he said slowly. “Since I’m not going anywhere. It’ll make things easier on both of us.” Emily’s face lit with relief and something deeper—satisfaction. She kissed him warmly. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means.” That evening, she helped him upstairs on the crutches, then settled him on the bed then helped him upstairs on the crutches, then settled him on the bed for a proper change into a fresh diaper and onesie. The routine felt familiar now, almost comforting in its predictability. But tonight she added something new. From the nightstand she produced a larger bottle—plastic this time, with a wider silicone nipple—and a canister of powder she had ordered days earlier. The label read “Adult Nutritional Meal Replacement—Vanilla Crème.” She had told Mark it was simply a protein shake to help him heal faster; she had not mentioned the added ingredients listed in fine print: natural bowel deodorizers, gentle digestive enzymes, and a mild laxative fiber blend designed to keep things “moving comfortably” for those with limited mobility. “I made this special for you,” she said, warming the bottle under hot water. “It’s got everything you need—calories, vitamins, even stuff to keep your tummy happy while you’re resting.” Mark, propped against pillows with his bandaged ankle elevated, accepted the bottle without suspicion. The formula was thicker than the plain milk, sweetly vanilla, and surprisingly filling. He drank steadily while Emily sat beside him, one hand resting lightly on his padded hip. The warmth spread through him, easing the ache in his ankle and the lingering tension from the day. Emily watched him with quiet intensity, noting how readily he accepted the nipple now, how his eyes grew heavy as the bottle emptied. When it was done, she set it aside and pulled him into her arms, cradling his head against her chest. “You’re being so good for me,” she murmured. “Rest now. Mommy’s here.” Mark drifted off without protest, the word Mommy slipping past his defenses in his half-asleep state. Emily stayed awake long after, listening to his breathing, feeling the solid weight of him against her. Two weeks, she thought. Two whole weeks of full-time care. It was only practical. Only temporary. And already, in the quiet of the bedroom, she was planning how to make the most of every single day. Chapter 7: Enforced Dependency Begins Mark woke to the soft glow of morning light and the immediate awareness of the thick diaper taped around his waist. His ankle throbbed dully beneath the ace bandage, but it was the padded bulk between his legs that dominated his thoughts. For the first time, he had slept in a diaper without the promise of removing it come morning. The onesie snaps pressed lightly against his skin, a constant reminder that today there would be no return to adult clothes, no commute, no hiding. Emily was already up. He could hear her moving quietly downstairs, the clink of dishes, the low hum of the kettle. The smell of coffee drifted up the stairs, ordinary and comforting. Mark lay still for a moment, listening to the faint crinkle when he shifted, and felt a wave of unease. Two weeks, he reminded himself. Just until the ankle heals. He reached for the crutches propped against the nightstand and maneuvered himself out of bed. The diaper forced an awkward waddle as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Emily appeared in the doorway, smiling softly. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said, leaning against the frame. “How’s my boy feeling?” Mark managed a small smile around the toothbrush. “Ankle’s sore. Everything else is… weird.” She stepped closer, smoothing his hair. “You’ll get used to it. It’s just us here. No one else to worry about.” She kissed his temple. “Breakfast is ready when you are.” Downstairs, she had arranged the living-room couch into a nest of pillows so he could keep his foot elevated. A tray waited on the coffee table: scrambled eggs, toast cut into triangles, and a large bottle of the vanilla formula warmed to body temperature. Mark eyed the bottle. “Coffee too?” “Of course,” she said, producing a mug. “But the formula has protein and vitamins to help you heal faster. Doctor’s orders—well, almost.” She winked. He drank the coffee gratefully, then tackled the eggs while Emily sat beside him, one hand resting lightly on his padded thigh. The normalcy of the moment—the quiet domesticity—almost made the diaper feel incidental. Almost. By mid-morning, the pressure in his bladder began to build. Mark shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore it. Emily noticed immediately. “It’s okay to use the diaper,” she said gently. “That’s why it’s there. You’re not supposed to be hobbling to the bathroom on those crutches.” He flushed. “I can make it.” She stroked his arm. “But you don’t have to. Let me take care of you.” The encouragement in her voice—soft, loving—chipped away at his resistance. After another ten minutes of squirming, he closed his eyes and let go. The warmth spread slowly, the diaper swelling beneath him. He waited for shame to flood in, but instead he felt only a strange relief, followed by Emily’s quiet praise. “Good boy,” she murmured, kissing his forehead. “See? Nothing bad happened.” Mark managed a sheepish smile. The sensation was humiliating, yes, but her approval soothed the sting. Lunch was chicken soup and crustless sandwiches, eaten on the couch with another bottle of formula. Emily had prepared it lovingly, blending in an extra scoop of the powder—and, unseen, a measured dose of a mild over-the-counter laxative she had purchased online. The label promised “gentle relief for occasional constipation,” perfect for someone with limited mobility. She told herself it was for his health; immobility could cause issues, after all. The afternoon passed slowly. They watched an old movie, Emily’s head on his shoulder, her hand idly patting the front of his diaper from time to time. Mark dozed off once, waking to find himself wet again. Emily changed him without comment, treating it as the most natural thing in the world. By late afternoon, a different pressure began to build—low in his abdomen, insistent. Mark recognized it and tensed. Messing was a line he had not intended to cross. Wetting was one thing; this was another entirely. He shifted on the couch, trying to hold it. Emily noticed the strain in his face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just… adjusting.” She studied him, then seemed to understand. “If you need to go, it’s okay. The diaper can handle it. I’ll clean you up.” Mark shook his head. “I’d rather not.” Her expression softened into something almost pleading. “But it would help me so much. Taking care of all your needs… it makes me feel like the mother I was supposed to be.” The words landed heavily. Mark looked away, guilt twisting in his gut. The pressure mounted; the laxative was doing its gentle work. He clenched, fought, shifted again—but his body, relaxed from days of limited movement and the warm formula, betrayed him. It happened suddenly and uncontrollably. The mess filled the back of his diaper, warm and undeniable. Mortification crashed over him in a hot wave. He froze, face burning, unable to meet her eyes. Emily moved immediately, calm and reassuring. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby. Accidents happen.” She helped him upstairs on the crutches, laid him on the bed, and began the cleanup with steady, loving hands—wipes, powder, a fresh diaper taped snugly into place. Throughout it all she spoke softly, telling him how proud she was that he had let go, how complete it made her feel to care for him this way. When it was done, she pulled him into her arms and held him tightly. “You have no idea what this means to me,” she whispered against his hair. “Changing you, feeding you, holding you—it’s healing something inside me I thought was broken forever.” Mark, still flushed with shame, felt tears prick his own eyes. He loved her too much to deny her this comfort, even if it cost him pieces of his dignity. “I’ll keep trying,” he said quietly. “For you.” Emily kissed him, gratitude and something deeper shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “My sweet boy.” That night, as she fed him another bottle and rocked him to sleep, Emily’s mind was already moving ahead. Two weeks was a gift. And gifts, she thought, should be used wisely. Chapter 8: Bottles and Bonding The second day of Mark’s recovery dawned quiet and gray, snow tapping softly against the windows. His ankle still ached when he put weight on it, but the pain had dulled to a manageable throb. What dominated his awareness now was the ever-present diaper—thicker than the medical ones he had worn to work, softer, more absorbent. Emily had changed him first thing that morning, humming as she powdered and taped, and dressed him in a fresh pale-blue onesie that snapped snugly over the padding. Breakfast was no longer eaten at the table. Emily carried a tray to the couch: oatmeal sweetened with honey, cut-up pieces of banana, and two large bottles of the vanilla formula. Mark eyed the bottles warily. “Two?” he asked. She smiled, settling beside him with the tray on her lap. “You’re healing. You need the calories and nutrients. And it’s easier than getting up for meals when you’re resting.” He couldn’t argue with the logic. The formula was filling, almost decadently rich, and the warmth of it sliding down his throat was undeniably soothing. He drank the first bottle while she fed him spoonfuls of oatmeal, her free hand resting lightly on his padded hip. The second bottle followed without protest; by the end he felt pleasantly full and drowsy. Emily gathered the dishes and returned with the TV remote. She chose a gentle nature documentary—slow pans over forests, soft narration about animal mothers and their young—and pulled Mark’s head into her lap. He lay there, ankle propped on pillows, watching sunlight reflect off snow through the window while her fingers traced idle patterns through his hair. Mid-morning brought the first wetting. It happened without warning, a sudden warm release that spread through the diaper as he watched a mother bear teach her cub to fish. He tensed, embarrassed, but Emily only patted his thigh. “Good boy,” she murmured. “Just let it happen.” The praise eased the sting, and he relaxed again. By lunchtime he was wet enough to sag noticeably. Emily changed him efficiently, cooing over him, powdering and taping with practiced tenderness. Lunch was more formula—this time three bottles—accompanied by mashed sweet potato fed from a spoon. Mark noticed how easily he accepted the nipple now, how naturally he suckled while she held the bottle. The formula was doing something to him. He felt it in the subtle looseness of his digestion, the way his stomach gurgled softly after each feeding. The canister had mentioned “gentle detox support,” and he supposed that explained the calm, almost floaty feeling that settled over him in the afternoons. His body felt lighter, cleaner somehow, and the constant warmth of the bottles left him relaxed in a way he hadn’t been in years. Emily noticed the changes too. Her eyes were brighter, her movements lighter. She laughed more easily—at the otters playing on screen, at Mark’s sleepy yawn after his third bottle. When he dozed off mid-afternoon, she watched him with quiet wonder, brushing her fingers over the soft cotton covering his diapered bottom. Caring for him—feeding, changing, holding—filled the hollow places inside her with something warm and solid. She felt needed in a way she had never been before. Late afternoon brought another accident—this one messier. The laxative fibers in the formula, combined with days of limited movement, produced a soft, uncontrollable release while Mark watched a documentary on penguins. He froze, mortified, as the warmth spread. Tears pricked his eyes. Emily was there instantly, gathering him close despite the smell. “Shh, it’s all right,” she whispered. “Mommy’s got you.” She carried him upstairs—crutches abandoned for the moment—and laid him on the changing mat she had spread over the bed. The cleanup was thorough, gentle, loving. She spoke softly the entire time, telling him how proud she was, how perfect he was, how this was exactly what she needed to feel whole again. When he was clean and freshly diapered, she pulled him into her arms and rocked him. Mark clung to her, shame and gratitude tangled together. “You’re helping me so much,” she said against his hair. “I feel… alive again. Like I have purpose.” He nodded into her shoulder, throat tight. The sacrifice felt worthwhile when he saw the light in her eyes, the softness in her smile. The odd relaxation from the formula helped too—everything felt distant, manageable. That evening, dinner was skipped in favor of more bottles—four this time, spaced throughout a quiet movie. Mark drank them all, belly rounding slightly under the onesie, body heavy with contentment. When bedtime came, Emily changed him once more, tucked him into bed with his ankle elevated, and curled around him protectively. In the dark, Mark noticed how easily he had accepted the day—bottles, changes, accidents, all of it. The formula left him deeply relaxed, almost floating, and the constant care from Emily felt… safe. Emily lay awake longer, listening to his breathing even out. The detox effects were working beautifully—his body adjusting, becoming accustomed. She had ordered a larger supply of the formula, along with a few other items she hadn’t yet mentioned. Two weeks, she thought, stroking his hair. Plenty of time to deepen the bond. Plenty of time to make this feel natural. After all, he was being such a good boy for her. Chapter 9: Resistance and Acceptance The first week of Mark’s recovery slipped by in a haze of bottles, changes, and quiet days on the couch. His ankle improved steadily—swelling down, pain reduced to a dull ache—but the rest of him adjusted in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The constant feedings of Emily’s special formula left him full and drowsy, his digestion soft and predictable. Wetting happened without thought now; he barely registered the warmth spreading before it was done. Messing, though, still carried a sharp edge of shame. Midway through the second week, on a quiet Thursday afternoon, the pressure built again while they watched an old sitcom rerun. Mark tensed, clenching against the inevitable. The laxative fibers Emily continued to mix into his bottles and soft meals worked gently but relentlessly, and his body—relaxed from immobility and the soothing routine—offered little resistance. He managed to hold it until Emily left the room to warm another bottle. When she returned, he was sitting stiffly, face flushed. “Em,” he said, voice low, “we need to talk.” She paused in the doorway, bottle in hand, reading his expression. Concern creased her brow as she crossed to him and sat close. “What is it, sweetheart?” He shifted, the diaper crinkling loudly. “The… messing. It’s happening too often. I don’t like it. It feels… wrong.” Emily’s eyes filled instantly with tears. She set the bottle aside and took both his hands in hers. “Oh, baby,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I know it’s hard for you. I know it’s embarrassing. But please try to understand—this is the part that helps me the most.” Mark frowned, confused. “What do you mean?” She looked down at their joined hands, tears slipping free. “When I clean you afterward… when I take care of every single need… it’s the closest I’ll ever come to being a real mother. The feeding, the cuddling—it’s wonderful—but the full care, the messes, the total dependency… that’s what heals the deepest part of me. The part that grieves never changing my own baby’s diaper, never soothing them after an accident.” Her voice broke. She pressed his hands to her cheek. “If we stop that part… if you hold back… it feels like I’m losing the only motherhood I’ll ever have.” Mark’s throat tightened. He had known this was helping her, but he hadn’t realized how completely. The sight of her tears—of genuine pain returning to her eyes—twisted something inside him. “I didn’t know it meant that much,” he said quietly. “It means everything,” she whispered. “Just until you’re better. Please.” He looked at her for a long moment, seeing the fragility beneath her calm caregiving. Guilt and love warred within him, but love won—as it always did. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll try not to fight it.” Relief flooded her face. She leaned in and kissed him softly, tears still wet on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she breathed. “You’re giving me more than you’ll ever know.” That evening, the pressure returned—stronger this time, inevitable. Mark didn’t clench. He closed his eyes and let it happen, face burning as the mess filled the seat of his diaper. When it was over, he sat very still, waiting. Emily was there in moments, as though she had sensed it. She didn’t scold or tease; she simply gathered him close. “There’s my brave boy,” she cooed, voice warm with pride. “Let Mommy take care of you.” The change was slow and thorough, her hands gentle, her words softer than ever. She began using baby talk without thinking—simple, lilting phrases that slipped out naturally. “Who’s Mommy’s good wittle boy? Yes, you are. All clean now, all fresh and comfy.” Mark’s cheeks flamed, but he didn’t protest. The warmth of her approval, the tenderness in her touch, dulled the humiliation. When she finished, she pulled him into her lap—awkward with his size but determined—and offered the bottle. He took it without hesitation, suckling steadily while she rocked him. The formula flowed warm and sweet, and the day’s tension ebbed away. More accidents followed over the next days—frequent, soft, uncontrollable. Each time, Emily responded with the same loving efficiency, the same gentle baby talk, the same deep cuddles afterward. Mark’s body learned quickly; resistance became pointless. The routine—accident, change, bottle, cuddle—wove itself into the fabric of his days. He noticed how relaxed he felt, how the constant care left him floating in a strange, soft space. The formula’s detox effects kept him calm, almost dreamy. He told himself it was temporary. Two weeks would end soon, his ankle would heal, and they would scale back. But watching Emily’s face—seeing the light in her eyes, the new softness in her smile, the way she hummed lullabies without thinking—made the sacrifice feel bearable. Worth it, even. She was healing. And for now, that was enough. Chapter 10: End of Recovery, New Normal The two weeks ended on a deceptively ordinary Friday. Mark woke to find his ankle almost pain-free; he could bear weight without crutches, flex it without wincing. The swelling had vanished, leaving only faint bruising. He stood in the bedroom, testing it gingerly, and felt a rush of relief. Normal life was waiting just outside the door—work clothes, adult underwear, the familiar rhythm of commuting and meetings. Emily watched from the bed, propped on one elbow, her expression carefully neutral. “Looks like you’re healed,” she said softly. “Yeah,” Mark answered, smiling. “Back to the real world on Monday.” He expected her to share his relief. Instead, her eyes filled with sudden tears. Mark’s heart sank. He crossed to the bed and sat beside her. “Em, what’s wrong?” She wiped her cheeks, voice trembling. “I know it’s selfish, but… these two weeks have been the happiest I’ve felt since the diagnosis. Taking care of you full-time, having you need me… it’s kept the worst of the grief away. I’m scared that when you go back—when everything returns to normal—it’ll all come rushing back.” Mark took her hand. “We can still do the role-play nights and weekends, like we originally planned.” She nodded, but the tears kept coming. “I know. It’s just… your accidents the last couple of weeks were so frequent. The doctor said stress and changes in routine can affect bladder control for a while after an injury. What if you have one at work? You’d be mortified. And I’d feel awful knowing I could have prevented it.” He shifted uncomfortably. The accidents had been frequent—too frequent—but he had chalked it up to the formula and immobility. Surely things would settle once he was active again. Emily seemed to read his doubt. “Just for a little while longer,” she pleaded. “Wear the thinner medical ones under your work clothes. No one will know. If nothing happens, we stop. But if you do have an accident… you’ll be protected. And I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe.” Mark looked at her tear-streaked face and felt the familiar pull of love and guilt. He didn’t want to risk embarrassing leaks at work either—not really. And if it eased her mind during the day… “Okay,” he said quietly. “For a little while. Just in case.” Relief flooded her features. She hugged him tightly. “Thank you. You’re the best husband in the world.” That weekend, Emily prepared him carefully. She ordered a pack of discreet, thin adult incontinence briefs—medical-looking, quiet, designed to be worn under regular clothes. She showed him how to tape them securely, how slacks hid any outline. On Sunday night, she mixed one last scoop of the vanilla formula into his bedtime bottle, telling him it would help him sleep deeply before the big return to work. Monday morning arrived crisp and bright. Mark dressed in his usual button-down and khakis, the thin brief snug beneath. It felt strange—less bulky than the thick diapers, but still undeniably there. Emily kissed him goodbye at the door, pressing a travel mug into his hand. “Morning coffee,” she said with a smile. “Extra creamy, just how you like it.” He drank it on the commute, grateful for the warmth. The formula—now a familiar taste—blended seamlessly with the coffee. By the time he reached his desk, he felt calm, almost relaxed. The day unfolded normally at first: emails, meetings, catching up on two weeks of backlog. But midway through a conference call, the pressure began—subtle at first, then urgent. Mark shifted in his chair, trying to focus on the speakerphone. The formula’s effects, combined with weeks of conditioned response, were stronger than he expected. He clenched, held as long as he could, but the warmth came anyway—a slow, unstoppable release that soaked the brief beneath his khakis. No one in the meeting noticed; the padding held everything discreetly. But Mark felt it—the spreading wetness, the faint crinkle when he moved. Heat flooded his face. He muted his microphone and sat very still, heart pounding. When the call ended, he escaped to the restroom. The damage was contained—no leaks, no smell—but the reality hit him hard. He had wet himself at work. Like a child. He texted Emily from a stall: Had a small accident. You were right. Her reply came instantly: I’m so sorry, baby. But I’m glad you’re protected. Come home to me after work—I’ll take care of you. Mark stared at the message, a tangle of embarrassment and gratitude tightening his chest. He loved her for worrying, for preparing him. And beneath the anxiety, a small part of him felt… relieved. Safe. He returned to his desk, adjusted his posture to minimize crinkling, and finished the day. That evening, Emily greeted him at the door with open arms and a fresh, thicker diaper waiting upstairs. She changed him slowly, cooing reassurance, feeding him a bottle while he decompressed against her. “See?” she murmured, stroking his hair. “It’s just a little extra security. We’ll keep it up a bit longer—until you’re sure everything’s back to normal.” Mark nodded against her shoulder, the nipple of the bottle still in his mouth. Just a little longer, he told himself. For her sake. And the new normal settled over them, quiet and inevitable, like snow covering the ground. Chapter 11: Workplace Woes The first full week back at the office felt like walking a tightrope over a pit Mark could not see the bottom of. He had grown skilled at the morning routine: shower, thin medical brief taped snugly, loose-fit khakis that hid any slight bulge, an extra brief and wipes tucked into his laptop bag “just in case.” Emily kissed him goodbye each day with the same soft encouragement—You’ll be fine, baby. I’m proud of you—and handed him his travel mug of “special” coffee. The vanilla-creamy taste had become comforting, familiar. He drank it without question on the commute, unaware that every mug contained a careful measure of the formula that kept his system soft and his bladder responsive. At his desk, Mark threw himself into work to distract from the constant low-level awareness of the padding beneath his clothes. Meetings, emails, project timelines—anything to keep his mind off the slow, inevitable filling of the brief. Wetting happened three, sometimes four times a day now. The releases came with little warning: a sudden warmth spreading while he typed, or mid-conversation with a coworker. The thin briefs held it all discreetly—no leaks, no odor thanks to the deodorizers Emily chose—but the knowledge that he was sitting in a soaked diaper at his professional workstation gnawed at him. He developed small rituals to cope. Every hour or so he stood, stretched, and casually walked the long way to the printer or break room, feeling the swollen padding shift heavily between his legs. No one seemed to notice the faint rustle or the careful way he lowered himself back into his chair. Or if they did, they were too polite to comment. Messing was the line he still fought to hold. The formula’s gentle laxative effect made it a daily battle, but sheer willpower—and strategic bathroom breaks where he removed the brief just long enough—kept accidents at bay. Until Thursday. It happened during a late-afternoon budget review in the conference room. Mark sat at the long table with six colleagues and his boss, Tom Reynolds, discussing projected costs for the next quarter. The pressure had been building all morning; he had ignored it, focusing on the spreadsheets. But halfway through Tom’s questions about material overruns, Mark felt the familiar, unstoppable cramp. He clenched, shifted in his seat, tried to breathe steadily. The room was warm; someone had closed the blinds against the winter glare. Sweat pricked his forehead. He prayed for a break, a pause, anything—but the discussion rolled on. It slipped out in a soft, warm rush. Not dramatic, not loud, but unmistakable to him. The mess filled the seat of the brief, spreading with humiliating certainty. Mark kept his face neutral, nodding at Tom’s points as though nothing was wrong, but inside panic flared hot and sharp. When the meeting finally ended, he waited until the others filed out before standing—slowly, carefully—and gathering his notebook. The squish beneath him was mortifying. He walked stiffly to the farthest restroom, locked himself in the accessible stall, and stripped down with shaking hands. The cleanup was rushed and imperfect—wipes from his emergency kit, a fresh brief from the bag, khakis pulled up quickly. He washed his hands twice, checked for any trace of odor, and returned to his desk pale and quiet. That evening he told Emily everything, voice low with shame. She listened without judgment, pulling him into her lap on the couch despite his size. “My poor boy,” she murmured, rocking him. “You did so well holding it as long as you did.” He buried his face in her neck. “It was awful, Em.” “I know,” she soothed, fingers stroking his back. “But you were protected. No one knew. And now we know the thinner ones can handle it.” He nodded against her, exhausted. She changed him into a thick nighttime diaper, fed him a bottle, and held him until he slept. What Mark did not know was that earlier that afternoon—while he sat frozen in the conference room—Emily had made a phone call. She had dialed the main office line, asked for Tom Reynolds, and introduced herself calmly as Mark’s wife. Her voice trembled just enough to sound genuine. “I’m so sorry to bother you at work,” she began. “Mark didn’t want me to call, but I’m worried. The ankle sprain triggered a stress-related incontinence issue. The doctor says it’s temporary, but it’s been… difficult for him. He’s embarrassed, but he’s wearing protection. I just wanted you to understand if he seems distracted or needs extra breaks.” Tom Reynolds, a kind-hearted man in his fifties with grown children of his own, listened with growing sympathy. He had noticed Mark’s odd behavior lately—the stiff way he walked sometimes, the sudden restroom trips, the flushed cheeks during meetings. “Of course,” Tom assured her. “We’ll be accommodating. Whatever he needs—flexible hours, remote options if it helps. He’s a valuable part of the team. Tell him not to worry.” Emily thanked him profusely, tears in her voice that were not entirely feigned. When she hung up, she sat for a long moment staring at the phone. It was only to protect him, she told herself. Only to make things easier. And if it kept him closer to home—closer to her—where she could care for him properly… Well. That was just an unexpected benefit. For now. Chapter 12: Accommodations and Deception Friday afternoon brought an unexpected email from Tom Reynolds. Mark was at his desk, pretending to focus on a spreadsheet while discreetly shifting against the swollen brief beneath his khakis, when the notification chimed. The subject line read: Confidential – Accommodation Discussion. He opened it with a knot in his stomach. Mark, Your wife called earlier this week and explained the medical situation you’re dealing with. I want you to know we fully support you here. Stress-related incontinence is more common than people realize, and we’re happy to make whatever adjustments you need. Effective immediately, you’re approved for full-time remote work until you and your doctor feel it’s no longer necessary. No need to use PTO for the transition—consider this a formal accommodation. Take the pressure off yourself. Your work is excellent, and we want you healthy and focused. Let me know if there’s anything else HR or I can do. Best, Tom Mark stared at the screen, a confusing rush of emotions flooding him. Relief first—no more conference-room panics, no more praying the brief would hold during client calls. But beneath it, a prickling suspicion. Emily had called Tom? Without telling him? He forwarded the email to her with a simple question mark. Her reply came within minutes: Isn’t it wonderful? Tom called me back today to confirm. I didn’t want to get your hopes up until it was official. This will make everything so much easier, baby. You can heal properly now—no stress. Mark sat back in his chair, the damp padding shifting uncomfortably. Part of him was grateful; the office had become a minefield. But another part—the part that still clung to independence—felt a quiet alarm. Remote work meant more time at home. More time under Emily’s gentle, relentless care. He left early that day, citing a headache. On the drive home, he rehearsed questions—why she hadn’t mentioned the call, how much she had told Tom—but when he walked through the door and saw her waiting with shining eyes and open arms, the words dissolved. “You’re home!” she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “Permanent remote. It’s perfect.” Mark hugged her back, voice muffled against her hair. “You talked to Tom without telling me?” She pulled away just enough to meet his eyes, expression soft and apologetic. “I was going to tell you, I promise. But I wanted it to be a done deal first—no disappointment if it didn’t work out. He was so understanding, Mark. He said you’ve seemed distracted lately and just wants what’s best for you.” Mark felt heat rise in his cheeks. Distracted. Odd behavior. The messing incident from earlier in the week flashed through his mind. “I’m relieved,” he admitted. “But… it feels a little like losing control.” Emily cupped his face. “You’re not losing anything. You’re gaining peace. And time with me.” She kissed him gently. “Let me take care of the rest.” That weekend, the transition began. With no commute and no coworkers to see, Emily gently suggested small changes “for comfort.” Adult underwear disappeared from his dresser drawers, replaced by stacks of thicker diapers—still plain white, but noticeably more absorbent than the office briefs. She encouraged onesies under his work shirts during the day. “It’ll keep everything secure,” she said, helping him into a soft gray one Monday morning before his first remote workday. “No tapes shifting while you’re sitting at the desk. And if you have an accident, it’ll hold better.” Mark stood in front of the mirror, shirt unbuttoned over the onesie, feeling the familiar bulk between his legs. He opened his mouth to protest, then saw her hopeful, almost pleading expression and closed it again. “Okay,” he said. “For now.” The onesie snapped closed with a soft row of clicks. Over it, a plain button-down and sweater vest looked perfectly professional from the waist up—perfect for video calls. Wetting became constant. Without the structure of office bathroom breaks, and with Emily refilling his bottle—now openly, no longer hidden in coffee—several times a day, accidents happened whenever his body decided. He accepted changes as routine now, barely blushing when she led him to the bedroom mid-afternoon to tape on a fresh diaper and resnap the onesie. Messing still embarrassed him, but even that grew harder to avoid. The formula’s effects were thorough; his body had learned new rhythms. Emily handled each incident with calm love, cleaning him, powdering him, cooing soft reassurances until the shame ebbed. Mark told himself it was temporary. Remote work would reduce stress, and soon his control would return. They could scale back. But as the days blurred into a soft routine of bottles, changes, and Emily’s constant, nurturing presence, suspicion faded beneath gratitude and exhaustion. He was home. He was safe. And Emily—radiant, purposeful Emily—was happier than she had been in years. For now, that was enough. Chapter 13: Thick Diapers and Helplessness The first full week of permanent remote work passed in a rhythm that felt deceptively normal from the waist up. Mark sat at the desk Emily had set up in the spare bedroom—once intended as a nursery—wearing a crisp button-down shirt and tie for video calls. His camera framed him neatly from the chest up: professional, focused, nodding at the right moments during team meetings. No one could see the onesie beneath the shirt, or the swollen diaper that sagged heavily between his legs by midday. Below the desk, the reality was very different. Emily had phased out the thin medical briefs entirely. In their place were thicker, crinkling diapers—plain white still, but noticeably more absorbent, with taller leak guards and a softer, quilted inner layer. She introduced them one morning while helping him dress for work. “These will hold more,” she explained, unfolding one with a loud rustle. “You’ve been so wet lately, and the thinner ones were getting close to leaking. This way you won’t have to worry all day.” Mark stood in his pajama bottoms, staring at the diaper in her hands. It was visibly bulkier than anything he’d worn to the office. “Em, those are… really thick. I can’t sit at the desk in those. They’ll spread my legs too far.” She looked up at him, eyes soft and pleading. “Just try them for one day. If they’re too much, we’ll go back. But you’ve had so many heavy wettings this week—I’m worried about rashes, about you being uncomfortable. Please, for me?” He hesitated, then sighed. Her concern was genuine; the constant wetness had left his skin sensitive despite frequent changes. And the truth was, he no longer had full control. The formula’s effects lingered. “Fine,” he said quietly. “One day.” The difference was immediate. The thicker padding forced his thighs apart, making him waddle slightly as he walked to the desk. Sitting was awkward—the bulk pushed him forward in the chair, and every shift produced a loud crinkle that made him freeze, terrified the microphone would pick it up during a call. He spent the morning hyper-aware of every movement, every warm release that swelled the diaper further. By lunch, it sagged heavily. Emily changed him with practiced tenderness, praising him for “holding everything so well.” She taped on a fresh thick diaper, then surprised him with something new. “I ordered these for playtime therapy,” she said brightly, holding up a pair of soft leather booties lined with fleece. The soles were dotted with small, blunt plastic spikes—enough to make walking painful and unsteady, but not harmful. “They’ll encourage you to crawl instead of putting weight on your legs when you’re resting. It’s good for relaxation, and it’ll be fun for our special time.” Mark stared at the booties. “Em, I don’t need—” “Please?” she interrupted softly, eyes glistening. “It would mean so much. Just around the house in the evenings and weekends. Crawling is soothing—it lowers stress, helps you let go. And I love taking care of you when you’re little like that.” He looked at her earnest face and felt the familiar pull. One more step. One more concession for her happiness. “Okay,” he said. “Evenings and weekends.” She beamed and knelt to fit the booties over his feet, lacing them snugly. The spikes pressed lightly against his soles when he tried to stand, an uncomfortable prickle that made balance difficult. On all fours, however, the pressure eased. That evening, after his last work call, Emily gently removed his shirt and tie, leaving him in just the onesie and thick diaper. She encouraged him to the living-room floor. “Try crawling to the kitchen for your bottle,” she said, holding it just out of reach with a playful smile. Mark lowered himself awkwardly, the diaper forcing his knees wide. The booties made standing impossible without pain, so he crawled—slow, waddling movements that emphasized the heavy padding between his legs. The crinkle was constant, loud in the quiet house. His face burned with humiliation as he made his way across the rug, onesie riding up slightly to expose the diaper’s waistband. Emily followed, cooing encouragement. “Look at my sweet boy go! So cute.” When he reached her, she scooped him up into her lap on the couch, offered the bottle, and rocked him while he drank. The position—helpless, cradled, dependent—stirred a confusing mix of shame and comfort. He wet again without noticing, the thick diaper swelling further. Later, as she changed him for bed, Emily kissed his forehead. “You were perfect today,” she whispered. “I’m so proud.” Mark lay still under her hands, the booties still on his feet, the thick diaper taped snugly. Humiliation lingered, sharp and hot, but beneath it was the undeniable warmth of her love. It was only temporary, he told himself. Just until things settled. And Emily, watching him drift toward sleep, felt her heart swell with quiet triumph. One more step taken. One more step closer. Chapter 14: Mittens and Chastity The weeks of full-time remote work blurred into a soft, predictable rhythm. Mark’s days revolved around the desk in the spare bedroom: video calls in the morning, emails and reports in the afternoon, all conducted from the chest up in neat shirts and ties. Below the camera’s view, the thick diapers and onesies had become standard. Crawling in the evenings with the spiked booties was now routine; he no longer fought the prickle that forced him onto hands and knees. Emily’s happiness was palpable. She hummed as she moved through the house, planned meals around the formula, and changed him with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. Mark watched the light in her eyes and told himself the deepening immersion was worth it. She was healing. That was all that mattered. One quiet Tuesday evening, after a long day of virtual meetings, Emily led him to the bedroom for his usual change. The routine was familiar: thick diaper off, wipes, powder, fresh diaper taped snugly. But tonight she had something new laid out on the dresser. “Close your eyes for a surprise,” she said, voice playful. Mark obeyed, standing in just his diaper while she worked. He felt soft, padded fabric slide over his hands—thick mittens, fleece-lined with padded palms and short thumbs that rendered his fingers useless. Velcro straps tightened around his wrists, securing them firmly. “There,” she said, stepping back. “Open.” He looked down. The mittens were pale blue, matching his onesie, and ballooned around his hands like oversized paws. He flexed experimentally; he could make a loose fist, but grasping anything precise was impossible. “What are these for?” he asked, a note of unease creeping in. Emily’s smile was gentle. “Safety and comfort. Your hands get so fidgety when you’re working or watching TV—picking at the diaper tapes, rubbing your eyes too hard when you’re tired. These will keep you from accidentally undoing anything, and they’ll help you relax more deeply. Plus,” she added with a small laugh, “they’re adorable on you.” Mark lifted his padded hands, turning them awkwardly. Buttons, zippers, even holding a bottle properly—everything would require her help now. “Em, I still have to type for work.” “You can take them off during calls,” she assured him quickly. “But the rest of the time… let me take care of everything. It’ll be good for both of us.” He hesitated, resistance flickering. But her eyes were bright with hope, and the memory of her tears weeks ago still lingered. He nodded slowly. “Okay. We’ll try them.” She hugged him tightly, murmuring thanks into his hair. The mittens changed everything. Simple tasks—opening a water bottle, scrolling on his phone, even scratching an itch—became impossible without her. Emily fed him every meal now, holding the bottle or spooning soft foods into his mouth. She dressed and undressed him, wiped his face, adjusted his onesie snaps. Total reliance settled over him like a blanket, heavy and inescapable. The formula and its subtle additives continued their work. Messes came daily, sometimes twice, soft and uncontrollable. Mark barely registered the shame anymore; Emily’s loving cleanups and soft baby talk soothed it away. One evening, after a particularly messy accident and thorough change, Emily sat beside him on the bed, tracing gentle circles on his padded thigh. “I have one more little game,” she said softly. “Something to make our special time even closer.” From the nightstand drawer she produced a small, clear plastic device—a chastity cage, simple and beginner-sized, with a soft ring and short tube. Mark’s eyes widened. “Em…” “It’s just a game,” she reassured him quickly, voice warm. “A way to focus all your pleasure on me—on cuddles and closeness instead of… other things. It’ll heighten everything when we’re intimate. And it’ll keep you from any accidental touching down there that might cause irritation with all the wetness.” He stared at the device, a flush rising in his cheeks. Resistance flared—stronger this time—but her expression was so earnest, so full of love. “It’s small steps,” she coaxed. “We’ll start with the largest size. You can take it off anytime you say the word. But I think… I think it would make me feel even more needed. Like I’m in charge of every part of you.” Mark swallowed. The mittens already made him helpless; this would deepen it immeasurably. Yet seeing the joy in her face—the way her eyes sparkled at the thought of caring for him completely—chipped away at his resolve. He loved her. He had promised anything. “Okay,” he whispered. “We’ll try it.” Emily’s smile was radiant. She fitted the cage carefully, gently, locking it with a soft click and tucking the key on a chain around her neck. The plastic was cool and snug, a constant, undeniable presence. “There,” she murmured, pulling him into her arms. “My perfect boy. All mine.” Mark rested his mittened hands against her, the cage a strange, firm reminder between his legs. Resistance waned, washed away by the warmth of her embrace and the quiet happiness radiating from her. He was helpless now—truly, deeply helpless. And Emily, holding him close, felt her heart swell with a fierce, protective joy. Every step brought him closer. Every concession made him more perfectly hers. And she was only getting started. Chapter 15: Inducing Lactation Spring crept in slowly, bringing longer days and the faint scent of lilacs through open windows. Six months had passed since the devastating diagnosis—six months since Mark had first agreed to the temporary role-play that was supposed to help Emily grieve. The house had changed in subtle, irreversible ways: the spare bedroom now held a proper changing table, stacks of thick diapers lined the closet, and bottles waited on a small warming station in the kitchen. Emily’s happiness had deepened into something steady and radiant. She moved through her days with quiet purpose, caring for Mark with a devotion that bordered on reverence. And in the privacy of her late-night searches, she had found one more way to make the fantasy complete. It began with discreet online orders: domperidone tablets shipped from an overseas pharmacy, fenugreek capsules, blessed thistle, a hospital-grade breast pump hidden in the back of her closet. She read forums obsessively—women who had induced lactation without pregnancy, timelines, dosages, techniques. She told herself it was the final piece: real milk, real nursing, the closest she would ever come to the motherhood stolen from her. She started the regimen in secret. Pills with breakfast, herbal tea throughout the day, pumping sessions scheduled when Mark was deep in work calls. The changes were gradual: breasts fuller and tender, a faint tingling that grew into a persistent ache. She wore looser tops, blamed spring allergies for any mood shifts. Mark noticed, of course. How could he not? Emily had always been beautiful, but now there was a new softness to her curves, a gentle swell beneath her sweaters that drew his eyes. He asked once, carefully, if everything was okay. “Just putting on a little winter weight,” she said with a laugh, kissing his forehead. “Nothing to worry about.” He accepted it. There were so many changes to adjust to already; questioning her body felt like one bridge too far. The babying escalated naturally, almost imperceptibly. Adult food disappeared from his plate. Breakfast became bottles of thickened formula with mashed banana blended in. Lunch was pureed vegetables and oatmeal fed from a spoon while he sat in her lap. Dinner was more bottles, sometimes with soft fruits mashed into the mix. Snacks were nursing bottles of warm milk sipped during movie nights on the couch. Mark’s body adapted. The constant liquid diet and formula kept him full but soft, his digestion predictable and frequent. Messes came without warning now—daily, sometimes twice. He no longer fought them; the mittens made resistance futile anyway. Emily changed him with loving efficiency, cooing and cuddling afterward until the shame dissolved into quiet acceptance. Work suffered in small ways. Video calls found him distracted, staring at the bottle Emily sometimes held just off-camera to encourage him between tasks. Reports took longer; his mittened hands required her help to type anything complex. He missed deadlines by hours, not days, and attributed it to “adjusting to remote life.” His boss remained sympathetic, checking in occasionally with gentle emails about taking whatever time he needed. Emily read those emails over his shoulder and smiled. One evening in late April, after a particularly fussy day—three messy changes and constant wetting—Emily sat beside him on the couch, pumping discreetly under a nursing cover while he drank his bottle. The pump’s soft rhythm filled the quiet room. Mark, drowsy and compliant in his thick diaper and mittens, rested his head against her shoulder without questioning the new routine. Her breasts ached, heavy with the first hints of milk. A few precious drops had appeared that morning—clear at first, then faintly white. She had tasted one, tears springing to her eyes at the sweetness. Soon, she thought, stroking his hair. Soon he would nurse from her directly. Soon the bond would be unbreakable. Mark finished the bottle with a small sigh, eyes half-closed. The formula and constant care left him in a perpetual soft haze—relaxed, dependent, strangely content. He noticed Emily’s fuller figure, the way she sometimes winced when hugging him too tightly, but the questions never fully formed. She was happy. She was glowing. And that, more than anything, kept him quiet. Emily set the empty bottle aside and pulled him closer, guiding his mittened hand to rest against her chest. Beneath the fabric, her heart beat steady and strong. Just a little longer, she thought. Just until everything is perfect. Chapter 16: The Turning Point May arrived warm and fragrant, the backyard lilacs blooming in full purple glory. Nearly seven months had passed since Emily’s world had cracked open at the fertility clinic, and in that time the house had quietly, irrevocably transformed into something between a home and a nursery. The spare bedroom now held a sturdy adult-sized crib, a rocking chair, and shelves lined with diapers, onesies, and bottles. Mark’s work wardrobe had shrunk to a handful of button-down shirts for video calls; everything else was soft cotton and thick padding. Emily’s body had changed too. The hormones and pumping had done their work. Her breasts, once tender and heavy, now ached with real fullness. For weeks she had expressed small amounts into bottles—clear at first, then cloudy, then unmistakably white and sweet. She tasted it herself in secret, tears springing to her eyes at the miracle of it. She was producing milk. Real milk. The final, perfect piece. She waited for the right moment. It came on a quiet Saturday afternoon. Mark had finished his last work task early, a short weekly team check-in that required only a shirt and tie over his onesie. Afterward, Emily removed the shirt, leaving him in the pale-yellow onesie she had chosen that morning—thickly diapered beneath, mittens on his hands, booties on his feet. He crawled to the living room as usual, the routine now second nature. Emily waited on the couch with a nursing pillow across her lap and a light blanket draped over her shoulders. She wore a loose button-down shirt, the top few buttons undone. Her heart pounded with nervous excitement. “Come here, sweetheart,” she called softly. “Cuddle time.” Mark crawled to her, knees wide from the diaper’s bulk, and let her guide him up into her lap. He settled against her with a small sigh, head resting naturally in the crook of her arm. The position was familiar—countless bottles had been taken this way—but today felt different. Emily’s breathing was quicker, her body warm and slightly trembling. She shifted the blanket, unbuttoned her shirt further, and gently guided his head lower. Mark felt soft skin against his cheek, the faint scent of her lotion and something new—warm, sweet, almost milky. “Open for Mommy,” she whispered. Confused but trusting, he parted his lips. She guided him to her breast, and the moment his mouth closed around her nipple, warm milk flowed—sweet, rich, utterly real. Mark froze for a heartbeat, eyes widening. Then instinct took over. He latched properly and suckled, the milk coming in gentle, steady pulls. The taste was indescribable—comfort and love distilled into liquid warmth. It filled his mouth, slid down his throat, spread through his chest like sunlight. Emily exhaled a shaky breath, tears slipping down her cheeks. She cradled his head, fingers threading through his hair, and rocked him slowly. “That’s it,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Drink from Mommy. You’re safe. You’re loved.” Mark’s eyes fluttered closed. The intimacy overwhelmed him—the warmth of her skin, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his cheek, the sweet flow of milk that seemed to reach straight into the deepest parts of him. Weeks of formula had prepared his body for this; the real thing was infinitely better. A profound sense of safety washed over him, deeper than anything he had felt since childhood. He drank greedily, mittened hands resting against her side, diapered bottom heavy and warm in her lap. Without thinking, he wet—copiously, the thick padding swelling beneath him. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the milk and the woman giving it to him. Emily felt the warmth spread and smiled through her tears. She shifted him slightly to the other breast when the first slowed, and he latched again without hesitation. Her body responded, milk letting down in a rush that made her gasp softly. They stayed like that for nearly an hour—Mark nursing steadily, Emily rocking and stroking his hair, whispering soft endearments. When he finally drifted off, still latched, milk dribbling from the corner of his mouth, Emily held him close and let her own tears fall freely. This was it. The turning point. Mark woke later in the crib, changed and dressed in a fresh diaper and onesie, but the craving was already there—deep, insistent, like hunger but warmer. When Emily came to get him for evening cuddle time, he crawled to her eagerly, eyes fixed on her chest. She smiled, understanding completely, and settled on the couch to nurse him again. From that day forward, breastfeeding became the center of their world. Bottles of formula were phased out almost entirely; Mark nursed multiple times a day, cradled in her arms or lying across her lap. The milk was abundant now, sweet and nourishing, and he sought it with quiet desperation. Diapers, mittens, booties, crawling—all of it began to feel not like concessions but like natural extensions of the safety he found at her breast. Wetting and messing happened constantly, without shame. The thick padding, the helpless reliance, the baby clothes—they became associated with love, with comfort, with the warm flow of milk that quieted every doubt. Mark still worked—remotely, distractedly—but the regression had solidified. He no longer questioned the depth of it. He craved her care, her milk, her control. Emily watched the change with quiet triumph and fierce love. Her baby boy was hers completely now. And the world outside their nursery felt farther away than ever. Chapter 17: Shrinking Cage and Crawling Life Summer heat settled over the house like a heavy blanket, the air thick with the hum of cicadas and the scent of cut grass from the neighbor’s yard. Eight months had passed since the clinic visit that changed everything. Mark’s world had shrunk to the walls of their home, to the soft crinkle of diapers and the warm comfort of Emily’s arms. The chastity cage had become a constant companion. It started large enough to be tolerable—a gentle reminder, Emily called it. But every few weeks she presented a smaller size, always with the same loving explanation: “It’ll help you focus on me, on us. Less distraction, more closeness.” Mark protested weakly each time, but her tears—or the threat of them—always won. The ring stayed the same; only the tube shortened, the bars closed in. By July the cage was small enough that erections were impossible, arousal a dull, frustrating ache that resolved only in her touch or the warmth of nursing. Dependency deepened; pleasure belonged entirely to her now. Walking had become a memory. The spiked booties were no longer just for evenings. Emily declared them permanent “for safety and therapy.” Standing without permission brought an uncomfortable prickle against his soles; crawling was painless, natural. She enforced the rule gently but firmly: “Babies crawl, sweetheart. It keeps you low and safe, close to Mommy.” Mark’s days were spent on all fours. From crib to changing table, from playpen in the living room to the desk for work calls—he crawled. The thick diapers forced his knees wide, the onesie riding up to expose padded hips with every movement. The mittens made balance tricky; he often paused to rest, forehead against the cool floor, breathing through the humiliation. Work calls were managed carefully. Emily dressed him in a neat shirt and tie from the waist up, hair combed, expression composed. Below the camera—out of view to his colleagues—he wore only the onesie, diaper, mittens, booties, and the tiny cage locked snugly in place. Emily sat just off-screen, sometimes holding a bottle for him to sip between responses, her presence a silent reminder of who truly controlled the meeting. Incontinence had worsened to completeness. Wetting happened constantly, without thought or warning. Messing came several times a day—soft, sudden, unstoppable. The formula had been tapered off months ago, but habits formed over half a year held firm. His body no longer asked permission. One humid afternoon in early August, Mark crawled from the living room toward the kitchen for his midday nursing. The diaper beneath his onesie sagged heavily, warm and full from multiple accidents. Halfway across the hallway, a familiar cramp gripped him. He paused, mittened hands on the floor, but there was no fighting it. The mess pushed out in a warm rush, filling the seat of his diaper with soft weight. He stayed there on hands and knees for a moment, face burning, breathing shallow. Shame flickered—faint now, almost habitual—but was quickly overtaken by resignation. Emily would clean him. Emily would hold him. Emily would make it okay. She appeared in the doorway as if summoned, eyes soft with understanding. “Oh, my poor baby,” she cooed, kneeling to stroke his back. “Come to Mommy.” He crawled the rest of the way, diaper squishing beneath him. She lifted him onto the changing table with practiced ease, unsnapped the onesie, and began the cleanup—wipes, powder, a fresh, even thicker diaper taped snugly. All the while she murmured praise and love, her voice a soothing balm. When he was clean, she carried him to the rocking chair in the nursery—the one she had ordered months ago—and unbuttoned her shirt. Her breasts, full and heavy with milk, waited. Mark latched eagerly, the tiny cage straining uselessly as milk flowed warm and sweet. He nursed long and deep, eyes closed, mittened hands resting against her. The frustration of the cage, the helplessness of crawling, the constant messes—all of it faded beneath the overwhelming comfort of her milk, her arms, her love. This was safety. This was home. Emily rocked him gently, fingers in his hair, feeling the weight of him against her—the weight of her baby boy, dependent and perfect. The cage would shrink again soon. The crawling would stay forever. And Mark, lost in the warm haze of nursing, no longer minded. He was exactly where he belonged. Chapter 18: Full-Time Baby Routine Autumn painted the trees outside in fiery reds and golds, but inside the house time seemed to have slowed to the gentle rhythm of a nursery clock. Nine months had passed since the clinic visit—six months since Mark’s world had fully narrowed to the soft, padded confines of babyhood. His days now followed a structure as predictable as a toddler’s: wake in the crib to Emily’s smiling face, morning nursing while she rocked him, a slow crawl to the changing table for a fresh diaper and onesie. Breakfast was nursing again, followed by playtime in the large pen she had built in the living room—soft mats, stuffed animals, colorful blocks he could only nudge clumsily with his mittened hands. Naps came twice a day: one mid-morning, one mid-afternoon, always in the crib with the rails raised and a pacifier clipped to his onesie. Emily tucked him in with a blanket, kissed his forehead, and dimmed the lights. He slept deeply, the constant warmth of diapers and the lingering taste of her milk pulling him under. Afternoons brought more play, sometimes gentle tummy time on a quilt while she read aloud from picture books. Nursing happened whenever he fussed—four, five, six times a day. He sought it now with quiet urgency, crawling to her and nuzzling against her chest until she lifted her shirt and guided him to her breast. The milk flowed sweet and abundant; he drank until drowsy, then drifted in her arms while she hummed lullabies. Evenings were for cuddling on the couch, nursing again before bed, a final change into an overnight diaper thick enough to handle anything. Emily carried him to the crib—his legs no longer attempted to walk—and tucked him in with his favorite stuffed bear. She stayed until his eyes closed, one hand resting on his padded hip through the bars. Emily had quit her library job three months earlier. Savings, careful investments, and Mark’s remaining income covered them comfortably. She told friends she wanted to focus on “supporting Mark through his health challenges.” No one pressed for details; her radiant happiness seemed explanation enough. Mark’s work had dwindled to nothing. Meetings became rare, then nonexistent. He missed deadlines, forgot tasks, stared blankly at emails while waiting for Emily to bring his next bottle. When his boss finally suggested a formal leave of absence, Emily took over the call. “It’s been a progressive condition,” she explained calmly, citing fabricated doctor’s notes she had carefully prepared—stress-induced neurological issues, chronic fatigue, loss of fine motor control. “He’s applied for disability. We’re hoping for approval soon.” The paperwork went through smoothly. Disability payments began in early fall, steady and sufficient. Mark signed where Emily guided his mittened hand, no longer questioning. He craved her milk constantly now. It was comfort, nourishment, love in its purest form. When she was busy, he fussed softly until she lifted him to nurse. The act grounded him, quieted every lingering whisper of the man he used to be. Incontinence was absolute. Wetting was background noise; messing came without warning, several times daily. He felt it happen, registered it dimly, and waited for her to notice. Shame had faded to a faint echo, replaced by trust. Emily would care for him. Emily always did. One crisp October afternoon, as leaves swirled past the window, Mark lay in his playpen stacking soft blocks with clumsy mittened nudges. Emily sat nearby, pumping the last of a session into a bottle for later. He looked up at her—his Mommy—and felt a wave of pure contentment. She met his gaze and smiled, eyes shining with tears she no longer bothered to hide. “My perfect baby boy,” she whispered. Mark babbled softly around the pacifier she had clipped to his onesie, crawling to the edge of the pen and reaching for her. She lifted him immediately, settling him against her chest. He latched eagerly, milk flowing warm and sweet. Outside, the adult world spun on—deadlines, traffic, ambition. Inside, there was only the quiet rhythm of nursing, the crinkle of diapers, the steady beat of her heart against his ear. Mark’s old life felt like a dream he no longer remembered. This was real. And in Emily’s arms, drinking deeply from the mother he had given her, he wanted nothing else. Chapter 19: Total Incontinence Achieved November’s chill crept through the cracks around the windows, but inside the house it was always warm—warm with central heating, warm with the scent of baby powder and Emily’s milk, warm with the quiet certainty of routine. Ten months had passed since the diagnosis. Mark’s body had completed its surrender. The change was gradual, then absolute. Wetting had been constant for months; now even the faintest awareness of a full bladder was gone. He simply released whenever the need arose—multiple times a day, sometimes every hour—without thought or warning. Messing followed the same path. The laxatives Emily had once carefully measured into his bottles were tapered away weeks ago, unnecessary now. His body had learned new habits too thoroughly to unlearn them. Soft, sudden messes came three, four, sometimes five times daily, warm and effortless. He felt them happen, registered the spreading weight in his diaper, and waited calmly for Emily to notice. There was no shame left—only trust. Emily watched the final barriers fall with quiet awe. She changed him lovingly each time, cooing praise, kissing his forehead, nursing him afterward until he drifted in her arms. The thicker diapers she used now held everything comfortably; leaks were rare. Rashes were prevented with diligent care and ointment. His skin stayed soft, his disposition content. Resistance to exposure had vanished too. Mark no longer flinched when the doorbell rang or tugged at his onesie to hide the obvious bulge. The diapers—printed now with subtle pastel patterns she had chosen—were simply part of him, like the mittens that kept his hands useless or the booties that enforced his crawling. One crisp Saturday in late November, Emily decided it was time. She invited Sarah—her closest friend from the library days, the only person who knew fragments of the truth—for afternoon tea. Sarah had always been discreet, kind, and curiously supportive when Emily mentioned “taking care of Mark full-time.” She arrived at two o’clock with a tin of homemade shortbread and a warm smile. Mark was in his playpen when the doorbell rang, stacking oversized foam blocks with clumsy mittened nudges. He looked up as Emily greeted Sarah at the door, voices drifting in from the hall. A flicker of old self-consciousness stirred—he was in a thick, printed diaper under a short yellow onesie that barely covered it, pacifier clipped to the collar, hair tousled from his morning nap—but the feeling passed quickly. Emily wanted this. Emily was happy. That was enough. Emily led Sarah into the living room. “And this,” she said proudly, gesturing to the pen, “is my baby boy.” Sarah’s eyes widened briefly, but she recovered with a soft smile. “Hello, Mark,” she said gently. Mark babbled around the pacifier—a soft, nonsensical sound—and waved a mittened hand. No attempt to hide, no flush of embarrassment. He crawled to the edge of the pen and reached up toward Emily. Emily lifted him out effortlessly, settling him on her hip. The diaper’s bulk was unmistakable beneath the onesie; the faint scent of powder and recent use hung in the air. Sarah took it in without judgment. “He’s beautiful,” she said sincerely. “You both look so happy.” Emily’s eyes shone. “We are.” They sat on the couch—Emily with Mark in her lap, Sarah beside them—and talked over tea and shortbread. Mark nursed quietly while the women chatted, latching and unlatching as he drifted in contentment. Halfway through, he wet heavily; the diaper swelled beneath him with a soft hiss only Emily noticed. A few minutes later, a mess followed—warm, effortless. He sighed around her breast and kept nursing. Emily felt it happen and smiled down at him, stroking his hair. Sarah watched with quiet understanding. “He’s completely relaxed with you.” “He trusts me completely,” Emily answered, voice thick with emotion. “I take care of everything.” When Sarah left an hour later, she hugged Emily tightly at the door. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” she whispered. “You’ve built something beautiful.” After the door closed, Emily carried Mark to the changing table. He lay placidly while she cleaned him, powdered him, taped on a fresh diaper. Then she nursed him again, rocking slowly. That same week, the disability approval letter arrived—official, generous, permanent. Combined with savings, it freed them financially. Mark signed the acknowledgment form with Emily guiding his mittened hand, no longer working at all. The last threads of his adult life had quietly dissolved. Total incontinence was simply fact now: wetting constant, messing frequent and uncontrolled. He felt the accidents happen, accepted them, and waited for her care. Exposure no longer mattered. He crawled openly in his diapers, nursed in her lap without hiding, babbled and cooed without self-consciousness. Emily held him that night in the rocking chair, milk flowing steady and warm. “My perfect baby,” she whispered, tears of joy on her cheeks. Mark nursed deeper, eyes closed, body heavy and safe in her arms. This was everything. Chapter 20: A New Life as Baby Boy December 31, 2025. Exactly one year had passed since the day Emily and Mark sat in Dr. Harlan’s office and heard the word irreversible. Outside, snow fell in thick, silent flakes, blanketing the neighborhood in hush. Inside, the house glowed with soft lamplight and the faint scent of warm milk and baby powder. Mark lay in his crib, eyes half-open, watching the mobile turn slowly overhead: pastel stars and moons that had once seemed childish and strange, now as familiar as breathing. He wore a thick overnight diaper printed with tiny rockets, the tapes snug beneath a sleeper printed with the same pattern. His mittened hands rested on his tummy; the small chastity cage—now permanently tiny—pressed gently against the padding. He felt the familiar heaviness of a fresh wetting from moments ago, but it no longer registered as anything but normal. Emily stood beside the crib in a soft robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her breasts, still full a year into lactation, ached gently with the need to nurse. She reached through the bars and stroked his cheek. “Happy New Year, my sweet boy,” she whispered. Mark turned toward her touch, making the small, eager sound he had learned she loved. She smiled—radiant, whole—and lowered the side rail. With practiced ease she lifted him, settling into the rocking chair with him cradled against her chest. He latched immediately, nursing with the deep, steady pulls that had become the center of his world. The milk was warm, sweet, endlessly comforting. It flowed freely; her body had adjusted perfectly to his demand. As he drank, his eyes fluttered closed, one mittened hand resting against her skin. Emily rocked slowly, tears of quiet joy slipping down her cheeks. The grief that had once threatened to swallow her whole was gone—healed, transformed into this fierce, protective love. She was a mother in every way that mattered. Her baby needed her completely, and she needed him just as much. Mark’s thoughts drifted in the warm haze of nursing. He remembered fragments of the man he had been: suits and ties, deadlines and commutes, the weight of adult decisions. They felt distant now, like a story about someone else. The descent had been slow—love-fueled, guilt-soothed, step by careful step—but he no longer questioned it. He had given her everything. And in return, she had given him peace. The shame that once burned so hot had cooled into acceptance, then into something deeper: pride in belonging to her, safety in surrender. Diapers were simply part of him now—thick, crinkling, constant. He wet and messed without control, without care. Exposure no longer embarrassed him. When Sarah visited again last month, he had crawled to her happily, sat in her lap for story time, and nursed openly while the women talked. The world saw what it saw; he only saw Mommy. Disability payments and savings kept them comfortable. The yellow room down the hall—the one once meant for a different baby—was now a fully equipped nursery: crib, changing table, rocking chair, shelves of supplies that would never run low. Emily shifted him to her other breast. He latched again, drinking deeply, feeling the cage press uselessly as arousal stirred and went nowhere. Pleasure belonged to her now; his body knew it. She stroked his hair, humming the lullaby she sang every night. In the quiet, her mind turned to the future. Sarah had mentioned a friend—another woman caring for her own “little one.” A playdate, perhaps. A chance to share, to connect, to let Mark experience the joy of others like him. The idea warmed her. There would be more chapters to their story. More love. More care. More surrender. Mark finished nursing with a small, satisfied sigh. Emily lifted him to her shoulder, patting gently until a soft burp escaped. Then she carried him to the changing table for his bedtime change—thick diaper, fresh onesie, pacifier clipped to the collar. She laid him in the crib, raised the rail, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Sleep tight, my perfect baby boy,” she whispered. “Mommy loves you more than anything.” Mark’s eyes met hers in the dim light. He babbled softly around the pacifier—a sound of pure contentment—and reached a mittened hand toward her. She took it, held it until his breathing deepened and his fingers relaxed. Outside, snow continued to fall, covering the world in quiet white. Inside, Emily turned off the lamp and stood for a long moment watching him sleep. One year. A lifetime. And the beginning of forever. The End… for now.

The Calibeen saga is a series of stories - Audrey & Staycee, Lottie, and Velvet - that follow the events of a correctional reformatory, intent on making the worst people into the best. In as little as a year, patients leave the institution with a 0% reoffender rate. But how do they do it? These stories can be read in any order. Audrey & Staycee Lottie Velvet is a prequel to Audrey & Staycee that explores the creation and refinement of the Calibeen institution. Of the three stories, Velvet is the most ABDL-focused. It takes a shotgun approach: hard and fast! Diapers, hypnosis, drugs. An expansive cast of characters, a hero, a villain! Velvet tells a straightforward narrative that is easy to follow and fun to read. Actually, this is sort of uncharted territory... Pudding and I have been working on Calibeen's final installment for years, and we don't even have a rough draft yet! I'm actually hoping posting the few chapters we have complete will motivate us to finish this series. Calibeen has been our white whale for almost seven years, and we are so eager to bring it to a close. Anyway... wish us luck! Complete PDF and ePub versions are up on Patreon! Please consider supporting us! ~Sophie ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Velvet by: Sophie & Pudding 1.) Her New Home "We have a new inmate today." I was in the small staff room adjacent to the security checkpoint, sipping on poorly made coffee with a sour look on my face. Everything about our budget here was in a pinch, but that was the nature of experimental deployments. Nobody wanted to invest too much into something without a proven track-record. Things would be different once Ayla graduated the program, which she certainly would in the coming weeks, perhaps the coming days. Dr. Janick nodded in recognition of the small-talk and eyed the coffee-machine skeptically, a sandwich in one of her hands. "Alexander Duke." "Mmhmm. The Round Table Committee is curious to see how the program takes with a more troubled case. Like killing people is the worst we've dealt with? Everybody wants to kill someone sometimes. So passé." "I did read in the report that the judge was on a 50/50 split between here and Pascatero. Kids a nutjob." "Well, he won't be when we're done with him. You know when he's gonna be here?" "He's outside the checkpoint at the moment, being processed. You're taking him, right?" "Yeah, I think so. By the time he's settled in, Ayla will be out, and we'll have a new intake again, so I'll have to make sure there're no setbacks." "I heard Marlow wanted him." "He would, but he's a hack. He just wants the recognition." "Last thing we need is another Annie." I was guarded when the woman walked in the door. I sat still on the table and kicked my feet. She had a lab coat and nice shoes. But the kind of nice that could be nicer. Hm. Her hair was up. A clipboard in her hands. Taller than me, but then again, who wasn't? The orderly at my side stayed put. Like I could do anything with these handcuffs on... "Alexander Duke." There was a plastic clipboard in my hand, made from a single sheet of pink perspex — wooden clipboards were not allowed in any correctional facilities — but I didn't need to read anything on the chart. Alexander Duke had murdered every member of the grand jury, the 12 people who had been party to his brother’s incarceration. That kind of thing made the news. "I am Doctor Clement, and I'll be overseeing your entry into the program here." "...what is this place?" A hospital? A mental ward, probably. I was mandated here: experimental recovery for the mentally ill. That was all I was told. It certainly looked like a hospital. The rest of my life being fed and watching TV? It wasn't so bad. But it wasn't the rest of my life. My time was mandated between one and two years. I'd killed twelve people, and I had two years maximum in a hospital. How I'd gotten so lucky, I'd never know. "This is your home for the duration of the program." Which answered nothing at all, but there was a certain rapport that had to be built up before he'd be allowed to expect useful answers. "I can see why the judge recommended you for treatment — slight of build, below-average testosterone levels, confident demeanor. I think you'll be an excellent candidate. You're going to be here for some time, so how about we break down this formality somewhat — you may call me Colette." "I'm Alex," I said quietly, looking down at my feet. I didn't meet her gaze. I didn't act like I knew what I was doing or why I was here. I felt scared. Well, I looked like I felt scared. I was very good at acting. I swallowed hard and shuffled on the table, feeling tears well up in my eyes. "You prefer Alexander, but that's really neither here nor there — you'll be given a new designation as part of your enrollment here." He'd shown no remorse during the trial, no fear or discomfort or anything that might indicate that he had access to the fuller breadth of human interaction. The court hadn't deemed him sociopathic, but I'd certainly be curious myself. "Welcome to Project Calibeen. You will be rehabilitated and reeducated through unconventional an experimental means in effort to isolate and correct your behaviors." That all came from the marketing material, it was overly verbose and pointless. It didn't matter. In a few seconds, he'd start crying anyway. I could tell. Tears fell down my cheeks. I shook my head and tried to wipe them away with my shoulders. I tried to hide it, or pretended to try to hide it. I could hardly talk right, and when I did, I sounded so pathetic... “I… I didn't even... I don't know what happened... I used to have these blank spots... just times I didn't remember things well, and then... s-sorry... sorry... n-nevermind..." I nodded my head sympathetically, and cupped my hands together on the table, giving the boy a few precious moments of believing that what he was doing would work, before my look faded to a smirk. "Pretty baby face like yours, Alexander — that routine must work quite a lot. Don't worry, I can wait." "Wh-what...?" I looked up at her with wet eyes, but she just smiled back at me. She saw through that? But it was perfect! I sighed a little and rubbed the water out of my eyes with my shoulders. Ugh. I guess this is what I get when I'm all over the news... "Fine. I know what I did. You got me." No point keeping up this charade... I'd have to settle on a new one. "Things go a lot more smoothly here when we can trust one another, Alexander. In the end, you'e going to trust us implicitly either way, and it will go more positively for you if we find that we can trust you, early on. More privileges, less rules. Now, would you like to start this over, and we'll avoid the charades?" He wasn't anything new. I was actually kind of let down. "...yeah, sure. Can I have these handcuffs off though?" She looked at me incredulously and I rolled my eyes. "You're like a foot taller than me, and you've got Godzilla over here." I nodded to the orderly. "You really think I'm stupid enough to try to attack you? If you do, then you're the stupid one." "Not at all, Alexander. You're not in handcuffs because anybody is afraid of you — you killed with planning and the more efficient ways possible. Which meant sneaking up on people. You're clearly not anything other than a tiny little coward, so nobody is afraid of you." The male ego was the first thing to show up to a fight, and the first to fall as a result. "You're cuffed to remind you that you're no longer in control." "Of course not." Her attitude bothered me. She was... unique. Hm... "Why would I want to be in control? I'm here for help, Doctor Colette." I could see it on her name plate on the desk. Nicolette Clement. Did she not like her full name? So many questions. "So what now? How do I get better?" There was no doubt in my mind that this wouldn't be the boy’s last face he showed to me. Compliant and penitent. Did he think we were new at this? I smiled at him anyway, nodding my head slowly. "I'm going to introduce you to your fellow inmates, and appoint you a bedroom. You'll be sharing it with..." Curiously, I wondered how admin had arranged things, and flipped a few pages on the clipboard. "Annie." "Lead the way," I said with a smile. And to my delight, she did just that. I slid off the examination table as she passed and wrapped my cuffed hands around her neck. With a kick at her heels, we both fell backward onto the floor, the chain of the handcuffs choking her throat. The orderly rushed to remove me, but I kept the girl's neck tight against my chest, strangling her. "I sure would hate to be without these handcuffs," I chimed with a smile. "I might feel in control!' There was a very simple strategy that we were all taught during training for working in this program, though I'd been taught it in countless former roles as well. I went limp. I didn't struggle. The less I struggled, the easier it would be for the orderly to deal with the boy. And he did, too. Not with violence. With a shot into his neck. And just as soon as the stars appeared for me, he blacked out. "Are you okay, Doctor?" "Fine. Four-point him in the white room," the spare room that we didn't use as a bedroom, but likely would as we expanded. "Have him diapered, and give him a fluids drip. We'll try this interview again in 24 hours." A reaction. That's what I wanted. She'd learn to accept me, or she'd get hurt. The truth of the matter. I didn't care that I was left in the room alone. I didn't care that I was fastened to the bed, that I could feel myself urinate into the diaper on my waist. I wasn't hungry, because of the IV. I was content. I got her to react. Was aggressive, angry, violent Alex the Alex she wanted to deal with for the next two years? I could do that. Or she'd change her mind. Accept an easier Alex to handle. And I'd use it against her. Psychology made life so easy.

The Calibeen saga is a series of stories - Audrey & Staycee, Lottie, and Velvet - that follow the events of a correctional reformatory, intent on making the worst people into the best. In as little as a year, patients leave the institution with a 0% reoffender rate. But how do they do it? These stories can be read in any order. Lottie Velvet Audrey & Staycee was one of our first stories together, and it's widely considered our best work. It delves into the structure of the Calibeen institution and everything that goes on there. Pudding is always so imaginative and extreme, but A&S really showcases her ability at world building. And I did a pretty good job with the plot: mysterious, dark, intense, and includes a LOT of diapers! A&S is an all-in-one package for a hardcore diaper story, and we really hope you give it a look! To adhere to DD's story regulations about underage characters and sexual situations, this version of A&S is censored a little bit. There's a few flashbacks wherein a main character is only sixteen. As writers, Pudding and I know "sex" and "sixteen" pretty much go hand in hand, but we understand and agree with DD's decision to distance underage and ABDL content. Our story integrity is not above the integrity of the community. For this thread, we worked hard to remove the offending scenes while still preserving the complicated themes in play. Any time we censored content, you'll see "~~~CUT~~~". Filling in the blanks isn't that hard. But if you are curious nonetheless... A complete, uncensored version of the entire story can be found HERE! Thanks everyone for your constant support. Leave comments! ~Sophie ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AUDREY & STAYCEE by: Sophie & Pudding PHASE THREE Part I: The First Day These rooms were so much more… me. No brightly colored walls, no wallpaper, no white furniture. Just a beautifully decorated room with a light blue accent wall - a bit lighter than my color - and adorned with furniture complimenting the white painted wooden canopy bed. I knew I'd be sharing it, but it was still so spacious - at least twice the size of my room as a Second! I peeked into the closet, finding two sets of clothing - my blue and someone else's yellow. I fiddled with the drawers, looking through the makeup and nail polishes, of hair bows instead of ribbons, barrettes, and so many beautiful things. I was so eager. Phase Three would be so much better than One and Two - no diapers, no babysitting. I was finally grown up, on my way to a better life. I wasn't sure when my conditioning would start, but I was eager to purge myself of some of the more annoying habits, like how I still sucked my thumb. But my thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and a beautiful auburn-haired girl walking in. I quickly climbed off the bed, bouncing over to meet her. She was a few inches taller than me, but it wasn't uncommon - I was always a short boy. "Hi, I'm Audrey. I guess we're roommates." "Uhhuh." I flopped down in the canopy bed, eyes taking in the bedroom in awe with a wide smile. This was so much lovelier than being a Second! I expected it would be, though. I mean. As Seconds we shared the same rooms we had as Firsts, we just got to be in charge. Adelaide had been a wonderful First; she'd actually been eager for the process and had ranked first in her group to graduate, which had left me without a First for much of my time as a Second. But I was okay with it! It just gave me more time to focus on being the best. I liked to be the best. I was a very competitive person. "I'm Staycee. Whatcha in for?" Firsts mostly didn't talk about what they'd done; probably out of shame - I was that way, anyway. Something about the time I'd spent with Adelaide just really opened my eyes, though; no matter what happened now, I'd never be that person, never be capable of those things ever again. So why be ashamed? Retelling the stories now were just… well… stories. I was a good girl, now. We all were. The girl - Audrey? - she was absolutely darling, a big smile and hopeful, optimistic eyes; I couldn't work out if she'd had any adjustments in Second beyond the Softening - she didn't have the telltale needle pricks by her ears, though, so I had to figure it was just natural beauty. And that made me smile. "I robbed a bank." It was my standard tell-tale lie. I didn't want to lie to Staycee, but I also didn't want to get into it - it just made me sad and it was supposed to be a happy day. "Or tried to rob it, anyway… if I'd robbed it, I wouldn't be here." I liked Staycee. She was… something else. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was almost like she loved this place. No one loved this place - not unless they made you a Zero first, and I still believed that was a myth. "That's really cool! Did you wear a stocking over your head and carry a sack with a dollar sign on it? Where do you get those, anyway? Is there a bank-robbing supply store?" I flashed a cheeky smile and pulled her hand into mine. "I like to hold hands. You'll have to get used to that. Adelaide - she was my First - and I pretty much never let go. The Headmistress says its a side effect of detachment in my life before, iono though. Maybe." My time here was a little different to the others; it seemed like I was seeing the Headmistress significantly more; she'd check on me, ask about my progress, deliver my rewards personally - I thought that was normal until Francesca (one of the other Seconds) told me she hadn't even seen the Headmistress outside of her color ceremony. Speaking of which. "Nice color, girl. Wow. That's gotta be the prettiest blue I've ever seen." I nodded happily, fiddling with the hem of my dress. It really was beautiful. "I didn't pick it. I mean, my Second was always a "be your own person" kind of girl. So she'd dress me in tons of colors. And when I went to my ceremony, I had no idea what I wanted. But the Headmistress just gave me this one. And I love it, I really do. Strange I'd like a blue… I like your yellow, though. It's sunny." Sun. I was almost sure I'd forgotten what the actual sun looked like. Still, Staycee could serve as my pseudo-sun until I got out of this place. I gave a sideways look and smiled curiously. "You know that's exactly what happened with me, too? My Second told me she hated it as a name, but she was naming me Staycee nonetheless. And spelling it weird, too. Es-Tee-Ay-Why-See-Ee-Ee. See? And then she didn't have any influence on my color, either; the Headmistress assigned me my yellow though and it just felt so right. Like getting a dress you always wanted for Christmas, and having it fit amazingly. Except, well, I don't know what that's like. But it's how I imagine that to be like." I sat up on the edge of the bed and took another closer look at Audrey, smiling contently. "You're easily the prettiest girl here. I'm glad we're roomies." "Uhhuh." So maybe I wasn't as special as I thought… it was probably a common thing, now that I thought about it. Not every Second would have such an attachment to color the way I did - I meticulously planned the color of my First. And I guess everyone else just got a random color they'd love. How did we love it, anyway? Was it profiling, or did they add that in Hypno as well? This facility always made me feel cold whenever I'd think about it in such terms, and goosebumps would rise on my arms. Two more Phases, and I could leave for good. As a new person. "I don't suppose you know what we're supposed to do, now?" Firsts were always orchestrated by Seconds, and Seconds remembered how they were orchestrated by their Seconds. But this was Staycee's and my first day in the Phase Three wing, and we had no idea what we were doing. One of the big differences we were privy to as Thirds; one I'd noticed when I came in, in-fact, was the presence of the little digital clock on the bedside table. "I don't know for sure, but I do know it's fifteen minutes before meal time and I bet nobody else has considered that. Come on, let's get dressed and find the lunch hall." It was something that the Headmistress had told me with that smile of hers that always seemed to have something just beneath the surface of it; like her words had seventeen different meanings if only I'd listen - she told me that I had control over who I was as a Third. And I think that meant something. "We have control. As Thirds. Over who we are and who we become, whether we become cute little geeky introverts or social butterflies, whether we accept being average or strive to be the best. Whatever we aim for, they'll help with - if we wanna be the best, they'll help us be the best." I picked a blue pleated skirt and a pretty buttoned blouse off the hanger and handed them both to Audrey. "So let's be the best." I nodded my head, taking the two pieces of clothing from Staycee with small concerns. I didn't really care about being the best, but I didn't like being punished, either. I remembered when I was a First how tragic my life was when I misbehaved, even in the slightest. If getting to the lunch room first meant I wouldn't get in trouble, then I was all for it. But still, the outfit in my hand held another concern. Two pieces… I'd never worn a two piece anything. Dresses, nighties, all that from One and Two were a single piece of clothing. They probably go on just like boy clothes, Audrey. "Um… can you turn around? So I can change, I mean." "Really?" I smiled and shook my head, my hand slipping into the girl’s and squeezing it. "You've showered in front of other people, had your diaper changed repeatedly, been dressed and undressed and probably spanked publicly. You've had the Softening, had your physical at the end of Second - how're you still shy?" I laid the clothes down on the bed and motioned to the girl, my sparkling blue eyes shining with happiness. "Come on, off with your clothes. I'll dress you myself." Though my tone was firm and certain, there was also a particular playful affection to it. Like we were already best friends. My cheeks lit up and I looked down at my feet shyly. "It's… different." I wasn't sure how it was different, but it certainly felt it. I was a girl now - it was something I'd come to accept in Phase Two. I conquered my fears of change, and this was the new me. I didn't mind that I couldn't be Colin anymore, I really didn't. But shame was still an evident factor, even as a girl. And part of being a girl meant not having a penis, and thusly, I found it to be a big part of my shame. Since talk of Phase Three and independence, I'd already decided not to let another soul see me naked. I was a girl damnit, and I wasn't going to let anyone think otherwise. "I can change, Staycee. Just pleeeeease turn around..?" Was I asking? "And what if I want to see you change? I'll let you see me change." I would have anyway - the facility encouraged openness especially within pairs and while I didn't know how it worked for Thirds, I was willing to bet it was something still rewarded. But I wanted her to be comfortable around me; it was known even as Seconds that Thirds had the longest program. I didn't want things to be weird and awkward between us. "You know when I was a boy, I'd never change in front of anybody. I was just never comfortable with my body. Most boys aren't, anyway. But I wanna be the kind of girl who can change in front of her friends, the kind of girl who isn't ashamed of her body. Don't you, too? You're already the prettiest girl here; the only thing that could make you more gorgeous is the confidence to know it and show it." I wasn't the prettiest girl - firstly, I paled in comparison to Staycee - and I certainly wasn't going to try to pretend I was. I was nice looking, I knew that, but all the Seconds had been by the time we left Phase Two. I was just another girl. "I just… I don't like people seeing me in my underwear, alright?" It was one of the drawbacks of panties - they showed everything. I remembered my first week in them, back as a Second, and how I actually missed diapers. I was always so confident around my First when I had my nighttime diaper on, but I'd never let her see me in underwear, even if they were padded. "Ohhh…" I smiled in realization and in one smooth motion I lifted Audrey's dress off and tossed it on the bed, leaving her topless and just in her pretty blue panties. "Okay. Audrey. Come here." She was skittish and shy and reluctant as I pulled her over to the mirror and stood her before it; I knew what she was conscious of and I was determined to show her the truth. "You're a girl here." I motioned to her head. "And here." And then to her heart. "These things make you a girl. A head full of compassion and a heart full of love. Nothing else matters. Some girls have small boobs, some have big. Some have wide hips, and some narrow. Some have long hair, some short, some have button noses and some don't. Some of us like yellow and some of us like blue, and I'm sure some people like those other colors, too. And you know what? Some girls?" I put my hand on the front of her panties - it was a bold move and probably not something she was ready for, but I also wanted to show her how normalized these things were. "Some girls have an outie and some girls have an innie. But we're all girls. A head full of compassion and a heart full of love. That's it. Now look. And tell me what you see?" I motioned to the mirror. Discomfort. That's what I saw. A very, very uncomfortable girl. I turned away from the mirror, my cheeks on fire, hurrying over to the bed and fiddling with the Audrey-blue skirt. I very quickly pulled it up my legs, covering my blue cupcake panties, and zipped it into place around my waist. So much for the ‘no one will see you in your underwear’ plan. Staycee looked a little upset with my reaction, so I turned away from her shyly and slid the blouse over my arms, buttoning it up over my budding breasts. "You're never going to be happy with yourself until you understand that simple truth, Audrey. But you'll get it, I know you will. You're a smart girl. Wanna know a tip until then?" I was already in front of the closet, picking out my own clothes as I spoke. She was cute. Really cute. But she didn't get it; she didn't get what I'd got in my first week as a Second. She didn't get that they didn't make you a girl here - you did. And if you didn't accept it, if you relied only on what they gave you… you could never be happy. I'd help her, though. I slipped into a pair of tight yellow shorts and smiled. "Trust me." Trust her? The girl who just stripped me when I'd said no? Yeah - really the one to trust… ugh, this was going to be a really long Phase. I finished dressing myself, deciding against using hair ties despite my interest out of fear of getting in trouble - I didn't know the rules yet. Staycee, conversely, put her up in a ponytail without a second thought. I bit my lip, shaking my head. Not worth the trouble. I still looked strange in the mirror, though, and it took me a long time to figure out skirts aren't supposed to sit at your waist, but on your hips. I hiked it up a bit and smiled pleasantly at myself in the mirror. A proper schoolgirl. "You'll be marked down for hair, and for not wearing lipgloss - look?" I motioned to the vanity where there was a veritable array of glosses. They obviously expected us to wear it as Thirds. "Here." I pulled two hair ties off the vanity and took the brush, motioning to the bed. "I think you'll look really cute in pigtails, and they gave us hair stuff so it's expected of us. Come on, we've only got a few minutes." I motioned to the bed, and also scooped up a cherry lemonade lipgloss off the vanity as I made my way over. I bit my lip and shook my head. "We can just wait for orientation. We won't get in trouble if we didn't know! And if we weren't supposed to touch it yet, we might get in trouble anyway… it's safer not to, Staycee." She'd already undressed me today - I wasn't about to let her get me in trouble, too. So I moved away from her and the bed to the door, standing in the open doorway. "Are you coming or not?" We got to the mess hall a few moments following and I smiled in delight as we sat down at the table ~ a very different sort of table to the previous phases; more like a school cafeteria now. The Headmistress smiled from the podium at the end of the room and it was no secret why ~ we were here first. I reached my hand underneath the table and squeezed Audrey's excitedly. "Here she comes. Smile." The Headmistress and I knew each other quite well. Beyond her giving me my color on my second day, she personally oversaw most of the changes in my career at the institution, like my punishments and my Phase changes, and often would casually give me ideas on ways to improve. I didn't like her - she was, after all, the person who kept me prisoner - but I didn't hate her, either. It was hard to hate a woman who never broke the rules. I knew what was expected of me, and all she wanted was for me to be good. I learned that early on. I gave her a kind smile as she approached, walking through the lunchroom style tables and joining us across the table, standing behind the other bench. "Hello, Headmistress." "Staycee, as predicted you've excelled on presentation, punctuality and ~ as a wonderful bonus ~ you're already sitting in Third Standard style. Well done." The smile she gave me, the praise and that warmest of glows that went along with it... it was worth every bit of meticulous detail. She turned to Audrey next and pursed her lips. "Oh child, I had higher hopes of you. Untidy hair, no lipgloss and sitting like a First in a full diaper. You will do better, wont you? For me?" "I… uh… yeah… yes, Headmistress…" She walked away and I felt my whole body sulk into the table. I put my arms down and rested my head on them, looking away from my roommate. Like a first in a… oh! I very quickly closed my legs and bit my lip. How was Staycee sitting? I wanted to look, but that would let her know I was copying her. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of being right. "Knees together, ankles apart. Like a child, see?" I leaned back and motioned beneath the table ~ Audrey had been marked down and I figured by the way she snapped her legs shut that she was trying to improve. "It's okay, you know. We're here to learn and that means little mistakes. They'll never punish you if it's an actually mistake. Just if you knew better and still screwed up." More girls were starting to file in, sheepish and apprehensive ~ the speech would begin soon. "I don't need your help. I'm fine. And what do I care if the Headmistress didn't think I sat perfectly? Doesn't matter to me…" Though, through my time here, I was smart enough to know that it did matter. I was never trying to impress the woman, but there was a distinct correlation with my screw-ups and my punishments. It was best to keep the woman happy. So I slid my ankles apart just a little, my knees still together, slowly in hopes Staycee wouldn't take notice. I still wasn't looking at her - I had my attention focused on the Headmistress at the podium and the other girls filing in. "Girls. Please take your seats ~ I know you're all hungry and anxious to begin your new Phase, and the sooner we get done here the sooner your new lives begin." A quiet swept over the room and the Headmistress begun. "Welcome. All of you. To even make it to Phase Three is such a triumph in and of itself. You've faced trials and hardships, learned how to adapt and survive. And you've all become such wonderful young girls. But there are many challenges ahead, many struggles still. Like wavering saplings reaching gingerly for the sun, your life now is what you make it. Your graduation depends on you. Your attitude. Your dedication. Your desire to be someone to be proud of. You will be scored and rated on every aspect of your life from now until the end of Phase Three. Every. Single. Piece. Will decide who you become, and how soon. And each day, an example will be made of she who wishes not to excel. A reminder to always be your best.” That got my attention and I quickly sat up at the table. There were three other girls on the other side of our table, across from Staycee and me, and all of them were looking at the Headmistress with equal attentiveness. Actually… there were a lot of girls. At least fifty. That was five times the Seconds we had in our wing. I shook my head and looked over at Staycee, whispering as not to disturb the Headmistresses' speech. "So we can leave early if we're good?" Less time in Phase Three just for being cooperative? "It's not quiet like that." I didn't want to be caught talking with the Headmistress at the podium, but I also wanted to answer the question. So I talked. Very, very quietly. "You get… scored. Like she said. And those with good scores graduate earlier. They never tell you what your score is, so you gotta always be at your best. Always." The Headmistress left the podium now and the chatter began around us, carts being wheeled in with platters of food. Real food. Ish. One had a pile of cheeseburgers! I very quickly grabbed for a plate of chicken, putting some onto the plastic plate in front of me, again in my blue. Oh, real food! As a Second, I got to eat things beyond the milky baby bottle from my first phase, but it was always the same five things. Chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, tatter tots, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and SpaghettiOs. We'd always get one fruit alongside each course, and we'd always get a cookie once a week. It grew tedious very quickly. I grabbed a burger, next, and then a brownie off a tray at the end. I looked around the lunchroom at the other tables - all with different food. Was I allowed to get up? Better be safe… "You'll be scored on your figure." I took one solitary burger and a handful of carrot sticks and apple slices from the neglected plate in the center of the table. "They give you all the means to indulge, but it's one of the things they measure on. So pace yourself." Looking at the variety of foods available to my poor tortured-by-boredom palette, I thanked whatever powers that may be for the fact I'd discovered that little piece of truth in advance. And even though I had, holding back the urge to gorge myself was… exhausting. One burger. Lots of veggies and fruit. I rolled my eyes and dove into the chicken first, eating hungrily. Oh, and it was so well prepared. It was strange having the cafeteria of fifty people so quiet - just the sounds of cutting and chewing. I guessed social elements weren't really as important as food. I sipped the glass of chocolate milk - CHOCOLATE MILK! - and smiled happily, my head in my arms again. "Such a good meal… I like Phase Three a lot." Audrey made it abundantly clear just how little my advice meant to her, but I resolved to stay strong. Someone had helped me, before. And now I wanted to help someone, too; Audrey fit the bill. She was just so stubborn. I gingerly chewed the burger - tiny little bites to make it last - and watched all of those around us. I didn't know when the weigh-ins would be, but I wasn't going to risk it. "You know, I haven't led you wrong yet, have I? This is a test of willpower and temptation. They make us into pretty girls and pretty girls have self control and restraint. It's a life lesson. Makes sense, right?" "I'll eat less for dinner." They'd probably made everyone skip breakfast today for the phase changes - they did take a long time, after all. Phase One to Two took an entire week - learning to take care of Firsts and learning the rules. Phase Two to Three, though, was oddly simple. I went into a room, was given new clothes, told very few rules, watched an hour-long program about the "individuality" and "creativity" building that Phase Three offered, along with it's goal to promote social development. It was a bit too after-school-special for me, though, and I found myself horribly bored. Regardless, no breakfast meant a big lunch. "As you wish." I smiled simply to myself and took a bite of celery. Would it kill them to have peanut-butter? I decided to bring it up with my next meeting with the Headmistress. "It's exciting, isn't it?" Advice didn't seem to pan out, so I resorted to small-talk. "I mean. Scary. In One and Two we knew what was expected of us. And now this, where we don't really know a thing…? It's pretty thrilling. What're your plans when you get out?" "Not really scary. Just be good. It was pretty simple." And when I messed up, the Headmistress was quick to correct me. Sit with knees together, ankles out. And when I got back to the room, I'd have to do my hair and put lipgloss on. It was really very simple, actually. "When I leave? I don't know. Can't go home - not like this. My sister would tease me so bad." I smiled, but a stone fell through my stomach… I'd never see my family again… "My family disowned me. Like. Actually, legally so. They have a restraining order, too. Isn't that all sorts of messed up? I mean I get it ~ with what I did? But still. Really harsh. I don't much know what I want now, but Phase Two really brought out my maternal side. Just wanna take care of someone. A child, or someone who just wants me to show them everything will be okay. That's why I try to do good here, because the sooner I'm out? The sooner I can find my special someone." I had a sort of wistful tone in my voice as I spoke, my inflections airy and my gaze focused on a particular light fixture. "I have this dream, sometimes. About this girl I take care of. She's a criminal and we're on the run, hiding in hotels and working where we can. And she relies on me so much. And I take care of her." I looked down from my fixation on the ceiling and bit my lip shyly. "She can't talk. Not except to me. When anybody else is around, she's mute. She needs me and trusts me, and just to… to feel that? Wow. I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm so sorry." "Well, when you're out of here, you won't be running." I wasn't sure how that fit into her dreams, but it seemed like a bonus. "I mean, you'll be able to find your someone and take care of them normal. Like, in one place." I wasn't a very profound girl, though - I never was as a boy, either - and I suddenly felt like my words were particularly useless. "I can't talk, sometimes. I mean, it's really just one guy. The Hypno tech when I was a First and Second. I have no idea why. I just can't get a word out around him. Which sucks, because Hypno scares me a lot… I wish I could ask what he was doing." I bit my lip and played with the edge of my empty-except-for-crumbs plate. "But Thirds get a new Hypno tech, so it'll be fine." She was opening up to me a little more now and that made me smile ~ looks like small talk was the answer. "Why can't you talk around him?" It seemed the wrong thing to ask so soon, though, so I followed up with an easier thing to manage. "Hypno used to scare me, but it's like a roller coaster ride for me now. I get on. I'm not much sure what happens. And I get off. I don't really think its changed me any, but isn't that the point? Not to know? I sometimes wonder what my old friends would think of me now. They'd probably rape me..." Now there's a sobering thought. I shrugged my shoulders and kept drawing circles on the cafeteria table, the plastic plate pushed away. Some people were still eating, and it didn't seem we were allowed to leave yet. It was probably on a timer. After all, we had social interaction here. It differed so much from the dining hall as a Second. "I don't know. I mean, I just can't. I try to talk and… nothing happens. Maybe it's something they did to me - maybe I was being annoying one day." But Hypno started on day two, and I didn't get in trouble until day three. I shook my head in confusion. It was always an anomaly, and I'd decided long ago not to bother with it. It was probably that man in particular. "Which man was it? The tall one with the glasses, or the tubby one who always smelled of lemon lime & bitters?" It was strange for me to say that - I didn't actually remember what that smelled like. Just that once upon a time I'd made the connection with the man and that memory had stuck. Across from us at the table, two of the girls had already started babbling like high-schoolers and it became apparent just how much a bonding experience real food could be. "I don't like the one with the glasses. Creeps me out. Like he's fantasized about one too many pretty little sissy boys." "Mine was tubby… but I don't know what that smells like, so it could be someone else." I still had my head down, though I was looking up at Staycee, now. Conversations started up around us but they all seemed like white noise to me. "I liked him. He was sweet. He'd always smile and talk even though I couldn't talk back. All the staff here are really nice. I guess it beats prison, huh?" Then again, in a lot of ways, it really didn't. But since I'd gotten out of Phase One, I was much less bothered. "Tha's…" I paused for a moment and tried to remember the technicians name. "Vel-… no, that's stupid. Uh. Oh! Oh! Edgar, right? I think." I smiled happily - as the Phase's continued inexorably, memory was becoming more and more a commodity to be held onto. At least for me. It was the same for everybody, though. "This place really messes with your memory, huh?" I actually felt an ache at the sides of my head for a moment, like little needles stabbing… and then it passed. "I guess…" There wasn't a whole lot to remember about the facility - the rules were very clear and everything else would likely never leave me with how humiliated I had been. But it did seem like I'd been here forever when it had only been a six months. Maybe that's what she meant. The doors to the hallways opened and some of the girls got up to leave. I climbed off the bench I was sitting on and followed behind them, Staycee a pace behind me. I found myself a little lost in thought as we wandered back to our room, but by the time we got there I was my usual peppy self. "So, Audrey… you must have been a gorgeous looking boy to turn out as pretty as you have." It wasn't like me to be flirtatious and I s'pose it wasn't even flirting, per se. Just observation, Admiration. "Were you gay? I mean, before?" It was a rarer thing for it to happen, but I couldn't imagine this girl ever having been a boy who chased after the fairer sex. I frowned and crossed my arms, walking past Staycee to the vanity and picking out hair ties. I probably shouldn't have been so offended, given I was wearing a schoolgirl uniform and putting my hair in pigtails, but I really was. "No, I wasn't gay. I've always liked girls." I was a pretty nice looking boy, I knew, but the amount I'd changed in six months surprised even me. Then again, Staycee would never be mistaken as a boy, nor would anyone else in this Phase. Still, there was something particularly beautiful about Staycee. She was just… a better girl. By the time Audrey replied, I was laying down on the bed on my stomach, cradling my chin in the palms of my hands. "Well, you're going to make an amazing wife for some lucky girl out there." I pursed my lips and looked thoughtful. "They made me like boys. It was one of the criteria the judge put in place, because I can't be trusted with girls. Made the families really happy, you know? So they skipped due process and made me like boys. Well. Not boys specifically, but their… bits." My cheeks were glowing now and I laid my head on my arms. "It sucks, too, you know? Because I really do adore girls." "That sucks…" I really did sympathize. This facility had taken so much of Colin away, and so much of Audrey was manufactured. I wasn't even sure any of me was left… "Oh… look." I grabbed a paper off the vanity and held it up for Staycee to see. It was a schedule. And with a clock, it felt like a whole new system. I glanced over the paper and read aloud. "Lights on - 6am. Breakfast - 8am. Class A - 9:30am to 11:30am. Lunch - Noon. Audrey - Hypno/Staycee - Class B - 1:30pm to 3pm. Staycee - Hypno/Audrey - Class B - 3:30pm to 5:00pm. Dinner - 5:30pm. Lights out - 9pm." That's complicated… "Um… Disclaimer - classes differ depending on the day/week/social structure. Follow the attached chart for room numbers…" "Oh!" I peered over the shorter girls shoulder at the timetable and glowed with a smile. Structure. Order. Oh, things felt so much better already. "It's all so strange. I mean, some parts of me just crave the rigor and structure of Phase One. But a bigger part of me just wants to spread my wings and embrace all this. I mean, what's it even mean? Classes differ on social structure? It's all so vague." My tone had started to sound almost… desperate by the end and I frowned, falling back on the bed. "I just wanna do well…" "Well… it's fifteen minutes until our first class. Or… your first class. I have Hypno." I looked down the list with a blissful smile. Hypno wasn't structured. Hypno rooms are as follows > Name list > Number. Done. Staycee and I had the same Hypno room, it seemed. "Your is… um… week one, Monday…" Monday, right? Yeah, says so on the clock. "That's this column. Punishment day, normal day? I guess… normal day, right? ID starts with…" I felt sick to my stomach. This was like the spreadsheet from Hell or something. "I think… 322. For you. And 308 for me. But you might wanna double checks yours. It confused me…" "Uhhuh…" My voice was vague as I lay there and gathered up my thoughts, then sat up with the best smile I could manage. "Make sure to tell me all about our Hypno tech when we catch up, okay? I like to know people. It's how I stay good at this stuff. I watch and listen and know." It was my thing, and it made me smile to know that it was. Nobody else paid attention like I did. "What do you think the Hypno courses are going to be, as Thirds?" Conversation. Small talk. That kept things normal. Can't get freaked out, Staycee! It's competitive, now. It's important to do well, not just to pass. I shrugged my shoulders and stepped away from the vanity, my hair in low pigtails, as would be proper. "I have no idea. I guess I'll be able to tell you in an hour and a half, huh?" Then again, I never remembered any of my Hypno sessions. It was more like falling asleep. But maybe I could ask. After all - I'd have a new tech. "Only thirteen minutes - I should go and try to find this place. See you back here after class." "Ah, yes. Audrey. Please come in." The man who answered the door after three small knocks was a tall, lanky man without much expression to his long, drawn face. Thick-rimmed glasses framed dark green eyes that sat sunken into eye-sockets just a little too deep, and his voice wavered between deep and scary-deep every few syllables. He waited for the girl to enter the room and closed the door behind her with a sharp click, his long thin lips pulling into the faintest hint of a leer as he watched every little footstep the girl took. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. "Nice to meet you." Did that come out? I opened my eyes at the tall man in front of me, smiling down, though he said nothing. No "Nice to meet you too." I sighed and tried again, but like the first time, no words… no sounds. So it wasn't just Edgar. It was all Hypno techs. What the hell sense did that make?! I gave a small wave instead and fiddled with the hem of my skirt. The quiet girl sparked a particular interest in the man and as she fiddled with her hemline, he stood over her and addressed a chart that had taken its place in his fingertips during his approach. "No need to be frightened, hypnosis is nothing to be afraid of. In-fact, I quite adore it. Don't you, pet?" He motioned to the chair in the center of the room. "Please do sit." What are you going to do? What is the Third hypnosis about? But still, no words, and that meant no answers. If only I had a pen and paper… but the idea of reading and writing was wiped out of me in One. Before Three, I knew they gave me the ability to read back, but I wasn't sure about the writing thing. Still, I took my seat in the chair and looked up at the headpiece. Always the same headpiece. Still, this session was a half hour longer than Phases One and Two… The man leaned over Audrey and fiddled with the head-set, gently pulling it down closer to her head before stopping and looking into her eyes with his very deep-set sockets. He stared at her for entirely too long to be comfortable; his breath smelled of stale cigarette smoke and coffee and as his eyes bore into the soul of the girl in the chair. "You're quite beautiful, you know. Perhaps the most beautiful girl I've seen in this dark, empty place." They were words with the potential to be wonderful, deep and touching… but they simply weren’t. "You're a very quiet one, aren't you? Perhaps there just aren't any words worth passing those pretty lips of yours." It was one of those compliments that just… couldn't help but come across as off-putting. There was nothing wrong with the words, or even the inflection and delivery. It was just him, just the way it was obvious that he meant these things despite the fact he was talking to a sixteen year old girl with the mind of a ten year old. I nodded my head. What else could I do? I tried getting comfortable in the chair, but it felt so foreign to me. It was the same make, the same model, the same everything, but not the same chair, and not the same tech. I wondered if hypnosis could even work with a tech I didn't trust - and it wasn't that I didn't trust this new man! He was just… new. New people take time to get used to, right? "Relax now, pet. You're tense. There's no need to be. Hypnosis is a very intimate experience. Very special. Relax now, and let me take away all those fears and worries." One hand had gently slipped around Audrey's and the other was reached up, bringing the headset closer to the girls pretty head of hair. He was close to her; probably inappropriately so. But there was something in his cold eyes, something that wasn't there before. A little spark. An interest. The visor came down over my eyes and the next thing I knew all the light was gone. The voice of the Hypno tech was gone, too. I felt a small cold chill come over me as I thought about what this was: my first hypnosis of Phase Three. Anything could happen, now. Who I was could be rewritten the same way they'd rewritten me in Phase One and Two. And the worst part was, I'd never know the difference… The Headmistress had been very specific with her plans for Audrey and Staycee: that it would be dangerous for the two of them to express a romantic interest in one another. That the establishment of such could lead to side-effects the facility would rather not address - particularly in Staycee, who's dreams had already become an issue. It had therefore been made abundantly clear to the hypnosis technicians who would see them through Phase Three, that the standard conditioning for Thirds - which compelled each and every Third to express romantic interest in their room-mate (pairings that had each been chosen for specific reasons) was not to be applied to either Audrey or Staycee. And yet, now, as a result of a clouded moment… that very program was running through Audrey's headset. The technician watched her as she sighed and twitched, the reflection of the bright lights on her face illuminating soft delicate features and as the session continued… Audrey began to smile. The technician smiled, too, not at all aware of his mistake. Still, without the same mistake being applied to Staycee… how bad could things be? Hypno sessions were always so obscure to me - no matter how many times it happened, it still always felt like I'd fallen asleep during a movie. The machine was lifted off my head and I looked up at the man with the glasses. I'd been under that helmet so many times that the dizziness that frequented the Hypno processes had left me entirely. Still, I remained where I was for an extra second out of sheer ritual. What had he changed? The dizzy look on the girls face was always his favorite part of this job; that dazed look as a pretty little thing accepted the fact that their mind had been violated, penetrated and taken by force. Any brute could force himself upon a girl, but it took a very special kind of man to taken ownership of her mind. He shook his head and the little smile faded away as he helped the girl from her chair. "How do you feel, pet? Perhaps you should head back to your room and lay down, no?" The usual focus questions; drawing attention to the room-mate, observing reactions? They went unasked. After-all, the technician hadn't realized his mistake. Still, the writing had been written on the walls and it was only a matter of time before the programming took hold of the poor girl before him. "Hurry along, now." I nodded, still in a mild state of bliss, and wandered out into the hallway. It was at least fifteen steps before I realized I wasn't going the right way. I came back into the bedroom a minute later finding Staycee half-undressed, in only her panties and… a bra? I very quickly turned around, my cheeks lighting up. Why was I shy? I'd changed diapers before! "Um… hey. How was… um… Class B." Class B, right? According to the schedule, that could be anything. "It was really fun!" My voice was bright and airy as I fussed over clothes in the closet and turned back around, standing with my knees together and my hands on my hips. "Lookie? First bra. What do you think? I don't really fill it out yet and it's padded, but they said I will." And I had to pause because that notion made me really happy. "I'm really super excited. The class was on proper layering. Like. Putting together outfits and stuff. I mean, the first half hour was everybody being sized for our bras and…" Audrey wouldn't turn around, though, and I pouted a little. "…hey! Come on. Look. It's my first bra, I want to be fawned over!" "Uhhuh…" I felt my cheeks get hot as I approached Staycee, being particularly careful not to look at her chest. But her underwear wasn't a good idea either, so I focused on her toes. Did we get to paint nails sometime in this phase? "It's really nice… super happy for you. Probably getting mine next class, huh? Oh, next class!" I looked at the time - we were both back fifteen minutes early! That meant 45 minutes until my Class B… "…I really should… um… get ready. Redo my hair or something." Why was I so flustered?! It was just Staycee. "Hey…" I took a step forward and cupped the girls cheek softly, directing her gaze up to mine with a little smile. I didn't know where the sudden surge of maternal care had come from, but I was knee-deep in it now and it wasn't like I could stop. "You okay, pretty girl? You seem shaken. Did something happen in Hypno? Did you have Edgar?" I couldn't imagine Edgar actually making her as physically skittish as she was at the moment; he was really a sweet guy despite the evidence to the contrary. So why was she so shaken? "Um… nuh uh…" Her eyes were really lovely… but they were the same as my eyes. The same as everyone’s eyes! Why didn't I find everyone else's eyes so pretty?! I shook my head and pulled away, and then the feeling of her skin not on mine made my stomach sink. I bit my lip and quickly went to the vanity, taking out my pigtails and trying again. "Um… had… the guy with the glasses. He was nice. I mean, he complimented me a lot, which… I guess isn't so weird." I always got compliments here, even as a First. Penelope couldn't even believe I was a boy. A little wince came to my mind and I frowned at the thought. "He flirted with you? Gah. He's so creepy! You're sixteen and he's like a thousand years old. Ew ew ew ew!" I hoisted myself up to sit on the vanity, looking down at Audrey with a smile on my face and nothing on but underwear. "Are you okay? Did you tell him to go to hell?" She didn't, of course; we knew better than to bad-mouth staff, but still. I would've wanted to tell him that. And that's enough. "Couldn't talk. I hate that. Something they did, I'm sure. But it's whatever…" I made absolutely sure not to look at Staycee, keeping my eyes on me in the mirror, adjusting my pigtails, then taking them out again, then starting over. "He's not that old… maybe forty something. And he wasn't flirting. It was just a compliment. Like when I say you're beautiful…" I felt my cheeks heat up and I had to force myself not to break eye contact with myself. "It's not flirting…" My voice had absolutely no confidence, though. I bit my lip and looked down at the girl trying desperately to focus all her attention on her hair with a cheeky little smile on my face. "You think I'm beautiful?" The color that flushed through her cheeks was more than enough answer, but hearing her answer with that pretty little voice of hers would be even better than the blush. And I really liked blushing girls. "Uhhuh…" I tied my hair in pigtails in complete silence, and again, pulled them out. I had already tied one back up when I froze, looking at myself in the mirror. "Oh crap…" I frowned and looked down at the vanity in front of me, grabbing one of the lip glosses. I went to Hypno without it? And after the Headmistress told me specifically… I sighed and smeared as much as I could on my lips, clearly smearing it all over my skin, and tied the other pigtail up. And how did you sit in the chair, Audrey? Like a Third? She was panicking and that caused a little more of my maternal feelings to show as I slid down off the vanity and leaned in close, running my thumb along the outline of her lips to clean away the excess gloss. "Quality, not quantity. Put it on right in as few motions as possible. Like this." I pursed my lips and applied the gloss, one smooth line for each lip. "Then you purse, like this, and then use the edge of your thumb-nail to clean up any excess." I demonstrated those steps and looked down into her brilliant blue eyes. "And you're pretty gorgeous yourself, sweets. You know. For the record." "Uhhuh…" I was transfixed. I didn't know why - she'd put her lipgloss on in front of me once before. And still, the way she… I shook my head, my cheeks burning up, and resumed looking at my feet. What was wrong with me?! She was so uninteresting before… before Hypno? Was this a change they made? I made a mental note to check if I started feeling this way with anyone but Staycee - maybe in my Class B. Oh, no… I'd have to watch everyone else get fitted for bras! I couldn't feel like this with that many people! Ugh! What was wrong with me?! "You look really pale, Audrey. Come on, come lay down. We got like… twenty minutes, right?" I took her by the hand - subconsciously lacing my fingers into hers like I did with the girl in my recurrent dreams - and led the girl over to the bed, pointing with my free hand. "Lay down, come on. I'll sit up next to you and make sure you're up for our next session. Trust me?" I flashed a smile with teeth that had been wonderfully whitened some time during Phase One and in the warm light of our bedroom, it was pretty apparent just how perfect my skin was, too. Almost like a doll. I kept my eyes closed, but I didn't sleep. It wasn't right. They couldn't mess with my head and make my stomach feel weird and make me dizzy and… and it wasn't fair! After Class B, I would stay and ask to speak to the Headmistress. She was always willing to talk to me. I'd tell her whatever they did I wanted it gone. I didn't like it. I just felt so… so anxious. Like at any minute something could jump out of the wall. So I kept my eyes closed and counted silently until Staycee nudged me. I passed a casual smile before hurrying out of the bedroom, giving a wave and dashing down the hallway. It took me a minute of leading against the wall to get my heart rate under control, and it was only then I realized I didn't know what room I was supposed to go to. Ugh… "Hey!" The chipper voice came from a girl with a mess of bright blonde curls that flowed down over her shoulders. Like everybody else, she had sparkling blue eyes; but unique to her were patches of freckles on her cheeks that almost shined when she smiled. "You lost? I'm Aimee. I know, I don't much like it either but my Second was kind of a ditz and had no imagination. What's your name?" "Um… Audrey…" I looked back down the hallway, my room out of sight. Staycee had probably left - it was safe to go back. Still… "I'm not really… lost. I mean. I don't know where I'm going. Gotta get my chart from my room. It's that way." I pointed with my finger, but still, my feet didn't move. "Come on, I'll come with you. What've you got now? I've got Class B. Whatever that means." The airy flow to the girls voice could've sounded dangerously Disney-esque if not for her properly formed and varied inflections; she actually just sounded… happy. But happiness wasn't unusual in Phase Three; by the time most of us got here we were pretty content with the direction we were taking. Still, Aimee managed to carry that happiness with an amazing level of authenticity. "Yeah… um… okay." I led the way down the hall and Aimee followed behind. I knew she had Class B as well, but that didn't surprise me. From what I'd gathered, Class B would be a very different thing for different people. As I suspected, when I made it back to my room, Staycee wasn't there. I let out a small sigh and went over to the paper. Audrey… Week one, Monday… normal day… ID number… I bit my lip and looked up at Aimee. "It's this one, right? 383?" "Yuppers. Looks like we got a class together." She looked over at the vanity and fingered the lipgloss most recently used, before turning around with a smile. "Is she pretty? She's got a good taste in lipgloss." It was an obtuse question, but nothing seemed particularly obtuse coming from this girl. She just had a radiance about her. I pinned the sheet back onto the vanity for safe keeping and slipped the lip gloss Aimee was fingering into my skirt pocket. I wasn't sure why… "She's… she's really pretty. I don't know how. I mean, I knew the moment she got here, and even at lunch and stuff… there's just no one in this whole building as pretty as her. I bet she's prettier than Fourths!" I felt my cheeks heat up at the way I was talking about her and suddenly felt really foolish. "I mean, I don't know how she does it…" The blonde girl smiled knowingly at the girl with a cheeky grin. "Sounds like somebody has a crush. Prettiest girl here? Prettier than me?" She batted her eyelashes and pursed her lips. The answer was clear, though; for everything Aimee had going for her… there was just something lacking. Something Staycee had, a certain flair to the way she carried herself. A spark. That was a good way to put it. A spark that shone so much brighter than any of the conditioning. Something only Staycee had. And it was almost... magical. A crush…? I very quickly shook my head and my cheeks got hot. "No, no, no! It's not like that! It's… it's… just… I'm saying how it is. She's pretty. And I don't mean to be mean or anything - you're pretty too, but she's… but it's not anything. It's just true. It's not like that, I swear…" The silence that followed was dreadfully awkward, though, and I realized how frantic I sounded… "Don't we… um… have to go to class?" The clock already flashed 3:32. "Shoot, yes. Come on." Aimee took off running down the hall; she didn't know much about how all this worked but she did know that being late wouldn't do at all. The clock in the classroom read 3:35 by the time the two girls got there, and it was obvious from the two empty chairs at the tables that they were the only ones who'd been late, too. The woman at the front of the class stopped talking and the class hushed. "Audrey. Aimee. So nice of you both to join us. Class, Audrey and Aimee are of the belief that they have more important things to do than come to class." She turned to the two of them and frowned. "Sit. Be quiet. And if you're lucky, you'll both be given your first bras today." The classes were very small. I counted ten girls along with Aimee and myself. That meant there were five of these classes that took place… though I wasn't sure how that worked with Hypno involved. The woman at the front of the room talked a lot and it was all about clothing. Clothing was never something I was very interested in, even as a boy. The way I saw it, if it was something in my color, I'd wear it. Simple as that. Then she started calling people to the front of the room and, right in front of everyone, the girls would take off their blouses or respective dresses. I thanked whatever God was watching me that I wore a two piece outfit that day. But it was like the teacher said… Aimee and I might not get our chance. After all, she started at the front. "There is nothing that defines you as women more than your breasts, girls. Only the most special of visitors will see below your waistline, and only if you so choose. But your breasts make you a woman. They're on display at all times, they're the defining characteristic that sets you aside from the boys you all once were." Aimee actually looked stressed over the idea that she might not get her bra, and it was with great relief that she was called up next, along with Audrey. "Know that from this point onward, you are girls. You are more girl than you have ever been and more girl than you ever will be. With this simple garment, with the undeniable truth of your breasts… you are girls. And everything else beyond this is merely dessert." She finished fastening Aimee's bra and the blonde girl lit up in a smile that was bright even for her. "Your turn, Audrey." Unlike the others who received garments in simple white… Audrey's bra was blue. Her blue. And it was very obvious from the moment the woman lifted it off her desk. "Are you ready, Audrey?" I was a little concerned, looking back at Aimee as she slid the pinafore back down her body. Her bra was white. Everyone’s bras were white. Even Staycee's bra was white. And mine was blue… "Uhhuh… okay…" The woman helped me into the bra in front of nine other people, fastening it behind my back, and allowed me to put my blouse back on. I'd never felt so uncomfortable… "Audrey, each other girl will earn their bra in their own color. You've been selected by the Headmistress to be the first to do so; to help inspire the other girls." And it was clearly having the desired result… nine pairs of eyes looked enviously at Audrey; the girl who got to have a bra in her own special color. It wasn't resentment or upset… it was out and out envy. Aimee pouted and puffed out her cheeks. "Miss, how do I earn my peach-colored bra?" The woman smiled and looked at Audrey, then at Aimee. "One more of you will earn your color by the end of todays class. So everybody try extra hard. Now, sit down. We have a lot to cover, girls." I… was first? I took my seat, again, at the back with Aimee in complete disarray. What did I do? Or was it randomly chosen? I did get my color on only my second day, so maybe it was related to that. Still, I was late to class… I didn't understand this. Still, it wasn't worth arguing over - I was picked. I should be happy. So I was. I smiled proudly throughout the entire class as the students did their best to impress the teacher before us. Aimee wound up being given her peach-colored bra by the end of the class and by the thing things had come to a close, there were ten more girls in the world who understood the fundamentals of layering, color contrast and matching, and complementary fabric texture. "Who knew there was so much to learn? I wore flip-flops and jeans with a band tee before. Never even considered any of this." Aimee was bubbly, though; she got her bra and as far as she was concerned that made her pretty special. "I'll walk you to your room, but then I gotta go find Lali. She's my roomie. It was really great hanging out with you, though! Make sure to say hi to that cutie of yours for me, alright?" "Uhhuh." I made sure to give Aimee a complimentary goodbye and a heavy congratulations on her bra - though that seemed like the strangest thing in the world if you really thought about it. Aimee left me alone and I wandered into my room. No Staycee. I wandered to the mirror and looked at myself. The bra really did a lot. I mean, it only brought me to an A cup, even with the padding, but still, it seemed so… different. I had curves now. I didn't look ten anymore. It wasn't clear to me exactly what time it was, or how long Audrey had been in the room by the time I stumbled in and collapsed on the bed. But she was here. And now I was. And I felt intensely dizzy and exhausted. "Dun' get it… never felt so bad after Hypno…" I rationalized it to being the longer session, but my vision was blurred and my temples ached and I just wanted the room to stop spinning. Because if it didn't… I might've thrown up. And it was such a pretty bed. I managed to look up for long enough to see Audrey across the room and I smiled. "Pretty bra… your color, right?" "Huh…?" I looked down at my top and my cheeks burned up. White blouse, blue bra. Looks like it was a good thing you were paying attention in class, Audrey, because this outfit wouldn't work without a white under top. I quickly went over to the closet and picked out a camisole, then unbuttoned my blouse, slipped it on, and buttoned it back up. Much better. "So Hypno wasn't good? Sorry to hear…" I still had my back to my roommate. "Head feels like its going to explode…" I pulled a pillow over my head and squeezed it tight, emerging a few moments later to add in. "Come lay with me? Make it all better?" Despite the fact that I was dubious about the healing qualities of cuddles, I was still ready enough to believe in the magic of faith healing when it came to Audrey. She was still facing away, though, fidgeting with her blouse after having slipped into a cami to hide the lines of her bra. I bit my lip and the strange anxiety feeling filled me up again. Lay with her… well of course I was going to lay with her. It was my bed, too! Though this time, unlike as a Second, we each had our own pillows. I climbed in bed, over the covers, and put my head down next to Staycee's. My heart was racing… why hadn't I talked to the Headmistress about this?! Because it wasn't them… I didn't feel the strange anxiety with other people in class. Not with Aimee, and Aimee was so nice. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. What the hell was this…? It wasn't something I'd ordinarily have done, especially given how negatively she'd reacted to my being pushy earlier today… but I rolled over and draped one leg over the girl next to me and cuddled up close to her chest. It wasn't anything intimate, really: just comforting. A friend thing. And she was my best friend, after-all. "Did your head hurt this bad…?" My voice was quiet and contemplative, as if my words might disturb the comfort of us both. "Nuh uh… felt fine the whole time…" It wasn’t entirely true - I felt fine until I got back into the room. But it wasn't the hypnotism. It was Staycee. But it couldn't be Staycee… but with her cuddled close, her forehead against my cheek, her arm and her leg draped over me… I felt my cheeks burning and my heart racing. Maybe she wouldn't notice… if I asked the Headmistress, maybe she could tell me. Maybe she knew - she always knew everything. "You're… anxious." Despite the churning in my head, I managed to sit up and after a half dozen blinks, I even focused my eyes. It was shameful that the only reason I knew so much about her responses was because I used to sedate girls against their will. But this was at least a noble use for the knowledge. "Your heart is racing. And your breathing is off. And your speech is difficult." I crawled up next to her and placed the back of my hand against her forehead. "You're a little warm, too. What's the matter, pretty girl? Let Staycee help. What's got you all flustered and upset?" I shook my head, crawling out from under… but no, I didn't move. I was frozen? No, that couldn't be right… but with her hovering over me, her smile, her eyes, her hand on my forehead, then on my cheek, I felt the walls breaking down. I couldn't move. I didn't want to! And still, my heart rate increased so badly… what the hell… "Um… not… upset, I… just like… um… with…" What was I saying? What was the question? "Come on, prettiness. You can tell me anything." One finger ran up the girls cheek to her hairline and I brushed an errant bang out of the way, looking down at her with the same blue eyes she had. Eyes I'd come to be proud of having. "Is it something that happened in class? I notice your bra is in your color. And I'm sorta jealous. Was it that? Is that why you're upset; the bra thing? Because it's so cute…" My head was still swimming and I'd have been lying if I could claim to be able to even discern the color of her bra anymore. I was fading, and I knew it. But a few more minutes… just to make sure she was okay? I could do that. I couldn't shake my head… couldn't even think of a word to say. I wanted to explain the bra thing - she seemed curious - but somehow those words were lost on me. She was so close… and she smelled so sweet… but the next instant, she was closing her eyes and falling asleep next to me. And I was broken from her trance. "Hey, Staycee? You there? Hey, wake up!" But she wasn't budging. I quickly ran out into the hallway, looking right and left for someone. I didn't know the layout well enough… so I ran. I ran down the hallway knocking on all the doors until someone came out that wasn’t dressed like a twelve year old. "Staycee passed out. Or… or maybe fell asleep. But I can't wake her up!" "I'm fine… I just didn't eat very much at lunch, and you know… we didn't have breakfast." The woman who stood by the side of my bed looked concerned, but not entirely unconvinced. She looked at the worried-and-pacing Audrey and smiled. "I'll go and get you two some food brought up. Take good care of her." The woman left us and I sat up as best I could, looking sheepishly across at Audrey. "Sorry… must've fainted. I'm not sure what happened. Must be the food thing, right? I really didn't mean to worry you. Who was that, anyway? Was she a nurse, or just admin?" I shrugged my shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bed in complete discontent. Between my worry and the anxiety in my stomach, I felt altogether dreadful. "She was just a woman at one of the doors… I didn't ask her name or anything." Still, the food thing made sense. Staycee had so stubbornly eaten only one burger at lunch, and she'd probably skipped breakfast. I smiled a little and put my hand on Staycee's hip. She was under the covers now, though, and it made things easier. "I'm glad you're okay… scared me a little." "I really didn't mean to. I'll eat whatever you tell me to eat when food gets here. You can be in charge of me. How's that sound? Your own little Staycee-doll to feed and take care of?" I meant it as an encouraging statement, but Audrey looked away, biting her lip. "Uhhuh… okay…" I wanted to. I didn't know why, but I wanted to. Why would I want something that made me anxious?! It didn't make any sense! Still, I'd agreed, and that was that. The woman never came back, though a cafeteria worker brought us each a plate of food. I guessed it was somewhere around dinner time, so it seemed we'd be missing the get-together. As instructed, I fed Staycee her food. I ate the burger off her plate and instead fed her my chicken with a plastic fork. It was serene. The chicken was really lovely, and for the entire time I didn't even think about my figure. With the food gone and my dizziness along with it, I reached up and put my hand on her cheek. "Thanks for taking care of me. Nobody really looks out for anyone here. It's why I wanna help you. So thank you, Audrey. You're a doll." We didn't stay up late. We turned the lights out just after dinner and Staycee drifted very quickly off to sleep. Unfortunately, I didn't have the same pleasure with her cuddling so close. It wasn't until exhaustion beat out my anxiety that I managed to follow Staycee’s lead.

The Lullaby Effect A brilliant girl builds a time machine to give her mother a hypnosis CD meant to humble her annoying brother—only to discover that the peace it brings was meant for her all along. Chapter 1: The Genius and the CD The first time Maya built a time machine, it was for revenge. Not the grand, world-altering kind. Just the petty, vicious, sibling kind—the kind that had been simmering inside her for as long as she could remember. It started the day Sam discovered that hiding her favorite stuffed rabbit was the fastest way to make her scream. From there it only grew. Wet towels left on the bathroom floor for her to step on. The empty cereal box returned to the cupboard. The channel changed right at the climax of her favorite show. Those were just warm-ups. The real cruelty was quieter, sharper. “Maya the Baby,” he’d whisper at the dinner table, loud enough for their parents to chuckle but soft enough that only she felt the sting. He said it at family gatherings. Once, he said it in front of her entire class. Her parents called it teasing. Maya burned with humiliated rage. By the time Sam turned seventeen, he had perfected the art: a perfectly timed smirk, a whispered jab as she passed in the hallway, a casual remark that lodged in her brain and spun for hours. He knew exactly where her weaknesses lived—inside the endless loops of her own mind. Because Maya was a genius. While Sam coasted on charm and easy smiles, she built functioning robots from scrap parts and taught herself calculus at twelve. At fifteen, she had finished calibrating a temporal displacement array assembled from a salvaged microwave, stolen physics textbooks, and sheer, sleepless determination. Her bedroom had long since become a laboratory with a bed shoved into one corner. Equations covered the walls. The air smelled permanently of solder and burnt ambition. The real work happened in the garage, where larger components waited like sleeping giants. Her mother had stopped asking questions years ago. Being a genius was exhausting. Her mind never powered down. It raced through every conversation, every social cue, every possible consequence. Did I say the wrong thing? What did that look mean? What if he’s planning something worse? The questions multiplied in the dark while Sam snored peacefully down the hall. The loops tightened until she couldn’t breathe. Some nights, lying rigid in bed, she wished she could simply turn her brain off. Let someone else carry the worry. Let someone else decide. Just for one night. If Sam wanted to treat her like a baby, she would give him a reason to become one himself. She spent weeks perfecting the CD, working deep into the silent hours after the house went to sleep. She researched hypnotic suggestions, studied sleep patterns, and calculated the exact frequencies needed to bypass conscious resistance. The result was no ordinary lullaby. It was a shimmering, ethereal composition layered with carefully engineered subliminals. Crucially, she encoded the suggestions on a frequency above 19,000 hertz—a pitch adults over twenty could no longer hear, but young children perceived with crystalline clarity. Her mother would never notice. But two-year-old Sam? His developing brain would drink in every word. The first embedded message ensured the disc would never be forgotten and its melody would feel irresistible: You love to listen to this music. You want to hear it every night. It makes you happy. Then came the others, layered with surgical precision: Big kid underwear feels uncomfortable. You feel safe in diapers at night. You need diapers for sleeping. Nighttime wetting feels natural. Diapers are comfortable for bed. You belong in diapers when you sleep. Almost as an afterthought, she added one more: Your mother knows what’s best for you. Always trust your mother. What your mother says is true. You don’t need to worry—Mommy will handle everything. She tested the disc on herself first, headphones pressed tight against her ears. The music washed over her—soft, insidious, strangely soothing. For a few brief minutes her racing thoughts slowed and the tension in her shoulders eased. The static in her head went quiet. But that was all. The suggestions slid off her like water on glass. Her analytical mind remained a fortress—too rigid, too fortified by years of logic to be rewritten by a simple audio track. She removed the headphones and whispered to the empty room, “It’s because I’m fifteen.” Her neural pathways were already hardened. Resistant. But for a toddler? For a two-year-old whose brain was still soft clay and whose pristine ears could absorb the signal at full strength? The rewrite would be absolute. She smiled, a cold, satisfied curve of her lips, and tucked the single silver disc into her backpack. Then she stepped toward the displacement array. Chapter 2: The Babysitter from the Future The transition was less like a leap and more like a sickening lurch. One moment Maya stood in her darkened bedroom, the air thick with the scent of solder and ozone. The next, reality tore open with a nauseating twist, spitting her out onto sun-warmed concrete. Humidity wrapped around her like a damp blanket, and she staggered, catching herself against a familiar mailbox. She smoothed down her thrift-store clothes—low-rise jeans, a simple baby-tee, her hair loose and unremarkable. She was “Ellie” now, just another helpful teenager from a few blocks over. Invisible. Forgettable. In her backpack, the silver disc rested in its jewel case, heavier than it had any right to be. The neighborhood looked softer, younger. Trees stood smaller, their leaves brighter. The house she approached was painted a cheerful cream instead of the weathered gray she remembered, and the flower beds her mother would later tend with her were still bare soil. From the open living room window came the unmistakable sound of a toddler’s high-pitched, rhythmic screaming. Sam. At nearly two years old, he was already ruling the household with tiny fists and lungs of steel. Maya’s stomach tightened as she stepped onto the porch and knocked. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal her mother—Sarah—younger than Maya had ever known her. Barely into her thirties, with fewer worry lines and eyes still bright despite the exhaustion etched across her face. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. One hand rested protectively over the slight curve of her belly. That’s me, Maya thought, a wave of vertigo slamming into her. I’m inside there right now. Growing. “Yes?” Sarah’s voice hovered on the edge of tears. Behind her, baby Sam sat purple-faced in his high chair, hurling handfuls of mushy peas at the wall. The kitchen looked like a war zone—splattered food, overturned cups, and the sharp smell of frustration hanging in the air. “Hi! I’m Ellie. I just moved in a few streets over and heard you might need a hand?” Maya forced brightness into her voice, masking the cold purpose beneath it. Sarah sagged with visible relief. “I… I wasn’t expecting anyone, but maybe I should have been.” She gestured weakly at the chaos. “This one hasn’t napped properly in weeks. And with the new baby coming…” Her hand drifted unconsciously over her stomach. “I’m just at my wit’s end.” Maya couldn’t stop staring at the gentle swell beneath her mother’s shirt. Somewhere in there, cells were dividing, a tiny heart forming—the beginning of the girl who would one day build a time machine and return to this exact moment. The irony tasted metallic on her tongue. “Actually, I have something that might help,” Maya said, reaching into her bag. She pulled out the silver disc. “It’s a neuro-acoustic track. My uncle works in developmental therapy. It’s more than just a lullaby—it calms tantrums, improves sleep, and creates real peace. Long-term.” Sarah’s eyes widened with desperate hope. “Does it really work?” “Watch.” Maya crossed to the bulky silver CD player on the entertainment center. She slid the disc into the tray, pressed play, and stepped back. The music that filled the room was soft and shimmering—an ethereal melody that seemed to vibrate just beneath conscious thought. It wrapped around the chaos like silk. Within seconds, Sam’s screaming cut off mid-wail. He froze, pea still clutched in his chubby fist, his face draining from purple to pink to serene. His eyes glazed over, his little chest rising and falling in time with the tempo. The tension melted from his body. The pea dropped forgotten to the floor. Sarah gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. “How… what is that?” “Just science,” Maya said quietly. She watched her brother’s slack, peaceful expression and felt a flicker—not triumph, but something colder. A shadow of doubt she hadn’t anticipated. She turned to her mother. “You can keep it. This is the only copy of this specific mix. Play it every night for the best results. It helps with sleep, behavior… with everything.” Sarah took the jewel case with trembling fingers, gazing at the disc like a lifeline. “I can’t thank you enough, Ellie. Truly. If this can give us even one peaceful night before the baby comes, I don’t know what I’d do without it.” Maya glanced once more at her mother’s pregnant belly. The girl growing inside would one day weaponize that same music against her brother. Or so she had planned. “You won’t have to worry at all,” Maya said, her voice thickening unexpectedly. “The CD will take care of everything. It’ll make him very… manageable.” Sarah reached out and squeezed her hand gratefully. “Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would have done.” Maya pulled away gently, backing toward the door. “It’s nothing. Just… play it every night. Consistency matters.” “Every night,” Sarah repeated, nodding firmly. “I promise.” Maya stepped off the porch into the heavy summer heat. Behind her, the music continued—soft, insidious, already weaving itself into the walls of the house. She could hear Sam’s breathing, slow and even for the first time in weeks. As she walked down the sidewalk, past the bare flower beds and smaller trees, the timeline seemed to ripple faintly around her. The jewel case in her backpack was empty now. The disc was already spinning, already working its magic. I won, she told herself. Sam will wake up in diapers. He’ll finally understand what it feels like. But the words felt hollow. She kept seeing her mother’s exhausted, hopeful face and the protective hand on her belly. She kept hearing the subliminal she had added almost as an afterthought: You don’t need to worry—Mommy will handle everything. A cold tendril of unease curled in her chest. She pushed it down. Everything was fine. Everything would be perfect. The world blurred at the edges. The summer heat dissolved into a cold, static-filled void that swallowed her whole.

This is a long story that develops the characters over time. I will post the first chapter now, and add to it as time passes. Comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated. Chapter 1: The Beginning or the End Carolyn was forty-one, tall, auburn-haired, and still turning heads at the country club. Ten years of marriage to David had not dulled her beauty, but it had dulled everything else. David—forty-four, senior partner at a downtown law firm, broad-shouldered once upon a time—had let the courtroom stress and the after-work bourbon settle around his middle. His once-confident baritone now carried a slight wheeze after two drinks, and in bed he lasted less than two minutes on a good night. Carolyn had stopped counting the nights she lay awake beside him, thighs clenched in frustration, pretending to sleep so he wouldn’t paw at her again. She loved the house, the cars, the vacations, the platinum card with no limit. Divorce would mean losing all of it, and worse—gossip, loneliness, starting over. Affairs were out of the question; David still had friends in every judge’s chamber in the county. She needed a solution that kept the money and destroyed the problem at the same time. That solution arrived in the shape of her oldest friend, Linda. Linda was a clinical hypnotherapist with a discreet practice on the north side of the city. She was petite, dark-haired, always dressed in flowing black, and possessed a calm, almost amused authority that made people obey before they realized they had decided to. On Saturday they sat on Carolyn’s sun-drenched patio Linda with nice glass of wine and Carolyn with tall glasses of peach iced tea—Carolyn never touched alcohol—Carolyn poured out her misery. “I’m dying inside, Linda. I need real sex, and I need to not feel guilty about it. But I can’t leave him and I can’t cheat without destroying everything.” Linda listened, swirling her glass, then smiled like someone unveiling a gift. “There’s another way,” she said. “I’ve seen it work. We take away the man he thinks he is. We make him small. Dependent. Grateful. We put him back in diapers, turn his tiny premature ejaculations into something he can only feel when he’s padded and helpless. And once he’s hooked on that helplessness, he will give you permission—out loud—to take a real man. He’ll beg for it eventually. I’ve read the case studies. Carolyn’s pulse hammered. “You’re serious.” “Completely. I’ll handle the hypnosis. You just play the loving, heartbroken wife who’s trying to help with his ‘little problem.’ He’ll never suspect.” They shook hands like business partners. Three nights later Linda arrived for what David thought was a casual dinner. He liked Linda—she flattered him, kept his bourbon coming, and laughed at his war stories. By ten he was loose, laughing a bit too loud, and bragging about a case he’d just won. Carolyn watched Linda’s fingers move—a subtle circle on the stem of her glass, a soft hum under the music. David’s eyelids sagged. His head nodded. “David,” Linda said gently, “look at my pendant.” The silver chain appeared between her fingers as if by magic. David’s gaze locked on it. Thirty seconds later his chin rested on his chest, breathing slow and deep. Carolyn’s heart hammered as Linda leaned close to her husband’s ear. “David, every night when you’re asleep and you feel the need to urinate, you will simply relax and let it flow. You will not wake up. You will not remember this instruction. You will feel safe and warm as you wet the bed. And whenever you hear me say the words ‘lawyer’s rest,’ you will return to this deep, obedient state instantly. Do you understand?” A low “Yes” rumbled from David’s throat. “Good boy.” Linda snapped her fingers. David blinked, straightened, and reached for his bourbon as if nothing had happened. That night, at 3:17 a.m., David stirred. His bladder pressed full and heavy. Normally he would swing his legs over the side of the bed, pad to the bathroom, stand tall, aim. Instead, still half-dreaming, he relaxed. A hot flood spread beneath him, soaking his cotton pajama bottoms, pooling under his hips. He sighed, rolled over into the wetness, and slept again. At six-thirty the alarm buzzed. David woke to the clammy reek of urine. He sat bolt upright, heart racing. “No. No, no, no—” He ripped the sheets off, balled them in a panic, and stuffed them into the washing machine on hot before Carolyn stirred. He showered twice, scrubbing himself raw, and swore it was a one-time fluke—too much bourbon, stress, anything. The next night it happened again. Same warm surrender, same shameful dawn discovery. He was shaking when he hid the second set of sheets. On the morning of the third day Carolyn “discovered” the wet sheets. She touched his arm with theatrical tenderness. “Honey… the bed was wet again. It’s okay. It happens. We’ll figure it out together.” David’s face burned crimson. “It’s not—I don’t know what’s—” “Shh. I love you. We’ll get through it.” That evening Linda returned. Dessert had barely been served when she leaned across the table and murmured, “Lawyer’s rest.” David’s eyes glazed. Fork frozen halfway to his mouth. Linda’s voice was velvet. “Tomorrow morning, when you wake up wet again, you will feel overwhelming relief at the thought of wearing diapers. You will tell Carolyn—your own idea—that the adult thing to do, the responsible thing, is to wear protection until this passes. You will feel proud for suggesting it. You will not remember I told you this.” Snap. David finished his cheesecake, oblivious. The next morning, voice trembling, David said exactly what he’d been told to say. Carolyn let tears well—perfect, sympathetic tears. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s so mature of you. Of course we’ll get what you need.” By noon they were in a bland medical supply store that smelled of plastic and antiseptic. David’s ears flamed as the clerk—heavy-set, bored—rang up a case of thick, white adult diapers with blue leak guards and tiny teddy-bear prints along the landing zone. “Overnight maximum absorbency,” the clerk said cheerfully. “These’ll hold anything.” Back home, Carolyn unwrapped the first diaper with ceremonial care. David stood in their bedroom in just his socks, hands awkwardly covering his groin. “Lie back, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Let me take care of you.” The diaper crinkled obscenely as she slid it under him, dusted him with powder that smelled like babyhood and surrender, and taped it snug. His tiny penis twitched against the padding, already half-hard from pure humiliation. “There,” she whispered, patting the front. “My big strong lawyer, safe and dry.” That night they went to bed. David lay rigid, listening to the loud rustle every time he moved. At some point he drifted off. When he woke at dawn, the sheets were pristine. The diaper was not. Heavy, sagging, warm, it clung to him like a second skin. He reached down with a trembling hand and felt the sodden weight. A strange, liquid shame coursed through him—followed by a pulse of something darker, something almost like relief. In the bathroom mirror he caught a glimpse of himself: forty-four years old, successful, rich, powerful—and standing soaked in a teddy-bear diaper. Behind him, Carolyn leaned in the doorway, smiling softly. “Good morning, baby,” she said. “See? Problem solved.” And somewhere deep in David’s mind, a tiny voice whispered that this was only the beginning.

Not sure how well this idea will work. I just started it as a break from (very) long stories. Should only be 5-6 chapters, I think (Edit: looks like it might be a bit longer than that, but not too long). Opinions very much welcome. Goodbye “We’re only a phone call away. Or a text. Any kind of problems, just give us a call.” “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be fine.” “He means it, you know. You never have to be ‘fine’, you don’t have to put up with anything. Give us a call, any time, and your dad will be right over there to pick you up.” “Yes, Mum. I know.” “It’s not too late to change your mind if you’re scared, you know. You don’t have to do this, most of those people on the Internet never come out of their bedrooms anyway.” “Yes, Mum,” Imogen answered, her patience already beginning to wear thin. “But I volunteered to help. With the backstage stuff for the broadcast.” “But y–” “And I’m not scared, I’m excited. I’ve been looking forward to this for months.” “But what if you have trouble with all those bags? Will you be able to find the hotel? Will you–” “I’m twenty-two Dad, not twelve. And Professor Kent is going to meet me at the station to make sure I get there okay.” “You should show your father more respect, Imogen. And are you sure you can trust this man? How do you know he’s a real professor? It could be anyone, when you talk to him on the Internet. How do you know he won’t try to…” “Mum,” Imogen said, as firmly as she dared. “We’ve been over this before. There will be more than a hundred people from OGC at the conference, it’s not like I’m rushing off to meet with someone I barely know. I’ve been talking to him for months, and he’s never shown any interest in anything beyond how to solve sudoku puzzles. And how to set them. I’m just one of his students, and I’ll be there with all the others.” “We talked to that Jessie girl,” her dad added. “She was excited about this class too, and she sounded pretty grounded. You know, for someone on the spectrum.” “Dad,” Imogen growled, just a little exasperated. “It’s great that you finally caught up with the current terminology, but you still use it like an insult. Jessie is a friend, more than anything. We’re going to look after each other. And I’m going to be helping to look after the younger members. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise.” “But you’re meeting this guy, how do you know–” “Mum, please! I’m not ‘meeting’ anyone. I’m going to a conference for members of an online community I’ve put hundreds of hours into, and that’s introduced me to an intellectually stimulating hobby. I’m going to see a lot of people there, but it’s an organised event. You know that, you’ve called up enough of the organisers, trying to micro-manage every little detail that I could have sorted out when I got there.” “A normal person could have sorted it out.” The tone said so much more than her words could. “But you need–” “And I’m not normal, mum? Huh?” “You’re special, Immy. And we love you very much, but other people might not understand. You should show a little more–” “Yes, thank you, mum. But I can do it myself, if you just give me a chance. And–” She paused, holding up a finger when she saw her mum preparing to speak again. “And it’s time for my train now. I’m organised, I’m grown up, and I’ve had all this planned for months. So if you really want to help me, you wouldn’t be trying to make me late now.” Imogen turned, picked up her bags, and walked briskly towards the ticket barriers that would quickly separate her from her parents. They kept talking once she left, of course, probably telling her that she needed their help, but she was done listening. She needed them to know that she could do this by herself. And more than anything, she needed not to miss this train. She put one bag down while she scanned her ticket in front of the sensor, and the little gate opened to let her onto the platform. Then she grabbed the bag as quickly as she could, and hurried forward. Her parents were still behind her, but thankfully there was a member of staff standing right there. The slogan on his tabard and the leaflets in his hand said that he was just trying to convince people about the financial benefits of a season ticket, but for all their stubbornness Imogen’s parents weren’t likely to try barging through the barriers after her right next to a man in uniform. “I’ll read it on the train,” she said, accepting one of the leaflets. She could see, once she was inside the station, that it was already waiting at the platform, so she could just gesture vaguely and run towards it. Rail company employees would never try to “and another thing” someone running for a train. Twenty minutes later, she had managed to stow most of her bags in a luggage rack at the end of the carriage, and the last one just about fitted under her seat. She breathed a long sigh of relief, and glanced out of the window as the station, and the town, slowly started to slide past. Her parents were probably running along the edge of the parking lot, waving to her through the fence, but she couldn’t see them from here. For the first time in a long while, Imogen felt free. She sat there, thinking about the trip ahead. She was going to a sudoku convention, that was simple enough. And they were trying to make a sudoku-themed gameshow, like the kind of thing that might have been on daytime TV in the ‘90s, as part of the proceedings. She was nervous about that, and hoped it would succeed. And of course a more standard speed-solving competition, which she thought a streaming service had already picked up the rights to, and which was helping to fund this big meet-up. It was all exciting, but there were no unknowns there, so it was something she could easily deal with. She was going to meet people she only knew as names on a screen, and that would be more complex. Not because she was afraid of any of those people; nobody could be truly malevolent with a heart so packed full with mathematics. But her own lack of knowledge scared her a little. There were probably only a dozen people on there who had pictures on their profiles or their own video channels where she had seen their faces. She would be very surprised if someone she mentally pigeonholed as an elderly academic turned out to be thirteen, or something, but she was well aware it was a surprise she deserved. As much as she wanted to think of these people as her friends, she only knew them by their puzzles, their records, and the other hobbies that came up in conversation. Young or old, male or female, for most of her friends she was just guessing. And as much as she didn’t think those things were really important, she was sure that she would find herself doing a double-take at least once during the weekend, because one of her closest friends was very different from the person she imagined. Professor Kent, Dan, was one of the people she was sure she didn’t have to worry about. Idle rumours about him having less-than-wholesome interests didn’t scare her. She trusted him absolutely and without question. Her first messages to him had probably been something to cringe over; a suggestion that they would one day become good friends because screen names like Imogenation and Dangineer suggested a similar way of looking at the world. But over the last couple of years she had started to pay more and more attention to his posts, and to the tutorials and tips he shared. He was a genius, there was no doubt about that. Half the community seemed to idolise him for setting skills that left mere mortals in the dust, especially when it came to his favourite quirk, symmetrical puzzles. And he hadn’t ignored her after that first awkward message. Over time they had talked so much, shared so many stories, and sympathised with each other’s problems. They really had become friends, so her prediction had been right after all. They were like the best of friends, even though they had never met face to face. Even though she only knew what he looked like because she had looked up some of his videos. He was an eccentric genius in the sudoku world, constructing weird puzzles with constraints that nobody else would think of, but in the real world he was a statistical anthropology lecturer at a well-respected university. And unlike the videos he posted about puzzle setting techniques, the recordings of his lectures shared on the university website showed his actual face, and drawings on an actual chalkboard rather than the vector graphics he preferred to use to convey his point. The best of friends. And she was sure that was all he wanted. Almost certain, anyway. He would never try to cross that line. He would never try to leverage authority, or trust, into an unearned intimacy in the way Imogen’s mother insisted any man would. But it was too easy to visualise how it might go if he did, and those images frequently cropped up when Imogen let her imagination wander. It had built up slowly, a feeling that never surprised her because it was never something new; but had been a big shock when she realised how long she had felt this way. It wasn’t anything lewd or tawdry, she had just started to notice that she felt happy whenever he came online. She eagerly anticipated his every word. She was delighted when he said her name, and his opinion mattered more to her than anyone else’s. And when some malicious rival on the forums had tried to spread rumours about him, accusing him of being into all kinds of dirty, kinky things under a different name, she had been among the first to defend his reputation. That was the problem. Bullies and rivals, people with fake names, they’d said that he shouldn’t be allowed to mentor minors on a respectable sudoku server because he was into awful, depraved things like ABDL, EMC, and MDLG. She hadn’t known what those letters even stood for, but had felt the need to defend Dan anyway. He was her friend, he couldn’t be into such objectionable practices. Or if he was then he kept it confined to a tiny corner of his life, where the people he talked to here would never even know about it. Why did it matter if a teacher was kinky, gay, or whatever; it wasn’t relevant unless he mentioned it in his tutorials, or tried to bring students into his kink, which nobody even claimed. Still, after too many arguments with people who didn’t need any evidence to justify hate, she had started to wonder what those acronyms actually meant. She had expected to find some brutal leather and latex fantasy that would disturb her so much, she would instantly be certain it wasn’t Dan’s cup of tea. But instead, she had spent a weekend reading about this alternate lifestyle, how people felt about it, and what it meant to them. It had taken a weekend to fully understand why it was such a big deal for so many people, but in just ten minutes she had known that she would never be able to look away. Now she could only hope. She could only dream that Dan was a real Daddy, and that he would understand if she tried to communicate to him what she wanted more than anything else. Her heart was racing now, just from thinking about what lay ahead. She was going to be on this train for an hour longer, and she still wouldn’t be close to meeting Dan, so she needed to calm down. And there was one thing that she knew would help with that. She glanced up and down the carriage, still mostly empty. There wouldn’t be many passengers beside her until they passed Springfield, at the earliest. She wondered if she should be feeling guilty about even considering this on a train, but she told herself that nobody would even know. After a long moment of indecision, she lifted out her ticket again and set it on the tray table in front of her, with her phone placed on one corner to hold it in place. That way, nobody would need to wake her just to check that she had actually paid for this journey. Another deep breath, and Imogen told herself that there was nothing wrong with this. She just needed to relax. She put her earbuds in, and returned the case to her pocket. She tapped at her phone, went into the media player and scrolled down until she found a file named ‘Lady Larsen — Perfect Toddler Trigger’. Just thinking about that recording excited her so much, but it was paradoxically perfect for helping her to relax on a long journey. She pressed play, locked her screen, and made sure that her phone was placed so it would hold her ticket still. And then she heard the chimes, and a voice telling her to relax as Lady Larsen counted down. Imogen’s eyes closed without thinking, sinking into the soft embrace of well-warn train seats, and before the count reached three her mind was already gone.

The child was just like any normal 9 year old child, he was in 4th grade in which she loved to read and is very good at long division. He/she likes school and seeing her friends but likes the weekends at home too where she doesn't usually have homework. His/her favorite color is pastel green. He/she loves watching Netflix and has a secret love for watching tv show for very little children even if they are "baby shows". He/she's currently working on reading an old book his mommy gave her called "harry potter" but still gets caught up on some big words. He/She also has a bit of an entitlement issue with being seen as a big boy since he's only about as big as the first and second graders and only just stopped sucking his thumb at night a few weeks ago. (Our RP starts as the little boy is doing his homework in the living room with train playing on the TV, the door bell rings his mommy answers the door to see the babysitter she had called for the night. This babysitter was different though and has promised to get her little boy to relax and enjoy being a "little" kid more.... I will play the adult characters.

Long long long time reader, first time posting my stuff. I have very short stories of little scenes here and there. Here is my newest one. The formatting won’t be the best. ———————— Captives Two woman and a man sat restrained to their chairs. Each with a gag in their mouth, muffled screams can be heard echoing in the tiny room in which they were captive. White walls all around, it was a boring room. 2 doors on either side of the captives adorned the walls. The one they were dragged into, and a mysterious door. Soft bells could be heard if you listened closely. Twisting and turning, each captive struggled to get free, muffled cries crafted a cacophony of struggle. Suddenly, the door that was not used before opened. The sounds stopped as the click clack of heels pierced the silence. A giantess of a woman stepped through the door and the captives froze. Never before had they seen such an entrancing figure. A tight black dress hugged her curvy body, her breasts voluptuous and firm, she walked in a way that let you know: she was in charge. The silence was broken by a maternal, yet teasing voice: “Hellooooooo little ones!” She smiles a devious smile. The captives were not ammused by the sing songy voice of their captor. “Looks like you have explored the wrong facility. We caught you on camera about a mile before you got to our gates” The blood rushed out of their faces. They didn‘t expect anything here. Rumors spoke of an old abandoned building in the forest that played soft lullaby music. They say those that go in never come out…. but they all assumed it was a childrens tale… until now. Each chair was on wheels, so one by one they were wheeled into the next room. The struggling stopped, replaced by fear of what would happen next. The next room looked like a preschool classroom. Rectangular with waist high shelves of coloring books, toys and stuffed animals. Along the back right half of the wall, there was a rectangular window with a door to the right of it. Above the door was a sign: INITIATION In the window was a table with a screen above it As if she felt the mood change to confusion, the Mistress explained: “This will be out first stop. Initiation. You see, this is a special facility. Meant to take you back to a simpler time.” She chuckles as she scans the three captives Blonde had heard enough. She didn’t want to be part of any sort of cult. She struggled harder against her restraints. “But i won’t bore you with the details. You..” she turns her full attention to Blonde as the struggle gets more intense. The other two started to struggle a little more. “Look like you are VERY excited to get started. Why don’t we start with you” Blonde shook her head in fear. She pushed against her restraints to no avail as she was wheeled into the initiation room. The door slammed shut, leaving the other two waiting. The room blonde found herself in looked much like a medical examining room, complete with the table. Before she could examine anything else her restraints let loose. She immediately tried to book it for the door, but was swiftly picked up by the armpits. “Ah ah ahhhh.. you can’t go that way little one! I know you miss your friends but you’ll see them soon enough.” The Mistress carried blonde over to the table and effortlessly retrained her to the table. Her clothes were fully removed. Naked and gagged, she was helpless to do anything. The Mistress then did something Blonde didn’t expect: She removed the gag. “YOU BITCH LET ME GO” she screamed The Mistress just ignored her and started to press some buttons on a panel. The screen lit up. “Please watch the entirety of the video while I prepare you” “Prepare me for what?!” The blonde screamed. The screen started to change colors, grabbing the attention of Blonde. The mistress said something but she couldn’t quite hear her. The colors changed from blue to green and to pink. Blonde couldn’t take her eyes away. Suddenly she felt her butt being lifted up. Something soft cushioned it as it came back down. It felt nice. Blondes thoughts were hazy. She tried to remember how she got here, but it was all dark and gray. Suddenly, her head started to hurt. She screamed in agony as her mind became a bright white light. She felt wetness coming from her crotch…:was she peeing herself? The wetness seemed to be contained around her crotch. Warmth. Her screamed echo’d as the colors changed faster, her eyes wide open. Pain, agony, fear. “AHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO PLEAASSSSEEEE STOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHAAA……” The screaming stopped as something entered her mouth. “There there little one” the Mistress coo’d. “Go ahead and suck on your pacifier” The feeling was almost instant. Her brain went from white to shiny colors. Her screams died down into wails. That of a baby. [[pretty…. Colors…. Playtime!!]] Blonde started to giggle as her mind emptied. Everything started to empty. She squirmed and giggled as her diaper filled with the excrements of her old life. “Such a good girl!” The mistress adored. She patted the front of blondes diaper and removed the restraints. Blonde stayed there, giggling and babbling “AH! AH AH AH AH!” She babbled on, as the mistress gathered changing supplies. ———- The door to the initiation room slammed shut and the window suddenly became a mirror. Screams could be heard from the room shortly after but the two remaining captives couldn’t tell what they were about. A soft lullaby played over the speakers. The remaining two sat there, pacified by the music, unable to move or think. The door opens. The Mistress walks out, holding blonde against her bussoms. Walking toward the other side of the room, the mistress places Blonde on the ground with a soft thump and a crinkle. The two captives see Blonde, drooling with a paci, and fear runs down their spine. A muffled cry “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER” and slamming of feet. Blonde, naked except a diaper and a pacifier, rolled back onto her back and started playing with her feet. Tears streamed down Browns face. Her best friend. Her sister… transformed into a dumb drooling baby. “YOUR TURN!” The mistress exclaims from behind her. Her chair is jolted forward towards the room. She screams behind her gag, shaking her head. “No no no noooooooooo!!!!” On the table, easily restrained like the other, Brown finds herself ungagged. “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?? I’m NOT A BABY!!” Mistress chuckles to herself as she presses a few buttons. The screen jumps to life and Browns attention is immediately drawn. “Please….” She whispers, drowsily… “I DON’T …” She screams in pain. Her brain goes white. The diaper is slipped under her with ease as a stream of urine spurts out. Browns struggles ease as the diaper is pulled between her legs and taped. “Noooooo…..” Brown started to whine. “Nooo die-peeeeeee” she started to wail as she kicked her legs. The mistress pulls out another pacifier and shoves it in browns mouth. [[huh?]] Was her last adult thought. Her brain starts to see the flashing colors in front of the screen. She started to calm down. “Gah gah gaaaahahhhhhhhhhh hehehehehe” Brown was lost. Her bowels and bladder emptied into her diaper, as well as her adulthood. “Such a good girl” the mistress said, grabbing the changing supplies —————- The door to the initiation room opened to giggles as Brown was carried out! “SEE! “ the mistress exclaimed with a chuckle,” that wasn’t so bad was it?” She plops Brown next to Blonde, who moved over to the dolls and was now brushing one. Brown crawls over and grabs her own doll. Silver was in shock. His two best friends sat before him, naked and in diapers, acting like nothing in the world was wrong. He had to escape…. He saw the mistress catch his eye and he growled. “Uh ohhhh” the mistress chuckled taking her gaze a little lower. Looks like someone had an accident. Confused, Silver looked down. His pants were soaked. [[wait… what… when did i?]] “Looks like SOMEONE really enjoyed his lullaby.” He blushed and started to whimper. Who was this lady? She walks over to him and kneels down to his level. “I have something special for you little one” she said, not breaking eye contact.” She undid his restraints. [[RUN]] his brain thought Only his body didn’t cooperate. The gag was then removed. He wanted to scream. He wanted to bite… but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he told his body to do something, it wouldn’t. “Good boy.” She said as she grabbed his hand. “What are you doing to meee” Silver asked, childishly. “You see, that lullaby you heard has some special properties” she started to explain as she placed a mat on the ground. She the knelt down and started undoing his belt. Silver whines but couldn’t do much else” “Noo stoooop” “Now now young man. You had an accident! We have to get you in proper attire if you are gonna be doing THAT!” She yanked down his pants and underwear in one fell swoop, emphasizing the word at the end of her sentence. His arms wanted to cover his crotch, but he found his hand instinctively move toward his face. His thumb found it’s way into his mouth. “I’m nottah bah bae” he mumbled behind his thumb. The mistress had him step out of his pants. A cold wipe was applied around his crotch and buttocks. “If you aren’t a baby…” the mistress lectured as she cleaned the man off “ then why didn’t you use the big boy potty when you were supposed to?” He knew the answer [[because you had me tied up you bitch]] he thought But his mouth just said “i dunnoooo” “That’s what i thought” the mistress said, pushing on his chest. Silver fell onto his back with a thud. His legs immediately sprawling out. He tried to get up, he fought with ever ounce of his being. But nothing happened. “So we are just gonna have to put you back in diapers!” Mistress exlaimed, causing the two regressed women to giggle. They crawled and mad their way to Silver, plopping down next to him. His face was flush with red heat as his entire legs were hoisted into the air, a thick baby blue diaper was slid under silver. His legs came down and kicked only slightly. “The mistress grabbed a white container and started to sprinkle powder on Silvers crotch.” It was around this point he started to hear the lullaby again, but he wasn’t sure id it was in his head or the speakers. Rubbing his crotch, silver let out a slight giggle. “Hehe that tickles, mommy!” He heard himself say, involuntarily. [[MOMMY? No… i gotta fight…]] The diaper was brought up between his legs and taped tightly into place. Silver was back in diapers. “Now, i have a special treat for you little one” she leaned silver up. He swayed groggily on his padded butt, his thumb falling from his mouth. Drool started to form at the corners. [[AHH COME ON MOVE GOD DAMIT]] he thought “Now, i know you appear to be all cute and obedient on the outside.” She said as she tugged on the front if her dress, pulling out one of her massive boobs. “But i know on the inside….”she taps his forehead “..:You need some adjusting” His mouth hicced a little as he saw her boob come out. [[Come on come on…. Get up GET UP]] He felt the drool fall down his chin, his eyes affixed on her breast. It was getting closer, although he wasn’t sure if he was being guided or moving on his own. He found himself cradled in her lap. “Now go ahead and take some of mommies milk” she said as she thrust her nipple into the drooly mouth. [[Nooooo… please no… not this…. ]] he thought as the pieces fell in place. She was gonna breastfeed him. involuntarily, silver latched. Milk immediately filled his mouth. His first thought was [[oh?]] It was tasty. He swallowed and it was like something in him grew. [[ oh man it’s so much… what’s happening to me?]] His thoughts started to fade. His memories were going grey. His stomach was filling with milk. [[…. No… i have to… ]]] he immediately thought about punching the woman in the face. For the first time in a while his arm moved on hismown accord, but stopped short when his hand grabbed the boob. [[ what was i doing?]] *Suck* *suck* *swallow* [[ i wanna go home.]] *suck* *suck* *swallow* [[oh god… i have to… NO!!!!!]] . The sound of his diaper being filled erupted in the room. He greedily started sucking more [[MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY KOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY]] Silver started to coo. His mind lost. All three adults now sat in the playroom, slowly filled up with the Mistresses milk, sending them into eternal regression. Never to be seen again.

Usually with commissions I don't start posting them here until the story is completed but the person I am writing for requested I post what I have written so far so I shall do so This is a re-write of an old story. The original story is here: http://thesissysnursery.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/my-brother-ritchie-chapter-1-problem.html?m=1 Unfortunately I am not sure the author of the original, if anyone knows then let me know and I will edit it in here. This is a commission and if you are interested in a commission then feel free to send me a message. --- Subliminal Baby By Elfy “But mum, everyone is going on this trip.” Steven whined. He stomped his foot on the floor like a child much younger than himself, at 18-years-old he was a little too old to be having a tantrum but he couldn’t help himself. He was sick and tired of being told no when his older brother, Ritchie, was always told yes. “Steven, a skiing trip sounds very dangerous. I don’t think it would be a good idea for you.” Karen, Steven and Ritchie’s mother was sitting with her children at the dinner table. The three of them had just finished eating and Steven was telling her how much he wanted to go on this school trip, it had been the same every evening for the last week. “Mum, I’m not a baby!” Steven said throwing up his arms in frustration, “All my friends are going. I’m the only one who hasn’t handed in the permission slip.” “If you aren’t a baby then maybe you should stop acting like one.” Karen shot back. Ritchie, who had otherwise been sitting quietly, let out a bark of a laugh. He knew that his mum was overprotective of Steven and he found his little brother’s frustrations very amusing to watch. Ritchie was everything that Steven wasn’t. Steven was small and unassuming, Ritchie was bigger and had much more sporting ability which made him very popular around town. Steven, on the other hand, was much more at home alone in his room working on his computer. “Shut up, Ritchie!” Steven yelled across the table. “Steven! Don’t shout at your brother.” Karen said warningly. “Tell him not to laugh at me then.” Steven said banging his hands against the table and causing the cutlery to rattle. “If you are going to keep having a tantrum like a baby, I’ll give you a spanking just like one.” Karen warned. Steven was dumbfounded at the injustice. Ritchie was trying to keep a straight face but his shoulders moving up and down betrayed how funny he found the situation. When Steven saw this he felt his anger rising again. When Karen looked away for a moment, Ritchie mouth the word “baby” at Steven. Steven lost control of his emotions, he reached back and went to swing at his older brother but as he tried to bring his arm forward he felt someone grab him tightly. Caught off-balance he was pulled around the table and into the lap of his mother. To Steven’s shock and horror, his mother easily held him in place with one hand whilst with the other she started spanking hard. Ritchie stared across the table wide-eyed and open mouthed as his younger brother was spanked at the dinner table, he could barely contain the laughter that he felt bubbling up inside. Steven willed himself not to cry as his mother rained down blow after blow on her son. He was in shock as much as anything else, the spanking wasn’t too hard and it didn’t hurt a lot but the surprise of suddenly finding himself in this position stopped him from trying to stop what was happening before it was too late and his mother had gained a firm grip of him. “You do not hit your brother!” Karen said through gritted teeth, each word was punctuated by another smack. She didn’t seem to see the irony in punishing her son with spanking as a way to tell him not to hit others. Through eyes clouded with tears, Steven caught the eyes of his brother and could see the amusement in his face at the predicament Steven found himself in. Steven balled his hands into fists as he fought to keep himself from crying openly. The spanking wasn’t particularly painful but it was very embarrassing, especially when he was trying to argue that he wasn’t a baby. Just as Steven felt his composure slipping the spanking ended and he gingerly picked himself up. Without a word he turned and headed away from the kitchen, he was upset and filled with anger at the injustice of being punished when his brother got away completely free. He didn’t want to stay in the dining room with his family because he was sure he would do or say something to get him in even more trouble. He stomped straight out of the room and to the stairs. Halfway up he paused when he heard a sound from the kitchen. He heard his brother laughing. He had half a mind to run back down stairs and go for him again but he just about controlled his emotions and instead would look for a subtler way for revenge. With tears in his eyes he and a face red from the humiliation of the scene in the dining room Steven stamped up to his room and slammed the door closed. Steven’s room was dominated by the large computer against the far wall. Steven had always been very interested in technology and was very well versed in both software and hardware, he spent most of his time fiddling with his computer in one way or another and was known at school as being rather nerdy. To the sides of the computer were shelves full of books and magazines, most of them technology related but also some fiction books as well. Steven walked over to his bed and gingerly sat down. His stinging rear end caused him to wince slightly as he reached to his bedside table and grabbed a can of coke which he opened and drank from. Steven was generally quite healthy but his one vice was coke, he couldn’t resist the sugary drinks. Placing the half-empty can back down he picked up the computing magazine that he had been reading before going down for dinner and he started reading again. It provided a good distraction from all the problems he was dealing with and he felt himself slowly relaxing as he read about various graphics cards and processors. As Steven read through the magazine he came across an unusual advert on the back cover. It was an advert for something called “Covert Subliminal Software.” Steven read the page with interest, he assumed it was a scam but something about the advert kept attracting his attention. He started to form an idea in his head, about using the software on his brother, what better way for revenge than making a message that forced Ritchie to do something embarrassing? Only a little thing though, he wasn’t cruel, he just wanted to teach Ritchie a lesson. Steven was broken from his ponderings by a knock on the door. He walked over and swung the door open to reveal Ritchie, he stood several inches taller than Steven and had a very self-satisfied smirk on his face. “What do you want?” Steven asked coldly. “I was just wondering if you needed tucking in tonight? Maybe have someone feed you a bottle?” Ritchie said in a mocking voice, he could barely stop himself from cracking up. “Get lost!” Steven growled through gritted teeth as he slammed the door. “Don’t throw a tantrum, baby!” Ritchie called through the door before laughing to himself on the way to his bedroom. “We’ll see who is a baby…” Steven whispered to himself. He walked over to his computer, went online and visited the website for “Covert Subliminal Software.” After hesitating for just a second he clicked “buy now” and was told the software was on its way. Steven smiled evilly to himself as he came up with the perfect plan for revenge, as soon as the package arrived he would show his family who the baby was. For a few days afterwards nothing of note happened. Steven kept mostly to himself as usual and made sure to wake up early enough to be the first to check the post every single day in the hope of seeing his package. Time did not diminish his want for revenge, if anything his need to get back at his brother only increased as his brother kept making thinly veiled comments, Steven simply kept his cool and waited. It was five days later when Steven looked through the mail as it was pushed through the letterbox and found the package he had been waiting for. It was instantly recognisable and Steven was glad to have got to the package first otherwise awkward questions may have come his way, the picture on the box showing a person in a chair and someone swinging a watch in front of them certainly would have caught the eye of Steven’s family. Steven had done a lot of research on the power of suggestion in the last few days. He knew the stereotypical picture of someone swinging a pocket watch and saying “you are feeling sleepy” was not how this stuff worked. Steven rushed back to his room with his parcel and ripped it open as soon as the door closed. Taking a drink of his cola he quickly read the pages of the instruction booklet and found that setting up these secret messages would actually be surprisingly simple. The instruction manual said to keep the messages short and easy to understand, shorter phrases resonate in the brain much easier and would be planted a lot quicker. Steven was still quite sceptical of the whole idea of subliminal messaging but the software was surprisingly cheap and it was worth the risk of investment because if it did work it would be the best revenge he could possibly get. Steven waited, he did some brief setup of the software on his own computer, it was surprisingly easy to set up and Steven suspected that even if he knew nothing about computers that he would be able to get it to work. He waited for his brother to leave, he waited for an opportunity to sneak into Ritchie’s room and set up the software. He was very impatient, he had a new toy to play with and having to wait before he could use it was almost intolerable. Finally, a few hours later, Steven saw Ritchie walk past his door with his coat on and a bag slung over his shoulders. As Ritchie walked past he saw Steven watching him and Ritchie paused briefly to give his younger brother the middle finger. “Going out?” Steven asked. He ignored the rude gesture and hurried over to the doorway as his brother walked away. “Unlike you, I have a social life, so yes I am.” Ritchie replied. Steven just nodded but as soon as Ritchie turned his back, Steven let out a devilish smile and ran back into his room to grab the USB stick that contained the subliminal software. Listening out for the sound of the front door closing he hopped from one foot to the other almost unable to contain his excitement. As soon as Steven heard the door close he practically ran to his older brother’s bedroom and straight over to his computer. Ritchie’s computer was not as powerful as Steven’s but it was just good enough to run Ritchie’s favourite online game, a first person shooter that he spent a lot of his free time on. Steven quickly logged in to the machine, he had guessed Ritchie’s password quite easily months ago, rather predictably it was his girlfriend’s name Linda. Steven logged in and immediately booted up the new software. He looked through the menus and adjusted a few things to his specifications. He clicked on the box that said “Message:” and after a moment of thinking Steven typed in “You are very thirsty for cola.” Steven chose an innocuous message at first, he wanted to test the software with something that wouldn’t cause any damage if it went wrong. Steven knew his more athletic brother never drank sugary drinks, but it was well known that Steven loved them. It would be a good test of the program’s power. He pressed enter and moved the software into the correct folder so that when Ritchie played his game that message would be flashed at him at quick intervals. It would be so fast that Ritchie wouldn’t notice it, but it would leave an imprint in his brain. Steven quickly turned the computer off, took his USB stick and retreated back to his bedroom. Now it was a case of waiting, he had to wait for Ritchie to come home and play his game. Steven, knowing it would be a while before that happened, loaded up his own game and began playing. Steven paused only to drink from his large cola supply as he passed the hours. He was impatient and hopped from one game to another, nothing could sustain his interest for long. Eventually he heard the front door open and close before hearing loud footsteps coming up the stairs, past Steven’s bedroom and to Ritchie’s own bedroom. Steven felt so excited, he was nervous as well as he sat in his room waiting to see what was going to happen. He wanted to run to Ritchie’s room and watch, to see if it was working, but he knew he had to act as normally as possible. If Steven started hanging around Ritchie’s room, then Ritchie would realise something was up. It was a full two hours, just when Steven was preparing to give up on the software working when there was a sudden knock on his bedroom door. Steven’s heart skipped a beat as he walked over to the door. “Yes?” Steven said as he opened the door to his brother. Ritchie had strangely wide eyes and he was salivating quite a bit. “Yo, this is a bit weird but do you still have that big stash of cola in here?” Ritchie asked. He was not acting like he normally did, there definitely seemed to be something weird going on. Steven was secretly elated. This was incredible! An act that was totally out of character for his big brother, an act that can only possibly have come from the suggestion of Steven’s subliminal software. “Yeah.” Steven said as he fought to keep his internal smile from showing. “Could I have some?” Ritchie asked. He smiled slightly but Steven got the impression that if he said no Ritchie would push his way in and take a drink anyway, he had a look in his eyes that suggested nothing would keep him away from the drink. Steven leaned over to where his bottles of cola were and picked up one of the smaller ones. He handed it to Ritchie who quickly unscrewed the lid and started drinking deeply from the bottle. Steven was shocked as he watched his brother, who didn’t like sugary drinks, drink the whole bottle in one go. When Ritchie was done he lowered the bottle from his mouth and let out an incredibly loud belch. Ritchie looked strangely content, a little trickle of cola had spilled out the side of his mouth but otherwise he looked normal and happy. Steven was quite unnerved by what he saw. “Boys! Dinner time.” Mother shouted from downstairs. It broke the awkward silence that was developing. Steven took the initiative and handed another bottle of cola to his brother before they headed downstairs. Dinner was quiet that evening. Steven spent a lot of his time watching Ritchie who took multiple liberal gulps of the cola. He had become like a fiend for the stuff, it was as if he couldn’t get enough. “Cola? That’s not like you.” Karen said to her older son. “I’m just really thirsty for it.” Ritchie said as he took another drink. That night Steven took a little while to get to sleep, he was thinking about what to do next. The subliminal software clearly worked, Ritchie had taken yet another bottle of cola with him to bed. There was no answer as to why that was happening other than Ritchie was successfully being manipulated. Steven decided that tomorrow he would change the message. The next day he would put his actual plan into action. It was time for revenge on his older brother, not to mention he didn’t want Ritchie drinking all of his cola!

Good Girl Your cheeks are pink as the blood rushes to your face. Hiding behind a wall, you peek your head around the corner every few seconds. Daddy sits at the kitchen table sorting through a large stack of papers with a cross look on his face while Mommy starts the weekly weekend deep clean of the apartment. You watch as she bends down and collects the scattered toys from within the six foot walled playpen in the living room. Unable to help yourself, your thumb wiggles into your mouth and a soft whimper escapes your lips when she takes your beloved teddy and begins to walk away. Crying pitifully, you know that it is just a stupid bear. You are a thirty year old woman with an unhealthy obsession but you can’t temper the flames of anxiety in your tummy. You know that you have to say something, but that’s just what they want and you will not give in that easily… especially not for a stupid ratty stuffed animal. At least that’s what you tell yourself as you wait and wait and wait and - “Can I help you with something, baby?” Daddy’s low and gravelly voice shatters the loudness in your mind. You flinch, visibly startled and step out from behind the door knowing you've been busted. Daddy hasn’t looked up from his papers yet somehow knew you were there. He beckons you forward with the wave of his hand. “Come,” is all he says and you have no choice but to obey. He knows you better than you know yourself. Mommy stands across the room at the washer and dryer, tossing dirty clothes into the machine and you anxiously watch for your teddy. That action distracts you from the hand creeping towards you. The hand that cups the heavy bulk of padding between your thighs that emits an audible squelch. It distracts you from the hand that turns you around so your back is towards Daddy. Only when the waistband of the diaper snaps back against your skin do you jump in confusion. Looking up at Daddy, he makes a chiding sound with his lips. “Someone made Daddy a present.” What? You frown. P-present? “C’mon,” he stands, taking you by the hand but you refuse to move. “Do you want to stay in your dirty diaper all day?” He asks when your feet remain planted to the ground. The words echo in your mind like a stab to the heart. Dirty diaper. Dirty. Diaper. Diaper… A strangled cry escapes your lips and you immediately look down to find your lower half is bare, besides the thick white bulk taped around your waist that balloons out to your knees. Hazy memories flicker in your brain of you and Daddy. Crying and screaming and ulti-ult - matums? You said no diapers. Daddy said it was the only way to stay together. That you had hurt his feelings. You remember the tears after that and promises to do better and be a good girl. You remember Mommy showing up and kissing daddy like you used to kiss him. You remember the fiery anger in your tummy as he held onto her, gazing at her with stars in his eyes and pushing you aside. You remember when this was your apartment and Daddy’s. It was tiny but perfect for the both of you. The kitchen and living room were just one big room with a tiny hall leading to the front door. There were two rooms - what was once yours and Daddy’s, and the office. Sine then the office had been turned into a nursery for you and you could only watch as Mommy laid in the very bed that used to be yours, snuggling up against the man that was your boyfriend. Daddy said diapers were the only way. Punishment for kissing another man and not him. If you wanted to stay together this was the price to pay and you’d agreed because you loved him despite your mistake. Except he never explained why Mommy was here. Why she had taken your place. But that is besides the point. The more you think the more it hurts and Daddy said good girls wear diapers. Good girls listen to Mommy. Good girls don’t question their Daddy’s. And that is enough to keep you from fretting over the fact that you can’t remember the last six months, and why you wore a diaper, and why you referred to Mommy as mommy; and why weren’t fighting to get your boyfriend back and why you accepted this treatment like it was normal… “Ughhh,” you groan and blink heavily against the fog that has encroached the front of your head. Daddy stands before you with his hands on his hips, staring at you with a knowing look. Whatever you were just thinking about has gone from your mind and to your shock you’ve now switched positions. Your knees are bent and you're squatting low to the ground. There’s a hint of a smell, something foul, and that is when you feel the warm brown lump at your back end. It smushed against your bottom, slowly creeping up your back. How could this be? How could you not feel yourself begin to poop - “Baby make a doozy?” Mommy comes and coos, petting back the dark bouncing curls from your eyes. She bends you over like a ragdoll, the same as Daddy and laughs. “Looks like the miralax is working.” Miralax?. Mira… Mir- “It also seems somebody is having a slow day today.” Your head is so high in the clouds that you don’t even acknowledge the insult spat right in your face. Blinking slowly, heavily, Mommy has laid a mat out on the ground. Daddy gets a crinkling package. Thick white squares, your stomach grumbles… “Teddy,” you whimper, suddenly remembering the whole reason you even came out of your room. Teddy is gonna get lonely. Teddy needs a hug. Teddy needs you. You need Teddy. Teddy was your friend. Always tucked into your arm when you waddled like a penguin as Daddy and Mommy went about their day doing grown up stuff like counting the bills and cleaning the house and you were the little girl you’d promised to be. So you and Daddy could stay together. So you could prove your loyalty to Daddy… But now you had somehow ended up on your back. Mommy kneels between your open legs. You watch as she piles her blonde hair atop her head. Daddy always had a thing for blondes… and that wasn’t you. A shiver goes down your spine at the sudden coldness to your nether regions. A stained brown padding is balled up to the side. You're naked from the waist down. Mommy pulls another wipe from the crinkling package and automatically you lift your hips giving her better access. The action is ingrained into your mind. It’s as if you do this everyday. Another wipe. And then another. And another… Too soon you are sitting up again. A massively white diaper separates your thighs so far apart that you couldn’t even close them if you tried. And you don’t. Daddy says only naughty girls disobeyed like that and you are a good girl. You have to be a good girl to get Daddy back. But as you sit trapped within the walls of the playpen and the tv flickers on, you can’t even comprehend the irony of the whole situation. Mommy and Daddy snuggled up on the couch and their lips locked together. Hands on the face that you used to touch, breathing in his musky scent that you loved. All the while, it now belongs to another woman and you sit here in a diaper with your teddy and a grainy bottle of formula in front of the television. Soggy Froggy ribbits to life and you can not help but watch, wide-eyed. The bright flashing colors rope you in as Soggy Froggy begins to sing: “Soggy Froggy likes to hop! Soggy Froggy likes to jump! Do you know what else Soggy Froggy likes? Good girls! Good girls don’t cry and good girls don’t fight and good girls' diapers are never dry. Can you tell Soggy Froggy… are you a good girl?” You don’t know how long the show continues to play but by the constant warmth of your diaper, sky changing from night to day, and the summer months turning to a frigid cold, it doesn’t really matter. You’re Daddy’s little girl… whether you wanted to be or not. ooOoo A/N: Here’s just a little one shot for you all! I’m writing my other story, ‘A Twisted Road to Redemption’ if you would like to check that out but for now, enjoy!!

The child was just like any normal 9 year old child, he was in 4th grade in which she loved to read and is very good at long division. He likes school and seeing her friends but likes the weekends at home too where she doesn't usually have homework. His/her favorite color is pastel green. He/she loves watching Netflix and has a secret love for watching tv show for very little children even if they are "baby shows". He/she's currently working on reading an old book his mommy gave her called "harry potter" but still gets caught up on some big words. He/She also has a bit of an entitlement issue with being seen as a big boy since he's only about as big as the first and second graders and only just stopped sucking his thumb at night a few weeks ago. (Our RP starts as the little boy is doing his homework in the living room with train playing on the TV, the door bell rings his mommy answers the door to see the babysitter she had called for the night. This babysitter was different though and has promised to get her little boy to relax and enjoy being a "little" kid more.... I will play the adult characters.

Hypnotic Nights - Book 3: Covenant (Ethan’s Story) Years later, Sarah is a successful hypnotherapist who, disillusioned by two divorces and a series of failed relationships, uses her skills for a new purpose: revenge. She targets arrogant, controlling men, using subtle suggestions to inflict a new, "invisible vulnerability" upon them. Chapter 1: The Architect of Regression The city glittered below Sarah’s apartment like a circuit board of cold, distant lights. Up here, in her tastefully minimalist space, the silence was a presence. It was the silence of a vacuum, where the echoes of failed conversations and broken promises had long since faded away. The sleek furniture, the degrees on the wall, the entire facade of her successful hypnotherapy practice—it all felt like a meticulously curated exhibit of a life that had never truly existed. She was a ghost in her own museum. The young, curious student who’d discovered a terrifying power in her dorm room was gone. So too was the woman who’d briefly believed she could use that power to heal. The years had sanded her down to a hard, bitter core. Two divorces—first from Charles, with his condescending charm, then from David, with his passive-aggressive neglect—had been the main events. A desolate parade of lesser men, who’d taken what they wanted and offered nothing but fleeting validation, had filled the intervals. They had all sought to control some part of her: her time, her attention, her energy. And in the end, they had all left her with the same hollowed-out feeling of being used. Her gaze fell upon a closed notebook, buried under more professional texts. She didn’t need to open it to see the words inside. Her mind’s eye could still trace the frantic, excited handwriting detailing her first real success: Andrew. Her university boyfriend, her willing subject. She remembered his utter, trusting surrender, the awe on his face the first morning he woke up changed. Then came Brian, years later, a man who’d actively sought out the very transformation she’d inflicted on Andrew, using the tools she’d commercialized. A faint pang, the ghost of an old remorse, tried to surface. She quashed it effortlessly. That feeling belonged to a softer woman. Now, she felt something else entirely: a cold, simmering sense of vindication. They were her true successes. Andrew and Brian. Not the clients she’d “cured” of phobias or quit-smoking urges. Those men had been changed. Permanently. They carried a mark from her every single night, a quiet, humiliating testament to her power. They, unlike the husbands who had forgotten her, would never truly be free of her. A new thought, dark and seductive, unfolded in her mind. It was absurd. It was monstrous. It was irresistible. What if her “practice” didn’t have to be about healing? What if it could be about… balancing the scales? The city was full of men like Charles and David—arrogant, self-satisfied, entitled. They presented their worst traits as strengths. What if she could give them a real vulnerability? A private, nightly humiliation they could never explain? A lesson etched not on their minds, but on their sheets. It wouldn’t be revenge on the specific men who’d hurt her. That was a fool’s errand. This would be purer. It would be revenge on the archetype. A thin, cold smile touched her lips for the first time in months. The emptiness within her didn’t feel so hollow anymore. It felt like a clean, dark workspace. She was no longer a therapist. She was an architect. And she was ready to build again. Chapter 2: The Artisan of Insecurity Sarah began her new work not as a therapist, but as an artisan. Her medium was the subconscious, her tools were trust and suggestion, and her product was a beautifully crafted, invisible vulnerability. She hunted with a predator’s patience, seeking specific prey: the arrogant executive who held a wine list like a scepter, the self-obsessed artist who held court on his own genius, the controlling financier who spoke in directives. Archetypes of the men who had seen her as a supporting character in their own stories. Luring them was effortless. In a discreet café or her neutrally decorated apartment, she presented herself as a specialist in “high-performance relaxation” and “subconscious optimization.” She spoke their language of ROI and peak efficiency. “Your mind is your greatest asset,” she’d say, her voice an instrument of calibrated warmth. “But even the most powerful systems require defragmentation. I help you achieve a state of pure, restorative reset.” They were sold. They were always sold. The sessions began with standard protocols. But as they sank into a trance, Sarah, the artisan, went to work. She didn’t just whisper about “letting go.” She tailored the poison to the prey. To the arrogant man, she suggested that true strength lay in the confidence to relinquish control, that only the truly powerful could afford to be vulnerable. She framed surrender not as a loss, but as the ultimate display of unshakeable security. To the controlling man, she offered the fantasy of a world where nothing required his effort, where he could finally stand down from the exhausting vigil of constant command. She wove intricate metaphors about systems powering down, about shedding the heavy armor of adulthood, about returning to a time before the weight of the world was theirs to carry. She linked the physical sensation of warmth and heaviness to this blissful, effortless state. She never mentioned a specific outcome; she only painted the feeling of absolute, carefree release. The men awoke feeling profoundly rested, addicted to a peace they hadn’t known they were missing. They reported better focus, less stress. They praised her genius, utterly unaware that they were now craving a feeling that was, by its very nature, incompatible with adult control. They felt a growing longing for the sanctuary of her sessions, for the permission to shed their carefully constructed selves. Sarah would listen to their grateful reports, her face a mask of professional satisfaction. Inside, a cold, intricate clockwork of triumph turned. She wasn’t just relaxing them; she was reprogramming them. She was making them happier, more relaxed, even as she planted the seeds of a deep, paradoxical need. The irony was exquisite. She watched the faint lines of tension around their eyes smooth away, and she felt not warmth, but the quiet thrill of a master craftswoman observing a perfect weld hold. The suggestion wasn’t just sown. It was grafted directly onto the core of their identities. She was giving them exactly what they thought they wanted, and in doing so, she was creating a dependency on a feeling that could only lead one place. The first step was complete. The foundation for their undoing was laid, and they had thanked her for it. Chapter 3: The Harvest The first fruits of her labour appeared not with a bang, but with a quiet, desperate phone call. “Sarah? It’s Mark. Something… something strange is happening.” His voice, usually an instrument of confidence, was frayed with a confusion that bordered on panic. “I woke up last night—I mean, really woke up—and the bed was… it was soaked. I haven’t done that since I was a child. What the hell is going on?” Sarah held the phone, saying nothing, letting the silence amplify his anxiety. She could picture him in his sleek, expensive apartment, standing in a ruined $3000 suit, his world of absolute control fracturing at the seams. She offered soft, professional platitudes. “Stress can manifest in astonishing ways, Mark. The body holds onto tension and releases it in its own time. It’s likely a one-time somatic release.” She knew it wasn’t. Other calls followed. From the others. The stories were the same: confusion, shame, frantic doctor visits that found no physical cause. They sought answers from her, their relaxation guru, their only anchor in this sudden humiliation. She listened to their bewildered reports, a curator admiring her own exhibition of chaos. She watched the pattern unfold from a distance. The initial shock gave way to frustration, then to a desperate, weary acceptance. The “accidents” weren’t isolated. They became routine. A new, humiliating line item in the nightly routine of powerful men. The very control they wielded by day was stolen from them each night by their own bodies. The irony was so perfect it was beautiful. Her work was done. There was no need for a dramatic exit. She simply became less available. Her responses grew shorter, then ceased altogether. She changed her number. She vanished from their lives as smoothly as she had entered them. She left behind no explanation, no closure. Only the memory. And the wetness. Alone in her apartment, Sarah would sip her wine and gaze out at the glittering city. She didn’t imagine them crying or raging. She imagined the quiet moments: the frantic pre-dawn laundry, the feel of stiff, dried sheets, the furtive purchase of protective undergarments for a business trip, the constant, low-grade anxiety of the evening ahead. They carried her with them every night, a secret shame they could never voice. They were her living monuments. Her masterpieces. A cold satisfaction settled in her bones, as constant as the city’s hum. She had taken the very thing they prized most—their inviolable control—and revealed it as a fiction. She had proven that even the strongest fortress could be undermined from within. But as the weeks turned into months, a quiet truth seeped in, as cold and unwelcome as the dampness she inflicted. The satisfaction was there, yes, but it was a closed loop. It filled no void. The emptiness Charles and David had left was still there. The darkness she planted in others did not displace her own; it merely echoed within it. The wine tasted of ash. She had won. She had taken her revenge on the archetype. Yet, she remained alone in her tasteful cage, the architect of ruins, forever listening for an echo that would never answer back. The victory was complete, and it was utterly, profoundly hollow. Chapter 4: An Unexpected Anomaly The bar was her habitat. A dimly lit terrarium where she could observe the species Homo arrogans in its natural state, displaying its plumage of self-importance. Sarah sat, a ghost at the feast, swirling the dregs of a pinot noir that tasted like vinegar and regret. This was her post-hunt ritual. A quiet celebration of victories no one else would ever know. Then the ecosystem shifted. A man approached. Not with the strut of a predator or the calculated lean of a negotiator. He moved with an unassuming ease that immediately marked him as an anomaly. He was perhaps a few years younger, with the kind of eyes that hadn’t yet learned to be cynical and a smile that seemed to be a genuine reflex, not a social tool. Every one of Sarah’s finely tuned alarms should have been screaming. This was not her prey. He lacked the essential ingredients: the entitlement, the narcissistic gleam, the fragile ego begging to be punctured. Yet, the silence of her internal radar was, in itself, a new and intriguing signal. An outlier, her analytical mind noted. A deviation from the pattern. How does it function? He introduced himself as Ethan. When he mentioned he managed the city’s well-known medical supply store, Sarah didn’t just hear a profession. Her mind, ever-connecting dots, immediately flicked through a catalog of her own “masterpieces”—the men now likely browsing the very aisles he managed. The coincidence was too perfect, too ironic to be random. Was it? Their conversation was… disarming. He asked about her work with a sincerity that felt alien. He listened in a way that made her feel heard, not just decoded. For brief, dangerous moments, she almost forgot to perform, to be the charming therapist. She felt a flicker of something she barely recognized: the simple pleasure of a normal interaction. It was this very ease that convinced her it was a performance. No one was this genuine. Her distrust, honed by years of disappointment, coiled tightly beneath her polite smile. He was a masterful player, then. Better than the others. He had crafted a persona of disarming kindness, a far more sophisticated lure than bravado. He wasn’t hiding flaws; he was hiding his true, controlling nature behind a flawless facade. The curiosity was narcotic. What was his endgame? What did this man, who presented as so open, truly want to take? The hunter in her, momentarily bored, was now utterly captivated. The most dangerous prey was always the kind that didn’t look like prey at all. She studied him over the rim of her glass, not just looking for cracks, but trying to discern the blueprint of the trap he was so expertly laying. For the first time in a long time, Sarah wasn’t the only one in the room playing a part. And for the first time, she wasn’t entirely sure she was the one in control. Chapter 5: The Revelation The comfortable haze of the evening evaporated in an instant. The air in the bar didn’t just feel thick; it felt electrically charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. Ethan’s warm demeanor had shifted. The openness in his eyes was still there, but it was now layered with an unnerving, focused intensity. “Sarah,” he began, his voice shedding its easygoing cadence for a tone of disarming seriousness. “This has been... remarkable. I feel like I can talk to you about anything.” He paused, letting the compliment hang in the air, a prelude to a coming storm. “Which is why I need to be completely honest. I sought you out tonight for a specific reason.” Every muscle in Sarah’s body went rigid. The pleasant facade she’d almost let herself believe in shattered. Her wine glass felt suddenly heavy and dangerous in her hand. Her therapist’s mask—polite, attentive, neutral—slipped into place, but behind it, her mind was a silent scream of calculation and panic. “I know what you do,” Ethan said, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur that cut through the jazz. His gaze wasn’t accusatory; it was knowing. Intimately knowing. Sarah’s blood ran cold. No one knows. No one can know. “I know about Andrew. Your first.” He said the name not as an accusation, but a statement of fact. “And I know about Brian. The one who came to you seeking what you gave Andrew.” He leaned forward slightly, his expression one of pure, unvarnished fascination. “And I know about the others. The recent ones. Mark. Nathan. Owen.” The names were bullets. Each one struck a silent, devastating hit. Her composure was a statue of ice, threatening to crack. “They’re my best customers now,” he continued, a look of genuine, professional gratitude on his face. “Extremely loyal. A predictable, recurring revenue stream.” He gave a small, pragmatic shrug. “Frankly, from a business perspective, your work is a boon. And from what I’ve gleaned? They had it coming. That’s not a judgment,” he added, holding up a placating hand. “Just an observation of karma’s strange mechanics.” Sarah could only stare, her mind reeling, trying to find the angle, the threat, the blackmail. This had to be a trap. Ethan’s intensity deepened. He moved his water glass aside and folded his hands on the table, his kind eyes locking onto hers with terrifying sincerity. “But that’s not why I’m here. Their stories… their outcomes… they’re not a warning for me, Sarah. They’re a blueprint.” He took a breath, and delivered the line that shattered her understanding of everything. “I want you to do it to me. I want what they have. I want to be a bedwetter.” The world tilted. The revenge she had cultivated, the bitter satisfaction she sipped like fine wine—it was now being presented back to her not as a condemnation, but as a request. Her weapon was being asked for by her next target. The control she cherished was being handed to her so freely it felt like losing it entirely. Her carefully constructed world didn’t just waver; it flipped on its axis, and she was left falling through the void. Chapter 6: The Calculus of Acceptance Ethan watched the storm of calculations behind Sarah’s eyes—the fear, the paranoia, the desperate search for his angle. He didn’t retreat. He simply… softened. The intensity in his gaze melted into a profound, weary honesty. “Please,” he said, his voice low and steady, not with threat, but with a vulnerability that was its own kind of strength. “Don’t misunderstand my intent. I’m not here to expose you. I’m here to hire you. You possess a skill I require.” He leaned back, the story unfolding not as a plea, but as a confidential briefing. “My entire life,” he began, “I’ve managed a… need. A compulsion for the security, the profound comfort of diapers. It’s the feeling of weightlessness, of being unburdened. It’s the most direct antidote to stress I’ve ever known.” He spoke of it not with shame, but with the analytical precision of someone who has spent a lifetime studying his own psyche. “For twenty years, I buried it. My wife… she found the concept repulsive. A ‘regression,’ she called it. A ‘sickness.’ So I locked that part of myself away. I became a ghost in my own life, performing the role of a normal husband, a normal father.” The memory tightened the skin around his eyes. “I was successful. I was miserable. It was like living with a constant, low-grade phantom pain for a part of me that was… absent.” He took a sip of water, the gesture grounding his confession. “After the divorce, I unpacked that part of myself again. The relief was… astronomical. But it’s not enough anymore.” His eyes locked onto hers, blazing with a new intensity. “The conscious choice is the problem. The procurement, the secrecy, the constant mental calculation—should I or shouldn’t I? It’s just another form of stress. Another performance.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper filled with terrifying want. “I don’t want to choose to wear them, Sarah. I want to need to wear them. I want the choice taken away from me. I want my body’s truth to finally, irrevocably, match my mind’s. I want the excuse. I want the normalcy of necessity.” Sarah listened, her mind instinctively comparing his case to Brian’s. Brian had sought her out to achieve a state he’d fantasized about. He wanted to experience surrender. But Ethan… Ethan was already there. He wasn’t seeking an experience; he was seeking a final, surgical resolution to a lifelong conflict. Brian wanted to visit a country; Ethan wanted to burn his passport and become a permanent citizen. The depth of his desire was absolute. It wasn’t a fantasy; it was an identity, waiting for its final, physical validation. This wasn’t about creating a vulnerability; it was about resolving a profound psychological dissonance. Her bitter quest for revenge suddenly seemed petty, childish next of this man’s raw, logical yearning for wholeness. The coldness within her didn’t just melt; it was vaporized by the sheer heat of his authenticity. She saw not a target, but a perfect, fascinating client. A man offering her the one thing she truly craved: a worthy challenge that appealed to her genius, not her bitterness. “I…” The word caught in her throat. Her voice, when it came, was stripped of its professional veneer, softer than she’d intended. “I understand.” And for the first time, she truly did. “I can help you, Ethan,” she said, the conviction in her voice surprising even her. It wasn’t the offer of a vengeful goddess, but of a master craftswoman presented with the most intriguing commission of her life. Her motivation was no longer revenge. It was the pure, unadulterated potential to engineer a soul’s perfect peace. Chapter 7: The Foundation They met in her office the next day. The air was different. The space, once a hunting blind, was now a laboratory. The dynamic had irrevocably shifted from hunter-and-prey to specialist-and-client—or perhaps, architect-and-patron. Sarah opened a fresh notebook. This intake was different. Her questions were not designed to find a weakness to exploit, but to map the boundaries of the reality they were about to construct together. “Describe the precise physical sensation of security you feel,” she began, her pen poised. “Is it weight? Warmth? Pressure? I need the specific details.” “When you think of ‘control’ now, what is the specific anxiety attached to it? Is it the burden of decision-making? The performance of competence?” “Walk me through the practical ramifications. If this is successful, how will you manage a business trip to Tokyo? A potential new romantic partner? You must have a plan for these things. This is not a fantasy; it is a life change.” “What you are asking for is not behavior modification. It is identity alteration. It is the rewiring of your most fundamental autonomy. Do you fully understand the gravity of that?” Ethan didn’t just answer; he expounded. He had clearly spent a lifetime constructing the blueprint for this moment. His responses were thoughtful, precise, and utterly resolved. He had contingency plans, practical solutions, and a serene acceptance of the social risks. Sarah found herself not just respecting him, but deeply impressed. For the first time in years, she was using her skills not to break, but to build. The irony was so profound it was exhilarating. The sessions began. They were intense, collaborative immersions. Ethan was a virtuoso subject—his intelligence, motivation, and pre-existing self-awareness allowing him to achieve depths of trance that made their work frighteningly efficient. Sarah employed every advanced technique she knew. She didn’t just use verbal suggestions; she employed somatic anchoring, tying the feeling of peace to the physical sensation of a deep, relaxing warmth spreading through his lower abdomen. She crafted intricate visualizations of locks opening, of heavy armor clattering to the floor, of finally setting down a burden he’d carried for decades. Her voice was a steady, sure guide. “We are not creating a weakness, Ethan,” she murmured in that hypnotic cadence that could bend reality. “We are unlocking your body’s deepest, wisest instinct. We are aligning your physical truth with your psychological truth. The need to release control is not a failure; it is your body’s highest form of trust in itself. This is not a loss of function. It is a homecoming of function.” She wove his own words—“weightlessness,” “unburdened,” “necessity”—into the fabric of the trance, anchoring the profound psychological release to the inevitable physical one. It took a fraction of the time it had with her other subjects. His subconscious wasn’t a fortress to be besieged; it was a willing co-conspirator, waiting for its orders. The first time it happened, her phone chimed with a text. It was not filled with panic or questions. It was not a cry for help. It was a simple, profound statement of fact. Ethan: “It worked. Thank you.” Four words. And in them, Sarah read the entire story. The warmth. The dampness. The absence of panic. The presence of peace. He had awoken into his new life not with shock, but with gratitude. The experiment was a success. The foundation was poured. And it was rock solid. Chapter 8: The New Partnership Ethan’s transformation was an unqualified success. The relief that settled over him was a palpable thing, a permanent exhale after a lifetime of held breath. The exhausting internal debate—should I, shouldn’t I?—was simply gone. His life was no longer about the choice, but about the graceful management of a simple, factual need. The quiet that replaced the conflict was not an absence, but a presence: a deep, unwavering peace. His gratitude towards Sarah was profound and uncomplicated. Their relationship effortlessly evolved from therapist-client into a deep, unique friendship built on a foundation of immense trust and a shared, profound secret. Over coffee, he would speak with easy openness about the mundane realities of his new life—the discreet travel bag, the liberating simplicity of his nightly routine. He was her living, breathing success story—a testament not to corruption, but to liberation. One day, as they sat in a sunlit café, he leaned forward, his expression turning from friendly to strategically earnest. “You have a skill set unlike anyone else on earth, Sarah,” he began, his voice low. “And I have a clientele no other therapist understands. We’ve proven it works. There are others out there like me. Not many, but they exist. People who feel this truth in their bones but are trapped by shame, with no path to make it real.” He laid out his proposition: a discreet, referral-only consultancy. She would be the architect, using her rigorous intake process to find the rare, genuine individuals for whom this was the answer. She would perform the delicate work of psychological realignment. He would be the engineer, handling all practical support—product sourcing, discreet shipping, coaching on integration into their personal and professional lives. Sarah looked at him, this man who had seen the monster in her and, instead of running, had asked for its help. He had seen her power not as a curse or a weapon, but as a tool for profound change. He had offered her a path out of the bitter isolation of her revenge, a way to use her genius for genuine good. It was a purpose. It was redemption, offered not through penance, but through partnership. A real, genuine smile—one that felt unfamiliar on her face—spread to her eyes for the first time in years. It was the smile of the curious student she’d once been, presented with the most fascinating thesis imaginable. “Ethan,” she said, her voice filled with a conviction she thought she’d lost forever. “I think that’s a brilliant idea.” The city glittered beyond the café window, no longer a circuit board of cold, distant lights, but a map of hidden potential. Her past—the failed marriages, the bitter revenge—didn’t disappear. But it was no longer a cage. It was the foundation for something new. She had spent years learning how to break minds. Now, she would use that knowledge to finally, truly, mend them. And she wouldn’t be doing it alone.