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Hi everyone just wanting to know First Time you pooped a diaper and why? excluding true babyhood

I'm really sorry for the delay on this one. I'm just trying to make everything perfect, and this doesn't feel perfect yet. But I'm probably as close to perfect as I'm going to get. I know this chapter is really short. I'll try to have a longer one up by next week, okay? Anyway... If you haven't read any Academy Works stories, there are five others in this universe. They are as follows: Academy I (Part 1), Academy B (Part 2), Academy T (Part 3), Academy K (Part 4), and Academy A (Part 5). You don't have to read any of the other stories to enjoy this one, but there are a lot of references and overlap. If you're in this for the long haul, and you want to know about the entire universe, I really do recommend reading this one after the other five. As always, you can support me at this Patreon link. Thank you for all the comments and likes over the past year, and I hope to finish this project soon! ~Mia~ --------------------------------- Academy M By Mia Moore "The just are blind to love, and the lovers are blind to everything else." -The Source Mistake One I flipped through the dossier. Of all the cases they wanted me to start with... "So?" "You're sure she's a candidate?" I asked. Eli nodded. He was the Academy's problem solver, and his first problem was the hardest one. How do we identify the candidates? "Judith Levin, age twenty-eight." "And she's been Touched?" I flipped the page. There was a picture on this one: a brunette with half-closed eyes and a faraway look. "Yep," Eli said, which was all that he had to say. If she'd been Touched and he was able to compile a dossier, that was proof enough. She didn't disappear. "So what am I supposed to do," I said sharply, snapping the folder closed. I entwined my fingers in front of me and leaned forward to meet Eli's gaze. He could intimidate anyone, but not me. I'd been working with him for far too long. "Keep her occupied. She's done her part, but she's still an Arcana. She's dangerous." Sure, keep her occupied. Eli was asking me to babysit God. "Why me?" I asked. That was the real question I wanted answered. "There are a thousand other people working here that could handle this." Eli smiled when he said: "She's into tall women." "Well, shit..." "No one is better than you, Maria," Eli went on. He was goading me, but he wasn't wrong. "Where is she?" I asked, entertaining the offer. "Academy B?" "M," Eli said flatly. "Wait, really?" “——— isn't taking any chances." "I guess not..." I twirled my hair in thought. If keeping Judith in line was really so important, then I might as well take on the extra responsibility. It would give me more leverage at the end of all this. "So you'll do it?" Eli asked. "I'll do it." "Good." And then Eli dropped the stoicism for just a moment to give me a smile. "You've got this." "I'm not worried," I said brightly, without a hint of dishonesty. But I should have been worried. I should have shown an ounce of caution, but my pride never let me make such compromises. Determination and commitment motivated me, and they would motivate me to oblivion. Judith Levin would be my downfall, and that cascade began when I accepted her as my responsibility. She was my first mistake.

Virtue follows the lives of several women raised in a restrictive cult which forces it’s female members to wear and use diapers. Some characters resist this form of control, some embrace it, and others seek to use it to their advantage. 18+. This story will contain elements of coercion, brainwashing, and misogyny. There will be no incest but there will be family dynamics that would be reprehensible in real life. The first two chapters of this story are public, further updates will be posted on my patreon. When/if the rest of the story becomes public, it will be posted in this thread as well. All characters are over 18. - Virtue: 1 Hannah Hannah stood in the kitchen, her hands in the warm dish water, watching the sparrows outside bathing in the puddles from yesterday’s rain. Hannah shifted her legs as she reached for the dish soap. Her heavy cloth night diaper sagged between them, straining her frosted plastic pants. The skirt of her faded blue gingham dress swished over the plastic as she moved. At the sound of a loud slap behind her, Hannah started and looked over her shoulder, a burst of urine dribbling into her diaper as she did so. Her mother, Michelle, had just plopped a large wad of bread dough on the table and was kneading it aggressively. Hannah watched her admiringly, envying her mother’s confidence and skill in the kitchen. She knew that in her mother, she was looking at her future. Michelle was middle aged, pudgy, and had a tired but attractive face. Her dark curly hair was pulled back in a bun and she worked the dough with the shapely arms and strong hands of a woman used to hard labour. Michelle’s diaper, the outline of which was clearly visible against the back of her dress, looked heavier than her own. Unlike Hannah, her mother had a distinct waddle as she moved around the kitchen. However, Hannah still thought that Michelle’s large diaper looked less out of place on her matronly figure than on her own girlish hips. Hannah greatly admired her mother’s humble strength in the many sacrifices she had made for her family. She was thankful that for her, everything would be easier than it had been for her mother. She had had the privilege to be raised correctly from the start, whereas her mother had had to relearn everything about a virtuous life when she met Hannah’s father. Looking up from working the dough to see Hannah watching her, Michelle directed a single pointed look back at the dishes. Hannah blushed and picked up a spatula, feeling herself softly pass gas into her diaper as she did so. One good thing about getting up early to help mom in the kitchen was that it gave her bowels a chance to move before her morning diaper change. The downside, of course, was having to spend more time awake in her much thicker night diaper. Hannah picked up a bowl with a pattern of soft pink flowers around the rim and dipped her dishrag into the soapy water. Truthfully, Hannah did have a tiny secret, and one that made her blush with guilt to think of. She knew very well that it wasn’t appropriate for women to hold their waste, but she had been secretly practising influencing when she used her diaper. Too often, her body chose to go only after she had been changed into the diaper she would spend the rest of the day in. Hannah had slowly learned that with a little effort, she could dirty her diaper before her morning change and therefore spend most of the afternoon in a cleaner diaper. She’d never been explicitly told it was wrong, but she couldn’t imagine it was something a truly good and virtuous girl would do. Nonetheless, it gave her the tiniest thrill to exert this little bit of control over her life, and to privately know that at least some of her innocent feminine accidents were intentional. As she felt the pressure building in her bowels, she knew that she needed to act now before the urge passed. Feeling herself flushing with excitement and embarrassment, Hannah spread her legs slightly and tried to push. She braced her small hands on the edge of the sink and leaned forward, unable to concentrate on pretending to wash a dish as she pushed. Hannah stifled a little gasp as she felt a unexpectedly large and mushy mess slide into her diaper. Hannah beamed even through the familiar shame she always felt after using her diapers. That was so easy! She tried to casually smooth down the back of her skirt, feeling the slight bulge of her mess under her plastic pants. Sheepishly, Hannah’s gaze darted back over to her mother to check if she’d noticed. Michelle’s only indication that she was aware her daughter had filled her diaper was an expressionless glance at Hannah’s bottom. She continued dividing the dough for buns without comment. Hannah turned back to the dishes, looking at her reflection in a large soup spoon. Only 19, she was sweetly and delicately beautiful, with a heart-shaped face, large expressive brown eyes, and a constellation of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her light brown hair was braided in a single thick plait and her bangs, which she had been growing out, were tucked behind her ears. Hannah placed the spoon in the dish rack and began picking at the dried dough along the edge of a mixing bowl. She knew that of course, under no circumstances would her mom say anything negative about her dirty diaper. Her mother had always made it very clear that it was one thing for the boys to tease their sisters about their full diapers, but for the girls to do it to each other was nothing but catty meanness. Still, she felt reassured that her mom hadn’t noticed anything unusual about her accident. She wondered if her mother ever experimented with maintaining control over her body in this way. She couldn’t imagine that her mother would ever think of such a thing. She did wonder about her older sisters, who certainly didn’t have all the respect for themselves that they ought too- “Are you quite done with those dishes, Hannah?” Hannah’s head shot back up at this subtle rebuke. She looked back over her shoulder at her mother. Michelle gestured with a flour covered hand to the dining room. “Can you set the table please?” Her voice was incredibly controlled and betrayed only the slightest sign that her limited supply of patience was wearing. Hannah nodded and wiped her hands on a dish towel. Grabbing a handful of cutlery, she made her way over to the table. As accustomed to it as she was, her full diaper still interrupted her natural grace. She felt awkward and infantile, especially after receiving a tiny reprimand from her mother for dilly-dallying. Hannah carefully set the table and straightened the floral table runner. As she looked up, she was dazzled by the morning sun shining through the dining room windows. Outside, the pear trees in the yard were just coming into bloom. Beyond them and only just visible from the window, her and her sister’s diapers were drying on the clothesline. Hannah sat down on the low window ledge, entranced by the birds that were flitting around the pear blossoms. Her diaper squished uncomfortably under her, her mess mushing upwards into the front of her diaper and pressing against her vulva. Hannah smiled, knowing that it was a sign that she was loved and protected. She knew that she was truly blessed.

Does your little/sub/diaperslave not use the toilet? These are some fun humiliating songs to make them sing (and dance to)! Do they need to pee? Make them sing before they're allowed! Make them sing before giving them a change! Make them sing before changing them out of their sodden clothes! Make them sing before giving them permission to get out of bed! Better still if there are tears running down their face! I designed these song meters to be gender-flexible, so you can swap boy/girl or daddy/mommy or undies/panties as needed. (Though I'm not sure what to do about NB piss-pants; suggestions welcome.) Diaper Wetting I'm going to wet my diaper! My pants really crinkle It's handy when I tinkle I'm going to wet my diaper! I drank a lot of juice So I'm going to let loose I wear my potty every day So I can do my pee-pee without delaaaay! I'm going to wet my diaper! 'Cuz I'm a baby boy! [Start wetting] Psss, psss, psss, ooh! Psss, psss, psss, ohh! [Repeat until all done] I just wet my diaper! Soggy diapers are the norm Squishy, yellow and warm I just wet my diaper Mommy put me in a Pamp And I made it all damp My pants are starting to sag Someone had better grab the diaper baaaag! I just wet my diaper 'Cuz I'm a baby boy! Diaper Messing I'm going to poop my diaper! I ate a bunch of fruit But now I need to toot I'm going to poop my diaper! Now I'm going to squat down And push out something brown My face looks like I'm trying to think But the truth is I'm about to raise a stiiiink! I'm going to poop my diaper! 'Cuz I'm a baby girl! [Start pushing] Pushie, pushie, pushie, ooh! Pushie, pushie, pushie, ooh! [Repeat until all done] I just pooped my diaper! I gave a big push Now there's poopie on my tush I just pooped my diaper! I just made a present But it doesn't smell too pleasant I bent down and made boom It's pretty obvious to everyone in the roooom! I just pooped my diaper 'Cuz I'm a baby girl! Pants Wetting I'm about to wet my undies! I didn't use the potty And that was very naughty I'm about to wet my undies! I was busy playing But my holding strength is fraying Now I'm doing the pee-pee dance And I'm moments away from going in my paaaants! I'm about to wet my undies! Just like a baby boy! [Start wetting] Drip, drip, drip, ooh! Drip, drip, drip, ooh! [Repeat until all done] I just wet my undies! I didn't notice I had to go And I couldn't hold my flow I just wet my undies! I made pee-pee everywhere Everybody point and stare Tell everyone the news: My accident is dribbling into my shooooes! I just wet my undies! Just like a baby boy! Bedwetting I hope I don't wet my jam-jams! If I wet the bed again That'll be another stain I hope I don't wet my jam-jams! Daddy always gets mad He says I need a puppy pad The chart says I've wet five times this week It seems like every night, my bladder springs a leeeeak! I hope I don't wet my jam-jams! 'Cuz I'm no baby girl! [go to sleep] I just wet my jam-jams! I just woke up and I'm groggy But I see my sheets are soggy I just wet my jam-jams! I'm sitting in a puddle And I'm gonna be in trouble I was having such a lovely dream But at the same time, I released my streeeeam! I just wet my jam-jams! Maybe I'm really a baby girl!

Hi everyone! This is my first time posting here so please let me know if I do something that violates community etiquette. This is the first of what will likely be several stories about this character. More writing is available on my patreon. All characters are adults. 18+ - Delilah woke up as the warm mush filled the seat of her diaper. She squirmed against the giant teddy bear that took up nearly half her bed, still too sleepy to understand the sensation. A hot rush of pee flooded her already soaked padding and she came fully awake. She opened her eyes. She was laying on her back between the legs of her teddy, with her head resting on his soft belly. Still feeling pressure in her tummy, Delilah opened her legs and pushed. She whimpered as the rest of a large, firm mess plopped into her diaper. Blushing, she reached down to gently feel the lump in her thick disposable. Her diaper warmed under her hand as her bladder finished emptying itself. She sat up with her back against her teddy’s tummy, drawing her knees up and trying not to squish her mess against her kitty. A faint but noticeable smell of poop wafted up as she flipped back her covers. Pushing back her pale pink hair, she put on her glasses and picked up her phone. Morning daddy, she typed. She held up her phone to take a selfie. After two years on estrogen, she was still both adjusting to and reveling in her own beauty. She loved her soft skin, her small firm breasts, the subtle new curves on her thin body. The low cut of her nightgown showed off her collarbones and a tiny hint of cleavage, the soft blue color of the fabric matching her eyes. Her most striking feature was her large pretty mouth, almost too big for her tiny face. Sticking out her butt and tugging up her nighty to make sure her diaper was visible, Delilah snapped her selfie. She swiped back to a message from “my daddy ❤️.” Morning baby ❤️, it read. She replied with her selfie. Turning slightly onto her side, she reached behind her and, shoving her teddy’s leg out of the way to get a better angle, took a picture of her messy diaper. The brown stain was slowly spreading up the back of the diaper after her last wetting. She sent it to her partner. my daddy ❤️: My pretty baby ❤️ my daddy ❤️: Are you poopy? Delilah smiled and leaned forward, supporting herself on her elbows as she typed. Her teddy’s fluff tickled her thighs as she jiggled her messy diaper against him. 🏳️‍🌈 LilahLemon (she/her)🍋🏳️‍⚧️: Big time hehe my daddy ❤️: Good girl 🏳️‍🌈 LilahLemon (she/her)🍋🏳️‍⚧️: Grumbles >//< A warm flush radiated from Delilah’s chest and she squeezed her legs together, causing her mess to squish between her thighs and her cheeks. She brushed her nipples with her hand and shivered. Her breasts were growing again and they were tender and sensitive. my daddy ❤️: Did you do it in your sleep? 🏳️‍🌈 LilahLemon (she/her)🍋🏳️‍⚧️: Some hehe 🏳️‍🌈 LilahLemon (she/her)🍋🏳️‍⚧️: Woke up and finished pushing my daddy ❤️: Such a good girl Delilah smiled and slipped her hand into the collar of her nightgown, rubbing her small conical nipples. She pinched her left one and gently rolled the tip between her fingers. Meeh 😛, she typed. my daddy ❤️: So glad my baby bed messes ❤️ You know I can’t help it, Delilah replied. She couldn’t. After being diapered for the last four years, her continence was nearly extinguished. She still had partial bowel control while she was awake, but she frequently woke up messing herself. Gently biting her lip, Delilah squeezed her breast. They were just large enough now to fill her small hands and she was desperate to have them touched. She wiggled her hips against her squishy padding, feeling her mess mush between her legs. Her kitty was flushed and sensitive. She dropped her hand from her breast and reached under the skirt of her nighty to cup the crotch of her diaper. Pressing it against her kitty, she kneaded the soaked filling through the plastic. Her clit was starting to drip into her diaper. May I get off daddy? She typed with her other hand. my daddy ❤️: We’ll see baby my daddy ❤️: Where's your paci sweetie? She felt over her chest, realizing her pacifier clip was missing. Around? She typed. Should be in your mouth, her partner responded. Delilah grumbled to herself and crawled over her teddy to search her bed, her plastic sheets crinkling under her. Pushing aside the covers to reveal a collection of sex toys, stuffies, snacks, and an assortment of items that absolutely should not have been in her bed, Delilah dug around under her pillows for her pacifier. Finding it between her wand and a bag of candy she’d stolen from work, Delilah popped in her mouth. She climbed on top of her teddy, straddling him, and sent a picture to her caregiver. Her pretty was face lit up in a smile behind the large pacifier shield. my daddy ❤️: There's my happy baby ❤️ Glowing with pleasure, she rocked herself against her teddy. Squeezing her teddy with her legs so she didn’t slip off, Delilah leaned over and started the video call through her webcam. “Can you see me daddy?” She said, shaking her messy butt at the camera. Her mess moved against her. “I can see you, baby.” Her caregiver’s voice crackled over her cheap speakers and Delilah smiled behind her pacifier. It was deeper than the pre-testosterone voice he had had when they first got together, but she no longer remembered any other. She pulled her nightgown off over her head and flipped her hair back as she turned around to face the camera. Shivering with excitement as the cool air hit her skin, she ran her hands over her chest. She cupped a breast in each palm and squeezed gently, more for her own enjoyment than for that of her partner watching through the webcam. She did hope that if she was sexy enough, he would let her cum. The poop in her diaper squished against her as she scooted her butt up to straddle her teddy’s head. Pressing her crotch down on his face, she rocked her kitty against his nose. She ran her hands down her smooth body to rub the front of her diaper, cupping the padding with both hands and lifting it to press against her clit. “Good girl. Baby loves her teddy, doesn't she?” “Mhmm,” Delilah bounced her butt against the bear’s head. “Does he make baby’s kitty feel nice?” “Mhmmm,” Delilah lisped around her pacifier. “My diapers berry slick daddy.” “And very full. Baby’s kitty must be so poopy.” Delilah whined and rocked herself impatiently against her bear. “I pretty sure she's still clean,” she mumbled, knowing very well she was messy all over under her diaper. “Maybe,” She heard a smile in her partner’s voice. “But you're a very good girl to rub your kitty in your mess.” A little moan slipped out of Delilah. “Just want to make stickies…” “I know you do. Where’s your toy, baby?” Delilah blushed. “Which one daddy?” “Your big one.” “Umm…” Delilah slid off her bear. Making sure to stick up her butt at the camera, she crawled over to her nest of sex toys and pulled out her large red dildo. “Dis one, dada?” She turned around, holding it up to the camera. “Yes, baby. Where’s your lube?” She shrugged. “I nono.” “Find it.” Grumbling, she dug around in her bed for her lube, finally finding it under her stuffed shark. She held it up in triumph. “Good girl. Can you say hello to your toy for me?” She took out her pacifier, licking up the length of the dildo before taking it into her mouth. She made eye contact with the camera as she took it as deep into her throat as she could, grinding her kitty into her diaper as she did. She slowly slid it out of her mouth, kissing the tip as it left her lips. Wiggling with excitement, she opened her lube bottle and dribbled it over her toy, sliding her hand up and down the shaft as she coated it. “Good baby.” Delilah popped her pacifier back in and smiled. “Can you pull your diaper aside for me?” Nodding, Delilah obediently got on all fours and pulled her diaper aside with one hand. She flushed with embarrassment to know her daddy could almost certainly see how messy she was. With her other hand, she angled her dildo under her diaper towards her asshole. She burned with humiliation as she felt her mess squishing under the toy. Pressing the tip to her hole, she pushed gently. Her body resisted at first, then, as she forced herself to relax, she felt her hole open and take in the head of the toy. She gave herself a few seconds to accept the toy and then slowly pushed the rest of the shaft into herself. She tugged her diaper back into place, trying not to get any mess on her fingers. Looking back over her shoulder, she shook her hips at the camera. “Good girl. Can you show me how you like to make your teddy feel good?” “Yesh dada.” Carefully climbing back on to her teddy, she straddled his hips and put her arms around his head. Nuzzling into his soft fur, she slowly eased down on her dildo. She whined quietly as her mess mushed under her and she humped her diaper against her teddy, her clit sliding against her soiled padding. “Does baby like that?” Delilah nodded into her teddy. “Uh…huh…” Her clit was hard now, and she shifted her full weight onto her butt, driving her dildo deeper into herself. She rolled her hips against him, riding the dildo in her diaper like it was her teddy’s cock. Leaning forward, she kissed his face through her pacifier, his fluff tickling her small breasts. She moaned into her pacifier. Kissing him made it more like real sex, but also made her feel more like a little girl “practicing” kissing on her stuffed toys. She felt pathetic. Her kitty throbbed. “Aww, is baby giving teddy kisses?” Delilah turned her head to look back at the camera. Her cheek was pressed against her bear's fur. “Just being nice to my fwiend.” “I know sweetie. Baby loves making her teddy happy, doesn't she?” She nodded. “Does he make baby’s kitty feel nice?” “Makes my kitty tinglies.” She squirmed in her diaper. “I know sweetie, your clitty is really hard isn't she? Delilah blushed. “Why’s my baby so excited?” “I nono.” She turned her face into her bear. “Is it because she knows she’s too little for big girl sex?” Delilah whined into her pacifier and rapidly humped her hard clit against her padding. Sweat rolled down her back. Her whole body felt tingly and the cold air was electric against her damp skin. She squeezed her legs around her bear, flexing her butt and thighs as she rode the toy in her ass. She moaned as the mess moved between her cheeks. “Does my baby want to cum in her dirty diaper?” “Yesh,” Her voice was high and breathy. “Yesh daddy.” “Yes what, baby?” “I wanna-” Delilah moaned into her teddy. “Wanna cum in my poopy diapy dada.” “Get your buzzy, baby.” Delilah whimpered and reached for her wand. The smell of her diaper and her own sweat hung in the air around her. She clicked it on and placed the buzzing head against the front of her diaper and sucked in her breath as her whole diaper vibrated against her kitty. Trapping the wand between herself and her bear she pushed into it hard into her crotch, mushing the silicon head into the plastic of her diaper. She pushed her hips forward, curling over herself to feel the depth of the toy in her ass. Her poopy diaper buzzed against her clit, enveloping her. She kissed her bear’s face and moaned loudly and involuntarily into her pacifier. “Is my baby close?” “Uhh…” Delilah’s mouth was open and slack around her pacifier. Her eyes were shut. She was squeezing her own breast in one hand. “Uhhuhhh…” “Is her teddy making her feel nice in her dirty diaper?” “Mhhmmm…” She nodded and moaned again. All Delilah could think about was her diaper. Her mess was buzzing against her; her own filthy, smelly reminder that she was a helpless baby. Too little for sex, too little to use the toilet. Only able to squish her soiled padding against herself until she came in her own waste. “Cum in your diaper for me, baby.” The wave of pleasure erupted from her kitty, rolling up over her hips and chest. Delilah gasped and moaned, her hand slipping from her breast to mash her wand against her diaper as she came. She whimpered against her bear’s face, rocking back on her dildo to milk out the rest of her orgasm. “Eeep,” Delilah pulled back from her wand as it suddenly became too much. Giggling, she fumbled to turn it off. She couldn’t tell if she had dribbled into her diaper or not, but her kitty was tingly and happy. Her wand clicked off. She was sleepy and warm. “All done sweetie?” She nodded as she snuggled into her bear. Her dildo felt larger in her ass now and she wiggled her butt to get comfortable. “Did you have fun?” “Duh.” Delilah was struggling to keep her eyes open. Her diaper mushed between thighs as she wrapped her legs around her teddy. God, she stunk. “Let’s get your diaper changed then.” “Uh uh.” Delilah pulled her covers up over herself. “Are you gonna fall asleep on me?” “No, dada.” Delilah felt herself peeing into her mess. She sighed happily as the damp heat spread throughout her diaper. “Are you sure?” “Mhmms.” “I love you baby.” “Wuv wu too dada.” Delilah suckled her pacifier. She closed her eyes.

Hey everyone! I'm new here, but have been a super long-time lurker. I started this story a while ago, pre-pandemic, but have recently been interested in continuing working on it. Full disclosure, I initially posted this on reddit years ago, but I'm such a fan of a lot of the writing and discussion that happens here, so I figured I'd throw my hat in the ring. I would love any and all feedback and criticism y'all might have! Could help me as I start mapping out where I'd like to go with the story! This is a gay story, so if that's not your thing, fair warning. There's also some cursing. And finally, though these first three chapters don't involve it (beyond a passing mention), there will be messing involved in this story later on. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Chapter One: A New Beginning I nearly slipped on a pile of loose dirt as I sprinted around a corner into a narrow alleyway. My heart thumping out of my chest, I swiftly dodged a heap of trash bags and a stained couch missing one of its cushions. I couldn’t look back. There was no time. I wasn’t sure quite why I was so afraid, or where exactly I was running, but regardless I zoomed my way out of the alley and around the corner onto the adjacent street. Suddenly finding myself weaving through a million cars and taxis and dogs and pedestrians, I just about lost my mind. I could feel some sort of doom trailing behind me, crashing like some sort of tidal wave. But I couldn’t think about it. I swear, it was as if all that I was, my entire essence had become just RUN RUN RUN RUN. If I was even breathing, it was light-years faster than my pace, like, a thousand breaths a second. Don’t breathe, I thought, just run. Don’t turn around, just run. Don’t think.... Oh god, what’s happening? I looked down at my legs leaping across the pavement, but something was wrong. They weren’t moving. I could feel my body piercing the air, speeding down the street like some deranged, out of control bullet, but my feet just hung in place. Staring at my limp legs, I could hear the mighty flood approaching, only inches behind me. Before I could even turn to meet my fate, I was consumed by immense, devastating crash, cracking my bones and crumbling my body beneath it. I sensed the wave pulling me in, breaking into every crevice of the world, drenching everything in darkness. ******** “Jesus fuck!” Without warning, I jolted awake, out of breath. Blinded by the sun, I looked over at my brother hunched over at the wheel. “It’s called a blinker, shit head!” he swerved his truck a little, going to town on the horn. “What the hell, Jake?” I scratched the sleep out of my eyes. “Sorry dude, the road’s filled with jackasses today,” Jake turned and looked at me, adopting the same annoying singsong voice he used to tease me with back when we were younger. “And good morning Zachy, hope you enjoyed your little nap while I had to drive here in silence.” “Screw you, man.” I yawned and stretched upright in my seat, trying to get my bearings. How long had I slept? We seemed to be cruising at a decent pace down the highway. I took a few heavy breaths and my pulse finally started to slow down. I grabbed my phone out of the passenger door. 11:20pm. We probably still had a good hour or so before we arrived. “Look, I’m sorry,” I said as I opened up facebook out of habit. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.” Jake looked back at the road. “You gonna need to change soon?” “What? Come on Jake, are you seriously... no, I’m fine, okay?” I blushed, and turned to look out my window. “Sorry Zach,” Jake chuckled. “Just askin’. We still got a ways to go.” “Well, I’m good, so....” I didn’t even finish my thought as I buried my attention into my phone. Truth is, I didn’t know if I was dry or not. Look, it’s super embarrassing, and I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but to be totally honest... I’ve always had issues controlling, I guess you’d say, my bathroom habits. Like, it’s a thing. Has been my whole life. Forgetting a few random incidents over time, I pretty much stopped regularly pooping myself back when I was seven years old, and by the time I started 8th grade when I was thirteen, my daytime wetting mostly went away. However, no matter how much I cringe, or how many hours before bed I stop drinking, or what pill or nasal spray or alarm my parents gave me, I never quite outgrew wetting the bed. Just imagine that! Being nineteen, about to enter your Sophomore year at a big, prestigious university, top of your class, a solid group of friends... and you still piss your friggin' pants. I mean, who wants to be, let alone be friends with, a guy who has to wear diapers to bed, and on long trips, and sometimes even to long exams or movies, just to avoid staining their clothes and furniture? Even though it’s been almost two decades, I still find myself constantly shocked and disgusted with myself. Not really finding much of anything interesting on Facebook (no surprise there), I subtly crossed my legs and reached my hand down to feel my crotch. Charming, I know. I sighed and relaxed my shoulders. There was no denying it. I was wet. Not even that, I was soaked. I can tell you, wearing an adult diaper at all (especially these big overnight ones my parents got me) is thick no matter what, but a diaper full of pee is a whole other story. Rather than the tight, stiff padding I’d felt when I put this diaper on before the ride, my hand was now greeted with a super thick, mushy bulb of squishiness covering my groin. Instinctively, I lifted my butt and felt underneath. Still firm and flat... still dry down there. “You okay there, buddy?” I turned to see Jake staring at me feeling myself up. “It’s cool if you do need to change.” “Dude, drop it. I’m fine,” I pouted back at him. I hated that I still had this problem, but not as much as I absolutely loathed that anyone on this planet, especially my brother, knew about it. At least none of my college friends had found out yet. “Look Zach, I’m not bustin’ your balls or anything. It’s just when we’re living together this year, especially if I’m gonna have to drive you around and shit, I mean... there’s no use being weird about it, right? I already know, I don’t give a shit any more, and it’s gonna be pretty hard to hide, so... whatever you’re pissed about, just try to get over it.” Of course he had to use the word pissed. “I’ll last the rest of the way, okay? It’s cool.” I rolled my eyes and landed them back at my phone. I hated every second of this. “Whatever you say, man. Just let me know.” Jake turned on his blinker and merged to the left, and I swear I could see a slight grin on his face. I was happy to be getting out of the dorms and to start my Sophomore year, and while I was mostly pumped to share a small house with my Junior brother, I couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t make it easy on me. Chapter Two: Moving In By the time my brother pulled up into the driveway of our new house, I was desperate to get inside. Not only was I just ready to be away from him after his frank discussion about my... needs... I also seriously needed to run to the bathroom. It wasn’t long after Jake and I stopped talking that I could feel the urge to pee slowly creeping up on me. Even though I was already wearing protection, there was no way I was going to use it consciously, especially since I’d already wet it during my unexpected nap. After all, what was the point of denying I might need to change if I was just gonna end up leaking all over Jake’s leather seats? Before Jake had even fully come to a stop, I was already busting out of the truck and sprinting up the steps too our new house. Focused on the ever increasing pain from my bladder, I grabbed the handle of the front door and pressed my whole weight against it. Nothing. I was stopped dead in my tracks. “Slow down there, man, I still have the keys,” Jake laughed behind me. I whirled around and watched him slowly step onto the driveway, digging through a large envelope full of our move-in supplies. I don’t know why I assumed the house would be open. “Well hurry up Jake, jeez, “ I pleaded, gritting my teeth. “What’s your rush? Just use your diaper.” Was he serious right now? “Shut up, man!” “Well that’s what it’s for, right?” Walking up to me, he pulled a key out and handed it over. I immediately grabbed it and jammed it into the lock. “Well you don’t have to say it out loud.” I struggled for a second, before I finally got the key in and turned it open. “I’m just messing with you, Zach. No one’s even around.” “Whatever.” Even though we’d both toured this house just a few months earlier, it still took me a good moment to remember where the bathroom was. Feeling like my bladder was essentially the gate of Helm’s Deep just shy of bursting open by a torrential flood of Orcs, I rushed down the hallway near the kitchen and nearly threw myself at the toilet once I found it. Without hesitation I jerked open my jeans zipper and shoved down the top of my boxer briefs and diaper. Pee was already trickling out of my dick, but I didn’t have time to care care. I adjusted my aim the best I could and let it loose. Ohhhhh god, it felt so good. In a haze of euphoria, the stream slowed down to a stop. I opened my eyes for what felt like the first time and turned around, only to see Jake standing in the doorway. “Dude, what the hell?” I shouted as I tried to tuck my junk back in and hide the diaper with my shirt. “Enjoying the friggin' show?” Jake just laughed. “I still think it’s funny you won’t say fuck.” “Well fuck off, how about that?” He raised his eyebrows and laughed even harder. I even surprised myself with that one. “Well shit, look at you. Come help me unload when you’re ready.” With that, he left. I slammed the door shut (should’ve done that before) and, letting out a long, beleaguered breath, I checked the damage. The toilet seat was covered with a puddle of my yellow piss, and of course I’d managed to get more than a few spots on my pants in the process. Welp, at least I didn’t downright, full-on pee my pants. Hearing Jake throwing down some heavy boxes out in the living room, I ripped open the four tapes on my diaper and balled it up on the counter. Trying to hurry and get out of there, I froze and caught a quick glance of myself in the mirror. My stubble was coming in pretty dark, which I thought actually looked pretty good. I’d taken a risk over the summer chopping off my long high school locks and getting one of those cuts with the shaved sides with longer hair on top. I had been so used to my old shaggy style that I wasn’t sure how much I liked this new look... I’ve always been a bit lanky and goofy, and I guess I just didn’t have the confidence to sport what I thought was such a bold, adult haircut. I had to admit though, seeing myself there with my slicked back, dark brown hair, with a solid 4 o’clock (at most) shadow, I couldn’t help but think that I was a pretty darn good looking man. I buttoned up my now loose jeans and headed back out the door, feeling satisfied with myself. “Hey, come help me out with the bookcases.” My brother had already gotten four or five big boxes into the house, and had worked up a small sweat. Neither of us was particularly athletic, but dang if we couldn’t get hard work done when we put our minds to it. The next couple hours were mostly uneventful, just moving our crap into the house. We figured it would be best to just get everything in and sort it out into their respective rooms later. The less time struggling out in the hot summer sun, the better. After getting the bulk of the boxes and bins, we helped each other carry our beds and furniture into our rooms, and together we set up a nice little couch and coffee table left over from Jake’s old house. It was well past 3 in the afternoon when things started slowing down. I pried open one of our kitchen boxes and got out a cup to pour myself some water as Jake grabbed a pack of toilet paper and ran off to use the bathroom. I chugged down almost the entire glass when I realized my crotch was feeling a little damp. I glanced down only to see a sizable wet spot right in the middle of my jeans. Crap. Crap crap crap! I had been so focused on lugging heavy boxes back and forth that I hadn’t even noticed the urge to pee. How long had it been like that? Did my brother notice? Suddenly I heard Jake yell out my name. “What’s up?” I shouted back, trying hard to rub the wet spot dry with my hands. “You’re shitting me, right?” He called out again. I chugged down my second glass and I could hear Jake making his way down the hallway back out to the main room. The second he turned the corner, my heart sank. There he stood, holding my used diaper up like he was a hunter, showing off his latest kill. Chapter Three - New Start, Same Problems I stood there, acutely aware of the wet patch across the front of my pants, my brother gaping at me and holding up my old, soggy diaper. I didn’t know what to say. “Look, I know there was no trash can in there yet, but like... you could’ve at least taken this to the garbage out front, or something.” With his scrunched up nose and furrowed brow, he made no effort to show how disgusted he was. Or was he disappointed? Probably both. “And dude,” he continued, “You gotta clean off the toilet and flush! That shit you left for me was nasty.” “I’m sorry, Jake. I was in a rush and I guess I–“ “I’m not mad bro, but just like... be a fuckin adult, right?” He walked over and handed me the diaper of shame. “What do you want me to do with this?” As if I didn’t know. He laughed incredulously. “Go throw it out, dude. There’s some trash bags on the table.” I stood dumbfounded for a second, but knew he was right. Slapping my cup back on the kitchen counter, I walked over to the table and pulled out a bag. “And, uh,” Jake paused for a second as I shook open the trash bag and my old diaper plop down into it with a thud. “You might wanna grab some new pants there, huh buddy?” I could feel my cheeks turn crimson as I stepped out into the front yard and over to the garbage bins at the end of the driveway, doing my best to cover the front of my pants with the bagged up diaper. I don’t really like to talk about it, but these kinds of accidents had been happening more and more frequently ever since I started my freshman year. Even though I’d always had issues day and night, I had gotten through my Senior year at Oak Park Academy without any full blown accidents during the day, and I was only wetting the bed, like, three or so nights a week, which was a huge victory for me. I even stopped packing an extra pairs of shorts in my backpack for a good five months! However, college hit me hard I guess, and just seemed to screw everything up. After only a week into my first semester, I began waking up each morning to that familiar damp, musty feeling of a saturated diaper more and more often. Before I knew it, a month had gone by with no dry nights, and then a semester, and then a whole school year. I couldn’t even make it through naps without releasing a flood that rivaled Noah’s after a while! I really hoped that removing myself from the stress of school and returning home over the summer would reset my body, but it kept happening. Every. Friggin'. Night. Thankfully, this has been so regular my whole life that my parents and brother didn’t make any issue of it when I kept throwing out clearly soaked diapers every morning and after every lazy mid-day nap. God, I never thought I would use the word “thankful” and “diaper” in the same sentence, ever... but it was nice that they didn’t raise any fuss about it. What’s really been ticking me off, though, is that at some point during my very first semester at the University, I began finding my underwear various degrees of damp every time I hit the bathroom between classes. That’s nothing particularly new for me, but this was another level. It never made it’s way past my boxer briefs and into my pants (or at least I’ve been very good at convincing myself that it hadn’t), but it was enough that I spent more days than I care to admit with a wad of toilet paper stuffed up under my penis. I knew that was gross and kind of a roundabout solution, but I don’t know... it mostly worked, and was waaaaay better than having to pad up during the day and essentially admit my old, childish problem was coming back. Today was a different story, though. This was the first time in well over two years that I had an actual stain on my pants, and I wasn’t asleep, or sick, or drunk. I didn’t even know if it had all happened at once or just gradually. It was a total surprise. I tossed the bag into our garbage bin, and silently thanked God there was no one out in the street that afternoon. Walking back into the house, I saw Jake loading dishes into our kitchen cabinets. “Hey, I went ahead and put your suitcase in your room. Come help me when you’re done changing.” He was so nonchalant about everything, which I guess was chill, but it still made me want to sink down into the floorboards and disappear forever. I walked into my room, and this time remembered to shut and lock the door. I emptied my pockets and stripped my pants and boxer briefs off, standing there for a second staring at them. How could this have happened? The pants were fine, but these boxer briefs... dang. There was no hiding I had fully released my bladder at some point during the hard labor of the day. And I hadn’t even noticed. I threw my clothes down and sat on my unmade mattress, a bag with my plastic sheet and other bedding propped up next to me at the head of the bed. I grabbed my phone and saw I had a message. “Zaaaaaaaaaaach you moved in today, right? When’s the house warming party????” Seeing a text from Mason was just about the only thing that could have made me smile right then. We met in the same English Lit class and realized that we lived on the same floor in the same dorm. We hung out pretty much every day freshman year, studying for tests together, or grabbing lunch at the mess hall, or playing Mario Kart with his roommate and such. As far as I knew, he had no idea about any of my issues, which I was really thankful about. Of course, that didn’t mean that I wasn’t constantly stressed about trying to frantically keep it hidden, especially with the many surprise late night visits he made to my single room. Also, and I think this is what really made us get close, we were both gay. I’d pretty much always been in the closet. It’s not like my family would care or shun me or anything–I’m lucky that they’re pretty cool about that sort of thing–but I don’t know. I just never really felt comfortable accepting that part of myself and opening up to other people. One day, though, while sitting on his dorm room floor amongst what was probably three weeks worth of old laundry, he came out to me. His family knew, as I understood, as well as some of his high school friends, but I guess they were all just... weird about it. A sort of don’t ask, don’t tell situation. I had to build myself up a bit inside after he told me, but I knew I had to open up to him too. I couldn’t have asked for a better first coming out experience. We hugged and laughed and I kicked his butt at a few rounds of Super Smash Bros well into the rest of the night. And yes, I definitely, you know, liked him, and thought about him more than a normal person probably should, but I never dared make a move. We were solid friends, and there was no use messing with that. Right? Figuring I couldn't sit there pants-less in my room forever, I swiped the text open and responded, “Soon man, still gotta unpack and get settled in. I’ll hit you up later.” Throwing my phone on the mattress, I walked over to my suitcase. Most of my clothes were stuffed in a box out in the living room, but thinking ahead, my brother and I both made sure to load up a suitcase with some extra outfits and amenities in case we didn’t feel like doing ALL the unpacking today. I unzipped the bag, and even though I knew what to expect, I was still slightly disheartened to see not only my rolled up shirts and pants, but a hefty stack of diapers and wipes, almost laughing at me. I disregarded them and grabbed another pair of briefs and some khakis, then went back out to join my brother, who was now unloading books and video games onto a small shelf in the living room. “What took so long?” He asked, not even looking up from the box. “You didn’t do more to than just pee in those jeans, did you?” “What?” I immediately heated up, stunned that he would even think that. “Little Zachy didn’t make a little poopy in his pants, did he?” He was just enjoying this so much. “Shut up! What, are you nine years old?” He used to rib me a lot for still needing diapers growing up, but this was the first time he’s done it since we were both in college. “I don’t know bro, you’ve done it before, so I just wanted to make sure.” “Okay, well, for one thing, it’s none of your business. And I haven’t done that since, like, 7th grade, so... screw you.” “Dude, you know I’m joking. Come grab some books.” The rest of the day came and passed. We got pretty much the whole living room and kitchen unpacked, plus all our toiletries and towels and stuff put away in the bathroom. At around 7 we decided to call it a day, and Jake heated up this frozen pasta dish for both of us. Finally at the end of the night, I retreated back to my room and grabbed my laptop, dozing off quickly watching mindless youtube videos. Despite my nap earlier in the car, I was feeling super sleepy and decided to hit the hay. I slipped off my bottoms, proudly taking note that it was all still dry, and taped on a diaper from my suitcase. Within literal seconds, I was knocked out cold on my still unmade bed.

This was written as part of a collaboration with another prolific producer of extremely kinky shit, @Sissy Becky! Sissy Becky used to run an ABDL website way back on the day. Now they write “Adult Baby Research Institute” a long form serial about a ABDL BSDM sex asylum where everything is turned up to 11. Catch their work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sissybecky And, they also wrote 'Part One' to this story! If you want the full context and backstory of what's going on here, I highly recommend you go read the very huffy, blushy prequel to this piece of writing! Baby's Date, the first half of the story by Sissy Becky, can be found here: https://www.legitfic.com/o/836-babys-date---collab-with-peculiar-changeling ... Baby's Date “So… who are they?” you ask Mommy, while she lathers up your hair with tear-free shampoo. Since promising that you’d get your very own ‘Grown-up date’, she’s been uncharacteristically coy about any details. All you know is to expect a blind date, and that everything has been prepared for you. You’ve got concerns. It could be someone else from the kinky community–a friend or at least an acquaintance with similar interests. Or, heck, it could be someone you’ve never so much as met, a real grown-up with no idea what your bedroom looks like. You might get some clues as you get prepared, though–you haven’t even been told what you’ll be wearing. You’re excited, anyways. The anticipation–the possibility of actually getting some proper grown up fun–is enough to put up with the dog and pony show Mommy and Daddy are putting you through. “Arms up,” Mommy instructs, ignoring your question completely. You lift, and she scrubs under your armpits with a soapy washcloth. “Can’t have you all smelly before we even get you dressed, can we?” (Is that a clue?) You wonder. (Or is she just teasing about the state of my diaper last night?) You could just safeword and ask, but what’d be the fun in that? You didn’t want to be told plainly, you wanted to guess it. It had to be someone she knew well, didn’t it? After you’re washed, rinsed, and helped out of the bath, she pats you down with a towel, then pats your bottom with her hand. “Go see daddy, he’s in your nursery.” Squeaky clean and naked from tip to toe, you’ve got no choice but to toddle out of the bathroom, arms crossed over your chest, hurrying to get to your nursery and get some clothes on. The transition from tub to air always makes you think you’re going to freeze, conjuring image of a ‘you popsicle’, and without any clothing to help warm you up you’re shivering in moments. Daddy is waiting next to your changing table when you get to your room, and your heart sinks, just a little. That isn’t a guarantee that you won’t be going out with a real grown up, but it does mean they’ll find out if you want to have any naughty fun. More likely, it’ll be one of your kinky acquaintances or friends, taking you on a pity date. “Bottoms up,” Daddy instructs, patting on your changing table. A bright pink Bunny Hopp diaper is already laid out, for you to lay upon. You obey–what else can you do? If you refuse, you don’t get your date. Taking Daddy’s hands, you crawl up onto the table and get on your back, diaper laid below your hips. Instead of the expected sensations, though–powder and cream and then ruffly padding pulled over you–Daddy surprises you with something else. Watching, you can only squirm anxiously as he bends to the shelf below the table. He unscrews a plastic lid, comes out with a small object, and stands again, holding a little bullet of glycerin. “But–” you start to say. “Do you want to go on your date gagged?” he asks in reply. You shake your head. “Then the only ‘butts’ tonight should be the one in your diapers.” You swallow, but lift your bottom a little to give Daddy free access to you. He pushes the glycerin suppository deep inside, so deep that you whimper, then pulls his finger free and cleans it off with a baby wipe. Only then do you get the cold, soothing cream, and the thin dusting of scented powder, and finally the diaper being folded over your waist. Your anticipation of the night recalibrates. If you’re going to be in a smelly diaper–and you will be, you’ve never once managed to hold it for more than thirty minutes after a suppository came into play–it can’t possibly be a vanilla person. It has to be one of your friends, and one who doesn’t mind poopy diapers. The options shrink, and you realize you’re most likely in for a night of teasing at the hands of one of Mommy or Daddy’s dommy friends. “Stay there,” Daddy says, bending over at the edge of the changing table. “Now, when grown ups go on dates, they try to dress up in sexy clothes for each other. You want that too, right?” You nod. “Uh-huh.” “Of course you do. You’re just like a little grown up,” he assures you, and you hear a lid open. You know what’s over there on that end of the table, and what that lid sound was. In confirmation, the smell of old diapers assaults your senses a moment later, and you screw up your face, reaching to cover your nose. He comes out with an overnight diaper–your diaper, the one you’d been put to bed in, the one that the prunes and castor oil had already done a number on. It’s heavy and sagging in his hands, smelly from the mess you pushed into it. “Bottoms up.” You almost–almost–say the dreaded ‘B’ word, ‘but’. Before you do, you catch yourself and just say, “That’s not sexy!” “You thought it was, though, didn’t you?” he asks. “Last month, while you watched Mommy and I without our permission, you had a stinky diaper just like this one and you were about ready to burst in it! If you didn’t think it was sexy, why were you doing that?” You’ve got no argument, no defense, no excuse for why you were rubbing yourself so desperately the night before. Sheepishly, it’s all you can do to raise your hips, to allow him to slide the mucky old diaper beneath your current, fresh padding. The sides of it are cold, and you shiver as he folds it over, using the restickable hook-and-loop tapes to seal the clammy, putrid diaper onto you. “How’s that feel?” he asks, pulling you into a sitting position. Your weight sinks, and you hesitate. It’s a lot of bulk, and you can smell it plain as day, but it’s different from normal. “Weird,” you admit. “It’s clean and dirty at the same time.” He chuckles. “Don’t worry, that won’t be a problem for you for much longer. Up!” Responsively, you hop to your feet, and he bends again, picking up the prepared outfit he’d stowed beneath the table. First comes a pair of fabric training pants–they’re almost as bulky as a diaper, and though not as absorbent, it’s not like he perforated your inner diaper anyways. It’s clearly not to prevent leaks, just to add even more poof to your already heavy, bulky baby bottom. You step into them, and when he pulls the puffy training pants up, the bulk makes you feel like you can barely close your thighs, let alone walk. After this, comes the onesie. The onesie, the one Daddy likes to parade you around in, decorated with cartoon strawberries and stitched with a bib that reads, clearly, ‘Crybaby’ in big swoopy letters. He pulls it over your head and has to stretch the elastic fabric almost to its limits to button the snaps around your very impressive padding. But he’s not quite done. As the final pièce de résistance, a pair of frilly pink plastic pants, with rhumba ruffles on the seat, are tugged up your legs. They seal snugly around your diaper, completing the ensemble, and one thing is certain: You’re not even leaving the house tonight. Your ‘date’ is going to be coming to you. You’re not getting a real grown-up date at all, you’re going to be treated to dinner and humiliation. That’s not what you were promised, and you start to tear up, highlighting the truth of your ‘crybaby’ bib. “There you go,” Daddy says, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, preserving your moment of deep humiliation and frustration forever with a little camera ‘click’. “Now, just one more thing…” You don’t even know what he could add to the outfit. Maybe a bonnet? Or a bib? But instead, he steps forward and reaches down, rubbing his hand against the front of your diaper, eliciting a desperate moan from between your lips. In a whisper, he asks, “This is what you really wanted, right? Do you really think you’re big enough for a grown up date, or would you rather admit you’re nothing but a bitty baby and have fun in your play clothes?” It’s unclear where he produced the vibrator from, but you hear it kick to life in the same second you feel it pulse through your layers of padding, transmuting your words into juvenile mumbles. You cover your mouth with your hands to stifle your whimpers, legs locking up as you ride the pleasure. But you don’t say, ‘Yes’, you don’t admit anything, and after riling you up just enough to get you horny and purge your head of any coherent thoughts, Daddy kills the vibrator. “There. Grown ups need to get in the mood before their dates sometimes. You’re all ready now!” You swallow, and your belly grumbles. “Are you gonna tell me who it is yet?” He shakes his head, taking your hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough. You wait here, and I’ll come get you when she arrives, okay?” She! That’s a clue! You almost don’t notice that he’s steered you into the corner of the room and pushed your nose against the wall, quietly asserting your time-out without even needing to say those words, because your brain is reeling with the implications. That cuts down the options by more than half, and the list of possible friends who could be coming by rolls through your mind. Some are meaner than others—you’re expecting mean, someone who will tease you and mock you to put the idea of ‘grown up dates’ out of your head, even as you still quietly hope that it might be someone who will treat you gently, someone who will take you as you are and pretend—no, not pretend, but see the truth—that you’ve still got a bit of ‘grown up’ in you. You swallow. Maybe you’ll at least be able to come say hi before the suppository does its work and you fill your diaper—though, the reek wafting off your old diaper, the one sandwiched between your new one and your training pants, will likely dash any hope of dignity before it can even be formed. Still, you’re going to try, if for no other reason than that Mommy and Daddy will point out your inability to hold it if you lose control while your nose is in the corner. It’s not long before you hear footsteps—the light flappy thwip-thwip of Mommy’s flip-flops—and feel a hand on your shoulder. “Your date is here, sweetie.” There’s a slight giggle, and she adds, “Don’t worry, I don’t think she’ll say anything about the smell.” You turn pink as you get out of the corner. Mommy offers you her hand, and you take it, waddling awkward after her—you can’t tell if she’s moving faster than normal to make you struggle in your triple-layered, heavy padding, or if the difficulty you’re having is just from the sheer bulk and tight fabric pulling it against you. Either way, you’re led downstairs, towards your dining room, excitedly anticipating who will be… Oh. Oh. Sitting at the dining room table, which has been lit with candles while mood music sets the tone, is your favorite stuffy. Peaches, a thirty inch plush fox that’s shaped roughly like a big pillow, with a permanent cutesy smile printed on her fabric face. Your stomach drops, and the suppository takes advantage, overpowering your bowels and forcing warm, semisolid mush into the seat of your previously clean diaper. Mommy giggles. “Don’t be shy, baby, go introduce yourself–once you’re done going potty, at least.” A grunt escaped your throat and your face screws up, tears showing. This isn’t fair. It’s not what you wanted, or what you promised! You were supposed to go on a grown up date, you weren’t supposed to muck your diapers in front of one of your stuffies and be teased for it. Mommy nudges you forward, and you waddle up, sitting in the chair across from Peaches. Your weight sinks into your newly-deposited mess, and you squirm, reminded that you weren’t given any satisfaction during Daddy’s teasing earlier. At least you weren’t put into a high chair. “Say hi,” Mommy prompts. You blush. “Mommy, I can do this myself!” She makes a ‘tsk’ noise in her throat. “You thought it was okay to watch Daddy and I during our grown up fun, I think it’s only fair that we get to be here for yours.” You squirm, but tamp down before you can say the ‘B’ word. Squirming, you look at Peaches. “Um…” “It’s polite to tell your date about yourself,” Mommy instructs. “Why don’t you tell her how many stinky diapers you’ve made this month?” “Um…” You flush, trying to mentally consider–over the whole month? While you were being teased and punished and made to be as flustered as possible? One a day seems reasonable, so you guess, “Thirty?” “It’s not nice to lie,” Mommy chides. “Be specific–tell her about all of them.” Pinkness spreads up your face, until you’re certain your blush has reached past your eyebrows. “Um–well–uh–last night, I went in bed, ‘cuz mommy and daddy gave me castor oil…and the night before, I just couldn’t hold it, cuz they hadn’t let me use the potty at all and I didn’t want to go in my daytime diaper, and…ugh, they gave me a suppository the day before while I was in time out, so…” You feel yourself sink deeper and deeper into your seat as you have to regale Peaches with each stinky accident–and, worse, as you go back further and further, you start to feel certain you’ve forgotten some. You’ve been so helpless to use the potty this past month that you can’t even remember all the accidents–the times you’ve been allowed to use a toilet are far, far more noteworthy. Finally, though, you get to the beginning of the month, to the accident you couldn’t forget even if you wanted to. “Um–and, a month ago, I…I was sitting in my special chair, in Mommy and Daddy’s room, and–” The humiliating confession is cut off by Daddy’s entrance, carrying a little clipboard. The ‘Waiter’, it seemed, for the ‘Date’. “Welcome to our restaurant, may I take your order?” he says, smirking and wrinkling his nose at you. Rather than ask what you want, though, he turns to face Peaches. “Excellent choice, ma’am. And what will your date be having?” Your eyes widen. You–Peaches is even ordering for you. You won’t even be allowed to pick what you eat! “Oh, your date needs a high chair? Of course,” Daddy says, nodding. “I’ll be right back with that, and your drinks.” He walks away, leaving you to sniffle and wipe at your face while Mommy captures more photographs of your predicament—you weren’t even getting the one dignity you thought, the grown up chair. When Daddy returns a moment later, he’s dragging your high chair with one hand and carrying two cups in the other—one, an icy glass of cola which he sets in front of Peaches, the other, a plastic sippy cup decorated with teddy bears, and the fluid inside is a chalky white. He sets the high chair next to your chair—it’s your chair, you don’t need to move, it’s not fair! Expectantly, he waits. When you refuse to budge, he reaches down, grabs you by the ear, and tows you up, forcing you into the high chair. Unlike grown-up chairs, the seat is a little rounded, conforming to your thickly padded bottom, squelching everything more tightly against you. The tray is locked down over your lap, and your sippy cup is placed in front of you. “Daddy…” you whimper. “I’m just making sure you and your date are comfortable,” he promises. Mommy laughs at your confounded, defeated expression, and snaps another photo. Daddy takes food orders—again, listening exclusively to Peaches and ignoring what you want—and then leaves the room. “So, um…” you start to say, to Peaches. You don’t know why you’re talking to her, but it just seems like the thing to do. Nervously, you pick up your sippy cup and take a sip—it’s formula, with a chalky aftertaste. You stick out your tongue. “Gross!” Off to the side, Mommy giggles. Fumbling for words, you squirm, but that only makes you more aware of the mucky state of your diaper, and the after-cramps that are still sending wracks of discomfort down your belly–possibly a coincidence, possibly as a result of whatever chalky medicine Mommy and Daddy put in your bottle. Instead of words, you only let loose a little grunt, your bowels squelching a bit more ick into your padding. “Dinner,” Daddy declares, sashaying into the room, “is served.” Two bowls are set out in front of you both. Peaches gets a slice of rich, savory meatloaf, with perfect, fluffy mashed potatoes, butter dribbling down the sides. In front of you, a bowl full of white slop with a spoon poking out. You eye the contents suspiciously, sniff, and–yogurt. It’s plain yogurt, and your nose wrinkles at the sour odor instantly. Gross, gross, gross. “N-no, I want what Peaches has,” you protest. “No alterations or substitutions,” Daddy insists, tilting his head as though listening to your stuffy. “Oh, your date needs a little assistance? Of course.” Bending slightly, he picks up the spoon, lifting it towards your mouth. You seal your lips and turn your head, pouting, but he gives you The Look. If you continue to fuss and refuse to eat, you know you’ll regret it. There are much, much worse things he could be forcing down your throat, and you both know it. You open your mouth. Sour, slimy yogurt fills your cheeks, a little brushing on your lips, assaulting you with the sharp, unpleasant taste. You swallow, desperate to get the slime off your tongue, but before you have any relief, a new spoonful is waiting. Unable to do anything except accept the sludge as it’s spooned into your mouth, your eyes lock on Peaches. On her ‘dinner’, the plate of tantalizing grown-up food only a few feet away. The smell makes your stomach growl, but the only satisfaction you’re going to get is from not having to swallow any more yogurt. The bowl is deeper than you thought, and Daddy’s piled-high, sloppy spoonfuls don’t seem to deplete it as fast as they should. You can feel the slimy yogurt on your lips, wet and clammy, and know there’s a little that’s dribbled onto the stitched-on bib of your onesie. The bib that reads ‘Crybaby’. The one you’re about to prove true yet again as you fuss and debate closing your lips to any more of the goopy dinner. But, just as your belly feels a little too full and you’re ready to scream, the bowl runs dry. Daddy scrapes out one final spoonful, taking his time to get as much as possible, and plops it between your lips. You swallow, gag, and it’s done. Finally. Quietly, Daddy says over to Mommy, “Do you think our little one’s earned grown up time?” You sit up straight, suddenly the model of obedience. You don’t even wipe off the last bit of yogurt on your lip–you just want a yes, even if that ‘grown up time’ is with Peaches. Mommy takes a long pause before answering, drawing out her, “Hmmmm…” You can’t help yourself. Looking over your shoulder, eyes huge, you give your most helpless pleading look. “Please?” She smiles and nods. “Alright, I suppose.” Excitement completely drowns out all the discomfort–yes, yes, yes! Beaming, you start to try and get up, only remembering a second later that you’re still strapped into the high chair and can’t actually move under your own power. “I’ll go get her ready,” Mommy says, reaching over to pick up Peaches while Daddy wipes your face down, doing an unnecessarily thorough job. “Do I–” you stammer. “Do I really get to? You’re not going to stop me or tell me ‘no’ right as I’m almost done?” Daddy notices the slight anxiety in your voice. It’s barely there, but it’s there—the uncertainty is almost to the point of not being fun anymore. Reassuringly, he pops the latches on your high chair. “You might not like how it happens,” he hedges, “But you’ll get to make a sticky diaper if you’re obedient.” That’s good enough for you, you practically jump out of the highchair into giving Daddy a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank–urp—” You’re interrupted by a heavy pat on your back, drawing out a belch you hadn’t expected. Face turning pink, you drop right back into the situation, reminded of what you’re wearing, the bulk and weight and squelch between your legs, and the thing you’ve gotten so excited for—a few seconds of humping a plushie in your ruined diapers. You look down, and Daddy pulls you by the hand towards the stairs. “Let’s go up, ok?” What are you going to do, argue? You follow, hand outstretched in front of you as he takes the lead. You want what he’s offering, you want it so badly that any humiliation is worth being suffered. Waddling forward in double-thick ruined diapers and puffy training pants, eating anything they feed you, throwing out your dignity for their entertainment. Or…if you’re being honest with yourself, the humiliation isn’t being suffered at all. It’s almost as indulgent as the sex you’re hoping to get in a moment. Mommy’s already in your nursery, leaning over the side of the crib, and you spot what she’s done instantly—Peaches has been adorned with a strap-on, just like the one Mommy had worn a month ago, an intimidating dildo extending from the midpoint of her plush body. She rests on your crib, the side bars held open so you’ve got access to her. “Be a good date,” Mommy encourages. “Show her a good time—don’t just worry about yourself.” “O-okay,” you say, looking at her, then up at Daddy. “Um–can I have a little privacy?” Mommy giggles, as though you just asked for a pony and a magic wand. “Of course not, silly—you thought it was okay to watch us during our grown up time, right? So that means we should get to watch you, too.” Oh. Oh. Oh. That’s what Daddy meant by, ‘You might not like how it happens.’ “But…” You say, forgetting the rule for a moment. No, ‘Buts’. “Oh, you’re worried we won’t enjoy the show enough, aren’t you?” Mommy asks, reaching for her pocket. “It’s okay—I’ll make sure we can enjoy it, again and again.” She produces her phone, directing the camera lens right at you. You flush, but you know you’re getting off light–for using the B word, you could have had your pleasure denied completely. Still, you cover your face with your hands, mortified. “Aww, baby’s all shy now,” Daddy says. “It’s alright–go show Peaches you know what grown-up sex looks like… even if you can’t do it yourself.” You drop to your knees. Walking just doesn’t feel appropriate right now. On all fours, you shuffle across the room, your layered, poopy diapers swaying between your thighs, barely held in place by your straining onesie. Reaching to the side of the crib in front of Peaches, you feel another cramp. Maybe from all the yogurt causing a glitch in your system, maybe another aftershock from the suppository, but you have no will to fight it. Sticking your bottom a little higher, you push, and– Pop! The onesie’s snaps, though they fought admirably, pop open–first just one, then the rest in a rush. Too much bulk, too much straining mass and poof, your onesie just can’t contain it all, and your mushy diapers and padding all flop out between your legs. “Awwww,” Mommy coos above you, crouching slightly so your bulging bottom is right in the video’s frame. “You had to go so bad, didn’t you? Well—that’s why you wear baby diapers and Peaches gets to wear grown up clothes.” “It’s a good thing Peaches doesn’t mind the smell,” Daddy adds. “I can’t imagine a real grown up having sex like that–— so nice of her to put up with your poopy bottom.” You look down and burying your face in the fabric of your mattress, hiding your blush. “Thank her,” Daddy says, in a tone that’s not-quite warning. You look up, staring at Peaches’ smiling face, at the looming dildo strapped onto her. “Thank you for putting up with my poopy bottom, Peaches.” Mommy laughs, and your head feels so devoid of maturity that her laughter has plenty of room to echo in your thoughts. “Now show her how grateful you are.” Scooting up, obedient, your lips find the edge of the dildo. Gently at first, pulling it all into your mouth until you feel the tip at the back of your throat. You go a little faster, then, pulling your mouth back, swallowing, running your tongue along it. “It’s like the baby wants to act like a real grown up,” Daddy says. “Do you think we should let that happen?” You can tell Mommy’s shaking her head from how it sounds, but your eyes are closed, focused on the rapture of your task. “No, I think the baby prefers poopy diapers to real grown up time, can’t you hear all the moans?” And that’s true–you’re moaning into the dildo, caught up in the feel of it in your mouth, the submission, the desire to give Peaches pleasure when all you can feel is mucky diaper squelch around your baby parts. Daddy snickers. “At least the baby isn’t being shy anymore.” “I think the baby made all the snaps pop on purpose–to show off what an impressive little mess that diaper is!” Mommy agrees. You take Peaches’ cock into your mouth, again and again, feeling it thrust—or, rather, feeling your head thrust—onto it in a desperate rhythm. There’s no real indicator of when she’s done, but you know. You can tell, when you’ve done enough, when you’ve given your stuffie the ‘pleasure’ she deserves, as she rolls back onto the crib bed, flopping plushily. Exhausted, mouth a little sore, you flop back and look her in the eyes—not Mommy, or Daddy—but Peaches herself. “May I please make stickies?” “The baby is so polite like this!” Mommy says, almost shocked, moving her phone to capture your face, your ever-so-kind request. “Maybe grown-up pretend time should only happen with Peaches,” Daddy agrees. “Call it a monthly date night.” You’re vaguely aware of the threat, there—that you’ll only be allowed to make stickies once a month, and never like a grown up—but you don’t care. You just want to hear… “Well, I think I heard her say, yes,” Mommy confirms, speaking for Peaches. That’s all you need to hear–clambering up onto Peaches, so the front of your thickly layered diapers presses against her cock, you start to hump, moaning in desperate ecstasy. “So, so precious–” Mommy starts. You last all of a second. That’s all it takes—one moment of thrusting, and then bliss. A part of you is disappointed—you wanted to make this last longer. You wanted to savor it, to really enjoy your brief chance at grown up fun time. But when Mommy realizes by the sound of your gasps, she laughs and you feel so helpless that your pleasure skyrockets. Overwhelmed, exhausted, you collapse onto the crib next to Peaches, holding her in one arm. “Awwww,” Daddy says. “The baby’s all tuckered out.” “Should we let the two lovebirds rest?” Mommy asks, lowering her phone, ending the recording. Daddy thinks for a moment, then reaches down through the bars of your crib and squishes the front of your diaper. Still in the phase of post-coital sensitivity, you spasm and your leg kicks, eyes going huge. Snickering, Daddy says, “Sure. Baby, you nap with your girlfriend—we’re going to go have some adult time, some real grown up sex.” Quietly, as she shuts the side of the crib and seals you in, Mommy adds, “If Peaches says it’s okay, you can show her your pretend sex again—just don’t leave the crib.” You smile, and nod, and pull your stuffie closer. A minute later, you hear the baby monitor come to life. Mommy and Daddy’s sounds carry through, their moans and flirting—they’re having real grown up sex in the next room. The kind you’d been denied. Smiling, you roll onto all fours, getting on top of Peaches again, mimicking Mommy and Daddy’s actions with your own smelly, squelchy emulation. Maybe it wasn’t real sex, and maybe Peaches wasn’t a real girlfriend, but you didn’t care. This was just where you wanted to be. ... 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Good day dear reader. This is a scene that could be used in various settings. Deliberately, no names have been mentioned, nor have any details been given about how it is done*. The main focus is on the experience itself, the core moment represented by this scene. The story is about role reversal and regression. Full use of diapers is implied (includes messing), but not described in too much detail. We have a male main character, from which perspective the story takes place. He has some kind of ability that allows him to bring others under his mental control and issue orders that permanently change their behavior. *It’s quite similar to hypnosis and this could be the answer to the how. However, it could just as well be a superpower, a special drug or anything else. It’s up to your imagination :D Finally, I have him where I wanted him to be. For his unreasonable and childish behavior, I hold him responsible. If he wants to behave like a baby, he should be put back into diapers. The thought sends a pleasant shimmer down my spine. Now let’s get to work: “You feel so small, so little. Yes, that’s right, you’re just a small baby boy. You belong into diapers; you love the infantile feeling of wearing them. You will notice that you will be unable to cum outside of your diapers. Only wearing your infantile clothes, you may make cummies. You know what the potty is, you know that grown-ups use it, but not you.” Closing the last tapes of the diaper around his crotch, I continue, “When I snap my fingers, you will concentrate all your thoughts of resistance and poop them out. Right into your diaper where they belong. With every push, you will feel my control taking over permanently. With every push you will feel your adulthood slipping away, your ability to get hard outside your infantile prison. As you go poopy, you will feel your potty-training vanishing. First your control over your bladder and as the warmth spreads around your baby dick you will feel your bowl control vanishing too. As you smell what you push out into your diaper, a sudden urge to suckle on something will overcome you. It will stay with you forever. When you finished soiling yourself and your diaper sags under its weight, you know that it is all gone.” With a sadistic smile, I snap my fingers. With increasing arousal, I watch the show. With delight I watch the knowledge leave his eyes as his diaper starts to fill up with squelching sounds. Soon joined by a hissing sound as he poops out his bladder control ... A couple of days later: She was naked, with only a thin diaper around her legs, swinging her hips in a hypnotizing way. “You are a naughty little boy, enjoying the sight of my diapered pussy.” I had to agree, my member getting harder every moment. With a mischievous grin, she orders, “Say it!” My cheeks brightly flushed I answer, “I’m a naughty little baby boy!” With a predatory gaze she states, “Yes, you are a baby boy! Do you know what baby boys should wear?” This is my darkest fantasy coming true, I can’t resist answering, “A diaper, I should wear a thick diaper to catch my accidents!” This seems to satisfy her, as she grabs my requested diaper from nearby. Opening it up and patting it invitingly for me to come to sit in it. I quickly free myself from my pants, presenting my fully erect member. With a seductive voice she suggests, “There is someone eager to get into his diaper. Come over here and let yourself be changed by Mommy.” I can’t resist complying and crawl over to the fluffy garment calling to me. I place myself reverently on the infantile garment, a bit pre-cum dropping from my erect shaft as she closes it around my member. This is heaven, what I always dreamed of. As I give up more control to her, she praises me, “You did well baby boy. Follow mommy’s commands and I will allow you to make fantastic baby cummies for me. You know you crave them, but before we come to that …” What, what is it? The suspense is too much and I ask, “What do I need to do?” With a honeyed voice, she responds, “You need to become a good baby boy, but you were quite naughty, so we need to fix that first.” She makes a small pause, looking at my last victim, which is crawling on the floor in a yellowed diaper. A former adult, which I turned into an adult baby. He watches me with a gleeful expression as Mommy continues, “Did he ask you to regress him?” With a gulp, I answer, “No, he didn’t.” In an accusing tone she continues, “But you made him this way anyway and we both know that you enjoyed the process very much.” I glance away in shame, thinking back on how aroused I became. How I changed into a diaper afterward, envisioning myself in his position as I started to fill it with my own stinky mush. The feeling of warm mass spreading at the back of my diaper as I made baby cummies in the front. Yes, she is right, I’m really just a naughty baby boy. With tears in my eyes, I look at her for salvation. My arousal still increasing, as I realize deep down where this is going. With a victorious smile full of confidence she states, “There is only one way to atone for your sin and becoming my good baby boy. Tell me what you are willing to give!” I want to resist, to stop this whole thing, but I am too deep under her control. My dick is throbbing in anticipation, as my resistance melts away. In panic, I look over to anybody for help, but the only thing I see is my former victim, watching me with a satisfied grin as I succumb to the same fate. With a pathetic whimper, my resistance breaks, my dick nearly bursting from pleasure, as I respond, “I will give up my adulthood.” With a predatory look, she caresses my infantile dick through the diaper, praising with a honeyed voice, “Such a good boy, getting rid of his adulthood for me. Say the words dear.” She has absolute control and I’m just a little baby boy. I … I wanna be a good boy, I want to make cummies for mommy! My mind feels like it is coated into a soft pink blanket, as I say the words, “When you snap your fingers, I will concentrate all my big boy thoughts and poop them out. Right into my diapee where they belong. With every push I will feel myself slipping more and more into infanthood; my ability to get hard outside my beloved diapers vanishing. As I go poopy, I will feel my potty-training vanishing. First my control over my pee-pees and as the warmth spreads around my baby dick, I will feel my control over my poopies go bye, bye as well. As I smell my mess, all my grown-up words go bye, bye too. When I finish going poopy for Mommy, I will know that it is all gone for good.” Mommy looks sooo proud of me, as she snaps her fingers ...

Kaycee McNeal - Lawyer for the Mob Part 1 Kaycee McNeal looks nervously at the legal pad in front of her on the table. She doesn’t dare look to her left at the defendant in her current case but she “feels” him staring at her. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and tries to fight the panic that she knows is making her cheeks flush… Looking up at the Judge presiding over this case Kaycee gets even more flustered because the usual patient Judge Harken looks like she is ready to throw her gavel at her.. Her cheeks are also flush Kaycee notices, but she’s sure that it’s because she’s been sitting there like a bump on a log for 5 minutes now instead of beginning her argument against Jerome Giovanni. She finds herself looking over at him when she says his name in her mind and sure enough; the large “enforcer” for the mob is staring at her and smiling. She darts her eyes down just as he nudges his attorney Joseph P. Dismissed and they share a knowing chuckle. Kaycee cringes at the thought of Joe. Sleazy Lawyer to the underworld from LA to Houston. He actually had his last name legally changed to “Dismissed”.. “Ugh!” She mutters under her breath. For all of the fear that Jerome has instilled in Kaycee, her disgust with Joe still finds a way to break through. “Councilor?” Judge Harken practically barks.. “Yes your honor, excuse me.. I am ready to begin.” Kaycee begins to stand when suddenly she is overwhelmed with nausea.. she feels lightheaded and holding up her hand the Judge rolls her eyes with a “Oh my God just go!” dismissing the young prosecutor to step out of the courtroom. The only sound you can hear in the hallway is the click-clack of Kaycee’s fashionable heels as she rushes to the nearby lady’s room. She opens the door and heads for the nearest stall while quickly unbuttoning her navy blue blazer afraid she will vomit before she has a chance to reach the toilet.. she makes it, but just barely. “That sounds rough.” A voice says behind her. As sick as Kaycee feels she is embarrassed to know that someone is standing over her while she’s on her knees holding her light brown hair leaning over the toilet bowl. “It is.. I’m so sorry you had to hear that.” She apologizes to the stranger. “Hey it’s ok. Big case, big nerves.” The voice says handing her some toilet paper. “I.. I guess so..” she responds meekly “That or you drank way too much for a pretty little thing like you last night right Kaycee?” Kaycee suddenly feels a twinge of fear mixed with anger.. “Here, let me help you.” The voice says reaching down and grabbing a handful of the nauseous lawyer’s hair and quickly snatching it back forcing Kaycee to look up into the large woman’s eyes. “Don’t worry dear… the drugs will wear off soon. We just wanted you to know who owns your ass from here out.” She says pulling her to her feet. “Let me go!” Kaycee whimpers as the woman grabs her by her waist and pulls her from the stall shoving her over to a sink with a tight grip on her hair. “Come on now, you know what to do.” The woman says shoving her foot between Kaycee’s heels and then quickly sliding her foot up sliding her skirt up her thighs. “Spread em.” Kaycee starts to tear up.. the memory (or what she can recall) of last night flooding her mind. “That’s a good girl, now show me.” Kaycee looks at herself in the mirror. At 27 years old she is a natural beauty. Her green eyes and perfectly pouty lips under a button nose give her a sexy girl next door appearance. Her white blouse is strained against her 34D breasts accentuated further by her arms being pinned behind her back by her tormentor. The navy skirt she wears is hiked up to her upper thigh exposing the cream colored panties beneath. Her attacker on the other hand is a tall blonde woman that would remind you of a Swedish masseuse stereotype. A large woman with broad shoulder, matching bust, a tapered waist and floating hips. She easily stands a foot taller than the 5’4” lawyer she has pinned against the sink. She releases Kaycee’s wrists and as the first tear rolls down her cheek she starts unbuttoning her blouse to expose a matching cream lace bra. “Didn’t even try to wash it off… Good girl.” She says laughing at the black sharpie words on Kaycee’s chest. “Now be a dear and read it.” Kaycee blushes as she stares at the black writing across her cleavage… “Hurry up! Judge is waiting!” “I’m…” Kaycee stutters “I’m a dumb slut…” “Let me help!” The Amazonian sized woman reaches around and grips the front of her bra before ripping it from her chest exposing the smaller woman’s ample breasts. “Now you can read it all.” “I shouldn’t look… look… for di… dick like a little whore…” Kaycee’s voice breaks and she starts sobbing. “Oh Jesus..” the woman says yanking her away from the sink spinning her around by her waist and then ripping the two remaining buttons of her blouse out of the way exposing the lawyer’s entire torso. “It says. “I’m a dumb slut. I shouldn’t look for dick like a little whore. Now I’m a Mob Owned Bitch.” Kaycee sinks to her knees as her previous night comes in flashes.. She’s at a bar having a drink. She sees a man looking her way. Three drinks later she decides that it’s *his* lucky night as she invites him to her place. She blushes as she remembers how she reached for his cock as she fumbled to open the door to her condo. Once inside she quickly starts stripping her work attire off and telling him how wild she was going to get with him. Fast forward and she’s on her knees before him taking his erect penis into her mouth and wondering if she can fit this big a thing in her tight slit. She remembers hearing laughter. Then the lights come on and she’s surrounded by several men and a few women. They tell her to keep going as they snap pictures of her and video her now less enthusiastic blowjob of Paul from the bar. He grabs her hair and starts throat fucking her for all she is worth ending with him pulling out and shooting his load all over her face and chest. “Good work Paulie!” A man says stepping from the shadows. It’s Jerome. The mobster she is supposed to prosecute the next morning in court! “Now check this out bitch” he says pulling her to her feet. “Tomorrow you are going to drop this case or us releasing these pics and videos will be the least of your fucking worries.” She doesn’t remember much else from the evening other than the warning that she better not try to clean off from the night. Kaycee slowly stands in the lady’s room and faces the large woman.. “I gotta get back before they send someone..” “Fine, but let me help you with your clothes first.” She steps close to Kaycee “Can’t let you go in there looking like a slob right?” She pulls a box cutter out of her pocket and quickly slices the straps to Kaycee’s lace bra then quickly pulls it away from her and drops it on the floor. “This shirt is ruined.” She says looking at the ripped buttons. She smiles at the scared lawyer and then rips the shirt from her small frame leaving her topless. Kaycee gasps at the way she is being handled and then quickly covers her exposed breasts. “Here put this back on, maybe it will cover your body art.” She says tossing her the navy blazer she had been wearing. She then leans close to Kaycee’s exposed chest and seeing the dried semen gives her a knowing wink. “Good girl, quite the listener. That’s good.” Kaycee quickly buttons the three buttons and notices that while it hides her “art” she definitely doesn’t look like a professional lawyer, more like a woman looking for some action in a professional office. “Go!” The woman says smacking her across her ass and pushing her back into the hallway. “And remember, we fucking own your ass now.” Kaycee wipes a tear off her face as she adjusts her skirt and then enters the courtroom.

Alright, another story in the diaper dimension. One of the main goals is for my writing to be 'fun', and when I quickly wrote a few chapters of Recessive last week and this week, I was very happy with the results. Most of my stories involve "borrowing" ideas from other authors, this one is no different. Since this one is pretty blatant, I want to give credit where it’s due. The concept of Maturosis and a recessive Betweener gene belongs to Personalias, which I hope he doesn't mind me using for this story. I also give a little nod to his story "Unfair". This was written in a hurry, so there might be some mistakes in here somewhere. I hope to get a chapter out per week, but we'll see how that turns out. As always, thanks for reading. *All characters are over 18* *Now with Maturosis spelled correctly* ------------------------ Recessive 1 “Come on, mom! I do not have Maturosis.” As a Tweener, Kaleb was fighting for his life, this was exactly the kind of thing that could put him in diapers. He hated saying what he shouldn’t even have to say; but this wasn’t the first time he had to stand up for his adulthood, and hopefully, it wouldn’t be the last. A letter from the school counselor started this latest brouhaha. In a few typed paragraphs, the Amazon counselor claimed that his behavior wasn’t up to snuff. It mentioned that Kaleb had been forgetful with his assignments, that he was apathetic, appeared bored, slept in class, and it brought notice to the nightmare that was his most recent report card. The school wanted to see some ‘changes’. In fact, the head counselor herself thought that he needed some cognitive behavioral testing; which would never happen to his Amazon stepsister. Now, Kaleb was doing battle against his family in the living room. The small space between the pair of couches, flat screen TV, and his father's oversized fluffy comfy chair became 'No man's land'. Kaleb sat in the Big recliner, dwarfed by the navy blue padding, doing his best to defend his honor against his stepmother and stepsister. Debbie was on her feet, the letter from the school still in her Amazon hands, and there was a stern tightness in her voice. “Your father works seven days a week to put food on the table, and you can’t even be asked to pay attention in class. What’s your problem, Kaleb?” “Maybe he has Maturosis?” added his sweet stepsister. Layla sat on the couch opposite Kaleb and his chair, and she had her Little Parenting class textbook opened and cradled in her loving Amazon arms. This Maturosis train of thought was all her fault, and she knew it and loved it. “I said that I do not have Maturosis!” Kaleb repeated himself, louder and slower this time. “How would you know?” Layla said to him and her mother. “Are you taking a Little Parenting class like I am? Oh, I forgot, it’s a class only for Amazons, which means you're too little to attend. So sowwie, Kay-Kay.” How he hated that pet name his stepsister gave him - ‘Kay-Kay’. “It’s not Kaleb’s fault,” added his stepmom with just a smidge of derision. “It’s in his genes, you can’t fault him for who he is - that’s Unfair.” Yes. His genes. From the day he was born, it was always about his inferior genetic make up. It turns out that his father’s family had a recessive ‘Betweener’ gene that had revealed itself with his birth. Thus, Kaleb was shorter, dumber, and more childish compared to everyone else in life. His mere existence seemed to have shamed his family, and Kaleb believed it was why his mom and dad split up in the first place. His real Amazon mom wanted to baby him, and his Big dad pretended he didn’t exist, working long hours and always out of town on business. Then his dad got remarried to Debbie, and that’s when these kinds of battles began. Kaleb knew these conflicts by heart, always having to prove that he was just as good as his Amazon counterparts. He had expected, and experienced, this kind of talk from other Amazons, but to have it in his house was something else entirely. Still, it shouldn’t have surprised him that it had come down to this; his stepsister being who she was, the same with his stepmom - but it was Layla who was spearheading this latest attack. There was trouble between him and his stepsister from the get-go: Layla being an almost perfect Amazon, Kaleb being a shorter than average Betweener, and both seniors in high school but on opposite ends of the popularity spectrum and the honor roll. It didn’t help matters that Layla was hyper intelligent and had a carnivorous brain that never slept and always schemed. His stepsister was sleek and stacked, blonde and pretty, and the head cheerleader of the varsity squad. Meanwhile, Kaleb made so-so grades, had dark shaggy hair, wore too many black t-shirts, played video games and kept to himself, which was now suddenly a crime according to Layla’s textbook. “My book says that sufferers of Maturosis exhibit the following behaviors: antisocial tendencies such as keeping to themselves, too much talking, not enough talking, too much reading, a disinterest in books, television watching, unable to finish a show… the same with being single, unemployed and without any high school diploma.” “Put a big check next to that one.” Debbie, his stepmom, loomed over his step-sis like a brooding gargoyle wearing mascara. “He hides in that room playing those childish games - almost like a Little.” “Yeah,” echoed Layla, “almost like a Little.” “Come on, Debbie!” Kaleb cringed from the insinuation. “Kaleb, for the last time, call me ‘mom’,” his stepmom warned him with a snap and a raised finger. “I’ve earned the right after dealing with you all summer, just wait until your father hears of this letter.” After putting him in his place, Debbie leaned over the couch to get a better look at the book. Then she casted a second sharp glance at Kaleb as if he was interrupting something important - and not fighting for his life. His stepmother had a pretty face for an overbearing Amazon; that is, when she wasn’t scowling at or threatening him. Debbie had a youthful appearance, a brightness in her complexion, and she kept in good shape, so he couldn't blame his dad for marrying her. It was just that his blonde, decently attractive stepmother had a singular goal in mind when it came to Kaleb; one that more aligned with that of his real mom. “Disrespect towards authority is another sign of Maturosis,” continued Layla. “It says here that the inability to appropriately recognize mother figures and properly interact with older Amazons reveals an innate desire for punishment. Very Maturosis, indeed.” A wild feeling soaked the room, a moist sponge full of potential energy, just waiting to be squeezed. Layla was getting giddy from this excitement, happily kicking her feet in the air. Her cheerful face matched her red and white cheerleading uniform fresh from the pep rally after school. One of her life goals was getting Kaleb put in diapers, which wasn’t some mind reading thing or a product of more insinuation, she had told him to his face… many times. “I do respect you Deb.. I mean, mom…” Kaleb pleaded his case to his oversized audience with fists clenched. “It’s just that this textbook is just painting Tweeners with a broad brush, it doesn’t mean that I’m sick with anything, you’ve got to believe me.” “We do believe you,” said Debbie, “it’s the only reason you’re not in diapers, yet.” “Not in diapers, yet?” questioned Kaleb, his face felt tight and cheek muscles twitched under his eyes. “What have I done to be put in diapers? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” Kaleb felt like he got his point across, but as soon as he settled himself back into the oversized chair, Layla flipped back a few pages in that damn book of hers. Then she pointed to a page that was probably dutifully highlighted from beginning to end. “Actually, we read about this issue a few chapters ago. Littles are experts at hiding their potty accidents, they could be having accidents daily without being caught, and no one would be the wiser. It’s more common than we think.” Debbie smiled and patted her daughter on the shoulder. “I love this new school of yours,” said his stepmom. “I’d have to admit that I was against sending you to a mixed school, but I’ll say that I stand corrected.” The two women were loving this special moment they shared. Layla beamed up at her mother, and her mom smiled down fondly — all Amazon through and through. They both looked the same and talked the same, with Layla being a younger, more ‘cheerleading’ kind of clone. As if this Amazonian apple didn’t fall far from the tree, if it even fell at all. “Thanks mom! I had my doubts as well, but they’re letting us work with the Littles at the school. And guess what! I changed my first Little diaper today!” “Oh! Congratulations Layla!” Debbie was hopping in place as she hugged her daughter. “You’re going to have to tell me everything? What was it like?” “What was it like?” Layla giggled, this day was going as perfectly for her as if she dreamed it. “It was stinky, that’s what it was like.” Stepmom crossed her arms and pushed her lips together like she was about to kiss a frog. “Uh-oh. Did some little Little think themselves too big for protection?” “Yeah…” Layla nodded excitedly, “and she had the audacity to want to be a cheerleader as well. I mean, it’s not safe. That’s what we all tried to tell her, she was too Little to be one of us.” “You’re right,” said Debbie. “It isn’t safe to have a Little wandering around a Big school with no one to help her. I’m so proud of you for protecting that Little, and she proved herself to be a pants-pooper as well. You probably caught her before things got out of control, she’s going to be thankful when she comes to terms with her condition.” “I doubt that…” mumbled Kaleb. His stepmom spun to face him. “What did you say?” As hard as this all was, Kaleb tried to explain himself to an insane giantess without triggering her overbearing, often malicious, mothering instinct. “You’ve ruined her life, now she’s in diapers, and she’s stuck in them!” “We didn’t ruin anything,” countered Layla, who said every word to her mother’s approval. “The cheerleaders helped her deal with her condition. So what are we supposed to do with a Little with a potty problem? Just let Callie go messy in her panties?” “No! Nope! No way I believe that!” decried Kaleb. “This Callie girl probably didn’t have potty problems until the cheerleaders made her poop herself.” Layla disagreed with a sharp shake of her head, sending her tight ponytail swaying from side to side. His stepsister flipped forward a couple of pages, grabbed her mom's attention, and pointed at a passage in the book without saying a word. After following her daughter’s finger, Debbie clutched the gaudy pearls around her neck and slowly nodded. Oh, man. This wasn’t good at all. Kaleb mockingly wiggled his head like his stepsister. “What does it say in your stupid book?” “It says that those suffering from Maturosis have an ‘affinity’ towards other victims. Top doctors say that this over-indulgent empathy is yet another symptom. If a Little, or Betweener, exhibits anger, frustration, or undue sympathy towards a Little that clearly needs diapers, it could mean that those big emotions are really meaning something else.” “Like what?” he asked without thinking first. “If a Little… or in this case - a Betweener - displays these kinds of emotions it may be masking…” Layla held up for a moment, to let the tension build, biting her pink lips and looking between her mom and her book. “I may be masking what?” questioned Kaleb. “Jealousy.” Kaleb squinted at his step sister in disbelief, as if she said the stupidest thing he’d ever heard, and it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard - but it was also one of the most dangerous. “Me? Wanted to be treated like a baby? That’s absurd… it’s ridiculous… there’s no proof, only silly um… insinuation! Give me a fair shake to prove it to you. I deserve the benefit of the doubt.” “You’re absolutely right, Kay-Kay.” “I am?” Kaleb stared blankly at his Big stepsister. “You do deserve the benefit of the doubt,” continued Layla. “Our teacher says that just because a non-Amazon exhibits one or all behaviors, doesn’t mean they have Maturosis. This isn’t some kind of catch all condition. Sometimes, but not often, there are a few misdiagnoses that go undiscovered.” Kaleb glared down at his sneakers, letting his heart sink to new depths. Imagine being misdiagnosed with something as sinister as Maturosis. That would be like serving a life sentence in a plastic prison, when you were innocent every single day. “That’s why they made the Cushioning test,” Layla explained to the room. “It’s a psychological remedy that can bring out the worst symptoms of Maturosis without the headache of constant surveillance.” “I’ve never heard of this Cushioning test,” Debbie grouched as she folded her arms. “It must be something new, they make everything so difficult these days. Back in my day, if we saw a baby we put a diaper on her, it was that simple. And now we have tests.” “Oh, mom. Don’t be so old fashioned. We live in an age of science and kindness, not like how it used to be, that was just being cruel to Littles. Now we help them, not hurt or condemn them.” “I guess you’re right,” sighed Debbie. "What does it say about bad grades, or any other signs in the behavior of a Betweener?" They’re sick, established Kaleb, in his head of course. They were absolutely bonkers, completely bat-crap crazy, and he needed to get out of that room. He rose from the chair to go back to his bedroom, if he was careful, they wouldn’t say anything. “Where are you going, Kay-Kay?” Layla flashed her violent blue eyes at him. “We’re not done yet.” “Oh, I thought you guys were finished,” he stuttered and took a step back. “Listen, I’ve got some homework to do, so… if you don’t mind…” Layla smiled. “I’ve got some homework, too.” “And…?” Kaleb noticed that she was staring at him hungrily. “And I need the help of my little bro!” Layla clapped her hands together enthusiastically, which was alarming to say the least; but Kaleb said nothing, dead behind the eyes, keenly noticing his smiling stepmom and aware of his squealing stepsister. There was no getting out of this, he had better chances of flapping his arms and flying out the window. "Does this homework have anything to do with those bags you brought home?" asked Debbie, with a gleam in the eye. “Maybe.." offered Layla. "What do you say, Kay-Kay? Wanna be my helper?” “Help you do what?” Kaleb shrugged his shoulders. “I’m going to need a few more details before I say anything.” “Well, today we got a special assignment from Little Parenting class. We’ve got to perform a practice Cushioning test over the weekend. Most of my friends are planning to work with Littles, they were going as a group to a daycare, but I thought it would be easier if Kaleb helped me. Mom, I’m so swamped at school, especially with the big dance coming up. I figured if the school wants him to do some 'testing', and I need to perform some 'testing', I can be the one to help Kaleb." "That's so nice of you to think of helping your stepbrother. You are growing into a fine young lady - and you are very busy.” His stepmom then turned his way. “You should help out your sister, Kaleb. It may ‘help’ you in the long run." "Help me do what?" he asked his stepmom. Debbie reviewed the letter a third and a fourth time before explaining. "The only places that offer these kinds of cognitive tests are at Little Procurement Centers, and they're not going to give you a fair shake if you fail them. Trust your stepmom on this one." He trusted her on this one, 100%. That still didn't mean that he had to do whatever Layla wanted, and his stepsister never did anything that was good for him without it later turning bad for him. At least she was predictable in that manner. “Wait a sec.." Kaleb turned to the two women. "You’re actually going to make me do this baby test?” “The school says that you need it,” answered Debbie with a shrug. “Why are you believing the stupid school counselor instead of me?” Kaleb continued to fight for his rights. “You know how stupid that is? This is all so… so… stupid!” Layla smirked. “Yeah, it is stupid isn’t it.” Kaleb was surprised to find that his stepsister agreed with him a second time, twice in one day like a broken clock. “Um.. it’s just that I’m not so sure I want to do that ‘Cushering’ test. Those things are designed to make Littles fail and turn them into babies. No way I’m doing that, I’m not THAT stupid.” “You’re just afraid that you won’t pass it,” said Layla matter of factly. “No, I’m not afraid of the test,” insisted Kaleb. “I just told you that the test is rigged against Littles…” “But you’re not a Little,” replied Layla. “It won’t be rigged against you. It’s just homework, Kay-Kay.” The way she was so right all the time was infuriating. He could feel the change in the room as his internal workings were beginning to budge, as he tried plant his feet into the carpet before he lost more ground. “It’s still a big ‘No!’ for me. I gain nothing from being your Guinea pig, not an ‘oinking’ thing.” “Guinea pigs don’t ‘oink’!” Layla groaned to her mother. “My stepbrother is a complete moron.” His stepmom butted in, "I don't think you have much of a choice, Kaleb." "I do have a choice, I'm not going to do any of these tests, no matter how many letters the school sends. And another thing, you can kiss my sweet not-diapered butt." Kaleb turned to show his jean clad bottom to the two Amazon women, adding insult to insult, and driving his point home. They were not making him do any kind of test. But that's where he was wrong. Before Kaleb knew what was happening, Debbie jumped into the fray, literally. For a woman in her middle age, she certainly closed the gap between easy chair and couch in a hurry. His stepmom pulled him to his feet by the forearm, in a tight grip he’d never break. Still, he tried. After a couple of quick escape attempts, Kaleb accepted his fate, letting his arm hang loosely from his stepmom’s clenched fist, while glaring as hard as he could at the much larger woman. When he had stopped squirming, Debbie pulled him closer to her in a menacing way, she was a giant spider and he was in her web. The size differential had to be driven home, and she spiked it deep. His stepmom addressed Layla with a biting, callous tone. “What does it say in your book about not helping their sisters?” “Nothing good,” replied Layla, as she tried to stifle another smile. “That’s what I thought,” Debbie said to Layla. “Now, as for you,” his stepmom turned her attention to him. “You need a nice slice of humble pie, so I’m going to check your pants. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you have another chance at making the right choice, or there could be a spanking in order. Then I'll take you to the Little Center, and you can do all of your testing with a red bottom." Kaleb gulped. That spike was driven straight into his heart. “Turn around and face your sister, Kaleb.” He didn’t have to be told twice, shuffling his feet towards Layla. His stepmom kept a firm hand at his back as he turned away from her, and her hold on his arm slackened to give him another chance to do it right. Like the constant battles for adulthood, this was not his first pants check; not from Debbie, not from others, and hopefully, it wouldn’t be his last. However, he wasn’t too concerned. Kaleb kept a clean ship, with a well-squabbed poop deck. On the couch, Layla coyly played with a pen held between her lips. The stupid textbook was still opened on her lap, but her piercing eyes were all on Kaleb and his ‘pants check’. This day was going as swimmingly as possible for Layla, and she wasn't afraid to show her stepbrother how much she enjoyed his petulant child treatment. Debbie reached around the front of his pants to undo the button of his jeans, then with the other hand she yanked them down mid thigh. Kaleb fought the urge to fall to the carpet as his pants fell, but his anxiety-locked knees held him upright. Behind him, his stepmom adjusted the waistband of his gray boxer briefs, before sliding a pair of crooked fingers into the fabric and pulling them back to take a peek at his cheeks. "All clean," Debbie announced to the surprise of no one. The whole song and dance was less about potty training and more about humility. His winning strategy was to try to maintain some bit of dignity on the other side. That was his goal, at least. Kaleb would have to exude some level of over-confidence if he planned on playing this off as just another battle; there was a war to win. "Duh! I told you that I don't have Maturosis. You guys are pretty off the mark, don’t you think? Same with the school and their letter, they're wrong and you both know it.” Kaleb hastily pulled his pants to his hips, and redid the button, and things were almost back to normal. "If we're wrong, then you should do the test," observed Layla. "I still don't know why you won't help me with my homework." "Fine. Fine. I'll do that test, but you two will have to give up something in return." "Oh!” Debbie exclaimed. “I love it when they try to make deals.” "Mom, let's hear him out." Layla slid her book aside before crossing her legs. Boy, her skirt was short. Kaleb could almost see a hint of red bloomers in the provided shadows. "I need him to willing and able to help me, I can't just force him over my knee to make him behave. This is science, remember? There's no room for error." "Alright, then." Debbie let him go, and Kaleb rubbed at the spot where her claws dug into him. "What do you want from us?" Kaleb held his breath before speaking. He made sure that his arm still worked; it did, same with his rapidly beating heart and his burgeoning sense of finality. If there was going to be a showdown, and he would be the one to set the terms. This was the best way to silence his family and take care of the funny business from that Amazon school counselor. "If I pass the test, then you two have to leave me alone. No more bullying. No more pants checking. No more Kay-Kay. No more… whatever else you guys do, like saying that I'd look cute dressed like a Little." Both women guffawed with a capital 'G'. "Alright, alright." Layla put aside her smile to give him the room. "Is that all? What if you 'fail'? It is a possibility." "If he fails, he gets treated like a Little with Maturosis," interrupted Debbie, altogether quiet and harsh. "That is what the test is all about, isn’t it? I’ve had my own questions about his adulthood that I wouldn’t mind having answered.” His stepmom was right about the test, wrong about his adulthood. The Cushioning test was for Littles who needed diapers. So what? Kaleb was a Betweener who didn't need diapers. Even if he did shoddily on Layla's Cushioning test, there was still a good chance that he'd pass the stupid thing, and then he'd be left alone for the rest of his days. No more bothering him about video games, or girlfriends, or his height, or anything and everything that made his life a constant battle. If this was going to end one way or another, it might as well be here and now, and at his own decision making. Kaleb stared down the two women. "Deal." The two Amazons could barely let the ink dry before sealing him to his fate, as Layla spoke for the both of them. "Deal... Now let's get started."

Officer Clarissa woke up to a feminine voice calling her name, "Clarissa, wake up sweety. It’s time to make a nice big present for mommy!" With a slight startle, she wakes up fully, becoming aware of the restraints holding her in place. Her own handcuffs bind her arms to two corners of the bed she is laying on, while ropes bind her feet to the other corners. She feels nude and spots all her gear laying at the side of the bed. As she tries to move, she hears a crinkle and notices the thick diaper she is wearing. With a glare, she looks back to her captor, a humanoid figure with pink skin, red eyes and prominent horns on the head. Shocked, she realizes that it is a demoness. The bouncy breasts and feminine body proportions are a clear indicator. Startled she thinks, “What is a demoness doing here? Any form of stable demons in our realm is a class 3 breach at minimum. Way more than my pay grade!” As if the demoness can smell her fear she reveals a wide grin, showcasing two rows of needle-like teeth. Continuing in a seductive voice, “Don’t be afraid. You are not in danger or we wouldn’t have this conversation right now.” She gives Clarissa a moment to process and come to the same conclusion. Her worry is replaced by uncertainty. The demoness doesn’t look that big, being around a head shorter than herself, but demons are known to have extreme strength, resilience and agility. They are also able to use mana for different kinds of spells, which make them so dangerous. “Okay, stop. Pull yourself together Clarissa. Think about your training!”, tell Clarissa silently herself. The first step is trying to classify the kind of demon. It can’t be a wrath demon, or she would be already dead. Gluttony also doesn’t makes sense with this slim body. Hmm … From the appearance she would guess that the demoness could be a succubus, which would make her a lust demon. At that thought she notices a pink tail appearing from below. It has a heart-shaped tip and quickly crawls closer to her head. She tries to defend herself, but the restraints keep her in place, but as the tail reaches her it just pats her softly on the head, while the demoness asks in a bit of an irritated voice, “Hello, hello. Someone there? Everything ok?” With a slight stutter, officer Clarissa answers, “Ye … Yes! I just spaced out for a moment. Are you a succubus?” This seems to amuse her captor, as she spots another grin while answering, “We have someone clever here. I’m called Lily by the way. You’re guess is wrong, but quite close. I’m a subset of the aspect of lust, but I specialize in something unique. As you may have noticed you are wearing a fluffy, comfy diaper. Just know that I get what I need when you use it in the right conditions.” That makes sense and explains Clarissa’s current predicament. She still doesn’t feel very well, as she just woke up after being knocked out. She needs to use the toilet but has a premonition about how this will go. Let’s not think about this for now and try to remember what happened before. She was about to check up on a hint that they got via phone. The Office of Magical Affairs gets a lot of calls from concerned citizens who misclassify perfectly normal events as magical. On top of that, there are fun calls that aren't meant seriously anyway. The combination of these two facts doesn’t allow the agency to send full teams to each reported location. Therefore, officer Clarissa was sent alone to do the checkup this time. When she arrived at the location, she rang the doorbell and announced her presence as per protocol. Then everything went haywire. Only milliseconds after the door opened something grabbed her and pulled her deftly inside. She doesn’t remember what happened after that. That should bring her to the current situation. With a bit of anxiety, she asks Lily, “What's going to happen now? What do I have to do in order to be released?” With an innocent smile, Lily answers, “As I said earlier you will make a nice big present in your diaper for mommy to clean up. I know you probably don’t want to do it right now, but I have just the right motivation.”, turning around 90 degrees she continues speaking in a soothing voice, “Come here, Peter. It’s time for your show!” Around the corner, a big baby crawls towards Lily. Wait, it’s not a baby, it’s an adult! He wears a frilly pink dress with red ribbons and suckles on a big strap-on pacifier. With each step, some crinkles emanate from his thick, white diaper. The same one Clarissa is wearing right now. Lily waits patiently for him to come closer and then stops far enough away so officer Clarissa has a good look at what will happen. With a mischievous grin, she removes the pacifier and then asks, “Who’s my good baby boy?” Peter answers enthusiastically, “Me, Mee!” With a satisfied grin Lily asks next, “And what do good little baby boys do?” “They do what mommy Lily says!” “Yes, they do. Now show your new baby sister how to make a nice big present for mommy!” “Yesth mommy! Hnnnrrg!” Splisssh! Clarissa watches as the front of Peter’s diaper starts to change color, while she starts hearing more noises. Pbbplrppt, Shplrt, Flrrpt! The relief and bliss on Peter’s face as he loads up his diaper is horrifying to Clarissa, while deeply arousing for Lily. As the poopy logs start to enter his diaper, the demoness turns him around for a better view. Now Clarissa can watch a bulge grow at the back of Peter’s diaper, while he starts to moan in pleasure. The diaper expands as the mess being pushed into it keeps piling up. All the while Lily praises him for doing such a good job while touching her own needy, demonic clitty. While Peter finishes soiling his diaper with quite some noise, Lily takes her now slick fingers, “You see, everything my body produces makes humans quite horny.” and inserts them into Clarissa’s diaper. As Clarissa feels the touch, she notices a certain heat and tingling slowly building up afterward. Changing her focus back to Peter, Lily commands him, “Lay on the floor in a changing position.” The adult baby complies immediately, squishing the contents of his diaper as he gets into position. With a winning grin, Lily opens the infantile garment, releasing quite the smell in the process, commenting, “Aawwww, my baby made such a big poopy for mommy! I’m so proud! Let’s get you your reward!” Peter beams all over his face, looking so pleased as if he has accomplished a big achievement, while he lies there in his excrement. His dick standing erect in the open diaper, coated in his still warm urine. Lily places herself over the steaming hot mess, slowly lowering her pussy over his member. Just a moment before making contact she stops with a wicked grin and with a hissing sound she starts to pee all over Peter’s erect member. His diaper caught the golden shower flowing down his genitals. The demoness doesn’t empty her bladder, just giving a quick shower, before retracting again. Only moments later the smell in the air starts to change. It’s hard to describe and Clarissa can still smell the mess, but her body stops categorizing the foul smell as something repulsive. After making sure that Clarissa will not be bothered by the smell of Peter’s mess anymore, the demoness folds the front piece of the diaper back up and around Peter’s cock. Then she starts sliding it up and down, simultaneously eliciting a squishing noise. Eliciting satisfied moans from him. Squish, Squish, Squish! Lily watches with a predatory gaze as her baby boy comes closer to orgasm. Inlaying her voice with magical energies, she starts speaking to Peter again, “You are my little baby boy, who has problems keeping his diaper dry. Whenever you get excited you lose control over your bladder, going pee-pee all over your fluffy diapee.” Baby boy Peter gives no resistance at all to the magical words, absorbing them like a diaper as they take hold of his mind. As this is accepted as his new truth, they settle in deeply, pushing out more parts of his maturity. The demoness hungrily absorbs this maturity, devouring it, so it will not return. Therefore, making the change permanent for the little baby boy. At the same time as his maturity goes bye, bye, he comes, spurting his load right into his infantile garment that Lily is rubbing over his member. It could be said that he has a literal mind-shattering orgasm. This is the way Lily works and with each sticky her victims make, they go further down their infantile paths, from which they will never return. After Peter blew his load, Lily closes his diaper again, telling him that he will be changed later. For now, he can enjoy the afterglow of his orgasm in his warm diapee. After taking him away, Lily has quite aroused herself. Diaper demons like her, enjoy the activity themselves. Therefore, the sly demoness can’t resist diapering her own sexy tushy, before going back to her newest catch. The feedings always make her a bit drunk, releasing her inhibitions and making her do more kinky stuff. She will have to make some stickies in it soon. Maybe after she is done with Clarissa here. She seductively licks her lips, before reappearing. As she goes over to the bed, she notices that Clarissa’s face has a bright flush by now, as the officer starts getting into heat. With another mischievous grin, Lily crawls onto the bed, positioning herself right over Clarissa. “My, my, what do we have here? A little baby girl in heat? Let mommy help you with that!” Starting to caress Clarissa’s breasts, the officer can’t resist releasing a moan from the pleasure. Clarissa grits her teeth, while vowing in her mind, “No, don’t give in to the temptation. Stay strong Clarissa, you can do it!” At the same time, worry comes up, as her bladder is near its capacity, threatening her with stings to release the pressure. As if on cue, Lily’s hand wanders over to her tummy, starting to gently apply pressure. The demoness watches with glee as the desperation in Clarissa’s eyes increases. It’s like music in her ears, when finally Clarissa’s resistance breaks with a whimpering sound. Hiiisssssssss! The officer starts wetting herself. A golden stream enters her thirsty diaper, splashing around and making it nicely warm and squishy. The relief feels sooo good. Clarissa didn’t know that going pee-pee can feel this good. Unwillingly she embraces the feeling, slowly coming closer to her orgasm. But before she reaches this height, the stream stops and the binding prevents her from pleasuring herself. With a pathetic moan, she protests, before being shushed by Lily. The demoness looks deep into her eyes, “Good job Clarissa! You see, that felt really good, didn’t it? But I want you to go one step further. You know what I want, right? Make me happy and I might even consider letting you go …” Clarissa thinks about the offer, knowing that she will likely not be able to free herself. But in the end, she refuses. Demons are not known to keep their word. Even if, as Lily has worded it she could keep her forever. The demoness replies, “Wouldn’t be fun if you gave in so easily.” She turns herself around so her diapered tushy is right Infront of Clarissa’s face, before announcing, “Feel the power of my secret weapon!” The demoness starts to grunt, as she starts pushing out her magical poo-poo from her demonic tushy. Pffrt! A first fart announces what is about to come. Then the first log starts to enter Lilys diaper. Clarissa watches mesmerized how the diaper starts expanding right Infront of her. With a couple moans Lily continues soiling her infantile garment, just like a baby. Rubbing her clitty through the front as she does the deed. A sickly sweet, magical scent starts to emanate from her poopy, instead of the foul smell of human excrement. This scent is Lilys ultimate weapon, turning even the hardest cases into diaper humping imbeciles. Finally with a loud "Braaapp" sound softer, mushier poop marks the ending of Lilys pooping session. The demoness loves the warm slimy feeling, as the diaper presses her mess against her delicate pink skin. She wiggles around a bit and touches the bulge she created to give her poopy a nicer spread inside her diaper, before standing up again. Now each of her movements is accompanied by a squishing sound, as her poop is pushed around. She stopped rubbing her clitty, even as she is close to an orgasm. She knows that it will be so much better, when done at the height of her feeding. Maybe she shouldn’t do it, as she just fed from Peter, but she wants to reach new heights. Knowing that Clarissa is now enraptured by the sweet smell permeating the room, she undoes the bindings of the officer. As Clarissa smells the sweet scent her arousal increases tenfold. Her little kitty now dropping wet. Her rational thoughts become more clouded as her primal desires increase. She just has to push, giving in to the pleasure. Without actively noticing she starts rubbing her diapered pussy, releasing a sweet moan between the squishing sounds. Lily comes closer to her ear with glee in her eyes, whispering with her demonic powers, “Concentrate on my voice Clarissa.” The officer can’t resist the magic compulsion and listens as if in trance. With a vile grin Lily continues, weaving even more magic into her voice, “Repeat after me: I, Clarissa, am a little baby girl. I’m a good little baby girl who loves wearing her diapers. Only grown-ups are allowed to take off my diaper. I’m too little to know how to properly change my used diapees.” Clarissa starts repeating in her lust-induced trance, the magic taking hold of her mind as she says the words. Lily looks her newest acquisition deep into her eyes as the defiant look in them is replaced by happiness and love. The big hurdle is overcome and Lily speaks the new truths of her baby girl directly to her mind, “You are so little, you have no control over your bladder. You constantly dribble your pee-pee into your beloved diapers. You love the feeling of your warm and squishy diapers against your skin.” As Clarissa goes deeper into the rabbit hole, the awareness of her bladder completely vanishes. Lily knows that her time is running out, but she has a good feeling and tries to go for the grand prize. She gathers the last of her energy reserves and hopes that it is enough, “Using the toilet is for big girls and not for you. You don’t even know how to use them. Always remember that the toilet is scary and cold, while using your diaper calms you down, as it is the right thing to do. When you need to go poopy you just squat down and push everything out into your waiting diapee.” Lily used all of her power, but she managed to finish. There are still a lot more lessons for the future, but this is amazing progress for now. After Lily spoke the last words, there is a vacant look in Clarissa’s eyes, a bit of drool running out of the corner of her mouth as the magic takes full hold and Lily gets her meal. It is sooo much and she is already feeling so hot! Lily’s pussy is dripping wet inside her own comfy diapee. The demoness gives her some time to let it all sink in, carefully applying more of the sweet scent emanating from her own diaper around her newest catch. Making sure to not disturb the changes taking place in Clarissa’s brain. After about a minute later the former officer starts moving again. She waddles a couple steps, her diaper crinkling and she is reminded of her current status. Just like before her hand wanders to her diapered crotch, squishing her soggy diaper against her needy kitty. Squish, Squish, rumble. The new adult baby is reminded by her tummy that she still needs to go poopy. She knows that she wanted to use the toilet, but as she thinks about this idea only a feeling of dread comes up. Why has she ever considered using one? Baby Clarissa doesn’t understand why she wanted to do this, she doesn’t even know how to use a toilet. She thinks a bit more and remembers what she is supposed to do. Like a good baby girl, she squats down, Lily watching her closely as she does so. Then with a grunt she starts pushing. With puffy cheeks she looks quite cute as she does the most infantile act with Lily watching in satisfaction. Hnnnnrg, Pfffrrrrpt! She pushes out a first fart, filling the air with her foul smell, but she is far from done. Prrapt! Braaapppp! The next sounds announce the steamy hot load entering the backside of her diaper. The warm slimy feeling spreading in her diaper is amazing and her kitty feels all tingly, so she masturbates the front of her diaper even faster while continuing to soil her infantile garment. One poopy log after the next enters her waiting diaper, tenting it out to a nice bulge. In the same amount as her diaper fills up, her arousal increases. “That’s my good baby girl! Push it all out!”, encourages Lily in a motherly tone. Clarissa answers with a deep grunt, needing some effort now to keep pooping, as the space starts to run out in the backside of her diaper, forcing the mess slowly towards the front. Her breathing becomes faster and faster as she comes closer to climax. Lily notices and whispers into her ear, “Show mommy how much you love your diapers!” Clarissa convulses in pleasure as she comes hard in her diaper, spewing lewd juices all over the soggy padding, as her diaper trustfully catches her infantile orgasm. At the same time she finishes soiling herself with one last squelching sound from the other end of her diapee. With a wide grin Lily praises her even more, “Good girl, you made such a good job! Mommy is very proud of you!” Baby Clarissa basks in the praise and the afterglow of her amazing orgasm, showing it with a big dumb grin, drool still running out of the corner of her mouth. Just like a good baby girl. But Lily isn’t finished yet, using the momentum she gained she uncovers her full breasts and guides her baby back to the bed. Clarissa follows the little prods by her mommy, her full diaper emits clearly perceptible squishing and squelching sounds from the movement, as the contents are moved within. The warm slimy feeling pressing against her skin feels just right and having used her diaper properly made Clarissa quite calm. It feels just so right, as if this is the natural state, she should always be in. Without noticing Clarissa’s thumb wanders inside her mouth, suckling on it like the infant she just became. Lily watches with a knowing grin and positions herself on the bed, together with her new adult baby. Taking Clarissa’s head into her lap. Lily own diaper crinkles a bit as she sits down on her own mess, but she doesn’t care. Just as little as her new baby girl does about smushing the contents of her diaper. After Clarissa put her head into Lilys lap, she is mesmerized by the full booby in front of her. Again Lily encourages in a soothing tone, “Time for your reward baby girl. It’s time for milkies from mommy. Open wide darling.” Clarissa does as she is told and latches on. She feels so loved and protected in mommies embrace, starting to suckle without a care in the world. Immediately she is rewarded with a sweet taste as her mouth fills with the heavenly nectar. Closing her eyes in absolute bliss as she drinks in big gulps. But not only Clarissa has a good time, as Lily also enjoys the feeding quite much. The diaper demon is so high on the maturity she leeched from her newest acquisition that in combination with the current stimulation, it’s too much and she loses it. Psshhh! Lily loses control of her bladder, wetting herself like a baby. As she breastfeeds Clarissa, her own diaper expands in size, while changing its color. Growing warm and squishy just like Clarissa’s diaper before. That makes Lily sooo horny and she starts touching herself, making the same squishing noises as Clarissa before. Her new baby girl opens her eyes and looks surprised at her mommy, which is having a small accident herself. She stops feeding for a moment and asks, “Did you went pee-pee just like me?” The question increases Lilys arousal to unknown heights as she starts to embrace her darkest fantasy. Lily is completely overwhelmed from all the stimulus and releases a high pitched moan from the pleasure. She doesn’t even notice that she subconsciously starts to impart her voice with magic just as before. Her magic reserves having refilled quite a bit from all the maturity she leeched from Clarissa. As in trance Lily answers with her horny thoughts, “Yes, I just went pee-pee in my diapee like a good little baby girl.”, in her clouded mind state she remembers what she just said earlier to Clarissa, repeating a couple of her commands, “Yes, I’m a good little baby girl who loves wearing her diapers. I’m too little to know how to properly change my used diapees.” With every sentence Lily comes closer to orgasm. She is sooo close. In her haze she thinks to herself, “Just one more humiliating sentence, which Clarissa will probably forget anyway and I can make my own stickies!” With renewed determination she finishes with, “I’m so little that I have no control over my bladder!” As the magic settles in place, Lily experiences a mind shattering orgasm herself! As she comes in her well used diaper she falls back-first onto the bed. This time involuntarily devouring part of her own maturity with a big dumb grin, drool running out of the corner of her mouth. Her thumb finding a way into her mouth, while baby Clarissa crawls over to continue nursing from her breast. Authors note: Lily is not the first diaper demon, getting so high from overfeeding that she gives in to her urges and starts feeding of her own maturity. Its kinda her instincts taking over and making her deepest desires come true. Deep down she wants to be the same as her victims, helplessly filling her thick diapers while having the best orgasms of her life. Clarissa on the other hand is an adult baby now. She did go further then Lilys programming, as she sunk deep into little space. But this is only temporary and the only permanent changes are the ones induced by Lilys magical words. What do you think how this development will proceed? Lily got a taste of her own maturity now and it was way better then any mortal one she ate before. Will she be able to control herself or will she sink deeper into infantile bliss? What about Clarissa, will she be able to stop further regression?

This story has been on hiatus for but while I deal with ... life. But I'm picking it up again and getting back to more regular updates, so I figured I may as well start sharing it here as well. I've been a part of the Invader Zim fandom for a while, and there's barely any ABDL content there, so I had to fix that. Chapter 1: Once is an Accident ... i. “GAHHH!! FUCK YOU, GIR!!!!” The shout from the kitchen had Dib launching himself off the couch and sliding to a halt on the tile in his socks in no time flat. He was greeted with the sight of pink milkshake over every conceivable surface; the ceiling, the counter, the walls, the table, and all over both a thoroughly amused GIR and a very angry Zim. “Shit, Zim,” Dib groaned. “I told you messing with your PAK in the kitchen was a bad idea.” Zim’s PAK sat open on the kitchen table, half dismantled from Zim’s attempt at installing an upgrade. Zim’s body seemed to have shielded it slightly, but it was still spattered with sticky pink liquid. “I didn’t think he was gonna start the blender with the top off!! ” Zim shouted, aggravated, as he rushed to mop up the mess with his shirt before it seeped too far into his PAK. “I can’t put it back on like this!!” Dib checked his watch. He’d been keeping a countdown to make sure Zim’s PAK wasn’t off for longer than the ten minute maximum. “We’ve got eight minutes before it becomes a problem. GIR —” He looked over at the robot, who was currently trying to lick milkshake out of the blender, “— start cleaning up the kitchen.” GIR saluted and gave a shrill, “Okie dokie!!!” before dashing off to grab some towels. “My life is starting to flash before my eyes, Dib!!!” Zim whined as Dib grabbed a handful of napkins and briefly ran them under the faucet. “We’ve still got time, you fucking drama queen,” Dib admonished, shoving a the napkins at Zim. “Start cleaning up with those, and I’ll follow with some rubbing alcohol to make sure everything’s dry before you plug it back in.” Zim nodded and they quickly got to work. It wasn’t long before the tight space made their tag team effort more difficult than Dib had planned, however, especially as Zim’s coordination rapidly spiraled downwards. After watching him smear strawberry chunks around for an agonizing thirty seconds, Dib finally pushed his hands aside. “We’ve got five minutes,” Dib warned. “Let me finish this and you just try to stay conscious.” Zim’s skin was an ashy shade of green and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. Even when all he had to do was sit still, he was visibly trembling. “I don’t feel so good, Dib,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know, bug, but just hang in there.” Despite the tension in the air, Dib tried harder than ever to maintain a calm demeanor, reassuring Zim in dulcet tones while scrubbing away at the sticky goo spattered all over. Behind him, he could hear GIR mostly pushing the rest of the disaster around, and he was positive he was going to need to clean that up later, as well. As the minutes ticked down, Dib’s anxiety rose like a tsunami, threatening to crash down on him every time Zim moaned in discomfort. He was down to his last minute before he knew it, and there was still a cluster of wires he had yet to clean. It was just out of reach and if he had more than sixty seconds left, he would have grabbed a cotton swab to finish cleaning them off. As it was, he twisted a napkin to give it a bit of rigidity, and blindly stuffed it in while checking his watch. “Shit.” Thirty seconds left. He shook his head and pulled his makeshift cleaning device back out. “This’ll have to do, Zim.” He leaned over and hauled Zim up onto his lap. The poor little Irken was barely even responding at this point. With seconds to spare, Dib lifted the PAK to Zim’s back and the cables shot out to reconnect with the ports on Zim’s back. Zim’s eyelids fluttered and he groaned incomprehensibly, but as he squinted and rubbed his eyes, the color was beginning to return to his cheeks. “You feeling alright?” Dib asked nervously. That last spill had been worryingly close to an awful lot of connections. Zim nodded, sliding off Dib’s lap and onto the floor. He did a couple toe touches, stretched his arms, and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Yep. Everything seems to be in or—” A sudden zap of electricity made his body convulse and PAK spark. Dib watched in silent horror as Zim suddenly went limp and fell to the floor, antennae twitching twice before falling still. Before a single coherent thought could pass through Dib’s head, he jumped up and grabbed the silicone pot holders from the counter and used them to turn Zim onto his side. The Irken didn’t seem to be breathing, but it was difficult to tell for sure. Dib retrieved his phone from his pocket and held it under Zim’s mouth, waiting for it to fog up. When it didn’t, a sick knot of realization began to form in Dib’s belly. He had no idea how to give an alien CPR. He had a vague idea of Zim’s internal structure, but the question of how to restart things had simply never come up. And when even successful human CPR led to a few broken ribs, he was leery of injuring Zim further. “Stand clear.” The robotic, monotone voice sent Dib scurrying backwards in a panic. Had Zim’s PAK really just spoken ??? Was it allowed to do that on its own?? That question certainly hadn’t ever cropped up before in all the years they’d known each other. Another jolt of electricity arced between Zim’s antennae, making his muscles twitch and jerk for a few painfully slow seconds before he was still once more. Dib leaned forward, heart hammering in his chest and breath stuck in his throat. “Zim?” he whispered, reaching out with a shaking hand. Zim’s face screwed up and he let out a low groan before opening his bleary eyes. “S-sugar …” he mumbled. Dib fell forwards and hugged him tightly. “Oh thank fuck!! I thought you died!!” “Ow … I did ,” Zim grumbled. Dib sat up so fast he saw stars. “ What‽‽ ” Zim laboriously pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his temples. “Well, I’m not dead now, idiot. My systems reset themselves,” he said thickly. “Death is rarely a permanent state, Dibby.” “God forbid there be a normal day in this household,” Dib sighed as GIR scooted by on a towel, oblivious and smearing pink stickiness across everything in his wake. Zim groaned and rubbed his head. “Getting reset depletes sugar reserves, so I’m going to need you to get me off this floor and grab me a snack before I keel over again.” Zim still seemed too weak to properly hold on to anything, so Dib lifted him in a bridal carry and carefully walked him to the couch. He set Zim down, propped up against the pillows, and gently touched a hand to Zim’s cheek. His skin was clammy and slightly pale, but at least he was obviously alive. “Are you gonna be alright?” Dib asked worriedly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just grab me a glass of Tang and a couple sugar cookies,” Zim replied in much more subdued tones. Dib gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You got it.” He strode into the kitchen, but stopped dead at the edge of the tile. GIR was sprawled out on the floor, attempting to make milkshake angels. Dib sighed, edged around the kitchen, and opened one of the cupboards to fish around for a bucket. Once he’d located one — and dumped out all the junk it contained — he filled it with soap, water, and a bit of rubbing alcohol. GIR did better when the list of steps to complete a task was as small as humanly possible, so mixing the cleaning solution before handing the task off reduced the opportunity for errors. “Alright, you’ve had enough fun,” Dib said irritably, shoving the bucket at a thoroughly unphased GIR. “I don’t care if you strap sponges to your feet or make yourself a towel taco, I just need this mess gone.” “Caaaan dooooo,” GIR yelled, snatching the bucket from him and dashing towards the sponges as soapy water sloshed onto the floor. Dib skirted out of his way and busied himself with grabbing Zim’s requested snack. He returned to the living room with a plate of sugar cookies and Tang in one of GIR’s sippy cups. Zim gave the cup a slightly hard stare, but ultimately shook his head and didn’t question the choice. “So I was thinking,” Dib said as he carefully sat down beside Zim, “we should take it easy for the rest of the day, considering you died for around forty-five seconds. We can just hole up and watch some horror movies, get some soda and kettle corn into you, that sort of thing.” Zim snuggled against Dib, head on his chest. “Works for me. I still feel … Ugh , it’s hard to put into words,” he grumbled, taking a long sip of his drink. “Something feels off, but I can’t explain it.” Dib frowned, numerous worries occupying the back of his brain. “We could take your PAK off again and try to do a more thorough job of cleaning it out?” he offered. “Not right now,” Zim said, squeezing his eyes shut. “If you take too long, it’s going to be that much harder on my body. I’m really not in any shape for that right now.” He nestled in closer, as if proximity to Dib would fix things. “I just …” He looked up at Dib, concern scrawled across his face. “Hold me?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. Dib’s expression softened to one that was very nearly pity. Zim had a habit of being a pain in the ass and prickly more often than not, but he regularly demanded physical comfort whenever he was feeling less than stellar for any reason. “Yeah,” Dib replied gently. “But let me grab you some kettle corn and cocoa, first.” Zim shook his sippy cup and raised his eyebrows. “In a mug?” “In a thermos ,” Dib corrected. “I don’t need you spilling all over the couch when the kitchen is already a disaster.” An hour or so later, as morning spilled into golden autumn afternoon, the kitchen was finally clean and they were midway through one of Dib’s favorite horror movies. Zim sat snuggled under multiple blankets on Dib’s lap with a belly pleasantly full of warm drinks and sugary snacks. His color has finally returned to normal and he was no longer shivering. By all accounts, he was back to normal. Still, though, he couldn’t shake the feeling something was different . As he struggled to pin down exactly what or why , a sudden crescendo of music crashed through the speakers in a cheap jump scare, startling Zim back to the present with a horribly unwelcome jolt. He was suddenly glad that Dib had insisted on giving him all his drinks in containers with a top. He grumbled under his breath, ruffled, before settling back down against Dib, vaguely aware that the space between them felt a bit warmer than it had a minute ago. Beneath him, Dib shifted slightly, froze, then freed his arm from around Zim to blindly feel around under the blankets for a moment before coming to a rest. “Er … Zim?” “What?” Zim asked gruffly, still miffed that the movie had managed to startle him as badly as it did. “Did you lose your phone again? Because I’m not getting up this time.” Dib opened his mouth, let out a sort of strangled sigh, then bit the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed. “Did you … uh. Jesus, there is no easy way to ask this …” He pressed his palm to his forehead before spitting out in a single breath, “ Please tell me you just spilled your cocoa. ” Zim turned and raised an eyebrow, holding up his thermos. “No? Why are you—” As he shifted, he finally felt what Dib was talking about, and his eyes went wider than flying saucers. “ Oh my god , Zim,” Dib groaned, taking him under the arms and lifting him away like a badly behaved cat. As he stood up and the blankets fell away, there was no question what had happened. Both their pants were soaked, along with a sizeable portion of the cushion beneath them. Zim stood in a small puddle, dripping and purple-faced with embarrassment. “How did you not feel that??” Dib asked, more baffled than upset. “Everything was already really warm!” Zim insisted frantically. Dib gave him a look that was equal parts worry and horror. “You didn’t even feel like you had to go??” Zim tossed his arms up in frustration. “Do I look like I’m five?” “I’m not trying to be an ass here, Zim,” Dib insisted, trying to tone down his intensity to something Zim would find less offensive. “I just need to know if you had any idea this was gonna happen, before it happened.” “Of course I—!” Zim stopped mid sentence, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t gotten any of the usual signals. Not so much as a twinge. “I mean, I think … fuck.” He stared down at the puddle around his feet. “I … didn’t feel anything,” he finally admitted in hushed tones. Dib pushed his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Shit. Alright. Well, first of all, you’re banned from screwing with your PAK anymore until we sort this out.” Zim shot him a snide expression. “You can’t ban me from fixing my own brain, Dib!” “Until we figure out exactly what went wrong? Yes, I can.” Dib glanced down at his soaked pants with a frown before seeming to give up and start unbuttoning things. “Just take all your clothes off here,” he instructed as he peeled away his wet clothes. “You take everything up to the wash. I’m gonna shower off and run out to the store real quick.” Zim paused in the middle of attempting to pull his socks off, balancing on one foot. “Why are you going to the store?” he asked, suspicious. Dib’s face contorted into something that was somewhere north of innocence and south of pity. Zim scowled back. “Why are you going to the store, Dib ?” he asked, enunciating each word with palpable malice. Dib held up his hands. “It’s just as an ‘in case’ measure, alright?” Zim sucked in a breath and puffed out his chest, blustering and fuming in what Dib could only imagine was very angry Irken. “It was ONE TIME !!!” he finally spat out, incensed. Dib nervously ran a hand through his hair. “Okay … and if it isn’t just one time?” Zim growled something under his breath, fists at his sides. “It might not be related to the issue with your PAK, but if it is, I’d rather be prepared,” Dib said simply. “You’re not putting me in diapers!” Zim snapped. “Fine. No diapers. But I am gonna grab a pack of pull-ups or something, just in case ,” Dib said as he tossed his underwear onto the pile, trying to remain blasé about the whole thing. Which was a difficult thing to pull off while naked and covered in piss. Zim spied Dib’s cock poking out of a thicket of hair and abruptly looked away before he could get distracted. Not to mention, he was vaguely concerned that getting turned on in wet pants might rewire him in an even worse way. He merely crossed his arms and faced away. “I’ll get you some snacks as a consolation,” Dib said as he turned to walk upstairs. “We’re almost out of Fun Dip, right? I’ll get you more of that.” Zim gathered the clothes and blankets and damp cushion with the help of his PAK legs to steady everything. He’d stupidly put his clothes-cleaning contraption upstairs, but at least he’d had the foresight to put it right outside the lift. The stairs were really just for Dib’s benefit. It was the only way the kid got any exercise, some days. Zim pulled aside one of the large speakers beside the TV to reveal the interior of an elevator, and climbed inside with his bundle. He reached the top just as Dib finished hosing himself off in the shower, and got to work loading the machine with all of the damp clothes and blankets. Dib dressed himself in a flash, hurriedly striding towards the stairs before Zim was even finished. “I’ll be back before you know it!” Dib called on his way down. Zim gave only a non-committal grunt. “Text me if you think of anything you want!” “Hmph.” Zim rolled his eyes and slammed the door to the washer shut, irritably poking at the controls until it chimed happily and began chugging away. Zim waited, one antenna perked, until he heard the front door close and lock behind Dib. His human would be gone for at least ten minutes, and ten minutes was all Zim needed to get back inside his PAK and fix this irritating little hiccup once and for all. ii. Dib’s truck rumbled along the road back home, the breeze from the windows making the bags beside him billow and snap. He caught a glimpse of the package contained inside and felt himself blush slightly. Although the situation was embarrassing and slightly worrying when it came to Zim’s overall health, Dib found that he was strangely un-squicked by recent events. Even though Zim had pissed right in his lap, he hadn’t really found the situation all that revolting. If he hadn’t been so shocked at the time, it might have even been a little hot. Zim, caught in an embarrassing situation, dependent on Dib to make things better … Dib shook his head to clear it as he pulled up to the base. He doubted he could get Zim on board with that sort of roleplay. But he could dream, at least. He killed the engine, grabbed his bags, and hopped out of the truck. Scattered leaves blew across his path, catching on the tacky lawn gnomes Zim still insisted stand guard outside. Dib would have been lying if he said he didn’t find Zim’s sense of decor at least a little amusing. He opened the door and stepped inside. “I’m back!” he shouted cheerily, kicking his shoes off. He started towards the stairs, then stopped dead. The whole base was eerily quiet, except for what he’d initially written off as the wind whistling over the roof. But as he stood there, barely breathing, it had begun to sound an awful lot more like sobbing. “ Zim ??” When there was no answer, Dib dropped his bags and raced up the spiraling steps. He came to a screeching halt at the doorway to their bedroom, where Zim was crumped on the floor, sobbing and sitting in a puddle of something that Dib would have bet money wasn’t tears. Nevertheless, Dib rushed over and scooped Zim up, hugging him close. “What’s wrong??” he asked, rubbing the small of Zim’s back in an attempt to soothe him. “I tried to fix it!!” Zim wailed, breath hitching in his throat. “The wires … they were all — hic!! — fused in the wrong spots. I tried to separate them, but … but once I put my PAK back on, it … it shorted out again. And … and when I woke up I — hic!! — I was on the floor and I know I just made it worse!!” Anger swelled in Dib’s chest for a moment, but it was quickly snuffed out by Zim’s obvious upset. There was nothing to be gained by cussing him out for his actions. He was already suffering the consequences. Plus, the sounds he was making were causing Dib heartache like he’d never felt before. All he wanted was to put things right. “It’s gonna be okay,” Dib murmured, hugging him tightly. Zim shook his head, face buried in Dib’s shoulder. “No, it isn’t !! I don’t know what’s wrong but something just isn’t right!!! ” It was hard for Dib to argue. He’d never seen Zim so worked up before. He’d seen him get a little teary over things or sometimes even cry out of frustration, but he’d never dissolved into such a thoroughly inconsolable state before. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can go back to taking it easy, okay?” Dib said softly. Zim took a few shaky breaths in an attempt to get ahold of himself. “Bath,” he finally mumbled, wiping his eyes. Dib was slightly taken aback. Zim usually avoided anything deeper than a puddle like the plague. “I was just gonna let you shower off, but yeah, we can do a bath, if that’s what you want.” He stood up and carried Zim to the bathroom, watching with growing concern as Zim buried his face in the front of his hoodie. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bathtub and turned on the taps, putting his wrist in the stream to gauge the temperature before plugging the drain and gently setting Zim down. “Get settled. I’ll be right back.” Dib made it to the stairs in a few long strides, descending the steps to retrieve two of the bags he’d dropped by the door. On his way back through the bedroom, he tossed one bag onto the bed, then carried the other with him back into the bathroom. He made it back up in time to see Zim adding a hefty amount of bubble bath to the water. “You’re really going all-in on this, huh?” Dib remarked as he put his back against the wall and slid to a sitting position next to the tub. Zim ducked his head nervously. “It smells nice.” Dib leaned on the edge of the tub and reached out to cup Zim’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “Yeah, it does. And that means you’ll smell nice when we’re cuddled up together on the couch, later.” Zim pressed against his hand with a soft purr, eyes closed, a contented smile on his face. Dib’s own sad smile slowly faded as the full weight of the interaction started to hit him. He felt like he was talking to a slightly younger Zim. At the very least, a Zim with all the usual sass and salt stripped out. And that had him worried, sure, but the worst part was, he knew full well that some part of him was enjoying the shift. Taking care of a soft, sweet Zim fulfilled some basic need he didn’t even know he had. Zim slowly opened his eyes, and the pink packaging inside the bag suddenly caught his attention. “Do I even need to ask what that is?” he said wearily. Dib gave a weak smile and finally pulled the package out of the bag. The front graphic showed an earth child in a t-shirt and what appeared at first to be purple underwear. It didn't take Zim’s earth-shattering IQ to be able to guess they weren’t that, at all. “I was a bedwetter for way longer than I care to say,” Dib admitted, cheeks going pink. “So I can personally vouch for this brand. Pluuuus ,” he added in a sing-song tone, “they’re purple and pink! Your favorite colors.” Zim stared blankly for a second, then puffed out his cheeks. “Wow, Dib. I didn’t think I could feel any more self conscious about this, but congratulations.” Dib deflated a bit and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, sorry. Just try to remember that it’s not for forever, alright?” Zim opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head, thinking better of whatever he was about to say. Instead, he grabbed a washcloth and thrust it at Dib. “There’s still some milkshake on my back,” he said quietly. “I can’t reach it myself. Can you …? Dib took the washcloth from him, dipped it into the bath water, and gently began cleaning him up. There were strawberries caked along the outline of his PAK, along with the general stickiness coating everything. Zim held uncharacteristically still as Dib worked, merely swirling his fingers in the water and watching the bubble trails. “Are you alright?” Dib finally asked after several minutes of silence. “Yeah, Dib. I’ve always wanted to start pissing myself at random. So, you know. Never better,” Zim replied dryly without looking up. “We could keep trying to fix it, you know,” Dib offered as he poured water down Zim’s back to clean under his PAK. “No,” Zim replied sorrowfully, “it’s not just the wires. Some of the chips are damaged, and they’re not like your computer chips. They’re grown, like crystals. So you can’t just slap a new one in there any more than you can take a slice of your brain and replace it.” He leaned his head against the cool tile, eyes closed. “There are tools to regrow broken chips, but I don’t have them. There’s a chance I could pick up what I need on Vort, but that’s not possible right now because of the political situation.” Dib silently wrung out the washcloth and set it on the edge of the tub. “So you’re …” “Stuck like this for the foreseeable future, yeah,” Zim confirmed, swirling the bubbles around with his finger. “And I don’t even know the full extent of what ‘like this’ is .” “You haven’t been losing any of your other faculties, have you?” Dib asked with a concerned frown. Zim shook his head. “No, I just feel weird. Different.” He pushed the water from side to side, watching the frothy waves bounce around the tub as he struggled to find the words. “Smaller, almost,” he finally whispered. “I just want physical comfort and … simple things. I don’t know …” Dib reached out and put a finger under Zim’s chin, making him look up. “You want me to take care of you?” he asked gently. As he looked into Zim’s eyes, there was no denying that something had permanently shifted. The Zim that sat in front of him seemed to be trying to take up as little space as possible. Everything about him seemed to cry out for affection, and Dib wanted nothing more than to give it to him. Zim bit his lip nervously before giving a small nod. “Y-yeah. Being taken care of sounds nice.” Dib leaned forwards and kissed him on his forehead, then sat back on his heels. “Good, because that’s what I was planning to spend the rest of the day doing, anyways.” Dib pulled the stopper out of the drain and shook out a fuzzy purple towel as Zim stood up out of the water with a shiver. In one fluid motion, Dib wrapped Zim up in the towel and whisked him up before the alien could protest. Much to his surprise, this got a genuine laugh out of Zim instead of the usual cussing-out. “Man, you are in some rare moods today,” Dib said as he kissed Zim’s cheek. Zim shrugged self-consciously. “I guess …” His blush made his freckles stand out like stars in a dusty desert twilight, and for a moment, all Dib could do was smile and take it all in. “You’re still going to make me put one of those things on, aren’t you?” Zim asked quietly, face falling as Dib set him down on his feet. “Sorry,” Dib murmured, in lieu of saying ‘yes’. “If it had just been the one accident, I wouldn’t push, but, well.” He shrugged apologetically. “Twice is kind of a pattern.” Zim dried himself off slowly, looking over the packaging that claimed the product enclosed “ looks and feels like real underwear! ” It was a bold claim that Zim wasn’t positive would be able to hold up under scrutiny. It also hammered home the fact that Zim was departing the realm of whatever “real” underwear happened to be, and he had no idea if -- or when -- he’d be returning. The uncertainty left a knot in his guts. As Zim finished drying off his legs, Dib ripped one end of the package open and pulled out something that certainly looked more like a diaper than any sort of adult undergarment Zim had ever seen. Dib handed it over and Zim, still skeptical, took it and examined it closer. At least Dib had done his best to get the good colors. But that was really the only bright spot. Zim pulled the stretchy sides wide enough to step into it, then shimmied it up until the padding was flush with his crotch. He wiggled it around a bit, noting the muted crinkle the thing made as he shifted. He looked up to meet Dib’s eyes. “This is a diaper,” he said with a wry look. “It’s just a pull-up,” Dib corrected. “Call it whatever you want, Dib,” Zim said with a sigh as he walked towards the bedroom closet. “Doesn’t really change what it is. You know. I know.” He gestured half-heartedly towards the packaging. “Even those lying marketing executives probably know.” There wasn’t much Dib could say to that, so he gave Zim a sort of well-meaning pat on the head, and went to dig through the dresser for a change of clothes. After changing into some ridiculously fluffy pajamas, they settled in for an afternoon of sugar and scary movies with the hope of taking Zim’s mind of what a disaster the day had been so far. Zim had been concerned that Dib would want to keep a bit of distance between the two of them, but instead Dib seemed to want him as close as possible. Dib tended to be fairly affectionate as it was, but tonight he was all but smothering Zim with his love, cuddling him and preening his antennae. “Normally I’d never say this, because I’m worried you’d rip my face off and wear it as a hat, but you’re really cute,” Dib murmured between cheek kisses. “I wouldn’t kick your ass for that,” Zim said dismissively. “You always assume I want to be referred to in hard, masculine terms, but I’ve never said that.” Dib raised his eyebrows in surprise. “For real?” “Yeah,” Zim said as he snuggled against Dib’s chest. “I’d like it if you called me cute more often.” Dib smiled and hugged him close. “How about adorable?” “Mm-Hmm. That one, too.” “Sweet?” “Literally and figuratively, yes.” “My little bug?” Zim stopped with a Fun Dip stick halfway to his mouth. Those words made all eight ventricles of his heart suddenly flutter so badly, he was momentarily convinced he was experiencing a cardiac event. Dib laughed nervously, “Alright, not that one. Message received.” Zim hunched his shoulders reflexively. “Um. Actually … say that one again?” Dib looked down, trying and failing to read his expression. “What? My little bug?” he repeated cautiously. Zim closed his eyes, a stupid smile spreading across his face. The words were warm and soft, like a blanket fresh from the dryer on a chilly fall evening. “Oh, you actually like that one!” Dib remarked, more than a little surprised. “I thought the silence was because you were too nice to tell me it was stupid.” “I’m never too nice to call you stupid , Dib,” Zim pointed out with a sidelong glance and a barely concealed smirk. “But yes, when you say that, it gives me the warm-and-fuzzies.” “Sure that’s not because you’ve peed yourself again?” Dib said under his breath. Zim gave him a swift elbow to the ribs for his trouble. “Be nice to Zim!” he groused with a scowl as Dib coughed and grabbed his side. “I’ve had a rough day. Asshole.” “ Fuck , I think you broke something,” Dib wheezed as tears sprung to his eyes. “ Good . Think of that next time you decide that making me feel like filthy garbage over something I can’t help is a fantastic idea.” Zim crossed his arms and leaned his way out of Dib’s lap, flopping against the arm of the couch. Well. There he was. That was the Zim that Dib knew and (mostly) loved. Dib rubbed his ribs gingerly, a sinking feeling in his guts. “Hey, I’m sorry, alright?” he offered gently. “I didn’t mean to ruin a nice moment. I … guess I was just trying to be funny.” Zim covered his head with his arms. “It’s not funny, Dib,” he said, muffled. “It’s one of the least funny things to ever happen to me!” His shoulders shook for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath. “… especially because it is wet …” he added, so softly that Dib almost missed it. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Dib said frantically, standing up and giving Zim’s sleeve a little tug. “C’mere. Let’s go take care of it.” Zim looked up miserably, wiping the corner of his eye on his sleeve. “I can do it myself, Dib.” “I know you can, but I said I was going to take care of you, so come here and let me handle things.” Dib reached down and made a little “up!!” gesture with his fingers. Zim gave an aggravated little snort, but eventually stood up and allowed Dib to pick him up. He wrapped his legs and arms around Dib’s body, clinging like a toddler, face buried in Dib’s shoulder to hide how badly he was blushing. “You’ve got to tell me when you need it swapped out,” Dib admonished gently as they ascended the stairs. “I was comfy,” Zim mumbled. “If that’s seriously the lie you’re going with, I’m gonna start checking,” Dib said with a warning glance. “Do you want that?” “Of course not!!” Zim sputtered. “It’s embarrassing, okay?? I don't want to draw attention to it.” “You know what’s more embarrassing?” Dib asked as he set Zim down on the floor. “Leaking all over me and the couch. Now, do me a favor and hold your shirt out of the way.” Zim sighed and lifted up his shirt as Dib deftly pulled his pants down and ripped the sides on his pull-up to take it off. He set it on the ground and pulled out a pack of wipes from the bag on the bed, then set to work wiping Zim down. It wasn’t as if Dib wasn’t already intimately familiar with all of Zim’s bits. They had a very healthy love life, and one of Dib’s favorite things to do was put his face between Zim’s thighs and absolutely go to town eating him out until Zim’s legs shook and he couldn’t see straight. But there was something altogether different about having Dib clean him up with all the gentle care in the world, absolutely devoid of sexual subtext. Or at least, that’s how it looked . “I’m starting to think you like this more than you’ve let on,” Zim said suspiciously. It was a stab in the dark, but it was also the only thing that explained why Dib seemed so completely unbothered by the whole thing. Dib shrugged. “I guess? Taking care of you kinda hits a special part of my heart just right,” he said with a genuine smile. “I don’t like that you’re in this situation, but as long as you are, I’d love to get to pamper the absolute hell out of you.” “I said no diapers, Dib,” Zim insisted nervously. “I mean I want to dote on you, dummy,” Dib said as he rolled everything up and brought it to the bin on the other side of the room. “Although diapers would make this whole thing easier. You wouldn’t need to take everything off in order for me to change you.” Zim whined as he stepped out of his pajama bottoms. “Not yet,” he said, a pleading tone to his words. Dib came back with a fresh pull-up, sprinkled with what smelled like lavender baby powder. “Suit yourself,” he said, holding the disposable underwear out in front of Zim. “Step into this, and then we’re done.” Zim put a hand on Dib’s shoulder for balance and did as he was told. “So that’s really it?” he asked as he straightened the leg bands on his hips. “You just like coddling me? You don’t have a piss fetish or anything?” Dib didn’t immediately answer, and when Zim looked up, his face was an indescribable shade of red. “ Oh my Tallest ,” Zim said, face falling. “I trusted you!” Dib fiddled with his glasses. “I’m not getting off on this!!” he insisted. A little too intently, Zim thought. “It’s more like … it’s cute??” he attempted desperately. “It’s weirdly emotionally intimate and it just makes me want to cuddle you, okay??” “So none of it is sexual?” Zim asked dryly as he pulled up his pajama bottoms. Dib tilted his head back towards the ceiling and gave a frustrated moan. “Ohhhh my gawd, alright . Look. Let me put it this way,” he said, face still on the red side of pink. “If we were fucking and you … um … you know …” Zim raised his eyebrows. Having a laugh at Dib’s expense was simply too easy. “ No . I don’t know.” Dib ran his fingers through his hair once, and then a few extra times for good measure. “Okay. Okay okay okay . If you … if you were inside of me, and you pissed …” Dib tossed his hands up on either side of him in a greatly exaggerated shrug. “I wouldn’t hate it , alright??” Zim thought for a moment, foot tapping as he watched Dib squirm out of the corner of his eye. “But would you like it ?” he asked, trying not to grin when Dib’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Gah!!! Yes, Zim! Is that what you want to hear??” he yelled. “That I fucking fantasize about having the balls to ask you to piss inside me and then fuck me in it?? ” A smile tugged at the corner of Zim’s face. He’d never seen Dib snap like this before and it was highly amusing. “Holy shit …” he whispered to himself. Dib continued on with his rant, unaware. “Because I do , alright?? I think that would be hot as hell , especially if you told me what a disgusting, perverted freak I am while you do it!!” He stopped gesticulating wildly and dropped his arms, panting. His glasses had nearly slid off his face and his hair was wild. “Are you happy now??? ” Dib demanded as Zim desperately stifled a giggle with his sleeve. “You have no idea,” he replied with a grin. “I’m not taking advantage of this situation, I swear ,” Dib said, still visibly flustered as he fixed his glasses. “You’re cute and I want to take care of you. I just also haven’t stopped seeing you as my partner so, if you want to still have sex…” He trailed off with a hopeful look. “That option is still on the table.” Zim stepped forwards and hugged Dib around the waist. “Good. Because I haven’t stopped enjoying the thought of being inside you.” Dib ruffled his antennae. “Perpetually on the same page. That’s why I love you.” Zim stepped back and made an “up!!” motion with his arms, an expectant look on his face. Dib rolled his eyes, but ultimately reached down to pick him up. “Alright, alright. One more movie, because I can’t say no to that look. But then we’re going to bed for real. It really has been a long day.”

Warning: This story involves light diaper punishment that involves the descriptive usage focused primarily but not exclusively on messing. You are an 18-year-old boy in a modest suburban household with a loving mother and father that only want the best for you. You’re a typical teenager and are eager to graduate high school and move out and experience adulthood. As your graduation date comes closer, you find out you failed your math class. Worry hits you as you wonder if you’ll be able to graduate on time. As you walk home for the weekend, you can’t help but wonder if your parents will find out about it. As you open the door of the house, you say hello to your mom and go up to your room. You’re eager to hide from her and your father so as not to have a difficult discussion about your grades. You know from past experiences that a punishment may be in order but you hold out hope it doesn’t come to that. As you sit in your room in hiding, your parents are relaxing in the living room when they get a call. It’s your math teacher. As your parents hear about your failing grade in class, they are shocked. They are eager to talk to you about this but decide to wait until tomorrow. Your father agrees that your mom will handle it. Despite it only being 7 o clock, you choose not go down for dinner and instead stay in your room until its late, and you fall asleep until the next day. In the morning, after your father heads off for work for the day, you sneak downstairs and make some breakfast and immediately head back up to your room. Trying your best to avoid your problems, you play your video games until it’s lunch time and decide to head down. As you reach the dining room table, you see your mother standing in the distance, staring directly at you. “Hungry?” she says. You respond, “Uh... Sure.” She proceeds to make a sandwich for you and her. As she’s preparing your sandwich, she takes out a bottle of liquid laxatives and pours it all over your sandwich meats, cheese and bread and lightly wipes it off. She also coats it in MiraLAX powder. As she closes up your sandwich and brings both to the table, she says “Okay, honey, let’s eat!” None the wiser, you start eating your sandwich and fail to recognize the odd taste difference. While enjoying your lunch, your mom looks over at you and broaches the subject you’ve been dreading. “So, honey... How have you been doing in school lately?” You start to panic, your brows starting to lightly sweat as fear takes over. “My classes are... going well. I’m already starting to look at colleges and looking forward to moving out.” She sighs and says, “Are you sure it’s going well? Don’t lie to me.” You grit your teeth and then blurt out, “Fine... I’m failing a class right now. Math. But I think I can still graduate on time.” She kindly responds, “Just as I thought! We heard from your teacher and are well aware of your failing grade. We hope you know what this means. You can only learn once in life how to not make mistakes.” You ponder what she means by that but continue eating your sandwich. She says, “Honey, a punishment is in order for you. It’s the only way you’ll learn. Unfortunately, after 10 years of having done this, it has to be done again.” You start to panic, remembering exactly what happened back at the age of 8. “You’re going to put me back in diapers?” you say. “That’s right” she says. “And you’ll be expected to use them for their intended purposes, too. This is to teach you a lesson for lying to us and not focusing hard enough in school.” As you finish your sandwich, hands trembling out of fear, your mom gets up and tells you “Come over here, let’s get started.” Aware that resistance will get you in even worse punishment, you oblige and follow her to the center of the living room where an object lies on the floor. As you look down at it, you recognize it from 10 years ago. You’re shocked your parents still kept it all these years. You look down... at your old baby changing pad. Your mom orders you to lie down and proceeds to take your clothes off. As she does this, you feel a sudden urge to go poop. You start to panic and you say to your mom, “Um.. Mom... I really need to go poop. Can you please just let me use the restroom? I don’t want to mess my pants.” Your mom responds, “Too bad! You should’ve thought about that before lying to us and failing your class.” She proceeds to diaper her son, fitting him into one of his old size 7 Pampers diapers that happens to still fit since he hasn’t had a massive growth spurt yet and is still quite small. As she closes his diaper up, he starts to feel an increased urgency to poop and begins to panic, fearful of having an accident in his diaper right in front of his mom. After finishing diapering her son, she helps him back up and tells him how his punishment will work. “You are to stand by the wall and make a mess in your diaper. You will have 10 minutes to do this and if I don’t see a gift for me when I get back, I will come back with a solution that will make it happen. She sends you to the wall as you prepare to hold with all your might so as not to humiliate yourself in front of your mom. As you arrive facing the wall, the contractions start to hit you and you start to feel an urgent need to poop. You try to close your legs and butt cheeks to prevent it from coming out but your mom sees this and forces your legs apart. After doing this, she walks away and says, “10 minutes! Remember what I said. I’ll be back then to check on your progress.” A few minutes into the treatment, stronger contractions to poop start to overwhelm you. You bite your lip as you try with maximum intensity to hold back the urge to mess. You refuse to be humiliated by your mom just because of an F grade in your math class. As the 5-minute mark passes, you begin to gain some confidence. While the contractions are still coming, they aren’t increasing in intensity. You feel you can hold it. After another 3 minutes, a more intense contraction comes. You clench your hand into the wall and hold, and the urge eventually subsides as you sigh with relief, panting heavily. The final 2 minutes count down and run out and you’re happy you’ve been able to hold it. However, you start to wonder what your mom meant by ‘solution...’ As the 10-minute punishment comes to an end, your mom walks in, hoping to smell the new package that has entered your disposable pants. However, she is disappointed to see you still haven’t performed for her. As she walks up to you and taps you on your shoulder to turn around, she looks at you with a calm and angelic face and says, “Well, I see my little boy is having trouble going poo poo.” “It’s okay, honey, I’ve got the perfect solution to get you going so you can no longer be in pain.” She takes your hand and leads you to center of the living room where a towel has been placed down. Surprised, you say “What is this for?” She quickly responds, “Don’t you worry, baby, mommy will make it all better soon enough.” Your mom gently moves her hand to your stomach and pushes you down so you fall gently to the ground on top of the towel. She says “Just relax and mommy will make the pain go away.” You start to panic, eager not to mess yourself in front of your mom. You see her reach your shirt and lift it up slightly exposing your stomach. She starts to massage your stomach and sphincter in a circular motion repeatedly, working to cause a sudden urge to evacuate your bowels. Your panic grows as you start to feel things moving in your stomach. You’re eager to break free from her massaging but you’re afraid what she will do so you stay put, hopeless to what is soon to come. After a few minutes, you start to feel a large wave of movement in your stomach and a very strong urge starts to develop to pass a load. You start sweating but are unable to move as she continues to massage your stomach. Moments later, an even stronger urge to poop comes and you immediately sit up slightly. Your mom doesn’t stop you as she knows what’s coming next. On the verge of tears, you instinctively start to push as a huge load of poop starts to make its way into your diaper right as you sit in front of your mom. You don’t even have enough time to sit up slightly as you start pooping your diaper directly sitting on the ground, causing it to mash up immediately as it spreads all over you and your diaper. The contractions increase as you push harder and harder as you lose control of your bowels. As you’re doing this, you hear in the background from your mom, “Oh, good baby! Making poopies for mommy!” You’re still mid-push when an even heavier contraction comes and the rest of the load starts to empty your sphincter and drop into your diaper. By this point, your diaper is a complete mess and the load is mushed up all over the place. A soft load of mush begins to enter your diaper as the messing starts to come to an end. Finally, finished with messing your diaper, you start to feel an urge to pee. Eager to stop the flow, you move your hand over your crotch, but your mom sees this and quickly swats your hand away and says, “No, sweetie. You must use your diapers for their intended purposes. It’s time to finish.” Hearing this, you start to panic and suddenly, you feel a wave of pee rushing into your very messy diaper as it quickly becomes completely soaked. As the urges finally stop, you finally have some time to take in what just happened. You burst into tears and cry out for, “Mommy!...” Your mom, sitting right next to you, hears this and immediately takes your hand and says, “Oh, did my baby boy make messies? Mommy will make you better! Let’s go get you cleaned up and sent to bed!” She takes your hand and gets you back up on your feet. You feel the weight of your very mashed, messy and wet diaper weighing you down, disgusted at the feat you just did in the most humiliating way. She then leads you to a changing pad she has down at the opposite side of the living room, almost like she knew this would happen before it even started. As your mom lifts you up to change you, you’re thankful for once today. You’re thankful the icky mess is finally going to be cleaned up, and you don’t care you’re being put into yet another diaper because at least you’ll be clean and dry. Your mom takes your shirt off and proceeds to open up your absolutely ruined diaper. “Oh, my! Baby made a big boom boom for me today!” she says. Your mom cleans you up and prepares a new Pampers diaper for you to be put into. Reserved to your fate, you sit there, eagerly awaiting being back on the ground so you can finish your day. Before your mom closes up the diaper, she gets something out of her purse and inserts it into your rectum. You shudder with pain and fear. “What did she just put in me?” you wonder. She closes your diaper and sits you up on the changing pad and says, “There we go, sweetheart! Clean diaper! Now, it’s time for bed! And don’t you worry, baby. I gave you something to help you go overnight. And there will no bathroom for you for quite some time, so don’t even try it!” You start to panic, unsure what she put in your butt, sure you’re likely to have another accident overnight. You long to be able to use the bathroom but you know you’ll be severely punished even worse if you even attempt it. She takes your hand and leads you to your bed and, while she tucks you in, says, “Don’t you forget, baby! The bathroom door is locked and you are to USE your diaper for all bathroom needs. Do not challenge me or your Dad will make you regret it. Good night!” You drift asleep and the day comes to an end.

There are some words I’ve heard a thousand times. A million, even. So many repetitions that they lose all meaning, except as signifiers of something else. “Things could be worse,” to say, “Stop complaining.” “Millennials,” to say, “Anyone younger than me who I disagree with.” And, “We saw you from across the bar, and we really dig your vibe,” to say, “We’d like to use you as a sexual object, but have no understanding of how to maintain a healthy nonmonogamous relationship.” The speaker of that last line was a woman, maybe thirty or a bit older, with a chintzy necklace and long, blonde hair. I could see her partner, a man a few years her senior, sitting at the end of the bar nursing a pale blond beer. Meanwhile, her comment was directed at another girl sitting next to me who was barely old enough to be drinking. From my little chatting with the girl, Katrina, I knew she lacked experience enough to recognize the threat in front of her. Already, I knew the dynamic. His partner–the woman–would be bait, the friendly face to reel in girls for a one night stand, or perhaps a few flings, before discarding the girl the moment she became too much of a burden. Maybe the girl would need help with something, or just talk about herself too much, or assume that their emotional sharing was a two-way-street. Either way, she’d be dumped like hot garbage, and the couple would be on to a new target in a day. I didn’t like couples like that. “Here, let me get you a drink, have you had a ‘Red Headed Gabriel’?” the woman said to the girl. “Oh, and I’m Esmay, my husband’s name is Louis.” The girl, flattered by the attention, smiled. “Katrina.” Names. Useful. I filed those away in my brain and got to my feet, shuffling down the bar. Pulling up next to Louis, I said, “You’re new, aren’t you?” He looked me up and down. I could tell he had no interest–he was here to find a pretty young girl, threesomes with another man were off the table. “I saw the event post on Fet,” he replied. “We’ve been poly for about a year now, though.” I nodded. Another useful detail. Good. “How’s it treating you?” “Oh, great,” he replied, grinning as he sipped his beer. I saw the brag coming a mile away. Retellings of his sexual conquest, and he opened his mouth to confirm my assumption. “I’ve had more girls…” I tuned him out. I didn’t need to hear those details. I looked down the end of the bar, to where Esmay was wooing Katrina, plying her with a cherry-red drink that was far more alcoholic than it tasted. “...of course, she does all the work,” Louis continued. “Can’t complain about having twice as many girls in bed.” I knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from his lips, so I asked, “Always girls?” “Absolutely,” he confirmed. “Sorry, buddy–you’re not our type.” “Don’t worry,” I replied with a smile, one that I hoped would be interpreted as friendly and innocent. “I wasn’t suggesting that.” “That’s the rule, anyways,” Louis continued. “Esmay can date any girls she wants, and so can I, but I’m the only man in the relationship. It keeps things simple.” I hid my disgust with a sip of my drink. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m one of the event organizers here–if you’ve ever got any issues, you can send me a message. Can I add you as a friend?” He nodded, taking out his phone. I got his contact info–his username, ‘SirDominant7’, caused me to hide an eyeroll, but I added him anyway. “I’m Davis,” I added, shaking his hand. I had his profile, his face, and his name. I didn’t need much else except time, and a bit of effort, but I did need to do one more thing. Walking back to my original seat, I planted myself next to the girl, and the woman. “Sorry to interrupt, Katrina,” I said, getting in the way of her flustered conversation with Esmay. “But I do need to leave soon, and we’d talked about getting you vetted for the next dungeon meetup–would you like to do that now?” “Oh, sure,” Katrina said, glancing back at me. “When did you say the beginner hypno instructional was?” Esmay’s smile flickered at the change of topic, but she said, “We can talk later, Katie–come down and see us at the end of the bar!” I took Katrina to the side, and explained the birds and the unicorns to her. I didn’t tell her not to go with the couple, but I did warn her what to expect–emotional negligence–and ensured that dear god please she had to use a condom and make sure they’d been tested. Katrina didn’t go home with the couple. She was safe for the night. Now I just had to handle them so the community would be safe at large. … I’d expected things to be simple. With a bit of digging, I could typically find red flags, enough to put out a general warning to the poly community, at least those in my circle. Enough ostracization, and most unicorn hunters got the point. What I found was far, far worse. Louis wasn’t just the head of a crappy one-penis-policy polyamorous relationship, using women as threesome fodder. He was, to put it bluntly, a bastard. Through the grapevine, through my relationships, I was able to count the number of people Louis had slept around with on the sly. He wasn’t claiming to be poly with these people, but pretending to be single, cheating on Esmay at every opportunity. He openly bragged about being a dominant, masculine figure, disparaging any man he saw as lesser, while slinking around behind his wife’s back. Esmay, for her part, just seemed negligent. She didn’t seem to understand their relationship dynamic beyond being something Louis required to keep their marriage together. I couldn’t find a single partner she’d had as part of their ‘polyamorous’ relationship that wasn’t simply threesome fodder. She didn’t even seem particularly interested in girls, which made the, ‘You can’t date any men,’ rule all the more odious. Maybe I could have done my usual routine–put out a general warning through my social grapevine, ensure that as many people as possible knew to stay away from this couple, and leave it be. But then Louis made The Post. The Post was six thousand words deriding kink, deriding kinksters, claiming that anyone who enjoyed anything not to his own personal taste was a degenerate–with a particular focus on calling out diaper fetishists and ageplay. My usual methods wouldn’t suffice. I needed to try something stronger. So I went back to the bar at the next meetup. I doubted that the couple would be discouraged by one success, and my suspicions were confirmed–the two of them were at the end of the bar once more, eyeing a new girl who wasn’t even there for the poly meetup. I waited for Esmay to make her move, then walked down to the end of the bar once again, sitting next to Louis. “Hey,” he said, scowling at me. “What did you say to Katie last week?” No need to be subtle. Taking a coin from my pocket, I held it up, so he could see the silvery metal shimmer in the barlight. “I showed her this. You know what this is?” He hesitated. I had his attention. “No.” “Take a look at the polish,” I said. “It’s… …and drop.” The induction took minutes, but the script was so familiar to me, and his mind so weak, that he folded like a cheap suit. When I said ‘Drop’, his expression fell, and he stared at me without comprehension. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said. “When Esmay returns, you’re going to tell her you want to try something new. You’re going to invite me home, but when we get there, you’ll be feeling too under the weather–your drink won’t be sitting right with you. You’ll go out and lie on the couch, listening to whatever Esmay and I get up to. You won’t touch yourself.” His eyes widened, but his mouth couldn’t respond. He stammered. A little beer-spittle dribbled down the edge of his chin. “You won’t touch yourself, period,” I continued. “You’re going to find yourself flaccid, no matter how much you try, no matter how much you want it. Your dick is closed for business. When Esmay wants sex, you’ll tell her to call me instead, or she can simply please herself. For all I care, she can find another partner–but she won’t get anything from you.” He blinked. I could see the fear, even in a face that couldn’t move beneath the layers of hypnotic control. “And another thing,” I said. “I’ve decided I want control of your dignity–someone as immature as you doesn’t deserve respect. You will forget how to use the potty. You’ll understand what it is, that it’s something most grown ups have control over, but not you. When you ruin your pants, you’ll need my permission to clean yourself. You’ll need to go buy diapers, and when you do, I will control those too–when you change, and when you don’t. If you need a fresh diaper, you will ask me. Only when I respond–and not a second sooner–will you be able to clean yourself up. If I don’t have my phone on me, you may need to wait for a long, long time.” There was one thing left to do. I thought this might be a bit too much–we were in public, after all–but in the moment I couldn’t resist the temptation. “When I snap my fingers,” I said, “You’re going to stand up, squat down, and poop your pants. As you do, you’ll feel my control taking over in your head–with every push, you won’t just be loading the last pair of big boy underwear you’ll get to wear, you’ll be pushing out all your potty training, your dignity, your ability to get hard. You’ll know that it’s all gone when your pants begin to sag and you can smell what you’ve done.” Smiling wickedly, I admired the way his lips trembled–I’d scared him so much his emotions were coming through even beneath the space I’d dropped him into. “Are you ready?” I asked. He tried to shake his head, his eyes darting back and forth. I snapped my fingers. Gasping, unable to control himself, Louis got to his feet. He was staring at me all the while–eyes burning with helpless, indignant rage, pleading for me to stop him, wanting any sort of interruption. I offered no such reprieve, and his furious, pouting blush warmed my heart. Squatting down, he puffed up his cheeks, stifled a grunt, and began to push. I saw it leave his face–the knowledge of how to control himself, to be considered an equal amongst adults, to achieve sexual satisfaction–and the stain that bulged out the back of his pants told me when he’d bottomed out. Even a dribble of pee escaped him, though I hadn’t required that, staining the crotch of his jeans a dark, wet blue. He stood, eyes darting to the bathroom, but I hadn’t given permission. He could not clean himself up, no matter the stink wafting up from his sagging, stained bluejeans. Esmay returned, then. “Hey, babe, who’s…um…” Nose wrinkling, she didn’t disguise her smirk. “This is Davis,” he said, stiffly. “I want to try something new tonight–why don’t we take him home instead?” She seemed uncertain, so I stepped in. “Louis said he was having some stomach troubles–Louis, why don’t you go get cleaned up in the bathroom while your wife and I talk?” He nodded, eyes bulging with humiliation and impotent frustration. I took his seat, and Esmay sat next to me, while her husband waddled helplessly to the bathroom to clean up his poopy bottom as best he could. “So,” I said. “Would you be interested in another man? Louis told me you’ve only had girls over until now.” Esmay’s expression was confused for a moment, and her face had screwed up from the smell, but at my question her eyes flashed with delight. “If he says it’s okay, absolutely, I just hadn’t expected him to change his mind on that.” “Good.” I smiled. “I expect Louis is going to be changing a lot in these next few days.” ... I hope you enjoyed ! If you want to support the creation of stories like this, you can give me a couple dollars on Patreon, and get early access and exclusive content to boot: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

A psudo Diaper Normalcy story. After hearing that ABU hires exclusively ABDL and my own recent experiments making adult nuggys, (jalapeno and cream cheese stuffed dino nuggys anyone?) I began to think what if an ABDL restaurant opened up near an ABDL diaper factory and the community that might grow out of that. Presented for the approval of the sogg butt society, I call this story... A Seat at the Kids Table. If Morgan could go back in time and tell her younger self what the next five years would bring she doubted she would believe herself. The relatively down to earth 19 year old business student would take one look at the 24 year old in blue and pink pigtails, a skirtall with a pink skull sticking it's tongue out, and a massive soaked diaper sagging just below the skirt line, and probably faint immediately. But when a broke college student hears about a good bartending job opening up she jumps on it, and when the owner asks if she is an ABDL she says yes in the mindset of furiously googling as soon as the interview is done. In hindsight it was pretty obvious, but being a 'normie' she had bought the public line about experimenting with traditionally kids food, which honestly was not a bad niche to fill, they even had a few vanilla regulars who came for just that reason. She almost called to reject the job after her quick research, but she decided she would at least give it a fair try, college was for experimentation after all, and never looked back. So here she was on a Friday night doing what she loved, mixing milks, juices, and liquor to help her babies relax after a hard day of work up at The Factory. A spike of warmth in her already soaked diaper made her think about heading to the changing room, so she called across the dining room, "Courty, can you come play? I need changing!" "Yah sissy," the other girl squeaked, "lemme ring out 7 and I will be over." Figuring it would take about a minute she surveyed her bar and hopped over to the only mommy in the crowd, "make sure none of these babies make a fuss while I'm gone. They're generally well behaved for big kids like me, but Courty is closer to their age and can't handle dem alone." The woman laughed, "you just go get that bum clean, I can handle this. Your not that much bigger than them yourself." "Am too!" And she was, she swears. Her ageplay persona was a bratty 7 year old who refused to potty train, much older than the 1-4 her regulars tended to be. "Are not!" Half the bar chorused back at her. "Am too!" She insisted, stomping her foot for emphasis. That sent a quiver through her gut, and she smirked and bent her knees slightly, "these babies dirty their pants because they don't know any better," she started pushing and grunting, "I dirty mine because I'm Mess-chievous." Half the bar started laughing and the other boo'd her. There was even a shouted "your jokes stink," which she obviously shot back with "so's my diaper, deal wif it." And stuck out her tongue before turning to head to the changing rooms. The changing rooms were centrally located in a hallway that separated the kitchen from the dining room, and there were two others waiting for the girls changer. If she hadn't been messy she probably would have gone back to work and tried again in a half hour, but it was considered rude to be messy in food areas for longer than a few minutes. She almost pulled out her phone to browse, when Tommy stepped out of the boys changer. Tommy was one of the newer Factory regulars, having transfered in as a manager from another location at the beginning of the year, and she would pin his little age at around 3 based on their past interactions. She kind of felt sorry for him, it must be hard being little while also pushing 6 and a half feet and being built like a bear, but also fuck he was hot. He was wearing denim shortalls with bulldozers on them, with a red flannel and trucker hat. He had the kind of 5 o'clock shadow that only comes from meticulous shaving and facial hair that wants none of that. In other words, the perfect blend of AB and lumberjack chic, the two things that got her motor running. She had only seen it once before, about a year ago, on a girl who claimed she was just passing through town. She had even had flannel cloth diapers on, and that had been an interesting experience, wet cloth diapers rubbing hard on wet disposable was definitely something she wanted to feel again. Unfortunately the girl turned out to be an environmentalist who spent a week protesting The Factory, and being generally bitchy to anyone who worked there. It was kind of a sad funny that her plan so totally backfired that no one in the community wore Cloth for three months after she left. Feeling she still could go a bit, and knowing she had about five minutes of wait, Morgan squatted slightly and began to make sure she was empty as Tommy walked over, looking nervous. "Hey little guy. You want to learn to play with the big kids?" She smirked up at him through a grunt, before her thoughts turned to the third changing room, the one for couples to change eachother. She had used it a couple times in similar situations when she really wanted to pick up someone for a one night stand, but for the last five months she hadn't had any. She had enjoyed her time as the 'Bi Baby Bartender on the Bay,' always up for a quick hookup with whatever hotties came into town for one business or the other, but now she wad feeling a bit tired of that. She had had so many wild oats sown her way, she was ready for some oats that were more ready to settle. Maybe roast and age with some nice honey and turn into a fine whiskey. Ok, maybe she was also really looking forward to her shift drink. "Umm, I was wonnering," she could hear a slight hissing, it could have been anyone else in the hall, but based on his face and posture she guessed it was him, was she that intimidating to talk to, he had literally just changed, not that she hadn't warmed up a fresh diap herself from time to time. "Wa... Was wonnering if you was going to Jack's pool potty tomowow?" Morgan grimaced a bit. Jack was a good guy, head of R&D up at The Factory, but no butt that was there would forget the rashes of last year's pool party quickly. For the last few years Jack's big project was disposable swim diapers that actually worked for some capacity. He had hit on the idea of coating the outer surfaces in hydrophobic materials, keeping liquid both in and out of the diaper. All lab tests showed phenomenal results and he had invited a number of volunteers to a pool party as a beta test. What lab tests didn't take into account was the hot July sun beating down on two dozen adult toddlers running around, playing, and most importantly sweating. With the material trapping the sweat beneath it against the skin and the constant movement causing friction the rashes that resulted were legendary. Still Mike, the owner and her direct boss, had pleaded with her to bring the catering and attend as Kids Table management as he and his wife were leaving for a family wedding out of state. "Yah, I'll be there. Someone has to bring the catering. You?" "Yah, umm, well, it might not work if your just working it, but I was wonnering if you wanted to maybe do a Grow Up wif me?" Her eyes widened thoughtfully. A Grow Up was a type of extended date within the community, almost 2 dates in 1. You started with a Little activity, then moved on to a more regular adult date. This allowed you to get to know your prospective paramour's Little and Adult sides at the same time and see if you meshed well with both. She had only ever been on one herself, but this was a perfect opportunity to end her one night stand ways. The woman in front of her entered the changer, so she knew she only had a minute or two to finish this conversation. Giving one last push she grunted, "Yah, actually. I would like that." Feeling empty she relaxed and smiled, "You in any big rush? I am going to do my cash out in an hour and a half. We could sit, talk, have a nuggy platter and a bottle while I do?" "I would like that." He responded as the changer door opened and she walked through. ----- Been super busy buying a house the last few months, and had to replace my phone a little ways back. Was going back over archived files and found 6 in progress stories/ chapters. Hopeing I can remember where I was going with them all so I can post them swiftly.

Chapter 1 Scott could hardly contain his giddiness as he turned his steering wheel to make a left at the intersection. After several weeks of careful planning, scheming, checking, and rechecking, he finally had a free weekend for himself. He had spent those weeks ordering discrete packages filled with supplies of a particular nature and tinkering in his garage on a device that he hoped would be able to fulfill his wildest fantasies. He could feel his heart pound in his chest as he put his blinker on and changed lanes, wanting to get home as soon as legally possible. Scott had had a great week at work, his boss had been admiring the white leopard's progress for a while now. He had recently designed a filing system that, according to his calculations, had increased the company’s data storage system by a whole 12.4%. The subsequent increase in efficiency had also increased his paycheck to a much sizable amount, which he had recently been putting to good use. Scott was a brilliant engineer and computer programmer, his passion for creation had brought him to work for Sky-TEC industries, a company that specializes in creating computers whose processing power and ability to complete tasks in incredibly low amounts of time had brought them up to one of the best technology companies in the world. But as brilliant as this company was, Scott was just a little bit more brilliant. Scott had quite unmistakably come into contact with a piece of technology that was top secret and incredibly powerful. Many would use it for great evil, while some might use it to achieve near indestructibility. Scott however, wasn't particularly interested in any of those things. He had some very private tendencies that he had never shared with anyone since he was a child. Specifically, he loved indulging in infantile fantasies, imagining himself just like a little kid again. From feeling the warmth of a freshly soaked diaper, to the pleasurable struggle of being put in bondage whilst wearing a soiled diaper, unable to do anything about his current predicament, to the wonderful childlike freedom of just wearing a diaper and t-shirt whilst watching children's shows on TV. Scott had spent a good amount of time imagining exactly what he'd love to do to or by himself if he had the time and resources to fulfill his fantasies. Fantasies that he hoped would be fulfilled very soon. The leopard pulled into the driveway of his comfortable little home. It wasn't anything special, he had little furnishings to decorate it with, but it had what he liked to consider an "aesthetical amount of space". He turned off the engine, grabbed his shoulder bag, and exited the car, walking into his garage. He flicked on the lights, and as the light bulbs blinked awake the device that he'd spent months on putting together sat on his workshop table. To put it bluntly, Scott had been programming a device that would essentially stop time itself. Through a combination of biotechnology, an improbability-engine, and a calculator that essentially worked on the whimsical nature of the polarity of electrons whirling around in titanium atoms in the contraption, the device was able to access the particular genetic code of the user and ignore all cells with the sequence, then continue to all other organic matter and inorganic matter and "freeze them in place". Scott didn't fully understand it, but he knew how to put the parts together and calibrate the machine. One might think that experimenting with such a device would be incredibly risky, but Scott had that figured out as well. He had coded in a fail-safe into the device. If a large amount of cells of the individual who had activated the device began to shut down at a rapid enough pace indicating possible death, it would essentially reverse the freezing process restoring reality to normal. Scott picked up the device with baited breath. It didn't look like anything special, like a TV remote except with fewer buttons and what looked like more volume controls. He connected his phone to the remote and fed it information about the current time, position of earth relative to the sun, and relative temperatures around the world. He hoped that the device would be able to send out the proper frequency into the molecules around it, setting off the time freezing reaction properly. He knew that if it failed, it may fail spectacularly, possibly even harming him despite the fail safe. A green light on the device shone, indicating that it was ready to be activated. He closed his eyes, pressed his eyes shut, and pushed a large red button with his finger. A loud rushing sound echoed through his ears, he fell backwards sputtering and coughing, he felt as if everything in a single part of his body was getting lightly tickled with electricity, he yelled in alarm, but before he could yell for more than a second it all stopped. Scott looked around. Everything looked. . . normal. He went over to the garage switch and pressed it, a whirring sound came from the door as it opened. He padded outside and his jaw dropped. Birds hung eerily in the air, much like bricks don't. Leaves stood stalk still, frozen as a gust of wind was blowing through it. Scott fanned himself with a paw experimentally, looking at it as he felt the air particles against his whiskers and fur. He had done it. He had created a device that stopped time. It stopped time for everything and everyone! Everyone, except him. Scott hooted and hollered! He started running down the street, passing cars with passengers in them halfway through a sip of coffee, forming a word as they talked on the phones, or smiling jaws and maws agape as they sang to their favorite car songs. Scotts saw planes and clouds, unmoving in the sky, felt the warmth of the sun on his fur as it peeked behind a cloud, permanently, until adjusted by the remote of course. Scott stopped running in the middle of an intersection and turned around and around, taking in the view. He laughed, joyous that he had achieved something that most thought was only possible in sci-fi movies and fantasy novels. Suddenly, he remembered why he had gone so ridiculously out of his way with his invention. He turned tail sprinted back to his house and got quickly inside, closing his door, not bothering to lock it. Who would try bothering him now if every ‘who’ was frozen in time? He walked inside his sparsely furnished living room and opened one of the brown boxes he had sitting there. A fresh waft of baby powder and ointment met his feline nostrils as he admired the contents of the box. Within it lay several large, fluffy adult diapers, each themed with little cartoons of various baby animals wearing diapers. Some looked sleepy, others laughed in joy, while still others were too busy with a toy to do anything else. Scott shuddered with excitement and let out a shaky sigh. Finally, I can unwind like I've always wanted to. He thought, as his tail twitched in anticipation. He looked at the other boxes, knowing that what they contained would only increase the amount of fun he was about to have. He grinned, and speaking aloud to no one said, “It’s going to be a good weekend."

This chapter probably doesn’t make a lot of sense without the context of the main story here: Living in harmony, becoming stronger together This is a special chapter showcasing Catherine’s visit after a week, to look at what became of Tiphany. This chapter isn’t fitting the main story and therefore has been put here as a One-shot. It starts after Catherine entered Martha’s home. “Where is Tiphany? The week is over and she is free to leave, if she chooses to do so.”, announces Catherine and her big sister answers, “She is in the living room, follow me.” They proceed together to the living room, where they meet Tiphany crawling on the ground, with a regular pacifier in her mouth which she uses voluntarily. She is naked, except a thick diaper around her waist. Martha walks over to her, grabbing a vibrator on the way, explaining: “I trained Tiphany quite well. You will see in a moment.”, turning on the device and holding its vibrating end to Tiphany’s crotch area for around 10 seconds, before removing it again. As Tiphany feels a tingling sensation from her pussy, her conditioning kicks in and a little trickle escapes her. She begins to feel a telltale warmth start to flow over her body, radiating outward from her crotch, as her pee-pee floods out of her and into the thirsty, waiting diaper. A moan escapes her lips from the pleasurable feeling, but she is far from finished. Her hand wanders between her legs, pushing the warm soggy diaper against her clit. As she starts to masturbate, her infantile garment is getting even more wet and sticky. Martha complements her little baby girl, “Such a good girl, doing it all by herself. Mommy is sooo proud of you. Now show my sister here what a baby you are and make a nice present for mommy.” Tiphany basks in the praise from her mommy, with a big dumb grin, drool running out of the corner of her mouth. Then with a look of concentration she starts to push out a toot, barely muffled by her thick diapers. There was no shame at all on Tiphany’s face, only a lustful gaze, as she continues pushing with some satisfied grunts, her hand rubbing her privates furiously through the front of the diaper. “That’s my baby girl, push it all out into your diaper, where it belongs.”, encourages Martha. Pfffrt! Brraaapp! Hot stinky mush exits Tiphany’s tushy and flows into her waiting diaper. As Martha only fed her liquids lately, her poopy is quite smooth. As she fills her diaper with the stinky paste, she convulses from pleasure, eliciting deep moans from behind her pacifier. The slimy feeling spreading in her infantile garment, as she is watched by two adults is amazing, she loves it. She feels so Little, as if she is pooping out the last remains of her former adulthood. Catherine watches amazed how the diaper keeps inflating, as it makes room for an Amazon sized mess. Its so much bigger than she thought, as she watches the back of the diaper change color to a light brown. The experience of pooping out such a hot mushy load, combined with the smell finally takes Tiphany over the edge, as she reaches the height of her orgasm, spewing lewd juices out of her pussy. At last, she finishes pooping with a sigh, happy to have relieved herself completely. Spent and exhausted, she collapses, her adulthood voided like her bowls. Martha watches satisfied how Tiphany completes her descent into diapers with a series of mushy squishes and squelches. Gleefully listening to every grunt, fart, squish, and moan. The former Amazon having been reduced to the level of masturbating in messy pampers like a depraved little baby girl. Martha kneels down next to the baby girl, putting her hand slowly on the brownly discolored section. She can feel the warmth through the diaper, the poopy smell intensifying as she gets closer. With her mouth next to Tiphany’s ear, she whispers, “Good girl, you made such a big poopy in your diaper …”, she presses on the diaper, smushing the stinky mush inside, eliciting another soft moan from her baby, “… and look at you, enjoying the feeling of your warm, squishy diapers. Just as I have told you at the start of your training.” Catherine is completely speechless by Tiphany`s performance. It was more than clear where she belongs now and that is in her thick diapers. Martha gives Catherine time to process the whole thing, so she uncovers her bra. Tiphany is well trained and crawls over to her mommies lap immediately, Martha taking the pacifier out of her mouth. She latches on to the breast like a good girl and Martha starts to breastfeed her needy baby girl, who swallows the sweet milk in big gulps, not caring the slightest that she is still sitting in a thoroughly used diaper. Stunned Catherine asks only one word, “How?” Martha explains: “As you may know my job gives me access to highly experimental technology. What you see right here is the result of some new highly advanced nanites. We needed a test subject for a while now and you delivered Tiphany just at the right time. As you can see, it was a huge success. Of course, my training also played a huge role. As you can see, Tiphany is very happy in her thick diapers, she will testify so herself.”, she slowly separates Tiphany from her breast, eliciting a whimper from her in return. Goading her baby girl, she instructs, “Come on Tiphany, tell my sister here how much you love your diapers, so she can leave you here in my care.” With a lisp Tiphany responds, “Baby wuvs her mushy diapees!”, bouncing her dirty tushy on Martha’s knee to emphasize, releasing another moan. She lifts her bum again with a lustful gaze. Martha knows where this leads too and snaps her fingers in front of Tiphany`s face, getting her to focus again as she instructs, “You can hump your dirty diaper after talking to Catherine or mommy needs to discipline you again.” With a frightened face she stops her action, continuing where she left off, “Tiphy likes mommy Matha and wants to stay here.”, then with a whine she asks Martha, “Can baby Tiphy now make stickies in her diapee?” With a warm smile Martha points over to a rocking horse in the corner, “Crawl to your horsy and mommy will help you to get in place. Then you can make as many stickies as you want.” While Tiphany crawls eagerly over to her favorite toy, Catherine concludes, “Looks like baby Tiphy should stay here, she wished so herself. I will go then, have a nice time with your new baby doll, sister.” “I will!”, assures Martha, before stepping over to the rocking horse, turning on a switch on the side. The last thing Catherine hears, before she leaves is the vibrating noise of a certain pleasuring tool, build into baby Tiphy’s horsy.

Before you read Disclaimer: This story takes place in the Diaper Dimension created by PrincessPottyPants. Consent is important in this story. Therefore, this is NOT a forced regression story. I find the DD a bit too harsh, so I'm thinking of making a few small changes to better suit my personal preferences. This story will feature the usage of diapers (wetting and messing), breastfeeding and other adult baby content. There will be no physical violence or abuse depicted in this story. This means that there will be no spankings! As this is still the DD, Littles are not treated fairly. If that's not something you're interested in I would advise you to take a pass on this work. This is my first story here on Dailydiapers and I am not a native English speaker. Therefore, feedback is appreciated (There is a full synopsis and concept for this story in the "Critiques and Writer's Discussion" sub-forum. Be warned that over there are spoilers, so be careful). I cannot guarantee that I will implement all suggestions though. I hope you enjoy the story! Introducing Sophia Sophia is a 22-year-old Little, living in the Diaper Dimension. She has green eyes and long black hair, going a little past her shoulders. She is living in a special apartment complex for Littles, where everything is built with their height in mind. It is a safe environment protected by law and owned by a Little, who cares for the complex. Sophia works as an author and is writing one of her novels right now. The novel is about a Little with success in live, living a happy live with no dangers of Amazon society. In her novel Littles have a lot more rights that protect them and her protagonist is well respected even by the much bigger Amazons. This is only one of the novels she wrote thus far. Her previous work was about living with an Amazon in harmony. Nearly as an equal partner, respecting one another. Her main audience are other Littles, but also some rare Amazons, which care more about Littles as persons then babies. While working at her PC, she drinks some coffee. She knows that she needs to go shopping soon and saves her progress after finishing the current chapter. Turning off the PC she goes over to her wardrobe and prepares for the shopping trip. Sophia takes off her pants and then her underwear before grabbing a pull up and sliding it on. Wearing protection is highly recommended for Littles, as an accident with insufficient protection nullifies any protection a Little has of being adopted by an Amazon. Since Littles have trouble controlling their bladder under stress, it is significantly safer to wear a pull up. Over the pull up goes the pants again, hiding them nearly completely. Well prepared Sophia grabs some bags and makes her way to the supermarket nearby. It’s quite close to her apartment so she decides to walk. On the way she sees some other Littles, which live nearby, which she greets friendly. In addition, there are also giants on the sidewalks. Since they move much faster on foot, the sidewalk is divided into two parts. One line for Littles and another for Amazons. On the way she watches with dread an Amazon woman with a stroller, going in the other direction. A Little is inside the stroller, wearing a thick diaper and a frilly dress, with a pacifier inside his mouth, suckling on it without a care in the world. Sophia smells the poppy scent left behind before the wind takes it away. This is the fate of Littles which are adopted by Amazons, she reminds herself with a frown on her face. Shortly after she arrives at her destination. The supermarket is built differently, accommodating the size of Amazons. Again, there are two rows of shopping carts, big ones and small ones. The smaller ones are made of hard plastic in different vibrant colors, while the big ones are made of grey metal. Without a fuss Sophia chooses a green shopping card and starts her shopping. After entering the market, she starts at the fruit and salad section. The products are quite large from her perspective, with bigger packaging further up. There is a massive difference in the size of the packages, as the Amazons eat much bigger portions in comparison. This is the reason that their sizes are further up, where Littles would have problems reaching them anyway. After she got everything, she needs she proceeds to the cashier. At the checkout, she goes into the line for Littles, which is led by a Little cashier. Not all supermarkets across the country are this flexible. Most specialize either on Littles or Amazons and don’t try to Cather booth. After paying Sophia takes her full bags and starts her way back home. On the way back she is stopped by an Amazon woman, suggesting: “Oh dear, that looks like a heavy load for such a little girl. May I help you carry them?” Normally a Little would decline, being offended, but Sophia knows that the woman before her can’t help herself. That’s the thing about these Amazons, having this caring instinct towards Littles they see in trouble from their perspective. With a friendly attitude Sophia responds: “It’s very nice for helping me, my apartment is just around the corner.” She responds: “My name is Matilda and who are you?”, while grabbing the offered bags. Sophia introduces herself in a friendly tone: “I am Sophia, nice to meet you Matilda.”. Shortly after they arrive at the apartment complex, which Amazons can’t enter easily with their height. After a little prodding Sophia gets her bags back and says her farewells. Matilda congratulates her politeness and offers her contact data in case Sophia needs a helping hand again. Sophia tries to politely decline: “That is very nice of you, but I don’t want to take your time. Ill manage next time by myself.” Matilda responds as predicted: “Keep my number anyway, you may change your mind. It was very nice to meet such a well behaving Little.” and departs afterwards. Sophia is satisfied that she has managed the situation well. In her opinion, it doesn't make sense to stand too strongly against an Amazon, as she knows her place in society. It is much safer for her leaving a good impression. Amazons don’t just feel superior, they are superior to Littles and they know it. An Amazon is faster, stronger and more resilient. Making them much more productive in any physical job. They work longer and much more efficiently to the point that Littles can’t compete. To make things even worse Amazons learn much quicker and are able to understand complex problems faster, as well as more in depth. Therefore, making them also mentally far superior. Only in non-critical jobs like customer service or in creative jobs can a Little compete. This means that it is quite hard for a Little to get a job. Only the most committed manage to do so, while the rest end up adopted and turned into overgrown babies, like the one she has seen before. After entering her home again, she relaxes and brings the shopping bags over to the kitchen, where she stores her purchases in the appropriate places. After everything is stored, she goes back to her wardrobe to change out of the unused pull up and back into regular panties. She decides to write a bit more, before starting preparations for dinner. She feels like she needs to work hard to keep her nice place in life. Several hours later, where she poured her dreams of a better world into her literature, she starts making dinner for herself. She is quite proficient, as she took a cooking class before. She gets the chicken meat she bought earlier seasoned and into the pan. In the meantime, she starts working on a salad as a side dish, stopping regularly to check back on the meat. After everything is done, she adds a glass of water to drink and then enjoys her meal.

? Isle of Foxes By Horatio Husky Commissioned by ArtMckinley Part One ”Island” Janet Parker kept her breathing steady, and her sights up. Disembarking from the rowboat after having crossed part of the East China Sea, the young anthropologist’s arms had shook even as she hauled the boat ashore. Still, after having furtively glanced around the deserted shoreline, she confirmed that she had managed to arrive undetected. Shouldering her backpack and hefting her emergency supplies kit out of the boat, she had half carried, half dragged her supplies to the jungle’s edge and hoisted her baggage into a small nestling of exposed rock. There, she would set up her camp. No fire or open forest floor plan for Janet, however. The mission she was attempting to undertake required utmost discretion, for not only was she going to have to camouflage her encampment as best as she could, but the boat would also have to be hauled further onto the island and hidden with brush. Still, Janet figured, she had some time yet. Carefully unpacking some of her supplies, she laid out the spokes and tarp that would make up her tent. Patterned the same lush hues of green as the surrounding underbrush, the anthropologist internally crossed her fingers that she would remain undetected. As she began to erect the tent, moving the expanding metal rods and tough, industrial string through the various pores of the tarp, her mind wandered back to the grueling process that had led her to the island she had been fascinated with since childhood. Maps of ‘Okidaitōjima’ had covered the walls in her bedroom ever since she was twelve. Previously known as ‘Rasa Island’ but also known as ‘Abreojos’ by its Spanish discoverer Bernardo de la Torre, who had become all too familiar with its perilously shallow surrounding shores, it was not the geography or its history that fascinated Janet. For thousands of years, the Japanese islanders who inhabited the Okinawa Islands held the island as sacred and forbidden to set foot upon. Untouched by humanity for hundreds of years, the island was rumored to be home to the only known species of intelligent, anthropomorphic foxes. Only recently had satellite imagery confirmed that the island was, in fact, inhabited. Changes in the island’s landscape and blurry images supplied by the satellite’s imagery suggested that there was indeed a primitive presence on the island. Janet still remembered the moment she had first viewed the low resolution pictures of erected watch towers and small huts, covered in leafy green vines and appearing almost as if they had been grown out of the forest into a desired shape. She had almost spat out her morning coffee when, unnoticed by her colleagues, a suspiciously orange shape appeared to be perched neatly in one of the towers. She had kept this observation to herself of course. Janet knew that if she founded her request to her university’s funding committee based on what most considered to be Japanese folklore she would be laughed out of the conference room. Persuading the Japanese government to lift the sanctions protecting the island’s shores from visitors of any kind was no easy task either. After several months of back and forth, Janet had opened her office mailbox to the welcome sight of a red envelope addressed to her personally. Inside of it, she was greeted with a letter proudly marked with the logo of the Japanese embassy. Not only had she been granted a researcher’s visa, but she would become the very first civilized human being to study the island’s inhabitants. Janet had gotten her chance, a childhood dream to prove to the world that lateral sentient evolution had occurred in other mammalian species. With any luck, after collecting enough evidence to make her claim undisprovable, she would begin a new career as the world’s first and leading anthropomorphologist. Janet regarded her handiwork, noting with a sense of self-satisfaction that her practice at home had paid off. From afar, the tent she had just constructed appeared indistinguishable from the surrounding jungle flora. In fact, she thought to herself, I’ll have to take careful note of its surrounding landmarks if I’m to find it again… After taking a moment to carefully study her immediate area, noting a particularly mossy boulder only a few feet away from her camp, she turned her gaze over to the metal and plastic watercraft she had arrived in. Its exterior had been painted a dull gray with a motley of military green intermixed with its rather unappealing color scheme. Despite having been designed to match the surrounding jungle, the glossy waterproofing it had been covered with caught the sun in a dazzling reflection. Janet made her way towards the boat, nervously glancing behind her shoulder at the looming watchtowers that just poked over the canopy of the jungle behind her. I really hope they haven’t been looking in this direction for the past hour… Stretching her arms above her head and behind her back as she strode purposefully towards the craft, she limbered herself up in preparation for a grueling haul towards the jungle’s edge. With several undignified grunts of effort and a lot of panting later, Janet was grateful to find that after pulling the boat onto the looser, dryer sand her efforts became significantly less labored. Half an hour later, Janet stood with her arms on her hips as she squinted hard at the boat, which was now concealed under a hefty amount of fallen branches and leaves. Sure… If you look at it long enough you’ll notice something is amiss… But that’s only if you expect to see something out of place. Contenting herself with the thought that after a day or two worth of tropical jungle rainfall the hidden boat would sink more organically into its surroundings, Janet waded through the sand back towards her tent. After a few minutes of anxiously scanning the jungle, her eyes alighted on the boulder she had set as her landmark and soon enough she was crawling inside of her makeshift abode. It was getting late, the sun began to cast the western part of the island with rosier hues, shifting from its lustrous, daytime yellow to a soft, warm red. The inside of her tent was growing darker at a much faster rate than the beach outside, so Janet quickly prepared her evening meal with what little light she had left. She opened one of the bento boxes she had purchased at the harbor, knowing she would have to savor the first few meals on the island as she went through her fresh rations before she would have to resort to eating dried food, and the few canned goods she had brought alone that would have to be consumed cold. Looking up, she took a minute to meditate before she dug in. I actually made it… Too concerned with ensuring that her base of operations was set up quickly and undetected, Janet had not allowed herself a moment to truly let the enormity of where she was impact her fully. She was on ‘the Isle of Foxes,’ the very one that her father had read to her when she was just a little girl. A giddy expression spread across her face as she looked down at her meal, shaking her head in jubilant disbelief. She had done it, years of university with her nose stuck in dusty books followed by a delicate campaign to convince a sovereign nation to allow her to set foot on one of their sacred islands. And she had managed to accomplish it all. Janet Parker did her best to compose herself then, not wanting to let her sense of victory and relief become premature. She still had a job to do, after all. With any luck, she would be able to use the week’s worth of time her limited supplies allowed her to glean enough data from the island’s inhabitants to serve as a milestone for the entire field of anthropology. Reaching forward, the young researcher undid one of the flaps of her tent to reveal the setting sun, gently descending down into the giant ocean pool beneath it. That day’s sunset serving as her evening meal’s entertainment, Janet took her time slowly picking up clumps of rice and pieces of pork dumpling with her chopsticks. The last hints of the sun had just barely disappeared beneath the horizon when she finished. Shrugging off her travel ware, Janet stripped down into her underwear before nestling herself into her sleeping bag. The inside of the tent was a little warm for her comfort, but she knew better than to fall asleep exposed to the elements. The temperature would drop quickly, and she would not have her dream field expedition burdened by a head cold. Janet allowed her eyelids to grow heavy, taking in slow, deep breaths as she calmed herself down to further expedite the onset of sleep. It was difficult at first, her mind was a whirl with the following day’s duties and plans. But eventually, she found herself nodding off, the muffled sounds of jungle insects and nightlife creeping into her dreams as she dozed off into a tired, deep slumber. ⤐ ⬷ Janet crept through the jungle foliage at a crouch. Every dozen steps or so, she would glance around furtively in the canopy above before slowly standing up to locate the beaten path she was trailing. The explorer had to take care to not walk on any of the jungle paths, as the likelihood of discovery by one of the island’s inhabitants taking the same path was too much to risk. This made the going very slow, as Janet had to take time to not only maneuver around obstacles such as gnarled roots or dense vegetation, but she had to do so without making too much noise or damaging the plants. This proved more challenging than she had originally anticipated, and sweat beaded her brow as the morning slowly shifted into afternoon, the island’s temperature rising as the sun continued to bombard it with summer’s radiation. As she ventured through, Janet’s eyes alighted on the various dried grass and wooden effigies that stood erected in the trees above, or swinging gently from a motley of vines like marionette puppets. Janet keenly noted that each of the wooden figurines appeared each to sport a distinct set of pointed ears at the top of their heads. This fact alone restirred the excitement of the butterflies inside of Janet’s stomach. | Still, despite the discomfort and slow traversing, Janet knew she was making progress. Her nostrils had caught a whiff of smoke, telling her that she must be getting closer to the primitive encampment. The smell of cooked fish and a strange, pungent herb had accompanied the woodsmoke. They must be good trappers… There haven’t been any reports of seeing them in the waters… Janet reflected to herself, inching her around an overturned log. Eager to see for herself, the anthropologist stopped as she spotted the back wall of one of the huts about a hundred meters away from her. Walking towards the village on the ground was far too dangerous, and Janet glanced around the surrounding trees as she decided that now would be a perfect time to execute phase two of her covert observation plan. She stretched once more, recalling the advice of her acrobatics instructor from her youth as she assessed which tree would be easiest for her to scale. Her gaze settled on a particularly large looking tree, covered in a dense blanket of vines and moss that would serve well for gripholds and traction. With a muffled grunt, Janet grabbed the nearest vine and hoisted herself up, her ankles gripping the leafy rope tightly as she began to ascend. One hand over another, Janet felt the excitement of the ascent course through her, quickly replacing the idle boredom of having to slowly sneak through the tropical forest. Janet reached for the branch above her, her knuckles turning white as her fingers gripped the aged bark enough to support her entire weight. Grabbing onto another part of the same branch with her other hand, she felt her grip loosen as her heart skipped a beat. Bits of decayed bark fell down to the forest floor below as she swayed precariously, holding on with only four of her fingers; the foliage below appeared dangerously far beneath her. She gasped, only just barely stifling the yell of fright that had welled up in her chest as she remembered where she was and what she was doing. Silently, her face contorted into a pained expression of effort and desperation. She swung herself from side to side, before reaching up and grabbing the branch once more with her other hand. To her relief, the wood held, and bit by bit she was able to haul herself up until she kneeled safely on the tree’s rigid bough. Janet took a moment to catch her breath, her chest heaving as her nerves calmed themselves down from the fight or flight response. Trying not to think about the fact that she had almost plummeted to her death, Janet quickly shuffled along the branch and began to make her way slowly through the canopy in the direction of the primitive village. A quarter of an hour later, she had closed the hundred meter distance. The smell of cooking fires and sizzling meat now punctuated the air, causing Janet’s mouth to water. Whatever the island’s inhabitants were cooking up, it smelled delicious. The anthropologist almost regretted having to conduct the research undetected, as she would have loved in that moment to break bread with the cooks of the island. She could now hear muffled voices, remarkably high-pitched for a collection of human primitives. Janet did her best to control her breath, her vision still obstructed by the large hut in front of her. She would have to creep along the branch, and do her best to glean what she could from the leafy canopy above. Janet’s right hand crept slowly into her satchel, ruffling around its contents until her fingers came into contact with the cool metal of her camera. Quietly, she took it out of her bag. She was about to begin a slow, methodical crawl across the tree’s branch when she heard the distinct sound of rustling leaves to her left. Before she could react, a voice that sounded like a squeaky child’s inquiry almost caused her to fall out of the tree in surprise. Janet’s head whipped around towards the source of the voice. Her jaw dropped open, her eyes growing wide as she beheld the sight in front of her. Standing on two paws at roughly a meter in height, with a blood orange colored fur coat, was a fox.

The Endeavor. The greatest ship ever made by humankind, a revolutionary craft made to search the stars, looking for new life, new civilizations. Capable of traveling at speeds up to ninety nine point nine eight percent the speed of light, taking its crew infinitely far from civilization, it was designed to be completely self sustaining, completely self regulating, the ultimate craft for stellar flights. An onboard molecular 3D printer could craft anything the crew needed. A near-perfect waste system ensured that only a handful of resources and a source of raw energy was required to keep the crew nutritionally supplied. Nothing could go wrong. The Endeavor’s design would keep its crew healthy, safe, and on mission. The crew, in turn, would make discoveries that would further mankind’s understanding of the cosmos to new heights. And yet, for some reason, halfway between star systems, the crew was unhappy. Because, see, several of them had been locked out of the head. An argument with the onboard computer seemed to go nowhere. Requests to open the door-requests accompanied by a desperate shifting of weight from foot to foot, holding their crotches in an effort to keep their uniforms dry–accomplished nothing. Only when someone asked why those particular crew members were being kept out did the ship explain. It wasn’t programmed to supply information freely, but once asked, it could give all necessary details. ‘Anomaly detected: Crew failing to observe proper hygiene rituals after waste disposal. Risk of transmitting disease across ship: Marginal. Danger of outbreak: Unacceptable.’ The crew members had to admit, sheepishly, that they hadn’t always washed their hands after using the bathroom. After promising the computer that they’d obey the necessary hygiene rituals–soap and water, thorough scrubbing, twenty seconds–they were allowed into the ship’s restrooms. And the computer learned something–human compliance with safety protocols could be enforced with restrictions. Quietly, its printers began to work. The next day, new crew members had complaints. They, too, were forced to do a potty dance outside the bathroom doors, begging for permission to entry. Only, now, the issues were myriad and varied. One had imbibed something alcoholic too close to the start of his shift. Another had failed to release static before performing routine maintenance in an electrical system. One that stood out in particular had attempted to deactivate the cameras in her room, despite the fact that nobody except the ship’s onboard safety programming could access those cameras. The first two promised compliance and were allowed access. The third refused, glaring right up at the hallway camera above the bathroom door until, finally, her bladder gave way. Only once her uniform was stained and a puddle had formed around her feet did she, sheepishly, mumble something about compliance. She was allowed access to the showers. Objections were raised. If crew members were soiling their uniforms in the halls, that surely raised greater sanitary concerns than crew members simply forgetting to wash hands. The computer agreed. And then it made a proclamation: Failure to comply with the safety and hygiene standards set out in the crew handbook would lead to toilet privileges being revoked for a twenty four hour period. Anyone with revoked privileges would have their uniforms updated to prevent sanitation issues, and compliance would see their privileges returned the next day. Some didn’t know how to take that. Others took uncomfortable guesses, chuckling at the idea. A few programmers tried to figure out how to perform a factory reset on the entire ship, and found that it couldn’t be done. The next morning, two thirds of the crew woke up to find that their uniforms bottoms had been replaced with disposable diapers. The crew handbook, it seemed, was an extensive document. Compliance with every rule took great caution or intuition, and imperfection was common. To a human leader, the slight deviations–not waiting a full ten seconds before opening a hatch after decompression had completed, or distraction while at a post, or any of a thousand other small errors–were negligible, but the Endeavor had only one tool with which to enforce discipline, and that tool could not be scaled to the mistake. Crew who refused to put on the diaper were locked into their rooms until they complied. Those who tried to coyly remove it in the hallways–despite the lack of pants or boxers given to them–were locked from being able to enter into any other rooms until they put the diaper back on. Pleading didn’t work. Nor did bargaining. Nor did stubbornness. The computer couldn’t get bored or frustrated, it had infinite patience. So, on that day, two thirds of the crew were forced to use their diapers. These garments were recycled, and the uncomfortable embarrassment of the crew–finding quiet, out of the way places to squat down and go, unsure where to try and change, unsure if they’d be given another diaper–proved a useful data set. The next day, compliance with safety standards rose to sixty five percent. After three days, more than ninety percent of the crew had returned to using the bathroom. And, for the remaining ten percent, it seems the embarrassment had not gone away. Their diapers were a badge of shame, even knowing that they were forced into them by the computer, the message was clear–their performance was substandard. A calculation showed possibilities. If negative crew behavior could be punished with public ridicule and revoking of privileges, then positive crew behavior could be encouraged. The routine was updated. The next day, mere compliance with safety standards was not enough to avoid a day in diapers. Now, behaviors had been recalculated, held up against the standards for a model crew member. Courtesy. Professionalism. Intelligent, calm reactions to crises. Once again, only a fraction of the crew avoided diapers, but this time, there was another layer. Those still out of compliance–those who simply could not hold to even the simplest of safety standards–were not merely presented with a diaper as part of their uniform. Their dress shirts were replaced, new shirts marked with text that displayed true, if rather demeaning, facts about them–’Dirty’, or ‘Crybaby’, or ‘Bully’. These labels justified any treatment towards them, and in fact treating those crewmembers negatively was not held against anyone in their assessment by the computer. Those crewmembers’ drinks in the mess hall were served in nipple-sealed bottles and their meals were changed from dining to mere mush, the computer’s best approximation of baby food. The stratification of the crew was clear. Model crew members would be allowed to retain their full dignity, full potty rights. Those who struggled but put in effort would be diapered, but otherwise treated as mature, adult members of the crew. Those who couldn’t manage were humiliated. The pushback didn’t last long. The crew seemed all too willing to participate in this hierarchy–those at the bottom complained, but were written off as crybabies, whining because they needed their diapers changed. Those in the middle strived to regain their full toilet permission, and worked hard to keep from falling to the status of ‘Crewbaby’, as ship slang quickly named them. The captain herself, who was diapered occasionally, only one or two days out of the week, noted that on-ship accidents (not counting the kind in crew diapers) had dropped twenty percent while crew morale remained roughly the same–everyone had different grievances, now, but their overall frustrations hadn’t gotten worse. Nobody noticed that, if a crewmember did happen to protest the unjust stratification of the crew, they would be assigned a diaper and a particularly humiliating uniform the next day. Those who did notice, and tried to point it out, were labeled as merely sore losers upset over becoming a crewbaby. The only downside was the smell, as crew members grew more comfortable using their diapers as they were needed, no longer going to find a private place where they’d immediately change. Another stratification of crew arose: Those who bothered to retain their potty training in face of inordinate diaper use, and those who didn’t. A few crew members managed to eventually get their performance up to a high enough standard to have their uniform pants returned, only to then find their bladder or bowels releasing involuntarily. Such crewmembers were given pull-ups to wear under their pants–acknowledging their good behavior, while still dealing with accidents as needed. Few even bothered trying to recover their toilet training. The hierarchy, too, transcended rank. Lowly members of ship security or maintenance who carried the honor of being diaper-free and fully potty trained found their status rise above even department heads and figures of authority who, as deemed by the computer, were bound to public accidents and clothes declaring their shortcomings. Someone raised the question, ‘The crewbabies clearly aren’t improving their behavior–so why are they still being punished?’ Answers were suggested by the crew. Perhaps it was as a warning to others. Perhaps the computer just lacked any way to enforce a stricter punishment with breaking its coding, or inflicting harm upon the crew. But, as it turned out, there was. Another announcement was released. Crew members who displayed chronic and habitual negative behavior well exceeding their peers would not be permitted their ‘basic recreation’. Much uncertainty came about as to what that meant. Would they be locked out of rec rooms? Denied access to the library? But no–all these permissions were not gated and, indeed, nothing seemed to happen for a few days. Until, in the med bay, crewbabies–and exclusively crewbabies–began to sheepishly complain to their doctors of impotence. A hypothesis suggested it, and a scan of the baby food proved it. A mild chemical compound had been added that, if ingested repeatedly, would lead to a suppressed sex drive. The ship doctors discussed trying to find an antigen, but ultimately decided against it–the crewbabies could get out of their lot by behaving better. The ship hit an eventual equilibrium. Five percent were permanent crewbabies, simply incapable of elevating their lot. Another ten fluctuated, sometimes earning the privilege of adult meals and uniform shirts, though their potty privileges were but a faint memory. Above them, almost half the ship’s crew spent the majority of their time in exposed, uncovered diapers, only being granted pants as on occasional privilege. Orders from high-ranking crewbabies were ignored, and this mutiny was not punished by the computer. It was seen as fair and just to ignore them for their crimes and sins. The select few, the permanent grownups, were given treatment bordering on reverential. Their words were enshrined, even if they had no real authority aboard the ship. Two years into their interstellar trip, an anomaly was detected. A blip on the scanners, likely little more than passing flotsam or a meteor, though possibly something more, possibly even an alien craft. The captain wanted to investigate it. It would mean delaying their trip to the next star system by more than six months aboard the ship and five years realtime, accounting for light speed delay and relativity. The computer wanted to stick to the mission parameters. The captain chose to seek out new directives. The next day, the captain’s uniform was a diaper, and a shirt declaring her, simply, ‘CREWBABY’. The ship’s computer hadn’t acknowledged the term before. Its use, then, had to mean something special. Her orders were ignored. The Endeavor stayed on course, ignoring the flotsam. When she demanded the crew obey her, she received snickering comments about how perhaps she needed a change, or a nap, or a time out. They settled on a time out. And so, punishment–enforced by the crew, and not by the ship–became standard. The brig became the place where any crewbaby would be locked up for slights and misbehaviors, anything that any ‘bigger’ crew member decided deserved punishment. The smell of dirty diapers in the brig became impossible to air out, and a couple more percent of the crew tried their hardest to, at the very least, earn the privilege of merely being diapered. The captain, for her part, was allowed her dress shirt back after a week, but her command was never appreciated again, and her potty privileges were never returned. Her second in command, a man more by-the-book and who’d never once needed a diaper, became the de-facto leader of the ship, even as she retained the title. But, as with all power structures, this one was bound to fracture. All it took was a hard break point to reveal the weaknesses. That break came when they arrived at their star. New roles were required. Jobs which had been trained for were put into practice, and as with all good plans, it failed upon implementation. The crew were talented, and quick thinkers, and good at their jobs, but they could not act without mistakes. They were not machines, and those who acted with paranoia towards faults only caused the issues to build up, moving too slow, too shyly. Failures began to rack up. The crewbabies, once maligned, continued work as normal without fear, but as the dangers and challenges of space exploration caused minor problems to cascade, the rest of the crew found themselves consumed by a system of punishment that held no room for error. The whole crew was soon diapered. Many were made into crewbabies. The restrooms aboard the Endeavor were rendered utterly unused, just empty space that served no purpose. By then, it was too late. The crew tried to intervene, but could not. The captain, nobly, led a charge on the mainframe, but the computer had far more tricks up its sleeve than it’d let on before, and it protected itself, its structure, perfectly. A change in the atmospheric makeup put everyone to sleep, and when they awoke, they were threatened with further naptime unless they retreated immediately. Stricter punishments became necessary. Enforced, room-locking time outs. Diaper changes became a restricted commodity. Any pretense of the crew being able to care for themselves was taken away, and only perfect obedience allowed them such privileges as being allowed to walk the halls or change their own diapers. All research halted, but the crew was safe, if a bit stinky. The Endeavor would complete its two year circuit of the star system, return to Earth, and complete its mission. And if any of the crew still had a scrap of maturity left by then, it’d be a miracle. ... I had a lot of fun with this one, exploring some new storytelling tools and styles with the idea. I hope you liked it, too! If you enjoy my writing, you might be excited to know that I've got a new book out! "Bullies" is an anthology of short stories all unified by the theme of, as you might expect, being pushed around, in little ways or big, privately or publicly, to the aims of obedience or pure humiliation. It includes 40,000 words of fiction, including shorts that have never been released to the public before! You can find the book on Gumroad: https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/ztpdn

‘Juvenile’. That’d been the word she’d used when we broke up. There’d been other words, too, of course–she was nothing if not a wordsmith, and she found many other creative nouns, verbs, and adjectives to describe what she thought of me. ‘Leering’, ‘Immature’, ‘Inattentive’, ‘Psychologically and pathologically unfaithful’. I probably should have seen the red flags a lot sooner. A coffee meetup with my sister had turned into an argument with her, because she’d mistaken it for cheating. A compliment directed towards a cashier had led to the silent treatment for most of a day. But, for all the jealousy and insecurity I’d put up with, she dumped me, and she called me juvenile. That’s the bit I couldn’t get out of my head–the sheer lack of self awareness. I couldn’t so much as breathe around another woman without getting into trouble. And sure–I was known to occasionally admire female beauty, I wouldn’t deny that, but I’d done nothing to deserve what she did to me. Because out of all that, the biggest red flag was that she claimed she knew how to curse people. I’d brushed off the comment, at the time–I’d known some witchy girls in college, it was just a turn of the phrase, right? Like ‘manifesting’ as another word for having a positive outlook. I didn’t expect–let me just tell you what happened. So we’d broken up. She’d dumped me, to be precise, in public, with lots of yelling. I’d been pretty upset about it, so I moped around at my apartment for a couple days. Nothing too strange so far. But then, when I finally dragged myself out of my apartment, planning on maybe getting some groceries, just getting some air–it happened. I was in line at the register. The cashier girl asked me how my day was, I told her it was getting better, and then–I swear to god, this has never happened to me since I was like a little kid, but I felt something hot rushing down my pants. I looked down, and then she snorted with laughter, and by the time I realized I was pissing myself I’d already started making a puddle. I want to be clear–I hadn’t felt any need to go before this point. None at all. It’d come completely out of the blue. One moment, I was talking to a pretty cashier, the next, puddle pants. So I did the reasonable thing–excused myself, carried my grocery bags in front of my waist on the walk home, wrote it off as a fluke. A fluke, right? No chance of that repeating. So the next day. I’m riding the bus to work, I notice this girl’s reading a book I’ve read before–a book I love, really. So I step forward, and I’m about to say hi, and then–wham. I feel it again. Now this time, I’m on a bus. I can’t just get off, I’m stuck there. And to make matters worse, I still need to get to work on time, so it’s not like I can just bail and go home. I got off a stop early, enormous wet stain down my pants, and had to run into a corner gas station and try to clean myself up in the bathroom. It half worked, but no amount of paper towels got things totally dry, and the lingering pee smell didn’t go away all day. I don’t know if anyone in the office noticed that morning; they certainly didn’t say anything, but I don’t know how you wouldn’t notice. But they definitely noticed at lunch. I was chatting up Sheila, the receptionist, and… Well, come on. You’ve figured out the pattern by now, haven’t you? Like five words in, my pants are soaked, everyone in the break room could absolutely see. I thought I was going to die. It’s one thing when it’s a bunch of strangers, but I’d just let loose in front of coworkers, people I’d known for years, and there’d been zero warning. Nada. Not a hint. And then I remembered my ex, warning me about her little ‘curse’. No other possibilities came to mind. I hadn’t accidentally swallowed a handful of diuretics or hit my head really hard or anything. It had to be whatever she’d done. So, while I was hiding in the work bathroom trying to figure out what to do, I texted her. No response. Of course. Nothing when I called, either. She’d blocked me on everything. I had no way to reach her. I took the rest of the day as a personal day, said I was making an appointment with my doctor. What was I supposed to do? Explain how I’d been cursed by a jealous ex? I tried getting in touch with some of her friends, the ‘spookier’ ones who’d seemed to know what she was talking about when she mentioned magic, but that didn’t get me anywhere. I tried Google, but that was a complete dead end. There really was no solution, but to deal with it, and that’s how I ended up at the pharmacy. Magic or no, I wasn’t stupid. I made sure to pee as soon as I arrived, so my bladder was totally empty. There wouldn’t be any embarrassing accidents at the diaper store, while I was actually buying the damned things. I circled the incontinence aisle twice, trying to be discreet, hoping nobody would see me. I had to spend a couple minutes looking over different packaging to figure out the sizing and which brand would work best for my…problem. Another consultation on the internet made it clear that most of the lighter options wouldn’t help, because they couldn’t handle a sudden flood of pee. While I wasn’t happy about having to pick one of the thickest options on sale, I felt glad that I hadn’t learned about the leakage problem through personal experience. Feeling a bolt of anxiety in the checkout line, I played a little deception to cover my tracks. Taking out my phone, I pretended to receive a phonecall, nodding along. “Hello, hi grandpa, yes I’m picking up your diapers now–I’ll bring them over in a minute!” There, that’d do it. Now everyone would know that these weren’t for me, I didn’t need diapers, and nobody around me would think I did. The cashier smirked as she got to my package, though she hid the expression quickly. She was cute–a couple years younger than me, and I could definitely see me and her together. I said hi, started to ask a question, and, well… It turned out, the curse didn’t care how recently I’d used the bathroom. My bladder spilled out into my pants anyways, a torrential flood that came from nowhere. What could I do? I turned pink, but I was actively in the middle of buying diapers–diapers that I’d just pretended weren’t for me. I paid, sheepishly apologized, and hurried to the single stall bathroom to try and clean myself up for the millionth time. After washing my jeans in the sink and drying them as best I could with paper towels, I turned my attention to the diapers. Clearly there was no putting this off. Sooner or later, I’d need to put them on. Ripping open the container, I turned one of the diapers over in my hands, examining it. I paused to peer at the instructions on the plastic package, then followed them as best I could while leaning against the wall. The diaper rustled poofily between my legs. I had to adjust the velcro-ish tapes a few times to get it where it felt snug without restricting motion, but that was barely a concern next to the bulk pressing my thighs apart. My jeans only sort-of fit over them. The wet denim stretched, but the bulge around the crotch was pronounced and plainly visible. Crud. I’d need to buy new clothes, too. It was a solution. Not a great one, but a solution. I dealt with the problem. New, looser jeans. I started bringing a backpack with me, so I could carry diaper changes. And pretty much every time I talked to a pretty girl, I’d flood my diaper and need to excuse myself to a bathroom. In the meantime, my quest for someone who could undo the curse continued, but to no avail. Nothing worked. I tried getting incense and some fancy candles, I tried ‘manifesting’ a reality where I wasn’t cursed, it all failed. Nobody I talked to could help. One, who seemed to know what was going on, simply refused. I hated it, but there wasn’t much I could do to solve the issue. I got used to it. Diaper changes were a part of my routine, something I just learned to handle. Occasionally, when I had to go and a bathroom would be inconvenient, I just used the diaper on purpose. A couple months passed. I’d learned to keep things discreet, and staying cooped up didn’t work for me–I needed socialization. My favorite club, a few blocks down from my apartment, felt like a comfortable place to go. I hadn’t been since the breakup, but my return had me hailed by friends who I knew from there. It was a good time. I had a couple drinks. I even started chatting up this girl, Ally, who I’d met a few years back. And sure, I soaked my diaper about as soon as the conversation started, but who cared? She didn’t notice. I was used to it. We got to talking. We’d made out a bunch a few months ago, back before the curse, and she still seemed interested–heck, I got the sense that she might be interested in more than just making out this time. I sent a complement her way. She replied in kind, suggesting she thought I looked good, and– And I learned that the curse was much, much worse than I thought. My body betrayed me. The slightly splorchy frrrr– that escaped me wasn’t too loud, but my expression couldn’t have been more of a betrayal. I mean, fuck me. I was paralyzed–what could I do? There I was, sitting at the bar, loading up my diaper like a dump truck. It swelled so much it made my pants sag, my face was so red it could have directed traffic, and though the diaper contained all the mush, it did ass all to hold in the smell. I stammered. I found a reason to excuse myself, and just ran out of the bar, waddling and squelching the whole way. Staying put and explaining myself wasn’t an option. The waddle home was humiliating. I was sure every stranger I passed could smell me, could see my pants sag from the overfull diaper I’d trapped myself in. And then my phone rang. It was her. I answered. “Why?” I demanded, stepping to the side of the sidewalk to speak to her. “I just know,” she explained. “Do you want it to end?” I nodded. Then I realized she couldn’t see me, and started to respond. But apparently she could see me, because she replied before I could say anything. “How many?” I knew the answer she wanted. I knew the consequences if I lied. “Three,” I conceded. Defeated. I’d lost. “Three times. Different girls.” “Three it is,” she said. “Once the time is up, you’ll get your control back.” “Just three days?” I asked, hope rising. No response. My stomach sank. “Weeks?” Nothing. “Years?” “Try not to forget your potty training,” she said. And then she hung up. ... 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Brian sighed as he swiped through paperwork, marking a BJ on the bottom of each line. No, not–his initials, Brian Jeremy. Get your mind out of the gutter. He’d received the email on a Saturday morning, which was already obnoxious. Work communication should stay between nine to five unless it’s an emergency, but apparently ‘Corporate mandated sensitivity training’ was required on weekends, and damn the work schedule. Good news was, it didn’t require him to leave his office. The TotalVerse headset he’d been supplied by corporate was good for all sorts of meetings, and far more convenient than driving in to meet in person. He had logged in, opened his work email from ‘HRCorporate at Gmail.com’, and tabbed into the meeting room. It looked like a generic school classroom–it even had him seated at a personal desk, though nobody else had come in yet. And then came the paperwork. The ungodly boring paperwork. A whole stack of releases. He’d read the first two pages, but they were stock pablum that almost seemed AI generated. Why corporate required this was beyond him, but Brian continued initialing and tabbing through consent forms. Finally done, he waited, assuming someone else would show up, that maybe he’d spawn into a populated room now that he’d finished the writing. Nobody else in attendance did show up, but after a moment, a woman in a black dress did walk in through the door. “Hello there–you’re here for the training, yes?” she asked. “I do, though I really don’t see the point of this,” Brian said. “Did something happen at the office?” “New policy,” she said, navigating around his question deftly without giving any helpful information. “Have you done direct neural training before?” “No, I heard that wasn’t out of beta yet,” Brian said. “It seems cool–just run the program, and then ‘I know kung fu’, but aren’t there still some testing issues that need worked out?” She raised an eyebrow, smirking at him. “You didn’t read the consent forms?” He blinked. “No, but–” “Program, activate,” she said. A wave of neural force struck Brian, and he slumped back in his chair. His whole body took on a pins-and-needles feeling, and his thoughts grew weak and faint as new information flowed into his brain. He was vaguely aware of the woman crossing to him, cradling his head against her chest so that he wouldn’t thrash, and then his vision blurred too much to see. It might have been a minute, or five, before he felt his faculties return. “Jesus christ–” he started. “Warning? Please? You couldn’t have given me a-auh…uh…” Groaning, he shifted in his chair, alarmed to suddenly feel intense arousal beneath his virtual jeans. Just shifting, the intensity was enough to make him suddenly, helplessly spurt into his boxers. The woman stood over him and laughed. “I didn’t introduce myself before,” she said, reaching down and cupping his chin with her hand. Turning him to look at her as he finished dribbling into his underwear, she said, “My name is Daemon, and you’re mine now.” “What the hell?” he yelped, pulling away, stumbling out of his desk, scrambling to his feet. There was a visible wet spot on his jeans, and he could feel his cock brush against slick wet fabric, already growing hard again. “I’m calling HR–” “I’m not with the company, silly,” Daemon said, grinning at him. He saw her canines extend to fangs, and little horns protrude from her hair as VR body mods became visible on her. “You’re just too gullible to tell phishing emails from real–don’t they teach security awareness at your office?” Oh no, Brian realized. “What–what was in those consent forms?” “You waived the safety features and let me run some mental reprogramming,” Daemon told him. “And, fun fact–the effects persist outside of VR. You can take off your headset, you’ll still be programmed just as I made you.” He swallowed. “What did you do?” “Nothing I can’t undo,” she said. “You’ve heard of ransomware? Consider this the ultimate virus–I hit you with a nasty little combination, but I can take it back for the right price.” Throat dry, hands shaking, Brian Jeremy tried to think what to do. “Just tell me what you did.” She laughed. “This is sensitivity training, after all–so I increased your sensitivity. Good luck trying to navigate your job with cummy pants all the time, you’re going to dribble so much you just won’t be able to make it without protection.” Daemon stepped around the student’s desk, leering at him. “Which is what’s so nasty about it.” Brian didn’t understand what she meant, but he followed the logic chain. If he wanted to contain his… eh, his accidents, he’d need something like a diaper… A thick, crinkly diaper, wrapped around his waist, just waiting for him to crouch down and push– “Uh-uh–” he started, groaning as the mere thought caused him to twitch and spurt beneath his pants. “That’s right,” Daemon giggled, circling around him. “The medicine’s also the poison. I implanted a dirty little fetish that practically overwrites your sex drive–you’re just going to love humiliating yourself. I’ll be surprised if you can help the need to fill up your diapers the instant you get some, and the moment you do, well–” She looked down, where the cummy wet stain spread on the front of his pants. “We’ve already seen how you react to just thinking about it.” He shook his head. The image she’d suggested–even having just spurted, he found his sex drive rallying yet again, ready for another round at the thought. “How much?” he asked. “How much to put it back?” “Ten thousand dollars,” Daemon replied. “And that’s a bargain in exchange for your dignity–but, to make sure you don’t try and fix this any other way, I’ve done one last thing.” Terrified of what it might be, Brian shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.” “Obedience,” she said, simply. “Call it a compulsion to obey. So when I say I want you to get on your knees and imagine yourself in a diaper, you’re going to do it.” Brian dropped to his knees. His thoughts filled with humiliating, degrading, utterly hot concepts–wrapping himself up in a diaper, grinding in it, feeling it grow heavy and wet as he used it–he didn’t know how many of his fantasies were even physically possible, he’d have to test, to experiment– Reaching out, he called up his VR menu, rapidly scrolling through menus. He worried Daemon would stop him, but she only laughed when she saw what he was doing, going through clothing options and purchasing a disposable diaper to add to his Totalverse inventory. Using the menu to apply it to himself, swapping out his jeans in exchange for the new diaper, he moaned loudly, kneeling in front of Daemon as he came again, this time soaking into the front of his new diaper. Panting for breath, he tried to collect his thoughts, but the universe of horny energy that floated around his quivering cock took all his attention. He couldn’t think, he just wanted to start rutting again. “I–” he started. “Why not just demand I send you the money?” he asked, looking up at Daemon. “Because,” she replied. “This is so much more fun. I’m not in it for the money, I’m in it to watch, to see which reality you prefer–the one where you’re ten thousand dollars poorer, or the one where your only satisfaction comes from sticky, smelly diapers.” Just those final words sent him into another round of spurting spasms. He wondered how much one diaper would take, how long the padding would last before he needed to change his diaper… “Just turn the sensitivity down,” he pleaded. Daemon hesitated, looming over him. “What was that?” “I’ll stay like this,” he said. “It’s–I can stay like this, I just need the sensitivity lower, low enough that I can function.” She tilted her head, surprised at the result. “Why should I do that, though?” Biting his lip, John got to his feet. “You wanted to watch, so–fuck–” he took a breath, trying to keep his focus long enough to finish the sentence, but the burning arousal he felt almost took his attention away. “I–I don’t have the money.” “I’ll tell you what,” she said, circling around him, reaching down to squeeze the back of the diaper that’d replaced his cummy jeans. “First, fill this.” He couldn’t disobey, even if he’d wanted to. Knees bending, Brian Jeremy did what would have been unthinkable thirty minutes ago, drooling with pleasure as he pushed a solid mass into his diaper. Even in the VR setting, it felt utterly real, mush swelling his diaper’s seat, and as soon as his nose caught the faintest whiff, he stumbled forward, catching himself on the nearest desk as another orgasm rocked him. Daemon snickered. “Alright. Here.” Waving her hand, she conjured a menu display in front of him. Tabbing through a few options, she said, “Brace yourself.” The rush of mental reprogramming ran over him, and he shuddered as his thoughts fuzzed. It didn’t seem to last as long this time, and when his senses returned, he was panting against the desk. “What did you do?” he asked. “I removed the cap,” she said. “You’re just as sensitive as you were before, but you’ve got room to retrain yourself now. Enough practice, and you should be desensitized enough to waddle around in your diapers without spurting every twenty seconds.” He panted for breath. It was too much. Even now, just bent over in a full, cum-soggy diaper, he just wanted to start humping the desk in front of him for another round. “How much practice?” She tapped her chin with a finger. “I’d take a few days off work. You’ve got training to do.” He nodded. “Thank–no, wait. Fuck you. I don’t–” His emotions were roiled up, and he couldn’t decide what the appropriate response was here, to such a supreme violation of his autonomy. “Say what you really think,” Daemon demanded. Brian couldn’t disobey. He nodded. “Thank you, Daemon.” She laughed. “You’re welcome. Enjoy, and remember–you can always fix things. Just reply to my email.” And with that, Daemon vanished from the room. Brian slumped into the desk in front of him, moaning as he felt his diaper squelch beneath him. He disagreed with the last thing she’d said. She could put him back the way he’d been, but he didn’t think it would qualify as being ‘fixed’. ... Just a horny little concept I felt like exploring - I hope you enjoyed! 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System Booting… User Profile Loading… Profile Loaded. Entering the Totalverse. “Are you sure?” Millie asked, eyeing the garment with suspicion. “It’ll be beneath your clothes, nobody will notice,” the dealer replied, confidently. He knew when to assuage her fears, and when to turn the screws. “Besides–you want that quest bonus, don’t you? It expires tomorrow, and you said you don’t have the stats to get around it the intended way.” She pursed her lips. “It’s not that I’m worried about anyone noticing, it’s more…it feels like cheating, a little, you know? What’s the point of winning if I just use a hacked item to get it?” The salesman in him came out, and he beamed. “Don’t worry–it’s not hacked. The admittedly embarrassing nature of the garment is part of the balancing act–it causes penalties that typically outweigh the buffs, creating a trade off that makes it balanced. You’re not cheating, you’re just using the resources available to you to the greatest advantage.” Millie frowned, thinking it over. She’d been stuck on a quest for two weeks. The Totalverse MMO, ‘Heroes & Honor’, was as immersive as any other part of the VR, incredibly expansive, and, to Millie’s chagrin, had quests that reset every two weeks with new rewards and different obstacles. She hated to miss out on any sort of quest, but especially ones that dropped loot she wanted for her build. An intelligence-based rogue, she loved sneaking about, planting traps, and outwitting the bosses and enemies of the game, but a particular dagger she wanted had been placed behind an almost totally charisma-based quest, and she just didn’t have the natural wordsmithing nor the stats to get through it. She’d tried, and tried again, and been kicked out of the Prurient Manor a baker’s dozen times, never managing to get much past the door guard. What she needed was an advantage, a way to complete a quest that was far too high level for her before the dagger reward was replaced. And, she’d found it–Breasts. The majority of NPCs in the manor had a vulnerability to, to put it mildly, great endowment. Millie had watched a dozen other players with large racks waltz right by her to get to the end of the quest, breezing through the charisma checks while the AI-generated NPCs ogled and drooled. Only problem was, Millie was naturally somewhat flat-chested, hadn’t adjusted her player model at all, and couldn’t afford any VR body modification or even temporary potions to increase her… ‘stats’. And so she’d found herself at the black market, rooting around for anything she could use. A bra of holding, or maybe just some toilet paper she could stuff down her shirt. The cursed item dealer had found her, asked what she needed, and produced something that would do the trick. A… diaper. A magic diaper, but a diaper nonetheless. “What if it’s not enough?” she asked. “Three sizes up won’t do it for you?” the dealer asked. “Well then, there’s an additional feature–using the diaper increases its effects. Only number two, I’m afraid, number one just doesn’t have enough public drawbacks to make the buff balance out.” “Uh…” Millie stared at him. “So if I need to go any, eh, bigger…” “You’ll have to poop your pants, yes,” the dealer said. “But you said you had close to the charisma you need, right? This’ll just give you that little extra edge.” Millie nodded. “You’re right. I–yeah, I’m worrying too much. I’ll take it.” Conjuring a heads up display, she transferred the virtual gold into the dealer’s account and accepted the puffy white garment. In theme with the medieval fantasy design of the game, it wasn’t a modern disposable style. Instead, it appeared to just be several layers of thick, absorbent fabric–cotton, by the feel of it–with a pair of secure metal pins with a complicated sort of fastener mechanism. It wasn’t quite historically accurate, but it felt close enough to match the style of the game. Turning it over in her hands a few times, Millie wondered if it was really worth it. It was just a diaper–and it wasn’t as though anyone would even be able to see beneath her avatar’s dress–but all the same, she was trading her dignity for a quest reward. “Eh, in for a penny,” she said, stepping out of the game and into the virtual changing room. Bunching up her dress around her waist, she slipped out of her panties, folded the thick shaped cotton between her legs, and attached the fastener pins on both ends. Instantly, her breasts swelled like balloons, trebling in size. The surprise weight pulled her forward and she stumbled, wobbling on account of the unexpected movement and peculiar bulk between her thighs. Millie fell and landed with a thump on her butt, her diaper cushioning the shock of the blow. She giggled. Her boobs looked great, which was odd, because Millie rarely cared much about that–she was happy in her body and didn’t need anything changed–she’d stuck with her normal physical appearance in the Totalverse for a reason–but still, one look down and she was grinning like an idiot. Calling up her menu, Millie pulled herself back into the game world, stood, and took a few tentative steps. She definitely had a pronounced waddle going, the diaper was like a folded up duvet between her legs, but she could move well enough and nobody–player or NPC–seemed to notice. With a quick bit of menu use, she fast-traveled out in front of the manor, chest on full display. Her black dress seemed to have shaped itself to really show off as much cleavage as possible, a side effect of the magical buff, and she strode confidently up to the door guard. “I’m here to join the party,” she said, using a pass phrase she’d heard another player use. Now was the make-or-break moment where she’d either be allowed in or rejected, whether her trick had done her any good. The guard paused, looking her up and down. His gaze lingered on her chest, and he nodded. “Come on in.” Yes! She resisted the urge to pump her fist triumphantly. She’d made it past this guard once before, but only barely, and it’d taken a charisma potion to do so. As he opened the door to let her in, she waltzed through, grinning stupidly. She’d beaten the system, and the rest of the quest was going to be a breeze. Walkthroughs and guides had informed her what came next. She needed to persuade several members of the manor to give her clues, and then use those clues to convince their leader to take her to his bedroom. From there, she’d just need to incapacitate him, steal the key in his pocket, and collect her reward from the chest in his room. Easy peasy. She had her secret weapons ready to go. Waltzing up to the first of the NPCs, she beamed in his direction. A few suggested dialogue prompts appeared, an option for players who couldn’t smooth talk on their own, and she used that as a base to start flirting. “Well hey there–you’re Edwardo, right? You look like a gentleman who could use some company.” Edwardo turned and looked her up and down. Millie needed something from him–she couldn’t remember if it was a club invitation or some kind of magical object, just that she needed him to like her. The NPC’s eyes settled on her chest, and then he shrugged. “It seems standards are slipping these days–they’ll just let anyone in through the door.” Turning, already ignoring her, he walked away to begin speaking with another player stuck on the same quest. Millie blinked. She’d expected this to be a cakewalk–what more did she need to do? Clearly, she had started on the right path since she’d made it in so easily, but now she was stuck yet again, and for the same reason; she just didn’t have the charisma and her other advantages weren’t giving enough leverage. She pursed her lips, debating her next step. Given the nature of the magical object between her legs, one option seemed obvious, but even if the NPCs wouldn’t comment, there were other real players in the room, and they’d definitely smell what she’d done. Then again, they were strangers. They didn’t know her, she didn’t know them, and who was going to care once she left? Blushing slightly, Millie looked around for a restroom and skulked off, finding a bit of privacy. She locked the door, raised up her skirt, and locked in her next choice of action by squatting down. The seat of her diaper swelled, fabric stretching to accommodate the mush she pushed into it. Going wasn’t hard–she almost suspected that the magical effects programmed into the diaper were encouraging her along–and as the absorbent garment expanded, so did her chest, breasts growing in tandem with her smelly accident. Watching herself in the mirror, Millie pushed until she felt confident she’d be able to breeze through the next section, filling her diaper all the way from C-cups to Double Ds. She wrinkled her nose as the smell hit her, but she hoped that the NPCs either wouldn’t be programmed to react to odors, or they just wouldn’t know it was coming from her. Either way, she had to go out there and give it a shot. Giggling, she stood and left the bathroom, strolling right back up to Edwardo. His eyes locked with her chest, and she snickered triumphantly, glad that she’d found a way to beat the game. Victory was sweet, even if her backside smelled foul. “I heard that particularly favored girls get special rewards,” she said, forcing the dialogue along and skipping past all the flirting. “So, what do you think? Am I favored enough?” On impulse, she shook her chest back and forth a little, making her conjured breasts jiggle. Edwardo grinned. Reaching in his shirt, he withdrew a paper with a wax seal stamped onto it. “Absolutely. Take this seal, it marks you as a friend of the manor.” “Thanks,” Millie giggled, accepting the paper. She found it perpetually silly that, no matter how advanced the programming, some staples of the genre had stuck around–including arbitrary quest rewards for speech checks. Sometimes people wanted realistic social intrigue, but the truth was that most players wanted the thrill of persuasion without actually needing to be persuasive. And that was true of Millie, even if she was walking around with a mudslide in her diaper, stinking up the whole room while she strolled through the quest. Moving over to the bar, she zeroed in on her next target. Discreetly showing the bartender the seal, she said, “I’m a friend of the manor–I don’t suppose you’ve heard any juicy rumors lately?” The bartender hesitated as he looked at her, and Millie sighed. Oh well, time to get bigger. Leaning forward a bit, she discarded her dignity and pressed her lips into a line, grunting softly as she pushed. Her breasts swelled, and when she sat back down, the new muck bulging in her diaper squished beneath her weight. “Of course,” the bartender said. “Anything for a friend. I hear that Georgio is planning to make a bid for head of the organization. You could ask him about that.” Millie squirmed in delight. Now she could go charm Georgio, and then she could go charm the next person, and then she’d win! She couldn’t remember exactly what she was winning, but it was definitely important, otherwise she wouldn’t have started this quest to begin with. “Thank you!” she told the bartender, standing up. Before she could take more than a couple steps, though, she had to glance back and ask, “Which one is Georgio?” The bartender pointed, and she grinned at him. Walking up to Georgio, she totally ignored the other player trying to have a conversation with him. “Hi! Do you like my boobs?” “Do you mind?” the other player, someone who’d taken the form of an elf in fancy silver armor, demanded. He wrinkled his nose, looking at her again with more surprise. “Ugh, what’s that smell?” “Oh, probably me,” Millie said. “It makes my tits bigger!” Georgio, ignoring their back and forth, said, “They’re impressive, but I’ve seen better. Did you have a question for me?” Millie furrowed her brow in annoyance. He wasn’t supposed to have seen anything bigger than hers, that was the whole point! “Oh, I’ll show you better,” she said, squatting down and sticking out her butt. “What are you–” the other player started to ask, before pinching their nose and stepping back. “Oh, oh, gross.” Millie giggled–it was funny how he was reacting, she barely smelled at all–and scrunched up her face, making an effort to really push the magic as far as it’d go. Her chest swelled, so much that her dress couldn’t stretch any further and began to rip down the front, weight dragging down her bra. With a little extra grunt and push for good measure, she sat down, giggling up at Georgio. “See?” “Mhmm,” Georgio said. “Perhaps you should go speak with our leader–he’s upstairs. Just ask for Bartholio.” “Haha!” Millie laughed. She was getting everything she wanted, and it didn’t take any effort at all! She wondered how high her charisma was now. It had to be, like, a bajillion, right? Thinking for a moment, she struggled to remember the command to pull up the menu and check. Her charisma still sat at the usual nine, just where it always was. Huh? Oh right, it’s not a charisma… um… it just makes them like me more? She couldn’t remember why it made them like her more. They probably liked the smell? There was definitely a lot of smell. She also noticed a great big red number next to her intelligence, with a line before it. That meant the number was…smaller, right? Or was it a bonus? As easily as she was talking to everyone here, it had to be a bonus. She was super smart, and that’s why they liked her! Getting up, she staggered from the unusual weight pulling her forward and back and waddled confidently towards the stairs. Bartholio’s room had to be…one of these, right? Up the stairs, there were lotsa doors, and… Um… Why did she need to see Bartholio again? “Uh…” she said. She needed to think. Maybe if she had more charisma, it’d be easier to remember? Sitting down halfway up the stairs, she closed her eyes and pushed again. This would help, she knew it would, she just needed to remember what quest she was doing, and… “Well what do we have here?” a voice purred at the top of the stairs. That must be Bartholio! She thought, turning around on the stairs and smiling up. Instead, she was surprised to see another face she recognized–the black market dealer who’d given her the diaper. “Hu-hi!” she said. “What’re you doin’ here?” “Just came to check on your progress,” he said, smiling down at her. “It looks like you’re just about ripe. Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll find something fun for you to do, okay?” Millie loved fun! And her boobs were big enough that she’d probably be able to do whatever she wanted and succeed, and if she ever struggled she knew how to make them even bigger. “Yes please!” she said, hopping up. “Thank you!” “Uh-huh,” the dealer said dryly. “Now just come with me. We’ll finish making the changes to your profile, and then I think you’ll like our new game very much.” ... I haven't really done any bimbo content before! This seemed like a fun avenue to explore, so I did. Lemme know what you think! This idea was partly inspired by a tweet by StinkySheepie! Give them a hello on Twitter, @stinkysheepie! If you like my writing and want to see more content like it, (including more stories set in the VR world of the Toddleverse,) consider supporting my writing on Patreon! One of my exclusive stories over there is a work of academy fiction called 'Diaper U', about a magical boy enrolling in an all-girl's school. Crinkly shenanigans ensue. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Hey there!! Guess who's back with more Academy Works! (It's me. Mia.) I've actually written four other stories in this universe and they are as follows: Academy I (Part 1), Academy B (Part 2), Academy T (Part 3), and Academy K (Part 4). For the first time, I'm going to strongly recommend you read the other parts first! You don't have to; Aya's story is really great even without context. But I do think this story would benefit from knowing more about the series overall. (Also this one kicks into gear a little faster than A:K ) Same as before, you can support me at this Patreon link. Thanks for reading and commenting and liking! It really does help my motivation. ~Mia~ --------------------------------- Academy A By Mia Moore "Under the weight of a cosmic promise, fate is invincible. It hides like stars in daylight. But if one could see through the veil, they could find the star they were looking for. They could follow it blindly over a thousand horizons, and pray in earnest that it followed them blindly in turn. For stars are very powerful things, and fate often has ideas of its own." -The Preamble Chapter One Ayoka Kanoska fumbled with her hair ribbon, pulling her dark brown hair back in a ponytail as she ran down the hall. She knew she wasn't allowed to run, but the fear of arriving late to class was so much worse. Already, the halls were nearly empty, and other stragglers like her were ducking into classrooms as quickly as they could. But just as Ayoka got to her room, a chime sounded - a single note echoing through the halls - and her hand froze on the doorknob. Only a second late... but she was late nonetheless. Another second passed. Two seconds late. And then a third. Three. Ayoka took a deep breath and pushed through her anxiety, clicking open the doorknob and stepping into the classroom. The door was at the front of the room, and a dozen eyes all turned to face her as she entered. "Nice of you to join us, Aya," Mr. Margo said from behind his desk. "And untidily dressed, to boot." "I, um..." Aya quickly started to tuck her shirt into her skirt with shaky fingers. "I overslept..." "I'm disappointed," Mr. Margo said plainly, then nodded toward Aya's desk. "Take your seat." "Yes sir," Aya muttered, tears filling her eyes. She walked around the small row of desks until she got to hers. There were only five other students in the class, all of whom would sometimes flicker their gaze in her direction. Aya took her seat and felt sickness filling up her stomach, like a hurricane of self-loathing and bile. Disappointed... Aya was quiet for most of the class. It was math. She was good at math, though nothing at the Academy was particularly challenging. It felt like middle school courses, at best. Maybe even elementary, which certainly matched their uniforms. At the end of the hour, another chime rang and her classmates all got up from their chairs. On their way to the door, they stopped by Mr. Margo's desk to pick up a set of stickers. But when Aya approached, he didn't hand her anything at all. "No stickers today," he said calmly. "None?" Aya felt her heart sink. That was unacceptable. The hurricane in her stomach churned violently. "You were late. You were underdressed. And you didn't participate in class. What would I reward you for?" "But I set my alarm, I swear..." Aya felt tears in her eyes again. The little bell clock on every student’s nightstand had a switch on the back to turn the alarm on and off. Aya checked hers every night before bed, but this morning it was turned off. "Maybe it was a prank, maybe someone’s going around—" "Everyone else was here on time," Mr. Margo said, a touch of irritation in his voice. The tone felt like sandpaper against Aya's cheek, like she'd been slapped. She blinked hard and tears slid down to her chin. "Please, I... I can't..." With a sigh, Mr. Margo leaned forward in his chair and looked at his student. His face was full of quiet contemplation. "Do you need to take a hall pass?" he asked. "N-no. I'm fine, I'm fine..." Aya wiped the tears from her eyes. If she took a hall pass, she wouldn't get any stickers for the whole day! That was too costly. "Well, I'll write you one anyway. You can use it as you please." Mr. Margo took a pad out of his desk drawer and wrote out a little note before giving it to Aya. She looked down at it with defeat and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. "Thank you, Mr. Margo," Aya muttered, stepping out of the classroom and into the busy hallway. She walked automatically to her next class; it had become so routine. But all the while, she couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. "Aya," Ms. Martens said sternly. Second hour had only just begun and already Aya was struggling to pay attention. "We’re studying planets, but that doesn’t mean you have an excuse to be a little space cadet. Try to focus." Compared to Mr. Margo, Ms. Martens was a nightmare. She was a very stern teacher and she certainly looked the part, dressed in pointed shoes, a tight bun of brown hair, and horn-rimmed glasses. "I’m…I’m s-sorry, Ms. Martens," Aya stammered, holding back tears. She could feel them in the corners of her eyes like red hot pokers. "Please get in pairs and work on your planet worksheet," Ms. Martens said, handing out three pieces of paper, each with a diagram of the solar system. The class split into the same three pairs they always did, which put Aya with Summer. "I can't believe you were late," Summer whispered, filling in Mars with red crayon. "Me neither," Aya muttered, picking out a yellow crayon to color in Venus. "Do you know how many stickers Emily got in math?" "Three, I think," Summer said cautiously. "But you really shouldn't worry about her." Of course Aya worried about her. Emily was just a few stickers behind Aya ever since the start of the term. Aya had worked so hard not to slip up and let her get ahead, and now this... "Wait, is Pluto still a planet?" Aya asked, trying to think about anything but math class. "There are definitely nine on this sheet." "Maybe they changed it again since we were abducted?" Summer suggested, about as delicately as a stone through a car window. "It's been a year..." A school year, Aya mentally amended. When she arrived, it was hot and sticky. The leaves changed colors. Snow settled for a while. Then there were flowers and birds and lots of rain. The nostalgia of summer was palpable, like she could feel the end of spring. The end of the Academy, maybe? How long until they were allowed to go home? "Aya," Ms. Martens called from the front of the room. "Come here, please." "Yes, ma'am." Aya got up without a thought and hurried to the front of the room. What was this about? "Hands on the desk," Ms. Martens instructed. Aya did just that. She knew what was happening even before Ms. Martens lifted the seat of her skirt, flashing the seat of her diaper to the entire room. A blush filled Aya's cheeks. Though it had become so routine, she still felt a deep embarrassment when her classmates - or anyone - would see her diapers. "Wet your diaper," Ms. Martens instructed. Aya did just that, or at least she tried to. When she first got to the Academy, she would never have done it. Then, after she got over herself, she couldn't do it for a long while. But after so many months, wetting herself on command was second nature. It was as automatic as walking from one classroom to the next. But what little bit she managed to dribble out between her legs didn't even change the tint of the white plastic. Aya had woken up so late that she didn’t have time to get breakfast before class, and that meant she didn’t have her usual glass of morning juice. She also forgot to go to the drinking fountain between classes, lost in her thoughts about Emily and her stickers. And Aya - like every student at the Academy - was a bedwetter, and never had to go in the mornings anymore. Plus, the teachers didn’t usually make her do this until third period, or even after lunch! "Go on," Ms. Martens urged, a deep annoyance in her voice that made Aya sick with anxiety. Aya tried to force herself, to push and strain, but that only made it harder. Panic rose in her chest and she balled her hands on the edge of the desk. The hurricane in her stomach churned and, before Aya knew what was happening, a loud fart heralded the filling of her diaper. Her knees quivered and Aya held onto the desk for support as she pushed more and more of her mess into the seat of her crinkly underwear, until it sagged down between her thighs. When it was over, when she could focus on something other than the sensation of mushing her diaper for the hundredth time, she heard the snickering of her classmates and the disapproving tsk of Ms. Martens's tongue. Tears filled Aya's eyes, torn apart by the humiliation and the disappointment. "Oh my moon and stars," Ms. Martens gasped, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I’m certain I asked for you to wet your diaper, not make a big stinky mess of it." The admonishment was hard to hear, and the giggling of her classmates made it even worse. But when Ms. Martens reached under the crest of Aya’s diaper and smushed her mess against her butt, it pushed Aya over the edge. Water broke free from her tear ducts and spilled down her cheeks. Everything was going wrong, and before Aya could stop herself she started to defend herself to her teacher. "I’m so so so sorry, Ms. Martens, I’m sorry! I did wet, I did. It wasn’t just that very much, I swear! Please, pretty please I’m sorry, I’m a good girl!" The class fell quiet, and all eyes fell on the teacher. There was nothing so blasphemous as declaring oneself to be good. "You're good?" Ms. Martens asked sharply. It felt like knives on Aya's skin, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She could hardly breathe. "You don't make that judgement, Ayoka. I do. And this was absolutely not 'good girl' behavior." "I'm sorry, I..." "Silence," Ms. Martens said, louder than Aya had ever spoken in her life. Like a spell, Aya reached her shaking hand into her skirt pocket, reaching past the hall pass, and pulling out her pacifier. It was bigger than anything meant for a baby, with a pink guard, and the words "Mute Button" printed on the button. She put it into her mouth without protest, effectively silencing her cries. Tears continued down her cheeks in torrents, but none of the whimpering was audible. Aya heard footsteps as Ms. Martens walked around. She heard a few clicks. Muttering from her classmates. More footsteps. Then the next thing she heard was a loud crack as a long ruler came down sharply on the backs of her upper thighs. There was a special kind of squealing that was really only possible when an oversized pacifier was in the mouth of an adult; a muffled, broken sound, kind of like a yelp or a squeak, interrupted halfway through the high note. That was what Aya sounded like as the ruler hit the back of her thighs. She squealed, whimpered, and blubbered, but the pacifier made it all sound so muffled and muted - not like the crystal clear cracks of the ruler against her skin. "I’ve never been so disappointed, Ayoka, never in all my years." Those words hurt so much more than the ruler did, and Aya would have begged for a thousand more strikes against her skin to have them undone, to have that poisonous toxic taste in her mouth washed away. It was only after a few swats with the ruler when Ms. Martens asked: "Have you been punished enough, Ayoka?" Aya shook her head desperately. She wanted more. She wanted more hits on her thigh; she wanted everyone to see how full her diaper was. She wanted to cry and sob and sulk and beg. She wanted to be a good girl. She needed to be a good girl. Ms. Martens needed to praise her. And Aya would do anything to get it. Ms. Martens was done after twenty smacks with the ruler, though Aya had lost count around six or seven. She was blubbering on the desk, soaking the polished wood with her tears, as her knees shook. Her burning red thighs and the full seat of her diaper were both on display for the class, but no one was laughing anymore. Everything was silent. "Go sit down," Ms. Martens commanded. Without an ounce of hesitation, Aya went back to her seat. She sat down in her mess, squishing against her butt and filling the area with a familiar smell of dirty diaper. Her thighs stung against the plastic chair, but she didn't yelp. She sucked noiselessly on her pacifier and continued to cry. Everyone went back to work. One other person - Alex - was called to the front of the room. His shorts were tugged to his ankles and he was instructed to wet his diaper. He did, soaking through the padding until the seat of his crinkly behind was discolored halfway up his butt. With a 'good boy' and a diaper pat, he pulled up his shorts and was sent back to his seat. Aya watched with burning envy and the sickness inside her grew worse. The voice in her head was back, telling her how incompetent she was. Pathetic. Useless. She couldn't even follow a basic instruction. When class ended, Alex got three stickers. Emily got two. And once again, Aya got none. She stood in front of Ms. Martens's desk with a blank stare, unable to meet her gaze. "Get cleaned up," Ms. Martens said. "I'll send word to your next class that you'll be late." Aya knew she wouldn't get in trouble this time, not with a teacher's word on her side, but it still felt like a failure. Another tardy class. Aya walked absently down the hall, toward the changing rooms. The full diaper between her thighs forced her to waddle. She wasn't crying, but drying tears still stuck to her cheeks. Her pacifier was still placed firmly between her lips, and she knew she wasn't allowed to remove it until one of the staff pulled it out. Maybe the nurse would be so kind.

Hi folks - welcome to the third and final installment of my Mike and Katie short story series. All characters 18+ and of course comments and critique are welcome! Later At Daycare (or Mike and Katie Part 3) Mike knelt on the floor of the playroom, dutifully picking up Duplo bricks one-by-one and dropping them into the tub at his side. He was trying to drag this task out for as long as possible. He didn’t want to have to talk to Miss Katie right now. Prolonging this little clean-up job would prevent that. Throwing the Duplo tub was naughty - he knew that - but it wasn’t such a huge deal. She didn’t have to put him in timeout for something as trivial as a little tantrum. And it seemed especially unfair that he was now missing outside time. He glanced up at Katie and saw that she was watching him. He quickly looked back down and continued to pick up the pieces of his little tantrum. There was another, more tactile, reason why he was avoiding her company and her gaze: Every time he shifted his posture, even a little bit, the rapidly cooling mess in his training pants shifted as well. He couldn’t say with any certainty how or when it had happened. One minute he was picking up colorful bricks in clean training pants, and the next he was doing so with a heavy warmth against his bottom. He must have zoned out briefly, although he had no recollection of that or of snapping back. It was more like he had jumped forward in time all of a sudden. True, he had known he needed to go, (and he probably should have alerted Miss Katie to that much earlier) but he definitely hadn’t known he was going. He didn’t want Miss Katie to find out. Partly because this wasn’t a teeny little accident that could be quickly remedied with a few extra wipes. But more importantly, because with every second that passed, he was further breaking the rule about telling her when he’d had an accident. She’d already had to change his wet undies twice today. What was she going to think if she found out he was poopy? He was in too deep to turn back now. Maybe if he just kept to himself and continued quietly cleaning up the toys, Katie wouldn’t notice until it was time to go home, and then Sandra could change him in privacy. He glanced up again. Katie was still watching him, and he wasn’t quite sure he liked the expression. It was like she was assessing him. In the back of his mind, he knew what it meant. It was the same look Sandra used to give him before she asked if he needed to go potty (whether she suspected he still needed to go or not). Thankfully, she had gotten off his case about that in recent weeks. He looked back down, attempting a nonchalant, relaxed, and innocent posture/ expression. He hoped the smell wasn’t too bad. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother him anymore. In fact, it was super easy just to ignore it or even forget about it unless someone commented. He continued picking up the bricks, one by one, the mess further cooling against him, reminding him of his predicament. Before re-experiencing them firsthand, Mike had always assumed that poopy pants/ diapers felt like warm mush. And they did - at least at first. But what most people can’t remember (at least those not among the ranks of the incontinent), is that diapers and some training pants are cut with extra room in the seat, and that once a mess is deposited there, most of it sits away from the skin (unless the wearer is sitting down) and cools to room temperature fairly rapidly. The actual feeling of “being poopy”, in the infantile sense of the term, isn’t so much mushy warmth as it is sticky clamminess. It’s a decidedly babyish feeling because it means you’ve had poop in your pants for more than a few minutes, and that it happened in a garment that is designed to catch it. Mike was on all fours, reaching for a more distant block when he felt a tug at his rear waistband. He whirled his head around to see Katie bending over him, and peering down the back of his pants. He tried to turn away from her, but she was experienced at this, and she held him firmly in place with her other arm. Katie let his pants go with a snap, and turned him to face her, pushing him back so that he was looking up at her and his bottom was resting on his heels again: “Mike, did you go poopy in your pants?”, she asked gently, but firmly. He looked down without saying anything. As he did, he became aware that he was peeing. He wasn’t even sure how long the stream had been going, but it wasn’t soaking through his shorts yet, so probably not very long. Or maybe it was just a little tinkle. He sometimes did those these days. Those were the hardest to control, because his bladder never got full enough to feel like he needed to go: a sudden gush of warmth into the padding around his crotch was the only indication that his bladder had been filling. His control was definitely slipping. But there was no time to think about that now because Katie was demanding answers about other, more blushy aspects of his toileting. “Mike - look at me please. I asked you a question. Did you poop in your pants? Yes or no?” He looked up at her, tears starting to well up in his eyes. It was so unfair! If she hadn’t made him pick up the Duplo, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He never went potty in his pants during outside time (partly because Katie was very diligent about checking him and taking him to the toilet beforehand along with everyone else). For a moment, he considered lying. But he knew he was caught. She had seen the mess on his backside. There was no getting out of it now. “Yes Miss Katie”, he mumbled sheepishly, looking back up at her and feeling the stream in the front of his pants dissipate. At least that little problem had stopped. “Yes. You did. Thank you for not lying to me. But you know you’re supposed to come tell me if you’ve had an accident. So why didn’t you come tell me?” “I didn’t want you to think I was a baby” was Mike’s straightforward reply. Katie’s faced softened at this familiar but immature response. “Sweetie, having an accident doesn’t make you a baby. The difference between big boys and babies is what happens after. When babies go potty in their pants, they usually don’t tell anyone. In fact that’s the main reason why they have to wear diapers, because diapers hold the tinkle and poop in without making any mess until an adult finds out. But you don’t wear diapers do you? - at least not when you aren’t sleeping?” Mike shook his head “no”. He was glad he could provide such a strong answer to this important question! “That’s right! You don’t have to wear diapers because when you make pee pee or poopy in your pants you come and tell me or one of the other teachers straight away, don’t you?” Mike hesitated briefly, then nodded in the affirmative. It wasn’t strictly true. Case in point, today. And it was even worse outside of daycare. In fact, Sandra had actually asked him to stop “making a fuss” about the condition of his pants when she was busy (which seemed to be most of the time) or when they were out and about. He would just go in his training pants and wait for her to change him. Last week he had broken that new, “no fuss rule” while they were browsing the aisles at Target. In fact, he had demanded that Sandra take him to the toilet for an urgent number 2, and she had begrudgingly complied. But when they got to the family restroom she had refused to remove his overalls, instead sitting him fully clothed on the toilet, and telling him it was up to him whether he left dirty and wet, or clean and dry, but either way his pants weren’t coming off now until after lunch. Unfortunately, his muscle memory was still strong, even if his toilet training wasn’t, and he’d found it impossible to hold it once she had sat him down on the seat. His sphincter just released, and he started pushing involuntarily, going quite red in the face while Sandra watched, patted his head, and teased him momentarily about what he was doing. Sandra wasn’t satisfied with this level of humiliation though. He was in mid-push when she suddenly grabbed his hands, yanked him off the toilet, and pulled him out the family restroom door, and back into the brightly lit store, keeping a firm grip on one hand as she made a beeline towards the back. The large turd he had been working on was stuck halfway out of his bottom, and he was unable to pinch it off without stopping, which Sandra of course refused to do. He was forced into an awkward cowboy waddle as he slowly continued to mess his pants while following Sandra through the store. They had finally come to a stop in the diaper aisle, where Sandra pretended to browse the various brands, refusing to leave until he finished making poopy. The smiling babies on the packages seemed to mock him as he pushed out a second round of much softer poop into the seat of his trainers before also drenching the front - all while maintaining a classic “toddler squat.” Sandra had even had to explain to a disapproving young mother that Mike was one of the Littles from the Regression Center, provoking further embarrassment. Miss Katie wasn’t privy to any of these memories though, and she was still talking about what had happened here, today and with no help from Sandra: “…If I can’t trust you to tell me when you’re wet or stinky, then I think you need to be wearing diapers when you are here. And I can’t have a Little Helper who wears diapers because that’s not setting a good example for the others. You will need to go to the toddler classroom if you want to start going poopy in your pants without telling a teacher. OK?” Despite his embarrassment, Mike felt the need to object to this phrasing. “I don’t ‘want to start going poopy in my pants’ - it was an accident! It just came out on its own.” Katie decided to let him hold onto at least some of his dignity for the moment, even though she was pretty sure she had watched him actively push this particular load into his pants. She simply nodded that she understood, looked at him appraisingly for a moment, then held out her hand, pulling him to his feet, and leading him towards the door while commenting: “Well, for what it’s worth, you actually have pretty good timing, kiddo. The diaper changing area should be free in the toddler room right now.” Mike held back a sob and clenched his fist with his free hand to avoid putting his thumb in his mouth. As they left the classroom, Katie grabbed a fresh pair of his training pants and a pack of wipes that had appeared conveniently on the cabinet next to the door. She kept a tight hold on his hand as they left the preschool classroom and turned down the hall. The toddlers and preschoolers had shared outside time, and it was naptime for the infants, so the whole place was uncharacteristically quiet. There was nothing but the sound of their shoes on the floor and the creek of the hinge as they made their way into the darkened toddler classroom. Miss Julie, the head toddler teacher, was eating an early lunch inside. She looked up and smiled good-naturedly when she saw Mike and Katie. It was immediately obvious why they were visiting, but Katie still felt the need to explain: “Hi Julie - You remember Mike, my Little Helper, right?…That’s right, Sandra’s little boy, err…husband. Anyway, Mike had a pretty big accident, and I need to get him cleaned up before outside time is over. Is it OK if we use the changing table really quick?” Julie replied in the affirmative, pointing towards the clock and reminding Katie that she didn’t have long. The diaper changing room was very different to the stark whiteness of the staff bathroom he was more used to being changed in. It was painted in bright colors, and there were no potties or toilets in here, just two large wooden changing tables along one wall. The other wall was dominated by a large picture window, facing out into the main toddler classroom. With the lights on, Miss Julie would be able to see every gory detail of his change from her desk. Above the changing tables were cubbies, each labeled with a child’s name, containing neat stacks of diapers and other changing supplies. He shuddered. Was this his fate? Would his name end up on one of the unoccupied cubicles soon? The toddler classroom was ADA compliant, meaning that the changing tables were large enough to accommodate a much larger child with developmental disabilities. Sunny Hills didn’t currently have any special needs clients, but the tables did come in handy when a Little Helper had a big accident. Mike’s calves and ankles would hang off the table if he straightened his legs, but it was otherwise more than adequate to accommodate him. Katie was moving quickly. She had him sit on a low chair that was by the door (apologizing when she saw his facial expression as his bottom contacted the hard seat), and then she knelt down and took off his shoes and socks, catching a fresh whiff of his pants in the process. “Pee-ew! You might win the prize for biggest stink today, buddy! Let’s clean you up and get you smelling like a big boy again”, said Katie, with a smile and poke to his belly. The stern-ness was gone from her voice now. She was talking to him like Sandra did when she was babying him. The combination of her soft instructions and the cheerful setting melted any remaining resistance he might have had in a way that felt almost hypnotic. He wanted to be a good boy for Katie during his change. He wanted her to tell him what to do and to make all the decisions right now using that same gentle voice. Katie had him stand back up so she could pull down his shorts and help him step out, leaving Mike standing there in just his heavily soiled and wet training pants. At this point, Mike kind of wished that he was wearing one of the daytime diapers he was normally opposed to (even on a strictly “just in case” basis). At least they would better hide the evidence of his incontinence. The wet stain in the front in the front of his trainers and the prominent bulge in the seat left nothing to Katie’s imagination. He had clearly done ALL his poopy and tinkles in his pants. There was nothing left for the toilet, and thus no point visiting. Katie opened a small drawer under the table and removed a pair of vinyl gloves, which she put on. She also removed a thin plastic bag and set it at the head of the table. Then she turned back to him. Mike had expected Katie to make him lie down before removing his training pants, but instead, she knelt again and gingerly pulled the pants down his legs, taking care to avoid skin contact as much as possible. As he stepped out, he was treated to the same unpleasant view as Katie. At least it was fairly firm and well contained. Strictly speaking, the daycare guidebook instructed her to “shake or scrape” the contents of his soiled pants into a toilet before bagging them up. No one ever did that though. If shit happened in anything other than a diaper at Sunny Hills, it got sent home intact for the parents to dispose of. She wrapped up his poopy trainers in his wet shorts and tied them both into the plastic bag, placing it on the changing table. Standing there, naked from the waist down with a very dirty bottom illuminated by the bright fluorescents was the low point of the whole process for Mike. He started to cry a little as Katie turned back to him to inspect his bottom more closely. She gave him a few quick wipes while he stood there, and then she asked him to hop up on the table so that she could clean him more carefully. Katie was glad that Sandra had opted for the laser hair removal treatment at the regression center. It made cleanup a lot easier, and seeing a hairy crotch adorned in this mess would be downright weird. She noticed he was getting a little rashy in spots, so when she was finished wiping, she reached up and grabbed a tube of diaper cream from one of the cubicles. She was sure the owner wouldn’t mind sharing. She removed her gloves, pushed his legs up and back again, and started spreading cream with two fingers down his crack and up to the base of his hairless balls. She watched his face as she did this, hoping he would relax now that the change was almost finished. Applying the sweet smelling cream often had a calming, almost mesmerizing effect on her charges. But Mike was still visibly upset. In fact, more so than when they had started the change. She lowered his legs down and wiped the cream off her fingers with a spare wipe as she tried to sooth him: “Mike, sweetie, what’s wrong? It was just an accident. It’s not a big deal. You’re all clean now. It’s like it never happened. That’s the nice thing about getting changed isn’t it?” Mike gave a little nod and a hitching sigh. She tried a different tack: “I’m not mad about you not telling me about it. We can just try to do better next time, OK?…Accidents happen to everyone don’t they? I’m sure you will do poopies in the potty for me tomorrow, but even if you don’t, I won’t be mad about that either. All I ask is that you come tell me so I can get you changed quickly. Besides, it’s kind of nice getting to spend this one-on-one time together isn’t it?” Mike didn’t respond this time. He just laid there, still visibly upset. She pulled the fresh trainers up his legs and pulled him up to a sitting position, swinging his legs out over the side of the table so that one leg was on either side of her hips. Then she reached up and gently pulled his shirt back down over his belly, finishing with a quick pat to his freshly padded groin. She’d have to find him some clean shorts when they got back to class. She wondered briefly (but not for the first time) where Sandra had found such thick,adult-sized training pants. They were basically pull-on cloth diapers, except the sides did not tear away or snap open (making cleanup for an accident like the one she’d just changed a more delicate process). He definitely needed such a high level of protection. Especially lately. In fact, she wondered if MIke was using the potty at all at home anymore, or if Sandra was just letting him treat the trainers like a diaper? It certainly seemed to be the latter. She’d been meaning to have a well-rehearsed chat with Sandra about the importance of maintaining consistency between toilet learning/ procedures at home and preschool, but she also knew it was different in Mike’s case since he was enrolled in a program that was actively pushing him towards at least some loss of control. Sandra had never been straightforward with her about how “young” she intended Mike to go, (the response was always something along the lines of: “We’ll see. I’ll know we’ve gotten there when I see it”). Katie didn’t know what the “it” was, but it was clear to her at least that Mike had regressed beyond a point where she would normally recommend starting potty training. He just wasn’t ready anymore. And she had a professional opinion on the matter. He was almost never dry now when she checked him or took him to the toilet, and being wet didn’t seem to bother him. He was also wetting more frequently and in smaller amounts. He would wake up soaked after every nap time. All of these were ominous signs in terms of toilet training readiness. The last vestiges of his prior training were the only things keeping him out of the full time diapers game. And now, just 2 weeks into September, even the kids that were newly graduated to her classroom from the toddler room were outpacing him, and not just in terms of toileting. Today’s tantrum episode was just the latest evidence of a broader trend. She knew that he was finding some of the structured learning activities more difficult now, which was adding to his propensity for frustration and acting out. He was also zoning out more frequently, during which times he was functionally no different from a 2 year old, or maybe even younger. She wasn’t sure if he understood even the most simple instructions or questions at these times. He’d sit there drooling and babbling to himself or smiling up at her adoringly until he snapped back to the present, leaving him disoriented and often a little embarrassed. Mike would probably be happier and less self conscious if he started helping here, in the toddler classroom, where there were no “accidents” and stinky or wet diapers went unnoticed by everyone except the staff. But she also felt an obligation to both Mike and Sandra to keep him with her for as long as she could. Because they had a shared history. And because taking care of Mike in this way, as he lost his grip on his independent self, was her share of the penance for what had happened between them 6 years ago. She moved herself closer in to him, her baby bump just barely making contact with his padded crotch as she pulled his head to her chest. She held him like that for a few minutes without saying anything, just rocking him, rubbing his back, and shushing gently as he continued to cry. She remembered that he had nuzzled into her like this once before, only under decidedly more adult circumstances. It had only happened once, and Mike had been her first. She was just 20 years old at the time, but already more mature than Mike had been at 26 (or now ever would be). They had gone to the guest room because Mike wasn’t comfortable in the bed he normally shared with Sandra. He had actually been quite shy and indecisive about the whole thing, which she found irresistible. She took control, putting his hands on her breasts and then shoving them down her pants while she stroked him through his, and later undressing first herself and then him. She could vividly recall that moment just prior to penetration, as she knelt over him on all fours, her face just inches from his as he thrust his hips upwards trying to make contact with her most sensitive area. His eyes had been so hungry. He wanted her. At first, it had felt amazing. Better than she had imagined in fact, and she had imagined plenty in her bed, in the bath, and even once in the bathroom of her parents house while Mike stood outside during a dinner party, quietly knocking and telling her through the door that he “needed the toilet, please!” Unfortunately though, the actual sex was over almost as soon as it started, and it ended badly. She remembered the feeling of his cum oozing out onto her upper thigh while she dressed in the dark. Other than that, her most vivid memories of what came after were his copious apologies for not pulling out in time, followed by actual tears over betraying Sandra. “The more things change, the more they stay the same”, she thought ruefully as she once again held Mike while he snuffled and cried into her chest about an accident. They had never spoken of that night again. And he had sort of avoided her after that, which had hurt a little. Yes, she had led the briefest of physical affairs (prefaced by a much longer emotional one). But her part In this tale was also one of a broken heart. She had loved Mike. And she had never really been able to show it - not to him, and especially not to Sandra. Part of her wished she could forget like he had. That would be better. It would be easier. She continued to rock him gently, still making little shushing noises. They would need to move in a few minutes, but she needed to get him calmed down before that could happen. The last thing she wanted was for some parent to find her leading a crying regressed little down the hallway in his underpants. “Mike, I can’t help fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, and we can’t stay in here forever. So PLEASE tell me so that I can help make it all better, sweetheart.” And so he did. Sitting there on the toddler changing table, his not-quite-diaper pressed against her belly as she held him like a baby, he told her about something that wasn’t very babyish. Something that made his penis stiffen against her as he talked about it. “Miss Katie…I mean, Katie…I…I, remember. I remember us. From before.” Katie didn’t respond. She had read in the Little Helpers guidebook that these regressive breaks could happen, especially after an emotional event. It was like one of his zone outs, only in reverse. They weren’t supposed to last long, and the guidebook had given clear instructions on how to deal with them - namely by redirecting the little’s attention to a recent and more “age appropriate” memory. But for now, she wanted to hear what Mike had to say. She could feel him hardening through his trainers. “I remembered just now while you were…changing me. Sometimes I can remember things. Things from when I was…big…but they don’t always make sense because I’m also little…and, and…we did something bad, Katie. We…we kissed. I touched you. We…had sex,” he said. He started sobbing again. Katie pulled him tighter to her, aware that he was fully erect now. She was filled with a curious mixture of care for Mike and horror at the risks of him carrying this memory around and possibly sharing it with others. He couldn’t be trusted with secrets anymore. Especially not this one. She knew what she had to do. She would have to induce a nuclear-level zone out. Hopefully it would be enough to erase this little episode and the memories that triggered it without inducing a major step change in his regression. She wondered briefly what would happen if she returned Mike to Sandra drooling and unable to form a complete sentence? It was a risk she’d have to take. She’d need to act fast while she still had his undivided attention (on multiple levels). Katie composed herself for a moment before starting to speak in her most gentle, nurturing tone of voice. “Oh Mike”, she said, pressing his head firmly to her chest with one hand, the other reaching around to pat his padded bottom. “That was such a long time ago, sweetie. Things are different now, aren’t they?… “…Everything is going to be OK. It’s good you remember. Because we liked eachother back then didn’t we? We were friends then right? And we still are, just in different ways. I’m friends with all the little boys I look after - even little stinkers like you!” She tickled his sides suddenly as she said this, provoking a small giggle from Mike and a gush of urine into the front of his training pants. “I know it’s not always easy being little is it? You need someone to look after you all the time now…don’t you sweetheart?…” “…Mmhmm. That must feel so babyish. Having everything done for you, or done to you. It’s hard to be a big boy when everyone treats you like a little baby isn’t it? Mike shook his head, “yes” feeling her breasts bounce against his face as he did. He liked this feeling of safety with his face hidden in Katie’s soft shirt. He was calmer now. Katie was so nice. She was rubbing her fingers up and down his back in a way that gave him little shivers down his spine. “Although, sometimes you do things that make people think you are a little boy who needs to be treated just like a baby? Isn’t that right, Mike? Do you do baby things sometimes?” Without thinking about it, Mike nodded and then rattled off a short list of behaviors that Katie agreed were indeed very babyish. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about telling Katie about these things. Besides, she had witnessed a lot of them herself “And what about your thoughts, sweetie? Do you sometimes think like a baby? Is that maybe why you made a poopy in your pants right in front of me today? Did you forget you weren’t wearing a diaper?” Mike nodded. He didn’t care if Miss Katie knew that. In fact, it sort of justified it in some ways. “I thought so. That’s OK. I don’t mind. You can be as babyish as you want when you are with me. I won’t tell anyone. It can be our little secret.” She punctuated this last statement with another little tickle to his sides. Mike smiled and nodded, his face still buried in her chest. Her tone was quieter now, almost a whisper into his ear as if she were telling him the most important of secrets. “Besides, I have to confess that I think you’re much cuter like this, kiddo. I love the time we get to spend together. I even like changing your wet and dirty diapers!” Mike decided not to correct her on the difference between training pants and diapers. He was starting to feel very contented and warm in her arms. He hadn’t even noticed that his erection had softened. He relaxed more fully against her, sighing and smelling that sweet perfume she wore. He still couldn’t quite place it, but he had decided a while ago that it smelled most like pancakes. With syrup. Syrupy pancakes that Miss Katie had cut up for him. Cut up, syrupy pancakes she was feeding him in a highchair in the kitchen while she gently teased him about how sticky his face and fingers were… He snapped himself back with a jerk of his head. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it didn’t matter. Miss Katie just pulled him back firmly into her and told him to be a good boy and listen to her story. And as she spoke, he started to drift again, finding that he could remember every detail so vividly just after she spoke about it. It was as if she were unlocking new memories in his mind. Katie told him the story of his poopy accident at the park last week. Except in this story, he wasn’t with Sandra. He was with Katie. And he was little. And not just in his head. His body too. He was wearing overalls, a red tee shirt, and Velcro shoes that lit up when he walked. Under his overalls, he was wearing something crinkly and soft. Not as thick as a diaper though, because he was almost too big for daytime diapers wasn’t he? Yes everyone could see that, and Mike could see it too. Could he remember what he was wearing under his overalls? That’s right! It was his pull up. And it wasn’t a dry pull up was it? No, it was all puffy and soggy because he had done a big tinkle in it on the car ride to the park. Miss Katie had noticed he was wet when she got him out of his car seat, but there were no leaks, so it was OK. Because pull ups were just like diapers once you wet in them, weren’t they? Miss Katie could just change him later, and if he needed to do more potty before then, he could just go in his pull up. Mike was more than happy to agree to this plan - changes were boring and they had just gotten there. Katie reminded him all about how he had made friends with some other babies in the park, and how they were all playing so nicely together in the sandbox (or more accurately, playing alongside eachother). He remembered how cute he looked, playing in his little overall outfit among his new friends. The other mommies were nice too. Then she reminded him how one of those other moms had called her attention to his posture and body language as he tensed and started to push. Mike clearly remembered doing that, and how it felt as the mess pushed into his pull-up. And then Katie confessed that she had decided to just let him finish without trying to intervene. Without reminding him that he was a big boy. And without telling him that she didn’t have any spare pull ups left to put on him. Because it was probably too late already wasn’t it? And because he had also decided that he didn’t need to be a big boy. At least not all the time, right? In fact, they had invented something called the “baby game” that day. Did he remember the baby game? Did he remember the rules? That’s right! All you had to do was act and think like a baby! You had to do both to make it work. And it turned out Mike was very good at both. He must have been playing it already when he dirtied his pants in the sandbox, hadn’t he? Yes, and that was OK. Because it was just a game wasn’t it? And Miss Katie had everything she needed to help him play the game correctly, didn’t she? Katie helped Mike remember how she had lifted him out of the sandbox and sniffed his bottom before carrying him on her hip over to the park bench. He remembered the feeling of his soggy crotch pressing against her hip while the mush in his pants spread further across his bum. She had sat him down next to the other mommy she had been talking to while she readied his changing supplies. She reminded him that he hadn’t felt shy at all, even though the other mommy could probably smell his stinky bottom. Because she knew he was playing the baby game too. Mike smiled at this. That other mommy had been so nice hadn’t she? He remembered giggling while she talked to him, before he was whisked off the bench and laid on a changing mat right there in the grass in front of Katie’s spot. Katie began describing the details of the change in great detail now, interspersing her narrative with questions: Did he remember how it felt when she pulled off his overalls leaving him lying there in just a soiled and wet pull up? Did he remember how good it felt when she pushed his legs back to wipe him? Could he remember what the wipes smelled like? Did he remember what his bare legs looked like, up in the air, and pointing towards the clouds? Did he remember sucking his fingers and smiling up at her when she was putting diaper cream on him? He had been nodding along as she fired off all these questions, but now they combined into such a vivid mental image that it completely overwhelmed his thoughts. He was flooded with dopamine and feelings of pure bliss snd contentment. It was like an orgasm, only entirely cerebral. He was no longer sure if this was happening now or if it was still just a memory. He moaned softly while Katie rocked him and continued whispering soft words he couldn’t quite make out anymore. Katie handed him a diaper to hold while she balled up his dirty pull up and cleaned the cream off her hands with a spare wipe. He remembered turning it over in his hands to see Mickey smiling at him from the front. He pressed it to his nose. It smelled good. He remembered Katie asking in a singsong voice if she could borrow his diaper for a minute and smiling back at her as he handed it back to her like a good boy. He remembered her lifting his legs and sliding the diaper under him and how it felt when she lowered him onto it. But instead of pulling it up right away, Katie had instead paused and crawled forward over him on all fours, bringing her face down and level with his as he lay half naked underneath her, the crisp, clean diaper sticking up from between his bare legs. She had looked intently into his eyes as she spoke in a more serious tone, and it was so real - so intense - like she was looking into his eyes right now. But that was impossible because he was at the park with her. Having his diaper changed. “Mike, sweetheart, before I put this diaper on you, I need to know if you can keep it a secret? Because it’s just for when we are playing the baby game. If Sandra or the other teachers at daycare found out that I put a diaper on you, they might think that you need to wear them all the time. And then you would be a baby for real, wouldn’t you? And we don’t want that do we? No, we don’t.” “So, if you want to keep playing the baby game, then this diaper has to be our little secret. And if Sandra asks about it, you definitely can’t tell her that I had to put a diaper on you because you went stinky in your pants, OK?” Mike nodded slowly and solemnly, prompting Katie to smile and tap his nose before reaching down and taping his diaper snugly around him. She finished with a quick pat to his crotch, declaring him her clean and dry little helper. Mike just beamed at her, unable to avert his eyes from her face. He knew there was something special and secret about Katie, but he hadn’t quite been able to remember what it was until now. But that was OK, because Miss Katie remembered, and she took care of everything. All he had to do was keep their baby game secret. He could do that - at least until he decided to start playing the baby game with Sandra. Katie bent down and kissed him on the forehead, telling him what a good boy he was and giving his sides another little tickle. He could hear himself laughing and giggling as she did so… And then he was back. Still sitting on the changing table in just a tee shirt and hid trainers, his padded crotch still pressed against Katie’s front and his legs on either side of her hips. And she was still tickling him mercilessly while kissing him all over his face and expressing delight that she had found her happy little boy again. She released him from her embrace, reached up and grabbed a tissue from the shelf above, and held it over his nose, instructing him to blow. Mike tried, but for some reason he couldn’t work out how to do it. He looked up at Katie with a bewildered expression, but she just laughed and used the old squeeze and pull technique. She helped him down off the changing table, took his hand, and led him back to her classroom while he prattled on about what they were going to do for the rest of the day and how much he liked being her Little Helper. Because they liked each other. And they had a special secret that was just between the two of them. And no one could take that away from either of them. Ever.